Chapter Five
It was five minutes after six, and the street corner restaurant had a rustic charm as it ushered in the thickening dinner crowd. The dusky brick building looked as if it had once been something else, something long forgotten. An oval, weatherworn sign, or possibly recently distressed emblem, hung from a rusted, iron rod high above, wedged between two darkened, dusty windows that hadn’t seen a bottle of Windex in a mighty long time. The sign read, ‘The Grit.’ Milan took a deep breath and waited as Julian opened the door to the establishment, allowing her to enter. She was immediately taken aback by the pungent, delicious aromas swirling abound, infused with paprika and peppercorn. The small tables were full of white people smiling and laughing, their forks busy and their mouths just as hardworking as they labored over their food and delighted each other with conversation.
Vegans and vegetarians…Oh joy…
Julian moved closer to her, delicately placing his arm around her waist as he bent forward to speak to the hostess in a hushed tone.
“Table for two, please.”
The woman nodded and negotiated the crowd and oddly placed tables, while Milan and her tattooed friend trailed close behind. He’d asked her where she’d like to go, and she made the mistake of saying ‘Surprise me.’ Nevertheless, she tried to stay optimistic, though it was a definite challenge. Soon they were seated, and menus placed before them.
“Now.” He opened his tariff, his eyes quickly scanning it as if he knew exactly what was there, but was simply doing his checks and balances. “I am assuming you aren’t vegetarian or vegan. Am I right?”
‘Sail’ by Awolnation played low in the background…
“I eat meat.” She crossed her legs and wrinkled her nose at the word, ‘tofu’ in one of the menu descriptions. Tofu was synonymous with Styrofoam, but that simply wasn’t fair. Styrofoam probably had more flavor.
“Uhhh huh.” That notorious smirk of his sneaked onto his face as he chewed his jaw, making it seem as if a toothpick should have been bobbing out the side of it. “I bet you will like this, Milan. The food here is really good.”
“I’ll try. I’m open to new things.”
Just as she finished her statement, he looked up at her, and something she couldn’t quite make out had made his smile fade. He kept a pleasant countenance, though, as he hooked his gaze with hers.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“When was the last time you had meat? Oh…thank you,” she said as someone came up and handed them two waters, and him an iced tea as well. He smoothed his napkin out with both hands, as if it were important to him that it stay tidy for his glass to be set upon it.
What a strange man.
“Over ten years ago. It was a burger.”
“You say it like you remember it fondly. Did you give that burger a name?” She teased as she crossed her ankles, settling a bit more into her seat.
He grinned a tad wider. “I didn’t know it would be my last burger. I bought it, went home, ate it and then stayed up all night to party with friends. I saw a documentary the following day about meat production. I’d already been contemplating to stop eating it, but that pretty much sealed the deal for me. I don’t like the ill treatment of the animals in the slaughterhouses; it’s unsanitary, and I don’t find it necessary to eat it. Not trying to tell others what to do though. Just for me, I’m not interested anymore. I feel a hell of a lot better, too.”
“Hmmmm.” She took another sip of her water through the black straw, leaving her red lipstick laden kiss upon the tip. “So, you’re cool dating a person that eats meat?”
He shrugged and looked back down at his menu. “Honestly, I’d prefer that my future girlfriend, whomever it may be, not eat it. The reason being is, I don’t want to be in a position to try and force anyone to do something for me, against their will, just to please me. I’d want them to do it because they want to. These things should happen naturally, through observation and education, you know?”
Milan nodded.
“I don’t want her to feel pressured, I want it to be sincere. If I fall in love with someone that eats meat, I just do, but it would be easier for me if they didn’t, is all. Plus, sex is better with vegetarians. One day I’d like to prove that to you.”
Milan sprayed water out of her mouth until it landed on his menu. As if nothing much had happened, he stifled a broad smile and gently dabbed at his menu with the napkin he’d just ironed out with his hands.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! You just…surprised me. Why do you say things like that?!”
“Things like what?” He looked up at her, as if truly clueless.
“You know what.”
“Well, it’s true.” He showed that sexy smile again, the one she loved to hate, then turned away, looking around the restaurant. “Is that not what men and women want?” He focused back on her.
“I would hope it would be more than that.” She stuck her lips out, certain she looked like a duck as she reprimanded him.
