Ink Slapped

by A. M. Jones

  “Sure.” I close the curtain, letting myself be excited for all I’ve accomplished without the help of Madison Hart-Gregor.

  Two hours later, the members of Tainted District sit in Marcus Demont’s office. It’s a huge, modernized space in his home. The recording studio is in the basement where we’ve spent the last week. The art on the wall behind me catches my attention first thing. I can do nothing but stare as we wait for Marcus to come in.

  I’d know those hips and legs anywhere even though I haven’t been up close and personal. Taylor looks like some classy pinup. She’s on her knees facing the back of a Victorian couch and looking out a window. The sun shines on her face reflecting from her huge sunglasses and dark red lips, which is the only color on the image. She has on a satin ruffled thing that looks like panties with garters attached. This has to be from years ago because she has long blond hair that curls down her back. Her arms are bare of tattoos and crossed over her naked chest.

  My chest feels hollow, and I’m having a hard time breathing.

  “I’m guessing you’ve figured out our mutual friend,” Marcus says, startling me. I situate myself, and by Marcus’ smirk, he caught it. The guys realize what we’re looking at.

  Crockett eyes widen. “Holy mother of hard-ons, Batman!”

  “Dang,” Jack hisses and Milo whistles long and low.

  “I’m surprised she took a picture like that,” I mumble, a little jealous I don’t have it myself. What kind of relationship would garner the photograph and have it hanging where it can be seen every day? Pushing the thoughts away, I force myself to look forward.

  Marcus laughs. “Ah, you know Taylor well then. I persuaded her to be a subject for a photography project in college. She’d kill me if she knew I enlarged it for people to see, however.”

  “So, would her fiancé.” Or maybe husband because for all I know, they eloped to Vegas after I never contacted her back. It kills me to think about Adrian. I can only hope he appreciates her for who she is.

  Crockett sits down and fidgets. “Can we hear it?”

  Marcus’ smile grows bigger. “I think you’ll be pleased with the mastered sound.”

  As we listen to our songs, which always feels weird to hear myself singing, I sneak peeks at Taylor’s image. She’s the one who nudged me, who made me feel like we’ve got something special, who inspired me and the band to go in a different direction and write more songs. I wish she were here, sharing this experience with us. I wish I could be the one to tell her the news.

  Fingers snap in front of my face. Crockett grins wickedly at me. “What’re you smiling for?”

  “The album sounds better than I thought it would.”

  He snorts. “Right.”

  My mother’s eyes widen when she sees me. “Oh my God. John, look!” She grabs my dad, the Cat in the Hat, by the arm and points at me.

  I flash her a grin as she plays with her Hermione Granger time turner. “What do you think?” I ask, knowing I did the best I could under the circumstances. I don’t have any weapons, but I get the point across.

  “You look wonderful and just like Jaxon.” She winks and puts me to work by carrying a keg to its rightful spot in a big tub on top of dry ice. To finish it, a green light gives it a smoking cauldron effect. She hands me the tap and asks, “Where are Maddie and the boys?”

  “Maddie has some other event she needs to attend and the guys will be here in a little while. We’ll set our gear up when they get here.”

  My mom purses her lips but doesn’t say anything about Madison. She holds it back because of me, but I’ve got a good idea about how she feels. Smoothing over this rough patch will take time and work. But then she grins. “I’m so proud of you and the boys. I remember when ya’ll were nothin’ but a teenage Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band.”

  That was before Maddie. I laugh, recalling the time we were practicing—not a Skynyrd song if I remember—and she scared the shit out of us by crashing through the door. While holding a flaming lighter in the air, she screamed, “Free bird!” Being fifteen, that was an embarrassing moment at the time, but now I can look back and know she was just being supportive. “You would since you were our biggest fan.”

  “Still am,” she singsongs and goes about her way.

  I help with food and finish hanging skeletons and shrunken heads. Before I know it, the whole basement resembles a creepy dungeon. Eerie music pumping from the speakers sets the mood.

  People arrive by the time we finish. The next thing I know, I’m playing pool with Josh, a friend of the family. Unfortunately, he sucks at pool. He hits the ball, and it flies off the felt, hits the wall, and rolls under the table. I snort. “I got it.”

