Draw Me In

by Regina Cole

Several seconds passed before I realized what I was seeing. All the blood left my cheeks and I slammed the door shut, a hand clapped over my mouth.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered, the image playing over and over in my brain. “Holy shit, holy shit.”

  Tasha had said that Frankie was a piercer as well as a tattoo artist. What I hadn’t known was that he pierced himself. A very personal bit of piercing care was going on in that room, and I’d just inadvertently witnessed it. Much more of Frankie than I’d ever wanted to see was currently on display in there.

  “Hey, kid, you okay?” Roger seemed to be hiding laughter behind a hand as he stood outside his studio, next door to Frankie’s. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Much worse than that,” I mumbled, sure that my nuclear-pink cheeks were flashing like Vegas neon signs. “Listen, Roger, can you see if you can help that guy up front? He wants to see Frankie, but Frankie’s kind of . . . tied up at the moment.”

  “Sure,” Roger said, slinging an arm over my shoulder in a brotherly, comforting way. “Let’s see what we can do.”

  As it turned out, the tall guy really just needed to check with Frankie on how his latest piercing was healing. Since Roger had done a fair bit of piercing in his time, he was able to handle the issue. I hid in the break room like a big fat coward while the exchange was going on, emerging only when Roger escorted the customer into his studio to check out the problem.

  I slunk behind the counter and sank into my seat with an embarrassed groan. Good God, that had been more than awkward. It was awful. How could I look at Frankie again after that?

  I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, because four women fell through the door, laughing and talking loudly. Their shrill voices completely drowned out the electronic beep alerting their entrance.

  “Here we go again,” I mumbled to myself. “Hi, ladies, what can I help you with?”

  “We want to get tattoos,” the redhead cooed. “All of us, the same one.”

  “Sure,” I said, grabbing some consent forms and clipboards to cover my nerves. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We all want the Japanese symbol for ‘sexy,’” the shortest one said. “Here.” She thrust a crumpled piece of paper across the counter at me.

  I spread it out and took a look. “Okay, that sounds fine. Let me just double-check the meaning of it really quick for you.”

  “What do you mean, double-check? That’s what it means, and that’s what we want.” The girl’s glare cut right through me. “Are you saying we’re stupid?”

  “No, not at all.” I shifted my weight nervously, not having expected such a bitchy response. On one hand, Tasha had said to make the customers comfortable, be sure they felt welcome at Sinful Skin. On the other hand, she’d said that it was really easy to mistake the meaning of words in other languages, especially Asian characters. They could be tricky. “Always double-check,” she’d admonished me the day before. “I don’t care if they say it’s their native language. Double-check. Period.”

  “Let me get an artist out here, and he can go over what you want,” I finally said, admitting defeat. I’d have to pull in reinforcements to make sure these girls weren’t tattooing “Sweet and Sour Pork” on their asses. Even though the mental image made me laugh, it wouldn’t do Sinful Skin’s reputation any good.

  I picked up the phone with nervous fingers. “Hey, Neill, I’ve got some customers out here. Can you come give me a hand?”

  Neill

  I’d been going over that sketch again, correcting a line there, adding depth to the shading here. I’d been staring at Hailey’s face for twenty minutes solid, so when her voice came through the intercom, I jumped like I’d been shocked with a frayed power cord.

  “Sure,” I said, slamming the book shut, even though she wasn’t in the room. “Be there in a second.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I shoved the sketchbook deep into a drawer. Giving my hair a quick run-through, I straightened and headed out to the counter to lend Hailey a hand. As I crossed the lobby floor, a group of scantily dressed women smiled and laughed in my direction.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” I said with a broad smile, turning on the charm for the female customers. “What can we do for you today?”

  “We’ve got this Japanese symbol we all want put on our hips.” A redheaded siren stepped forward, almost teetering on her overly high heels.

  “That’s nice.” I turned the paper in my hands, keeping a straight face. “We can make this look really good for you ladies. Now, I’ve got a couple other artists here. We can have two of you being tattooed at once, if that’s cool.”

