Blue Persuasion

by Blakely Bennett

  “Hey Tate,” Cat said. “I’ll just be another fifteen minutes or so.”

  “I’m good on time. Great design. It’s interesting that you coupled cherry blossoms within a dragonfly. Do you mind if I sit here?” Tate asked, pointing to the chair situated above the head of the table.

  Yes, I mind! I screamed inside my head. Apparently, they didn’t hear me.

  “No,” Cat replied. “Blue, this is Tate, Tate, Blue.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said. Although he gave the correct greeting, his creased forehead and turned-down lips said anything but.

  I nodded my head in response, scared to speak aloud. The shaking Cat mentioned had morphed into agitation. Warning, warning, warning, my mind shouted. The rest of me felt a very different message. My body’s ambiguity roused me, and I had to get up.

  “Do you know the symbolism?” Tate asked. The timbre of his voice sounded almost angry.

  “Sorry, I need to ... go ... use the restroom,” I forced out, pushing to a sitting position. I kept my eyes downcast and stood. “I’ll be right back.” I shuffled off to the bathroom.

  After using the toilet and calming my racing heart, I walked back to the table with my arms crossed over my chest in an effort to hide my boobs.

  “What do you think?” Cat asked expectantly.

  In my vexed state, I hadn’t checked out the tattoo. “I decided to wait until you’re done.”

  “Cool. Tate says that the cherry blossoms symbolize beauty and the fragility of life, and the dragonfly totem carries the wisdom of transformation and adaptability.”

  “Huh, I didn’t realize,” I said, taking a chance to look directly at him as I perched on the edge of the table.

  Close up, I noticed he wore baggy jeans and a fitted T. He had a light five o’clock shadow and high cheekbones. The sharp edges of his face strongly contrasted his soft, full lips. His stern expression rattled me.

  “Maybe unconsciously, you did,” he said, penetrating me with his stare.

  “I...” I couldn’t think of a response, so I blurted out, “Are you Native American?”

  He tilted his head as if to say, “What do you think?”

  Entangled in his gaze, he seemed to see straight through me. I turned around to see if anyone stood behind me.

  “No, you,” he said.

  “No,” I responded.

  “Right. I’ll be in the reception area,” he said to Cat as he continued to stare at me. His gravelly voice seemed lower than before. He took a deep breath and stood. “Nice to meet you.” Again, the words were polite, but the tone and stern expression were anything but.

  “Yeah,” I said, averting my eyes and lying back down.

  After he walked away, Cat scolded, “Why are you such a weirdo with men? He was totally attracted to you.”

  “He’s not my type. He’s huge, stoic, and all-confident, and those men are the worst trouble.”

  “You’re wrong about this one, Blue. I’ve been working on him for years. He’s one of the good guys.”

  “Really? He seems full of issues to me. Does he ever smile?” I lowered my head and found a comfortable position.

  Cat rested her hand on my back and said, “I’m sure he smiles.”

  “Okay, I believe you. He’s just not my type.”

  “But I don’t believe you. Ready?”

  “Whatever. I’m ready. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Okay. Have you heard from your mother lately?” she asked as she resumed tattooing.

  “Unfortunately. She wants me to come over on Sunday to meet her latest conquest.”

  “Will you?”

  “Probably. I haven’t seen her in a while, and at least I’ll get that out of the way. I mean, I love her, but I’m dreading it. Not so much seeing her but meeting her latest beau. She has the worst possible taste in men. The minute she leaves the room, they’re all over me. I’ve stopped telling her about it, because she just thinks I’m jealous. Telling her what I really felt, which was disgusted, didn’t help. Plus, they never seem to hang around for long. Maybe she’s finally found a decent man. I doubt it, but I can hope. How’s yours?”

  Cat shifted the tattoo machine. “Pretty much the same, but I’m a bit worried. She hasn’t been as mean lately as she usually is.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Well, it’s certainly not normal for her. I asked if she was feeling okay, and she just brushed me off.”

  “Do you think we’re all such good friends because we have horrible mothers?”

