"No," she said.
"I won't hurt you."
"You got that right."
"I can grant your wish. I can help you start over."
"Thanks, but I'm kinda sworn off dick for the moment."
"It's not like that."
"It never is." She pointed at her bruised eye. "Until it is."
"What's your name?" Jake said.
"Yeah, right."
Jake looked down at the flattened SOLO cup. 'Lori' was written in black Sharpie on the side.
"Lori," he said. He placed a hand on his chest. "I'm Jake, and I'm obligated to help you."
"Who are you, Man Friday?"
Jake cocked his head.
"Look," Lori said. "It was a nice try, okay buddy? This little act is cute, but not that cute." She started again for the back door.
"You have nowhere to go," Jake said.
She said something in reply but he couldn't see her lips. She turned the handle and pulled the door open, revealing sunlight.
"I've had the water turned on," Jake said.
She stopped in the doorway, her back to him, the fine hair on her skin glowing in the sun.
"Just this morning," Jake continued. "Electric and gas, too. I'm sure the water heater has kicked on, at least enough for a hot shower."
She turned her head enough to watch him from the corner of her eye, her chin down.
"I won't be back until tomorrow," Jake said. He backed away, again showing defensive palms. "Maybe I could use a hand cleaning up around here." He smiled sheepishly. "The pay's no good. But it comes with lunch."
She turned around to watch him go, her back to the alley.
Jake left the shop through the front door, locking it behind him as he went. When he looked back through the plate glass she was still there watching him, silhouetted by sunlight. He headed down the sidewalk toward his truck, whispering a prayer that she would stay.
Otherwise he'd just sentenced her to death.
The memory faded as Jake continued up the steps to his apartment. Exhausted, he didn’t bother turning on the lights, but fell into bed like a chopped tree. His eyelids were heavy and about to close when a thought occurred to him. He got up and went to his computer, logged into Facebook and performed a search for Sally Brewster.
Several hits came back. Jake sifted through until he found Sally Myers (Brewster). It was undoubtedly the girl he knew from grade school. He sent her a friend request and a message:
Do you remember me? We were in elementary school together...
12
Jake's silent alarm sounded off at 7:30 a.m. He couldn't hear the clock's audible tone and wasn't sure there was one. The attached component beneath the mattress vibrated hard enough to draw him out of sleep.
He sat up, slapped the button, and dropped his head into his hands. A client had scheduled an 8 a.m. tattoo this morning, despite that Jake typically only took appointments in the afternoon. His shop had virtually no foot traffic, apart from men peeking through the glass on their way to Ray's for a haircut. Talking on the phone wasn't a viable option for the deaf, so taking appointments through his website calendar was the primary way he found business. If a client insisted on 8 a.m., that client got 8 a.m.
Jake picked up his head and looked out the second-floor window. He could see between the city buildings to the cloudy sky over the Detroit River. His horizon was out there, just above the real horizon and closing in on him from somewhere over Canada. Red, vaporous, and seemingly out of place with nature, the ring that surrounded him was always getting smaller. A giant lasso. At its center was the water pitcher Jake's father had gifted him.
He moved his gaze to the pitcher situated along the wall near the bedroom door. It represented a magic lamp in keeping with the generally accepted lore about djinn. Natasha and Aleksei had joked about it, but they hadn't given much information, otherwise. As far as Jake knew he couldn't turn to smoke and hide inside it, and if you rubbed it he wouldn't suddenly appear, but he was bound to the water pitcher as far as range of movement. The red horizon marked the farthest distance away from the pitcher Jake was capable of traveling, the red ring of dye around the pitcher's belly was undoubtedly symbolic.
He didn’t know why these rules of the pitcher and horizon came into play on his eighteenth birthday and not before. Chavez had never explained it. Jake planned to ask his father someday, should he ever track the man down. For the time being he assumed it had something to do with coming into adulthood. Some ancient rite of passage to mark the end of innocence.