  They glanced at one another in that secretive way women had. I could swear they were communicating telepathically when they did that. It was almost creepy.

  “No, we all want the same artist,” the redhead said with a sexy smile. “Can you do us all?” Her girlfriends giggled and chimed in with “Yes, do us!”

  I was only a guy. For a brief second, my brain went there. But I shook it off quickly—at least, I hoped it was quickly. Way too much risk, not enough reward. And then I glanced over at the counter. Hailey.

  Her brows were drawn slightly, the corners of her full lips downturned. She was looking into her lap at her clasped hands, picking at her cuticles. Was she jealous? She shouldn’t be. The idea pleased me just a little bit.

  “Sorry, ladies, but I’ve got an appointment arriving in half an hour. Let me introduce you to Roger. He’ll be happy to take care of all you guys.”

  I sauntered past the ladies and moved behind the counter, which put me only inches from a seated Hailey. Much more aware of my new receptionist than the four women who’d practically thrown themselves at me, I punched Roger’s extension. “Hey, Rog, come up here. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “On my way,” Roger called. A brief second later, he and an extremely tall dude exited the studio. “Just remember, man, keep it clean. Twice a day with that antimicrobial soap, and sea-salt soaks every other day. Just call if you have any questions.”

  “Thanks, man,” the guy said, pounding Roger’s fist before exiting.

  I glanced over at Hailey, who’d released a heavy breath when the door swung shut behind the guy. Making a mental note to be sure she hadn’t been upset by the client, I turned to watch the show.

  “Hello, ladies.” Roger turned his lethal smile on the four women. He rubbed at his flat belly, the hem of his shirt accidentally getting caught by his pinky and raising enough to let them glimpse his abs. “I hear you need some ink?”

  “Hey, Neill.” Hailey tapped me on the arm. “I didn’t get a chance to check that kanji. Don’t we need to do that?”

  I nodded, gratified by her quick thinking. I turned my attention to the redhead. “Hey, what was your name again?”

  “Mel,” she replied with a smile, leaving her friends to coo over Roger.

  “Mel, let me see your image really quick.”

  She pulled it from her too-tight jeans pocket, and I pretended not to see Hailey’s eye roll at the dramatic production. Bending to Hailey’s computer screen, I pulled up the favorites bar. “I don’t know if Tasha got a chance to show you this, but here’s how we check for correct foreign characters. You type in the meaning here, and it’ll bring up the corresponding images. Or, if you have the kanji, you can put in the lines on this graph and it’ll load the meaning.” I demonstrated by copying the marks on the paper that Mel had given me. When I clicked the word “go,” a set of words popped up that had Hailey covering her mouth to keep from laughing, and me biting my tongue. Keep it professional, man.

  “Is something wrong?” Mel’s short friend peered over the counter, while the rest of her girlfriends flirted with Roger.

  “No, not really,” I said, trying like hell to keep the laughter out of my voice. “I’m just going to do a little adjustment to your symbol here. Make it prettier for you guys. By the way, where’d you get this kanji?”

  “Oh, Mel’s old neighbor is
Japanese. He drew it for us, which was really nice, since they haven’t gotten along very well in the past.”

  I nodded sagely. “That explains it.”

  Thanks to Hailey’s well-timed interjection, instead of the “drunk whore” tattoo that they’d brought in, Roger would be putting the requested “sexy” mark on each hip.

  As Roger disappeared into his studio with the four gorgeous girls draped over him and the correct symbol in his hands, I turned to Hailey. “I’m sorry. I should have stayed out here with you for the first customers.”

  Hailey shook her head, sending her long chocolate-dark hair swinging. “No, it’s fine. You’ve got stuff to do.”

  I crossed my arms, settling back against the desk. “So nothing happened with that big dude first thing?”

  Hailey went pale as snow. “Did Frankie say something?”

  “Frankie?” I shook my head. “No, why?”

  Hailey’s blush would have been endearing if it didn’t worry me so much. “Just a little misunderstanding. I need to apologize to him.”

