The Mad Tatter

by J. M. Darhower

  The bartender looks to me curiously, for confirmation, but I just shrug.

  Whatever.

  That's all it takes—two shots of cheap tequila, ten measly dollars, for us to get an invitation to join the ladies at their table. Kevin chooses the busty brunette, leaving me to entertain her blonde friend. I slide into the booth beside her, casting her a peculiar look. She's vaguely familiar, but I can't really place her face.

  The moment I settle in beside her, she smiles widely. "Reece!"

  Fuck. She knows me, which means I'm supposed to know her.

  "Hey, uh..." I hesitate. I can't even fake it. "Sorry, what's your name again?"

  "It's Amy," she says. "You tattooed me a few weeks ago, the quote on my side?"

  It clicks in my head the moment she says it, before she stands up and brazenly pulls up her shirt, barely keeping her tits covered as she shows me her tattoo. I unconsciously reach over, running my fingers lightly along the inked text, feeling the texture. It's healing nicely. "I recognize you now."

  Smiling, she pulls her shirt back down. "Guess I'm easier to remember with my clothes askew, huh?"

  "Guess so."

  I pick up my beer and sip on it, lounging back in the booth. Kevin and the other girl end up wandering off, journeying to the bar for shot after shot, while I just sit there, vaguely listening as whatshername—Aaron… Annie… Amy?—babbles on and on.

  I drink a few beers, politely nodding and humming, acting like I know what the hell she's talking about. The drunker she grows, the more touchy-feely she becomes, her hand eventually slipping onto my lap.

  I wish I had it in me to enjoy it. The easiest way to erase Avery from my mind, to purge her from my thoughts, to rid myself of those goddamn inadequate feelings, would be to lose myself in another woman, one without expectations, without hopes for me, but there's nothing.

  Not a stirring, not a tingle, nothing.

  That's a first. Seems painting isn't the only thing that left me feeling impotent anymore. My dick has finally given out. One step closer to that breakdown, after all.

  "I should get home," I mutter, shifting away from her.

  "Do you want some company?"

  Do I want company?

  Yeah, I do, but not her.

  "Thanks, but not tonight," I say, standing up, barely offering her a look as I walk away. I stride by Kevin, slapping him on the back as I go. "See you in the morning, Kev."

  "You leaving?"

  "Yeah."

  "Alone?"

  "Yeah." I motion toward the booth, where the woman still sits. "All yours."

  Kevin laughs and says something in response, but I'm heading out the door before I can hear it.

  My steps are leisurely as I stroll down the street, in no hurry. Nobody is home, nobody waiting on me, nobody wondering where I am or when I'll be there. I could stay out until dawn, go missing overnight, and nobody would notice. Nobody would worry. Nobody would care.

  Nobody.

  It's a sad reality.

  I don't like to admit it, but I was starting to get used to having somebody.

  The apartment seems darker than ever when I make it there. Sighing, I open the door and step inside, kicking something. I glance down, seeing a white envelope on the floor, shoved through the crack at the bottom of the door. Picking it all up, I head to the kitchen and flick on the light. It has no postmark, the only marking the pre-stamped return address:

  The Juilliard School.

  I stroll toward the refrigerator and grab the only beer in it, opening it and taking a swig. I set it down beside me as I lean back against the counter and tear the envelope open, glancing inside.

  Two tickets to the senior dance production.

  I stare at them for a moment before shoving them back inside and tossing the envelope on the small table. Grabbing my beer, I walk back out of the kitchen, shutting off the light as I go. I'm wound tight—too edgy to sleep, too preoccupied to watch television, or read, or do anything except think.

  Frustrated, I make my way down the hallway, straight to the back room.

  My studio.

  I keep the light off, only the moonlight streaming through, faintly illuminating the mess that had been left behind last time. Paint is smudged on the walls and floors, the futon stained, streaks of a murky gray covering everything. On the wall to my left is a partial handprint in paint, slapped there by Avery when we lost ourselves in passion. I stare at it, my stomach in knots, everything building inside of me that I need to release.

