Chapter Four
Milan found herself clearing her throat over and over in the most grotesque way. She hated when that happened, a feeling usually brought on by stress and anxiety.
He’s bringing tea…good. He keeps winking at me, too.
She bit her inner lower lip, stifling a smile at the revelation, but just as fast as that smile was born, it went away to live its life somewhere else.
Poor man lost his child. That had to have been horrible. Then lost his father to a motorcycle accident, and friends, as well. My father is gone, too…
She suddenly realized that she’d been wasting time, sitting there in contemplation. He’d told her to undress, yet, her shirt was still on, and a cold chill ran down her spine.
Of course I have to take it off…but I only have my sports bra under here. I don’t want to be in front of him with only my bra on! Why didn’t I wear the tank top? That’s what I get for dressing flirty, instead of thinking this through. I must be desperate… This man isn’t even my type. I couldn’t keep a relationship after Mom got sick, and here I am, jumping on the first man I see, just silly.
She snatched at the buttons of her red, sheer shirt, angrily tearing them apart from the holes. She loved that blouse, but now, it took a beating as she took out her angst and worries against it. She flung the shirt on the nearby table, slumped back down and ran her hand through her hair as she waited, smoldering in her own thoughts. Soon, the door opened, and there the man was, holding the cup of tea and a silvery-blue bag.
“The crowd will be thinning out some, but you are safe back here. No one will see you or walk in, or anything.” He re-locked the door.
What she found so amazing was, the man didn’t size her up. He didn’t try to get an eyeful; he simply went on about his way as if nothing out of the ordinary were taking place. And why wouldn’t he? She smirked a bit. Surely he’d seen his share of half nude bodies in his place of employment. Hell, probably even completely nude. She was small potatoes. He handed her the warm cup.
“Thank you.” She took a hearty sip, regretting it once she realized it was a wee bit hotter than she’d anticipated.
“You’re welcome. Now, are you still getting it on your upper right shoulder?”
“Yes, that way I can cover it if need be, you know, but not need long sleeved shirts necessarily.”
He nodded in understanding as he grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a bag of cotton balls.
“Finish your tea if you wish, then when you’re ready, lie across the table on your stomach.”
She took a couple more sips, nervously set the cup down, then looked both ways as if waiting for crossing traffic. Looking down, she noticed he’d laid a clean, white towel along the table. She laid her chin on the headrest and looked straight ahead, at a calendar with red numerals. She wished she had a fast forward button, especially once she heard a chair moving about, the wheels rolling around as if in a doctor’s office.
Oh shit…
She sighed as she heard him wearing gloves, snapping them in place.
“Milan, I’m going to explain everything that I’m doing, step by step. You have nothing to worry about.” He gave her a reassuring tap on her upper back and then, before she knew it, he poured the cool liquid on her arm and made gentle strokes, cleaning the area.
“I’m just cleaning the tattoo site, getting it ready. After that, I’m going to shave the area. Once I do that, I will clean it yet again. At that point, I’m going to make some lines on your skin, points of reference, in order to get the outline of the tattoo complete. Any questions, sweetheart?”
Did he call me sweetheart? He did. Just let it go…
She shook her head.
“Okay, good.” He scooted up a bit closer to her and, after applying shaving cream to her shoulder, he took out a small, wet razor. Suddenly, he rose and moved away, as if he’d forgotten something on a stove and rushed to switch it off. The music came to an abrupt halt.
“Is something wrong?” she called out.
“No, not at all.”
But when the music changed, she gripped the table and sucked her breath. He’d put on Delibes’ ‘Flower Duet’—the one song that always turned her into an emotional mess.
It’s still… so… beautiful… takes me right back to resting on her lap…
“Is that okay, Milan?”
“Mmmm hmmm…” She was speechless. There were literally billions of opera songs in this big, wide world, yet he’d somehow chosen one that she and her mother adored. To make the whole situation even more heart stopping, he lessened their distance by drawing near, his crotch close to her face. Like a gentle wind, he placed a yellow rose behind her ear—eliciting a small scream and a smile—then returned to his seat.
“Okay, let’s continue.” He just went on, as if what he’d just done was customary. A few minutes later, he was outlining her skin.
“This is called a thermal-fax. This method is far faster than the old school methods we used for tracing, which, many times, were by hand.”
“Oh boy, that kinda tickles…” She smiled, looking next to the calendar at a silver-framed mirror, which allowed her to see him more clearly.
“Does it?” He offered a crooked smile, his eyes glued to his work. Boy did he have a beautiful smile… She looked at him a bit closer, taking liberties as the mirror allowed her to steal secret glances.
He is so sexy… What am I saying?
“I’m just using a little deodorant as an adhesive. It’ll be over in just a moment…violà! It’s on.”
“Mmmm, that wasn’t so bad.” She laughed lightly.
“Yes, if only it were that simple.” He smiled indulgently. “Milan, now, I’m going to place these ink caps, which is the ink coloring, into this machine here. My tools have been sterilized. I’ve already got the distilled water here for cleaning the needles during your procedure. In your case, I will only be using black, white, a little green, yellow, orange and a little brown. The colors are for details in the flower, it will allow me to draw contrast, causing the flower to appear realistic in appearance.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve put a little ointment over the image transfer, and that will help the design stay on there, not be smudged as my hands move around. I’m left handed, so I tend to tilt my arm in odd ways sometimes, which could force me to stop and redraw, and that could make things harder for me. This application helps prevent that from being a problem. … Now, I know you’re nervous, so, I want you to take a deep breath.”
He looked in the mirror at her, waiting for her to follow his instructions. Milan sucked in air, and then exhaled.
