The Mad Tatter

by J. M. Darhower

  "I know you don't like being here when I'm busy, Lexie, but I have to work, and I need you to be on your best behavior when I do it."

  She doesn't respond, her eyes glued to her work. She’s drawing right on the blue-painted wall behind her.

  "Do you hear me?"

  She still says nothing.

  "Lexie?"

  "Hold on," she mutters. "I'm busy."

  I shake my head, smirking with amusement as she tosses my dismissiveness right back at me. Smart ass. She's too clever for her own good.

  "What are you drawing?" I ask curiously.

  I step closer as Lexie halfheartedly moves out the way for me to see. A dinosaur, of course. A T-Rex. It's pretty good for her only being five years old. Maybe looks aren't the only thing she inherited from me.

  “Looks good," I say as I pull my shirt up and point to a spot on my chest, to a section not yet inked. “I think it would look awesome right here. What do you think?"

  Her expression shifts. She's beaming. "Really?"

  "Yeah, really," I say, pulling my shirt back down. "Not today, though. How about we get out of here? I'm hungry, and tired, and I'm pretty sure there are some cartoons at the house just waiting to be watched."

  "Land Before Time!" she declares. "Can we watch Ducky, Daddy?"

  I grin at her. "Yep, yep, yep."

  All evidence of her anger completely fades away. I clean up and apologetically ask Ellie to reschedule my next appointment before Little Miss and I jet out the door. She's bundled in her thick pink coat, shielding her from the cool air that seems to seep right through my hoodie as we walk. We are barely a block away when goose bumps coat my skin, a chill running through me, making me shiver. I pause at the corner, right across from the new construction site, and grab Lexie's hand as we wait to cross the street.

  "What are they doing to that building, Daddy?"

  I don't have to look at her to know what she's referring to. I eye the massive, drab tarps with distaste as they flap in the cold breeze. "Renovating it, probably... maybe tearing it down to rebuild."

  "Why?"

  "Because the building is old and has been abandoned for years. Guess they figure it's time to actually do something with the place."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know."

  "What was it before it got all abandoned?"

  My gaze drifts to Lexie as I shake my head. "You're just full of questions, aren't you?"

  Her expression is stoic. "Yes."

  I'm quiet for a moment, leading her across the street, away from the construction area, before responding. "I'm not really sure what it was, honestly. It's been nothing but a shell for as long as I've been around. Always figured it would stay that way."

  "I don't like it now," she says.

  "Did you like it before?"

  She nods. "It used to look like your tattoos."

  I glance behind us, back at the building, my eyes gliding along the tarps... tarps that completely cover the once vibrant graffiti. Every inch of the place used to be coated in color, inside and out.

  "Yeah," I say quietly. "It did."

  "I wonder what's in this."

  I glance over at Avery when she speaks, her lips wrapped around the cheap plastic straw, sipping her fruity drink… the same one she's drank every night she has shown up at The Spare Room to hang out with me. I'm still on a high from weekend visitation, so hanging with her is just icing on the cake.

  I laugh, shaking my head as I take a drink of my beer. "Little of this, little of that… a lot of cheap liquor and a dash of pink shit. Voila."

  She shoots me a look as she playfully rolls her eyes. "I mean it. I don't even know what it's called."

  "It's a cotton candy something-or-nother," I say, recalling people in the bar ordering them before. "Vodka, mostly, with some kind of, uh… pink shit."

  I don’t know how else to describe it.

  She eyes her glass warily. "Does it really have cotton candy in it?"

  "I'm sure it's supposed to," I say, "but here? Not a chance in hell."

  Avery's eyes shift from her drink to me, before slowly scanning the bar around us, a look of concern on her face, like she's just now noticing how rundown the place is. "Why do you come here, anyway?"

  I shrug. "Why not?"

  "Well, it's just that there are plenty of places in the city where you could get a drink… better places."

  I guzzle the rest of my beer before holding up the empty, motioning for the bartender to bring me another. He slides the can of Genesee my way before pouring a shot of whiskey. I pick up the liquor, throwing it back and grimacing at the burn that runs through my chest.

