“Brrrr!” The water had gone completely cold and I had a chill that was only remotely connected to the temperature. I got out and dried off, cursing when I realized I’d forgotten to shave my legs. I threw on a robe and stepped out of my cozy bathroom. My flat wasn’t much, there was one wall separating my teeny bedroom from the tiny living room. You entered in the kitchen, the bathroom was off to the right and you had to walk through the dining area to get to the bedroom. My apartment and Mackenzie’s mirrored each other. They were old but had character, and we had worked for a solid six months trying to make them livable. I owed her a lot. She’d kept me sane when I doubted we could pull off the shop.
The blues music was gone and in its place I could hear the thump of hip-hop so I quickly shut the window. On a whim, I walked over to my computer and Googled Maggie’s Bones. Their website had a decent design, lots of skulls, which I dug. They had an audio feature so I hit play and was immediately bombarded with screeching guitars. I adjusted the volume and then let it play. I was just doing research, not stalking. This is what I told myself. I grabbed some black nail polish and decided I’d redo my nails and toes. The first song ended and a second one started up, this one with a definite classical influence.
Why do I care? Why do I let it hurt me?
Your words, like glass, slice me to the bone.
I’m helpless, you’re there in all your glory
Me here cut to pieces, it’s all I’ve ever known.
Whoa. Whoever was the lyricist obviously knew a little about pain.
Why do you keep me? Why do I stay?
Your kisses, like acid, burn me to the core
I’m helpless, you’re there in all your glory
Me here burned to ashes, it’s all to settle scores.
I figured it wouldn’t hurt to read a little about them while my nails dried, just doing my research.
The bio section just said they were family and friends that had been playing together since high school. They came to LA to hit the big time and were discovered by a major label. They stated their influences as Metalcore, classic heavy metal, and Cajun and blues artists from New Orleans. Nice. Then I skimmed over some of their song titles... ‘Mystikal Stick?’ ‘Sin on my Face?’ ‘Loving a Stranger?’ Those certainly sounded more Spinal Tap than Cajun and blues. What the hell sort of music was this?
Their cover photo was a close-up of Marcus, smiling wickedly with his hands outstretched. The other four were behind him, Star and Jade stood back to back with smirks on their faces, Mage was looking up and D (the D apparently was for Devon, according to the site) stood off to the side looking down and to the right like he didn’t want to be there. Their most recent album, put out in December, was called Burns Like Ice. O-kay. Not the most uplifting stuff I’d seen, but then this was the new age of Metal. To be fair, the ‘90’s grunge movement had certainly influenced this pessimism.
Another song started up and it was mellower than the first. They weren’t bad, actually. No Sabbath or Metallica, but better than a lot of the more current Metal bands Mackenzie tried to get me to listen to. Marcus had a nice, clear, melodic voice, when he wasn’t growling or screaming. They were good. Especially the guitar solos.
I smacked my forehead. This wasn’t about Devon! It was about doing a job and getting paid handsomely for it. From what the contract said I was supposed to help these guys deal with their loss, something to do with Margaret Boudreaux, and hopefully create some meaningful artwork for them. Definitely this was a request within the scope of my expertise. But why was I feeling apprehensive? Maybe it was the whole “embedded” and “property” and “need-to-know status” that had me feeling a little creeped out.
I left the music playing, did a half-assed job cleaning up my flat, and collapsed on my bed with the weight of my thoughts pulling me under into a deep sleep.
Chapter Two
A loud sound woke me with a start the next morning and I practically fell out of bed trying to remember where the hell I’d left my phone the night before. It was always on my nightstand when I went to bed. Apparently in my stupor, I’d gone to bed without it. I scrambled into the bathroom and found it, still chiming away in my pants pocket.
I was too late to answer and I didn’t recognize the number. A few seconds later, the phone buzzed again to let me know I had a voice mail.
“Good morning, Miss Charles. This is Sherry Jordan, I represent Maggie’s Bones. I wanted to discuss the contract you received yesterday and see if you had any questions for me. The band would like your answer by this evening if possible. Call me, let’s talk. I’ll be available off and on this morning. Bye now.”
Hmm. Professional but friendly. I took a moment to collect myself and looked at the time. Ugh, 9:00. I needed to open the shop at 10, work until 5:00 and then meet up with Shannon and Grandma at their hotel.
I hit redial and the phone rang twice before she answered. “This is Sherry.”
“Hi. Sherry, this is Jaylene Charles. The tattoo artist?”
“Great! Hello Miss Charles. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there in person yesterday to meet with you. I had to fly back to L.A. to handle some business with the band’s label. I thought maybe woman-to-woman we could discuss the arrangement. I’ll admit that as much as I love those guys, they aren’t always the best at dealing with folks.”
I liked her already. She talked about the band as if they were her bratty little brothers. “They were fine. They had a great negotiator with them.”
She laughed heartily. “Do you mean Mr. Doucette? Jeez, he’s worse than they are, but I understand you are friends with him so you must know what I’m talking about.”