“Of course it’s more than that, but sex is a goal, right?” he argued. “Look, if I’m involved with someone, I expect that it will eventually happen. Do you not?” He appeared confused, as if she’d grown a horn in the middle of her damn forehead.
“I think when two people know that it’s the right time, they move forward. No need to plan out every little aspect of it. Otherwise, it is just premeditated nonsense and it gets people into a lot of trouble,” She said.
“Trouble, what kind of trouble?”
“Like not being on the same page. The woman may think she is in a relationship, and the man just sees her as a friend with benefits. That’s why giving things time, and for that chemistry to be there, is important. People don’t talk enough before sex happens to know where they stand, but some things just come about. There isn’t a discussion, you just kind of know.”
“I totally agree with that…and I know exactly what I want, so do you want to discuss us making love now or after dinner?”
“What?!”
“I’m only kidding!” He burst out in laughter. “Look, here comes the waitress. Are you ready to order?”
“Uh.” Milan looked down at her menu as if just noticing it. “I have no idea what half of this stuff is…”
“You want me to order for you?”
Milan shrugged and slammed her menu closed as if it were to blame for the lousy selections written inside of it.
“That’s fine I suppose.”
He flashed a smile in her direction then turned towards the waitress.
“Hey, how are you doin’? Let me get the Mid-E Platter for my friend here, the falafel platter for myself, a cup of your black bean chili and—”
“Large or small?”
He hesitated, shot Milan a look, then answered, “Large…I want to share it.”
The waitress nodded. “I’ll bring out an additional soup spoon. Did you wish for anything else?” She reached for their menus.
“Milan, do you prefer root beer or coke?” he asked, throwing her for a loop. She hadn’t planned to order a soft drink.
“Um, coke.”
“Okay,” He looked back at the waitress, his elbow on the table, gesturing as he spoke. “At the end, when it’s over, bring me a root beer float, and my friend a coke float.”
“Got it!” The waitress disappeared, leaving them alone. They remained quiet for a little while, though she didn’t miss the man staring at her, damn near drilling holes into her clothing with his intense eyes. He ran his hand across his chin and leaned back in his seat, real comfortable like, as if he were chilling on his own couch.
“So how’s that tattoo healing? You didn’t mention it when I picked you up.”
“Oh, it’s fine. A little tender, but I looked at it and it looks normal. I know you said I could stop, but because of the tenderness and slight redness, I applied the ointment again this afternoon and re-covered it.”
“Good. Soon that should be unnecessary.”
He nodded and tapped the table, his fingertips slightly dragging across it.
“So what is in this medieval platter you ordered for me?”
He burst out laughing and rolled his eyes. “It’s called the Mid-E Platter, and it will allow you to sample a few different things, you know, get a better idea of what you like and don’t like. It’s really good. It has…”—he began to count off his fingers—“pita, hummus, some nice uncooked veggies, you know, whatever’s in season, falafel and tabbouleh.”
“What’s tabbouleh?”
“It’s buckwheat, tomatoes, olive oil, parsley, lemon juice and a little seasoning to taste. It’s really nice, and the one they serve here has lemon sauce drizzled over it. It’s a salad, basically…really tasty.”
She nodded, trying her damnedest to not show her displeasure. It didn’t help that her stomach was rumbling.
“You are either perplexed or putting on some act,” she blurted as she took another sip of her water, her hunger pangs making her slightly aggressive.
“What do you mean?”
“Last weekend when you were doing my tattoo, you were initially the perfect gentleman. You turned on music you knew I’d like, put a flower in my hair, all of that. And then, during the course of the conversation, you started to poke me like a bear, rearing for a fight. But then, when I left, you forced me into a kiss and—”
“Forced?” he repeated, a slick smirk on his face as he beat his short nails against the table.
Damn smirk.
“Yes, forced.” She grinned, barely able to get out the statement, knowing it sounded skewed. “…And then we get in here, and you are talking about sex is expected. I honestly have nothing against the conversation within itself, but that choirboy act you tried to pull initially sure went away quickly. I’m not buyin’ it.” She theatrically rolled her eyes.
“Choir boy?”
“Yes, are you going to repeat everything I say back like some recorder?” She shook her head. “You heard me right the first time.”
“You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Do I now?” She crossed her arms, waiting to hear this silvery-tongued bullshit he was sure to deliver. It was time he had a mirror up to himself, Mr. High and Mighty Vegetarian Man…acting so holier than though. Besides, she was in the mood for entertainment; it would make the bland meal she’d be urged to try go down a bit easier.
