by Mark Carver
Cameron tucked the butter in the fridge door and closed it. His days of peace and quiet were over. It was impossible to have it both ways. He had signed that contract when the tattoo needle punctured his skin. There was nothing to do but see this ride through to the end.
He looked out through the kitchen window at the workshop sitting meekly in the corner of the backyard and he immediately remembered the late-night sketch he had drawn in a flash of inspiration. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was just past eleven o’clock. Plenty of time to get some work in before lunch.
His hand was on the back door when the phone chirped on the kitchen counter. He glanced at the number and groaned.
“Hi Robyn,” he said as he held the phone to his ear.
“Good morning, Mr. McConnell. Are you free for lunch?”
Cameron let out a long slow breath. “Umm…yeah, sure.”
“Wonderful. Think you could come downtown for a bite? I’ve set up a meeting with a hotshot web designer and he wants to show you some templates for your new homepage.”
Cameron looked wistfully out at the workshop, wishing he hadn’t answered his phone.
“Yeah, okay. Where do we meet?”
****
Cameron’s mind was a jumble of thoughts as he snaked through LA traffic on the way to the photo shoot for Inkling Magazine. He mulled over yesterday’s meeting with Robyn and the web geek, but he found it hard to organize his thoughts. The impressive website display, the web designer’s thrice-pierced lower lip, Robyn’s incredibly tight white cotton blouse, the strange coffee that tasted like it was spiced with incense from a Buddhist temple... And to top it all off, he was now late for his appointment at the photo studio.
Sweat trickled down his temple despite the blasting air conditioner, and he unloaded a withering torrent of curses at the obnoxious driver of the SUV that just cut him off. He glanced nervously at the dashboard clock, afraid of what he would see. He winced. 2:10. Ten minutes late and he still had a long way to go.
He peered up through the windshield at a police helicopter soaring past. For one brief, idiotic moment, he imagined a rope ladder tumbling down to whisk him away to his destination like a spy.
Dropping his eyes, he felt foolish for even imagining it. He saw a space open up in the next lane and he revved the engine, scooting into the gap and promptly stepping on the brakes. Immediately, the lane he had just exited began slithering forward again. He threw up his hands.
At a quarter to three, he burst through the doors of Lucky 13 Studios, red-faced and clutching an armful of deadly weapons. The startled secretary nearly screamed.
A middle-aged man with a distinctly European vibe stepped forward, his eyebrows held aloft as he looked Cameron over.
“Mr. McConnell, I presume?”
Cameron nodded breathlessly. “I’m really sorry I’m late. The traffic, and there was construction so I had to take – "
The man waved his excuses away. “Think nothing of it. No one has even been on time in Los Angeles in the last forty years. I’m Raphael. And before you ask, yes, my mother was a big fan of the painter. Follow me and we’ll get you all set up.”
He spun on his heel with military precision and led Cameron into the depths of the studio. His brisk pace made it hard for Cameron to maintain his hold on his jumble of weapons, and it was pretty difficult to concentrate on where he was walking. They walked past several photo rooms where shoots were going on, and light bulbs popped over gorgeous models wearing the flimsiest clothes imaginable, and sometimes nothing but the light itself. A voluptuous redhead gave Cameron a sultry glare as she struck a pose.
His heart was pounding as Raphael led him deeper into the building. He felt like Dante being guided by Virgil through the depths of the Inferno. All at once, he felt scared and thrilled. His eyes almost popped out of his head as a parade of glassy-eyed vixens wearing the most ridiculous costumes marched past, unconcerned with the amount of flesh they were revealing.
Cameron’s eyes drank up every curve, every stretch of silky skin. How could he function in this…
His mind crashed like an overloaded computer as Raphael parted a curtain to reveal an elaborate photo set. It looked like the entrance to a Gothic crypt, majestically crumbling and utterly fearsome.
