“I know…never did I plan to let any of him go anyway. So I settled for traveling and walking alone for a while till my bearing bent the right way. Then you happened.”
“Me?” he asks skeptically.
“I’m not going into this right now Tatum.”
“But we are. And we should. So what do you mean by me happening?”
“You know how exasperating you can be right? How hard is it to let something go? Huh?”
A child yells from the outside. Something about the milk folders coming in that morning. Tatum is fuming by the neck, and a slight vein pops by the side. I need him to get that I cannot talk about anything before yesterday till…till I know.
“Tatum. Just…things have been awkward enough, haven’t they?”
“Okay…okay…you have a point.” He walks around, pacing more like it, round the room till his pockets get enough fill of his hands. Smacking his lips together, he acknowledges an idea by hurriedly taking out a hand and snapping his fingers. It snaps like a whip. I like that.
“Hey! You could fill in for our receptionist back at the shop!”
“Wait…what?”
“You said you’re taking time off to mourn Eric, right? That means you have no work outside of home right?” The eyes in him are hopeful and full of spark.
“I don’t know Tatum,” I fumble queerly. This is something I did not expect to hear from him at all. A job in Philly? I don’t know if I can.
“Come on. It’ll be fun, and you could get another tattoo if you want. This time it would be on the house of course.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“I feel as if there’s something else not in that statement. Call it taking a leaf off your book, yeah?”
He falls into his thoughts for a moment. This towel is starting to feel a bit uncomfortable underneath.
“Okay. To be honest, I want you to work close to me. It would be nice seeing you a little more.”
“Ah…see how far you can go with a little honesty?”
“Ha–ha.”
“Well, before I sign over my contract with the devil, I would like to know your stuff beforehand.”
He looks across me and tilts his chin to the ground, smirking all the way and pointing to his chest. “Not that stuff cowboy. Slow your rolls. I mean Sinful Scars. Gimme the low–down that you had actually promised last night. And yes, that bit I remember. Everything else is a shimmer.”
“Okay. Then it would be easier if you got comfortable when I tell you this. I could stay out on the balcony as you get ready.”
Ha! The young one wants to play…I can play.
“Oh no, Tatum, you are absolutely right; I do need to get dressed. Please…stay. It’s nothing you’ve never seen right?”
The level of squirming I have in front of me is enough to get the worms off the ground. He does a bit with his face, kinda like that of getting a pet rock instead of a mini USB drive online.
“I think I’ll stay outside. Yeah? I think I’ll stay outside.”
“You said that twice Tatum.”
“I know,” he finishes, banging the door behind him.
The shower is swift and the change of clothes even more. I need the time to make my mind up over this decision. If I really work for him, maybe I can get closer to the mystery of this man. If I stay away, I might never learn what Eric had in store for him in that letter. And to be fair, the mystery is really killing me.
“You can get back in now.” No need opening the door. I’m sure he’s spent the last ten minutes by the rail waiting, hoping he did not make the wrong choice twice. Lucky for him, he’s passed this test.
“Okay!” he yells back. Shortly, the hinges creak open and he walks back in. I’m in a black skirt this time, just for kicks, to see how far this will go. If it’s more than what catches the eye or not, I need to know.
“Wow…you look great!”
“Thanks Tatum. Now, as you promised?”
He sits by the bed sheets I laid out on the table next to the chair where my desirables are. I suppose the extra oiled skin below my skirt paves way for a little less self-control today.
“Sinful Scars is run by the four of us, equally. You already know their first names by now, and it would be great if you understood their history if you’re going to be working with us.”
“What happened to your receptionist?”
“I’ll get to that.”
“Okay.”
“So you know my back story. I’ll start with Nix Pastor. He’s around my age and a really good artist. He and his mom are both artists, but different fields. Nix preferred doing something that could get him something really worthwhile, something more than art school. See his dad worked on an assembly line and had a heart attack someday. They couldn’t cover the insurance so Nix had to go hustle his ass off to make due. Damon got hold of him through a contact by the tattoo shop Nix was working at part-time, and the rest is history. Nix’s mom is epic though. Makes the finest lasagnas.”