“That was no act. I didn’t know you. My mind was racing faster than my mouth, and then I caught myself. That could’ve made you uncomfortable, you know? I had no idea. What I did know is that I picked up we had a mutual attraction for one another, so I relaxed a bit, and went on and told you. Now, as far as the kiss, I didn’t make you do anything…”
“Oh boy…” She burst out laughing and turned away, giving him a glance that said, “This mothafucka right here!”
“I asked you for something that you wanted to give me. So, I took what was mine, and sent you on your way.” He bit into his bottom lip as if suppressing his mirth, no doubt enjoying how she squirmed about in her seat. “Now, isn’t that true?”
She shot him a withering look, as if he were a demon sitting before her, trying to seduce her with promises of fame and glory in exchange for her soul. Still, she couldn’t lie. She tried to paint him into a corner, out of sheer boredom, and the slick fucker came out victorious, once again, seamlessly skated his way through without missing a beat.
“Maybe.”
He burst out laughing and slapped the table.
“You just can’t give in, not even a little bit, can you?! Everything has to be a struggle, hmmm? I think you are all an act, Milan. All this shit right here,” he swirled his fingers around a few inches above the table as if circling an imaginary map, “is Milan-flavored bullshit. It is what you do.”
“Oh really now?” She laughed hoarsely. “So you know all about this right here?” She pointed at herself, put on an innocent expression.
“Yeah, I know your type. I am what I am. It is your choice to take it or leave it. I’m not going to perform for you or anyone else. That’s not me, baby girl.” He grunted.
“Baby girl?!”
“Now who’s the recorder? I actually know more about you than you realize.” He stabbed the table with his finger, while she turned away to avoid his gaze. “I think some women just think men only see you as physical conquests, that we don’t pay attention. That’s not true.” He served her another wink on a platter, smothered in charisma.
Player…
“From what, astrology?” She guffawed.
“Not just that. I know women.”
“Oh… you know women, huh?” Her brow shot up. “How old are you, Julian?”
“Twenty-eighty, one year older than you.”
“And in your twenty-eight years, you learned all about women, huh?” she egged on.
“What does age have to do with it? If I were fifty-eight, would I then be considered more wise on this topic? Maybe, maybe not. Knowledge on something is based partially on interest. It interests me…you interest me.”
Before she could respond with another snarky remark, their food arrived.
Fifteen minutes later, after her first taste of the platter that the man fed to her from his fork, she decided she was having a culinary love affair. Initially, she put up a bit of a fight, but damn it, she ended up in epicurean love.
Soooo delicious!
She could not believe how flavorful and rich everything tasted. Rendered silent, she stuffed her mouth, though she was a bit embarrassed at how she was sure putting it away. This was a first date after all, and she was supposed to be putting her best high-heeled foot forward. Julian, however, seemed at times so crass—a cutie pie with a penchant for being a bit abrasive—but the man was on point about most everything he said. She was making things difficult for him, but truth was, she couldn’t have it both ways. She wanted to date a guy that was strong-willed and honest, and that always seemed like too much to ask; but Julian was beyond forthright and to top it all, the man had her personality pegged perfectly.
Milan studied the man as he sat there, looking as if tangled within his own thoughts. She tapped her fork against her lip in contemplation. She didn’t believe his guess had anything to do with astrology. Rather, she placed the blame on him simply being perceptive. Yes, that had to be it…
“Here, take a bite of this.” His fork floated over, chock full of what appeared to be flaky white meat. That terrible tofu—and though by appearances it looked like chicken, she understood her expectations needed to remain low. Surely, something out of this meatless place would be less savory…
She was wrong.
She wrapped her lips around the fork, forfeiting her reservations about eating from others’ utensils. Feeling a bit sheepish at the way his lips parted as he watched her, she tried to not stare him in the eye as her mouth had a damn orgasm. It didn’t matter; it was useless. She looked at him, and found that little predictable smirk clear across his face. His gaze never left her mouth…
He was a pervert, and not doing a very good job of hiding it.
Regardless, she played on this, relishing in the moment as she, too, began to delight in the flirtatious game they played. After swallowing the toasted tofu, she daintily dabbed at the side of her mouth with her tri-folded napkin and regarded him with a smile, her head cocked to the side.
