Bitterroot Queen

by Jove Belle

  Rampart wagged his tail and smiled at her. He wasn’t bothered in the least by their precarious living situation, but he hadn’t been threatened with pepper spray and he even made a new friend out of the whole thing.

  She checked the time on her phone. Bitter Ink opened in five minutes. “Come on, Rampart. We’ll figure this out later.”

  The neon “open” sign was already lit and the front door propped open when Olly arrived. A burley, lumberjack-type guy sat in the barber chair with his shirt off. Ava sat on a stool to his right, tattooing a baby’s face on his ribcage. Occasionally, she looked at a photo that was affixed to the man’s chest with masking tape. She wore thick-rimmed, red reading glasses and her brow was furrowed.

  Olly double-checked the time. No, she wasn’t late. She watched Ava work for a moment. The man’s face was screwed up in a grimace, but he sat perfectly still, which was impressive. She had enough tattoos, including the script on her ribs, to know how badly that area hurt. She didn’t want to interrupt, but she needed to let Ava know she had arrived.

  Rampart nudged her hand with his nose. He was ready to get back to his courtyard. Ava lifted the tattoo gun a fraction away from the man’s side and pushed her hair out of her face with her other arm. When she turned to gather more ink, Olly said, “Hey, nice work.”

  Ava raised her head, her smile already in place. “Hey, you’re here. I should have told you I was opening early. Boomer is leaving later today, so it was now or never.”

  “Not never.” Boomer grinned. “Now or four weeks from now when I come back around.”

  Ava nodded. “Right. And we couldn’t take the chance that you’d cheat on me while you’re on the road.”

  They both laughed, and Olly decided that was her cue to head to the back. “I just wanted to check in. I’ll go ahead and get to work now.”

  “Sure. I’ll come back when I’m done.”

  Olly made it three steps before Ava spoke again.

  “Oh, hey, you don’t know Boomer, do you? Boomer, this is Olly. Olly, Boomer.”

  Olly turned around. She hated the formality of introductions because they felt orchestrated and false. Still, she grasped Boomer’s outstretched hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”

  “New to Bitterroot, are ya?” Boomer had a crazy strong grip, and Olly wasn’t sure if it was normal or if she was being tested in some way. Some men did crap like that.

  Olly nodded and tried to smile.

  “Well, welcome.” He finally released her. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Thanks, I’ll watch for you, too.” Not that she would be able to miss him. Boomer was massive. She pointed to the tattoo in progress. “Really nice work.”

  “Yeah, isn’t she great?” Boomer poked Ava, and she rocked back on her stool. Olly decided his grip was natural, not a form of intimidation. He sat forward and twisted to give Olly a view of his back. “She did all of mine. No matter what she just said, she knows I won’t go to anyone else.”

  His back was covered with several traditional Japanese-style tattoos. Two koi circling each other in a classic yin-yang formation on the left shoulder. On his right, a samurai ready for combat with a field of golden bamboo behind him. And in the center, covering the majority of his back, a tiger and a dragon locked in battle. The lines were delicate and precise, the color bold and unmistakable. Ava was very, very good at her job.

  “Nice.” Work that good deserved recognition and respect. Traditional Japanese was a difficult style to master, and from what Olly could see, the portrait looked as good if not better. “Ava, what’s your specialty?”

  Ava shrugged. “I do everything, but I really like American traditional. And pinups are my favorite. I think.” She smiled. “At least it is this week. Ask me next week and I’ll probably have a different answer.”

  Olly planned to get a pinup eventually, but hadn’t found the right artist yet. Before she left Bitterroot, maybe she should spend some time in Ava’s chair. But first, she needed to finish the back room. She’d already wasted too much time if she wanted to finish early enough to search for a place to stay. Maybe the Red Barn Market would let her park in their side lot.

  Ava dipped the tip of her tattoo gun into her ink cup, a sure sign she was ready to work again. Before she engaged the foot pedal, Boomer said, “No matter what you want, I promise Ava’s the best one to do it.”

