by R C Barnes
“You know I am running a special on bio-mech work.” Dusty’s eyes were saucers, and she was practically salivating.
“Really?” Officer Lopez pulled her uniform sleeve back down. “I might have to find out more about that. I’m thinking about adding on to what I have.”
She then flipped the pages on her spiral notepad and consulted an item she had written down. “Have you ladies changed your hours recently?”
“No,” Dusty answered.
“Have there been any clients coming in and requesting appointments off the clock?”
“A few. But that’s normal.”
I wondered why Dusty and my mother didn’t mention the Ink for the Beloved ceremonies. I mean we just had a big one last night.
Officer Lopez moved her eyes down to another item on her notebook. “Many of your neighbors have commented about more people coming in and out of the shop. More people than usual. More people hanging out on the streets. They are claiming your shop seems to be the center of activity. Are you having a surge in business? Any Groupons happening? Offering any specials? Lopez smiled at Dusty. “Any specials outside of the biomechanical artwork?”
My mother ticked off items and counted them out with her fingers. “No Groupon stuff. We can’t offer because our work is too specialized. No advertised specials.” She gestured at Dusty. “The work she has been doing with the biomechanical has been through word of mouth and a specific recommendation.”
“Glenn Porter?” Lopez asked.
“YES!” Dusty exclaimed.
I guess I was right about the Future People Alliance, and Lopez was a member.
My mother was staying on track focusing on the matter at hand. “Our business is our business. We are usually booked one to two months in advance, not counting consultations. Dusty and I are the main artists. We sometimes have an apprentice. Sometimes two. But currently, we have one. Her name is Annika. She started with us about a month ago. She also sings and performs at night with a band…” My mother snapped her fingers, she was spacing on the name of the band.
“Sugar City,” I volunteered. “They play at the Albatross on Fridays and do art spaces like Cloud 9.”
“Sometimes we have private parties at the studio,” my mother offered. We had one last night.
So, that’s how she was going to describe the Beloved ceremonies.
The officer was back to writing in her notepad. The pen was scratching across the paper.
“You seem pretty young to be here.” The question was directed at me, but she didn’t look in my direction.
“I work here,” I answered.
“Really? And what do you do?” Officer Lopez looked over at my mother and Dusty for confirmation. But Terry Wynters had moved away from the conversation and placed herself at the display counter. No longer engaged, she had picked up her current crossword puzzle. Dusty just cocked an eyebrow.
“I am responsible for the financing and planning for the professional enterprise known as Cosmic Hearts,” I answered. “I manage and plan the budget. I engage the contract work, and I respond to the needs and requests of the staff in their various services. I oversee quarterly reporting and annual accounts. Usually, I am tracking three years simultaneously, the previous, current, and forthcoming…”
“That’s amazing,” the officer laughed. “Do you always talk like this?”
“Only when she is showing off,” Dusty responded, and then she mumbled in my direction, “Show off.”
I smiled. “I saw it printed on somebody’s resume once, and I decided to memorize it as a joke. It’s a long-winded way of saying I manage the office.”
“Do you work part-time here while you are in school?”
“You could say that.”
The officer was back to writing in her notepad. “Berkeley?”
“High School,” I responded.
The officer lifted her head with a puzzled look.
“Berkeley High School,” I clarified. “I’m in high school. I’m her daughter.” I said, pointing at my mother, who still had her head deep into the intricacies of her puzzle.
“Oh, sorry. I missed that.”
A lot of people do, I thought to myself.
The moment felt weird suddenly, and I sensed Officer Lopez was scrutinizing me now that she knew I was personally connected to the shop. I was afraid she would mosey over to child services and dig up the Wynters file, which in my mind was enormous, held together with rubber bands, and with red flag post-it notes slapped all over it.
I thought it would be best to go back to the reason why the Officer was in the studio. “I was only here for a short time this morning. I couldn’t find my school backpack. I frantically looked around and then left to continue the search in other spots.”
“Was the alarm engaged?”
“It was off. She (I indicated Dusty) was already here.”
“I was?” asked Dusty. “I thought you beat me here.”
“I didn’t turn off the alarm,” I stated.
“Neither did I,” said Dusty.
Officer Lopez looked at the two of us. “So, it’s possible the alarm was never engaged.”
I nodded in agreement, but it was hard to believe. We were all diligent when it came to the alarm.
“And which entrance did you use?” Officer Lopez asked me.
“I came in through the back and exited through the back,” I answered. I left out the part about my hissy fit. I realized then in my anxious state to locate my backpack, I had failed to notice the supply area had been rifled through. There were things moved out of place, and stuff on the floor, but it also could have been tied to last night’s event.
“Have you found your backpack?”
“No.” And then I remembered a crucial factor. “But you should talk to Todd. He came in while I was here in the morning. He had Duane with him.”
Officer Lopez looked up from her notes. “Who is Todd?” she asked.
“Good question,” I replied and pointed to my mother. “You should ask her. Because the rest of us do not have a clue.”
“Oh God, Bess, don’t start,” said Dusty.
