Donathan, of all folks, wrinkled up his nose and smiled fondly when Jacob Lee spun such daydreams. Jacob Lee didn't care. He liked his happy endings and he'd not suffer anyone to take them away from him.
Now, normally Jacob Lee would never think of defacing a book this old, with so much significance in its pages. All the same, he found himself reaching for a soft lead pencil he'd noticed before on the lamp table beside the sofa, a short nub with just enough point left to do the job.
Ever so careful, he turned back and forth between the first set of intertwined initials and the first truly blank page, copying as best as he could, substituting S and J. Didn't look so hot when he'd finished; he didn't care. It made for a fine start, in his opinion.
Jacob Lee carefully got up, cradling Donathan's head so he wouldn't fidget or wake. He clasped the sketchbook close to his chest and went in search of first some tracing paper, knowing Donathan had a few tablets somewhere, and then his Bluetooth phone. He had a tattoo artist to leave a message for, and an appointment to get set up.
Men should leave behind records of their great loves, Jacob Lee thought. Randolph and JM, he was sure, would approve of his plans.
And Donathan? Well, picturing Donathan's reaction filled Jacob Lee with a heady buzz of arousal.
Maybe after he made his calls, he'd wake Donathan up after all.
Chapter Five
Hummingbird Studio West turned out not to look a single thing like what Jacob Lee had expected. He knew better than to expect to see skulls and crossbones and flaming daggers painted on the window, and he'd not looked to find a grizzled old man inside wearing a dirty undershirt, wielding a foot-powered needle, nor a parking lot full of Hell's Angels choppers.
He'd been sort of right, and sort of wrong. Hummingbird had a plenty of paint on their windows, but the flaming dagger was surrounded by thorns and held by a tale, pale man with wings. The jewel-colored bird they took their name from flew over the angel's head, its bright hues contrasting richly to the chalkiness of the avenger underneath. Celtic knotwork traced every corner in intricate loops of gold and green.
Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he turned the cool, slick brass knob and faced up to his own personal music.
A bell chimed as Jacob Lee stepped inside. He blinked, startled somehow by the homey sound. If he'd have thought of anything, he might have suspected a guitar riff. Maybe he hadn't stayed as free of stereotypical expectations as he'd prided himself on. At least among the waiting clients ranged about reading magazines or listening to mp3 players, some were multi-pierced in fascinating places, some had spiked hair, and some where covered in wild, bright maps of inked-in artwork.
And some looked like schoolteachers or soccer moms. One resembled his favorite aunt, a comfortingly plump lady as sweet as sugar pie, dressed in a pretty lavender blouse and loose, comfy jeans. She looked up from her copy of Reader's Digest and smiled at him, welcoming.
Jacob Lee, though he faced down nail guns and cement mixers and grouchy-ass foremen every day, made as direct a beeline to her comforting presence as he could. “Mind if I...?"
"No need to ask, baby.” She patted the chair beside her. “I know you."
"You do?” Jacob Lee blinked, surprised. “I've never been in here before."
Up close, he saw that she had small dimples in her cheeks. When she spoke, one of her incisors sparkled with a tiny sapphire chip. “I've seen your picture. You're Donathan's honey, aren't you? He and I have a good chat every time we meet. He's a sweetie pie if ever there was one.” She held out her hand. “So you're Jacob Lee. It's a pleasure to meet you at last."
Jacob Lee's aunt had raised him to mind his manners around proper ladies, but he'd have shown her due respect regardless. She appealed to him like a mother. “And you, ma'am."
She dimpled at him. “Sweetheart, you don't need to call me ma'am. I'm Bethannie. Bristol said you'd be by today. He got pulled off for a family emergency, so he asked me to take care of you."
"You work here?” Lord help him, no matter how he'd tried to keep an open mind, he couldn't help but be a little shocked.
"I surely do, and I'm good at my job.” Bethannie stood and stretched, blouse riding up slightly over her maturity-rounded belly, exposing a navel ring with a dime-sized portrait of Bettie Page attached. “How about you follow me, sweetheart, and we'll get this tour going."
