Ink for the Beloved

by R C Barnes

  Christina’s story

  All her life Christina Cross was known as loud, big, and brassy. She favored bright garden colored clothing in vibrant prints. Sometimes the prints looked better suited for a kindergarten teacher with kitty cats and rocket ships. Christina didn’t care. Christina spoke at a volume that ensured she would always be shushed in the library, movie theaters, and just about any public venue. Using your “inside voice” was an alien concept to her.

  Are you thinking about climbing out the window while your parents are asleep, to hang out with the gang past curfew? Christina Cross better not be the gal assigned to pick you up. Just driving up the street, she’d have the music blaring, would honk the horn a few times, and then holler your name and tell you to get your ass out here. Let’s pretend that racket hasn’t gotten your parent’s attention. You climb into the car, reminding Christina everything is supposed to be on the hush-hush. Christina will clap her hands over her mouth and squeal louder than a gunshot. “Oh, I forgot you were sneaking out!” There was no chill to Christina.

  She was a love her or hate her type of gal. And the people who disliked her always used a derogatory term, highlighting their lack of imagination. They would call her a fat cow.

  Back when she was in college, Christina had a run-in with a girl known as Judy Stirling. Judy was the “it” girl on campus. She was a tall skinny thing with breasts that hadn’t come naturally to her body. Judy was used to flashing a smile and getting what she wanted. She was shocked, shocked, I tell you when she was not assigned the soprano role in the music department’s Sondheim revue. Christina was cast instead. Christina’s audition with “Age of Aquarius” from Hair and “Memories” from Cats was strong and memorable.

  Judy voiced her displeasure. She let everyone know she believed the only way Christina had gotten cast over her was that the fat cow must have put out. Judy would moo whenever Christina was nearby. Christina was hurt by the accusations. Still, the injuries cut deeper when she realized people (even fellow cast members) were snickering in response to Judy’s claims. People were not challenging Judy and pointing out that maybe, just maybe, Christina was more musically gifted.

  That opportunity came for Christina when she overheard Judy griping in the commissary about the Sondheim casting. It had been over two weeks, and Judy still wouldn’t let it go. Christina had enough and marched over to where Judy was sitting with her royal court of friends. Feeling like a quivering jellyfish, Christina instead visualized her body as a solid mass and stood over Judy as an intimidating fortress. Judy had leaned away, making a cutting remark about Christina’s size and how fat cows give her nightmares. Christina looked down at this skinny creature who needed plastic surgery to gain any level of voluptuousness and said, “I’m your worst nightmare, Judy. I’m a fat cow with talent.”

  Walking away, praying she wouldn’t drop her food tray due to her shaking hands, Christina was rewarded with the sounds of laughter at Judy’s table. She smiled inside, knowing the laughter was directed at Judy.

  Her rivalry with Judy Stirling didn’t end there. Judy continued with her snide remarks around the school, she just wisely took it underground. Christina didn’t mind Judy’s viciousness as much since her personal status on the campus was growing in leaps and bounds. Christina’s bodacious persona was gaining her fans, and it was clear after graduation, she could take her mighty voice on the road.

  Years passed, and Christina forgot about Judy. Or at least she told herself she had. She changed the spelling of her name to Xtina and enjoyed popularity in the independent music scene as a lounge singer. Xtina traveled all over the country but liked to keep her tours on the west coast. “Changing time zones is a bitch!” Her public shows were big sellouts.

  Social media was a blessing for her. She liked performing in smaller venues as the audience always felt like family. After a show, she was known for staying around for pictures and sharing laughs with her fans. People would bring her the wildest gifts. There were cookies baked to resemble her and strange fan art depicting Xtina in relationships with all sorts of popular male characters in fiction from Doctor Who to Iron Man. Xtina loved it all.

  Even with all her fame and money, Xtina admitted to her therapist, who she saw twice a month, that Judy was the mean girl in her dreams. Whenever Xtina doubted herself, a nasty vision of Judy would pop in her head. This vision would call her a fat cow and mock her for believing she could do anything but eat. Many exercises were employed to erase Judy from the equation. The most effective one was writing Judy’s name on pieces of paper and placing them in the freezer - “I’m giving her the cold shoulder,” Xtina would joke.