I didn’t reply. I just looked at Dusty with an expression challenging her to take it farther.
“Who is Todd?” Officer Lopez repeated the question.
Dusty jumped in before I could give my definition. “He is her boyfriend.” She gestured to my mother sitting over by the display counter, acting as if she couldn’t be bothered with the rest of us.
“Does he work here as well?” asked Lopez
“NO!” I responded a little too loudly.
Officer Lopez jumped at the level of my voice and frowned.
“I need help here,” my mother called out. She waved her arm to draw the attention her way. “Eye candy male horse,” she said. “It is a six-letter word.”
“Stallion,” offered Dusty.
“Nope. Tried it. Too long.”
“Eye candy male horse? What the hell could that be?” murmured Dusty. “Stud. Stud-ly?”
“Nope,” Terry replied. “The third letter is A.”
Officer Lopez looked at me like she was stumped. But it had nothing to do with the possible answer to the puzzle. It had to do with the fact both my mother and Dusty were now ignoring her.
“She does this all the time,” I explained. “She’s deflecting.”
“Bess,” my mother called. “I could use your help with this.”
“Maam,” Officer Lopez moved to the display counter. “I have a few more questions for you, and then I’ll be on my way.”
My mother looked up at the policewoman with an annoyed expression. “Yes. Yes. What?”
“Your daughter brought up that a gentleman by the name of Todd was in the shop before opening hours. Could you tell me who he is?”
There was a long pause. “He’s my boyfriend,” my mother replied. I realized Dusty must have called the police because my mother was throwing icy chill all over the person in the blue uniform. It dawn
ed on me the perfect way to get back at my mother would be to marry a cop.
I stood over to the side, watching the exchange.
“Foal,” Dusty shouted out. “No, wait, you said six letters.”
“Does your boyfriend work at the shop alongside your daughter?”
“No. As if Bess would let that happen.” My mother’s response was snippy. I was confused. Why was she purposefully not assisting the Officer with her answers?
Officer Lopez sighed. She was sensing the contentious vibe my mother was flinging at her. “Can you tell me why he was at the tattoo studio in the morning before opening hours?”
“And Duane…,” I added, but it was kind of a whisper.
Officer Lopez looked at me over her shoulder and then turned back to my mother. “And he had someone else with him. Why were they here?”
“Spayed?” Dusty asked. She had taken a seat at her station and was drumming her fingers on the counter. Dusty was nervous. Even she was picking up the hostile energy in the room.
My mother looked around Officer Lopez to address Dusty. “Male horse,” she said, emphasizing the word “male.”
Terry decided to answer the officer. “He was here to pick up my glasses.” She reached under the counter and retrieved her eyewear, placing them in front of her. “I wanted to read the paper this morning, but I had left the glasses at the shop. He came to get them.” She looked in my direction and held my gaze. “Duane must have given him a ride.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, I knew she was lying. She was covering for Todd. She had no idea why he had been here. This was why she was angry. She hated being questioned, and she hated the police and anyone who represented law and order. The last time she had interacted with an officer was when she had been carted off to jail the night, she and Luther had THE FIGHT. The fight that blew up our happiness and was the primary reason why Todd was even in our lives, to begin with.
Emotion was flooding my body, but I couldn’t tell if it was anger or shame. All I knew was I was dying for a hot sauce hit. I turned away from my mother’s gaze and went in search of my backpack. And then I remembered it was missing. I was moving, so I almost missed what Officer Lopez said to my mother.
“Maam, did I do anything to offend you?”
My mother’s response was clipped. “I just don’t like cops.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Officer Lopez bowed her head. She flipped her notepad closed and slipped it into her ill-fitting pants pocket. “I’m done here. I’ll have the report mailed out to you. You should receive it in a day or two.” Lopez headed for the front door, but she stopped and turned back to Terry. “I think the answer you are looking for is “teaser.” Teaser ponies are used to arouse mares.” She smiled at my mother. “My uncle is a horse breeder in Mexico.”
Teaser. That was the answer. If I hadn’t been so freaked out about my missing backpack, I would have seen it was the answer to a lot of things.
SANITY CHECKIN
“So now police are coming around, and you think there is some kind of mystery for you to solve. Give it a rest, Nancy Drew.”
I was sitting with Luther having lunch at a walk-up burger place down the street from his “Good Job” auto shop. He had ordered a double bacon burger and an enormous platter of french fries, completely ignoring my comments about his lunch being a rocket jet pack heart attack special. “At least cut back on the bacon,” I added.
“I’ll cut back on bacon when you cut back on those hot sauce packets,” he replied. He said it while I was currently emptying one out and scraping the packet with my teeth. I narrowed my eyes at his blasphemous comment and let the pepper tang hit the back of my throat with a satisfying explosion.
“Never.”
“Alrighty then. You leave my bacon alone.” Luther got up when his order was called and brought the wonderful smelling meal back over to the booth, where I had made myself comfortable. I figured I would take the view of the street, and then I could see if anybody passed by who could possibly report the fact I was sitting with Luther to my mother. If anyone she knew told her they saw me sitting with a big black guy, she would be able to put two and two together.
