CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

 

Lola pulled up out front of the shop and I jumped into the passenger side before the car behind her could honk. She drove her little 80s model Honda hatch—aptly named Cindy Crawford, after Lola’s favourite 80s model—like a demon through morning traffic. And to her credit, she made it two whole blocks before she started with the questions. “So, how was dinner?”

“Good.

She glanced from the road to me. “Just good?”

I tried not to smile and failed. “Okay, so it was better than good. Lola, he played his piano for me last night.”

“Is that a euphemism for something dirty?”

I laughed at that. “No. He actually played his piano. It was incredible.”

“Was Sarah still there?”

“No. Just me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Shut up. It wasn’t like that. I asked him to play something, and he did. I mean, he has a grand piano sitting in his living room, for God’s sake. It’s not like I bought him a piano so he could play.”

“Like you bought him a record player?”

I gave her the best shut-up glare I could manage. “That was different.”

“Mm mm,” she made that assent noise that wasn’t really agreeing at all.

“Everyone should have a record player and at least one Jeff Buckley album,” I said. “I’m sure it’s a written rule somewhere.”

She laughed. “What did he play you?”

“He said it was something he wrote. You know, like we write down a phone message, he writes music.”

“Is there anything he can’t do?”

“Cook, apparently. He sucks at it.”

Lola laughed. “Oh, good. For a second there I thought he was utterly perfect.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “He orders good food though. It was a bunch of pastas and some veal dish.”

She glanced at me a few times, like she was trying to figure out how to phrase something, and normally I’d tell her to just spit it out. But I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear whatever it was she was about to say if it involved Andrew, so I changed the subject. “So, where are we off to?”

“Downtown,” she said. “It’s a metro shoot.”

“Cool.”

And she didn’t bring up Andrew again for the rest of the day. Granted, she was busy transforming beautiful people into extraordinarily beautiful people, and I was busy doing what she asked me to do. But our topic of conversation revolved around other things, and that was fine with me. That was until we finally climbed into Cindy Crawford and headed home, and I checked my phone. She drove like a crazy blind woman so sometimes it was best not to look up anyway.

“Checking for messages from anyone in particular?” she asked.

“I sent him a message earlier,” I answered. “Just seeing if he replied.”

Which he hadn’t.

“Lining up another dinner date?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Mm mm.” Again with the sarcastic course-not sound.

“I asked him if Eli had contacted him,” I admitted. “We uploaded a photo onto his Facebook, and his sister commented with a time and place we’d be meeting this Saturday. I just wondered whether Eli had taken the bait, that’s all.”

“It’s okay, Spence,” she said. “You don’t need to justify anything to me.”

“I know. I’m not,” I said. But I totally was, and we both knew it. I wanted to tell her I was struggling with this job. I wanted to tell her it was amazing and terrifying and horrible and wonderful. But I didn’t. The cold reality was my job with Andrew would be over in five days. Come Sunday morning, we’d know whether Eli wanted him back. I mean the guy would have to be crazy if he didn’t. “Can you watch the road and not me? I don’t feel like dying today.”

Lola scowled at me as my phone buzzed. It was Andrew, and the way my heart tripped over its own stupid feet was ridiculous. Sorry, been a busy day. Just finished work and saw your message now. I had a message from Eli as well. What should I do?

And that stupid heart-tripping feeling became a lot more like heart-sinking. God I was so stupid. What did he say?

Wanted to say hi. See how I was. Saw the photo, wanted to know if it was for real?

“What is it?” Lola asked. She looked from the traffic to me, her eyes etched with worry.

“Nothing,” I lied. “It’s Andrew. Said Eli’s been in touch. He saw the photo.”

“Is that good?” she asked slowly, clearly unsure.

I nodded. “Yep. It’s what Andrew wants.”

Lola had gone from unsure to concerned. “Spencer?”

