Beautiful Oblivion

by Jamie McGuire

  I began to welcome them, but Hazel pointed to the door. The girls stopped in their tracks.

  "C'mon, Hazel. We told him we'd stop by," one of them whined.

  "Out," she said, still pointing with one finger, then looking down to turn a page of Cosmopolitan magazine with the other. When she didn't hear the chime again, she looked up. "Are you fucking deaf? I said out!"

  The girls frowned, and pouted for a few seconds before filing out the way they came in.

  "What was that about?" I asked.

  She shook her head and sighed. "Trent groupies. Bishop has them, too. Women who hang out at the shop, hoping to score free tattoos, or . . . I don't know . . . that the guys score." She rolled her eyes. "Quite frankly they annoy me, but up until recently they were allowed in."

  "What changed?"

  Hazel shrugged. "Bishop stopped coming in as much, and Trenton told me to send them away not long after you started here. See? You're not a total disappointment." She elbowed me.

  "I suppose I haven't really been worth the paycheck. I can't even mix the MadaCide right. Disinfectant is kind of important around here."

  "Shut the fuck up!" she said with a wry smile. "No one else could have talked Calvin into getting rid of the cheap Asian decor and restructuring the files. You've been here less than a month and we're already more organized, and customers don't wonder if they'll get a free fortune cookie with their tattoo."

  "Thanks. It's nice to feel appreciated."

  "I appreciate you," Trenton said, walking into the lobby. "I appreciate that you're finally going to watch Spaceballs with me tonight. I'm bringing it over."

  "No," I said, shaking my head.

  "Why not?"

  "I'm working."

  "And then what?"

  "Going to bed."

  "Bullshit."

  "You're right. I have plans."

  He sneered. "With who?"

  "I don't know yet, but definitely not you."

  Hazel giggled. "Ouch."

  Trenton put his entire palm on Hazel's tiny face and playfully pushed her away, keeping his hand on her as he spoke. "That's not nice. I thought you said we're friends."

  "We are," I said.

  Hazel finally struggled away from Trenton, and began slapping the shit out of his arm. Barely noticing, and only holding up one hand to fend her off, he continued, "Friends watch Spaceballs together."

  "We're not that good of friends," I said, concentrating on lining up the paper clips just right in their new organizer.

  The door chimed, and two customers walked in: a couple. They were neck-deep in tattoos already.

  "Hi," I said with a smile. "How can I help you?"

  "Rachel!" Hazel said, tackle-hugging the girl. She had an eyebrow piercing, a diamond for a beauty mark, and nose and lip rings. Her rocket-fire-red pixie cut almost glowed, it was so intense. Even with a head full of holes and arms covered in skulls and fairies, she was breathtaking. I sat back and watched them chat. Her boyfriend was tall and skinny, and just as glad to see Hazel. I couldn't imagine either of them wanted more piercings or tattoos. Unless they wanted face tattoos, they had run out of blank skin to ink.

  Hazel escorted them back to her room, and laughter and chatting ensued.

  "It's going to be a slow day." Trenton sighed.

  "You don't know that. It just started."

  "I can always call it, though," he said.

  "Who are they?" I asked, nodding toward the hall.

  "Rachel is Hazel's sister."

  I raised an eyebrow, dubious. "Maybe this is ignorant, but Rachel isn't Asian. Not even a little bit."

  "They're both adopted. They were foster kids. There's like a dozen of them or more. They're spread all over the country now, and they all love each other like crazy. It's awesome."

  I smiled at the thought.

  "So you really won't watch Spaceballs with me tonight?"

  "Really."

  "Why not?" he said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight.

  I smirked. "Getting ready for a fight?"

  "Answer the question, Camlin. What do you have against Spaceballs? I need to know before we go any further."

  "Further than what?"

  "You're stalling."

  I sighed. "Between work and the Red, and . . . we're seeing a lot of each other."

  He watched me for a moment, a hundred thoughts scrolling behind his warm russet eyes. He walked the few steps to stand next to me, putting the heel of his hand on the counter beside my hip, his chest touching my left arm. He leaned down, his mouth almost touching my hair. "And that's a bad thing?"