“Good. Try to breathe normally from here on out, okay? Try to stay relaxed, and keep it steady. When I put the first needle in you for the outline, it will be uncomfortable. After a while though, I promise, it will get better. Your skin will acclimate to it. Any questions?”
She liked how he kept checking in with her, making sure she wasn’t about to pass out or lose her mind.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied. And he seemed to realize it, too. The man gave her a reassuring grin and then, her teeth clamped down as he began.
Oh shit!
She wanted to curse and tell him off, let the world know she’d been wounded, but the music was so beautiful, as well as his face. She melted into her pain, rendered quiet. Thoughts of what a fool she was for doing this flooded her mind but dissipated as his hands worked against her body.
“Everything is juuuuuust fine. You’re doing great,” he said over the quiet buzz of the needle as he worked his painful magic on her form.
“This hurts!” she finally blurted, daring herself to stay put.
“A lot of things hurt that are worth having, and doing. Pain is a part of life. You’ll live, I promise.”
Is he being a smart ass?!
How could he go from being so wonderful, kind and loving to one that ripped the sheets right from under her? The man she’d been crushing on, she was now cursing out in her mind. Actually, he’d done nothing wrong. She understood what he was doing. He was trying to get her to focus. He’d tried coddling her, and now, he was down to business. The show had already begun; there was no need to back out now. She expected some pain, but this was worse than she’d imagined. She figured she was a fraidy-cat, and tried to suck it up the best she could, at least for the time being.
“When I switch mags, I’ll let you know. I will need to in order to take care of the shading, and the coloring of the flower. I will remind you when that’s happening, but by then, I assure you, you will be much more relaxed.”
“What are mags?” She winced, but kept her declarations of torture to herself.
“The needles. Mags is short for magnums.”
Magnums…unbelievable. She was in too much pain to fully enjoy the sexual twists she could turn with such information.
“Um, I read about the aftercare, but to kinda take my mind off of what is going on right now, and to help me envision the finish line, can you tell me about it?” She knew she looked downright pitiful, but she couldn’t help herself. He offered a warm smile and scooted in a bit closer to her.
“Absolutely.”
Her stomach flipped. His voice was deep and soothing, rich with flavor…she loved it. It preceded him, aged with wisdom, while his body stood out in pristine, youthful form.
“Once we are finished, I will apply another layer of ointment and this one will be anti-bacterial. I will then bandage up your shoulder and have you leave it on for approximately three days, but check it every night for unusual reddening, anything like that. Milan?”
“…Yes?”
“You’re going to love this, I can guarantee it. You’re not going to regret it. And look, your muscles are relaxing already.”
The man was right. She hadn’t even noticed that, as he continued to speak to her over the music, she’d heated a bit to his touch.
She cleared her throat. “You said anything worth having is painful, or something like that. What did you mean by that?” she asked as she glared at him in the mirror.
“I mean, the good things in life sometimes hurt at first. Like childbirth. The end result is wonderful. And like…oh, nevermind.” He smirked and stuck his head closer to her, as if trying to hide himself.
“No, like what?” she begged, still needing the distraction.
“It’s not something that would be appropriate for me to say to a customer, so let’s just move on and—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Come on, you can tell me. I want to talk. I need to talk or I am going to go crazy.”
Julian sighed, his shoulders slumped as if she’d asked him something deeply personal, yet his eyes gleamed with mischief.
“Alright. What I was going to say, it is kind of like the first time a woman has sex, her first time being penetrated.” He turned away, avoiding her gaze, as if slightly shy about his own admissions, though he said it with confidence.
“Mmmm.” She smirked and shook her head. “Never thought about it like that.”
“Well, there are similarities. Like, the needle going into your body is a type of violation. That first time you felt the needle hit your skin, it hurt, but now, look, ten minutes later, you’re okay, riding the wave of pain. Once it is all over, your first lover or, in this case, your artist—if he is any good and cares about you and the quality of his work—will make sure that though aspects of this experience may have been unpleasant, you are pleased and satisfied in the end. The final product is your completed tattoo, your climax, so to speak.
“Some people believe you can’t have pleasure in the midst of pain, but that’s not true. The same nerves are being used to deliver either message to your mind and that is why a very thin line separates sensations of pleasure and pain. Our brains tell us which feeling we are receiving, but with a few adjustments, pleasure and pain can turn into their total opposite and what may hurt one person, may make another person feel completely euphoric. Additionally, should you decide to get any future tattoos, you’d want to return to me…as your first tattoo artist, to do it again and again and again.”
“And why would that be?” she egged him on, feeling even more relaxed the longer he spoke. She could feel her eyes hooding as he lulled her away somewhere illicit and wicked.
“Because it would have gotten good to you.” He paused and looked at her through the mirror, as if trying to read her mind. “…And you know I’d be happy to give a repeat performance, hopefully better each and every time…”
Her fucking groin was quaking. Did this joker really have to compare what he was doing with sex? And he did it so damn eloquently.
“That almost sounds like drug addiction,” she joked, trying to switch up the mood, break the sexual tension lest she explode.
He nodded. “Sex is a natural drug. The hormones our bodies release during intercourse are similar to those found in opiates. Pleasure is addictive. Dopamine is released during heroine addiction for instance, and sexual climaxes, alike. Addiction is a personal story. So is pain, for some people. Love within itself is a drug. We spend our lives trying to be accepted and loved by people. It’s a never ending chase to a finish line that doesn’t exist; it just wasn’t meant to be.”
He swallowed, then got back to work, as if he were holding back, biting his tongue. No, she wouldn’t let him. The conversation was too interesting for her to release just yet.
