Human Hieroglyphix - Dex & Leila (4 page)

I even heard her introduce me to some other lady at Midnight Mass last Christmas as a divorcee in such a tone that I knew was not a nice thing to say. 

I remember making a mental note that a widow trumped a spinster.  And a spinster trumped a divorcee.

Good to know.

"Well, it's going to be a disappointing Easter without you." I heard my mom say and wondered what that meant.  Preparing a massive menu and then eating until you couldn't walk could be done even if I wasn't coming.  But I wasn't going to question it if she was finally going to let me stay in Colorado.

Listen to me, I thought after hanging up.  I'm thirty-one years old and still worried that my mother won't give me her permission to not go to Ohio for Easter.  Actually, that's another thing to add to my Chrysalis List I thought moving to my laptop and opening my Excel spreadsheet. 

I noticed that the 'Inside Me' page was almost as full as the 'Outer Me' page.

Although, talking with Mom was a cake walk compared to telling Emily of my plans for Spring Break over scorching hot plates of Enrique's Mexican Food.  I had given in to her choice of restaurants in the hopes that she would be less likely to pitch a fit about my change in plans.

"Calling Bullshit," she said around a mouthful of her chicken enchilada. 

Told you. 

Emily has a gift when it comes to sniffing out other people's lies.

"Not bullshit," I affirmed around my own mouthful of tostada salad, beef, not chicken.  "I have a lot of work I need to get done and the week off gives me plenty of time to do it." 

Hope it hasn't escaped your notice that I used the same excuse with Em as I did with my mom. 

I snagged the straw of my margarita and took a healthy slurp before pushing my glasses back up on my nose.

I was still sticking to my changes in diet as evidenced by a beef tostada and a margarita instead of the chicken and white wine, choices that hadn't escaped Em's notice but that she didn't comment on this time.

"So what exactly are you going to be doing, or should I ask
who
are you going to be doing on your week off?" Emily kept her eyes on her food as she asked.

"Now I'm calling Bullshit.  You know I'm not seeing anyone," I had laid my fork down as I said this.  I hated to admit that I hadn't been asked out since I'd moved to Grantham and it was something that she and I never discussed. 

Like, ever.

"What about Evan?" she countered, still not looking at me as we spoke.

I wiped my mouth as I thought. 

Evan Griffin was a Math Professor at the University.  He was tall and lanky.  Lanky dandruff speckled hair that fell down onto his smudge glasses, lanky clothes that covered his lanky frame.  Just lanky all the way around. 

And for some reason only known to Evan, he had a 'thing' for me.

"I'm not, nor have I ever been interested in Evan," I stated firmly picking my fork up again.

"Really?"

"Really and without a doubt."

"That's not what he says," she said lowering her voice.

"Then you should've called Bullshit on
him
, all right?"  This conversational topic was starting to piss me off.  And since I was pissed off, I decided to tell Emily the truth.

"Ah, actually, Emily…" I began, trying to find the right words.  "I am going to be making some changes over Easter break."

"What kind of changes?"

"Uhm, changes to, ah, my wardrobe and stuff," I hedged.

She stopped eating and raised her eyes to mine."What brought this on?"

"Not one thing in particular, per se," I began.

"Calling Bullshit, again.  C'mon, Lei, spill it." she dropped her fork to her plate and sat back in the booth.

So I told her.

Then I took out my notebook and showed her.

I told her about the money and how I wasn't sure it would be enough to get all the changes done that I wanted to make.

When my voice finally ran down, I chanced a glance at her.  She was pulling at her bottom lip and had scowl on her face.

"So you're caving, aren't you?" Em said in a soft voice.

I didn't understand what she meant and waited for her to go one.

"You're going to cave to peer pressure, although I'm hoping to God that those stupid little boys that
you
teach, for God's sake, are not your
peers
."

I shook my head, "They're not."

"Good.  But, you still want to turn yourself into some kind of Barbie doll over Easter break?  The timing is just a
little
bit suspicious, though, don't you think?"

"Don't you ever think about changing, Emily?" I asked on a quiet voice.

"Nope.  I like myself.  Which you obviously don't if you are willing to go through with this cockamamie plan."

"I don't think it's cockamamie, Em."

"Right.  Hey, did I tell you what the Dragon said to me yesterday?" Emily said in her normal voice.

And the conversation was turned.  Thank Christ.

Emily and I were just leaving the restaurant, when I glanced towards the bar, when I saw him.

There
he
was.

That
guy.

You know the one, the guy with the great body that I had seen at Henry's?

The one that, if I thought of him too much while in bed, had me reaching for my little plastic, battery driven device secretly stashed in the back of my nightstand drawer.

My body went into lockdown as he slowly lifted his head and glanced my way.

I was totally right.

He was
beautiful
.

Not a pretty boy kind of beautiful, but a manly beauty made up of strong cheekbones and squared off jaw covered with just enough facial hair to be interesting.  Eyes well spaced and shadowed by thick lashes and a full, well defined mouth that was currently grinning at something the bartender said.

God, he was gorgeous.

I know I must have looked ridiculous standing there with my mouth open but I couldn't move.  Hell, I couldn't even breathe.

"C'mon, Lei," I heard Emily call before I felt her hand on my arm as she pulled me toward the door.  "Time to find our cars and go home, not drool at bar patrons."

I shuffled and soon began walking normally to the parking lot.

Just for the record? 