  I somehow maneuver my burly, thirty-two-year-old body under it as a pair of shit-kickers, thick with bright red glitter, walk by on the other side. My heart jump starts as my head hits the bottom of the table. “Shit!”

  “Ah man, you okay?” Josh asks, bending over me as I rub my head. My mom squeals and Crockett laughs.

  “Yeah.” I peek over the top of the table to see Taylor smiling at my mom, but she stands tautly, as if she’d rather be somewhere else. Crockett searches the room and when he meets my gaze, he sends me a Cheshire cat grin, which looks weird in his Scarecrow getup. I’d kill him, except my chest is about to explode, knowing she flew down here to spend time with us. “I’m going to sit out for a few, Josh. Play you later?”

  He pays me no mind. His eyes are on Taylor. Who can blame him? White stockings and garters with a blue pouffy skirt thing and a blue-and-white checked corset make up her costume. My mother fusses over her and fluffs the pouf, and I get a peek underneath it. It only serves to give my jump-started heart a jolt.

  I head to the keg to fill cups. Crockett stalks over, still grinning. “Surprise!”

  “Your costume fits, since you need a fucking brain,” I quip under my breath.

  He laughs. “I have a dick for brains. Same as you.” Casting a pointed glance at my crotch, his eyebrows rise. He sighs when I don’t bite the bait. “She has no idea this is your parents’ house.” Looking in their direction and still grinning, he continues, “And she’s about to find out.”

  If it’s possible, her body tenses even more when my mom points at me. “You’re an ass, Crockett.” I push by him.

  Taylor turns open-mouthed, her eyes full of apologies. I hand her a full cup of beer. “I guess you’ve met Taylor.”

  My mom continues to gush as I continue to stare, but I interrupt whatever she’s saying. “Taylor helped get us the spot in the studio.”

  Taylor jerks and beer splashes from her cup, but not enough for any cause of concern. Mom gasps. “You did? Oh, that’s just great. I love Eli’s new song.” Mom smiles at me before her gaze switches to Taylor.

  “Me, too.” Her words send chill bumps across my arms. She takes a few large gulps of beer without explaining her answer. She scans the room, and my mom’s brow furrows as if she notices Taylor’s curt answers. This is probably the first time Taylor’s been able to speak at all. My mom can talk someone’s ear off, and I’m sure Taylor let her. Taylor plasters a fake smile on her face. Even though her gauche expression and uneasy stance slices through me, I’ve missed it. I’ve missed her.

  I suck in a breath and touch Taylor’s arm to get her attention. “Relax.” Her eyes shine as her arm loses tension under my fingertips.

  Something flashes across mom’s features as if something dawns on her. “I have to go get my camera. I need a picture of you two,” she says and scurries off.

  Taylor sends me a shy smile. “I had no idea this was your parents’ party.”

  “It’s not a party unless you—” I can’t help but notice her unadorned finger as she tries to sip her beer instead of taking large gulps. The noisy surroundings become distant as a warm weightlessness takes over my body.

  Taylor tenses again when she meets my stare. I grin and her eyes narrow.

  “What?” The reluctance in her tone makes me grin wider
, but only for a second.

  “Did you lose your ring?” I make a show of searching for it on the basement floor.

  Taylor puffs air into her cheeks and shakes her head. Before she can say anything, my dad’s booming voice resonates the room, “Story time.”

  “Come on. Scary stories by the fire before everyone gets too drunk.” I grab her arm and steer her in the direction of the basement door, still reeling from this unexpected turn in my night. Jack seems to have trouble with his Tin Man costume. It’s made of spray-painted cardboard and cans. He shifts cumbersomely and the cans bang together.

  Taylor snorts and gulps more beer to cover it.

  He glares at her. “You think this is funny, Dorothy?”

  “I’ll trade you costumes,” she retorts, earning another glare.

  Crockett appears from nowhere, getting in Taylor’s face. “I’ll trade you costumes, Dorothy.”

  The way his arms and legs flail and considering his shortcomings in the brain area, he makes an awesome Scarecrow.