  “I believe it. I’m going to get to work. It was nice meeting you, Boomer. Thanks for letting me interrupt your session.”

  Boomer’s response faded beneath the sound of Ava’s tattoo gun sparking back to life. Olly smiled and nodded and patted her leg to let Rampart know they were moving. He stayed at her side until they reached the office area. The courtyard door was propped open. Rampart paused, looked at her, then at the courtyard. Olly patted his head and said, “Go on, then.”

  He ran outside, and she went to work in the storage room.

  She’d completed the framework, plus the majority of the flat surfaces on the work side of the storage room. Today her goal was to finish and move all the items to the right side. She was almost out of MDF, the flat boards that had been sitting beneath that tarp. If she didn’t make any mistakes, though, it would be enough to take her through this side.

  Since Ava had a customer, Olly left the radio off. Boomer looked like the kind of guy who probably liked hard, fast metal, but she didn’t want to take the chance. The construction sounds were annoying enough without her adding another layer of noise to the mêlée. She worked steadily, using the constant thrum of Ava’s tattoo gun to guide her pace. It was different without the heavy drumbeat in her ears, but she made do. By the time Ava finished the tattoo and sent Boomer on his way, Olly had completed the first set of shelving, moved all the items to the opposite side of the room, and started on the framework for the second side. She had one piece of MDF left. Not enough to finish the job, but she had plenty of two-by-three studs to finish the bones before breaking to get more materials.

  Ava popped her head in and whistled. “Looking good.”

  “Thanks. I’m actually surprised I haven’t made better progress. It took me longer than expected to move everything around.”

  It might have been better that it was taking longer than estimated since she still hadn’t discussed her rate with Ava and couldn’t quite figure out how to bring it up. Usually, she had a much easier time, but Ava’s rhythm and moods weren’t easy to pin down. There was no possible way that someone was that happy all the time. Especially not with two young children at home.

  “Valentina is supposed to be here any minute. I’m excited to show her your progress.” Ava smiled in that generous way she had that made Olly feel special to have earned it, yet equally sure there was more behind it that Ava wasn’t sharing.

  “Why?” Olly cringed at her own bluntness. “Sorry, that’s not really my business.”

  “Why, what? Why do I want to show her the shelves? Or why does she want to meet you?” Ava asked.

  Olly stood the piece of MDF she was holding on the floor, holding it near her like a surfboard. “Why does she want to meet—” Before she could finish the question, two little blonde girls—miniature versions of Ava, complete with the bright blue eyes and the casual grace—ran in and hugged Ava’s legs. The younger one wobbled as she moved but didn’t fall.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” They yelled excitedly and bounced up and down.

  Olly had spent very little time around children and was caught off guard by how much volume such tiny people produced. No wonder her music hadn’t bothered Ava.

  Ava picked them both up and swung them around with a laugh. Both girls squealed and begged for more. As she finished the second spin, a stunning Latina woman slipped her arm around Ava’s waist, kissed her cheek, and took the youngest girl into her own arms.

  “Hi, mi amor.” Valentina’s voice was as smooth and silky as her long dark hair.

  “You made it.” Ava returned the kiss to her wife’s cheek, the placement a little lower
and lingering, but with the same warm casualness. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “These two were painting pictures in daycare. I let them finish.”

  “Ah, yes, my little Kahlos.”

  “O’Keeffes,” Valentina argued.

  Olly had no idea what either of them meant, so she just smiled and debated going back to work.

  Ava laughed. “No way are my children going to paint vaginal orchids. Not if I have anything at all to do with it.”

  “And grotesque mono-brow self-portraits are somehow better?”

  “Infinitely.” Ava nodded as if to say the subject was closed and she was thankful her wife finally saw things her way. Valentina simply shook her head and smiled. Clearly, this argument was as familiar as the rest of their relationship.

  Rampart’s nails clicked against the tile floor in the back room. Apparently, he’d grown tired of resting in the sun on the patio and had come in to check out what was going on. He sat behind Ava and Valentina, who were blocking the door, and looked at Olly balefully. It was quite pathetic, and Olly signaled with her hand that he should wait where he was and not charge through their legs to get to her. He sighed and dropped to the floor, his head on his paws.