  Shaking the empty shot glass toward Avery, I say, "What's better than a beer and a shot of liquor for six bucks? Where else in the city can you get a cotton candy whatever-that-shit-is for five? Nowhere."

  She glances back at her drink as she considered that.

  "Besides," I continue, "it's right across the street from the shop and already on my way home, so it's cheap and convenient. I prefer when things are easy… the easier, the better."

  "Like women?"

  Her remark stalls me as I take a drink of the beer. I half-shrug, half-shake my head, but the fact of the matter is she hit the nail right on the head. I bust my ass, struggling to survive. I shouldn't have to work just as hard to get a bit of pleasure out of life.

  But the way she says it, her tone quiet, almost hesitant, cuts deep. Real fucking deep. Maybe it isn't an accusation, but it damn sure feels like one.

  And I'm guilty as sin.

  Nothing hurts worse than the truth.

  I don't respond right away, continually sipping my beer, as she finishes her pink drink. After it's empty, she shoves the glass aside, waving off the bartender when he tries to make her another. I glance her way as she wordlessly slides off the stool, putting on her jacket to leave.

  She's been here for less than twenty minutes today.

  "Not always," I say quietly, looking back away from her as I answer her question. "Depends on the woman. I'm sure good ones are worth the hassle. Problem is, in my world, they're few and far between."

  "Then maybe you should step out of your world sometime," she says. "Because in my world, if you want something bad enough, you work your ass off until you get it."

  Before I can respond, she leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. The barely-there feel of her lips against my scruffy skin makes unsettling tingles run through me, my eyes damn near closing in response to the sensation. I don't react, don't say another word, my eyes focused on my beer sitting on the bar as she walks away, disappearing out the door.

  I sigh exasperatedly. What the hell is the woman doing to me?

  In a matter of seconds, another shot of whiskey is shoved in front of me. I glance up as the bartender pauses there.

  "On the house," he says, motioning toward the liquor. "Looks like you could use it."

  I laugh dryly, downing the shot without hesitation. "Could probably use the whole fucking bottle."

  I don't wait for him to say anything else. I throw some money down on the bar before shoving my stool back and standing up. Keeping my head down, I head out the door, hesitating in front of the bar to look around. I spot her right away, just down the block, standing on the corner and hailing a cab already.

  "Goddammit," I grumble to myself, shaking my head as I jog to catch up to her. "Hey, Avery! Wait!"

  She turns at the sound of her name. Half a block and I'm already winded when I catch up to her. Fucking cigarettes.

  "Look, I, uh…" I stand in front of her, my words accentuated by a cloud of foggy breath as the temperature out here dips below freezing. She's shivering slightly, obviously wanting out of the cold, but her undivided attention remains on me as I hesitate. "Look, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm here or what we're doing, what you're doing… but I like you, and I get the feeling you like me, too. Maybe that feeling is wrong, I don't know. Fuck, I don't know anything.
Except that maybe you're right, you know... maybe you're right."

  I'm not sure if I'm making any damn sense. It all sounds so much better in my head, but the words don't seem right coming from my lips.

  "Maybe I'm right," she whispers.

  "Yeah," I say. "Maybe you are."

  I don't know if she understands what I'm getting at, but her expression softens a bit. Taking a step toward me, she pauses, eyes studiously scanning every inch of my face, like she's searching for something. After a moment, she pushes up on her tiptoes, pressing a light kiss to my chapped lips as I stand still, having no idea what I'm supposed to do. It's a sweet kiss. The sweetest kiss that has ever touched my lips.

  It gets under my skin.

  I don't kiss like this.

  She pulls back again before I can come to terms with it.

  "Goodnight, Reece," she says, turning around to leave, hailing a cab and leaving me standing on the sidewalk, alone in the street.

  Un-freakin'-believable.