“No, it’s good. It’s exactly why I suggested taking the photos and putting them on his Facebook,” I answered, looking at my phone. Then I replied to Andrew’s text, telling him to do the very thing I dreaded most. Message him back. Tell him you’re not sure where things stand with me. Tell him it depends on how much time and space he needs. That should get a response.

With a deep breath, I turned my phone off. When I looked up, I realised we’d stopped across the road from the tattoo shop. Shit. I quickly undid my seatbelt and opened the door.

“Spencer,” Lola started to say.

I got out and leaned down to speak through the door. “See you tomorrow at seven. I’ll bring coffee,” I said before I shut the door and tapped the roof of Cindy Crawford.

The car behind her honked his horn, and Lola flipped him the bird before taking off at warp speed into the flow of cars. I laughed and took my chances crossing the street in peak-hour traffic.

 

* * * *

 

I climbed back into Cindy Crawford right on seven Wednesday morning. I had a takeout tray with a coffee for Lola and a tea for me. I waited until we were moving through traffic and I felt safe enough before I handed it to her.

“You didn’t answer my texts last night,” she said.

“Sorry about that,” I mumbled. “I had my phone off.”

“Spencer, can we talk about it?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. Please watch the road.”

“Don’t change the subject. You can’t avoid shit like this forever.”

“Yes, I can. I’ve done it for years. It works just fine.”

“You’re allowed to feel things, Spencer.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about it,” I said, looking out the window.

“One more question, then I’ll leave it alone.” She was gonna ask it whether I wanted her to or not, so there was no point in arguing. “Did Andrew reply?”

“I don’t know. I turned my phone off.”

“You haven’t looked at all?”

Still looking out the window, I shook my head. She didn’t say any more, but the sigh she let out may as well have been an “Oh, Spencer.”

I helped her carry all her boxes and pull make-up bags on wheels down city streets until we reached the photoshoot. Lola and a few other make-up artists soon got busy doing their thing with the models, and I hung back out of the way. Normally when I helped out at these things, I’d score a phone number and a one-night stand. But these pretty boys didn’t interest me today, and by 10:00 a.m. my phone started to burn a hole in my pocket.

Well, wondering whether Andrew replied had started to burn a hole in my brain. Same thing really.

So I walked down the street a ways and turned on my phone. I had a bunch of missed calls and text messages. I checked the text messages first. Without reading them, I could see two from Lola, no doubt saying Answer your goddamn phone, two from Andrew, and one from a number I didn’t recognise.

I opened the unknown number message first. It was a prospective new client named Lance, who got my number from my old client Gerrard, the super-rich arsehole guy, wondering if I was available to meet with him. I sighed. The idea of meeting another guy to go through the whole getting-to-know-you phase again seemed like torture. I considered hitting delete but didn’t. It wasn’t like I needed the money, but ordinarily I really liked my job. I figured I’d be back to normal next week so I was resigned to calling Lance later.

That left Andrew’s texts. The first was sent not long after I replied telling him to reply to Eli. Okay. Message sent was all it said.

Then an hour after that was another. He called me. Wanted to know what I was doing on Saturday night. I told him I had plans, which he admitted to seeing on Facebook. Then he suggested Friday night. I told him I’d let him know. What do I do now?

Oh, fuck.

I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Then another. I didn’t know if he’d called him back, if he’d agreed to meet him. God, he could have ended up calling back, and for all I knew, they’d reconciled and spent the night in bed.

I felt sick.

I stared at my phone screen, then I stared at it some more.

And with a sense of dread, I listened to the voice messages. There were two from Lola, saying exactly what I thought. The second wasn’t as pleasant as the first, and I knew I’d have to apologise to her. The remaining three were from Andrew. The first was rather cheerful. “Hey, it’s me. Um, Andrew. Andrew Landon.” I smiled at that. “Eli called me. Can you give me a call back? Thanks.”

