Joy and Tiers

by Mary Crawford

  “Says the guy who signed me up for an online dating service without telling me. Hypocritical much?”

  “I totally deserve that. I know you’re careful and I know I sound like a crazy, possessive overprotective brother—”

  I roll my eyes at him as I tease, “Yeah, I’m sure that Sadie would be thrilled if you returned to your post in her life. After all, what freshman girl doesn’t want her tattooed, menacing big brother lurking in the hall?”

  Marcus scowls over the top of his drafting easel. “Damn straight I should be there. Do you have any idea what eighteen year old boys think about all day?”

  I smirk at him as I quip, “Probably the same thing as twenty-five year old men.”

  He moans and buries his head in his hands, “What’s so great about UCLA? There are lots of great schools in Florida.”

  “Relax, Marc. You’ve been teaching her to scrape off the bottom-feeders since she was about twelve.” I reason. “She is a pro now. You did your job well—just like you’ve done with me.”

  Embarrassed by my admission, I walk over to the filing cabinets and start to re-file the stack of reference drawings and portfolio pictures.

  Marcus drapes his arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards his side for a hug.

  “Don’t mention it,” he replies, brushing off the compliment. “I’m your most annoying best friend, it’s part of my mandatory job duties.”

  “Just so you don’t get a big head or anything, I feel compelled to point out that you are virtually my only friend here in the land of sunny beaches and palm trees.”

  “Those are just details... You have to look at the big picture here.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I agree. “Let’s analyze this. You miss your sister. So, you obviously need to make a road trip. Is she planning to come home for break?”

  “No! Can you believe this? She said she has too much studying to do over break to make it worth the cost to fly home. I don’t think she knows how much I make on a custom back piece,” he muses, frustration seething from every pore.

  It’s a good thing Marcus can’t see my face as I smother a grin. I suspect his little sis is spending Thanksgiving at the boyfriend’s place. But, there may be certain things my friend just isn’t ready to hear.

  “She’s probably just busy,” I answer carefully.

  Marcus gasps as he exclaims, “Rogue Betancourt, you did not just use your ‘socially acceptable polite’ voice on me!”

  The spider web in the ceiling fan was becoming more interesting with each beat of my pounding heart. I hate lying to Marcus—even by omission. But, when it comes down to it; it’s not even my story to tell.

  I nod a tight nod.

  A pained look crosses his face as he replies, “Despite my zaniness, I know I can always count on you not to feed me any crap—even if it’s hard. Why are you changing the rules now?”

  I sigh as I choose my words with precision, “Marc, you’re my best friend too and sometimes I choose not to tell you things because I know they are going to just stress you out. This is one of those times.”

  Marcus groans in frustration, as he practically bellows, “Oh great! Now, I have to wait a whole week wondering what you mean.”

  I reach up and pat him gently on the cheek. I sigh as I respond, “Okay, don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. But, I suspect that Sadie is probably spending Thanksgiving with her boyfriend. It’s a scary, liberating thing for a woman the first time that she spends a holiday away from her family.”

  “Woman?” Marcus sputters. “She’s still a little girl. I mean it wasn’t that long ago she got her driver’s license.”

  Massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders, I reply, “Marc, I know it’s hard, but Sadie is nineteen. But, thanks to you, she’s also incredibly savvy and smart when it comes to guys so she’s going to be just fine.”

  “Maybe, but now we definitely need to take that road trip to see what’s going on. There is a trade show in San Francisco in the end of December. Does that match up with your break from school?”

  “That’s a nice fantasy Marcus, but I would never be able to afford to go to California,” I respond dryly shrugging out of his half embrace.

  Marcus catches my arm and spins me around so I have to look at him. “Look, you’re here to be an apprentice. Part of that is learning about all the new trends and techniques as well as scoping out the equipment and inks. A trade show is a great way to do that. I know it’s easy to forget I’m a part owner in this place because I’m such a clown, but it is my responsibility to make sure you get properly trained. So, I would pick up the cost of your trip. I’m not doing this because we’re friends. I’m doing this because I want to make you a better tattoo artist.”