  My hand fell atop the counter. “Go ahead. I’ll cover the front.”

  “No way. I’m not going in there until I know he’s not, uh, busy.” Hailey turned her back and started rummaging in the bag she kept stowed under the desk. “It’s not a big deal.”

  I sat silent, watching as she fumbled in the bag and pulled out a small unmarked bottle. My stomach tensed involuntarily, and I gripped my arms as I watched her tap out two little white pills. My knuckles went white, and it was a fight to keep my voice level. “Whatcha got there?”

  She glanced up at me, confusion plain in her gaze. “Tylenol. I’m getting a headache. Did you need some?”

  I shook my head, doing my damnedest to keep the worry and anger shoved deep down.

  She popped the pills into her mouth, tilting her head back as she swallowed. I stared as she did it, unable to look away. Just Tylenol, my mind replayed her words, trying to get my damn guts to unknot. Just a little painkiller, totally innocent.

  “Ugh, they’re sticking in my throat,” Hailey rasped. “I’m going to grab a water really quick. Mind watching the desk?”

  I shook my head, then watched as she disappeared around the corner. Once she was gone, I moved like a shot.

  Yanking her bag from its hiding place, I rifled through it like a pickpocket, my hand closing on the small bottle almost instantly. Jerking it free of the bag, I popped the top off, nearly cracking the plastic in my frantic haste. I dumped the bottle’s entire contents into my shaking palm.

  The white cylindrical pills lay there innocently, about half of them turned right side up, with reddish-pink letters declaring that she’d told me the truth. “Tylenol.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the iron grip around my lungs would let go. It was fine. Everything was fine. My hand shook harder as I replaced the pills and closed the bottle. Carefully, almost reverently, I replaced Hailey’s bag in its hiding space. Gripping the counter as I sank back against it, I concentrated on slowing and evening my rough, ragged breaths.

  She was just my employee, but that didn’t matter. She was a nice girl, a beautiful girl, and even the barest thought that she’d have drugs had driven me half insane.

  Gretchen used to say that: “It’s just Tylenol, babe.” She’d laugh. “Just ibuprofen. I’ve got cramps.” And then an hour after, she’d be out of her fucking mind on Oxy, or Ecstasy, or whatever the hell. And later, she didn’t even try to hide it. She didn’t give a fuck about herself, or me, or anything. Except the drugs.

  I should apologize to Hailey for going through her things.

  I should apologize for going mental.

  I should apologize for it all, but I wouldn’t. Apologies required explanations, and Gretchen was something I didn’t talk to anyone about.

  Ever.

  Chapter Six

  Hailey

  I stayed in the break room longer than it took to get a bottle of water and clear the stuck pills from my throat. I arranged the coffeepot filters into a neat stack on their little shelf above the sink, more to kill time than anything else. I didn’t know what to say to Neill. I felt I should apologize about the first two groups of customers. The guy for obvious reasons, and the girls because I hadn’t known how to handle them. When Tasha had been here, she’d been cool, knowledgeable, and professional. She’d had no problems telling customers when they were wrong, but she made them feel good while she was doing it.

  After the filters were evenly spaced between an industrial-sized can of coffee and a roll of paper towels, I took another gulp of water. I had tried Tasha’s approach with the girls, and I couldn’t do it. But if I didn’t find a backbone, and soon, I’d have bigger problems than four girls with “drunk whore” on their ass.

  Footsteps neared the break room door, and I grabbed my bottle, ready to bolt. When Frankie appeared in the doorway, I wished I’d made my escape about thirty seconds earlier.

  “Hey, Frankie,” I said lamely, wishing I could melt into the floor. “I’m so sorry about earlier.”

  Frankie didn’t bother acknowledging my apology. “Can you get me my appointment schedule for next week? I’ve got a friend who needs some touch-up.”