“There’s another tattoo shop?”
“I’m getting to that.”
“Ah, carry on.”
“Holland Stirling is the story you’d get to hear on Forbes or Oprah, but on seeing him you wouldn’t believe it. He grew up super wealthy, but hated it all. Classic lawyer dad and doctor mom, and all the pressures that come with it to become just like them.”
“Wow, what a sob story,” I mock. He scoffs and purses his lips. I mellow down.
“They threw him out when he decided to follow his passion and not mill along the usual path to ‘success’.” His fingers are really large when he does the air quotes. “Nix found him while he was working at Bull’s, and introduced him to Damon and tattooing when he quit. He is really down to earth right now. Even joined me in funding us with the seed money to build our shop. Without him selling his car, we wouldn’t be talking about him. Maybe in a different context.”
“Okay, who’s Bull? And how is Damon the crossroads between all you guys? What is he? 007?”
“Cool your boots Waryn. I’m getting to them. Lemme finish off with Bull first so that my buddy comes in last.”
“Bull is the guy that’s our competition. He’s been working around these parts for years now, but everybody hates him because he thinks his fingers deserve every pie. If you see a near-balding guy with a Hawaiian shirt and a stick up his ass, steer clear, okay?”
“Really? He sounds like the kinda guy I would take on a date.”
“Waryn…”
“Hey…you get too serious all the time, like your buddy Holland. Do you guys call him Holly for fun?”
“Moving on to Damon Strepanowski.” God I love tormenting him. “I knew him since high school, and we were close in our own ways.”
“What ways?”
“You know; a silent nod in the hallways and fist bumps once we graduated.”
Inadvertently, I roll my eyes.
“Hey, we were a couple of simpler dudes back then. I know his mom left and dad had issues back then, everyone talked about it. But then we lost touch, and then met when he was my saving grace. It was pretty wild talking about his past. He had been through prison and had gotten into a bad crowd. He’s also a volunteer in a biker gang, and –”
“I’m sorry, what? You mean your buddy that’s glued this entire operation is in a biker gang?”
“You sound stereotypical just now Waryn. Does he scare you?”
“Taunting me doesn’t really help your situation, now does it?”
He pauses. “No…”
“So…”
“He’s the softest bunny. Silent and profound in his gazes, but an epic guy to talk to. His biker gang, by the way, helps children of abuse and protects them in court from their abusers. See. Not a scary big bad after all.”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“Hmm, yeah…I suppose you’re right. He did help me hide a sack of dead mosquitos last night.”
“Tatum…”
; “You’re not the only one with the jokes. So what do you say? Work with me for the time being?”
“I really don’t know Tatum.”
“I promise it’ll be fun.”
He is so giddy right now at the prospect. I don’t get how a man can be so on and off with his emotions like Tatum Driggs is. Last night we shared what most people wouldn’t in a lifetime, and even now, he’s just told me about himself and the closest friends in his life without a second thought. If I was a hired assassin he would not be thankful in the evening.
But I am not. I am a simple girl at heart, budding into my middle-age and yearning for a sense of peace and adventure. It’s a whole set of double standards, but it’s who I am. Mourning Eric is part of the journey, but can’t falling in love be a part of the too?
I want to spend time with him…but last night is really giving me a fence to sit on. I have no idea what his motives are, or what they can tend to be. Maybe he just wants to tap this grade ‘A’ loins and take a walk home knowing he took down two Blairs. Or maybe he has no idea what he feels, and wants to know what it truly is and can be, hoping that it’s something that could last.
Or this could be the sugar talking. I really haven’t been myself lately.
“Alright Tatum Driggs.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s go ink some skin.”
Chapter 6 - Tatum
The room feels warmer, and not because of the sun outside. The AC is on full blast and in as much as we are all in, inclusive of our clients, the extra presence of Waryn Blair flicks a spark that will soon ignite.