  I’m a little surprised by the serious tone in his voice. Although, I’m not really sure why it shocks me. I know despite all appearances, Marcus is incredibly successful at what he does and dedicated to his craft. There is nothing more devastating to Marcus than someone who is not happy with their tattoo. Yet, despite the fact he’s made a huge name for himself and is starting to get national recognition, he would rather downplay all of his success and live like a college frat boy. He doesn’t treat anybody differently now than he did when I met him six years ago when he was just starting out.

  Usually, I’m pretty good at keeping my emotions in check, but my elation over the opportunity to go to California with Marcus to an actual trade show and see Sadie again is just too much to hide. I start bouncing on the balls of my feet as I grin widely. “I’ll have to check my schedule to see when my last final is over. I’ll make sure I don’t take any modeling jobs that week.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind about getting some ink?” Marcus asks me with a twinkle in his eye. This is an old debate between us. He’s been trying to convince me to get a tattoo for years. He thinks it’s hysterically funny that I’m apprenticing to be a tattoo artist but I don’t actually have any tattoos yet. I have reams of drawings of tattoos that I plan to get—someday.

  “With your amazing body and stunning face, I bet there will be some pretty famous tattoo artists that would be itching to use your body as a canvas.”

  “I know that I’m no Sofia Vergara, but for now I make a few extra dollars on the side modeling. It’s easier for me to book jobs if they don’t have to cover tattoos with makeup. So, for now it’s purely a financial decision for me. I don’t plan to make a career out of modeling, it’s just a means to make it possible for me to go to school.”

  Marcus takes a good long leering look at me as he remarks, “Speaking as your friend here, not your employer, I don’t know who gave you the idea that you’re not as hot as Sofia Vergara.”

  I laugh at the expression on his face. “Knock it off, Marcus. I’m so firmly in the friend zone with you that I doubt you even remember I’m a girl. Do I need to remind you that you challenged me to a burping contest last week?”

  “Oh, you mean the contest you almost won? If I hadn’t been assisted by a liter of Dr. Pepper, you would’ve won that one hands down. But, just because you happen to be my best friend doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate your many assets as a woman,” Marcus replies wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

  “You might not believe this, but having you as my best friend has really built up my self-confidence. Thanks to you, I can now tell when a guy is sincerely into me or just feeding me a line. You’ve given me some valuable information about guys and their go-to-plays. It’s really helped me sort out the crap and not take it personally.”

  “Geez, I feel like I’ve broken some sacred man code or something,” Marcus mutters under his breath.

  “No really, you have no idea how helpful it’s been,” I explain. I start to pace around the work space as I become more animated. “You have no idea what it’s like to walk down the street and have people comment on my appearance when all I’m trying to do is grab a cup of coffee. Guys make catcalls and suggestive comments as if I’m going
to think it’s some sort of aphrodisiac and drop my panties on the spot. Before I met you, I used to take all this stuff personally—like there was something wrong or defective with me. I thought maybe I was putting out some weird vibe to attract all the creeps. But after you’ve spent all these years explaining ‘guy-ness’ to me, I realize that it’s not me, it’s them. So, hanging around you has been great for my self-esteem.”

  Marcus looks incredibly befuddled as he answers slowly, “I think there’s a complement in there somewhere. I don’t want you to think that all guys are like those misogynistic assholes who degrade you on the street. There are better classes of men out there. You just need to find them. I promise we exist.”

  I stop and look at my incredibly handsome best friend and wonder again why he’s still single. “I know men like you exist. I see how you treat women and you are amazing to the women in your life. Why some great chick hasn’t snatched you off the market is beyond me.”

