TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER
Over the next week, I kept up my routine, same as always. The alarm went off, my hand snaked out to shut it off and I had three seconds of peace before reality slammed into me. Only now the first thought was Kacey’s not coming back from New Orleans.
Followed by: And she’s got a date on Friday.
I didn’t know which was worse.
The date. The date is definitely fucking worse.
I didn’t begrudge her any ‘Big Somethings.’ She needed to do what was best for her, to heal and move on.
But she’s going on a fucking date.
I got to work that day in a pissy mood. No one was manning the front desk, so I picked up Vivian’s Magic-8 Ball. I shook it hard, silently asking the black-and-white blur: Will it end with Kacey throwing a drink in his face and never seeing him again?
I watched intently as the blue triangle righted itself.
Ask again later.
Not what I was hoping for, but I’d take it. I headed back to my station. Zelda and Edgar were already at theirs.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “Can I get your opinion on something?”
They gathered around as I opened my portfolio and laid out some ink and watercolor sketches on my tattoo chair. I’d been working on them since the last time I was in New Orleans, trying to keep my mind occupied.
“What’s this?” Edgar said, picking up my sketch of an African savannah, spare with only the black silhouettes of two giraffes on the right side, a soaring ibis on the other, with a boiling, heat-wavered sun in reds and orange indistinctly rendered along the back. “This is cool shit, bro.”
“I fucking love this,” Zelda said, inspecting a black ink sketch of a sugar skull in profile, with bright reds, blues, and yellows shaded through it. She peered up at me. “It looks unfinished. But it is finished, isn’t it?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, that’s the idea. That the coloring highlights the black ink but doesn’t fill it in or overwhelm it.”
“This is killer shit, T,” Edgar said, holding a sketch of a woman’s eye, with long, dark lashes and an arching brow. The pale blue of the iris was circled with a darker cobalt and the skin tone of the woman’s face was only partly hinted at. “You going to show this to Inked ?”
“Once it’s on skin, yeah,” I said. “On paper, it’s just a drawing.”
“I volunteer my services,” Edgar said. He slapped his upper arm.
“I appreciate that,” I said, “but I’m not trying to pressure you guys. I just wanted your thoughts. See if they might be something.”
“Got it,” Edgar said. “And my thoughts are, I want one.”
“Really? Thanks, man. I’m honored.”
Zelda handed the sketches back. “I have a client who would kill for one of these,” she said. “I’ll send her your way. For a small finder’s fee,” she added with a smirk, and returned to her station.
“You gone shy on us, Rossi?” Edgar called after her. “The idea of the Theo’s manly man hands on your bare skin too much for ya?”
“Bite me,” Zelda said, busying herself with her inks.
“Be cool, man,” I said to Edgar in a low voice.
He slapped me on the back. “Just playing, bro.” He tapped the sketch of the sugar skull. “Can you give me this with more reds and orange?”
“Sure. We can start tomorrow.” We clasped hands. “I really appreciate it.”
“Dude. It’s rad. Inked is going to be all over this.”
I hoped so. The idea for the unfinished tattoos came to me the night before, right as I was falling asleep. I’d spent the most of the night making the sketches to keep the idea from slipping into the abyss of forgotten good ideas.
A small smile played around my mouth as I packed the sketches up. If this idea took off, it’d make me feel a hell of a lot better about buying my own place. Maybe I’d have a little bit of a name for myself to stave off the fear of utter and total failure.
Ideas for other sketches came to me as I readied my station: Tarot cards and jazz halls, cemeteries and voodoo dolls.
Vegas was overflowing with tattoo shops.
The New Orleans market was much wider. I knew this because I’d researched the city last night.
Maybe Kacey buying a house in the Big Easy wasn’t such a terrible tragedy after all.
Or a closed door. Maybe it was a door opening. For both of us.
My cell phone rang as I finished with my first client. I frowned at the number.
“What’s up, Ma?”
“Theo?” Her voice sounded weak and shaky. “I hate to bother you but…”
“What is it?” I asked, my heart thudding. “You okay?”
“Oh, I’m…having a bad day,” she said. “I was going through some old boxes and found some photos.” She sniffed and forced a small laugh.
“I’m a bit of a mess but I promised Lois I’d bake eggplant parmesan for our cribbage tomorrow.
I just…I can’t seem to muster the energy to clean up and make myself presentable for the grocery store. ”
“I get it, Ma,” I said, gently. “What do you need me to do?”
“Would you run to the store for me? I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow, but if I don’t get started tonight…”
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, trying to keep my tone even.
“Oh, you know him. He’s at the office. Says he can’t get away.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, then glanced at the entrance where a couple of clients were waiting.
“Are you busy?” she asked. “I’m so sorry, dear. I feel so useless.”
“No, Ma, it’s fine,” I said. “Give me a list of what you need. I’ll go now.”
“You’re so good to me,” she said, tears thickening her words. “I was blessed with two wonderful sons, wasn’t I?”
Pain squeezed my heart. I got the grocery list from her, then gathered my stuff.
“Where are you going?” Vivian asked from the front desk. “You have a client coming in twenty minutes.”
“Call them back, would you? See if you can push it to forty.”
She shook her head but took up the receiver. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” she muttered.
“Thanks, Viv. You’re the best.”
I stopped, grabbed her Magic 8-Ball and gave it a shake.
“You asking if Gus is going to fire your ass?” she muttered, her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Spoiler alert: It is certain .” She turned aside. “Yes, hi, is this Brittany? This is Vivian from Vegas Ink…”
I didn’t ask the toy if Gus was going to fire me, but the same question I had this morning. It was later, so I was asking again later.
I swear the fucking triangle looked smug as it floated its answer: Outlook not so good.
After I tore through the grocery store with Mom’s list, I screeched my truck into the drive.
My forty minutes was up; I was nearly an hour out of the shop.
But my hopes for dropping off the food here and heading back out were smashed to pieces when I found my mother sitting on the living room floor, a hundred photos spread out around her on all sides, and one held slack in her hand as she cried.
“Christ.” I dropped the grocery bags and hurried to kneel beside her. “Come on, Ma. Let’s get you to the couch.”
“He was so handsome,” she murmured, staring at the photo in her hand of Jonah at UNLV graduation, wearing a red gown and red cap.
She didn’t pull her eyes from the photo as I lifted her off the floor and helped her sit on the couch.
Then she looked to me, her eyes red and shadowed. “I miss him so much, Theo.”
“I know you do.”
She leaned into me, crying softly. “I’m trying to be strong, but some days…”
“I know,” I told her, putting my arm around her. “We all have bad days. That’s nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s okay.”
“You’re so good to me. I know it’s been hard for you, but you’re so strong.” She sat up, cupped my cheek in her hand. “You’re all I have left. I get so scared that something will happen to you too…”
She collapsed back into tears, and I held her together. “I’m right here.” I said, my jaw clenched, as if trying not to let the words escape. “I’m not going anywhere.”