67. Lolly
sixty-seven
Lolly
I lower myself onto the black tattooing chair, closing my eyes for a second as Jay finishes cleaning up after his last client. The cold fabric is biting through my thin top, causing my nipples to stand at attention. The smell of leather and astringent is comforting.
“The system sounds good,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m glad we went with this one,” he admits.
“Fuck, I forgot to send Pyro the final draft of his Grim Reaper piece,” Jay huffs. He’s still wiping down everything in sight, putting his tools back where he likes them and breaking down his machines to place the reusable pieces in the autoclave.
“Is he expecting it before tonight?” I ask, not entirely sure why anyone would give a fuck about what exact hour they received the drawing of a custom piece.
“Not exactly, but he did say more than once that he’s really looking forward to seeing it. He was in here earlier with one of his buddies and brought it up at least six times. He’s definitely expecting something.”
“He seems chill enough, I bet if you shoot it over to him before we head out he’ll be happy.”
Jay stresses about the most insignificant things but will be completely unbothered by something potentially life-altering. It’s fucking wild but it’s one of my favorite things about him.
“I’d love to see it,” I say with a small smile, knowing he’ll be thrilled I asked. It’s wild how after all this time and success, he still doesn’t understand how talented he is. It’s as if he’s centerstage but still thinks he’s in the crowd.
“Yeah, man. For sure. I think you’ll dig it.”
A smile blooms across his face, a bright line of white teeth now visible. His arms are covered in his favorite horror characters, trailing up his neck and stopping just under his chin. My big-ass tattooed teddy bear.
His blue eyes dance as he pulls out his phone to find the picture he took of the finished mockup. Black curls falling atop his forehead and over his eyes.
“I think I’ll call her, Fate,” he says, handing the phone to me.
“It’s exquisite,” I manage. “Fuck, Jay. You killed it.”
The Grim Reaper is rendered in black and white.
The details of its robe are so well executed, the fabric appears to be moving right off the page, its edges morphing into tendrils of smoke.
Its scythe is depicted as the second hand on a clock that bleeds into the background, keeping the focus primarily on the Reaper, telling a story of finality.
It’s a promise of equality that bends for no one. Everyone meets the Reaper, and it’s never on your time, though you may believe it to be. “Dude, it’s fucking perfect. He’s gonna love it.”
I find myself wondering if Bailey ever got any tattoos. If he still appreciates art, music, and architecture. Can he find beauty in the seemingly mundane or is he oblivious? Does he, too, now know the Reaper and his clock?
I’ve wondered how much he remembers about that night. If he remembers me there. Remembers me holding him, begging him to breathe. If he was at all aware of my tears falling against his pale face.
My thoughts are interrupted when Jay clears his throat, “Ah-hem. You ready? We need to get there in time to get drinks and use the bathroom before they lock the doors.”
“Yep,” I reply. “Are we taking my car or yours?”
“Yours, dude. Is that even a question at this point? That’s like asking if I want to eat shit or eat ice cream.”
“Man, you realize we’re about to look so out of place, right?” He asks from the passenger seat. “I look like I am about to start a bar fight and you look like you just left your shift at the local gay club,” he says, a low chuckle escaping.
“You’re not wrong,” I answer with a smile. “I don’t mind, though. Broadway is for everyone, regardless of race, creed, or religion. There’s always something to find and love if you bother to look closely enough.”
“Agreed. You think you’ll want to see MJ again if they come back next year? I loved it but I remember you saying it wasn’t a top five for you. Fucking loser.”
“Did I say that?”
“You totally did.”
“I would,” I reply. “But they’ve got nothing on Hamilton.”
“That’s like comparing a Honda to a Maserati, Lol.”
I laugh, “No shit.”
“Honestly, I’m ready for Hadestown. You’ll understand soon enough,” I say as I elbow him.
“I dunno man, the soundtrack just wasn’t hitting for me, but we’ll see.”
“Trust me fam, by intermission your mind will be blown,” I say.
“The political undertones are so fucking relevant to what’s happening now.
The entire storyline is about capitalism and greed, bread over song, fear over joy.
” A small smile tilts my lips at the same time that a strange sense of longing hits me.
“We shall see,” Jay says as he wiggles his brows.
I find a spot in a covered pay-to-park garage.
The walk to Robinson isn’t bad at all, downtown is always bustling with some colorful people.
New restaurants and coffee shops line the sidewalks.
The sun is warm on my face and a slight breeze provides the perfect melody to carry a few leaves around. A performance before the show.
Green eyes and pouty lips follow me with every step I take. Something in my chest pulls tight, tugging at me as if to get my attention. I miss him.
Is he the Eurydice to my Orpheus?
It’s not fair to miss someone you barely know. Sure, I know who he used to be, but there is no fucking way that night didn’t change him.
Would he let me hold his hand in public or is he still too afraid?
“What the hell are you smiling about over there, loverboy?” Jay quips as he nudges my arm with his elbow.
Fuck. Was I smiling? This scary-looking motherfucker is entirely too observant.
“Nothing,” I say. I’m full of shit and he knows it.
Why bother fighting it? Life is curious in that way, always leading you in strange directions and down different paths. I’ve found it to be so much more enjoyable when I just hold on tight and let her guide me where she wants me.
I need an excuse to go back to the pharmacy. More briefs? A thermometer? Lube? I stifle a laugh. That would be a good one.