“What do you mean?” she urged him. She had an idea, actually, of what the man was saying. At this point, despite her discomfort, she just enjoyed hearing him talk. His voice was slightly raspy, and he spoke slowly, as if he were teaching a class. His voice was so damn relaxing, the man should have been doing hypnosis tapes—and she didn’t want him to stop talking. Not now, not ever.
“Being perpetually in that state of ‘falling in love’ is an illusion. True love is what we should become attached to. I was just saying that, too many times, we follow our suns instead of our moons, when we should follow it all…the stars, the planets, everything.”
She chuckled. “So we’ve gone from sex to drug addiction to astrology.”
“They’re all one in the same, in some respects,” he said matter-of-factly as his thick, dark brows bunched while he concentrated extra hard on his work. He paused, dabbed at her flesh with a moist cotton ball, and then continued. “You think astrology is a bunch of bunk?” He grinned wide.
She looked at him through the mirror and knew that smile wasn’t genuine. One thing she’d learned about him during this brief interaction was that the greater he smiled, the more serious something was to him, or at least, it appeared that way. He’d smiled while talking about the tattoo of his stillborn child; he’d smiled when discussing the loss of his father. Julian was either hiding pain, learned to live with the shit side by side, or had found some mysterious, glittery pill to cure it. She wanted to know what made the man smile during tragedies. Whatever it was, she needed some.
“Well, let me put it this way—I don’t believe in astrology, it’s silly and a bunch of nonsense. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that it is all a bunch of hogwash. Those that are lost follow such foolishness. I think we’re all searching for something to believe in, something that will make this messed up world make sense.”
He grinned at her, and that grin made her slightly uncomfortable, as if he were planning to launch an attack.
“Do you believe in God?” He temporarily removed his gloves, grabbed what appeared to be an old-fashioned cinnamon stick she’d seen on the tables of dilapidated coffee shops. He popped it in his mouth, as if he did that sort of thing every day and, she surmised, he probably did. He did have a continuous scent of cinnamon about him; only, she hadn’t recognized it as such during their first meeting. He rolled it around, then took a few leisurely chews.
“Yes.”
“So…” He removed it, set the thing down and continued. “You’ll believe that a man can walk on water, turn water into wine, cure the blind and fight Satan atop a mountain and survive, but you don’t believe that that same entity, in this case, God, could have assigned meanings to the days and times when we are born? Something so small, in the grand scheme of everything else He can do. Hmmmm…” He cocked his head to the side and grinned a bit wider, as if pitying her, feeling so very sorry for her complete and utter ignorance. Her face flushed with heat. “I never said we didn’t have free choice; we do, despite what our astrological sign says, but we could be predisposed to some notions, some ways of life. Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, because—” she started, but he cut her off, his brows dipped a bit. She assumed he was revved up, possibly angry, but his tone remained calm.
“That’s crazy to me… You’ll believe this man Jesus can cure a disease by just touching someone, but couldn’t possibly have the forethought to create something as magnificent, yet so simple, as astrology. It’s amazing how some people can limit themselves…”
She couldn’t believe her ears. The man had initially shied away from heavy topics with her, but then it started—first the concept of sexual intercourse and its comparability to his line of work, now he’d gone overboard, delving into her religious beliefs which were none of his damn business, and yet, he attacked her all the same.
“It is general, that’s why and the Bible speaks out against astrology.”
“You really believe that?”
“Yes I do!” She twisted her neck in his direction, her lips slightly apart.
He chuckled, for now she was the angry one. Her heartbeat accelerated, her relaxed state completely compromised. She couldn’t believe his audacity. She turned away from him, gripped the pillow in front of her, stifling condemning words she yearned to hurl his way. All she wanted was a damn tattoo; she wasn’t paying this man to chastise her and talk about some damn moons and stars! Her life was not a box of Lucky fucking Charms!
“Look, don’t get mad at me. You are the one who came in here insulting my beliefs. I didn’t say anything about your own views not being true or legitimate. I never said God wasn’t real, or a figment of your imagination. I know the word; I’ve read the bible from cover to cover.”
“So has Satan. He even played a starring role. Big deal.” She rolled her eyes, causing the man to chuckle.
“When was the last time you read Leviticus? Huh? ‘Leviticus 19:28, You shall not make any cuts on your body for the dead or tattoo yourselves. I am the Lord.’ Matter of fact, no woman during her menstrual cycle is to even leave the damn house!” He laughed. “That’s in there, too! On top of that, you shouldn’t even have a job, Ms. Fancy!”
He kept on laughing, causing her to want to reach over and grab his beautiful face with her bare hands, and rip the flesh right off his damn skull. But then, she looked at him closer, really took him in. The man was truly amused, in a joking mood. She didn’t find it the least bit funny but he did have a point; she may have come on too strong regarding the whole astrology bit. She surmised he’d gotten worked up, defensive.
“Look,” she said calmly, determined to keep the conversation on the right track. “You can read one horoscope and say, ‘Yup, that sounds like me.’ Then, you read another, and it sounds like you, too.”
“Consider the source. The Saturday newspaper horoscopes are bullshit,” he blurted.
“Ouch!”
“I didn’t do anything to you.” He kept his head down, his eyes hidden, but she didn’t miss the smirk on his face like the tiny instigator that it was.
“Something jabbed me. You poked me.”
“You moved… I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. If I’d truly poked you, trust me, you’d know it…”
Yes, her mind went there, even during this damn argument and despite the pain she was in. She couldn’t believe her sensual response, the way her damn pussy liked this motherfucker and the more shit he talked, the wetter the little kitty became… What a mess she was in, betrayed by her own crotch.
“Try to not move your arm.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did. When I said the word ‘bullshit’, the rotary muscle under your shoulder slightly revolved, and that is where I was working. As that muscle moved, it had a domino effect, causing the needle to skip, dig a bit deeper due to your sudden motion.”