Then the second voice message was forty minutes after the first, and he sounded a little anxious. “It’s um, it’s Andrew again. Not sure if you got my last message. I told Eli I’d let him know about Friday, but I wanted to talk to you first. I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

The third voice message was two hours after that. His voice was quiet. “It’s Andrew. I um… Call me.”

The sound of his self-doubt expanded like a lead balloon in my chest. I hated that I caused him to doubt himself. Of all the people who should be confident. God, he was successful, talented, and sexy as hell. But he was also honest and funny, and for some reason he didn’t see himself the way he should.

I guessed Eli leaving him would have hit his confidence hard, but it was like he’d been downtrodden or constantly told he wasn’t quite good enough, and to think I’d added fuel to his fire of insecurity just about killed me.

I hit his number and put the phone to my ear. Given it was mid-morning and he’d be at work, I was expecting it to go to voicemail but was still disappointed when it did.

“Hey, it’s me, Spencer. I’m really sorry I missed your calls and texts. I wasn’t feeling well,” I lied, “and had my phone off. I should have responded regardless, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

He just had no idea how sorry I was.

“Just wondering if you called Eli back? Whether you’re going out with him on Friday?” I cleared my throat. “Call me when you can. And again, Andrew, I’m sorry I let you down.”

I clicked off the call and exhaled through puffed out cheeks. God, this was so fucked up. This feeling… this horrible feeling was a heavy, aching reminder of why I put up walls and kept my distance.

It was also a stark reminder that this was a professional transaction. He was paying me to get results, and I’d failed him. I should have taken his calls, and I should have told him, without any hesitation, to go out with Eli on Friday night.

Hell, maybe they did get back together last night. Maybe we wouldn’t get a result on Saturday night because maybe we already had one, and maybe Andrew wasn’t my client anymore. Maybe I needed to man the fuck up and get over it.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

So, with that mindset, I opened the text from Lance, the prospective new client, and hit reply. Sure. Does this Monday suit?

I headed back up to the photoshoot to where Lola was working her magic on some over-tired, under-fed girl. As I walked in, one of the male models gave me a nod. “Hey,” he said gruffly. He looked me up and down and gave me a smirk, which I’m sure on any other day would have worked for a phone number or a blowjob. But not today.

“Hey,” I said, just to be polite, and kept walking. Lola didn’t miss it, of course, and raised an eyebrow at me and a sad shake of her head. Ignoring whatever it was she was implying, I asked, “Need anything?”

“No,” she said brightly, adding some black to the model’s eyes with perfection. “Called Andrew yet?”

I thought about not answering but remembered her concerned messages on my phone. “I left a message.”

“Good,” she said with a fond smile. Like it was some huge personal milestone. I don’t know, maybe it was.

I spent the rest of the day between doing whatever Lola told me to do and checking my phone. No reply from Andrew. I couldn’t say I blamed him, after all, I’d ignored him. And by the time I’d loaded the last of Lola’s equipment into Cindy Crawford, I had pretty much convinced myself that Andrew couldn’t reply because he’d spent the day in bed with Eli.

No replies and a vivid imagination would do that.

“He’ll call you,” Lola said. She must have read my mind because I hadn’t mentioned him for hours. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s written all over your face.”

“It’s stupid,” I finally admitted. “I’ve known him for what? Not even two weeks.”

“But you like him.” It wasn’t a question.

“He’s a client,” I said quietly, “who wants me to help him get back with his ex.”

“Well, fate is a funny bitch,” Lola said. “She has a way of making things right. Look at me and Gabe.”

I nodded. They were perfect for each other. Life tried to split them up, but as it turned out, fate stepped in and righted that wrong. Well, fate and me, but mostly fate. “You’re my best success story.”

“And we owe it all to you.”

Silence stretched out for a while which didn’t happen often between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just there. I was happy to wallow in self-misery anyway.

“You’ll have your own success story,” Lola said eventually. “Spencer, you deserve to be happy. There is someone out there, just for you. You’ll see.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah right.”