"Yes, ma'am. I mean, Bethannie.” Jacob Lee had the strangest urge to bow to her. Donathan always laughed at how old Southern manners seemed hardwired in Jacob Lee's DNA. “Where do we start?"
"Right this way.” Bethannie led Jacob Lee past three cubicles, each one blasting out hard-core alternative rock and metal, waving at the men firmly ensconced within. One fulfilled every typical dream of a tattoo artist, burly and bald, a grinning skull tattooed on the top of his noggin. “Crandall,” she explained, “only call him Cujo, ‘cause he's just that pretentious.” The tall, slim man with the sweet smile was identified as “Jay", and the neatly compact African-American with a goatee was called “Roger". Jacob Lee kept his peeks inside their workspaces as discreet as he could, which meant he caught only glimpses of what struck him as psychotic geometric art on the walls and clients with pained expressions tightening their lips, their hands white-knuckled on chair arms.
They paused a couple of feet past Roger's work space. Bethannie glanced back at Jacob Lee, a dare-you in her twinkling eyes. “Fear of needles aside, are you afraid of the actual pain? I'll tell you straight up that yes, a tattoo does hurt. Some places more than others."
"I hadn't imagined it couldn't hurt,” Jacob Lee refuted. He did have his pride. “It's the needles in and of themselves, I think. I'm no stranger to pain,” he brazened despite nerves he knew had to be miserably obvious. “I've shot a nail gun in my foot before."
Bethannie winced in sympathy, but her warning expression didn't change a whit. “I'll bet that did indeed hurt. Tattooing is still different. For one thing, you'll be sitting still while I work on you, or at least you'd better sit still if you don't want some messy, messy art forever on your skin."
"You'll do the tattoo?"
"Unless you don't want me to, I will. You could wait for Bristol if we don't get along, although I think we'll be fine. Thing is, I don't have a clue when Bristol might be back.” She looked momentarily worried. “He's a good guy. Hope he's not tangled up in anything too bad. Never has called out a work a day in his life that I'm aware of.” Bethannie shook herself. “Listen to me, going on and on. I'm sure he'll be fine. All right, we're in here.” She drew back a crisp red drape hanging over the doorless frame. “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly."
Jacob Lee liked Bethannie more and more by the minute. “Yes'm."
"I'm not breaking you of that, am I?” Bethannie mock-sighed, walking in. “I do have to admit it's nice to see country manners. My lord, kids these days. Someone raised you right.” Her tone softened. “'Course, I should have known. Anyone who sweet Donathan loves so much would have to be a good man."
Jacob Lee's chest warmed with pleasure. That sealed the deal. He'd have Bethannie to do his artwork and none other. “Thank you."
She flapped her hand at him. “My pleasure, sweetheart. Now, where do you want to start? Your basic walk-through of what it's all about and how it works?"
"That'd be perfect.” For all he trusted and liked Bethannie, Jacob Lee thought he might need to sit down once she started talking about needles. He glanced about until he spotted the padded table, not unlike what you'd see in a doctor's office. Come to that, everything in Hummingbird West, from the waiting room all the way back here, was clean as a whistle. He smelled a hint of cigarette smoke but mostly antiseptic tangs in the air, rubbing alcohol and freshly mopped floors. “May I?"
"Sure thing, sweetheart.” Bethannie patted his shoulder. “Make yourself at home. You're a big, big guy, so we'll see how comfortable you'll be down there."
Jacob Lee tested the sturdiness, and it wasn't overall bad.
“Much obliged.” He looked around again, observing the framed Bettie Page, Deanna Durbin and Marilyn Monroe posters on these particular walls. Bethannie had style, for damn sure. “You have a nice place here."
"We try.” Bethannie busied herself retrieving various bottles and machines, lying them out on a crisp sheet of sterile paper laid over a stainless steel table. “Tattooing has changed a lot since the old days. If any studio you walk into doesn't keep it as clean as a hospital, you walk right back on out, hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sterile is the word. Now granted, if you want the whole cultural experience, they still use the old ways in some places. I got this here on my right shoulder down in New Zealand.” She shrugged, the loose collar of her lavender blouse slipping off to reveal a heavy, dark, spiky spiral. “It's not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. He used a needle on the end of a carved stick and a hammer."