  The girls noticed Rampart and squealed. “A puppy! Look at the puppy! Let me pet the puppy, Mommy.” They both wiggled, trying to get to within petting distance of Rampart.

  Rampart lifted his ears as if assessing this new noise, but didn’t move otherwise.

  “Is it okay, Olly?” Ava asked, rather than simply plopping the girls down on top of Rampart. Olly appreciated that.

  “Sure. He loves kids.” And he did. Olly didn’t know Rampart’s history. She’d found him battered and far too thin, limping along a brutal section of the Ninth Ward in New Orleans a few years ago. She’d spent a good thirty minutes convincing him to trust her. He ate and drank what she had to offer, and then she’d coaxed him back to the craptastic little flat on North Rampart where she’d been crashing.

  He was too weak to climb the stairs by himself, so she’d waited until he was comfortable enough to let her carry him. A few days later, they’d hit the road together and been together ever since. Olly was convinced he’d belonged to a family with lots of children at one point or another, because he loved them. He was patient and sweet and never reacted to little hands that abruptly pulled his hair. She imagined he would make an excellent babysitter. Not that she was likely to ever need one.

  Ava and Valentina set the girls on the floor and they both jumped on Rampart, wrapping their arms around his neck in a tight hug. Rampart sighed, licked the baby’s cheek, and rested a paw on the older girl’s knee.

  “Well, that’s Rampart,” Ava said. “And this is Olly.”

  Valentina stepped forward and offered Olly her hand. “I’m Valentina, Ava’s wife.”

  They shook hands, and Olly mumbled something semi-appropriate.

  “And why did you want to meet her, honey?” Ava egged her on, complete with a slight elbow jab to the side.

  “Oh, that.” Valentina smiled. The kind of smile that was slow and sultry and far too sexy for a storage room surrounded by two little kids and a dog. And she was smiling at Ava. Those two were clearly smitten with each other. Olly had never been smitten, but she was only twenty-five. Plenty of time for that to happen. Valentina turned her gaze to Olly. “Ava’s been promising forever to add shelves to the storage room. I came by to see who is actually making good on the promise for her.”

  “Take a look. See what you think of the space.”

  Valentina settled her arm loosely around Ava’s waist and said, “That’s not necessary. We’ll let you get back to work.”

  Olly felt like a voyeur. As beautiful as Ava was normally, it was magnified tenfold when she gazed at Valentina. Olly felt a sharp jab of...something. Not jealousy, exactly, because, beauty aside, neither woman spoke to her heart. They clearly belonged with one another.

  Longing. That’s what it was. She longed to find that connection, to meet the person who would complete her heart and make her whole for the first time in her life. She shook her head and picked up her board. Maybe one day she’d have that, but for now it did her no good to dwell on it.

  “Olly,” Valentina said. “At some point Ava is going to invite you to dinner with our family. I hope you’ll accept.”

  Olly nodded. “Thank you,” she said, unsure what the protocol was for an almost-dinner invitation.

  Valentina smiled briefly, then turned away. She rested her palm flat against Ava’s chest, just over her breast. “Walk me out?”

  “Of course.”

  They left, and the girls followed. Rampart joined Olly in the storage room and nudged her hand with his nose. She rubbed his head affectionately. “Thanks, Ramp.”

  ∞

  It sounded completely logical when the sales clerk recommended she buy the primer in five-gallon buckets. Every single wall in the Queen needed to be painted—and some needed to be firebombed—and there was a decent price break buying the larger container. It stopped making sense when Sam tried to lift the containers out of the back of her car. She was used to supervising and pointing at things that needed to be moved, not actually moving them herself. With Beth’s help, they got the first bucket inside. She left the second in the trunk of her car. Maybe Karen could move it later. She was strong.