“And if Andrew decides he wants Eli instead, then it wasn’t meant to be. And it’d be his loss. But you watch,” she said, as she swerved lanes. “He’ll call you.”

And like she had ESP or something, my phone rang. Andrew’s name flashed on the screen. My heart pounded and I smiled when I saw it was him, but then it occurred to me… “What if he’s calling to tell me he and Eli are back together?”

Lola stared at me. “Answer the phone.”

“Watch the road!”

She yelled, “Answer your damn phone!”

I pressed the answer button more out of panic than anything else. “Hey,” I said, trying to sound as casual as I could.

“Are you okay?” he asked. No hello, no small talk. “You sounded terrible in your message. You said you didn't feel well? I’ve been in meetings all day, and I just got your message now.”

“Nah, I’m okay. I feel a bit better now,” I said. I risked a look at Lola and cringed when she was glaring at me for lying to him. “Sorry I missed your calls last night. How did it go with Eli?”

I almost didn’t want to know. I almost told him to forget I asked, but he spoke first. “I um, I haven’t answered him yet.”

Oh. Oh, thank fucking God. “Oh,” I said. I almost laughed with relief. Lola grinned and nodded at me. It was ridiculous.

“Well, I wasn’t sure what you would want me to do,” he said. “You’re the expert in this, and I didn’t want to do the wrong thing.”

“No, you did the right thing,” I told him, which wasn’t exactly the truth. “Making him wait for a day won’t hurt him. In fact, it might make him realise a little sooner, yeah?”

“Hmm, maybe.” He sounded unsure.

I exhaled loudly. The knot of unease in my chest had let up a little. I felt better than I had all day. In fact, my stupid brain had to actually tell my stupid mouth to stop smiling, and Lola giggled. “Shut up,” I said, making her laugh.

Andrew’s voice was quiet. “Sorry?”

“Oh, no not you!” I said quickly into the phone. “Lola’s being a pain in my arse.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Should I call you later?”

“Actually, can I call you back in like ten minutes?” I asked. “I need my hands free for when Lola pulls up out the front of my place because she only slows down to thirty miles per hour and I have to commando-roll out of the car.”

She whacked my arm, and Andrew laughed in my ear. “Okay. Good luck,” he said. “And remember, keep your chin in and both arms up to protect your face. Avoid the kerb.”

I laughed at his commando-roll tips, and he disconnected the call. Lola was grinning widely at me. I ignored her. “I’d really prefer you watch the road when you drive,” I said, trying to act all cool about everything. “And I know what you’re about to say about Andrew, and I’d also really prefer you didn’t.”

She did a little dance-butt wiggle in her seat. “I’m not saying anything you apparently don’t already know.”

“I’m pleading the fifth.”

“You’re Australian. You don’t have the fifth.”

I let out a laugh. My mood had done a complete one-eighty from this morning. And as much as I wanted to admit to Lola what I presumed she already knew—that Andrew was different to any other client I’d had—I wasn’t ready to. It would make it real. And the truth was, at that very moment, Andrew was still my client. The objective was still open.

Thankfully, and somewhat death-defyingly, Lola weaved through two lanes and pulled up across from the tattoo shop like a race car driver. I jumped out and waved her off, and she was still smiling as she pulled Cindy Crawford back into traffic.

And with no clue what to tell Andrew about what to do about Eli, I pulled out my phone, found Andrew’s number, and hit call. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, sorry about that. Evel Knievel just dropped me off before hurling Cindy Crawford at some poor law abiding road users.”

Andrew snorted. “What?”

I waited for a break in the traffic before crossing the street. “Lola. She drives like a maniac.”

“And what happened to Cindy Crawford?”

“Oh, that’s her car. It’s a cute little 80s model.”

Andrew cracked up, and the warm sound of his laughter sent a flush of warmth through my chest. “Andrew, I’m really sorry I missed your calls last night.”