  “This will work, until you see her in real life, then you truly have to give her the cold shoulder,” her therapist responded.

  It was bound to happen. Cosmic alliances always fold over and call forth what is bubbling within your mind. It was a small dinner club in Napa, and Xtina was performing for a bunch of happily inebriated wine drinkers. It was one of her favorite moments in her act when she would take requests from the audience. She could sing almost anything, or at least she was good at faking it. The bright light was scanning the audience as they yelled out suggestions from Beyonce to Cher, and then Xtina saw her. Judy Stirling was sitting in the crowd. Xtina could see her leaning over and talking with her friends. Judy was probably saying she went to college with the performer. She was probably saying that girl beat me out for the Sondheim revue. But she was probably NOT saying anything about how she had tortured Christina and humiliated her for years. Xtina watched Judy flick her hair back and lean in, showing off her purchased breasts in a V-cut sweater.

  Xtina decided she didn’t want to have to look at Judy Stirling one minute longer, and a wicked grin bloomed across her face. “Hi Judy,” she said into the microphone, and she waved like they were kids at the playground. “Hey everyone, I went to college with her, and here she is coming to hear me sing. Isn’t that wild!?” Xtina smiled the biggest smile she could muster. She was sure the lights were pinging off her shiny white teeth. She had to hold it, or people might see she was shaking from nerves. Xtina spoke into the microphone as clearly as she could. “I’m still your worst nightmare, Judy. But now I’m a talented fat cow with power. And I’m going to have you bounced from this room. Bye-bye.” And like that, Judy Stirling was escorted from the premises.

  The following week Xtina made an appointment with Terry Wynters at Cosmic Hearts to ink a fat cow on her ass.

  FIDO

  Later that afternoon, I called an emergency meeting with Joanie and Rueben. I was worried about them coming to my house, so we met in the teen room at the public library Claremont branch. The spot is private, even with the glass walls. With the door shut, nobody can hear you. The closed door creates a glass-walled clubhouse.

  I dropped the bombshell about my mother leaving a puzzle for me to solve. At first, my friends had frowned as they tried to suss out what I was telling them, and then they both gave me expressions of wide-eyed astonishment. Ten minutes passed, and Rueben was looking at a sheet of paper where I had created a grid. First, MAXINE was written out as if it were the down answer to a crossword puzzle. I had written the corresponding names from the appointment book across, so it looked like this:

  Michael

  Ariel

  Xtina

  Ian

  Nikko

  Emily

  Then after Xtina, I had added a column that said “cow” and then “empowering” and “revenge” as the thematic clues I had gotten from Xtina’s story.

  “This is some serious shit,” said Rueben. He then passed the sheet to Joanie. She gazed silently at the paper and didn’t react to Rueben’s lapse in language.

  “I have to find all the people on this page and see their ink. The message my mother left me is on those tattoos,” I explained. I left out the part I needed to touch the tattoos to really glean the message because that indicates I have some sort of power. And even if I do (have “some sort of power
”), I wasn’t ready to share that yet. Everything in its own time.

  “This is some crazy shit.” Rueben looked over at Joanie and added “sorry” under his breath.

  Joanie didn’t respond. She hadn’t lifted her eyes from the page.

  “Can’t you call them and ask them what their tattoo is and have them describe it?” asked Rueben.

  “It’s not that easy,” I responded. “They might not tell me very much. Sometimes you must see the design. I know my mother’s style. Like for instance, I could have asked Xtina what her tattoo was, and she could have just answered it was a cow. I wouldn’t have had the extra information that the cow was dressed in rockabilly attire or heard the story behind her wanting a cow to begin with.”

  Rueben nodded in agreement. “The story is important. This is some crazy shit”. His eyes nervously flashed over in Joanie’s direction.

  “What do you think your mother’s message is?” he asked. The question was innocently said, but incredibly stupid, given the situation. Right after he spoke, Rueben immediately murmured, “Nevermind.”