I wasn't drooling.

Well, not much anyway.

Chapter Six

"Hi, Human Hiero.  This is Crystal.  How can I help today?" A cheery voice answered the phone at the tattoo shop that I'd been hearing so much about.

I'd done a lot of research on this subject, number one because it was kind of invasive compared to the other things on my list and, second, because it was number one on my list of things to do. 

I chose something to really get the gears moving on my transformation; that would symbolize what I was trying to do with my life.  And a tattoo was far and away the most drastic and yet something that would remind me minute by minute, day to day, of what I was doing and why.

I'd done my research too. 

There were a lot of tattoo shops in my neck of the woods but our local shop, Human Hieroglyphix, was the most highly rated Tattoo emporium, studio, shop in the Southwestern U. S. since it opened in 2006.

"Uhm, Hi.  My name is Leila and I was interested in getting a tattoo?"  I choked out.  How could I be nervous with just calling?  Geez.

"So are you asking for an appointment or for my permission?  Or maybe you're just one of those girls that, like, have a way of making every sentence into, like, a question?" I heard her say with a laugh.

"An appointment.  I'm looking for an appointment," I said firmly, bravely.

"So, Leila?  Man, your parents must've been completely ape-shit over Clapton," she said cracking her gum in my ear.

"I believe it was more of a ancestral name than a statement of popular culture," I said. 

Oh shit. 

I had gone into 'brainiac mode' at her gentle teasing. 

And I knew it was a defense mechanism from all the times I took top honors in anything scholastic whether it was elementary, middle or high school.  Every time my name was announced, I'd inevitably hear the groans or snide remarks of, "Of
course
, it's Leila."  And it was always and without fail uttered by one of the pretty, popular girls. 

As a way to defend myself from the hurt their comments made of my achievements, I would speak slower and with longer syllables or more formally.

Like now.

Shit.

"I'm looking to get an appointment for a tattoo, please," I said into the silence of the phone though I know we hadn't been disconnected since I could hear some kind of popular music playing in the background.

"Well, I've got a two o'clock open on Monday," she said, her voice subdued. 

Honest to God, I could just kick myself sometimes.

"I was hoping for something sooner if you've got it."

"Let me check." and she put me on hold. 

I hated hold. 

But, in light of my snippy, smart ass answer to her innocent question about my name, I wasn't surprised.

She came back to the phone earlier than I would've thought.

"Okay, Miss Leila, Dex says he can see you tomorrow, Saturday, at four.  That work for you?"

"Perfect!  Thanks."  And I really was thankful.  As a phone customer she could've scheduled me two months from now.  I was kind of familiar with all sorts of ways people use to avoid being with someone who trounces on their friendliness.

"Okay, so I've got you written in the book.  It's really important that you keep your appointment or call and let us know at least six hours in advance if you ain't gonna show.  You gonna pick from the books or do you already have a design or flash?"

"Sorry?  I don't know what a flash is."

"A flash is what we use to put on your skin to follow the design," she replied and I could hear the sound of a cash register in the background.

"I have my own design, thanks."  And I did.  I had found a beautiful picture of what I wanted in one of my nature books.

"Okay so just bring it with you tomorrow along with a photo ID and enough cake to pay, and you're good to go," she said.  I could hear the smile in her voice.  Maybe all was forgiven since I had to ask questions, that I wasn't a such know-it-all.

"Ah, I'm not sure I know what cake is,"  I said with a stammer.

"Cake, money, moola, duggets," she explained and I could tell she was trying to hold in her laughter.  "The amount it's gonna cost you depends on the size and placement.  Got it?"

"Got it," I said.

"Name's Crystal," she said.

"O-oh.  Okay, Crystal.  See you tomorrow," I said before disconnecting the call.  I wiped my hands on my thighs.

Who knew making an appointment for your first tattoo could be so nerve wracking?

*.*.*.*.*

Saturday morning found me at the local department store looking for work out clothes. 

I had joined the local ladies gym and was scheduled for my beginner's yoga class in an hour.  Not having a clue what I should wear, I approached the sales clerk who directed me to an aisle of spandex.  Holy crap!  There were long pants, cropped pants, t-shirts, tanks and what looked like bathing suit tops. 

"Ah, Sharon, is it?"  I approached a petite, pudgy woman with curiously orange-tinted hair that was one of the clerks in the department.  "I'm taking my first yoga class today and don't know what I should wear." 

I felt the heat in my cheeks but powered on anyway.  "What would you suggest?"

Sharon looked me up and down then chuckled shaking her head.  "Sweetie, do I look like I do yoga?  I just sell the stuff, not wear it.  But let's see if we can get you what you'll need.  What size are you?"

I watched as she started pulling things down off the rack.

"Uhm.  Truthfully?  I don't know," I answered.

She did another up and down eye move then twirled her finger to ask me to turn around which I did.  Then she went back to the rack and pulled even more things down.  Not one much for words, Sharon curled her index finger and I followed her to the dressing room where she hung the clothes on the hook provided.

"Here you go.  Now remember to keep your panties on even though you won't be wearing them for your class.  Whistle if you need me," she advised as she closed the dressing room door.

Excuse me?  I was supposed to go (gulp) commando to an exercise class?

But I could see what she meant when I began to try on the spandex items.  Each piece seemed to have its own underwear built right in whether it was a shelf bra or a cotton faced crotch on a pair of pants.