Fan Girl (17 page)

RedyGo: Past tense

DirtyDozen: Sweet dreams Redy

I sigh and put my phone back down. What. A. Night.

After going through customs at a private airport in Paris, we walk out to board the chartered plane. I’ve never been on one, but I’m sure it’s going to be badass. Deklan falls behind me and I glance over my shoulder to see what he’s doing. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and tells me to keep going. I walk with the other guys, pulling my carry-on behind me. He joins me shortly on the stairs to the plane.

I walk in and admire the captain’s chairs in a rich ivory leather with tables between them. Behind that are ivory leather couches on both sides of an aisle. There’s a steward greeting us at the door and the guys immediately spread out while pulling paraphernalia out of their bags.

Deklan directs me toward a couch that isn’t occupied, and pulls me down next to him. Shortly after, we’re taxiing. The takeoff is a little shakier than I’m used to, but once we’re in the air it smooths out.

As soon as the fasten seatbelt signs turn off the guys take turns in one bathroom. Deklan gets up to grab a blanket from the steward that is cashmere, and so soft I want to keep it. He instructs me to lie down and guides my head to his lap. After that, he throws the blanket over me and tucks me in like a kid.

This man is turning out to be sweet. Hmm. Only time will tell, though. Back to reality, we fly.

We make a pit stop at JFK in New York, then fly for four more hours before landing at LAX some fifteen hours after leaving Paris. It’s three o’clock in the morning, and only a major hub like LAX can make it seem like it’s noon on Christmas Eve.

There’s no one waiting for the guys, and this is by design. Fandy explains this by saying they don’t want any attention toward them in the airport. Various paparazzi are camped out 24/7 to catch celebrities making a scene. We quietly get our bags and the guys disperse, grabbing taxis that are waiting out front.

Deklan loads both of our bags into one and says, “I’ll see you home.”

I tell him that’s not necessary, but he shakes his head and gets in the cab.

We get to my place shortly after four and even with the nap I got on the plane I’m wiped. Deklan follows me into the house while I turn off the alarm. I turn to him, and he pulls me into his arms.

“I’m going to jet and let you get some sleep. When can I see you?” he asks.

I think and it’s not an easy process. My brain feels like mud, his big self and my fatigue together.

“I have to meet the girls at Shell tomorrow, or today, whatever. I might work a little while, depending on what’s on the books. After that I’ll probably crash.”

He nods his head while thinking. “I have dinner with my mom tomorrow night, day after we can grab something and chill if you want.”

This is good, it gives me time with the girls and to get my head back on straight and back into reality. “Sounds like a deal.”

He pulls me into his chest, and I circle my arms around his neck. He leans down and gives me a soft kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth for a little lick. Pulling back he says, “Later baby,” before closing the door.

Chapter 17

Needing to be at work only an hour before opening at noon, I don’t drag my butt out of bed until ten, foregoing morning yoga. After a shower, I apply minimal makeup, plate my hair in a side braid over my shoulder, put on a cream, knee length dress with a brown skinny belt and my beloved old brown leather biker boots. I grab my sunglasses, and I’m out the door.

Having stopped off at a juice bar on the way to the shop, I pull my red Porsche 911 to the side of the building right on time. Walking around to the front door carrying my juice and, even as tired as I am, there’s always pride that fills me when I see my shop. Out front there is a scrolled wrought iron hanger supporting my sign.. It doesn’t light up, so when it’s dark there are spotlights on the side of the building that shine on it.

We’re on a pretty busy street straight off of Rodeo Drive so the foot traffic is awesome. The front of the building matches the rest of the strip with stucco walls and big windows. Through the windows you can see the blood red walls with backlit poster-size portraits of icons showing their ink. Each of the four stations are divided by black half-walls with crown molding on top. There’s a white chandelier over the receptionist desk with an intricately tattooed skull on top. The couches in the front of the shop are black minimalist leather sectionals that line all of the walls to the stations with an opening for the front door. Huge velour and silk zebra print throw pillows are stacked in the corners around the couches. Stacie and Teri are walking down the last few steps in the back on the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads up to second floor office. Teri points and says something as I fiddle with my keys to unlock the door. Pat, one of my artists, hops off of a couch and unlocks the door before I can get the key in.