It was my turn to laugh. “He’s a force to reckon with, that’s for sure. And they seem to know their place with him.”
“Absolutely. So did you have a chance to read over the contract?” I admitted I had and she was quiet for a moment, her tone growing more serious.” And did you have any questions about it?”
I didn’t know where to start. “I’m assuming the band wants their privacy and that explains the no-visitors or talking to the press part. I have no problem with that. I certainly respect the confidentiality of my clients. I guess I don’t see why I need to stay with them? It’s only a few blocks from my place.”
“Part of the privacy is keeping their comings and goings private, including those who work with them. If folks knew they had a tattoo artist coming and going, the tabloids would be all over that. Not to mention they keep odd hours and want you to be available whenever they are ready. This is a personal thing for them. They are trying to get past an extended period of writer’s block by coming to New Orleans, coming back home, and Marcus came up with the idea of the memorial as a way to maybe get them past it.”
“A memorial for Margaret Boudreaux,” I stated and she confirmed.
“Yes. I’m not at liberty to discuss her with you. The guys want to tell you the story themselves. Can you work around that?”
“Sure. I guess so. This is just not something I’ve ever done. I’m also concerned about my clients. I’m not sure what to do with my full schedule. I’d need some time to work that out, perhaps, be allowed to leave for some time?”
“I’m afraid that won’t work, there’s already quite a crowd hanging out front of St. Germaine trying to get an idea of who is coming and going. As it is we’ve got to come up with a plan to get you over there undetected.”
I choked out a laugh. “This is beginning to sound like some cloak and dagger operation. Are you sure they are just a rock band and not super spies?” I bit my tongue, what the hell was I doing, cracking jokes about this with her? Luckily for me, she laughed.
“You’ll soon see just how ‘covert’ our operations have to be sometimes. The only way they could come over yesterday to see you was because Mr. Doucette arranged the car for them, something he borrowed from a member of his club.”
That’s where I’d seen that damn Hummer before.
“Rudy’s! Of course! Ru
dy has been in here a lot lately, trying to decide what to get for his next tattoo. He’s a little sweet on my co-worker too, but I think she finally told him they wouldn’t be dating. He left quite defeated.” Sherry laughed at that.
“Men, they are forever little boys. Listen, I’ve got a meeting in about five minutes, is there anything else I can answer for you? Anything I can say to persuade you? They’ve got a lot riding on this, Miss Charles. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking this of you.”
“I understand. Thanks for your time, Miss Jordan.”
She stopped me, “Sherry, please. And you are very welcome. I’d do whatever it takes to keep my boys happy, short of kidnapping you.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about the kidnapping remark, hopefully that was off the table.
“It’s a very generous offer, Sherry. Let me look at my schedule down in the shop today and I’ll let you know my decision.”
She thanked me, let me know again how much this would mean to the band and to all involved, and we said goodbye.
Wow, no pressure there. Yikes. I am not a miracle worker. I’m an artist, a tattoo artist. Sure, I’ve got a background in counseling, but if these guys were dealing with some heavy shit, why not go to a therapist? Metallica did it!
When I got downstairs Mackenzie had on the same album I had listened to last night by Maggie’s Bones. I shook my head. Definitely no pressure.
“What do you think you are doing, turncoat?” She turned, startled, and held a hand to her chest.
“Moi? Turncoat? Surely you jest! I have only your best interests at heart, Jay. And how much more interesting can this job opportunity be!!!”
I hesitated at what to tell her, but I figured I’d need to explain my whereabouts.
“Mackenzie, they want me to stay with them, 24-7, for 17 days. That means no Jaylene at the shop! How can you be encouraging me to do this?”
She gave me an evil laugh and pointed a long silver nail at me.
“Because, sweetie, you’ll be with THEM and they are HOT and it will ROCK!”
She was so not seeing the big picture.
“Do I have to remind you that we have customers? Ones who rely on me to be here? That pay us so we can keep up our little love nest?”
She just shook her head, grabbed me by the upper arms and plopped me down on the stool at the counter.
“Jaylene, for the love of all that’s holy, you need to relax. It’s only a couple of weeks! Think of it as summer camp, with really good scenery!”
I groaned louder and she tried to assuage me by giving me a shoulder rub. In another life she’d been a massage therapist, and a really good one.
“And I really can handle things,” she was saying. “I already called Troy Lewis up in Baton Rouge and he said he’d come down with his apprentice and cover for you.”
I jerked around, almost getting gored by a gigantic flower ring on her left hand.
“You called TROY??? Damn, Mackenzie! You could have talked to me about that first!”
Troy Lewis had sold the shop to us a year ago. He said he was tired of the tourists and wanted to move on and travel for a while. He’d offered his services if we ever got slammed or wanted a little variety. He was a solid artist, good with Traditional, well versed in Japanese style. He could certainly cover the walk-ins. I’d have to reschedule my regular clients, though. I had a couple of large pieces that I was working on that were coming in to be finished.