  I decided to come clean, but just a little bit. “There are missing papers addressing the guardianship for my sister and me.”

  “Why are they missing?” Rueben persisted.

  “They just are,” I responded. “You know how my mother was. And if they are not found, Echo and I could be placed in foster care and even separated.” I let the last comment sink in.

  “Actually, we are looking for a key,” I added a beat later.

  “A key?”

  “Yes, for a safety deposit box. I think if I solve the puzzle, I will find where the key is.”

  “Why didn’t she just tell you where the key is? Why the puzzle game?” I had to hand it to Rueben. He was dotting every “I” and crossing every “T.”

  “She didn’t want Todd to know,” was my reply.

  There was an uncomfortable silence as my friends absorbed this bit of information. They both knew Todd was responsible for what had happened to my mother, but they didn’t know Todd had taken Echo and had threatened to do it again. My friends didn’t know about the drugs. Right now, in their minds, my mother and Todd had fought, and things had gotten ugly, really ugly. Given the reason why I had them follow Rodriguez to the tobacco shop weeks ago, they believed the fight was about another woman. With my mother in the hospital and the grim circumstance she was in, they were aware my home situation was fragile.

  Joanie finally looked up from the Maxine puzzle she held in her hands. “Will these missing papers place you with Luther?” she asked.

  “I hope so,” I answered. That was the truth.

  “Is this going to be dangerous?”

  “No,” I said. That was a lie.

  “What do you need us to do?” she asked. Her eyes shifted over to Rueben, informing him they were coming on board with whatever I presented to them.

  Inwardly, I sighed with relief. On the outside, I gave both my friends a huge smile.

  I hadn’t worked out all the logistics for seeing the other people that made up MAXINE. I knew Rueben was an excellent wingman in tight situations, and his fluent Spanish could be useful. Joanie had a car.

  Having Joanie be the driver kept her out of the action. I thought that would be the best way to protect her and yet keep her as part of the crew. It was funny how important it was to me to honor Joanie’s religious beliefs and for her father to trust her in my company. No illegal tasks would be handed to Joanie. Rueben and I could probably cover those things between the two of us. Not that I was thinking we would be doing anything illegal. I mean, how hard is it to track down five people? I had their contact info and a good cover story.

  Besides, there was nothing inherently dangerous in finding five people and looking at the ink work done on their bodies. The hazardous component of this insane adventure was what would happen if I DIDN’T decipher Terry’s message in time. But I was determined I would. If anyone could unravel the crazy imagination of my mother, it was me.

  We headed back to my house for dinner. We were eating through the casseroles left by Joanie’s Jehovah’s Witness congregation. Ollie had announced it was time to clean out the freezer so he could get back to cooking food and not baking cakes and cookies. Echo was not pleased with this as she had gotten used to having cake for breakfast. (Don’t judge; a slice of cake is about the same calories as a bowl of cereal. Besides, she also had a chocolate protein shake with spinach and strawberries in it. Don’t tell her about the spinach) Dusty was coming by with her girlfriend, Carla, and bringing a six-pack of beer to share with Ollie.

  Echo was trying out her latest schoolyard riddle, and it went something like this:

  Echo: knock knock

  You: who’s there?

  Echo: No. Wait. Wait. I did it wrong, …okay. What’s your favorite color?

  You: Purple

  Echo: Spell it.

  You: P…U… R… (and then Echo screeches with laughter and yells “no, no”)

  Echo: I… T Get it. Get it.

  And then you roll your eyes as she gleefully runs off to her next victim. It almost felt like old times.

  During dinner, Dusty shared a hysterical story about a couple that came into Cosmic Hearts to get matching tattoos. Apparently, the woman was hesitant and not convinced this is what she wanted to do. The guy was one of those large beefy fellows who believed in the power of his manliness. Dusty said he was drooling over the idea his girlfriend was going to have his name forever scrawled on her arm. Carla kept giggling and snorting out her water while Dusty told the story - clearly, there was a punchline coming.

  “It took a full hour for them to agree on an image to go with the names,” Dusty said. “He was leaning towards snakes and scorpions, while she was going for the hearts and love knots, and strangely…” Dusty threw out a wicked smile, and Carla snorted, AGAIN. “… a dog.”

