Mark Me

by Shawn Bailey

  “You need to be a little more responsible, Son. Anything can happen to you out there,” his father said.

  Like being tattooed. Eli reached for the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice the cook put before him. “Yes, I know. We stayed in a well-lit area and we all came home together.”

  “You have to be careful. There are some pretty shady characters in the French Quarter just looking to pounce on impressionable kids,” his father continued.

  The smell of bacon distracted Eli from the conversation and then his mind wandered back to last night. Someone had called him cute.

  Oh! Now he remembered. Some guy tried to hit on him in a restroom.

  Blond hair, blue eyes, tattoos up and down his arms, and a nice voice.

  Eli shuddered. He didn’t even want to think about it.

  “Are you listening?” his father asked, breaking the memory.

  The cook placed a plate of food in front of his mother and walked out of the room. “Let the boy eat in peace,” his mother told his father.

  “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  Unlike his father, his mother only saw the good in him. He looked down at the stack of blueberry pancakes and his stomach growled.

  “One time is all it takes,” his father said. “And I suppose you’d been drinking.”

  “No,” Eli said. “I won’t be turning into an alcoholic anytime soon.”

  His mother giggled but did not comment. She just added a sugar substitute to her grapefruit.

  Eli couldn’t remember the last time he saw her eat anything else for breakfast in a long time. She was always on some diet, which she didn’t need.

  “Make sure you don’t. One or two beers can turn into hard liquor real fast,” his father said as he buttered his wheat toast.

  Eli loved his parents dearly, but his father preached too much and his mother just looked at everything through rose-colored glasses.

  Sometimes he wondered what they were like as teens. Probably different than they were now since his mother was only nineteen years old when she had him. Apparently his parents had gotten busy sexually when they were his age. Why didn’t they want him to grow up and experience life before he got married and had kids? Eli cut into his pancakes and ate a piece.

  “Do you have practice today?” his mother asked him.

  Eli swallowed the food. He’d been taking violin lessons from Mr.

  Dubisson every Saturday since he was five. “Yes, and I have swimming practice, and I have an appointment to get a haircut.”

  Nope, nothing had changed except he now had two tattoos that his parents would never see.

  His mother stopped eating and looked over at him. “I don’t understand why you want to get your haircut. I think you look cute with all those curls.”

  He would scream if another person called him cute. “I just want something different.” Eli broke his bacon into tiny pieces and sprinkled it on his grits. “I need a more adult hairstyle. I can’t go off to college with curls.”

  His father chuckled from behind his newspaper. “No, that just won’t do. I have to agree with him on this one, honey. Eli needs a more masculine cut.”

  His mother pouted. “The women in my book club think he’s adorable.”

  Eli frowned. He didn’t want old ladies admiring him.

  “He’s eighteen going on nineteen,” his father said, lowering the newspaper. “He needs something that says, look at me I’m a college student, not hey, look at me, and squeeze my cheeks.” Eli nearly choked on his food. His father rarely made jokes anymore. He supposed it had something to do with being a judge.

  “And he’ll have plenty of time to date older women once he graduates from college and lands a job with an orchestra.” So never going to happen. Older women didn’t do a thing for him.

  Eli finished his breakfast. He wanted to get an early start to his day and he wanted to ask the guys about last night.

  “Drive safely,” his mother said. “And wear your seatbelt.” Eli kissed her on the head. “I will.” He waved good-bye to his parents and left through the back door. The gardener waved to him from atop the riding lawn mower. Eli waved back and walked to his car. Moments later he drove his BMW out of the front gate past the security guard shack.

  * * * *

  Dimitri got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to relieve his full bladder. He and Greer had worked until three in the morning and they had people scheduled to come in at eleven for tattoos. The other tattoo artist, Jose, wasn’t scheduled in until noon.

  Soft jazz music filtered into his apartment as he fixed himself some coffee and toast a few minutes later. Hearing music in the morning was just one of the perks of living in the Quarter. Dimitri hummed along to the familiar song as he buttered his toast. Another song followed as he fixed his coffee. This one had a big band sound to it. Dimitri did a little dance and then he sat down at the table to eat.