  “Maybe I have some pretty great women in my life who show me how high the bar should be and my standards are quite high,” Marcus comments as seems to do a full body shake like a dog after a bath. “Enough of this serious talk. We are so going to go to Disneyland and Universal Studios when we go to California. I want to see if it’s different from Disney World. Besides, the little routine that you have going on that you in your so called life is entirely too serious. You’re not too scared to go on the roller coasters are you?”

  “Umm, No—” I reply, laughing, “but I have heard that the It’s a Small World ride is a little creepy.”

  “Jessica, come here. You remember that guy Daniel, I was talking to on BrainsRSexy.com? Look at this message he just sent me!” I yell across the room in disgust.

  Great bait and switch babe. Thought you said you were an accountant, not some tattoo bimbo.

  Jessica gasps as she reads the text message over my shoulder. “Oh my gosh, what a toolbox,” she exclaims. “I thought you said you had to reschedule your date with this guy because of your exam.”

  “I did. So, I don’t know what his deal is. But, he sounds psycho. I’m going to block him. It’s weird though, because I had several conversations with him and I thought he seemed pretty normal. Maybe this online dating thing was a really bad idea,” I muse.

  “Oh, come on. You can’t write everyone off just because one guy is weird. Didn’t you tell me you’ve had several conversations with nice guys?” Jessica replies. “Scoot over.” With that, my roommate literally pushes me out of my desk chair and onto my bed.

  After a couple minutes, Jessica squeals with excitement, “Oh Ivy! Did you look at this guy, Mitch? He is a business major, but he volunteers for search and rescue and he has his own search dog he trained from a puppy that he rescued from the shelter. He sounds perfect for you. He’s totally cute too.”

  With a reluctant sigh, I unfold my long limbs, hop off the bed and peer over her shoulder at my online profile. She’s right; the guy has an uncanny resemblance to Matthew McConaughey in his younger days. But, as I examine his profile more closely, I see a couple of problems. “Jessica, this says he likes petite women and redheads. In case you haven’t noticed, at almost 5’9 with nearly jet black hair, I’m neither.”

  “Peshaw. Those are just cosmetic things. I’m talking about the match of your souls. The things that make you guys truly tick,” Jessica retorts with a grin.

  “Peshaw? Did you seriously just say that? What are you? Eighty?” I tease. “Anyway, have you ever tried to date anyone shorter then you? It’s a drag. Guys get all insecure about it and then I feel like I have to slouch all the time to minimize the difference. It literally becomes a pain in my neck.”

  Jessica laughs as she replies, “Yes, I’m well aware of the fact that I talk funny. It’s a side effect of being raised by my grandparents. You know good and well that the odds of me dating someone shorter than me are pretty minuscule since I’m 5’1.”

  “Do you know how lucky you are? You get to be the cute cuddly girlfriend that he can tuck under his arm and protect from all the dangers of the world. He gets to be your hero and reach all the things you can’t. You’re just a pocket-sized ball of cuteness. I, on the other hand, look like an oversized giraffe. Guys never know what to do with me. I’m too tall for them to tuck under their arm. Many times, I’m actually taller than men I am dating — especially if they lie about their height to their matchmaking friends. It just turns into a colossal mess when I look really awkward dancing.”

  Jessica’s eyes widen in surprise as she hears my self-assessment. “Seriously Ivy? Have you even looked in the mirror? You could be runway model or something. The guys around campus nearly faint when you walk in the room. Do you really not notice this stuff?” she asks with an incredulous tone in her voice.

  I shrug as I fend off her questions. “I don’t know. I’ve always hated my hair. My parents have wonderful thick black, wavy curls. I have such boring ‘straight manageable hair’ as my mom likes to call it. I grew up hating it because it just underscored how different I was from my parents. It’s funny though, because my mom always says that she is jealous of my straight locks.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I think everyone is a little jealous of your beautiful long hair. If I had your hair, I wouldn’t be wearing mine in a ‘ stylish little pageboy’ as my hairdresser calls my mess of a do,” Jessica mutters running her hands through her hair. “I still think you should reply to this guy. I think he sounds nice.”