“That was delicious,” she admitted, tired of toying with the man. He’d fight her on every slick comment anyway. No, right now she just wanted to relax. He’d passed her little litany of tests, at least for now.
“I know. So, eating like this ain’t so bad, huh?” He took a sip of his tea. “Dessert is coming soon.”
“I’m stuffed.” She sighed. “And I can’t take a cola float home.”
“You’ll eat it,” he teased. “They are really good, too. I don’t know what brand of root-beer they use, but it tastes old-fashioned. Like the ones we used to have as kids.”
“You know, I can’t really recall having any floats as a child.”
“You didn’t have pink cows? Root beer floats?! Awwwww man!” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “They were the best. My mom used to fix them for my stepsister and me and she’d put a cherry on top.” He took a deep breath to emphasize that detail of the fond memory. “I think she stole those candied cherries from work.” He burst out laughing—a carefree sound that made her want to grab it from the air and tuck it in her pocket. “Anyway, they were theeeeee best!”
“Stepsister, huh? Were you two close?”
“Kinda. She was like four years older than me, so…” He shrugged. “You know how that is. My parents got divorced when I was nine. My mom remarried when I was thirteen. My stepfather was kinda strict, but a decent man all around. We didn’t really talk much, just stayed out of each other’s way. As long as he wasn’t hittin’ her or treatin’ her bad, I couldn’t nitpick.”
Though his words were void of much emotion, underneath, Milan sensed a layer of cloaked pain.
“He kept the bills paid so my mother didn’t too much complain.”
“You make it seem like they were just friends with benefits.” Milan dug a bit deeper. She was interested in this man, and she wanted to know everything about him.
Shit. I like him. I really like him…
“Hmmm.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure she had some sort of love for him, but it was kinda one-sided I think. My mother was just the type of woman that couldn’t do long term commitments, unless it was me or a damn cat, or something like that. She wasn’t really a one-man type of woman, ya know?” He laughed. Again, his words, though rolled in chuckles, sounded a bit forced. Milan listened intently, knowing now without a shadow of a doubt that under that faux merriment lay a torn heart and the birthplace of Julian’s personal brand of cynicism. The launch pad for what and who he was today…
“She was a good mom, though, you know?” His eyes narrowed as he drifted in thought and played with his fork, tapping it against his now empty plate. “Anything I needed from her, she took care of. She let me get away with too much though.” He nodded, his head low. “…But she loves me, always did. I needed that most of all.”
“What about your biological father?”
He looked up at her and grinned.
“This is interesting, Milan.” He clasped his hands tightly together, intertwining his fingers. “People don’t generally ask me about my family, so I don’t talk about it a great deal.”
“Oh…do you not want to?” She resituated herself in her seat.
“Nah, it’s fine.” He glanced at her arm, at the new tattoo that was partially exposed, though covered in gauze. He seemed to study the area out the corner of his eye. “I feel like I know so much about you and your mother… I like this, us sharing.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he and I had a good relationship, although strained at times, like when I was a teenager. Typical stuff, I suppose. He never remarried. I think he was kinda bitter after the divorce…always asking me about what my mother was doing. Anyway…” Julian sighed.
“After the divorce, he changed. Became less enthusiastic, but we still had good times. In retrospect, I think my father suffered from some sort of chemical imbalance, mainly depression. He’d be there, but not be there, if you know what I mean.
“It was kind of like, out of sight, out of mind. He didn’t come over as much later, either. He apologized to me about it years later, stating that my mother always rode his ass when he’d try to come over…but you know what?” He huffed, running his hand across his forehead as if he had a headache. “I only told you part of the story regarding my father and…it’s not exactly good dinner conversation.” He bit into his bottom lip through a grin.
She knew that grin well, now. He crossed his arms real tight over his chest and turned away, his complexion warm. Hesitating on making a move, she just stared at him for a moment.
“Julian, it doesn’t bother me,” she finally said. “Look, if you want to tell me, tell me; if you don’t, I understand.” She didn’t want to push him, but…what if he was trying to push himself over the hurdle, if somewhere deep inside, he believed this had to be done? He folded his hands on the table, looking down at them as if he needed a moment.