  We laugh and continue outside toward the bonfire. The flames paint garish shadows on Crockett’s wobbly form. Jack waddles the whole way, but before we reach the group of guests, Taylor stops me. “Wait.” This time she steers me to the driveway, and the cacophony of people becomes somewhat faint.

  When she opens the back of her 4Runner, the interior light blinks on, lighting her features. My eyes zero in on the small shadow of her pronounced clavicle. I swallow—dazed with how good it is to see her. She digs through a familiar duffle, producing the belt of throwing stars. “I brought this for you to wear tonight.”

  I grin at her thoughtfulness, but she doesn’t move to put it on like the photo shoot. She tries to hand it to me, but I hold my arms out of her way in challenge.

  She shakes her head with a quick smile, but she moves forward meeting my gaze while she loops the belt around my waist. Her hands shake as she fumbles with the buckle. I can’t tell if she’s nervous or uncomfortable, but I laugh, breaking the silence and placing my hands on hers. “Sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry.” She breathes deep and slaps my hands away, finishing the job.

  “Not about taking the opportunity to have your hands on me, but if I’m making you uncomfortable? Yes.” Now that the shock from her being here is wearing off, I take in the dark circles under her eyes and her more prominent cheekbones and chin from some weight-loss.

  “You’ve never made me uncomfortable, Eli.” She glances toward the fire. “The opposite.”

  I close my eyes. It’s amazing how that one little sentence makes me feel. I smile and offer my arm to her and she takes it. This time she feels more relaxed and I feel like my brain can’t comprehend how glad I am she’s here.

  By the time we make it to the bonfire, Hermione Granger comes barreling our way on a mission. I pull Taylor closer to my body. “Smile for the camera.”

  My mom seems pleased we are ready, but she glances between the two of us and strains a smile. The flash is blinding but over in a second. I break away from Taylor quickly because my mom is eyeing our every move.

  After refilling our cups with beer, we join everyone at the small fire. Jack-o'-lanterns dot the ground, casting ghostly shadows. Taylor and I share a hay bale, and by proxy, our warmth.

  “Who’s first?” My dad asks as the music cuts.

  “How about you, Taylor?” My mom smiles at Taylor with eagerness.

  Taylor’s body stiffens, so I throw in, “I’ll start.” Groans erupt. “What?”

  “We don’t want to hear about the ghost dog again,” says my younger cousin Sarah with her infamous eye roll.

  “Fine, then I’ll—”

  “Or the soldier.” Everyone laughs at my expense.

  Taylor takes a long drink from her cup. “We’ll tell one together. Improv.” She peers at me in challenge, surprising the shit out of me.

  After a long moment with my mouth hanging open, I set my cup down and clap my hands. “Let’s do it. I’ll start.” I shoot her a grin. “Once upon a time—” She cringes at my words as everyone groans and laughs. “What?”

  She leans over and whispers, “It’s a horror story. Usually, once upon a time ends with a happily ever after. No wonder they don’t want you telling it.”

  Her comment catches me off guard. Happily Ever After. Is there such a thing? Looking at Taylor now, and intertwining my situation with Madison, I don’t think so. My heart drops at the thought, but I heed her current advice. “Okay, starting over.” I clear my throat and make it deep. “On a dark and—”

  “Stormy night.” She smiles at me. Once again, everyone laughs.

  “What now?” I should have known I couldn’t tell a story with a master of storytelling.

  “That’s cliché. If you’re going to be cliché, at least do it in a clever way.” She puts her hand on my arm and smiles. “I’ll start and set the tone.”

  I wave my hand toward our audience and lean in close to her ear. Her absurd wig smells funny. “Make it clever.”

  She nods, sending me a dick-hardening smile. “I’ll show you how it’s done.” I’m sure she will. She finishes her drink. “The moon shone inside the dark room. She could barely make out the stacked furniture against the door. Death permeated the surrounding air, turning her stomach. Or maybe it was the sickness. BOOM!” We jump at the sudden volume and deepening of her voice and the use of her hands. “The sound could be mistaken as thunder. Only if it was, she thought. More banging could be heard on the other side of the door. The beating of her heart seemed in harmony with the moans, groans, and violent shakes of the furniture. Beads of sweat ran down her forehead in thick drops, or was it blood? ‘I’m going to die,’ she said.” Taylor looks at me. I know I’m out of my league here.