  "Yes. No. I don't know," I said, my face compressing. He was confusing me, and way too close for me to think straight. I turned to tell him to back away, but when I looked up, I paused. He was right there. Inches away. Looking down at me with a look in his eyes I couldn't decipher.

  He looked down at my bare shoulder. "That's a perfect spot for me to ink."

  I laughed once. "No."

  "Come on. You've seen my work."

  "I have," I said, nodding emphatically. "It's amazing."

  "Then what?"

  I looked back up at him, trying to interpret his expression. "I don't trust you. I'd probably end up with MAY THE SCHWARTZ BE WITH YOU."

  Trenton beamed. "Is that a Spaceballs reference? I'm impressed!"

  "See? I've already seen it. A lot."

  "You can never see Spaceballs too much."

  Hazel, Rachel, and Rachel's boyfriend returned to the lobby. Hazel gave Rachel a big hug, and then they said tearful good-byes.

  "Christmas is right around the corner," Trenton said.

  When Rachel left, Hazel was smiling, but a little sad. "Damn it. I love her."

  "You love all of them," Trenton said. "If you get them on a monthly cycle, you could see one of them every day."

  Hazel elbowed Trenton, and he elbowed her back. They fought like brother and sister.

  "So," Hazel said, chomping on a piece of gum. "I heard you guys talking. I can't believe you're scared to get a tattoo."

  I shook my head. "Not at all."

  Calvin walked to the vestibule. "Has Bishop been in?" he asked.

  Hazel shook her head. "No, Cal. You've already asked me that today. We were just discussing Cami's first tattoo."

  Calvin's scanned me from head to toe. "That's bad for business, a receptionist that doesn't have any tats. You can make it up to me by picking up some hours on Sunday."

  "Only if you let me start working on papers and homework when we're not busy."

  He shrugged. "Deal."

  My shoulders fell. I didn't expect him to agree.

  "Let me pierce your nose," Hazel said, her eyes bright.

  "One of these days," I said.

  "Baby doll, don't let them talk you into anything you don't want to do. There's no shame in being scared of needles," Trenton said.

  "I'm not scared," I said, exasperated.

  "Then let me ink you," he said.

  "You're a bartender for Christ's sake," Hazel said. "You should have at least one tat."

  I glared at each of them. "Is this peer pressure? Because that's lame."

  "How am I pressuring you? I just said not to let anyone talk you into anything," Trenton said.

  "And then you told me to let you give me a tat."

  He shrugged. "I admit it would be kickass to know I inked you first. It's kind of like taking your virginity."

  "Well, that would require going back in time, and that's not going to happen," I said with a smirk.

  "Exactly. This is the next best thing. Trust me," he said, his voice low and smooth.

  Hazel cackled. "Oh, God. I'm ashamed to admit that line totally worked on me."

  "Yeah?" I said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "From Trent?"

  She burst out laughing again. "I wish!" She closed her eyes and cringed. "Bobby Prince. Smooth talker. Tiny penis." She spoke the last sentence in falsetto, and held up her index finger and t
humb, not even an inch apart.

  We all shook with laughter. Hazel was dabbing the wet skin beneath her eyes. Once we regained our composure, I caught Trenton staring at me. Something in the way he was looking at me made me forget all about being responsible, and reason. For once, I just wanted to be young, and not think too hard or too much. "Okay, Trent. Pop my cherry."

  "Seriously?" he asked, standing up straight.

  "Are we doing this or what?" I asked.

  "What do you want?" He walked over to the computer and popped a pen in his mouth, holding it lengthwise in his teeth.

  I thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Baby Doll. Across my fingers."

  "You're shittin' me," Trenton said around the pen, stunned.

  "No good?" I asked.

  He chuckled and took the pen out of his mouth. "No, I like it . . . a lot . . . but that's a helluva tattoo for a virgin." He popped the pen back in, freeing up his hand to move the mouse.

  I smirked. "If I'm going to lose it, I want to be broken in right."

  The pen fell from Trenton's mouth to the floor, and he bent down to pick it up. "Uh . . . any, uh . . . any special font?" he said, glancing back at me once before drawing it up on the computer.

  "I want it to look a little girly so I don't look like I came straight from prison."

  "Color? Or black and white?"