I helped myself to some of Luther’s french fries. “This guy Todd is all up in my business,” I complained.
“What do you mean? And what kind of business do you have?”
“Well, he’s always asking me about where I’m going and who I am seeing.” I reached over and grabbed the ketchup and squirted a big blob on the side of the french fry basket. I then added about five to seven drops of Tabasco into the mix. Perfection.
“What’s wrong with that? You need some looking after. Maybe I should be up in your business,” Luther said.
“It isn’t his place!” I protested. “He’s not my father.” I gave Luther a silencing stare, so he didn’t throw out the obvious that he isn’t either. “The guy is at least ten years younger than her, you know. He’s not old enough to place any type of parental authority over me.”
Luther nodded his head as if he agreed with me. I grabbed some more fries and dabbed them into the spiced ketchup. I then remembered something and brought out a tiny spiral notebook from my pocket.
“What’s that?” Luther asked.
“Joanie is making me keep track of how many hot sauce packets I use a day. She says I’m having too many and will screw up my gut.”
Luther nodded his head. “I like that Joanie,” he said. He began to get down to the business of eating and got the burger secured in his hands to take a bite. A tomato slid out of the sandwich and fell to the plate.
In the notebook, I made a notation of the day’s date and made a marker on the page. I was up to three packs so far today. I included the tobasco I had added to the ketchup as one. My daily average was five. Joanie said that was high.
The smell of Luther’s burger and the food coming from the kitchen was making me hungry. I should have gotten a plate of my own.
“Who the hell does Todd think he is?” I continued with my rant. “He’s this big blond Ken doll with moussed hair, safari jackets, and perfect teeth, and everything about him is fake, fake, fake. It’s so obvious he is creating this pretty boy image. What does my mother see in him?”
“I love you, Bess. You know that. But some things go on in the adult world I just don’t feel comfortable sharing with you.” Luther took a big bite of his incredibly layered burger.
“What are you talking about?” I responded. “Lust? I know about lust.”
Luther continued chewing. He couldn’t talk without choking, but his eyes opened wide in mock horror.
“I’m sixteen. Of course, I know about lust. I haven’t experienced lust if that is what you are wondering at this moment, but I do know what it is. Obviously. Obviously, lust is an element here. But isn’t my mother beyond that? She has two children from lust. You would think she would grasp the consequences here. Does she really want another lust child? Ewww. Ewww. The thought of a Todd baby…” I did an enormous shudder of horror.
Luther tried not to choke on the food he was eating. He grabbed the water in front of him and got the bite down safely.
“Am I really the person you want to be discussing this with?” he asked. “The things you come up with. I take back what I said about loving you. I don’t even like you. You are not worthy of...” He reached over and snatched the French fry I was holding from my hand. “And leave my fries alone. Don’t be putting your nasty pepper sauce on my potatoes.”
Luther took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He looked off in the distance as he spoke. “Bess, I love Terry. I still love Terry, but there isn’t anything I can do about her current situation. I have been told, no, ORDERED, to stay away. Another night in county jail is not on my bucket list.”
“Don’t you think the whole thing is odd?” I continued.
“It’s not my business.”
I was not going to let this drop. “I know I’m just a kid, and I don’t know much about the
complications of adult relationships. I should just stick to family sitcoms on TV as everything else is over my head. Romeo and Juliet, there’s a relationship up my alley. Oh, but they died. Spoiler Alert.”
Luther raised his hand with his palm in my direction, signaling enough already with the sarcasm. I dropped that tactic and moved on to another thread that bothered me. “Here’s something. What does the man do all day?”
Luther ate a french fry. He dipped it into his own unadulterated pepper free ketchup before responding. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I HAVE!” I thrust my arms in the air for emphasis. “All I get is the ‘I am an entrepreneur’ line. Or I’m a businessman.”
“That’s what rappers say,” Luther responded. “What kind of business?”
I punched my index finger in the air as if I were hitting a big red button. “That’s the question, isn’t it? And that’s when he gets vague. He gives me this “little darling” speech as if he were suddenly from the South and throws out statements about meeting with investors and raising capital and manufacturing products as if this is giving me answers.”
“But he’s not telling you squat.” Luther finished the thought.
“Precisely.” I leaned back in the booth and looked directly at Luther. I held my gaze for a long time. Luther kept eating, and then after my silence and stares went on a little too long, he looked up.
“What’s the product?” he asked.
“He won’t say,” I responded. “He just throws out a stream of little darling this and little darling that, like I was three years old and too young to understand these types of things. But he’s full of shit, and my mother goes along with it as if he were really saying something of substance. It’s all unbelievable!” I threw up my hands like I was tossing in the towel.
“You think I can do something?”
I nodded my head. Yes. Yes, he could. He could be Luther and save me and Echo from this mess. I reached over and snared a few more fries.
“Baby girl, what am I going to do? There’s a restraining order on my ass.”
“Make some calls. You know people...” I cried.