Whatever the reason, his father's written message—Expand Your Horizon—wasn't just advice passed from father to son. It was meant to be taken literally. Every time Jake granted a wish, his horizon expanded. How wide the lasso loosened depended on the severity of the wish. The granting of a small wish pushed it out maybe five hundred feet. A large wish—like the one that presently brought pain to his chest, caused his hands to tremble, and kept his body heat high—could expand it a thousand miles, maybe more. Otherwise the horizon was constantly closing. If Jake were to sit around for a month or two not granting wishes, his horizon would close down to the point where he first couldn't leave his shop, then his apartment bedroom, and then... who knew?
Jake was fairly certain this was where the trapped-in-a-lamp misconception comes from, however he didn't believe if his horizon got small enough he'd somehow be placed inside the pitcher. Rather the enclosing circle would crush and kill him. A point he nearly proved not long after Hear No Evil Tattoos opened for business.
He had taken the pitcher from his mother's house to where it resided now in his apartment above the shop. He recalled thinking the thing was distinctly heavier than when he unloaded it from her trunk outside The Iron Skillet. He had to use dolly to get it up the stairs, and even that took considerable effort. In those early days Jake dedicated himself to the shop like a monk. Every morning after his silent alarm woke him up he went downstairs and got to work. If he wasn't tattooing a client he was drawing, if he wasn't drawing he was eating, if he wasn't eating he was uploading samples to his website. Otherwise he was sleeping. Lather, rinse, repeat for weeks. He had food delivered or ate leftovers from the fridge. He had no reason to go outside. He watched out the window for his horizon every day, but at the time he was still convincing himself the thing was just a massive sunspot.
One day while heading out back to toss out some garbage Jake slammed into an unseen wall. He got up and looked around for the number on the truck that hit him, but the alley was empty. His horizon was right outside the door. He felt for it like a mime doing his trapped-in-a-box routine. He tried to walk around it but found the circle of the horizon bisected the brick wall at the corner, trapping him against the building.
Jake ran back inside toward the front door but found the horizon wall just inside the plate glass.
He was a prisoner in his own shop.
He ran upstairs to the water pitcher, innately understanding it was the center of this thing. It was set against the wall by the stairs. Jake grabbed the handle to pick it up, intent on throwing the pitcher out the window, but he found the task impossible. Somehow the pitcher had grown incredibly in weight. He couldn't have moved it with a hi-lo.
He sat down on the edge of his bed. Think, think, think. He looked up. His horizon extended upwards through the ceiling, likely into the sky. No way he could get over it. He imagined the wall went deep into the earth, as well.
He could text his mother, but what kind of message would he send?
He could text Lori.
No.
Think, dammit.
He kicked his chair. It slammed into the desk and brought the sleeping computer to life. The screen displayed his salvation. The last site Jake had visited was O'Malley's Pizza. The day before he'd placed an online order for delivery. He hopped up into the chair and slid into the desk, quickly placed a new order for a large pepperoni.
Estimated delivery was forty-five minutes.
By the
time the pizza guy arrived Jake could move no closer to the front door than the shop's service counter. The delivery guy knocked on the glass and Jake waved him in. The guy tried the door but it was locked.
Jake yelled, "Go around back."
The guy looked at him curiously.
Jake smiled like an idiot. "Go around back!"
The guy went around back.
Jake met him at the back door, which he'd thankfully left open. His horizon had moved inside the building. He couldn't stand any closer to the door than the bottom of the stairs.
The delivery guy stood in the doorway wearing a pained expression. "That'll be fifteen-forty-six with delivery."
Jake tried to stick out his hand to take the pizza, but he couldn't get it past the horizon wall which, of course, the pizza guy couldn’t see. Jake backed up the stairs and stuck out his hand. The pizza guy walked a tentative three steps forward to hand him the box.
Jake set down the pizza box and handed him a twenty. The guy started to make change.
"What is your wish?" Jake said.
The guy looked up with his hand stuck in his back pocket. "What is my what?"