I move the needle calmly across today’s client’s skin. She, a flame-headed, eye-clouded, half-stoned twenty–something year old with an incredible talent for staring and humming at the pain, wanted a tattoo of a flying rabbit. The weirder the requests, the easier I normally shut up.
Nix is behind me, taking care of a small tattoo of his client’s name on the inner thigh of one of the pink-haired broads I saw along the corner of 5th and 11th. I can see her slightly large belly from all the way over here, and her ring-filled lips and ears, coupled with her no-nonsense attitude clearly demonstrated by her capabilities to chew gum. Her clientele must have some pretty rocky tastes. He’s humming to an old drummer’s beat. It keeps him off the edge.
I never thought she would agree to work here. Seeing her in that tight yellow skirt, mixing it up with a really cool black and leather jacket and a touch of makeup, I knew she would take the offer down and ask me for a do-over on the date that went to hell last night.
Thinking about it sends a static piece of shivers down my arm, and I notice I’m off the rabbit’s ears by a long shot. My client, the numbed redhead, bites her lip in pleasure in what I know is a really good sting. I swear the kids these days have no fine line between the two.
“So…you like dishing out pain, huh?” she quips.
“Ha…not really. Sit still please.” I’m still trying to figure out what went wrong with my hand while thinking of Waryn.
“You know, I know a place that would love to have a big guy like you as an addition to their crew…lots of pain and pleasure to give out…just the way I like it.” Her voice has gone from full on creepy to a full on whisper in a murder movie. And she’s almost at my neck licking her lower lip and biting her tongue in between.
“Or maybe you like it harder than rough.”
Why are my nerves such a mess?
“Or dirtier.”
I almost flipped out on her chest.
“Hey, I’m talking to you big guy. Are you listening to me?”
Why the fuck is she screaming at me?
“I’m talking to you, man!”
“STOP!”
My eyes are toweling in sweat, and I just realized the entire room is staring at me. Even Damon’s needle is in the air. He never stops in the heat of my random outbursts. Then again, I’ve just started having them yesterday, after my entire world came running after me.
The clients are in a state of silence, or a treat. I cannot tell. One of them, a twin on whom Holland worked on after I went out with Waryn, is numbing his lips as he bites on them. At this moment, I hate his guts. From his tall gait to the ambient laughter on his freckled nose. It all seems like a lie. Damon’s smirk is obvious, and the light coming from the flickering beam above me settles on the blonde girl on whose breast I was working on, and on whom, if I couldn’t be more carefree, is my flirting client.
“I’m sorry, excuse me?” she starts, clearly upset and mangy about the idealistic manner of speech I just used on her.
“You’re really pissing me off lady.” Well, it’s true.
“Oh am I?”
“Yeah,” I mutter indignantly.
“Can I get another real artist to finish me up?” she spits, with a huge emphasis on the real. I can’t even get mad. I want her off my back pronto. “Nix, you okay with a switch?”
Nix is upstanding the entire time. Like an overseeing watcher, his mood is from silent contemplation, to even more silent contemplation. “Sure, buddy. Miss, if you would step onto my bed please.” His humor is not lost on him.
I get the budding clincher. We rarely get them over here. Oh, right. What these guys are, are sweat and childhood piss embodied. They are the kind of guys who get a tattoo on a dare or after a divorce to prove they’ve still got swinging dicks the size of a burrito when flaccid. Then they get here and fluids start oozing out, and not the good kind.
So in my chair, after the crazy bitch is handled by Nix, this man, almost in his forties, with a slightly trimmed moustache and a slight slouch to his already stunted height sits in my chair and breathes out a long winded fart.
“No worries, sir. We get that a lot. Just try and relax, yeah?”
“Okay.”
I see the damage Nix has done on his arm. It’s a small piece of wood, curving up and alongside it is a snake that Nix has done some surprisingly good effects on the scales. My turn to finish it up.
