Copyright© 2007 by Stormbringer
Mindy Dawber arrived home late from work. A high heeled shoe extended from her car door, follwed by a shapely ankle and calf. Her skirt started at the knee. Her entire outfit was a thousand dollar business suit which suited a vice president of marketing at a local firm.
Mindy watched her husband bringing items in from his garage sale. She shook her head at her husband's outfit. She'd married him ten years ago when she was twenty and he was thirty. He was a high school art teacher then and she'd fallen for him in her artsy liberal phase. She'd outgrown the phase. He hadn't. The forty year old man looked ridiculous dressed in a thai dyed shirt, socks in birkinstocks, and his greying hair tied back in a pony-tail. "How'd it go today, Robin?" she asked, flipping up her sunglasses.
"Not bad, dear. I even sold a painting."
They say those that can't, teach. That applied to Robin. He wasn't as good of an artist as he thought he was and got overly excited whenever he sold something. He'd become more successful when he got out of teaching and opened a gallery selling better artists works. She surveyed his paintings displayed around the garage. The ten he'd completed were all there. He averaged one painting a year. "Where's... you didn't."
"He gave me two hundred dollars for it. It's the highest priced painting I ever sold."
The painting in question was a nude of Mindy. She was lying on a checkered blanket in a field of wild flowers, holding a daffodil. She had been nineteen at the time. Her long brown hair fell to encircle the double D's of her breasts, reaching her stomach. She had a business cut now, still long, but just to her shoulders. The day had also been chilly, and Robin had accurately painted her nipples hard and pointy. Her crotch had been shaved then.
Mindy hadn't changed much since then. She was still lithe and fit with oversized breasts. Her ass had been boney, but was fuller now. Her crotch was now covered with curly brown hair. The girl in the picture was tanner from long hours sunning herself in a bikini. Mindy didn't even own a bikini anymore and her skin was milky white.
Physically, she hadn't changed much in eleven years, but mentally she had. She'd outgrown the hippy phase and saw herself as a serious professional woman.
"The man also bought your mom's old trunk and lamp."
Mindy gasped. "You emptied it first right? Robin?" Her husband didn't look at her. My god, her grandfather's pocket watch was in that trunk. As was a Waterford crystal lamp and an old porceline doll. "Please tell me you just sold the trunk."
"Sorry honey, he wanted it as is."
"What did you sell it for?" She placed a loud emphasis on the "what".
"I told you two hundred for the trunk and painting. He said he'd by a painting if I threw in the trunk."
"Robin, the trunk and it's contents were worth at least ten thousand dollars." Asshole! Her grandmother's diamond ring was in that box.
Robin tripped and almost fell. He looked like he was chokinig. "Honey, I'm sorry. I was just so excited about selling a painting."
Mindy walked away from her husband. It was that or say something she might regret. Her stupid husband had sold this man a private painting done back when they were courting.
Worse, if the man knew what he was doing, he had really been after the trunk. Or maybe he didn't know what he was doing?
Mindy turned her bmw onto the Harlem exit. At least Harlem wasn't as scary as it used to be. They even had a Starbucks. She'd never come here at night, but she still had several hours of daylight to find this junk dealer who'd bought the trunk.
Her husband had remembered that the junk dealer was an older black man in a run down pick-up trunk. The sign on the truck's door had read, "Foxx and Son." It was easy to find the address in the phone book.
The junk yard was easy to find. Unfortunately, the truck wasn't on the junk lot, but the house had lights on. Hopefully someone was home.
Mindy parked her car on the lot, got out, and locked the doors. She looked suspiciously around the neighborhood. This part of Harlem hadn't caught up with the economic boom of the rest of Harlem.
Mindy rang the doorbell. She peered through the curtain on the door window, but saw nothing. She rang the bell again. A shadowy figure sat up on the couch. The man rubbed his eyes. She knocked this time. "Hold on, hold on. I'm coming, dummy," yelled a gravely voice.
The man stood up and waddled over to the door pulling it open. He did a double take and looked Mindy up and down. It wasn't everyday a smartly dressed white woman with the body of a penthouse pet knocked on doors in this neighborhood. "Mr Foxx?"
"Yeah, that's me. Call me Fred. Come on in."