  I lift my shoulder in a casual shrug as I reply, “Whatever, go ahead. Why don’t you chat with him for a while and see what you think? If he gets your seal of approval, I think about going out with him. I’ve got a study for my Economics exam.”

  “Isn’t that the class that bores you to tears?” Jessica asks sympathetically.

  I nod with a wistful expression on my face as I respond, “Sadly, yes. Unfortunately, every single class in my major is that way. The only classes that I’m enjoying are my electives that I have to take to fulfill the arts requirement of my liberal arts education.”

  Jessica shakes her head in disbelief. “Ivy Love Montclaire!” she chastises. “You do realize that this is college and not high school, right? You don’t have to take courses you don’t like. You can choose to major in something you enjoy. Why are you torturing yourself with classes that you hate?”

  “I know. I know.” I acknowledge, regretfully. “It’s just that my dad has always dreamed of opening an accounting firm with me. ‘ Montclaire & Montclaire’. I think he’s probably already got the business cards printed. My parents have made so many sacrifices for me and I don’t want to let him down.”

  Jessica scrunches her nose up at me and rolls her eyes as she argues, “Ivy, do you really believe your parents would want you to choose a career that you absolutely hate just to make them happy? Your mom is a teacher. I know she would want you to choose something that you’re passionate about. I know without a shadow of the doubt that you are not passionate about accounting.”

  “But I want to be, shouldn’t that count for something?” I whisper.

  “Yeah, it shows you love your dad an awful lot. But, that shouldn’t be the only criteria for you to choose your career. I think you ought to go to the advising office and talk to somebody.”

  Just then, the computer beeps. Jessica and I read the message from Mitch with a mixture of confusion and horror.

  Hi Ivy,

  Is this some kind of weird joke? I was just talking to you two days ago, but I thought you said your name was Rogue. It’s too bad because I thought you were kind of cool.

  --Mitch

  I quickly motion for Jessica to get up and I slide into my desk chair almost tipping it over in my haste.

  At this moment, I am grateful for all the summers I spent working in my dad’s office, as I am able to respond to Mitch’s text in record time.

  Mitch,

  There must be some mistake. I just saw your profile for the first time today. You couldn’
t have been talking to me because I didn’t contact you until about 30 seconds ago.

  ~ Ivy

  I hit send and Jessica and I wait impatiently for his response. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be. I walk over to the bed and pick up my Economics textbook. After a couple of paragraphs, it’s obvious to me it’s an exercise in futility to pretend like I’m going to even try to study when my brain is clearly completely occupied with the drama in front of me. Finally, a message pops up on my screen.

  Ivy,

  Are you for real? Seriously no kidding? That’s freaking spooky! This other chick, Rogue looks just like you. Are you an Art major? Do you work at a tattoo place?

  --Mitch

  Jessica and I look at each other in disbelief. That’s twice in one day that tattoos have been mentioned. Something bizarre is going on.

  Mitch,

  No, that’s definitely not me. I am an accounting major and I’ve never even set foot in a tattoo parlor. I don’t know what the heck is going on. Can you look at my Facebook page and see if she’s using any of my profile pictures?

  Thank you so much. I’m sorry I don’t mean to bother you with this weird drama.

  ~ Ivy

  I hit send and wait for Mitch’s response. In the meantime, my mind is racing a million miles an hour. Of course I’ve heard of cat-fishing. You’d have to live under a rock to not be familiar with the concept. But what I don’t understand is why someone would be interested in pretending to be me. If you looked up the word boring in the dictionary it would literally have my picture. I lead the most non-exciting life ever.

  The only creature ever interested in my life was my cat and that’s only because I fed her. I had to leave her home with my parents when I left home to go to college. I was so tired of the snow in Vermont that I chose the warmest place I could think of to go to school. Well, actually Florida was my second choice. I didn’t get into the school I wanted to in Hawaii. I’m so invisible here, that I can’t imagine anyone would want to assume my identity.