  Cat stopped tattooing when she erupted in laughter. Good thing, because I cracked up as well.

  “Jacqs’s mom is great and so is Kev’s, so I think that theory is shot.”

  I chuckled once more and said, “Right. I love Jacqs’s mother. I’ve never met Kev’s, though.”

  “That’s because she lives in Connecticut with his dad, who’s also great.”

  “Ahhh. That makes a lot of sense to me. Kev is great and very loving. You’re very lucky, Cat.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s what everyone tells me.”

  I shook my head at her and rested my cheek back on my arms.

  Once Cat completed the final touches, she cleansed the tattoo. She led me to a large mirror and had me turn my back to it, handing me a smaller one to look into. “What do you think?”

  “Holy moly! That’s ... that’s way more than I thought it would be. I don’t mean in size, but wow! How did you get so much dimension in it? Oh, and I love the iridescent blue. It looks 3D. How did you do that?”

  “She’s the best,” Tate commented, startling me. “I won’t let anyone else work on me.” He had invaded our space yet again.

  “I’m going to apply ointment and cover it,” Cat said as I handed her back the small mirror. “You need to wash it with antibacterial soap, which I will give to you, and use A+D Ointment twice a day for three days. Then I recommend coconut oil, but whatever kind of lotion you have will work. Once you get home, take off the bandage. Try to keep it uncovered as much as possible.”

  “I have to work tonight,” I said, leaving my sports bra strap down and pulling my T-shirt over my head.

  “Either go without a bra on—”

  “That’s not possible,” I interjected.

  “Then use a strapless one.”

  “I’ll figure something out. You’re incredible, Cat.” I hugged her tightly. “I just love it.”

  She smiled to me and then said, “Tate, I’ll go check her out and be right back. I’d like to see how your back healed first before we continue onto your thigh.”

  He peeled off his shirt and watched me over his shoulder. He seemed to want me to see, and I don’t think he was showing off Cat’s work either.

  I think he wanted me to see him. “Holy Toledo!” I exclaimed.

  A flying golden eagle, on the diagonal, spread from his right shoulder down across his coppery, wide back to his left hip where his jeans cut off the rest of the design. I could imagine that the bird’s left wing crossed the top of his butt cheek and covered the side of his left thigh. It was an amazing work of art.

  Another tattoo covered his left deltoid. Cat had tattooed it in such a way that it looked like a colored drawing. The bust of a Native American woman with a feather headdress and long braids abutted a Viking facing in the other direction with a metal helmet, face guard, and a long, full beard.

  I forced myself to walk away and dragged Cat with me. “Damn, Cat. I had no idea how talented you are. That’s some amazing art.”

  “It’s what I love.”

  “Thank you is the appropriate response. I thought I was the one who had issues with compliments.”

  “I’ve never gotten used to receiving them. A foreign concept in my house growing up.”

  I touched her arm and said, “I understand.”

  She stepped behind the counter and put the cleanser, instructions, and some of her business cards in a bag.

  “So what’s the damage?�
�� I asked. When I paid for the tattoo, I added a healthy tip and turned over the slip so she wouldn’t see it until after I left. Waving, I took the bag and walked out of the shop without looking back.

  ♥♥♥♥♥

  Once inside my apartment, I pulled off the cloth tape surrounding the saran wrap Cat had laid over the tattoo. I removed my sports bra and other clothes and collapsed on my bed with my cell phone in hand, careful not to lie on my right side. I texted Bond.

  Me: I’m home and about to take a nap. The tat is incredible and can’t wait for you to see it.

  I figured he was still sleeping and after setting my alarm, I fell out, too.

  As soon as I awoke, I felt the throb on my shoulder. I downed two over-the-counter pain meds and showered. I couldn’t let the flow of the water hit my back, so I had to lean forward to rinse my hair. After drying off, I read some of my positive affirmations as I applied blue eyeliner. When I believe in myself, so do others. I attract only healthy relationships. Happiness is my choice. I didn’t know if it helped, but my women’s group counselor seemed to think so.