Just like that, Julian was no longer so fucking charming. A sinister layer lay under his cool, calm exterior. He had a trigger, and she had inadvertently pulled it. He was not kind and sweet, at all! Matter of fact, it became rather apparent that he was the wrong motherfucker to try and toy with. As her mother used to warn, ‘Don’t poke the bears!’ But Milan didn’t know Julian had fangs and worse of all, she liked that he bit…and he bit, hard. Oh how she loathed that this was happening.
You know nothing about this man, and you were falling deeper into your crush for him as he spoke. He is probably a looney, a psycho… Aren’t all these tattoo guys? Talking to me about astrology, taking me to that strange shop of his, talking about losing one’s virginity is like a damn tattoo and smiling while discussing horrible deaths. He’s crazy…
She rolled her eyes, dismissing him.
“You’re tense again.” He kept working. “When something irritates you, your muscles tell me before you do.”
“If I was annoyed, then it was your fault but for the record, I’m not irritated.”
“You are. You are the type of woman who thinks logically, and wants others to agree with you.”
“Now to that, I say bullshit, at least to the latter part.” She smirked.
“Let me guess, you work in a high stress job. You were tense when you called me the first time, you were tense the first time I met you, you are tense now. You have to have everything go in a linear fashion. I tried to offer you things, natural things, to help you relax, and you wouldn’t even look at first. I know what you think of me, Milan, and it’s cool, really it is. I’m accustomed to it.”
“Well, since you believe you know everything, school me.” She chuckled. Now, he was doing it, too. She was irritated, but tried to cloak it under the guise of a laugh for she refused to let him see he was getting on her damn nerves.
“You think I’m some tree hugger, a hippy, maybe even insane. You probably think I get high, too.” He infused his tone with iciness. “You think I’m completely into astrology, using it as my personal God, and live my crazy life with no rules or regulations. You think I don’t take life seriously, right? All I do is sit around drawin’ all night and day dreamin’… Selling witchy brews. You think I don’t know about you, but I do. I spent the first years of my career honing my craft, talking to thousands of customers. I like talking to people. You hear all sorts of stories, you know?” He kept on working, his hands busy, his gaze averted. She couldn’t deny what the hell he was saying; he had her pegged and she was stone cold busted so she did what many would do—remain quiet, lest she incriminate herself.
“People open up to you like you’re a bartender when you do what I do. I’m not filling them with alcohol; I’m filling them with permanent ink, an intoxication far more powerful. Ink is binding. It fades, but never goes away, and a good artist will make sure it stays as beautiful as the first day it was done. So, people come back to me, and then they tell me more and more about their lives. Now, you’ve told me little of nothing, but we’ve only known each other for a short while. That doesn’t matter though. You don’t get me, but I totally get you. I can tell that you are smart, very smart. You carry yourself a certain way, to try and send a message that you’re in control, though today’s attire varied greatly from before. Today, you were trying to get attention.”
“What?” She twisted her body and her face, too, now unable to ignore his rambling.
“Stop moving or you’ll get stuck again…”
It almost sounded like a threat.
“Milan, I’m not trying to upset you. You said you wanted to talk, so I’m talking.”
“Well, maybe from now on you just need to be quiet.” She rolled her eyes and turned away.
He shrugged his shoulders, his grin even wider now, but kept silent.
Oh no…you don’t get off that easy! She’d changed her mind just that fast…
“What did you mean, trying to get attention?”
“Do you want me to talk to you or not? You just said for me—”
“Forget what I said,” she snapped. “Just tell me what you meant.”
“You are dressed provocatively, as if being dressed that way would give you more courage…maybe even to flirt with me.”
“You can’t be serious!” she guffawed, but made sure she didn’t flinch. “Please don’t flatter yourself. I hope you are just kidding; you have an odd sense of humor.” She softened a bit, realizing the man may have just been putting her on once again; at least she hoped so. The fact that he was right didn’t mean anything at all. She dismissed that thought, swept it under the rug in rapid speed.
“No, I’m not kidding this time around, and you know that I’m telling you the truth. That’s okay, though. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I’m attracted to you.” His eyes narrowed as the buzzing seemed to increase. He leaned over and studied some detail on her shoulder with great intensity. “I can tell you that, and be okay with it. Doesn’t mean we are going out after this, or anything. It just means I appreciate beauty when I see it and my pride is not harmed by making the admission.”
“Hmmm…okay.” She huffed and glared at their reflection in the mirror. “You say you know me, right? That you get me, fine. I get you, too. You aren’t the only one able to read people, you know.” She refused to nurse his admissions of attraction, for if she did, a well would form between her legs and she’d be done for.
He smiled and sank his teeth into his bottom lip, driving her mad.
Stop that! Do you hear me?! Sexy…as…hell…
“Tell me about myself…” he dared as he kept on working.
“I will. I think you’ve had a hard luck life. I think you have all those damn tattoos to try and hide and protect yourself. You are witty, a bit quirky, and never fit in anywhere. You’re smart…too smart for your own good. It makes you think you are better than other people sometimes, too.” Her raised eyebrow was met with a smirk.
That’s right. I said it…
“I think you love women, and sex, and all that entails, but your intellectualism prevents you from becoming a full-fledged jerk. I think you believe in astrology because it matches how you interpret the world. Your head is in the clouds, but your foot stands firmly on reality. I get you just fine!”
She turned away and closed her eyes, pleased with herself, knowing deep within that his ass had been read, toasted and thoroughly roasted.
She heard him chuckle lightly, then louder.
“Jeee-suuuus, Christ…yeah, that’s me. You do get me. Holy shit, I think you just made me fall in love with you, baby!” He burst out laughing so hard, she had to look at him. A vein protruded in the middle of his forehead; she longed to touch it.