"Your wish," Jake said. "What is it?" He steepled his hands together and tried to look thoughtful, sage.
"I wish I had a Lamborghini," the guy said, smirking. He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and started counting ones.
Jake felt no pain in his chest, no toll. "Try again."
The guy smiled knowingly at Jake, tilted his head. "What have you been smoking in here, man?"
"Nothing," Jake said. "Please. Tell me your sincerest wish."
The guy held out Jake's change. "I wish I had a bigger tip."
Jake felt chest pain. He opened up his wallet and held out another twenty.
The pizza guy reached for the money cautiously, his eyes thinning along the way. When he took the cash Jake felt the release. His horizon pulled away, out past the alley wall into the buildings beyond.
Jake exhaled in relief.
"You okay?" the pizza guy said.
"What's your name?" Jake said.
"Billy."
"Billy, do you have any more wishes?"
Ten minutes later Jake was eating pizza at the mouth of the alley behind his shop, watching Billy, the pizza delivery guy, drive away with two hundred dollars in extra tip money. Ten small, sincere wishes, and Jake's horizon was probably a mile out.
Apart from the expansion and contraction rules regarding his horizon, Jake learned another rule that day—the wisher has to truly believe in what he wishes for. As the poem states, only through true desires. Jake was certain Billy dreamed of a Lamborghini in the same way he, himself, dreamed of Nurse Kerry. However, both were lusty, crazy dreams that secretly intimidated them. Put Billy behind the wheel of such a driving machine and he'd be too terrified to touch the gas pedal. Put Jake in a room with a willing Nurse Kerry and he'd probably pass out before she unhooked her bra.
But twenty bucks? That was a wish Billy boy could believe in.
Jake got up from his bed, showered, and headed downstairs in time to catch his tattoo client arriving at the front door. He unlocked it and escorted her in. The woman was in her mid-forties and dressed to kill at 8 a.m., likely going through a midlife crisis. This was not a knock against her; many of Jake's clients were mid-lifers looking to do something they'd always wanted to do but had previously been afraid to approach. Tattoos were like that. The kind of thing people start to consider once they realize all the bullshit that they feared early in life was just a smokescreen. In a way he was proud of her, despite not knowing her. Additionally, her tattoo concept had been a source of curiosity for Jake—she wanted a genie rising from a lamp.
The woman looked questioningly at Jake, seemingly unsure if she should speak. Jake's website indicated that he was deaf so clients would know ahead of time that while he was working on them he wouldn't hear their commentary unless they physically got his attention.
"Go ahead," Jake said. "I can read your lips."
"I'm nervous."
"That's understandable, but there's nothing to fear." He showed her the drawing he'd made for her. He'd already sent it via email, so this final approval was only a precautionary measure. She indicated her approval with a nod and a smile. He took the drawing to the copier to make a stencil, brought it back, and stepped in behind her. "If you could lift up your top in the back..."
She pulled up her top to reveal the small of her back, the place where she'd indicated via email where she'd like the tattoo applied. A quick shave of her body hair and Jake lined up the stencil dead center, the middle of the image lining up with the hollow at her spine. He gestured toward the full-length mirror on the wall. "Take a look. Let me know what you think."
While she checked the placement, Jake converted his tattoo chair to a flat, padded table. He set up his workstation with the source image on a stand, a bottle of cleaner, ointment, paper towels, and finally ink in thimble-size cups of black, white, and the pastel colors that would make up the genie's wardrobe as well as the colorful lamp from which he arose. Jake smirked at the imagery as he connected his tattoo machine to the cord and tested the foot pedal.
The woman came back and gave him a nervous nod and another smile, indicating she liked the placement.
"Go ahead and lie down," he said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.
The woman situated herself face down on the padded table.
"Comfortable?"
She nodded.
Jake brought the needle close to the woman's skin but stopped short of adding the first line when his cell phone buzzed against his leg. He'd forgotten to turn it off. "Sorry," he said, pulling off his gloves. "Just one moment." He quickly checked the message to find it was from Lori.