“My father died in a motorcycle accident, but it wasn’t actually an accident, Milan. It was on purpose. He left a suicide note…”
Milan’s heart dropped lower than low. “Oh Julian, I’m so sorry…”
…And here she was again, drowning in a world of regret.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never told anyone that before. Wow…” Now, his smile was weak, as if it needed some special vitamins just to gain any leverage ever again. “I guess, I just never wanted anyone to think badly of him, even strangers. I didn’t talk about it, not because I was ashamed, but to try and protect him, I suppose.” He shrugged. “I know people are real judgmental about suicide. I know how people think. Shit, I’m that way too, probably.” He shook his head. “There were days when I wanted to die, but I didn’t! Things happen, ya know?” Julian threw his hands up and his protective grin resurfaced.
For the first time since she’d laid eyes on the man, she could see deep trenches of intense sadness in his eyes. Heartbreaking.
“He was a good person,” he murmured. “He had some sort of outlandish obsession with my mom, though. The love was gone, and he had trouble accepting it. … Honestly, I think she was tired of him starting arguments with her, trying to get her back, too…sleep with her at least.” He snickered. “It’s not funny. I’m just laughing because, well, it still upsets me.” His eyes became a bit glossy.
Damn. The truth hurts…
“Actually, I do think they were still sleeping together up until his death, but of course that’s none of my business. It was never confirmed.” He rolled his eyes. “Is this too much, on a first date? Of course it is.” He answered himself. “Shit, I’m really sorry,” he said, leaning forward on the table.
“You know what, Julian? I asked you the question, and I got the answer…and I don’t regret it. I think you needed to discuss this. It helps sometimes to do so.” Milan tossed her napkin in the middle of her plate, feeling a bit depressed her damn self now, though it wasn’t his fault. “But, with me crying in front of you, and everything we know about each other now, I think we can do this, and be okay with it. Plus, I want to know. Continue, please.” She tilted her head ever so slightly and smiled at him. She wanted to give him a place to be the real him and, she hoped, that place was with her.
He took a look at his tea and glass of water, opted on the water and took a sip.
“I have one more thing I want to say. I don’t know why I want to tell you, but I do… Something about you makes me feel like I can, and something about you, Milan, makes me feel like you could benefit from me hurting a bit more…”
“What is it?” She braced herself.
He looked down at the table, refusing to make eye contact. “The other day, you asked about the tattoo of my child. It’s the most important one I have. I am going to tell you what happened. You see,” He looked away for a moment, ad if needing to catch his own breath. “My son…my son’s umbilical chord was wrapped around his neck. For about sixteen hours, according to the doctor, he struggled inside of my ex-wife, trying to breathe, trying to live.” His voice shook. He swallowed hard as Milan swiped a tear from her eye. “This should not be going on, not on a first date…this is too much. Why would I think this was okay?” He shook his head, seemingly upset with himself for even going there. “I promise you I’ve never done this before, spilled my guts like this. This is wrong. I’m so damn sorry.” He kept his head down and angrily slapped the table.
“Stop it. Don’t ever apologize to me for sharing such a personal thing again…” she murmured. “It is happening right now because it is supposed to be happening right now. We can’t plan these things, Julian. Now, finish telling me what happened.”
He shook his head. Emotion drifted from him to her, heavy on the air. “When he was born, it was…it was obviously too late. I held him in my arms. Seven month old fetus…practically fully developed. He looked…he looked just like me. Head full of black hair, same eyes…it was like looking at myself, like seeing my own death, and you know what? I did die a little bit after that!”
Milan choked back a sob, placed one hand to her mouth and reached across the table, gripping Julian’s hand with all of her might. He kept his head down, but she didn’t miss the sight of one lone tear stream down his face.
Jesus… Lord have mercy! He’s never talked about this before, either!
She knew it in her heart; this was Julian’s first time really sharing what he’d gone through, what he endured the day he lost his baby.
“I was able to say goodbye to him.” He sniffed. “I don’t know how this whole heaven and hell thing works, if it is even real, but it might be. If it is, I want to see my father and my kid again…but while I’m here…” He slowly looked up, his cheek shiny from the recently fallen tear. “While I’m human and on this planet, partaking in this lifetime, I want to be able to try again, you know? I want a second chance. No one can replace anyone, that’s impossible. But…I want to try the whole marriage thing again, because I liked it. And…I want to succeed. Next time, I know I’ll win.” He squeezed her hand a bit tighter, driving some point home that she wasn’t prepared to fully encompass. “And…I want to be a father. I want a couple kids, maybe three or four… Yeah, I know I was meant to be many things, and two of those things are a husband and a father. And not just any husband and father, but a devoted one, a good one, the kind a great woman wants and deserves, the kind that my kids would say after I’m gone, ‘Dad was crazy, but he loved the fuck out of me, and he took care of me…and he was a damn good person.’”