But that’s not what caused Cameron’s meltdown. He almost dropped his bundle of swords as he spotted three women straight from the cover of a fantasy novel loitering in front of a gargoyle. When he had been merely a fan, he had gone to several conventions and sexy women in leather bikinis were a common sight, but not like this. He could hardly believe that these girls were real.
They were more than real; they were perfect. Robyn, Mindy, and every other woman he had ever lusted after melted away. He felt like a mortal who had suddenly found himself on Mount Olympus.
“Mr. McConnell,” Raphael addressed the room as much as Cameron, “let’s get to work, shall we? These lovelies are your background models. Kara, Emily, and Patricia.”
The women turned towards him and looked him over as Raphael had done. They nodded politely, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Kara’s black lips.
Cameron was frozen. He felt like a child at a party for grown-ups.
A large man with a pleasant face and arms completely wrapped in tattoos stepped forward and stuck out his hand.
“Bennie,” he said with an Australian accent, taking the hand that Cameron cautiously extended beneath his bundle of weapons. “I’m the assistant editor at Inkling. Robyn Chu had a lot of good things to say about you.”
Cameron blinked and then nodded quickly. “Oh, right. Yeah, Robyn’s a…she’s a trip.”
Bennie’s wide face cracked a smile. “You’re telling me. Oh, this is Cherish,” he said, gesturing to a petite girl with purple hair and a large chest piece tattoo perched above her red corset. “She’ll be doing the interview after the shoot.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. McConnell,” Cherish said with a sweet voice as she also shook his hand. “Bennie, could you give him a hand?”
Bennie jumped as if someone had pricked him with a needle. “Oh, right, sorry mate. Let me help you with that there.”
He carefully scooped the swords out of Cameron’s aching arms and deposited them on a nearby table.
“Sweet hardware, mate,” he declared with an approving nod.
“Thanks,” Cameron said.
“And great tattoo, by the way,” Cherish said, leaning upwards to get a closer look. Cameron almost took an instinctive step back, but he didn’t want to offend her, so he remained where he was. His body was tense, though, and Cherish seemed to notice, because she quickly backed away with a shy smile.
Before Cameron could acknowledge her compliment, Raphael clapped loudly.
“Okay everyone, let’s make it happen! Eleanor, please take Mr. McConnell to make-up.”
Cameron felt a strong hand grip his arm, and his first thought was that Eleanor must be a guy. He turned to his right and was surprised to see a tiny dark-skinned girl looking at him with fiery eyes. Sucking in a deep breath to calm his thundering heart, he let himself be led to a corner of the room illuminated by a vanity mirror standing tall above a table full of cosmetics.
As he sat down, he heard a clattering noise to his left. He turned and saw a young man wheeling over a rack of clothes straight out of the Middle Ages: oily black leather, rows and rows of polished silver studs and spikes, and countless straps, buckles, and belts.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was glowing.
****
Two hours later, he collapsed onto a sagging sofa, exhausted. His eyes ached from the continual assault of flashing lights, and his skin felt slick and clammy beneath the thirty pounds of leather and metal strapped to his body. How could people do this everyday?
But he had to admit that he had enjoyed it. The fantasy girls were even more tantalizing up close, and Cameron had to make a conscious effort to keep his tongue from hanging out of his mouth. As t
hey had twisted and posed according to the photographer’s directions, Kara wasted no opportunities to press her body against Cameron whenever she could. It was all Cameron could do to look tough and macho when he felt his heart melting like butter.
He knew the pictures were going to be amazing. After he started getting used to the photographer’s prodding while three sirens slithered and coiled around him, he reached deep inside and drew out the barbarian that got him there in the first place. He snarled at the camera, imagining the photographer’s head arcing through the air after being sliced off by one of his weapons. The women struck provocative poses around him, their hands roaming across his studded chest, grasping at his tightened legs. He was really getting into it, and despite the heat from the models and lights roasting him in his leather shell, he was almost sad when the photographer announced the end of the shoot.
A pretty girl brought Cameron a cup of cold mineral water, which he downed in two gulps. He watched hungrily as the models crept away to their dressing room. Kara tossed a simmering glance over her shoulder as she walked slower than the others, letting Cameron’s eyes roam over her sweat-slicked body.