“Fine! I’ll make some calls, see if I can free myself up.” I looked up at her. She was positively vibrating with excitement. Why wasn’t I that worked up? Oh I know, because I was having some gigantic doubts! “Kenz, you sure you’re ok with this? You won’t give the shop back to Troy, will you? I want to come home to our little love nest when this is all over.”
“See, this is EXACTLY what I’m talking about. You need to be nesting with a really nestworthy cock, not me.” I smacked her ass before she was out of reach. “I’ll be fine, Jay! Honest! But if you care about me at all, you’ll save some for me?” She ran her hands over her breasts and licked her lips. I threw a pen at her and she turned to help our first walk-in of the day.
I spent the next half hour making calls and was able to reschedule all but two of my clients, both were on the second Saturday I’d be gone, and both had already bought plane tickets to come out here. Maybe I could get a day pass? I thought I’d run it by Sherry so I called her but got her answering service.
“Hi Sherry. I’m looking at my schedule and I can’t get free on the 21st. I don’t know what that does for the arrangement. Call me if you’d like to discuss. Thanks.” Unable to do anything else about it, I got to work cleaning up and setting out some new flash I’d done recently. Maggie’s Bones was still blaring. Mackenzie was obviously not going to let up, so I gave in and listened, maybe bobbing my head just a little.
You pretend not to notice
You’re breathing faster
I creep up behind you
You’re breathing faster
I whisper my intentions
You’re breathing faster
One lick, one bite, one taste of you
I’m moving faster, I’m moving faster
Don’t it make you want to scream
Don’t it get you on your knees
Don’t I make it so obscene
Don’t you want it, beg me please
Alrighty then, that’s how it is with these guys. I wonder who writes these tasty little morsels? What am I going to learn from my time with these guys? If I didn’t have Daryl’s assurance that they would behave, I’d be freaking out right now. I was freaking out, definitely. Mackenzie was right. They were an incredibly good-looking group of guys. Especially Devon. I looked down and realized I was drawing him again. I wadded it up and threw it in the trash.
Ok, mind on the task at hand, Jay. Must focus. An alarm beeped on my phone and I remembered I needed to check the flights and make sure Shannon and Grandma were on their way. I had an email from Shannon with the flight information and another one from this morning that said they were getting ready to board the plane, couldn’t wait to see me.
“Jay, Troy said that it's fine, he rescheduled some of his clients to come down here. He’ll be here on Thursday to meet you and go over the schedule.” So it was a done deal. My schedule had been cleared and a replacement brought in. No sweat.
“Thanks.” I looked down at my split ends. I looked around at the shop. “Kenz? Think you might want to give me a quick haircut, dahlin'?” My attempt at a drawl had her rolling her eyes.
“You Californians just cannot imitate our sensual way of talking.”
Mackenzie had grown up in the Garden District, gone to private schools, participated in Mardi Gras parades and the whole bit. Was a bit of a beauty queen. Then she opted out of her scholarship to Tulane and ran off to New York with a boyfriend. When he ran off on her, she enrolled in the Paul Mitchell Academy to learn the tricks of the beauty trade. She came by it naturally and decided it was her God-given duty to bring beauty to all who desired it. She accepted the fact that beauty and I were passing acquaintances and did her best to encourage but not smother me with it.
“Of course, love. But you need more than just a trim. Your color is a mess. Want me to do that, too? You want Surfer Girl or Shop Girl? I can do you however you like!”
She kept a station in the shop for the occasional makeover so I let her give me the works. She loved to do it, I loved her, and therefore it wasn’t too much of a sacrifice.
When she was finished with me, my natural blonde was back, the black erased with a little help from our friend bleach, and she’d even added some darker highlights. My brows were perfectly shaped and I didn’t have to resort to bodily harm when she tried to go lower with the wax stick. I assured her that my grooming down below was up to date.
“Oh, you natural blondes, you just don’t know how lucky you’ve got it! If I don’t wax it looks like dust bunnies are creeping out of my panties!”
> That was just too much of a gnarly visual for me. Thankfully, she was done adding a touch of makeup before I jumped out of the chair.
“Thank you for that parting note!”
I looked over in our full-length mirror. I gasped when I saw the magic she’d worked on my hair. It looked natural but still edgy. I kept it all one length, stick straight down to my waist, with just a bit of bangs. The darker highlights brought out my dark brown eyes and the natural-looking makeup added a glow to my face, a glow that had probably been missing for a while.
“Your outfit is a total drag on my makeover, though. Can I dress you, too?” She smiled sweetly. I took one look at her, her red leather hot pants with zippers, thigh high fishnets, white satin blouse...
“Thanks, really. You’ve spent too much time on me today and frankly,” I gestured to her outfit, “you seem to have a lot going on there yourself.”
She looked at me puzzled, it took her a minute to catch on sometimes, and then she threw her hairbrush at me. I ducked out of the way and scooted upstairs before she threw something harder, or got better aim.
I looked in my wardrobe and decided on plaid board shorts, a black, fitted Metallica t-shirt and my Converse. I figured I better not push my luck. Too many changes and people might get strange ideas.
Haunted Page 3