“So, what’s your name sir?” I ask. He needs to stop sweating and start talking. One will cancel out the other.
“What? Oh, I’m Kevin.” Clearly.
“And what do you do for a living Kevin?”
“Well…Ow…I’m an accountant, well really more of a bookkeeper.”
“Nice stuff man. And do you get many clients out here in Philly?”
“Sometimes I do a little freelancing.” He’s getting a little easy now. A look into his life should numb him right out by the time I’m done. The nerves are back, and I can feel my vibe turn back on. Even with Waryn in the next room attending to the waiting clients, I waver less. “But I mostly work for the bank up in-”
“I KNEW IT!”
We all turn our heads. There is a strict “No Noise” rule in the parlor, enforced and printed out, and even pasted on the wall next to each bed by none other than Damon. It’s the blonde bitch come to strike again.
“Would you please shut up?” hollers Holland. Damon is quiet, as his norm, and Nix’s hands in the air to prevent injury to her royal highness’ ass.
“No. No, I won’t ‘shut up’,” she apes. Her phone is in the air, and her eyes blend a tub of excitement. It’s like she finally found out where Jimmy Hoffa finally hid all these years. Then, without warning, her arm slowly goes lower, and her finger outstretches. To point at me.
I know exactly who you are, Tatum Driggs. You’re the killer wrestler!”
“Young lady, I’ll have to ask you to give me the phone and take it from the reception when you’re done. No phones allowed in here. That’s the policy.” Not even the baritone that is Damon’s trademark swells down her big head. Big mistake.
“No! I know who he is. I knew I recognized those tattoos and scars. Do you guys know who this man is?”
Her questions are pointed at our clients, and one by one, Kevin included, they all cringe at what she’s saying. With each syllable, I can see a cloud form in Kevin’s eye. Fear. That’s what this is.
> “You killed Eric Blair. I know you did. Punched him right in the spine, didn’t you?”
I am at peace. Nothing anyone brings up about Eric can faze me further than what Waryn’s shown me. So are my guys. Damon, Nix and Holland all know what happened, and they took me in anyway.
“You killed Eric Blair!” her lungs could not go any deeper, but I’ve been taken by surprise before.
I guess we are all preoccupied with waiting for her to power down that we haven’t noticed the pattering footsteps down the corridor. I for one haven’t taken notice on the curtains pulling back, and the fastest girl in yellow speeding up and landing the hottest high five on the blonde bitch’s face.
Shock. It is on all our faces. Except for Waryn’s. Her face is seething and red, her finger jabbing at the blonde bitch’s face and shaking in anger. I am not getting tired of saying the word ‘bitch’. It just fits so swell.
“No one killed Eric Blair. Tatum Driggs did not kill Eric Blair. Are we in understanding you tongue-tied, sun-colored, monkey-brained twat?”
I think I might be the only one aroused.
“What did you call me?”
“Exactly what you see in the mirror all day, every day.”
Gadamn woman!
“You dumb BITCH!” she screams and pounces. Waryn definitely saw that coming, and jabs her in the kidneys, leaving with a scratch on her face. It’s deep. The blonde bitch screams out in pain, and Waryn adds some more. The way the blonde one scrunches her cheeks; I would not want to make her mad. Not even once.
I flick my eye to where Damon sits, and I think the expression on his face is more of, “Let the woman get hers. Let’s see what she’s made of.”
Nails become claws, and I can’t even tell if the blonde bitch was getting a tattoo. The area is not protected at all, and Waryn is giving it to her where it hurts the most. She slaps Blair. Instinct roars.
“Okay that’s enough. Back away from the shop. I said back away lady!” Nix is already grabbing her by the waist and hauling her ass out to the curb. The last thing we hear after the bell dings open is his zero-fucks death threat, “…if I ever see you here again, you’re done!” He never actually killed anyone, but I’m not in the mood to try.
Two Bad Groomsmen_An MFM Menage Romance Page 30