They paused for a long while, holding each other, giving quiet support in their time of falling the hell apart. Time ticked on by, and time cared for them, too.
“Well, speaking of marriage and families, what were your parents like?”
He’d broken the silence, given up the ghost, and switched lanes. She accepted that he wanted out. He was done. After all, he’d shared something so intimate, and so devastating. Milan came to the realization that it was true—Julian was the ‘bartender’. Everyone came to him about their problems, but no one gave a damn about his own. He was the listening ear for so many, yet he never had a place to fall apart, to unleash his own beasts. What more did he truly need to say? The truth was out now, and he was, at least for the time being, finished discussing it.
“Well, I told you about my mom, Katrina.” She couldn’t help but smile as she looked down at the table. “She was always encouraging. Like you said about your stepdad, she could be strict sometimes, but she was loving, too. I could open up to her. My father was older than my mom and though he was a good provider, he was a bit…” She grimaced as she searched for the right words. “I suppose emotionally distant is the word. Don’t get me wrong, I know he loved me; we just didn’t have that coziness, you know?”
Julian and I have some things in common. He may not be so different from me after all.
He nodded and leaned in closer, hanging on to her words.
“No family is perfect. Like yours, my parents loved me, so…” She felt a bit awkward, not quite sure as to why. The conversation was getting heavier, like clumpy gravy atop stiff, lumpy mashed potatoes, and she couldn’t stomach it. “Here come the floats!” She clapped her hands, thankful for the reprieve now that the focus of the conversation was on her. Moments later, they sat quietly devouring their respective desserts. She thought her appetite had waned, but she was suddenly more than ready to demolish the tower of sweet, fizzy power.
This shit has got to be home-made… It is a crime for anything to taste this good!
He sucked on his straw diligently, then paused.
“You wanna try this?”
“I don’t like root beer. Thanks though…you want to try this?” She pointed to her half eaten float.
“Nah, I’m good.” They kept the silence for quite some time. Then, as if after much thought, he grasped her hand. He intertwined their fingers, the straw still in his mouth, eliciting a smile from her.
“So.” Finished, he moved his glass aside. “I want to see you again.”
“I want to see you again, too.” Her cheeks pricked with heat.
“The conversation got a bit heavy tonight, but I agree with you. It served its purpose. I’ve…I’ve never really told that story to anyone before. That means your special to me already.” She couldn’t help but smile, a grin born of gratitude. “Now, that aside, let’s get down to business. We’re both kinda busy, but…I believe people make time for what they want to make time for.” He had a longing in his eyes.
She nodded in agreement and looked down into her empty glass with the long silver spoon, coated with a thin layer of ice cream. He was speaking earnestly now; it was time to straighten up. She desperately tried to hide the new, growing smile on her face. She tried, but trying and doing were two different things.
“So, I take it you had a good time, and the food wasn’t too bad? You’ll give me another chance to make you blush?” He bit his bottom lip seductively and tilted his head forward, forcing his long black hair to fall forward and puddle on the table.
“Yeah…”
He nodded, appearing quite pleased with himself. “Good. So, pencil me in; let’s secure a day and time.” He slowly removed his hand from hers, and scratched his ear lobe. “Tell me where you want to go, but take some time to think about it.”
“Actually, I think I already know what I’d like to do.”
He leaned back in his seat and ran his hand through his hair, combing it back away from his face as he kept his eyes keenly upon her.
“And what would that be?”
“Actually, um, this isn’t it, what I’m about to say.” She fumbled over her thoughts, hardly believing the words she had on the tip of her tongue. “See… we are having a company function in a few months.”
“I want to go out with you again before that,” he teased, causing her smile to tighten.
“Yes, I know. I just understand how your schedule is and wanted to know, well…” She looked down at her lap, nervously fidgeting with the tablecloth. “If you’d be my date.”
“So you trust me to not embarrass you, huh?” he goaded, causing her to shake her head and smile. Then he added, “Do you even have to ask, baby?” He grinned. “I’d love to.”