  In my drawer full of bras, I found one that allowed the straps to crisscross in the back. It didn’t pull me in tight enough or offer the support I preferred, however, it would have to do.

  As always, I dressed in jeans and a black Tap 42 T-shirt for my bartending job. Fortunately, they let me choose the work shirt I liked best. Most of the women working in Tap 42 favored the shirt with a plunging neckline. Instead, I wore the women’s less revealing shirt or the men’s short-sleeved button-up. I went with the baggier of the two so it wouldn’t press against my sore shoulder.

  I much preferred bartending to waiting tables, but unless I wanted to show off my assets at other types of establishments, I had to work my way up to full-time at Tap 42. Gratefully, I had two night shifts a week, which allowed me to work less at The Chart House.

  The bar/restaurant had a long, wide bar down the main space. Wood strips of various colors and lengths covered the far wall. It gave the surface an interesting look and texture. The forty-two beers, each with its own tap, hung centered on the back wall of the bar. The busy Saturday nights left no place for dwelling on life issues. However, I started my shift at five o’clock while the place sat mostly empty.

  Rick, my Saturday evening regular, sat at the far end stool. I had heard he’d been recently divorced. The forty-something man didn’t speak much and never hit on me, making him one of my favorite customers.

  After stocking the bar for the busy night to come and checking all the taps, I proceeded to wipe down the expansive, shiny brown countertop. A charged jolt stopped me, and I bucked my head around, trying to locate the cause. Rick still sat at the end of the bar, and the couple at the two-top table ate as if nothing torrid had taken place. I pushed the sensation aside, grabbed the big plastic container, and headed to the back to fill it with ice.

  As I hauled the heavy bin back toward the mixing station, I saw the cause of my excitation: Tate along with Cat. I lowered the ice, glared at Cat, and texted her.

  Me: What the fuck!

  Catherine: Be nice!

  I wanted to smack her for playing matchmaker when I told her I wasn’t interested. Lifting the plastic bin again, I walked forward and set it on the edge of the sink. Keeping my head down, I dumped the ice into the receptacle near the hard liquor. “Get it over with,” I whispered to myself. I approached and tossed a coaster in front of them both. “What’ll it be?”

  “One of the IPAs on draft,” Tate said, leaning on the bar instead of taking a seat on one of the white, backless stools. Maybe his ass hurt from the tattoo, and I can’t say I was feeling sorry for him.

  “You?” I asked Cat.

  “Just water. I need to get back to the shop.”

  After retrieving a frosted mug from the cooler, I poured the beer into the glass, giving it the perfect foam head. Placing the water and beer down on the coasters, I said, “So was it the boobs or the small waist?”

  His eyes blinked a few times, but otherwise his sour expression didn’t change. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, never mind. I’m sure you’re a great guy, but you aren’t even slightly my type.”

  “Blue, cut it out!”

  Repeating Cat’s cadence, I said, “Cat, stop meddling!”

  Tate slowly lowered his beer to the counter. “How can you decide that without talking to a person or getting to know anything about them? Isn’t that like me judging you solely on your...” He waved his hand up and down, his eyes following the movement and finished, “...your assets?”

  “Well I... Yes, I guess it is exactly like that. Men your size ... they intimidate me, and I’ve had a few rather unpleasant—I’ll be right back.” I hurried away to ostensibly help Rick at the other end of the bar.

  Tate’s stare scorched my back and elicited a desire I couldn’t contend with. Not that I thought he was slightly interested in me, if the permanent scowl on his face meant anything. I prided myself on learning from my mistakes. No big, angry men with swagger, and he had both in abundance. Plus, his ability to stir me when not in my immediate proximity set off all my alarms.

  I made Rick another dry martini and swapped out his old drink for the new. Silently, I prayed for the bar to fill up and fast.

  With my eyes downcast, I walked back to Tate, who had finished his beer, Cat nowhere in sight. “Another?”