Cherish coughed once behind him.
Cameron bolted upright like a student caught sleeping in class.
“Hey Cherish,” he said a little too loudly.
Cherish stifled a smile, completely aware of the situation. “You were great up there. Like a barbarian.”
Cameron’s eyes went wide. “You think so?”
“Sure. That was straight out of a black metal video.”
“I don’t listen to black metal,” Cameron admitted sheepishly.
Cherish laughed. “Don’t worry, neither do I. But I have to say that those guys have quite the flair for the dramatic. Our readers are going to love this.”
Cameron was glad he was still flushed from the photo shoot, because it disguised the blush that spread over his cheeks. “So when do you want to do the interview?”
Cherish shrugged. “Whenever you feel ready. But you probably should change into something a little more…21st century.”
Cameron looked down at his nearly-bare thighs. The blush on his face was too deep to hide.
“Yeah,” he said, rising from the sofa, feeling very exposed, “I’ll get right on that.”
Cherish nodded with a smile that spoke volumes.
Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting in a comfortable meeting room with Cherish and Bennie. Raphael had provided the room for them and had even laid out a spread of cheese, crackers, and red wine. Bennie didn’t touch any of it, and Cherish only nibbled on a slice of cheese, but Cameron was famished. And thirsty.
As he felt the warm wine coursing through his body, he found himself staring at Cherish’s intricate chest piece tattoo. It spread from shoulder to shoulder and brushed the tops of her breasts. Flowers, birds, water, and poetry swirled and danced together in a mosaic of color that was equal parts Japanese technique and American traditional. Cameron was so mesmerized that he didn’t realize he was staring.
“Cool, huh?”
He froze, and his eyes immediately raced up to meet hers. Guilty.
“Uh, yeah. Lots of detail, but everything is clear and easy to make out.”
Cherish looked down with pride. “Took twelve hours. Ivan Stockton did it. I had to make the appointment six months in advance.”
“Ivan did that?”
“Yeah. Do you know him?”
Cameron pointed to his face. Cherish’s confused expression suddenly brightened.
“No way!” she cried. “Dude, we rock.”
She leaned across the table to give Cameron a knuckle bump. In a corner, Bennie chuckled, his massive stomach quivering like Jell-O.
“Bet it hurt like a mother, though,” she said.
“Oh yeah.”
“Ivan’s got a pretty soft touch, but there’s no way to make a facial tattoo feel good.”
Cameron nodded, amazed at the coincidence.
For a moment, Cherish held his gaze, then she reached down and grabbed a very customized canvas bag. She pulled out a voice recorder, a printed sheet with several questions, and some pictures of Cameron’s creations. Robyn had probably given them to her.
“So,” she began as she pressed a button on the recorder and folded her hands in front of her. “Who are you, and what do you do?”
Cameron’s mouth opened a little but he didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the pearl-colored light hovering above them.
“Well, I’m Cameron McConnell, and I design and create fantasy weapons for collectors and hobbyists. I’ve also been commissioned by movie and television studios to do some work…for them…sometimes.”
Wow. You not only look like a barbarian, but you also talk like one.
Cherish only smiled, and Cameron felt a little more relaxed.
“How did you get into the fantasy weapons business?” she asked.
“I’ve always had a thing for knives and swords and I was always drawing them. When I was in art school in New York, my teacher saw me doodling and put me in touch with a specialty blade manufacturer after I graduated. I guess I was pretty good at fabrication, and soon I was working independently. It’s a pretty sweet job but it’s also a lot of work.”
“Most jobs are,” Cherish said pleasantly. “You’re fairly well-known in the fantasy weapons realm, but what would you say to the average Joe who doesn’t know the difference between a Skullbreaker and a Razortongue?”