“Oh my God! How was your trip?” she exclaims in her overly loud way. Pat is a tiny little punk styled Tinker Bell with a pink pixie haircut.

I drop the bags of shirts onto one of the two glass coffee tables and take a seat next to Dez, who is channeling the matrix as usual, in tight leather overalls with a red leather bra underneath. “Paris was more than I expected. Your shirts are all there. I got one of each for everybody.” I turn to Carmen. “They didn’t have any kids stuff this time.” Carmen has a sixteen-year-old girl and four-year-old little boy. She’s a great mom and Hispanic, so they all have wonderful bone structure and tons of hair.

Carmen waves a hand. “Don’t you worry about Colt, he would rather have batman stuff anyway.”

I smile and look at Stacie, who is pulling up the leather receptionist rolling chair with an iPad in her hands.

Carmen goes on as I freeze. “What I want to know is why Robin came rushing in my room this morning to tell me Deklan Thomas posted a picture on Instagram yesterday of a woman walking to a private plane with what looked like the carry-on you bought last Black Friday at Nordstrom?”

I look at Stacie, knowing she’s going to freak. “What the fuck?” she exclaims. She’s in full-on business attire with a grey high waist pencil skirt, and a black button-down shirt tucked in. Red platform spiked heels, black framed reading glasses and hair in a bun at her nape. She always wants to prove she has everything under control when I’m gone for more than a day, as if I have doubts about her ability. I do not.

Teri is more laid back. At fifty-five, she’s slightly overweight in the way all biker babes wish to be. Big butt, big chest. She’s wearing a Harley tank top and leather mini with biker boots, her white hair teased out to there.

Suddenly there are a frenzy of phones being whipped out. Amy, my receptionist, is first. The youngest at nineteen, she’s interning on the first shift when she’s not answering the phones. She’s got a classic tomboy punk style with tight jeans and big high-top shoes, and almost always wears band t-shirts. Her hair is blonde, shoulder length, with purple tips today. She gasps long, collapsing back, then lets it all out in a rush jerking up. “Oh my God!” she shrieks.

I close my eyes and shake my head.
You can’t possibly tell it’s me.
I pull my own phone out and go to the app. Then my blood starts to boil. Because sure enough, my carry-on is freaking white crocodile with a fleur-de-lis on it.
How popular are those?
The caption is,
Always a pleasure, Europe. Until next time
.” I sit back on the couch and cast my eyes around the room. Everybody is seeing the picture, then looking to me in shock.

Stacie asks me, “So is that why I didn’t need to pick you up?” She has a teasing smile on her face, and I decide now is a good time to make some announcements.

“Okay, so there are some things I need to tell you guys. Things we need to work through and figure out as a team.” I gather my thoughts and begin. “So a lot has happened.” I swallow hard. Stacie is going to be so pissed. “I slept with Deklan on New Year’s Eve and I’m four months pregnant. I told Deklan after the concert in Paris, and he asked me to stay the next day to figure things out.”

Chaos abounds as everybody comes to terms with this. There’s gesturing to his posters that are lit up on the wall and speculation about why I hadn’t said anything in all this time. Michelle, my twenty-two-year-old platinum blonde double-D southern Barbie asks in her sweetest drawl, “So that’s why you’ve been upchuckin’ all the time.”

The noise cuts off and I take a deep breath. “Yeah.” I’ve been watching Stacie the whole time, and she looks so hurt. I immediately feel guilty. “Stacie…”

She holds up her hand “No. No. I asked you point blank if you had slept with him. You said you went home. So. That’s all there is to say, really.”

My eyes flood with tears.

Stunned silence this time. Pat leans over to take my hand. “It’ll be okay, honey.”

I lean closer to Stacie, ignoring everyone else for a second, “You don’t get it! I’m the frumpy, overweight number one fan who wasn’t on his radar until I transformed myself! The condom broke! Now I’m the obsessed fan that trapped him with a kid. That’s what everyone’s going to be saying.”

She gives me a look that says she’s not buying it. “I know he came up to you, Ali. I was there. I don’t for one second think you trapped him. You should know that I would never think that. You should know that nobody in this room would fault you for sleeping with that man. He’s always been smokin’.”