  "Black outline. I don't know about color. Blue, maybe?"

  "Like Smurf blue?" he teased. When I didn't answer, he continued. "How about a gradient look. Blue at the bottom and then as I get higher on the letters it slowly fades out?"

  "Radtastic," I said, nudging him with my shoulder.

  Once I decided on font and color, Trenton printed out the transfers, and I followed him back to his room.

  I sat on the chair, and Trenton got his equipment ready.

  "This is going to be badass," Hazel said, sitting in a chair not far from me.

  Trenton slipped on some latex gloves. "I'm just going to use a single needle. It's still going to hurt like a bitch, though. Going to be right on the bone. You don't have any fat on your fingers."

  "Or anywhere else," Hazel said.

  I winked at her.

  Trenton laughed once as he cleaned each of my fingers with a green soap, wiped that off, and then put alcohol on a cotton square and rubbed each of the fingers he planned to tattoo. "It might not take the first time. You might have to get it done again." He used one finger to wipe a tiny bit of Vaseline where he cleaned with alcohol.

  "Really?" I said with a frown.

  Hazel nodded. "Yeah. Feet do that, too."

  Trenton situated the transfers. "What do you think? Do they look straight? Is that how you want them?"

  "Just make sure it's spelled right. I don't want to be one of those jackasses with a misspelled tattoo."

  Trenton chuckled. "It's spelled right. I'd be a complete jerk-off if I couldn't spell two four-letter words correctly."

  "You said it, not me," I teased.

  Hazel shook her head. "Don't insult him before he permanently draws on your skin, girl!"

  "He'll make it beautiful, won't you?" I asked.

  Trenton turned on the machine, and then looked at me with a soft expression. "You're already beautiful."

  I could feel my cheeks flush. When Trenton was sure the transfers were dry and he touched the needle to my skin, it was more of a nice distraction than excruciating pain. Trenton drew, then wiped, and repeated the process, concentrating hard. I knew he would make sure it was perfect. Even though the pain wasn't as bad at first, as the minutes ticked by, the annoying burning I felt on my fingers each time he began to mark my skin made it very tempting to pull away.

  "Done!" he said, barely fifteen minutes later. He cleaned off the smeared ink, revealing the letters on my fingers. The blue was so vivid. It was gorgeous. I faced the mirror, made fists, and held them together.

  "Lookin' good, baby doll," Trenton said with a wide grin.

  It was perfect.

  "Damn, that's badass," Hazel said. "I want finger tats, now!"

  Trenton handed me a few packages of Aquaphor. "Keep this on it. Good shit. Especially for color."

  "Thank you," I said.

  For just a moment, he stared at me as if he really had just taken my virginity. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach, and my chest felt warm. I took a few steps backward, and turned toward the vestibule. The phone rang, but Hazel answered for me.

  Trenton leaned his elbows on the counter, smiling at me with the most ridiculous simper.

  "Stop it," I said, trying not to smile back.

  "I didn't say anything," he said, still grinning like an idiot.

  My cell phone buzzed, and then buzzed again. "Hey, Chase," I said, already knowing why he was calling.

  "Mom's cooking tonight. See you at five."

  "I have to work. She knows I work weekends."

  "Which is why it's family dinner instead of family lunch."

  I sighed. "I don't get off until seven."

  "From where? You're not working at the Red?"

  "Yes . . ." I said, silently cussing myself for slipping. "I'm still bartending. I got a second job."

  "A second job? Why?" he asked, his voice full of disdain. Chase was a pacemaker rep and thought he was hot shit. He made good money, but he liked to pretend he was a doctor when, in fact, he just fetched coffee to suck up to the staff.

  "I'm . . . helping out a friend."

  Chase was quiet for a long time, and then finally spoke. "Coby's using again, isn't he?"

  I closed my eyes tight, not knowing what to say.

  "Get your ass to Mom's at five, or I'm coming to get you."

  "Fine," I said, hanging up and tossing my phone on the counter. I put my hands on my hips and stared at the computer monitor.

  "Everything okay?" Trenton asked.

  "I just started a huge family fight. My mom's heart is going to be broken, and it's all somehow going to be my fault. Cal?" I yelled. "I'm going to have to leave at four thirty."