I'm on the evening shift. Coming by?
Jake grinned. He pictured Lori in pajamas, sitting Indian-style on her couch, typing on her phone. In his mind, her hair was tied up in a ponytail with a few locks loose, and she was wearing her horn-rimmed glasses she didn't like anyone else to see. He typed a reply.
With a client. There in two hours. Will bring DD.
He turned off the phone, pocketed it, and put on new latex gloves. He picked up the machine, brought the needle close to the woman's skin, and put his foot down on the pedal. "Here we go."
Jake worked for an hour-and-a-half on the woman's fist-sized tattoo, first outlining the stencil and then coloring in the genie and its lamp in gold and purple. So focused, he remained oblivious to the woman's pained responses. She sucked her teeth, grimaced in pain, and occasionally yelped, but to her credit she stayed perfectly still and never tapped out.
When it was over Jake wiped the tattoo down, cleaning away the excess ink and blood. There was something missing. He picked up some white from a cap on his workstation and put a gleam in the genie's happy little eye.
Done.
He gave the tattoo a final rubdown.
The woman looked over her shoulder. "Oh my God. Can you stand it?"
Jake, still focused on cleaning the tattoo, didn't respond.
The woman gestured to get his attention.
Jake looked up.
"It's beautiful," she said. "I love it."
"I'm glad." He gestured again to the full-length mirror. "Go take a look."
The woman squealed in delight, deaf to Jake's ears. She hopped up from the table and ran over to the mirror. She turned and stretched her body to view the tattoo on her back.
Watching her, Jake no longer saw a mid-forties tattoo client, but Lori. She had done the same thing in the same mirror after Jake had tattooed her nearly four years before. It was morning then, too, and the vision came to him with startling clarity. There were packing boxes all around the shop and the walls were still bare. Lori's t-shirt was pulled up in front and tied in a knot beneath her bra, revealing the length of her flat stomach. She was otherwise only in a pair of jeans, which were unbuttoned and tugged low on her hips to give room for him to work. The tatt
oo was a dandelion wrapping around her lower belly, up and across her ribs to her back. Dandelion spores were being blown away as though someone were making a wish. She twisted her hips, tilted and turned on her tiptoes to view her new art from every angle. The tattoo itself was puffy from having just been applied, bloody in some spots. Lori's face had nearly recovered from that black eye, and while examining the tattoo she shed tears, looked up at Jake and said, "Thank you."
Jake sat stupidly for a moment before realizing his client had just thanked him for her tattoo. He blinked and responded with, "You're welcome."
"It's not a tramp stamp, is it?"
"Only if you're a tramp."
The woman looked back into the mirror. "I just love the concept. The idea of having my wishes granted. It's so surreal." She pulled down her shirt and came back over to the chair as Jake pulled off his latex gloves. She picked up her purse and pulled out the pre-approved amount of cash for the tattoo.
Jake took the money. "You have hydrating ointment at home?"
"I picked up some Aquaphor, just like you said."
"Good. Clean it three times a day with unscented soap, and then follow that up with a thin layer of the Aquaphor. Do that for three days, and then move to unscented skin lotion for a week. There may be some scabbing or skin flaking off. Don't pick at it."
"I'll take good care of it."
Jake walked her to the front door, shook her hand, and said goodbye. Once she was down the sidewalk he locked the door behind her and flicked off the interior lights. He cleaned up his workstation, put everything away, and headed out the back door to his truck in the alley.
13
Lori Nelson's apartment was in a Regency style building of brown brick and wrought iron railings. The concrete steps that led to the front door were cracked, revealing the rusted rebar embedded within. The place looked tired, old, and cheap.
Jake took the stairs up to Lori's apartment door with two extra-large Dunkin' Donuts coffees and a sack of doughnuts. She answered dressed precisely as he'd imagined she would, only with a men’s t-shirt instead of a pajama top.
The Stonefly Series, Book 1 Page 8