  “Sure,” I said, and left the break room. Well, he was definitely being unexpectedly extra-cool about everything. When I got back to my desk, Neill was still there, chatting with a young couple who had matching septum rings.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I squeezed behind Neill to get to the appointment book. I didn’t mean to, but my breasts brushed his back, and a shiver went through me. Damn this tiny front desk, but also, thank heaven for it.

  I grabbed the book and faced the tiny space again. “Sorry again,” I said softly as I stepped behind Neill. He leaned backward just a bit, deepening our touch. My hand brushed his lean hip, and I breathed in deeply as I passed. God, he smelled good. Felt good, too.

  He’s your boss, idiot. Stay away from him.

  My mental voice went totally ignored as I returned to the break room and handed Frankie the appointment calendar.

  He spread it out on the table and bent over it, concentrating for a few seconds before passing it back. “I’ll do him on Thursday at three. Can you put that down for me?”

  I glanced down at the date. “Sure. What’s the name?”

  “Albert. First name, Prince.”

  I looked at him for a second. A heartbeat, maybe two. But then his smile cracked, and every drop of blood in my body rushed to my face and neck. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could sink through the floor. The measure of relief I felt that Frankie wasn’t mad was completely overshadowed by my total humiliation. Dammit, I hadn’t wanted to see his junk, it had just happened.

  Frankie collapsed on the table into piles of laughter. “Lord, kid, you should see your face right now!”

  “Fair enough,” I said as I grabbed the schedule book and rushed from the room. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I settled for running.

  Luck was with me for the first time that day when I rounded the corner to the front desk and realized that Neill wasn’t there to witness the results of my humiliation. There was a little sticky note on the monitor: “In my studio with a client, but buzz if you need me. —N.”

  And just like that, my shame kind of flew into the background of my thoughts. Still there to torture me later, but for now? I smiled at the note, and without really thinking it through, I grabbed it and put it in my pocket. He had such nice handwriting.

  I didn’t have a long time to moon over the note, because at that point customers started to trickle in. I chatted, smiled, and tried to handle cranky assholes, but when things got complicated, I was forced to pick up the phone and dial Neill’s extension.

  “Hey.” His warm, deep voice melted my insides. “You okay?”

  “They’re standing about four deep out here. Mind lending me a hand?”

  “Two seconds.”

  I hung up the phone and smiled at the cus
tomer. “Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?”

  After a brief conversation, I handed over portfolios for the customer to look through while Neill greeted the people who’d been waiting for me to finish taking a payment that the credit card machine refused to process. My smile was feeling brittle, my nerves frayed. After Neill got the customers settled with artists, appointments, or the piercer, he came to my side and squeezed my tense shoulder. I wanted to relax against his warm grip, but I was afraid if I did, I’d break.

  “Hey, you okay?” His voice was calm, concerned.

  “Sure!” My response was too bright to be genuine, and I knew it. Hopefully, Neill wouldn’t see through my bullshit. Not right now, with clients only feet away from us.

  He looked down at me with a twist to his lips that indicated he wasn’t buying it.

  “Seriously, I’m fine. I need to make a copy of these consent forms, though, so can you keep an eye on the desk?”

  “No problem,” Neill said. “After you do that, go take ten minutes. Step outside, get some fresh air. You’ve been through the wringer so far today.”

  I didn’t argue. A few minutes at the copier later, I’d breezed through the lobby and stepped out the back door. The quiet of a Sunday-afternoon downtown was soothing, and once the silence surrounded me, I realized how tense I’d become.

  The little parking lot was, thankfully, pretty secluded. With enough room for about eight vehicles and only one exit, it was an insulated patch of nothing but gravel and the concrete blocks surrounding it. I sank onto a parking bumper, tucking my knees beneath my chin. A breeze tickled my face as I rubbed the sweaty water bottle between my hands, my brain running too fast to keep up. What had I been thinking? This was way more than I could handle.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Dr. Fields may have been right. Could I handle this job, at this pace, while studying for exams? What about when I had a project due? Weekends were when I got the most drawing and painting done for class projects, not to mention my personal artwork. That time would be completely sacrificed if I kept this job.