What in the hell?! I just handed him his own ass and he laughs, agrees and carries on like not a damn thing happened? Julian…Lord help you…
She kept quiet as she let his words marinate, a strange feeling of contentment sweeping over her. This conversation felt like a damn roller coaster and the more time passed, the more drawn to him she became. He was an enigma, but yes…she really did understand him…
“I’m an accountant.” She offered a peace pipe, fragrant and sweet like a succulent Georgia peach.
He nodded. “Yes, I can see that you’d be drawn to that sort of profession.”
“What, based on astrology?” she teased. “You don’t even know my birthday though.”
“I do.”
She searched her mind for when and where he could’ve found that out. He didn’t go up front to see the paperwork…
“I don’t know the exact time you were born, however, so I don’t have the full picture. Angela, my assistant and receptionist, always emails me in advance the birth date of each customer I work on,” he confessed, taking her out of her confusion-driven misery. “She knows I want it. It helps me find out things that can aid in their relaxation. When you made the appointment, she asked for your birthday, amongst other bits of information. That gave me twenty-four hours to prepare. That’s why you have the white tea, why I changed the music and also why there is a yellow rose behind your ear. It is also why I anticipated you becoming annoyed with me.
“I knew, the more I opened up and talked, what the potential of this conversation would be. We are very different people, but we have a natural curiosity about one another. On one hand, you are very serious—rigid almost. On the other hand, you want to know more about everything and everyone. You do believe that our existence is bigger than what we see. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t even be lying here getting your mother on your arm. You have questions…we both have questions. And for the record, just so you know…” He laughed. “I don’t get high, Milan.” He didn’t give her the chance to respond, to defend herself.
“I don’t smoke anything, though I’m not against those that smoke for healing. I do chew on the end of lit incense from time to time… I am into taking care of my body. I don’t eat meat; I’m a vegetarian. I exercise. I meditate. I run for relaxation, too. I like being physically active, especially since I’m required to sit so much for my job. It’s a way to get my negative energy out, to get balanced. I also enjoy reading.”
Milan buried her chin into the headrest and sighed.
“What do you like to read?” she asked. The man intrigued the fuck out of her. Resistance was futile.
“All sorts of things, especially non-fiction, like books on metaphysics, natural cures, sensuality, art, design, astrology, health. I’ll read almost anything though. I believe that we can learn from just about anything we see. It’s just a matter of having a good filter, and finding the gold even in something that appears to be worthless.”
Sensuality…
“Tell me a little more about yourself, Milan.” He moved his chair away, extended his arm. The needle became tight as he went into detail along his artistry.
“Well, I do work a stressful job, but it wasn’t always that way. It seems that when one thing goes wrong, everything follows.” She didn’t give a shit anymore. The man gave her a platform to purge. They’d already had their first argument like an old married couple; the ice had been broken. She lay half-naked, he was jabbing her, and they’d discussed everything from God to getting high. So she tossed her pride aside and cut loose. “I used to love my job, and then they promoted this bastard who can’t handle having a little power. He used to be just a co-worker, but now, he is the guy I have to report directly to. I can’t even bring myself to call him my manager and what really burns me up is, he is not qualified! Now, the guy above him, Garrett, is a really good person and I’ve been debating reporting his butt to him, but that could start all sorts of trouble.”
Milan shook her head and realized at that moment that Julian had been right. People did treat him like a bartender. Just like that she’d rolled out her woes, pushed the bastard face first down a hill, and lest she admit it, it felt good, almost healing.
“Go on,” he encouraged as he kept his hand steady, the needle moving about her stretched skin just so.
“Well, they are friends and though I know you may not agree with this, I’ve seen it too many times—white men will protect other white men, even if they like the person from the minority group that is complaining on an issue. No matter how much Garrett enjoys me as a person and thinks my work is good, he could take Martin’s side and then things could potentially get even worse for me.”
“You don’t have an argument from me there. I will say this however: it’s not only the white race that does that. Race is a made-up paradigm anyway, but there isn’t any need to get into all of that right now. Anyway, yeah, people with physical similarities tend to cling to one another. We evolve when we understand that we are not races at all in the first damn place. We are just people, with different cultures.”
This man truly surprised her.
“We tend to gravitate towards people we perceive as similar to us, and we will protect those people, based on that likeness. The key is to realize that just because someone appears similar to you, it doesn’t mean they have your best interest at heart.” And with that, he swiped at her flesh with another moistened cotton ball, and continued along his way.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your manager and the big boss are both white men, right? They like each other, they have their sex, gender and racial identification in common. They may like similar teams regarding sports and have similar political and religious views. Find out what your boss likes, the manager, find something in common, and see if you can talk about that with him. People don’t naturally gravitate towards differences, oddities or strange situations unless they have that sort of personality. I am one of those peculiar people that do.” He grinned really wide now, showcasing that gorgeous, sexy grin of his.
“But I know, most people aren’t like me.” He shrugged. “So, what you have to do is get on this guy’s level, to see if he’d ease off you then. The more we have in common with someone, the more we see ourselves in them, and since we don’t want to hurt ourselves, we tend to make things easier for people we think are like us. He sees no commonalities between the two of you right now. Once he does, he may be swayed to change.”
This man actually makes sense!
“We do things for them, help them out. That’s what you want to try to do. It is hard for a woman to do this with a man though, because in a professional environment it can be misconstrued as flirting, so be careful. Now, if that doesn’t work, you’ll want to tell the head guy what the hell has been going on. You already have a good rapport with him.”
“Why not just go to him now?”