  My eyes drift from it to my easel. I don't give it much thought, don't hesitate. Squirting fresh paint onto the discarded ruined palette, I grab a tattered paintbrush, and for the first time in what feels like forever, wet bristles meet a fresh canvas as I paint once again.

  It's ugly, and angry, dark paint blending together in a frantic abyss of nothingness. It looks like I feel—worthless and pointless, chaotic and filthy, an all around fucked up mess.

  Damn if I don't feel better when I'm finished.

  "You should go."

  "And you should mind your own business."

  I can practically hear Ellie rolling her eyes at my response. I sit in the chair in front of her, my feet propped up on her desk, as I wait for my first appointment of the day. I'm already kicking myself for even bringing up the tickets I found on my floor. I offered them to her, thinking she'd like that kind of thing. She's all the time taking off to catch shows on Broadway, but the moment I mentioned a show at Juilliard, her expression lit up, but not in the way I expected.

  "You should wear a tie, too," she says.

  "And you should kiss my ass."

  "Oh, and don't forget to take her flowers."

  "Yeah, well, don't forget to suck my dick."

  Ellie laughs that time, reaching over and shoving my feet off her desk. They hit the floor with a thud. "If you wear a damn tie and take her flowers, she might suck your dick."

  "Drop it," I say, standing up and stretching. I didn't sleep much last night. My body aches from exhaustion. I was up until almost dawn, painting for hours, purging it out of me. "That ship has sailed."

  "Then swim the fuck over to it and climb on board. It's not that difficult."

  I flip her off as I walk away, making my way to my room. I have a full day—appointment after appointment, client after client. I drown myself in tattoos until nightfall, and then pack up at closing.

  The same old routine.

  I'm out the door at ten on the dot, hearing Ellie shout after me, "remember what I said!" I shake my head, my eyes drifting to the bar across the street, contemplating, but I shrug it off and start the trek home instead.

  I stroll along, hands in my pockets, hat cocked backward on my head. I'm not paying much attention to my surroundings, losing myself in the chaos of the Manhattan streets. There's new graffiti in my neighborhood, covering the side of an old office building, stenciled warheads and a flag with some line about bombing for peace.

  Everyone seems to have a message.

  Sometimes I still wonder what mine used to be.

  When I approach my building, I glance up, my footsteps faltering when I see the person sitting alone on the top step.

  Avery.

  I stare at her, pausing on the sidewalk. My presence garners her attention, and she jumps up, wringing her hands together as she looks at me. "Hey!"

  I'm quiet for a moment before responding. "Hello."

  "I, uh... just wanted to make sure you got the tickets I dropped off yesterday."

  "I did."

  "Are you going to…? I mean… would you still come?"

  Slowly, I shrug.

  "The tickets are good for any night," she continues. "Thursday until Sunday. You can come any day you want and they'll let you in."

  "Okay."

  "And you can bring Lexie… or anyone you want, really… but I think she'd really like it."

  "She would."

  She stares at me, vulnerability shining from her. "So you'll come?" />
  There's that hope, the hope she has for me. She shouldn't have it, though. I'll only disappoint her like I do everybody.

  "I don't know," I say quietly. "I'll think about it."

  My answer seems to be enough for her. Nodding, she heads down the steps and hesitates beside me, offering me a small smile before slipping past. Her arm brushes against mine, her perfume tickling my nostrils as I inhale deeply. I just stand there as she walks away, hearing her soft voice after a few seconds. "Reece?"

  Slowly, I turn my head, regarding her warily. I don't speak, merely look at her, eyebrow raised. She stares back, but after a moment shakes her head, muttering, "forget about it."

  I'm trying, I think. I'm trying like hell to forget all about it.

  I watch as she walks away, shoulders slumped, gazed fixed on the sidewalk. Her name is on the tip of my tongue, and I almost call out to her, wondering what she would've said. Wondering what she wanted to say.

  But I do nothing.

  I merely watch until she rounds the corner, disappearing into the night.

  I don't sleep much again.