  “Mom, not so much. You’re dripping.” Beth took her roller and demonstrated the correct technique. “Remember, less paint and move your arm up and down in a ‘v’ pattern, like this.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sam grumbled, but she smiled. Their roles had somewhere reversed and now she was taking orders from Beth. But this was a different Beth than normal. She had a gift and took it seriously. All the disrespect, defiance, and wildness yielded to this beautiful, controlled, driven young woman. It was a powerful glimpse of who Beth might become in the future and it made Sam damn proud.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to fuck it up.” Beth held the roller just out of Sam’s reach.

  Sam arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She stared at Beth, giving her a chance to realize what she’d just said. Beth crossed lines all the time, but dropping the f-bomb casually in front of Sam was new.

  Beth’s face went from confused to shocked to apprehensive. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I did it again. Seriously, I’m so sorry.”

  Well, that reaction was new, too. Normally Beth was all bluster. If Sam didn’t like it, too damn bad. But an apology? Completely unexpected. And Beth looked as if she meant it. Sam reached out for the roller and said, “I’ll be careful.”

  Beth smiled, confusion still clear on her face. “Thanks.” The word curled up at the end like a question instead of a statement, and Sam almost laughed. But then Beth gave her the roller and returned to her own wall where the beginnings of her mural were starting to take shape, leaving Sam to figure out what just happened on her own.

  Maybe if she’d given Beth a little more room and not dropped on her like a hammer the second she did something wrong, Beth wouldn’t have fought her so hard.

  Sam gathered some paint on her roller and started again. They painted in silence long enough for her to finish the wall and move on to the next. She left the trim for later. Maybe she’d be able to convince Beth to do that part with a brush. It required greater precision and Sam was likely to make a mess of it.

  “Hey, Mom,” Beth said, quieter than normal.

  “Yeah, sweetie?” Sam concentrated on making perfect, beige-colored “v” strokes with her roller.

  “I was thinking about school...” Beth’s voice trailed off.

  “Oh.” Sam stopped painting and turned toward Beth. She checked her watch. “I know I promised to take you today, but I didn’t realize how long this would take. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?” She really was a bad parent. She’d forgotten all about registering Beth for classes today.

  “No, that’s just it. Maybe we shouldn’t go there at all.” B
eth bit her lip.

  “What do you mean?” Sam didn’t understand where Beth was going, but she had a sinking feeling she wouldn’t like it.

  “It’s just...I’ll be sixteen in a few weeks and then—”

  “Stop right there. You are not dropping out of school. You will graduate and then you will go to college. This is not up for discussion.”

  “But I don’t know any of these people, Mom. It’s going to suck.” Beth’s voice took on the old familiar, defiant whine.

  Sam turned her attention back to her wall. “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s going to happen. Lots of things suck. You don’t get to skip them.”

  “I don’t think I can do it.” Beth spoke so softly that Sam almost didn’t hear her.

  She slowed her motions, but didn’t stop painting. “You can do anything, Beth. You’re strong and capable. Always have been.” She replied with a sure, steady voice. Beth needed to understand this basic truth about herself. That kind of doubt could be debilitating. It could wind a person up until it ate away all the strength and capability.

  Beth sighed. “I’m going outside.”

  Sam didn’t look because she didn’t want to watch Beth light another cigarette. She’d watched her mom and dad smoke, watched them struggle to quit, and watched as their quality of life deteriorated. She didn’t want that for Beth’s future, but still didn’t know how to stop it. Beth was determined to make her own mistakes, and all Sam could do was be there to catch her if she fell.

  “Hey, it’s like a morgue in here. Why so quiet?” Karen came in from the lobby, her stride bordered on a strut, and she gave Sam a small, sexy smile.

  “Hi. I’m practicing my ‘v.’” She gestured at the wall. “Alan is meeting me. He should be here any minute.”

  “Good to know. What’s up with Beth?” Karen asked.

  “She’s taking a break,” Sam said.

  “Got it.” Karen didn’t stop until she was close enough to kiss Sam casually on the mouth. She whispered, “Paint is a good look on you, too.”

  Sam laughed. Karen had some fabulously simple triggers. Her only regret was not figuring it out sooner. If not for Beth sulking on the patio, Sam would have demonstrated just how good a look paint really was on her.