  "You don't get off until seven!" he yelled from his office.

  "It's for family! She's leaving at four thirty!" Hazel yelled back.

  "Whatever, then!" Calvin said, not sounding all that upset.

  "Cal!" Trenton yelled. "I'm going with her!"

  Calvin didn't answer, instead his door slammed, and he walked into the lobby. "What the fuck is going on?"

  "Family dinner," I said.

  Calvin watched me with suspicious eyes for a moment, and then looked to Trenton. "Have you seen Bishop today?"

  Trenton turned his head. "Nope. Have not."

  Calvin turned to me. "You really need backup to go home for dinner?" Calvin said, dubious.

  "No."

  "Yeah, she does," Trenton said. "Even though she won't admit it."

  I couldn't keep the pleading tone from my voice. "You don't know what they're like. And tonight is going to be . . . you don't want to go, trust me."

  "You need at least one person at that table on your side, and that's going to be me."

  How could I argue with that? Even though I didn't want Trenton to see the insanity that was my family, it would be comforting when they inevitably decided that Coby's relapse and their ignorance of it was somehow my fault. And then there would be the moment when Coby found out I'd ratted him out.

  "Just don't . . . punch anyone."

  "Deal," he said, hugging me to his side.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Trenton pulled into the drive, and turned off the ignition. The last time we were in his Intrepid, Olive was in the back, and I was irritated about being coerced into a trip to Chicken Joe's. Now an evening with Trenton and Olive in a noisy restaurant sounded like heaven.

  "You ready for this?" Trenton asked with a reassuring wink.

  "Are you?"

  "I'm ready for anything."

  "I believe it," I said, pulling on the door handle. The door squealed as it opened, and then it took me a couple of tries and a push
with my hip to get it to close all the way.

  "Sorry," Trenton said, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. He held out his elbow, and I took it. All of my brothers and my parents were standing at the open door, watching us walk up the drive.

  "I'm the one who will be apologizing later."

  "Why's that?"

  "Who the fuck is this jackass?" Dad said.

  I sighed. "This is Trent Maddox. Trent, this is my dad, Felix."

  "It's Mr. Camlin," Dad sneered.

  Trenton held out his hand, and Dad took it, staring him down. Trenton wasn't the least bit intimidated, but I was still inwardly cringing.

  "This is my mom, Susan."

  "Nice to meet you," Trenton said, lightly shaking her hand.

  Mom offered a small smile, and then pulled me into her chest, kissing my cheek. "It's about time you visit your mama."

  "Sorry," I said, even though we both knew I wasn't.

  We all walked into the dining room, except for Mom, who disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with an extra setting for Trenton, and then went back into the kitchen. This time, she came to the table with a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes that she set on a hot pad, next to all the other food.

  "All right, all right," Dad said. "Sit down so we can get to eat already."

  Trenton's eye twitched.

  "It all looks great, Mom, thanks," Clark said.

  Mom smiled, and leaned toward the table, "You're welcome, so--"

  "What's with all the goddamn formalities? I'm starvin' here!" Dad growled.

  We all passed the various dishes around the table and filled our plates. I picked at my food, waiting for the first shot that would start the war. Mom was on edge, which meant she knew something was up.

  "What the hell is all that on your fingers?" Dad asked me.

  "Uh . . ." I held up my hands for a moment, trying to think of a lie.

  "We were messing around with a Sharpie," Trenton said.

  "Is that what all that black shit is all over?" Dad asked.

  "Ink. Yes," I said, rolling my food around on my plate. My mother was an exceptional cook, but Dad always had a way of robbing me of my appetite.

  "Pass the salt," Dad said, snapping at Coby when he took too long. "Damn it, Susan. You never put in enough salt. How many times have I told you?"

  "You can add the salt, Dad," Clark said. "This way it's not too salty for the rest of us."

  "Too salty? This is my goddamn house. She's my wife! She cooks for me! She cooks the way I like it, not the way you like it!"

  "Don't rile yourself up, honey," Mom said.

  Dad slammed the side of his fist on the table. "I'm not riled up! I'm just not going to stand for someone to come into my house and tell me how my wife should prepare my food!"