Everyone knows that when a certain kind of single American female on a Mexicanholiday drinks too much tequila she will get a tattoo. And when she is in a sybariticseaside town like Puerto Vallarta with a girlfriend, they will get matching ones. Thewomen in question were an attractive pair. They had fallen into the sensual thrall of Mexico for nearly a week and into the sensual
thrall of each other’s arms
whenever thedoor closed behind them in their cliff top hotel just north of a curving, white sand beachringed by gentle green hills. They were visiting from the dry precincts of the MojaveDesert in Southern California and the aromatic salt breezes wafting in off the PacificOcean released the gossamer ribbons binding all of their
inhibitions.The single woman, lithe, alluring and in her early twenties, and her married lover, twodecades older but no less attractive, had spent the warm early December days playingtennis, tanning beneath deferential palms, splashing in the turquoise waters, and chasingthe flavorful local seafood with endless pitchers of margaritas, each night at a differentlocal bar that catered to the crowds of well-to-do tourists who flocked to these shoreseach winter. And every evening, pleasantly buzzed, they would stroll back to their hotel,past Tango Tattoo, a raffish place nestled between a florist and a souvenir shop, whichdisplayed a sign in English that read
Your Design or Ours.
The drawings offered by theartisans at Tango drew inspiration from the locale and featured a variety of mythological,architectural, and religious motifs borrowed from indigenous culture. Mayan, Incan andAztec creatures vied for space on the tattoo parlor walls with, skulls, serpents and saints,Day of the Dead-inspired designs proliferated alongside popular cartoon characters and