Tattooed Moon (3 page)

“You own the place and
still
do tattoos?”

“Of course. I’m here practically all the time, too. Now, let me get your name and number, and you let me know when you want to come in.”

“Mmmm, okay. My name is Milan—Milan Parker. I work until six in the evening, and I’m honestly a little concerned about Friday activity. I bet you guys are really busy on the weekends.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but privacy can be arranged. We have areas in the shop that can be roped off with a curtain and one room in the back for special situations.” He shoved the receptionist’s papers around on the front desk, until he’d unearthed the appointment book that he demanded still be done by hand. “Here we go…” He flipped the damned thing open. “…Okay, Milan, please give me your number and I can get you in, say…looks like I can squeeze you in for…” he narrowed his eyes as he searched almost in vain for a blank spot, “… a consultation at 6:45. Would that work?”

“A consultation? I was coming in to actually
get
it. If I don’t, I’ll lose my nerve!” She laughed a bit louder, though her voice shook with the all-too-familiar touch of apprehension.

He smiled and nodded, feeling himself become even
more
engaged in the conversation as the softness of her voice and the articulation of her words sounded rather sexy.

I wonder if she looks as good as she sounds? Probably not…

“I never give a first-timer a tattoo without a consultation first, Ms. Parker.”

“Really?” She genuinely sounded surprised.

“Really. Here is how my policy works.” He cleared his throat to unload his spiel. “You’d come in, we’d talk about it, you know, the design, the reason for it, all of that. Then, after you leave, I require a twenty-four hour wait time, and then you return and I do the work. This is permanent; this is for life. Not to mention, my work is not cheap in cost; it’s competitively priced, but you are going to shell out some money for a good, quality design. Neither my work, nor my two employees’ work, is lackluster, either. I hand picked them because they meet or exceed my expectations.”

“Hmmm, well, that puts me in a predicament as far as me running scared. I think that is really smart, you know, how you have a wait time, but I don’t know…” She sighed on the other end.

“You could always go to a different shop,” he offered. “I have recommendations actually, of salons that are pretty good where they will give you one as soon as you walk in. It’s just that…” He put his hand across his chest. “I don’t operate that way. But, I want you to be happy so you just tell me, and I can direct you to another place if you are concerned about my first-timer policy.”

There was a long pause, and though he was tired, he soon discovered that his patience was untested. He had no qualms giving her all the time she needed to sort it out.

“No, I think I should follow your advice, actually. Alright, I’ll be in for the consultation tomorrow at 6:45. My number is 762-971-1002.”

“Alright, got it.” He tilted his body around in an unnatural way as he busily scrawled her information down with a fast left hand. “If you need to cancel, or are running a bit behind, just give me a buzz.”

“I will, and thanks… See you tomorrow.” And she disconnected the call before he could give his farewell. He hung up the black, cordless phone covered in peeling red rose stickers and ivory crossbones, tossed the appointment book to the side, and made his way back to the safe.

I can’t wait to get into my damn bed… I should come in at noon tomorrow, but I can’t. Lonnie’s appointment is at ten, so I have to be here. If I don’t get some decent shuteye though, I’m going to fall asleep at the damn needle!

*

Milan had been
staring at the same damn screen for over five minutes. Nothing had changed, except her growing annoyance. Martin had been hovering over her like a storm cloud. His pale, freckled arms were crossed and his all-too-familiar, nauseating over-powering cologne made her nose hairs tickle and curl.

Is he embalmed in it?

This was his habit.

To come.

To stand.

To stare.

He never said, ‘excuse me’ or ‘hello’, no…none of that. He’d just wait for her to acknowledge him first, as if he were some red-headed much sought after top-notch celebrity that she should feel privileged to have in her company. She kept right on typing and reading, refusing to even blink her eyes in the fucker’s general direction.

Hers was one of three large cubicles. She’d given it a cozy feel with a few adornments, including a small cactus with whimsical Christmas ornaments wrapped around it’s needles, a photograph of her and her mother in a yellow, ceramic frame, and a molasses jar filled with wrapped gourmet peppermint candies. The office chatter was at a minimum this particular day, and the occasional burst of belly churned laughter or husky whisper about the game would break up the monotony for a brief spell every now and again. She almost forgot Martin was there, but then, she caught his bloated likeness in the computer reflection. Today, she simply wasn’t having it. The last few weeks had been emotionally brutal. She’d been beat along her heart, and her mind hung on by a loose, practically serrated thread. Everyone knew what she’d been through, but Martin didn’t seem to care. There was no acknowledgement, no kind words—sincere or not. His paper-thin lips had not offered one utterance of sympathetic consideration. More seconds passed, and the jerk still stood there, huffing and puffing, trying to draw her to him with his damn near pornographic heavy breathing. Two more minutes passed, and she refused to budge. She scrolled down the screen, inputting information after reading her fill from the last report. Two could play this game. At that moment, she had the patience of Mother Theresa in a hospital full of dying children vying for their last wish to be granted…

Dying…

You douche. Why can’t you just say, ‘Excuse me?’ like everyone else?