Jacob Lee shuddered in time with her. “Let me take this opportunity to say how glad I am that we're not in New Zealand."
Bethannie chortled. “I wouldn't recommend it for a first tattoo, no sir.” She took a sly peek at Jacob Lee, who realized she'd been testing his nerves, and looked pleased at his not bolting.
Tickled, he grinned back at her. Not going anywhere, nope, no ma'am. This is for my Donathan and if I'd walk through fire for the man, I can face up to a needle. He'd keep telling himself that until the deed was done, if need be.
"Mind if I ask what all those are for?” He pointed. The array of paraphernalia didn't look too unnerving, not even the thingamabob that resembled nothing so much as an industrial glue gun.
"That's what we're here for.” Bethannie kicked a stool out from under the table and sat. She held up the glue gun thing and pressed the trigger. A buzzing whir made Jacob Lee jump. All the same, he stayed put. “This is the business end of the bargain. No needles in it right now, naturally, but that's what it sounds like. Think you'll be okay with the noise?"
Jacob Lee considered the question. He didn't guess it was much worse than a dentist's drill. “I believe so."
"Good!” Bethannie patted his knee. “All right, that's the worst of it. Now, let me show you these...” Slowly and patiently as a natural-born caregiver, she led him through explanations of ink types, likely color combinations, ink caps, sterile solution, and aftercare. He'd have to guard his tattoo in the sun so it didn't fade, but Jacob Lee figured he could make the compromise.
When she'd finished, Jacob Lee would have dared to say he was starting to get excited all over again. Lord, what had he been nervous of? Might not be easy as a snap of the fingers, no, but it wasn't near the bugbear he'd feared.
"What about designs?” he asked once he'd been satisfied, fingering the crinkling scrap of tracing paper he'd tucked in his shirt pocket. “I can come up with my own idea, right? I know Donathan does."
"You bet you can. Got something particular in mind?"
Jacob Lee nodded, handing her his carefully sketched copy of the initials he'd found in the book of lover's drawings. He had to admit his artwork more or less sucked. Hopefully he'd gotten the general idea right. “Like this, only better."
Bethannie chuckled. “Sweetheart, reading between the lines of a rough draft and figuring what the customer wants is like a pharmacist learning how to interpret how doctors write out prescriptions. I'll take good care of you. Now, let me see.” She pursed her lips, studying the sketch. “Oh, I like this, I do. Small, I think, but not too small, since you're a beefy guy. On the bicep?"
Jacob Lee hesitated. Did he dare go this soppy in front of Bethannie, sweet country woman or not?
"Spit it out,” she prodded. “Tattoos are forever, son. If you don't want it on your arm, then for God's sake you'd better tell me now."
"Over my heart,” he admitted, cheeks warming up. “It's for Donathan's birthday."
Bethannie lit up like a candle, giving him to know he'd pleased her well. “You truly are good enough for Donathan."
"Sounds like he's made an impression on you,” Jacob Lee had to observe; not that he minded a whit.
"All of us would have had him in here to work in a heartbeat if he'd agree to an apprenticeship. He's got a great eye and a sense for spatial proportions second to none I've ever seen.” Bethannie exhaled heavily. “I've asked, believe me. He always says no. Truth to tell, I don't know if he's as much of a free spirit as he claims, or if he's scared he'll mess up."
Jacob Lee thought that one over.
Bethannie shook off her momentary gloom. “Tell you what, how about you give him a push our way? He'd be a star, for sure."
"I'll see what I can do,” Jacob Lee replied slowly, choosing his words. He wouldn't make a promise he couldn't keep, but that didn't mean he didn't intend to take it under careful consideration.
"Good man.” Bethannie returned to her study of Jacob Lee's sketch. “I think we've got something fine in the making here."
Jacob Lee thought she might be right.
Chapter Six
For once in a rare blue moon, Jacob Lee got home before Donathan did. A critical examination of the sky told him Donathan might not yet return before the sun went down, as the day was bright, not too hot, and thus perfect for folks to indulge themselves with a walk through the park. Hopefully right past wherever Donathan had set up camp for the day with his paints and pencils. He did love his work.