  Night after night, I habitually venture to the bar after work. Sometimes I sit there, alone, unwinding after a long day, but occasionally Avery stops by to keep me company. We share a drink and chat before she scurries away with an apology, saying her schedule is too busy for her to stay out late.

  She never goes home with me, never hangs around long enough for it to get even remotely intimate, but I look forward to the moments. The easiness, the strange familiarity that surrounds us, does just as much to break the monotony in my life as the mindless flings used to do.

  It has been a while—since that last night with Lark. I haven't touched a woman in weeks. I try to tell myself it's because Avery is a challenge, that I met my match, but deep down I know it's more. It isn't just about sex with her—although, Jesus, I certainly think about it enough. I want her, need her, crave her… but I'd give up a chance to take her to bed if only I could put my mark on the girl.

  I'm heading across the street to the bar on Friday night, a few minutes past closing, when I spot the familiar face heading toward me. I pause along the curb, my hands in my pockets, and wait as Avery jogs to meet up with me. "Hey!"

  I nod in greeting as my eyes scan her—knee-high boots, a matching sweater, and the tightest leggings known to man. She's wearing black from head to toe, like a thief in the night, and fuck if her outfit doesn't show off every curve. "You look nice."

  "Uh, thank you," she says, glancing down at herself as if surprised by those words. "I kind of just threw this on."

  "It works," I say. "It, uh... matches. Looks good on you."

  What am I, a fucking fashion critic now?

  She smiles timidly, motioning toward the bar. "We going in?"

  I'm about to say yes when the door opens and some drunk staggers out. Casting him an annoyed look, my gaze drifts inside the open door, immediately catching the eye of a familiar person.

  Lark.

  Oh, Lark.

  I wouldn't be surprised a bit if she was here looking for me. After all, I've continued to avoid her calls. I've ignored her texts. Never listened to her voicemails.

  Awkward.

  I turn back to Avery. "You wanna go somewhere else instead?"

  "Where?"

  "I don't know," I say. "We can grab something to eat, if you're hungry. I've got a few bucks on me. I'm pretty sure I can afford to buy you a Happy Meal."

  "That'll be a first."

  "What, never had a guy take you to McDonalds?"

  "More like never been to a McDonalds, period."

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "You're shitting me."

  "Nope."

  "Never?"

  "Never."

  "That's just… un-American."

  Avery lets out a laugh. "My parents are kind of health nuts, so fast food was always out of the question."

  "No fast food at all?" I stare at her incredulously. "No Burger King, Wendy's, Taco Bell, KFC? Fuck, no Popeye's Chicken?"

  "Nope."

  "Jesus, girl, what do you eat?"

  "Lots. Grilled chicken, veggie burgers, bulgur, yogurt… I eat a lot of salad and grains, and things like flaxseed and chia seeds…"

  "Seeds. Seriously? What are you, a fucking bird?"

  She laughs, playfully flapping her arms like a bird. "Maybe."

  Shaking my head, I throw my arm over her shoulders and pull her toward me, the two of us starting down the block, away from the bar. Avery easily slips under my arm, tucking herself against my side. "So, where are we going?"

  "To live a little."

  I was just joking about buying her McDonalds, but damn if I don't feel compelled to seriously take her there now. It's only a few blocks away on a strip of fast food joints in the Lower Eastside. I open the door for her when we arrive, letting her walk in before me, and step in behind her. She stalls right inside, her eyes studiously scanning the chaotic restaurant. People swarm the registers and pack the tables, laughing and shouting. Half past ten on a Friday night, so most of them are so fucked up they can barely stand.

  It's like stepping into a jungle.

  I stride toward the register, waiting in line, as Avery once more tucks herself in at my side. I scan the menu needlessly… I always order off the damn dollar menu, anyway. "What do you want?"

  "What's good here?"

  "Nothing."

  Avery laughs. "Well, that sounds promising."

  "Nah, the fries are good," I say. "And Little Miss likes the nuggets."

  "Is the chicken all white meat?"

  "Uh… sure."

  "You don't sound very sure."