  Dusty paused and then continued. “Finally, they agreed on a snake coiled up as a love knot with their names inked into the snake’s scales. It was actually pretty classy.”

  “Too classy for him,” Carla interjected.

  Dusty smiled. “Simmer down, babe. I’m getting there. The girl insisted the fella get the design done first. He was all for it. He already had a tattoo, and he was happy to show her the ropes and help squash her fears. He was like, ‘I’ll hold your hand when you’re getting yours. It’ll be fine.’ He was really playing it up, and she was really acting like he was her knight in shining armor, and she was so happy he was there to show her the way. Interesting, though. She never asked if it was going to hurt.”

  “Why is that interesting?” Rueben asked.

  “Because it’s the number one question people ask if they are worried about getting a tattoo,” I answered.

  Dusty continued. “So, it takes me about an hour to do the guy. He was sweating and grimacing throughout and kept moving, and I wondered how he had gotten his other tattoo done.”

  “He must have been drunk, Carla added.

  “Yeah, probably” was Dusty’s response. “So, we’re all finished, and I have the girlfriend take a look. The work is good. The snake is tight, and the names “Bryan and Sarah are linked together, but plain as day to see. She stands there, cool as a cucumber now, looking at the tattoo for a long time, a long time. Then, she says, ‘The wrong name is there. It should say Hailey, not Sarah’ And then she walks out of the shop, I swear to God.”

  Ollie howled and pounded the table with his hands. Rueben’s jaw dropped open. I laughed alongside Carla, who wiggled while she laughed.

  But Joanie leaned in. She was intrigued. “Wait. What did he do?” she asked.

  “His face was redder than the skin around the new ink,” Dusty said. “He didn’t say much. After she left, he asked for his money back for the second tattoo, which now wasn’t going to happen. I thought that was fair, so I gave it to him.” Dusty smiled as she took a swig from her beer.

  “I don’t understand the dog thing,” said Ru
eben. “Why did she want a dog?”

  “Cause he was a dirty cheating dog,” Joanie’s replied. “That’s why.”

  “Well, if you tie it to the love knot idea, dogs also represent fidelity,” said Dusty.

  “They do?” asked Ollie.

  “That’s right,” I responded. “Fidelity is trust and faithfulness, and dogs symbolize that.”

  “Fido is a common dog name, and fidus means trust in Latin,” Rueben cried out. He then started snapping his fingers, and his eyes widened with understanding. “Omigod, Bess, what if this is how you figure out the puzzle for Maxine. What if the tattoos have double meanings? Like they symbolize something beyond what they are.”

  I sat quietly, soaking in what Rueben was saying. It made sense. It deepened the layers of the puzzle, and crossword puzzle answers can be deceptively simple and challenging at the same time. Like Terry.

  Rueben jumped up and excitedly strutted around the living room. “We are going to get this. We are going to get this,” he sang rhythmically as he swayed his hips and rotated his arms like he was the head of a conga line. Echo saw this and joyfully hopped in behind him. “We are going to get this. We are going to get this.” The two of them danced around.

  I stood there, amused and curious. “Okay,” I said, smiling. “Love your enthusiasm. We really need it. But why are you dancing?”

  “We are going to get this,” said Rueben with absolute certainty. “You know why? Because I got a 1570 on the SAT, and I didn’t even study. 1570, baby. Take that and smoke it.” And then Rueben and Echo conga danced into the hallway. 1570 out of 1600 and no prep. That is pretty good.

  WILLINGHAM CATERERS

  Michael Willingham was waiting for us in an open doorway on the third floor. He was lanky, with a day’s growth of beard on his face, his long hair pulled back and high into a man bun. I used to detest that style on men. However, over time, I preferred its tidy effect over the droopy stringy ponytail men sported. Michael wore an untucked flannel shirt over a white T-shirt, and skinny man jeans tucked into black Doc Martens with untied laces (of course). The whole outfit was supposed to look unpretentious, but I knew those items were all designer, and he was wearing at least six to seven hundred dollars on his body.