“Because you’ll be filing a complaint, a report. You first want to fix your current situation.” The buzzing seemed to get softer as he spoke, as if the entire place knew he was speaking important stuff. “You want to stop the troubled waters, if you will, the hemorrhaging.” He ran his forearm over his nose, then continued. “This accomplishes something really important. It shows that you tried to get along with your manager before you made a complaint. It would demonstrate that you attempted to work with him directly, to fix the issue before running to a higher-up.”
“You’re a damn genius.” She cackled, causing him to do the same.
“Hmmm, thanks.”
“I’m going to do that. I’m going to try it.”
He nodded. “Good, and I hope you are successful. It’s important to enjoy your job as much as possible.”
“I take it you love your job?”
“Eh.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders, his face in a slight grimace. “Yes, for the most part. I love aspects of it. I am struggling with the business part, quite honestly. I’m good with numbers, I’m great with people, my customers, but times are changing and I’m having trouble keeping up with inventory, ’nd shit like that.”
“There are all sorts of really user-friendly computer systems, software, you know?” She paused, wished to help. “You can just put all of your inventory in, and then—”
“That’s the thing, I haven’t found the time. I’ll deal with it later. I have more pressing matters to tend to.” He brushed her off, hesitating to discuss it any further.
“The salon is beautiful, by the way,” she offered.
“Thank you. I had some remodeling done to attract more customers. Well, they came alright, and we were already pretty busy but I wanted to meet one of my goals.”
“Which was?”
“I wanted to have this building paid off fast, and I managed to accomplish that not too long ago, actually. I rent out two rooms upstairs to responsible students. I save the rent money and put it towards any repairs that may pop up. The other efficiency I keep as my personal art studio. I basically just store a lot of my paintings in there and in the last one I keep additional supplies for the herb store and salon, and allow some of the artists to train apprentices in. I own two properties now—my own house and this building—and even though it can be a bit stressful at times, a huge burden is off my shoulders. All my school loans are paid off. I have freedom, finally.”
“That is wonderful.” Milan was duly impressed. “School loans? Where did you attend school?”
“Franklin College of Arts and Sciences. I have a Bachelors of Art and Humanities. I studied fine art, design, things like that.”
“Good for you!”
“Also, there is a tattoo apprenticeship scholarship I started. One student wins a yearlong apprenticeship with any of the local artists that sign up for it. It’s a great opportunity. Part of the prize is they get money, as well as a party once they graduate, and they can choose which artist they want to go under as long as that artist doesn’t currently have an apprentice. So far, I’ve got fifty-three local artists signed up and hope to get more.”
Now you’re talking…
“See? That’s what I am talking about. You’ve been blessed and you’re giving back, paying it forward. That is how it should work. Reciprocity…I love it.”
“It’s important to give back to yourself, too…kinda like what you’re doing right now.”
The mood shifted to something heavy, something soaked in shed tears and a throbbing heartache buried under blood-soaked cotton.
“You can’t see this from my vantage point yet, but it is turning out really nice.” His lips curved as he eyed his handiwork with satisfaction.
“I’m sure it is. I can’t wait to see it.” Her eyes moistened. She quickly shut them as the opera music continued to play, and a silence filled the room.
“You don’t have to close your eyes if you don’t want,” he offered in a soft tone. She slowly opened them and looked at him through the mirror.
“If you want to cry, you can. Tears are healing. Each tear has a specific reason, a meaning. They help with the abolition of emotional, mental and spiritual poisons. Unfortunately, we tend to keep pain derived from mourning in our bodies, in our gut.”
…And his words hit her in her core.
“That pain causes problems with our sleeping, self-awareness, digestion, emotional well-being, and self-esteem. We may have a skewed vision of the world as we fall onto the lap of negativity. We may lose meaningful friendships, not because they left us in our time of need, but because we’ve changed… we’ve become anti-climactic with our behavior, soul suckers. We don’t mean to be, but our soul is needy, and we don’t like that…”
Keep talking to me, baby…
She blinked to chase away the tears she still was too ashamed to let him see again just yet…
“The tears help cleanse that and whenever we try to block them from falling, we keep a bit more of that hardness inside of us. It’s like needing to sneeze, but delaying it. We are keeping the allergens in, when we need to let them go. We allow the grief to turn into a monster, and eat us from the inside out. So…I want you to cry, if that’s what you need… Keep your eyes open; they are trying to help you see the truth…”
All she could do was sniff and tell herself to ignore this man’s advice. To fight it, for all she was worth. But, he just wouldn’t let her heart go… He kept squeezing and squeezing, until she’d have to relinquish herself. This was what she feared the most for she couldn’t hold back much longer.
“Tattoos, if done for the right reasons, are a transcendent experience. Just like sex, just like taking care of your health, nurturing yourself…”
Something rather odd started happening. The man’s voice was soothing her again, even more than before, right in time with the music, as if he were delivering spoken word. It was one of the strangest and most beautiful things she’d ever experienced. So, she gave herself permission to follow his train of thought, to kick her internal battle to the curb and cling tight to his suggestion…and the tears flowed. Quiet and slow, they fell. She smiled through it all, but they kept coming, sliding over her cheeks, down to the towel that soaked them up. He continued on working, a peaceful expression on his handsome face as if he, too, were somehow released from bondage due to her free-flowing expression of immense grief. Without missing a beat, he handed her a tissue, then went right back to work, as if nothing were happening.
I want to know more about you, Julian…a whole lot more.
What an incredible man, an odd man, a wise man, beyond his years. Responsible, caring and smart. A bit of a smart ass at times, but that was a small price to pay for all of his other wonderful qualities. She’d never encountered a man like him in all of her life.
Maybe he is my type after all…
After a few more minutes, she drifted away… She hadn’t even noticed she’d fallen asleep until he gently shook her awake.