I look around at my fifteen employees and know that she’s probably right. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Stacie shrugs. “I’ll get over it. Let me just have my mad right now.”

Suddenly Stacie swipes the digital lock on the iPad and starts typing. “There’s a ton we need to do. We need to find a good doctor. Carmen, can you recommend one?”

Carmen nods her head, “Oh yes, Dr. Martin is the best. She’s so laid back and open, never rushes you out the door or anything like that. I’ll get the number for you.” She reaches for her purse.

“Wait,” I interrupt, “I already have a doctor.”

“Your due date will be back to school time, maybe October, so we’re going to have to plan for your maternity leave during the holidays. Put it in the books. Also, we need to cut back your hours… at least in the third trimester. I don’t know how your back is going to do sitting on a stool for six hours a day. Also, your car is a two seater, and your second bedroom is an office. We’ll have to do some research on designers and which cars have the best ratings.” Stacie’s on a roll, fingers flying but I’m freaking out.

“Wait wait wait!” Fadra yells over her. Fadra is on the second shift. She’s a feisty redhead in her twenties. Stacie finally stops talking and looks over expectantly. “What about Deklan Thomas? What did he say when you told him you were pregnant?”

Fifteen heads swivel to me. “He said I was all that with a bun in the oven.” Some are stunned, some laugh. Michelle puts her hand over her heart and sighs.

Dez asks, “Did you kiss him, sleep with him, what’s he like in bed?”

I straighten my shoulders and say sternly, “I’m not answering anything along those lines. He’s just a guy, and I keep my personal life private. I don’t kiss and tell, and you guys know it.”

Dez rolls her eyes and says, “When have you had anything to tell.”

I tell her sharply, “I’m four months pregnant! I didn’t get there by myself.”

Pat asks, “Well can you tell us if you’re going to see him again?”

I nod my head. “I am.” Then I point out something important. “Listen guys, anything that has to do with me or Deklan stays between us. If and when it gets out that we’re seeing each other, paparazzi and everybody else are going to be fishing for info. If anyone has a problem with that, tell me right now.” I make eye contact with everyone, and they’re all solemn and silent.

Jasmine, another second shifter states, “We’ve got your back honey. If any paps come in here, we’ll kick their ass out. Don’t you worry.”

I smile. “Thanks guys.”

Jasmine is a five foot nothing little girl of Indian descent. She’s got a huge gauged horse shoe piercing through her nose.

Stacie points to my juice cup. “What is that, it looks like piss?”

I laugh and tell her, “It’s from a juice bar around the block. Apple and ginger. It helps with the nausea. Tommy started me on smoothies with juiced ginger, and I haven’t gotten sick since.”

She taps away getting something else down on her iPad.

Amy breathes out, “That is so cool.” Then holds her hand up exclaiming, “Sorry sorry! I promise should anyone famous ever come in to this shop, I will behave with the utmost discretion.” Then she spoils it with an excited grin.

Teri speaks up, “All right we only have ten minutes before the doors open. Let’s go over some numbers.”

We talk about the new ink that came in while I was gone, Michelle’s tattoo gun that stopped working yesterday afternoon, and the new shirt designs some of the girls came up with for our merchandise line that is behind the receptionist’s desk. They’re just glass blocks that are backlit so you can see what’s inside, but they go up over six feet tall.

The girls pay two hundred a month to rent stations that the fourteen artists, including myself, use. Then they pay ten percent to the shop of whatever they charge. Everything they pay goes back into the shop for insurance, overhead, and supplies. Since everyone works six hours a day, they’re technically part-time, so I have to pay out the ass for the health insurance coverage I offer them. The building was paid off using some of my trust fund money, so I never have to worry about being evicted. We’re booked months out, and all of my girls are marvelously talented. I make my money on my own tattoos and since we don’t do anything under two hundred an hour, we’re all doing quite well and so is the shop.

The whole six hour shifts are used for tattooing, so in order to get back to walk-ins or to connect with upcoming appointments, there are two rooms in the back with lighted drafting tables, phones, and two fax/copy/scanners. Usually girls come in before work or stay after to sketch up ideas and get back to clients.