Cameron had to laugh. The girl knew her blades. “I’d say that it’s not just for nerds and geeks. I see my creations as art, pure and simple. I want them to look fierce and deadly, but I also want them to be beautiful and appealing. People collect weapons for different reasons, but for me, it’s a combination of power, beauty, lethality, and craftsmanship.”
“Deadly art,” Cherish suggested.
“Exactly. I think anyone can appreciate what we do as designers. It’s no different than designing a dress, or a car, or a house. Aesthetics blended with functionality. Like a mixed drink that has been blended to perfection. You can’t taste the individual ingredients, but they all work together and compliment each other, so that the whole is more than the sum of the parts.”
Cherish sat quietly for a moment, reflecting on Cameron’s words. She seemed mesmerized. Cameron was surprised to hear himself say it, too. Where had this profound wisdom been hiding all these years?
“So what’s the weapons business like?” Cherish asked. “Are you guys all chummy, or is it ruthless and cutthroat? Figuratively, not literally.”
Her attempt at levity was lost on Cameron as a shadow darkened his eyes.
“We’re all friends, by and large. But there is fierce competition. I mean really fierce. People will do anything to get ahead. Even if it means crossing some lines.”
One person in particular…
Cherish sensed the turn the interview was taking and she quickly guided it in another direction.
“Let’s talk about your tattoo,” she said with a tight smile. “You had a couple already, but then one day you show up all over the internet with a totally awesome tribal design by the world-famous Ivan Stockton. What’s up with that?”
Cameron inhaled though his nose and reached up to touch his face. “I keep asking myself that same question and to be honest, it’s hard to say. I didn’t do it to draw more attention to myself or to show the world that I’m extreme or anything. I guess I did it to push myself, to be more than I was.”
“How do you mean?”
Cameron mulled his thoughts carefully before speaking. “I’ve always been kind of a shy person, and I don’t always feel comfortable around people. But I didn’t want to devolve into some kind of hermit troll living under the bridge, just cranking out weapons and hiding in the shadows. I mean, I had friends and everything before the tattoo, but I felt like I was just kind of stagnant. This tattoo became a visual reminder for me to show the world who I really am, to be bold and fierce, to take
the world by the balls.”
Cherish scribbled quickly on the question page. “So…you’re saying that this tattoo is an outward expression of how you feel inside?”
It was amazing how women could explain things in such simple terms. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.”
His tone made Cherish smile proudly. “All right, let’s talk about your life outside of work. What do you do when you’re not playing with red-hot steel?”
“Well, when I’m not pounding metal, I’m usually listening to metal. I’ve always been a metalhead…maybe that’s what got me into this in the first place. I don’t really have any interesting hobbies; I usually just stay at home and read, have a beer, watch a movie. I hang out with friends sometimes but I like my quiet space.”
“Your Fortress of Solitude.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“So what can we expect from Cameron McConnell in the future?”
Cameron paused a moment to think. He could almost feel Robyn standing behind him, breathing down his neck. This is one of those “moments that count,” as she put it – those important opportunities to lay the foundation, to set the stage for the future.
“Lots of original weapons, of course,” he answered, leaning back in his chair, “and I’ve realized that if I want to be successful in this arena, I need to put myself out there, connect with the fans and collectors on a personal level. I’ve become a bit notorious for avoiding conventions and trade shows, but that’s going to change. I’m not just making weapons for corporate entities with no face; real people collect my creations, and I owe it to them to see what they’re about. I think it will help me as an artist too, to feel the pulse of this awesome world I’m in.”
Cherish gave him a sideways smile. “Wow, that’s great. I’m sure a lot of people will be glad to hear it.”
She glanced down at her paper, then looked again at Cameron. “That about does it for us…any final comments or shoutouts you want to give?”
“Yeah. Thanks to Ivan Stockton for this awesome tattoo. I’ll definitely be back for more. Thanks to Robyn Chu for helping me see the bigger picture, and thanks to Inkling Magazine for this wonderful opportunity.”
Cherish nodded once and pressed the “Off” button on the recorder. She smiled at Cameron and then looked over her shoulder at Bennie.