“That’s okay,” he said. He sounded genuine. “You’re better now though?”

“Yeah, much.”

“Well, maybe I could come around?” he asked. “I just left work, so I’m already in the car. We could work out what to do about this Friday?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay. I’ll park out back.”

“Just come straight up to my door.”

“See you in about twenty minutes.” And he disconnected the call.

I pushed the door open to Emilio’s shop and he looked up from tattooing his customer. Then he looked at me again. “Jesus. The cat that got the canary.”

I laughed him off. “Hey man. How’s your day been?”

“Not as good as yours by the look of that smile.”

I rolled my eyes. “Need anything?”

“Nah, I’m all good, my friend,” Emilio said. “Oh, new magazines came in today. They’re on the counter,” he said, nodding toward the service desk.

“Cool.” Emilio always subscribed to a few copies because customers tended to either dog-ear a page or just rip them out. I picked up the top copy. “I’ll bring it back down later. You here late tonight?”

Emilio had his head down and was busy inking his customer. “Yeah man. Daniela’s having the night off. Last client is at seven. It’s just me.”

“Want me to bring you some dinner or something?”

“Sweet, thanks.”

I took the tattoo magazine and let myself out the back door and pulled it shut behind me. Upstairs, knowing Andrew wouldn’t be far away, I freshened up. I washed my face, sprayed on some deodorant, and stopped myself from brushing my teeth. I mean, it was ridiculous. So I planted myself on the sofa and flicked through the magazine until there was a knock at the door.

When I opened the door, Andrew was standing there like a remedy for heart palpitations. Or maybe he made them worse. It was hard to tell. “Hey.”

His smile was warm and wide. “Hey. You look good,” he said. Then froze. “I mean, you look not-sick anymore.”

I laughed, all relieved and nervous, and stepped aside, a silent invitation to come inside. “I’m much better.” And that wasn’t a lie. I was feeling much better. “Can I get you a drink or something?”

“Sure.” He walked straight in, over to the sofa and sat down. He picked up the tattoo magazine and started thumbing through it. “Looking for new ideas?”

I handed him a bottled water and sat beside him. “Not really. I stole it from Emilio,” I explained. “I just like to see what’s new.”

“They’re pretty good,” he said, tilting his head. “I’m surprised actually, by how much I like them.”

“Would you ever get one?”

His eyes widened and he barked out a laugh. “Ah, no.” Then he frowned. “Well, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Not ever?”

He shook his head. “Nope.” He took a mouthful of water and kept turning pages. He didn’t look at me when he asked, “When did you get your first tattoo?”

“Sixteen. My Aunt Marvie took me to get it.” My left hand automatically went to the top of my right arm. “The tribal cross was my first. It’s been incorporated into the entire sleeve now, but yeah, that was my first tattoo.”

His eyes shot to mine then. “Wow.”

I shrugged, and he knew the ink on my arms, no matter how visible, was a private thing. “They’re addictive.”

“Would you get another one?” he asked. “Your sleeves are done, so where else would you get one?”

“Maybe a chest piece,” I said, leaning back on the sofa. “I dunno.”

“Colour or black and white?” he said, looking back to the magazine. “You have a mix of both on your arms.”

“Depends on the piece,” I said. “And what it means.”

“Fair enough.”

“How was work?”

He looked at me and smiled. “Good. How was your day with Lola?”

“Yeah, good. Busy. She’s bossy.”

Smiling, he kept looking at the pictures in the magazine. It was easy to forget he appreciated the tattoos from an artist’s perspective, not a client’s. “Oh,” I said. “I need to get Emilio something to eat later on. Don’t let me forget.”

Andrew stayed until dinner. We got take out and ate it downstairs in the shop with Emilio after he closed for the day. Emilio and Andrew talked about lines and definition, shading and interpretation.

And not once did we talk about Eli.