Baby…
“Great, it’s the last Saturday in April.”
Julian pulled out his phone and looked at his schedule. “I’m booked, but I have enough notice where these appointments can be switched around. He began to punch information into his phone—she assumed text messages and calendar updates.
“We’ll be dressed up; the restaurant is kinda fancy. The party will be in Atlanta. It’s for one of the upper management guys. Darryl Perfeti is retiring…a really good guy.”
“Got it…now, I want to see you again, soon, but before all of that, I need you to do something for me.” He arched his eyebrow and a mischievous grin creased his face. The perfectly trimmed goatee completed the roguish look.
“What?”
“Lean over this damn table and give me a kiss…”
She looked at him for a while, toyed with the notion of protesting just for the sake of it, then thought, ‘Fuck it.’ Tossing her hair back, she leaned over the table and pressed her lips into his like he was her man and there was nothing left to consider. Soon after, she reclaimed her seat. The soft music in the background didn’t match the tempo of her beating heart. Not with the swarm of busy butterflies in her gut. Hard as it was, she tried to act adult about this, yet her attraction to him kept growing and growing until she couldn’t contain it any longer.
“Actually, I have a meeting tomorrow night… However, the next day I’m free. Would you like to do something then?” she offered, finally coming back into the moment.
“Yeah, that’s cool. What did you have in mind?” He leaned casually back against the chair. His eyes said things to her. Things like he was waiting and wanting…
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe the movies, something like that?”
“I tell you what, and there is no pressure. How about you come by my house after work. We go to see whatever movie you want, and then come back to my house for a nightcap. I don’t like taverns too much, but I have a really nice bar that I built myself, in my home.”
“Your house? Hmmmm.” The butterflies made a back flip. “I don’t know about that.”
That perfectly arched brow shot up again. His eyes sparkled with devilry. “And what is going to happen when you come over? What are you worried about?”
“I suppose nothing. Don’t get your hopes up,” she countered, semi-joking. “Can I trust you to not try to touch me?”
“No, but if you don’t want me, I won’t.” He looked dead serious.
“You just said I couldn’t trust you!” She laughed.
“No, you asked ‘Can I trust you to not try to touch me?’, and I said ‘No.’ But then I added, if you don’t want me to, I won’t. Meaning, if you tell me you don’t want me to touch you, then I’ll respect that but otherwise, I may do just as you’ve mentioned. You’ve got to pay close attention, sweetheart.”
“I’m so sick of you and I don’t even fully know your ass!” She laughed.
He grinned and nodded. “You know me enough, at least for right now. That’s why you’re still sitting there…”
They simply stared at one another for a long while after that. He paid for their dinners and they walked out, hand in hand. On the drive home, he told her a story that had her stomach cramping from laughter.
“…And I just shouldn’t have done it. You know, that’s how it was back then though. You’d experiment on your best friend. My best friend at that time was a woman, my ex-wife. I was good with pen on paper, but skin is slightly different. Skin stretches, moves. Skin is alive. So she uh…” His vibrant eyes turned into tiny, blue pools as they narrowed in thought. He was stifling a damn laugh but she knew he couldn’t last long. He turned the car down the next street and continued. “I started up again, and she wouldn’t stop moving, and I was laughing, and she was too… She said it tickled real bad. It was supposed to be a dragon, but instead it looked like a long piece of shit with a tail…”
Milan burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. She’d asked the man about the worse tattoo he’d ever given, and this was his damn story.
“I had the nerve to try and draw scales on it…so now, it just looked like a dried out piece of shit, with a tail.”
“Stop it! Stop it!” She cracked up even louder.
“I then drew a smiley face on it, so now, it was a happy piece of dried out shit, with a tail.”
“Oh Jesus take the wheel!” She leaned over to the side, panting. “Why in the world did you do that?!”
He shrugged, a goofy smile on his face. “I was trying to correct it! Of course, all I did was make it worse.”
“Okay, okay, tell me about the worse customer you had.”
“Ohhhh man. Nah, I can’t do that. You might hold it against me.” They reached a red light.
“No I won’t.”