“Oh…” she moaned, coming to her senses. The snapping his gloves roused her the rest of the way. She watched him snatch them off and toss them in a nearby trashcan full of blood dabbled cotton and debris.
“You’re all finished. Are you ready to see it?”
“Yes!” She sat up, excited beyond compare, but then he gently wrapped his arms around her hips, shocking her as he spun her around so she could see better. She looked down at her arm, and then in the reflection and gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. She couldn’t help but tremble, as she was taken aback, coming undone.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, her voice was muffled from her quaking palms. “It’s beautiful, Julian! It is even better than I thought it would be! I love it.”
Before she knew it, she had the man in an embrace, pulling him to her partially exposed bosom that heaved out of her sports bra. His inebriating scent swarmed her senses, making her pussy clamp tight between her thighs. He seemed hesitant as she clutched him hard, but then, she felt his arms encircle her waist, holding her firm to his warm, hard frame. God, he felt so good, smelled so serene. Yeah, if serenity had a smell, he was it…
Before she knew it, he kissed her cheek then took a few steps back.
“I’m glad you like it, Milan. It’s a wonderful dedication to one of your life vessels.”
“Life vessels? My mother… That’s beautiful, Julian.” She looked back at her arm, in awe of the exquisiteness of his creation. The damn yellow flower looked tangible. It looked as if someone, anyone, could reach out and touch it, as if she had freshly plucked it from a lush garden. The image of her mother’s profile made her heart flutter, and the scrabble pieces looked as if they were being tossed in midair—palpable, three-dimensional. He even detailed intricately designed wood grain on them…just…wow…
Then, one minuscule element caught her eye that she hadn’t noticed previously—there were numbers at the bottom of the scrabble pieces. She squinted at them, trying to make sense of it.
“It’s your birthday.” He offered. “You said your mother didn’t think she could have children, and you were a surprise; I imagine a pleasant surprise. I incorporated that in the illustration. The opera and yellow roses she loved, but I’m sure she loved you more than her own life itself. It was in the original design, but wasn’t as clearly drawn. If you don’t like it, I can cover it up with shading.”
“No, no! I love it! I can’t say that enough; I love the whole thing!”
He nodded, looking rather humble as he began to clean up the place. Grabbing her shirt, she put it back on but left her arm out of her sleeve. He turned the music off, and moved around, sweeping and tossing items.
“Can I help you?” she asked as she leaned against the bench and carefully dug into her purse looking for a stick of gum or a mint.
“No, you just relax. I need to cover that up, so don’t go moving around just yet. I just wanted to get the rest of this stuff up over here.” He placed the broom against the wall and had her sit on the bench again. Taking his sweet time, he delicately layered a bandage over it.
“This is actually a wound, it needs to heal.”
Just like grief… She smiled inwardly at the analogy she’d formed in her mind.
“I am going to give you a bag with what I call an aftercare kit. It will have gauze, cotton balls and medicated pads for swelling and itching. I also suggest taking any over the counter pain medications you prefer if you find that it is a bit more uncomfortable than you can tolerate. You could always use natural pain management as well, but the choice is yours. In the next few days, it will scab over, after which you can remove the gauze and not re-wrap it. Whatever you do, don’t pick at it. Let it heal on its own; our bodies know how to repair themselves if we just give them the space and time. If you run into anything that worries you, please call me, okay?”
He looked into her eyes, sincerity deep within him bubbling at the surface.
“Yes, I will.” She ran her hand over her face, catching any tears that tried to come after she’d already relinquished that episode.
He unlocked and opened the door, and much to Milan’s surprise, the place was completely empty. She reached for her cellphone and looked at the time.
“Oh my God, it’s like two in the morning! I thought I’d only been here a few hours.”
“Nope. It was quittin’ time a while ago.” He walked into the lobby area, checking to make sure everything was picked up. The Open sign was shut off, the receptionist station clean and clear, and no one loitered about. It was just the two of them…
“This was four hundred dollars well spent.” She set her purse on a nearby stool and removed her wallet. “You really do some impressive work and now I see why everyone wants you.”
“Not everyone wants me…”
She paused, then decided to ignore his comment, though she sensed the note of flirtation loud and clear.
“Okay, here you go.” She handed him her credit card, daring to look him in the eye.
She could hear her own accelerated breathing, especially now that the place seemed like dead space. No music, no laughing, no candles and incense and people moseying about in the shop. It was just she and Julian. The man rang her up, then handed her a yellow carbon receipt to sign.
“This says…two hundred.” She stared at it for a short time, then looked at him curiously. “Previously, you told me that it was four hundred.” She held the pen in her hand, prepared to sign, but hesitated.
“Call it a discount.” He cleared his throat, ran his finger over the bridge of his nose and leaned against the wall partition behind him as if waiting for a bus.
“You’ll never make any money this way…” she teased as she leaned over and signed the receipt.
“I don’t give most people half off discounts, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”
Once again, she debated responding or not. She handed him the slip and he furnished her a copy.
“Well, thank you. And…thanks for the outstanding work you did…and the conversation, too.” She meant every word she uttered as she placed her purse over her shoulder. “Ouuuch!”
He grinned. “Yeah, you need to be careful with purses ’nd such the next few days. Keep the area clear.”
She nodded woefully in understanding, then turned towards the front door to leave.
After she took a few steps, he called her name.
“Milan…” His voice carried throaty and rich, smooth like black, imported coffee with a dash of something cool and minty. A voice steeped in a mature notion, like the motherfucker knew exactly what to do and how to do it…and that made her pussy sigh. She paused, her damn heart beating hard within her.