  He’d grown up in the heart of New Orleans and doubted if he’d enjoy living anywhere else. The place was in his blood, like beignets and chicory. And where in the world could he go to hear such a wide variety of music? Nowhere. When he died he wanted a jazz funeral complete with a second line procession. He wanted the mourners to celebrate and drink White Russians in remembrance of him.

  The door to the tattoo parlor opened downstairs, which meant Greer had arrived. Greer lived in an apartment a couple of blocks away.

  Dimitri finished up his breakfast, poured the remainder of his coffee into a travel mug, and went downstairs to greet his partner.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so early,” Greer said as he prepared coffee in a maker in the tiny rest area of the shop. Greer had pulled his long brown hair back in a ponytail and wore a pair of blue jeans that rode low on his slim hips. He topped it off with a dark-blue polo shirt.

  “We have people coming in an hour,” Dimitri said. “Why wouldn’t I be up?”

  Greer walked away from the coffeemaker and over to him in the work area. He hopped up into one of the chairs. “I thought you’d be entertaining.”

  Dimitri sat down in a chair next to him. “Who? We worked until three.”

  “That little hazel-eyed cutie from last night.”

  “Him? No. His friends carted him out of here right after you left.

  He was still asleep. He never woke up while I worked on him.” Greer shook his head. “You passed up a pretty good opportunity.”

  “For what? To go to jail? He was so out of it. I bet that was the first time he’d been up so late.”

  “You think he’ll remember getting those tattoos?” Dimitri doubted it. But he probably noticed them as soon as he undressed. The kid had a nice ass. He’d snuck a look at it while he slept. And he had baby-soft skin. Just the thought made Dimitri’s body harden with desire. “Anyway, the tattoos aren’t very large and no one will see them unless they get up close and personal with him.” Greer laughed. “Those rich kids are crazy. His friend with the blond hair wanted this big assed skull and crossbones on his arm, but I talked him into getting a smaller one. How did he think he’d be able to explain something like that to his future employer?” Dimitri chuckled. “Even the girl wanted something radical above her butt. I gave her a small tiger paw. She’ll thank me later because it’s so cute.”

  The coffeemaker beeped. Greer got out of the chair and walked over to the pot and poured himself a cup. “Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

  “What’s with the questions?” Dimitri asked.

  “I don’t know. I just have the feeling that you liked him.”

  “I did and I doubt it,” Dimitri answered as he sipped his coffee.

  “From what I gathered from their conversation, they had just graduated from high school and they were celebrating. What other reason would he have to come here?”

  Greer walked back over to him and sat down. “Maybe he might want another tattoo. Or maybe he’d come to see you.”

  Dimitri shook his head, remembering the conversation
between them in the restroom of the arcade. He didn’t have that kind of luck.

  A rich kid would never give him a second thought, not even a drunk one. “Don’t hold your breath. He’s probably going to be a doctor or a Supreme Court Justice.”

  “You should have asked him his name.”

  “His name is Eli,” Dimitri said. “I heard one of the guys call him that.”

  “Cute name,” Greer said. “Biblical. It fits him.” Dimitri rose and began taking out his tools and organizing them in his area. Greer finally finished his coffee and did the same. The doorbell rang about an hour later, putting an end to their conversation.

  For now he would only think of Eli as the one who got away. Who knew? Maybe the two of them might see each other again in another life.

  * * * *

  Eli and the other violinist, Randall Watkins, got out of Mr.

  Dubisson’s van and followed their teacher into the French Quarter café. Mr. Dubisson had arranged for them to play for the lunchtime crowd. The café owner was Mr. Dubisson’s childhood friend. The café had just opened its doors for the day and had tourists lined up outside waiting to enter. Mr. Dubisson’s friend was very glad to meet them. He showed the young men where to set up. They had a prime spot, outside in the courtyard, facing the street traffic.

