Tattooed Moon (12 page)

“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.