  But I try anyway, taking the story in a new and interesting direction. “Even though she was locked in, what good did it do her? She gripped the gun in her hand and thought about the one bullet left.” I say each word with emphasis and deep toned. I glance to Taylor and she smiles her encouragement. “Her body wracked with tremors. She held the gun so tight, her hand shook as she brought it to her temple.” I use my hand in the shape of a gun and bring it to my head. “The banging on the door became louder as her arm fell to the side. ‘Shit! I can’t even shoot myself right,’ she whispered out loud.”

  Taylor takes her cue and I notice our captivated audience. “Her breath came in viscous huffs now. I’m going to hell, she thought. Thinking about all those men. All those pretty men she ravished, drugged, and tortured as she watched the light die from their eyes. Yeah, I’m going to hell, she thought again. Did she even believe in hell? She never had before, but it was amazing the shit she’d believe when she knew she was about to die.”

  I stare at her open-mouthed. How do I follow that? “Uh,” I falter, but Taylor eyes me with patience. “She wiped the sweat from her brow, and she noticed heat coming from her skin.” My voice gets stronger when I figure out where I want to go with it. “She fought the darkness, only because she knew once she surrendered to it, she’d walk the earth searching for something to sink her teeth into. She gripped the gun tighter.” My voice was slow now, but it’s about to change. “As the door BURST open,” I roar, and someone shrieks as a few of them jump. “And threw the furniture around.”

  Taylor stands, flashing me white lace, and holds out her hands. “Then,” she meets the gazes of those near her, “she glanced at the seeping bite mark and figured out… She. Was. Already. In. Hell.”

  Silence ensues until they figure out we reached the end of our story, letting them use their imaginations for what happens next. A round of applause breaks out and Taylor does a little bow, pulling me to my feet to do one, too.

  “That was…” she wavers, sitting and staring at the fire. “You were great.” The fire or the beer could explain the warmth that fills my body, but my chest expanding at her praise tells the truth.

  Swallowing hard, I have no words to explain how I feel about telling a s
tory with Taylor. Anything that comes to mind is minuscule compared to the burst of emotion rolling through me. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” I smile so I don’t ruin it. “You want another beer?”

  Handing me her cup, she straightens her wig and grins. “Please.”

  As the night passes in a blur of beer, laughs, and live music, I feel high, elated. I believe everyone does—with our album release, the adrenaline of playing live, being with the people we love the most. Not to mention, the crisp, cool air brings a fresh ambience—as though anything is possible, like starting new is possible. Today’s been the best day I’ve had in a while.

  In the wee hours of the morning, many people are gone, but a few of us scatter around, leaning back on hay bales. Crockett lost his scarecrow hat in favor of the Dorothy wig. Jack shunned his costume altogether at some point. It takes me a while to stop ogling Taylor’s blond hair. It looks the same as in the picture in Marcus’ office, except it’s a little messy from being underneath the wig.

  “How come I didn’t get the memo of the Wizard of Oz costumes?”

  Jack scoffs. “I would’ve traded, but you’d have made an excellent Toto.”

  “Or a munchkin.” Taylor grins as Crockett breaks into an awful rendition of The Lollipop Guild. Everyone laughs, which only inspires him to jump up and dance. I slip my harmonica from my pocket, giving Crockett some high warble to sing to. I play with more enthusiasm when the shrill notes fit, surprising myself. Taylor brightens and claps with Jack and Milo following our lead.

  The laughter and music halts as my mom and dad stagger from the woods with mom giggling. Her Hermione hair is frizzy and full of leaves. My dad’s red and white cat hat wobbles on top of her head. My dad only has on his boxers. They take in our scene and our shocked faces before bursting into more laughter.

  Taylor follows suit, and I shoot her a grin. It’s awesome to see her laughing, smiling, and being relaxed with my family. “Your parents were copulating,” she whispers with a goading smile.