  "First rule of fast food is you don't question what you're eating," I say. "Chances are, you don't want to know. So if you want it to be all white meat, than yeah… sure… all white meat."

  "Okay," she says, shrugging. "I'll have whatever Lexie gets."

  Two chicken nugget Happy Meals later, we're sitting at a tiny table in the far corner, knees brushing together as I sit across from her, shifting around in the hard plastic chair. Avery pops open her little red box while I sip my tiny ass Coke—three swallows and the fucking thing is about empty already.

  "Oh, a toy!" Avery squeals, pulling out the little clear plastic bag. "I got some kind of pink journal thingy. What did you get?"

  I glance in my box, snatching out the toy. "I got a truck."

  Avery scowls, looking between our toys. "How stereotypical."

  "Would you rather have the truck?"

  "Yep." Before I can say anything else, Avery snatches the truck toy right out of my hand, tossing the pink journal on the table in front of me. "Enjoy!"

  Grinning, she pulls out her food to eat, sniffing a nugget before nibbling the corner. She shrugs after a second, taking a larger bite.

  "So?" I drown a fry in ketchup before popping it in my mouth. "Verdict?"

  "It's edible." She dips her nugget in a tub of bar-b-q sauce, while I use sweet & sour. After a while, she reaches over, blocking me when I try to dunk, and dips hers into my sauce to try it. "Huh, that's even better."

  Wordlessly, I push it toward her as I pop my last nugget in my mouth and glance in my box... nothing left except the apple slices. I pull the package out and toss it to Avery. "Here's some more rabbit food for you."

  She laughs loudly, picking up the apples. "How thoughtful."

  "Yeah, well, thoughtful is my middle name."

  She eyes me peculiarly. "What is your middle name?"

  "Trouble."

  "I'm serious," she says, gently kicking me under the table. "What is it?"

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Oh, come on..."

  "Nope."

  "Please?"

  I hesitate. Damn her saying please. "It's Trystan."

  "Trystan?"

  "And Alan. And Lloyd."

  "What?"

  "I have three middle names."

  "Reece Trystan Alan Lloyd Hatfield?"

  I nod. "The fourth."

  "The fourth?"

  "And it's spe
lled R-H-Y-S, technically. Rhys."

  She gapes at me, like she thinks I'm just fucking with her, but I'm not. Rhys Trystan Allen Lloyd Hatfield IV is proudly displayed on my birth certificate, courtesy of my parents, the type of people who come from the kind of society where the more names they give you, the more morally righteous they are. "What kind of name is that?"

  "The kind of name given to a kid with expectations. Rhys the Fourth was destined to be a great painter, like da Vinci or Michelangelo. But Reece?" I laugh dryly. "He's what my mother calls a coloring book crook... meaning my art looks like I ripped off a five year old."

  Her brow furrows a bit. "Your mother said that?"

  I nod.

  "That's just..." She shakes her head. "I, uh..."

  There's a commotion then, a drunken argument at the registers, shouting echoing through the restaurant that makes me feel a hell of a lot like I've been saved by the bell. I stand up before she can finish whatever it is she planned to say, leaving the tray with our trash right where it is, and tug Avery toward to exit. She clutches her drink and snatches up our toys before leaving the table, slipping the pink journal in my back pants pocket when we head outside. Her hand lingers there for a moment, over my ass, before she pulls away. "So dinner was, uh... interesting."

  "Tell me about it," I say. "Next time I'll take you to Burger King. They like to throw punches over there."

  "I'll hold you to that."

  We stroll along quietly, neither saying much of anything. Avery tears her toy truck out of the packaging, playfully driving it up my arm as we walk. My thoughts drift, my mind going elsewhere as I get lost in the silence, a dangerous scenario for me.

  I could use a drink.

  Maybe even a cigarette.

  Some pussy would be beautiful, now that I think of it.

  Something to soothe these frazzled nerves of mine, to take my mind off of the shit I don't like to think about. Like my parents. My art. My failure of a life.

  I was supposed to be somebody.

  Now look at me.