“Alright.” He swallowed. “This actually just happened not too long ago. This guy walked in, and I accept all people, okay?” He gave her a quick glance, as if trying to convince her of his sincerity. “I don’t care what someone’s body type is, how old they are, none of that, as long as they are legal and in decent enough health to receive a tattoo. Well, this guy walked in and he had a bunch of tattoos. They didn’t look like much so I assumed they were homemade or from some artist that didn’t know what they were doing. So, he walked in, and no one jumped up to help him. It was like…instinct. We all just kinda knew it was going to be a mess. It was strange, like a universal premonition. As the owner, I had to eventually go up.”
“Why didn’t you just make one of your other guys go up?”
“Because they had customers already and Angela was on the phone with a potential client. Still though, if a cute woman walks in, Cedrick will stop whatever the hell he is doing to try and claim her and schedule her in, and Alex will always jump in to help, too, like, he’ll say, ‘Hold on, someone will be with you in a sec,’ and tell his customer to hold tight. But this time, they didn’t budge. So anyway, the guy was like four hundred and fifty pounds, easily. It is harder to work with people that are extremely skinny, or very obese, because the skin, the canvas basically, doesn’t act the same. The more layers of tissue, the harder it is at times, or if there are too many bones jetting about…but I’ve done it, no biggie. Yet this guy was just giving me a vibe, you know.”
“Oh boy…”
“Yeah, I’ve got good intuition on shit like this.” The light turned green and he began driving again. “So, I introduced myself to the guy, and asked him what he was looking for.” Julian ran his hand leisurely over the steering wheel, and took a deep breath. “He wanted something on his asshole.”
“What? You mean his butt cheek, right?”
“No, he wanted a tattoo drawn around his damn asshole, Milan!”
That did it. Milan slumped in her seat and covered her face with her hands as her body rocked with laughter.
“He wanted me to tattoo, ‘T.P.B.H’, which means, The Portal to the Black Hole.’ I refused.” Julian threw up his hand; his face twisted in a grimace, as if he were re-living the traumatic ordeal, making Milan laugh all the harder. “I knew for a fact I wasn’t doin’ that shit, and he couldn’t pay me enough. I told him we don’t do those kinds of tattoos and he made a big stink about it.”
“A big stink?! Couldn’t you… couldn’t you have chosen different words just now?!” She gasped, trying to regain her composure, but miserably failed.
“All this dragon shit and asshole talk is so mature, isn’t it?” He smirked as they drew closer to her home. “Oh man, it was crazy. I could spend hours telling you about some of the stuff I’ve seen in that shop. Georgia has all kinds, I tell ya.”
“Who are you telling!”
“Speaking of assholes, how are things going at work?”
She looked out the window, noting they were only a block away from her house. She resented that. She didn’t want the date to end.
“Well, I put what you said into action, and I haven’t seen much improvement unfortunately, but we’ll see.”
“Keep at it, and if he doesn’t change, go to plan B. Life is too short to deal with that sort of shit. Besides, you’ve been through a lot lately; you need to be trying to get level, get back to your base.”
She gave the man a curious eye as he turned into her driveway. Shutting off the engine, he got out of his car, opened her door, and took her gently by the elbow, escorting her out the vehicle. He walked her up to her door, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought about inviting the bastard in. Funny thing though, he made no attempts to enter. No ‘may I use your bathroom’ excuses; no ‘can I step inside and just sit for a moment’ line. None of the stuff she was accustomed to hearing. When he picked her up, he’d done the same—stood right outside the door, like a perfect tin soldier gentleman.
Taking the initiative, she leaned in, wrapped her arms around his neck and touched his lips with her own, eliciting a throaty moan. He took over then, parting her lips with his tongue, and easing his way inside. He held her tight around her waist, bringing her a bit closer into his body. Cinnamon wrapped root beer flooded her taste buds, and the sweet, odd mixture tasted beautiful going down. She clamped onto him tighter, causing his soft, long hair to brush against her cheek. After slowly rotating his tongue inside of her mouth over and over like a slow hip grind, the ride eventually came to a complete stop. He stepped back and ran his hand over his lips, his keys dangling in his hand.
“I’ll see you soon… Give me a call tonight if you want.” He kept walking backwards, leaving her standing there with an impish grin across her face.
“I’ll do that. Thanks!” she called out. “The food was good; thank you for the experience.”
“Thank you for coming and being open minded enough to try…” He winked and blew her a kiss, then drove away.
I want to fuck that man…
She slammed and locked her door.
‡