  He and Randall set up quickly and began to play. Within minutes they drew attention and people started gathering to hear them. Others entered the café, got their food, and sat down at the green tables in the courtyard. By one that afternoon the restaurant had lots of customers and the tip jar Mr. Dubisson had set up for them overflowed with money. He and Randall knew beforehand that the money they raised would go into a fund to help buy instruments for underprivileged kids.

  Both he and Randall came from two prominent New Orleans families and didn’t need the money. But neither had a problem helping out when they could. They’d done mini-concerts like this before since they were kids, and they loved entertaining. Once he landed a job with an orchestra, he’d look back on the experience as something positive in his life.

  * * * *

  “I’m hungry,” Dimitri said around one. “I think I’m stopping for lunch. Would you care to join me?”

  Greer nodded.

  They had worked on several tattoos that morning and they didn’t have anyone coming in until three. Jose had arrived and could watch the parlor for them.

  “Where would you like to go?” Greer asked.

  Dimitri shrugged. With so many great restaurants in the area, it was hard to choose. “I have a craving for seafood.”

  “Then let’s go to Tulsa. They have great seafood and live music performances during lunch. Today they’re supposed to have two violinists entertaining.”

  Their shop was located a couple of blocks away from Decatur Street so they could get there on foot. Violinists? He loved violin music. He’d taken lessons as a child but gave it up when the lessons got too expensive. “Let’s go check them out.” The French Quarter was alive with tourists, street entertainers, and horse-and-buggy carriages. The scent of beer and the seafood was in the air as they walked by some of the local artists drawing pictures in Jackson Square. A puppeteer performed for a group of people near the Riverwalk, and people dined at Café Du Monde while two young women sang for them.

  The sound of dueling violins guided them to the sidewalk right outside the Tulsa Café. In all honesty Dimitri didn’t really believe in fate, but this time someone or something had put the hazel-eyed temptation before him.

  “Isn’t that?” Greer asked, pointing to a curly-haired teen on the right.

  Eli hadn’t looked up or looked their way, but it was definitely him. The teen on the left was also cute, with long, dark hair and glasses. They appeared to be around the same age and must have been practicing or rehearsing together for some time since they were both very good. They played “Violin Concerto Number 5 in A major” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, a classical and difficult song to perform.

  Dimitri remembered it. He’d just began learning the piece when his father lost his job and Dimitri had to leave the music school.

  The dark-haired violinist stopped playing while Eli did a solo piece. He made the strings sing melodically, filling the warm summer air with music.

  Dimitri shuddered as the sound went from his ears to his nervous system. God, how he missed playing. He closed his eyes and got swept away by the haunting song. He opened his eyes at the sound of applause. Intense hazel eyes stared at him. He gulped. Eli was even more stunning awake and by daylight. Why hadn’t he noticed his golden tan last night or those sun-kissed cheeks? If someone would have told him that he would meet the man of his dreams in an arcade men’s room, he would have laughed them right out of the city. And if someone would have told him that he would fall in love on a crowded French Quarter street outside a busy seafood café, he would have called them crazy. He winked at Eli.

  “There’s an empty table,” Greer told him.

  “Do you know him?” the other violinist asked Eli.

  “No,” Eli said.

  Dimitri followed Greer into the courtyard. It felt like an arrow shattered his heart.

  Eli and the other young man played another song.

  * * * *

  “What do you mean, how did you get a tattoo?” Justin asked.

  “You got one just the same way the rest of us did.” He twisted his forearm around and showed him.

  Eli looked at the tiny skull and crossbones. “Very manly,” he replied. Well, it was, compared to his.

  Justin chuckled. “Holly got a tiger paw on her butt.” Eli smirked. He’d give anything to see the tattoo. But that was beside the point. “Let me rephrase the question. Did the words I want a tattoo come out of my mouth, or did someone just assume that I wanted a tattoo just because I was with you guys when you decided to do something this foolish?”