Mr Foxx was an unattractive old black man. He was shorter then Mindy, heavyset with a large gut. He had large hands which hung down to his sides and he waddled when he walked. He wore a plaid shirt and suspenders held up dirty trousers. He was a scruffy hairy man. He had a curly white beard and hair. Whisps of hair formed sideburns down his cheeks. His skin was light brown. "What can I do you for, Mrs... ?"
"Dawber. My husband says he sold you a valuable... I mean nostalgic family heirloom trunk of mine at a yard sale today."
Fred's eyes grew wide and he ran them up and down her body. "You is the chick on the painting. You got your hair cut. I liked it better long."
Mindy sighed, though she was a little flattered he didn't seem to realize that the picture was over ten years old. "Yes, it's me, but I'm really here for the trunk."
"You mean that trunk?" The old man pointed at her trunk sitting over beside a staircase leading to the second floor.
"Yes, thank god, that trunk. You see my husband was not supposed to sell it. It wasn't even his to sell. I need to get it back."
"Sounds like you married a big dummy."
"I brought your two hundred dollars back."
"Mrs Dawber, my business may be junk, but we both know that trunk ain't junk." Fred pointed towards the coffee table by the couch. An antique price guide was open on it and there was a picture of the antique Waterford lamp that had been in the trunk.
Mindy sighed. "How much do you want for it?"
"Lets start the negotiating." Fred rubbed his big brown hands together. He even had hairy white knuckles, the man was so hirsute. "Please have a seat." He held his hand out towards the old couch. It was dirty and dusty like the rest of the room. Fred waddled off into the kitchen. He came back with a bottle and two glasses. "Negotiating booze," he declared.
Mindy had never heard of the wine before. Ripple must be some cheap brand. Fred sat beside her and filled the glasses full. She took a sip and scrunched up her face. "How much, Mr Foxx?"
"Twelve thousand for the trunk and it's contents."
Mindy choked and took a sip of ripple. "That's crazy, sir."
"I know. I know. I aint know dummy. We is negotiating. Make me a counter offer."
"Nope. Cheers." Fred clanked his glass against hers and took a big swig. "Drink up," he said, tipping the bottom of the glass so that she drank more then a sip. He refilled both glasses when she sat hers down.
"I might let it go for ten thousand."
"No deal. Cheers."
Mindy drank up. Ripple was strong stuff. already she could feel her head getting dizzy.
She held her hand over her glass when Mr Foxx tried to refill it. "No more, I have to drive home tonight."
Fred moved her hand. "We drink as long as we are negotiating. When we make a deal, we kill the bottle. If you want, we can continue tomorrow. Buts, I already have a potential buyer for the watch and doll."
"Damn you, you sly old fox, Foxx." Mindy supressed a giggle. "Just tell me the lowest you'll go."
"I can't afford that. One thousand is the most I can spare."
"No deal. Drink up." Fred banged their glasses and watched her as she gulped some down. He poured more ripple into her glass. "That trunk really mean so much to you, Mrs Dawber?"
So much, Fred and call me Mindy."
"Mindy," he said resting his big palm on her bare knee.
"The trunk is very important to me, Fred." Mindy picked his hand off her knee and held it between her hands.
"One thousand on one condition."
"I want you to pose for me, like in the picture."
"You want to paint me?" She released his hand.
"No, I want to take your picture with my camera. I never seen a woman as good looking as you."
"You mean, nude?"
"Yeah, I mean nude. Just likes in the painting. Lie on my couch, smile at me, and lets me take yo picture."
Mindy would get back ten thousand dollars worth of antiques for one grand and all she had to do was pose nude for a perverted old black man. "Agreed."
"Deal." Fred gleefully picked their glasses up and drank. MIndy drained her glass. She'd need the confidence. When she was empty, she found Fred holding the bottle out to her. They exchanged swigs. "Go ahead and change. I'll be in the kitchen. Call me when you is ready." Fred waddled off.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," mumbled Mindy as she unzipped her skirt. "Stupid Robin." She removed the jacket and blouse. Her hands were shaking and she was drunkenly swaying as she unhooked her bra. She sat and slid her panties down. She laid down on the couch. I'm gonna need a bath tonight, ' she thought grimacing at the dirty couch touching her nude body. "Ready," she yelled. Mindy gulped. No man, but her husband had seen her nude for eleven years.
.... There is more of this story ...