  The next morning, I show up at the shop early, having everything set up and ready before anyone else arrives for the day. I'm sitting in the chair in front of Ellie's desk, my feet propped up on the front of it just like yesterday. She eyes me suspiciously as she settles in for the day, dropping her bag on the floor and setting her cup of coffee on the desk.

  "You pick out that tie yet?" she asks.

  I just glare at her, too tired to even think of a snappy comeback. Anything beyond "fuck you" seems out of my range today.

  "I think a dark color would look best on you," she continues, ignoring the look on my face. "Black, gray, maybe blue… solid, not stripes. You're not a stripes kind of guy."

  I'm not a tie kind of guy.

  "Maybe a skinny tie," she suggests. "But not a bowtie. Unless you're getting married or your name is Matt Smith, you have no business wearing a bowtie."

  My brow furrows. "Who's Matt Smith?"

  "The Doctor."

  "Whose doctor?"

  Ellie stare at me. "More like Doctor Who, dumbass. Seriously, do you know nothing?"

  "I know I'm not wearing a tie," I reply, shrugging. "And I know you have work to do that doesn't involve meddling in my love life. Pretty sure we don't pay you for your advice."

  "You ought to," she says, sitting down and grabbing the appointment book. "I'm serious, Reece. You should go. You won't regret it."

  Cheery pop music echoes through the downstairs of the house, some One Directional Bieber bullshit with too much treble and not nearly enough bass, whining from the small speaker on my phone. Lexie screeches along to the words in the living room, making up her own lyrics along the way.

  They're probably better than the real ones.

  I stand in the bathroom, staring at my reflection as I fiddle with the plain black tie around my neck, trying to fasten the knot and terribly failing. I've been at it for nearly ten minutes and practically have myself in a noose. Cross, pull, loop, over, under, crisscross fucking applesauce… I feel like I'm teaching Lexie to tie her shoes all over again.

  Just make the goddamn bunny ears, loop and pull. How hard can the shit be?

  Sighing, frustrated, I unknot it and let it hang loose around my neck as I walk out of the bathroom, slapping the switch to turn off the light on my way out. I head toward the living room, cringing at the obnoxious clatter of music. Lexie is jumping on the couch, clutching the phone tightly in her hand as she dances around, falling on her ass on the cushion before jumping right back up.

  "I should've bought a damn clip-on," I mutter. "I can't tie this tie to save my life."

  "Oh, oh, me, me!" Lexie jumps up and down excitedly, tossing my phone down on the cushion beside her as she frantically waves me over. "I can do it, Daddy!"

  I cock an eyebrow at her but shrug it off, stepping over toward her. She probably has a better chance of getting it than me. Lexie grabs both ends of the tie and loops them together, pulling with all her might. I gasp, the tie nearly cutting off my airflow, as she studiously ties it like she would her shoelaces, her expression stone cold serious. After she's finished, she smiles and snatches up my phone again, going right back to jumping. "There, Daddy."

  I look down at myself. I look like I'm wearing a goddamn clown's bowtie. Shaking my head, I unknot the thing and pull it off, tossing it on the couch. I fix my collar, the plain white button down enough to make me feel suffocated. I haven't worn one in a while... not since the last time I stood in court.

  Unbuttoning the top two buttons, I turn to my daughter. "Go brush your hair."

  "I already did!"

  Her hair is wild, as usual, the curls frizzy and unkempt. If not for the fact that she's wearing a pink dress, people might mistake her for a tiny George of the Jungle, one of those feral kids they talk about on TV. "Do it again, Mowgli."

  She stops jumping on the couch, plopping down on her ass before standing up. Walking by me, she flings my phone my way as she heads for the bathroom, breathing heavily from exertion.

  "Brush your teeth while you're in there," I call.

  I stand there, fidgeting with my watch. We have some time before the show starts, but if I don't get out the door soon, I have a sneaking suspicion I won't make it at all.

  I'm already starting to sweat.

  "There," Lexie says, stomping back in. "Better?"

  She looks exactly as she had a few minutes ago. Sighing, I shrug it off. I'd try to fix it for her, but that would end up about as well as the tie had.

  I really need to learn how to braid.