  Justin backed away nervously. “I don’t remember. Whatcha get anyway?”

  There was no way Eli was going to show him. “Where did we have it done? Maybe it’s not too late to have it removed.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Trey said, walking toward them clad in a red, white, and blue swimming trunks and beach slippers. His new United States Marine Corps tattoo on the right side of his chest glinted under the sunlight. In three weeks Trey would be leaving for boot camp, leaving poor Holly unattended. “That’s permanent ink. The only way a tattoo can be removed is with laser surgery.” Eli frowned. Trey had answered both his questions. The ink was permanent and Trey, no doubt had been the one who had him marked for life. He didn’t remember when their friendship had changed, but three weeks couldn’t pass fast enough for him.

  “Aren’t you going to change into your trunks?” Henry asked.

  Eli shook his head. “I’m not feeling well,” he lied. He couldn’t risk someone seeing those tattoos. Since his so-called friends wouldn’t give him the name of the tattoo parlor, he would find it himself. Maybe he should have asked his new tattooed stalker from last night where he’d gotten his done. Seeing him just show up at the café earlier had really blown his mind. Talk about the fates working against him. He’d still had an appointment with his hairstylist but he’d cruise around the area where they were last night to see if he could spot any tattoo parlors in the vicinity. “See you guys later,” he said as the rest of the swimmers started coming out of the gym. He hurried off to tell the instructor that he would see him next weekend for his last lesson.

  * * * *

  The door to the parlor opened around five. Dimitri was busy finishing a design on a customer’s back and didn’t look up. Greer or Jose could handle it.

  “You have company, Dimitri,” Greer told him.

  “I’m busy,” Dimitri said, still not stopping the needle or looking up. “Can’t one of you guys handle it?”

  “I think you might want to handle this one personally,” Greer answered.

  Dimitri raised the needle gun and looked up angrily. “Oh!” he gasped. A go
rgeous, hazel-eyed, preppy violinist stood in the waiting area dressed in a pair of black slacks, a gray pullover shirt, and dress shoes. He looked like he was on his way to some fraternity function, or maybe a date with some young chick he’d gone to school with.

  A stylist, not a barber, had gotten to Eli’s hair and shone off his dark, curly locks. Dimitri moaned inside. He looked even hotter with the new do.

  “Are you Dimitri?” Eli asked.

  “Yes,” Dimitri answered. “How can I help you?”

  “We need to talk,” Eli said.

  “I’m busy.” Who did the little cutie think he was anyway coming into his shop looking like fresh meat to a starving man and smelling like expensive aftershave and cologne? “Have a seat.”

  “Who is that?” Jose asked Greer.

  “Dimitri’s new little thing,” Greer answered.

  Eli glared at him but walked over to a seat.

  “Hot damn,” Jose said in Spanish. “He’s yummy.” Dimitri smirked, hoping Eli couldn’t understand Spanish. Like him and Greer, Jose could appreciate a beautiful man, and Eli was all that and a bag of chips. The pullover shirt showed off his young, muscular build. He’d bet he worked out at the gym or something.

  Dimitri went back to what he was doing while Eli flipped through a magazine. The client on the table wanted an eagle and an American flag tattoo on his back. Dimitri had just about finished it but purposely slowed down so he could think. Dimitri didn’t flatter himself thinking Eli had been swept away by all the attention he’d given him the last day or so. No doubt he’d come about the tattoos. They were done with henna and would be a memory in a couple of days, but he doubted if Eli knew this. He’d probably come to punch his lights out or to stare angrily at him like he was doing now.

  Dimitri couldn’t stall any longer, and it wasn’t right to let the man on the table suffer needlessly. “Don’t scratch or get this wet for at least a week,” Dimitri told the man. He walked him over to a three-way mirror so he could see his new body art. The man left and Dimitri signaled for Eli with his finger to follow him. “Keep an eye on the place,” he told his partners. “We’re going upstairs to talk.” Both Greer and Jose looked at him questionably, but didn’t say a word.