  “Sure. Cat took off,” he said, his white teeth flashing for a millisecond before his jaw clinched again.

  Do I cause him pain? Maybe his ass is burning.

  “Cat seems to think we could be friends.”

  I tilted my eyes up, trying to make sense of the man in front of me. “Does she often push you on people?”

  “Nah, this is a first.”

  I saw the very first hint of a smile that quickly vanished. “I’m not open for anything more than that,” I said, but immediately wished I had kept my mouth shut.

  “Neither am I.”

  “Oh?” I was completely offended. Now I was the one with the scowl on my face. “You can do just friends?”

  “Yes, Blue, I’m quite capable of that.” His deep brown eyes unnerved me as if they could penetrate my self-protection while he gave nothing of himself away. And yet, his gaze permeated me and filled me in a way no one ever had.

  My pussy sure as hell liked him as it pulsed in response to his stare. “Only my friends call me Blue.” I didn’t like how he said my name at all. It carried way too much familiarity or something I couldn’t quite place.

  With a serious expression he said, “Okay, Judy.”

  “Why?” I took the rag from the sink and used it to wipe the bar between us.

  He stopped my hand, and held it in place under his. “Why did I let her drag me here? Or why should we be friends?”

  “Either ... both,” I said, looking away. My heart raced at his touch and caused my face to blush. Wetness gathered between my thighs and when I glanced up at him, I knew he could tell. I crossed my free arm across my errant nipples.

  His expression remained unchanged. “You know why.” He lifted his hand off mine.

  Only I didn’t, but I remained silent. Maybe he could feel me, like I felt him. But if that were the case, he sure hid it well. “And if I say no?” I threw the rag down in the sink underneath.

  He shrugged and shook his head as if it mattered not a bit to him either way.

  “Well if it matters so little to you,” I flung at him, waving him off. I rang up his two beers and placed the receipt down in front of him.

  “That’s not what I said. You’re tough.”

  “Life has a way of doing that.” So many thoughts raced through my mind: my brother’s friend, my father’s client, my mother’s boyfriends, my floor mate in college and others. Too many fucked up scenarios to process.

  As if Tate could read my thoughts, his voice filled with compassion. “Yes, it does.”

  “So...” I said, waiting for him to pay and leave. />
  “We could go out with Cat and Kevin.” He took his wallet out of his back pocket and left it on the bar, unopened.

  “Sounds too much like a double date.” I watched a server I didn’t know leave a check for the couple across the way.

  “We can hang out in a group?”

  I looked back toward him. “I don’t know anything about you, Tate. How about we start there?” My phone vibrated and I said, “I’ll be right back.” I pushed through the swinging kitchen door, pulled out my cellphone, and saw messages from Cat and Bond.

  Bond: Let’s shoot for Monday night. Can’t wait to see it and you. ;)

  Catherine: Give him a shot. You won’t regret it.

  To Bond I typed:

  Me: Perfect. I’m off Monday.

  And to Cat I texted:

  Me: I already do.

  Back out front, before I could say anything, Tate started, “I’m forty-three, I teach English and writing classes at FAU, and I’m healthy.”

  I scanned him up and down, taking in his shoulder-length, shiny, rich brown hair and imagined the tattoos that lay underneath his tight red T-shirt and relaxed-fit, black jeans. I scrunched my nose and upper lip. “A college professor? Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.” His expression remained neutral, but I got the feeling he was impressed with himself, or maybe he just liked surprising me.

  “Well ... you look more like a Rough Rider than a teacher. Do you like it?”

  “I love my work and I used to be a biker, but I don’t think you mean the Rough Riders who were the first United States volunteer cavalry.”

  I burst out laughing over my faux pas. “Holy moly,” I mumbled and laughed some more.

  He seemed to be struggling not to laugh with me. He continued, “Outlaws, Warlocks, or another motorcycle gang is probably what you were going for. I was part of a group of bikers, but we had no crest or creed other than drinking too much and fighting too often.”

  “Were they all Native Americans?”

  “No, but we were all young and dumb shits at the time.”