  "You look perfect, Little Miss," I say, shutting off the music and slipping my phone in my pocket before offering her my hand. "You ready?"

  We head out, stopping by the store on the way to the subway. Flowers, Ellie stressed. You always bring them flowers. I failed the tie part, but maybe I can get this right. I don't know shit about flowers, so I let Lexie pick out a bunch.

  Pink carnations. Good enough for me.

  Lexie carries them, skipping along. I stroll beside her, my hands nervously in my pockets, grasping hold of the tickets. We take the subway to the Upper Westside, my anxiety escalating as we head toward Juilliard. I pause in front of the building, tugging Lexie to a stop, and stare up at the massive triangular structure, the glass framed with an orange glow at night. It looks like a piece of art itself.

  My stomach twists in knots.

  If I hadn't already promised Lexie, I'd turn around right now and head home.

  "Come on," I mumble, leading her toward the entrance. "The show awaits."

  The theater is small, tucked in on the third floor of the building. I wait in the line, handing my reserved tickets over for admission. The lady smiles warmly at me, almost setting my nerves at ease.

  Almost.

  Lexie stands beside me, leaning against my leg as she looks around. She nearly falls when I take a step away, giggling as she snatches ahold of me. "Wait for me."

  The theater holds about a hundred people, over half of the seats already filled. I find a fairly vacant row right near the door and sit down, putting Lexie in the seat at the aisle. I settle into my seat, warily glancing around. People are dressed impeccably, sitting quietly, waiting patiently, the women in dresses and the men in three-piece suits.

  I should've worn the fucking tie.

  Lexie, on the other hand, can't sit still. She bounces in her seat, swinging her legs, her voice loud as she asks, "how much longer?"

  "Just a few minutes," I say, glancing at my watch, wishing time would speed up. It doesn't escape my notice that Lexie seems to be the only kid present.

  Despite it being as cold as an icebox in the theater, my skin feels flushed, like I'm sitting beneath a spotlight.

  "Look, Daddy. Look!"

  I glance at Lexie as she tugs on my arm. "Huh?"

  She motions toward the door. "It's the ballerina lady! Remember?"

  My eyes fol
low my daughter's gaze, watching as Avery's parents step in, pausing to greet some people nearby. Before I can respond to her, to say I saw them, her shrill little voice calls out. "Hey, Miss Lady! Hey!"

  I start to shush her, to ask her to keep her voice down, but it's too late. Avery's mother turns, catching Lexie's eye, and smiles warmly, offering a small wave. Tickled by the acknowledgement, Lexie jumps up, squealing as she runs across the aisle.

  Fuck. I'm on my feet instantly, muttering apologies to the people I nearly plow over as I dart after her. As soon as I approach, I hear her excited voice. "Are you going to dance, too?"

  Avery's mother shakes her head. "I'm afraid not. I don't dance here."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm much too old to go to Juilliard."

  "Why?"

  That question sparks a genuine laugh. "I guess I just grew up."

  Lexie starts rambling—about school, and dancing, and Peter fucking Pan, never growing up and goddamn Neverland. I interject, my hands clamping down on my daughter's shoulder before she can start acting the story out for everybody.

  "Sorry," I say. "She's just excited."

  "No need to apologize," she responds. "I love her enthusiasm. You ever think about signing her up for dance?"

  "Oh, can I, Daddy?" Lexie turns to me, eyes wide. "Please? Can I?"

  "I, uh..." I want to say yes, but I know I can't. "That's something you have to ask your mother. I don't have you enough to commit you to something like that."

  A voice theatrically clears. "Divorced?"

  My eyes drift to Avery's father. He looks not at all amused by our presence. "Never married."

  "Yet you have a kid."

  "We were in college and…" And why the fuck am I explaining myself to this man? "Anyway, I'm sorry for the interruption."

  I pull Lexie back to our seats. I can feel Laurence's eyes piercing through me from across the aisle, jabbing like little cat-scratch pricks from a tattoo needle. I ignore it the best I can, the hair on the nape of my neck standing on end. Slouching down in my seat, I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt and shove up my sleeves.