“Shit, what do I have to lose?” he asked aloud, as if sharing his innermost secret thoughts with an invisible best friend.
She turned towards him and caught him shrugging. Then, he reached behind himself and loosened the thick, black ball of hair, allowing his tresses to fall against his shoulders like liberated waves released from a broken dam. The long hair now framed part of his face, so unbelievably dark, the locks shone almost like velvety royal blue. With his slightly tanned skin, that dark hair made a stark contrast against his flesh. He was naturally a bit Goth in appearance, yet soaked in the richness of the Deep South. What a combination…
Does he dye his hair? I can’t imagine that he does. Slight highlights in some areas…His hair is even darker than mine…
He fidgeted about while she studied him, waiting, for she knew he was about to say something to her that could change everything all at once. His gaze turned hooded, while the whites of his eyes seemed more brilliant than freshly fallen snow on the tip of a diamond. Before her stood a man with broad shoulders, created from God’s vivid imagination. His penetrating cerulean eyes unsettled her, their kind of blue you didn’t see very often, but all in all, the man’s sexy meter flew off the motherfucking chart. He was oddly gorgeous. Enigmatically divine. No denying it. He embodied eccentric sexiness to the tenth degree and beyond.
“I wanted to know, if I could…” He slicked his tongue over his bottom lip as he casually rubbed his hands together, “…take you out sometime?”
She stood there, unable to stop her mouth from curling upward in a rascally grin. She waited for a moment, pondering over his invitation, drawing closer to the words as if they invited her to dance.
“Is that why I got the discount?” she joked, causing him to laugh lightly, cross his arms and look down at his seemingly brand new red and white Pumas before he set his sexy gaze back upon her.
“Maybe, but anyway…” His stare narrowed as he shoved his hands into his slouchy jean pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m attracted to you, like I already confessed, and I hope you wore that get up,”—he pointed casually to it, a smirk draped across his face, “because you might have at least a slight interest in me, too.” Now, he was offering that sexy ass smile again. She wished he’d stop it. It made her damn pussy pulsate like a Bayou frog’s throat.
“I did.”
“I know you did.” He cocked his head to the side and moved his jaws a bit back and forth, as if he were chewing gum. “Glad you finally admitted it… So, what do you say? A date with a hippie? It just might be fun.” He smirked, rocking back and forth a bit harder now.
“They say Jesus was a hippie, and as you know, I like him and accept him as my personal Lord and savior…so maybe I can like you, too.”
At this, he burst out laughing so hard, he turned red. “Normally, I would scoff at such things, but seeing as it is working in my favor, hell, I welcome it with both arms. Alright, cool… Oh, I almost forgot!” He shot his finger up in the air as if to say, ‘One moment, please.’
After disappearing for moments behind the dark red curtain of the little shop, he returned and handed her eleven yellow roses.
“The twelfth one is in your hair.” He pointed to it, reminding her of its presence.
“Oh my goodness. These are so nice, thank you!” She sniffed them, taking in their aromatic bouquet. “A dozen roses, how nice…you’re kinda sweet.” She winked at him as she gathered them in her arms.
“I didn’t get you twelve roses because it is customary. I got you twelve roses because your birthday is in the twelfth month of the year. If you’d been born in July, you would’ve received seven, and so on and so forth.”
“So not only do I have to hear about astrology some more, I have to hear about numerology, too?” She laughed. “I don’t think I’m going to survive this date with you, Julian.”
“You’ll endure it, and I think you’ll actually like it…maybe even love it.” He winked. “Now, let’s make arrangements.” He rubbed his hands together again, this time as if he were about to plop down and feast on something extravagant and mouth watering. “You can either meet me here at the shop, or I can pick you up. I’m free Wednesday night, at least I am now.” He grinned.
“Hmmm, okay. I can do Wednesday. You already have my number…”
“I do.” He removed his cellphone from his pocket. “But give it to me again and I will put it in my phone.”
They exchanged numbers and set a time.
“Well, I guess that’ll be all. See you on Wednesday,” she said, getting a whiff of his cologne as he drew closer, stood beside her for a brief moment, then breezed by like a ghost. Gripping the chrome locks, he removed the chains from her voluntary imprisonment, allowing her to be released into the night.
“You’ll hear from me before then.” Straightening, he stood close to her, so close, she could smell his warm, cinnamon-scented breath.
I sure hope so.
She grinned and stepped over the threshold, only for the man to pull her arm, bringing her abruptly back to him, making her yo-yo and stumble clumsily against his chest.
Shit, he smells so good…
“Can I have a kiss before you go?”
“…We haven’t even had a first date, and I—”
Stifling her protests, he pressed his lips firmly into hers, and moaned as he gripped her tightly to his stiffened body. Upon contact, her body responded instantly and her libido flew through every active cell inside of her physique. Her damn groin was at it again, too—flipping, tossing, making waves. The kiss was full of pressure, tight, sensual, and dare she say it—devoted, as if the man were making love to her with his mouth, and his tongue hadn’t even dared to leave its hot, wet confines. He hooked one of his hands behind her neck, forcing her into him even more so, not leaving room for the air, the night nor a thought to form and process. It felt like some sort of tantric oral reflexology, which made her melt into him even further, lifeless as she was.
He finally released her.
“Alright, now you’re free to go.” He closed the door in her face, locked it and disappeared like a cocky phantom.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the damn closed door with the ‘Closed’ sign swinging against it from his abrupt departure. She didn’t know rather to laugh or scream as she touched her mouth, his kiss still searing her lips as she gently ran her fingertips along them.
Damn…
She savored the faint taste of cinnamon as she slicked her tongue along her bottom lip, taking Julian in, tasting him, absorbing him whole…
Mmmm… what a kisser…
‡