Chapter Nine
In the months that follow more postcards appear on Leon’s fridge, almost more than he can count because Sara is bouncing around from country to country, city to city, documenting Tattoo Expos throughout Europe.
Barcelona, Lisbon, Munich, Berlin, Paris, Vienna.
She’s getting busier and busier these days, and Leon can’t help but wonder when she’ll eventually stop to take a breath.
The two of them have been together almost six months and speak daily over Whatsapp through messages, voice notes or video calls.
She sends the occasional care package from whichever country she’s visiting - beers from Germany, wine from Spain that he’d put aside for when she returns, a gourmet food basket from France.
He’d shared that with his daughter Melina one evening.
The two of them dressed in striped shirts with matching berets when they sat down and sampled the delicacies.
“Where did this come from?” she’d asked him as he’d set the wicker basket down on the kitchen table.
“My friend sent it,” he’d told her as they sample some of the salted butter caramel. “She travels all over the world taking pictures of people’s body art. Sometimes she sends me things so I can get a taste of the country she’s in.”
“Can I meet her?” Melina had asked.
He’d paused then because although it’s been on his mind recently, he hasn’t actually broached the topic.
There hasn’t been a woman in his life since his ex, Samantha.
He’s fucked other women, girls who hung out at the clubhouse, but he’s never brought them home.
The truth is he knows it’s not him that they want, it’s the patch.
There’s a prestige that comes with being acquainted with the President of the club; it gives a woman in his world status.
He doesn’t want to bring a person like that into Melina’s world.
His daughter is the most precious thing in his life; he doesn’t want her to be tainted by the darker aspects of his existence.
She needs better role models than the women who hang around the club, trying to fuck their way up the hierarchy.
“She’s very far away,” he tells her as he snags a handful of coconut popcorn. “Somewhere called Paris in France.”
He’d hoped that was the end of it, but Melina had picked up his cellphone and reminded him how video chat worked. His daughter was too smart for her own good and for his.
It’s later that night after Sam has picked Melina up that he calls Sara.
It’s past midnight, which makes it eight am her time.
She’s still in her pyjamas, a pretty silk camisole set that he wishes he was there to help her take off.
He imagines his fingertips trailing over the thin strap before he guides it down her shoulders.
“My daughter wants to meet you,” he tells her as he sits with his back against the headboard, the room illuminated by the light from his lamp.
“Is that what you want?” she asks him, cradling a mug of coffee to her chest.
He tips his head back against the wall for a second before considering his next words carefully.
“I think this…” he says, gesturing between the phone and himself, “…would be a good introduction, a way of testing the waters moving forward. I’ve spoken to Sam and she’s cool with it.”
He’d had the conversation while Melina was packing up her stuff. Once she’d learned Sara wasn’t one of the club girls, she had warmed to the idea significantly. He’d shown her some of Sara’s pictures and a couple of her articles.
“The two of you getting serious?” she’d asked in that New York drawl of hers and he hadn’t been able to keep the edges of his mouth from twitching up.
Sam can read every single one of his tells. They’ve known each other for over a decade; she’s seen him at his worst and at his best.
“Well, she’s successful, she’s smart, she travels the world. I think you could do a lot worse,” she teases him before nudging his shoulder with her own. “At the very least, Melina meets an interesting person.”
He’d taken that on board before he’d called Sara. Even if this thing between the two of them didn’t work out, Sara can give his daughter insight into another world, one that she won’t get to see here in Sunridge.
“If Sam’s signed off and it’s cool with you then I would love to meet her,” she tells him with a smile before taking a sip from her coffee cup. “However, let’s actually schedule a call so that I’m wearing something a little more appropriate when I meet your daughter.”
“I don’t know Mami, that looks pretty appropriate to me right now,” he says, biting his lower lip as the silk clings to her chest. She isn’t wearing a bra, and he can see the dark shape of her nipples through the fabric. “Maybe you could show me a little more.”
She laughs before setting her coffee cup down on the nightstand. She puts the phone in the little wooden stand she usually uses for when her video calls with Leon get a little more risqué.
“So, tell me Leon,” she says as her thumbs hooking underneath the straps of her camisole, drawing them down just a little. “What would you like to see first?”