She stomped the keyboard with her gel-nail fingertips, as if all ten of her flying digits were marching beasts, beating out paragraph-ridden drumbeats for the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade.

He loudly cleared his throat, as if that would tempt her, reel her in.

Persistent fucker aren’t you, Martin? If you used half this effort to do a good job, you’d be a force to reckon with…

Instead, she stuck it to him by reaching over her keyboard and paperwork to pick up her work phone and dial a vendor. His fate would be sealed.

“Hi Fran! This is Milan Parker from Collins Accounting Services…yes, I did receive your email, thank you so much!” She added extra cheer in her voice, causing the man to turn and storm off. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him hightail it in the reflection of her computer.

She shoots…she scores!

She curled her lips in a smug smile as she continued on with her conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her good work buddy, Bryant. He was silently laughing as he impishly eyed her; he was up to no damn good, with his mouth agape, his dark brown eyes tight with mischievous merriment, yet he dared not utter a word in the sterile environment. They simply winked at one another, acknowledging that the joke was on Martin. Soon, a new email notification popped up on her computer screen.

New Message from Bryant McKenzie.

She dared herself to click on it while still on the phone with the client. Bryant was a notorious office clown, her best pal in the whole place. He’d kept her semi-sane over the past few weeks, her right arm in time of need. Nevertheless, he had a sarcastic wit about him, and it usually led her down paths of extreme laughter, at times inappropriately. She chanced it, needing the reprieve.

I saw your buddy shadowing you… You know you want that sexy hunk of man meat. He kept popping up like a damn rabbit. He is like Easter, keeps rising up! He thinks he is the resurrection!

She spun around in the man’s direction and placed her hand over her quivering lips, stifling the pending showing of amusement, but Bryant’s back was towards her as his long fingers flew across his keyboard. Her email chimed once again. She clicked on it, and read.

He needs to sit his trapezoid shaped ass down somewhere. I bet he had a woodie for you, all of three inches on hard. He was standing so damn close, it is amazing he didn’t impregnate the back of your head. When is the baby shower?

Dying with laughter, she shot Bryant another glance and found him looking at her. Making a face as if she were about to vomit, she caused him to burst out into full-fledged hysterics. Composing himself, he quickly gathered his bottle of water, cupped his hand over his mouth and turned back to his work.

“Uh, yes, I completely agree, Fran. I will send over the files before the end of today.”

Milan had no idea how she’d kept the two conversations going at once, but she managed, and it was a welcomed relief. She also realized she’d won this battle, but the terror on two legs would be back, to harass her every hour
on
the hour. If anyone, ever, in the history of America, despised their direct manager, it surely was Milan. Since the chump had been promoted, no one could bring him back down to this lowly place called Earth. The fucker had sprouted homegrown angel wings and flew the fuck away, his ego larger than life, and his smart-ass mouth, too. As her friend Bryant would say,
‘You could no longer tell Martin, shit…
’ And that summed it up perfectly.

To make matters even worse, she was reporting directly to the halo-bopping tyrant. She couldn’t believe her miserable luck. He was the man that everyone in the office loved to hate. Her life had gone from challenging to almost unbearable, thanks to him. At that moment, she wished she were a sorcerer. She’d make that asshole vanish quicker than a bursting potato sack filled to the drawstrings with money, left smack-dab in the middle of Time Square.

I need a damn vacation. I wish someone would come and steal my ass away from here… Better yet, I wish Martin would just vanish into thin air!

‡

C
edrick’s notorious, meandering
smirk irked Julian to no end. The stocky man, with his square jaw, smooth dark skin and even darker piercing eyes, had a presence about him but he spent entirely too much time flirting with the women—particularly the college girls that would stroll in searching for a ‘tramp stamp’ to brand their supple lower back … or the MILFs who needed to resurge their sexy quota. His mannish horsing around was causing Julian to grind his teeth into dust, something he only did during times of mounting stress.
Stress.
Yeah, things had gotten particularly hectic and way over his head. He was accustomed to being a one-man show, running his business how he saw fit, but in the last few months, he realized he needed more help, and he needed help badly. He still hadn’t done a damn thing about it. But that was simply his way.