Jacob Lee couldn't get Bethannie's wishful dreaming about Donathan working for Hummingbird out of his thoughts. He did see why Donathan would get crawly-skinned over the thought of being confined within four walls throughout the day. You couldn't and never should try to cage a wild bird; he'd had the selfsame argument many a time when guys from the site or his own family got tetchy about how he “supported” Donathan, like Donathan was a no-good bum or something.
Money didn't worry Jacob Lee. They didn't need much, and they made do. Neither did he think Donathan “needed” to better his station in life.
What did niggle in his thoughts was Bethannie's offhand comment about Donathan maybe being afraid. Why? Jacob Lee couldn't think of a thing, though granted, he did see his lover through deeply rose-colored glasses. Might even spoil him rotten, though Jacob Lee didn't let that bother him.
But, afraid? He couldn't make sense of the concept, and didn't know if he wanted to ask.
To take his mind off the conundrum—no sense in thinking something over until it grew into far more than what it was—he got busy. Donathan had tidied up and cooked yesterday, and although they didn't keep a tally sheet as to whose turn came when, it pleased Jacob Lee to try and fix up something good for Donathan to come home to.
Dinner, that was a good place to start. He couldn't cook like Donathan, no, but he had a mean hand with a Crock-Pot. Hard to mess up Crock-Pot food. Chicken breasts and thighs thawed in the microwave, chopped up into ragged-edged chunks, a can of chicken broth stock, a good handful or three of sliced onions and carrots, two tubes of biscuit dough sliced quarter-wise. All of the above went into the pot, which he turned on to simmer slowly through the afternoon. Chicken and dumplings, one of his favorites. He'd even fix up a pot of fresh green peas later, and maybe see if he could heat up a frozen peach pie without burning it black.
Well-satisfied with his efforts, Jacob Lee went the extra mile of tidying away his dishes. He still had a-plenty of nervous energy left over when he'd finished, though, and with no Donathan in sight, needed to find something to occupy his time. Otherwise, he knew damn well he'd get lost in staring at Bethannie's much-improved rendition of the claddagh and initials sketch, or worry himself over the upcoming work until he'd lost all his taste for the deed.
After a few moments’ worth of thought, Jacob Lee snapped his fingers. He had it: wash the truck. Lord knew he'd put the job off for far longer than need be during pollen season. It depressed him to spend hours with soap and wax only to wake up the next morning to see all his hard work coated in fresh yellow dust. Still, it'd keep him occupied for the time being and that
was what mattered.
And the look on Donathan's face when he came home and saw Jacob Lee stripped down to the waist, covered in soapy water, that would be priceless. Jacob Lee cackled and got to work.
* * * *
"Now there's a sight for sore eyes."
Jacob Lee looked up, grinning fit to beat the band, at the sound of his Donathan's voice. Donathan smiled back at him, blazing bright, sunburned across his nose, daubed from head to toe with smears of paint in every possible color, and happy as a kid in a candy store. “Hey there, good looking."
"Hey good-looking, yourself,” Donathan retorted. He carefully stowed his canvas satchels full of art supplies and his easel by the side of the porch. “So, do I need to buy a ticket or is the show free today?"
Jacob Lee wiggled his ass at Donathan. “Go on and sneak in the theatre. I won't call the cops."
Donathan laughed, a sound Jacob Lee loved, bubbly and young. “Is today's performance interactive?"
"If you play your cards right.” Jacob Lee perked up. “Or if you play them wrong. I'm easy."
"You're a man-whore, is what you are,” Donathan teased. “Give me a minute. Those sidewalks get hot in the late afternoon sun, and these sneakers are wearing pretty thin."
"Take your time.” Jacob Lee didn't mind a good, slow build-up. “You look like you had a good day."
"One of the best.” Donathan said, lazily happy. “I met an older woman, maybe in her sixties, who sat and talked with me for a while. She does henna, too. We talked recipes.” He chortled. “Remember when I first started? How awful the mess was that I made with the pre-mixed paste in a tube?"
Jacob Lee shuddered. “The slimy greenish-brown goop that smelled like ass?"
"Ugh. Yeah."
"I recall your saying it was like painting with pudding."
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