by JA Huss
“Come on,” he says, pushing me off him and standing up. “I’m gonna take you somewhere fun. And believe me, once you get there, you’ll eat.”
Somewhere fun turns out to be Funsville. And even though I want to pretend this wasn’t a great idea, I can’t help but smile as we walk through the doors.
It’s a bar. It’s a restaurant. It’s an Eighties arcade.
Funsville is a place you can’t not have fun at.
“Hey, Larry,” I call out to the owner as we pass by the bar. I do a quick check to make sure Bucked Up is still on tap here. If Hanna Harlow got to Larry, I’m in some serious trouble.
It is, so I sigh with relief.
“Jesus, do you know everyone in Denver?” Law asks.
“That’s Larry. He and my dad are—were—old friends. I used to come here all the time when I was a kid, but it’s been a while.”
Larry comes over to us as we buy tokens and tickets at the machine and says, “Oaklee!” as he wraps his arms around me and gives me a great big bear hug. “You haven’t been here in years!”
“I know. So busy these days. This is…” And then I stop, wondering what Lawton is to me. But I say, “My boyfriend, Lawton Ayers.” Because he is my boyfriend. I’ve even got it in writing. For two whole weeks I have someone to count on. And it feels nice, so I’m gonna make the most of it.
Law and Larry chat as I take my tokens over to the skeet ball area and start throwing. Seeing Larry makes me sad because it reminds me of all the great times I had in here with my dad as a kid. And that’s why I don’t come around. I don’t like to think about that.
And it seems like I’ve been thinking about the past a lot these last two days. Ever since Law started playing this game with me.
But I watch them as they talk. Every now and again they laugh too. Like they are old friends. And as I’m watching I imagine that’s how it would be if Lawton ever met my father. Because Larry and my father are—were—a lot alike.
They both have full sleeves on their arms. My dad’s tattoos were mostly Wild West things. But Larry’s are all old carnival things. A beaded woman. A fat man. Lions, and zebras, and a ringmaster on his back. I know that because we used to go up to Grand Lake with Larry to fish every summer and he’d take his shirt off.
In fact, now that Law is in the middle of his Oaklee’s boyfriend morph, they look a lot alike too.
They’re both wearing white t-shirts. They’re both wearing biker boots. They’re both wearing faded, ripped jeans.
But they’re still… different somehow.
What is it? Why are they different?
And that’s when it hits me.
That’s when I figure out why Hanna isn’t into Lawton.
He needs some tattoos.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - LAWTON
Even though I don’t know Larry personally like Oaklee does, I’ve been in Funsville plenty of times with Bric. This place has been a fixture in Denver for more than twenty years and Larry here has been its one and only owner.
So I tell him that as I watch Oaklee walk over to the skeet ball and start playing. I say, “My sponsor used to bring me here back when I was a teenager.”
“That right?” Larry says, making change for a kid at the counter.
“Yeah,” I say, remembering back on those days.
“You were… an alcoholic?” Larry says. “So you two used to meet up here, what? When you had the urge to drink? Not a good plan since this is a bar too.”
For a second I don’t even understand the words coming out of his mouth. Then I say, “Alcoholic? No.” And I laugh because I guess that’s what people think when you say ‘sponsor.’ “No. Elias Bricman was my Boys Without Brothers sponsor. He gave me a scholarship to attend private school and changed my life. And this place was part of it. Because we used to meet up here to, ya know, talk through shit.”
“Ah,” Larry says, laughing at his presumptions. “Sorry. I’m jaded. Don’t mind me.”
“No problem,” I say. “I guess I never thought of it that way. I don’t talk about Bric much. You know him?”
“Who doesn’t?” Larry laughs again. He’s got an easy laugh. It’s nice too. He’s got a look about him that says ‘don’t fuck with me.’ And that’s how I always pictured he’d be if I ever had an opportunity to talk with him.
But that’s not how he is at all.
“I’ve known Bric since he first moved here as a teenager. Used to come in all the time. And now that I think about it…” Larry does one of those looking-at-the-ceiling moves, like he’s trying to remember something. “I know you. Skinny kid. Always wearing a leather jacket. Bad street attitude.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “That was me.”
“You don’t look much different now, truthfully. Bric ever make an honest man out of ya?”
“He did,” I say. Because one, I get that because I’m dressed like this today it’s easy to imagine nothing’s changed for me. And two, he didn’t say it in a mean way. He wasn’t judging me. “I run a multi-million-dollar real-estate agency here in Denver now. But I’m doing a favor for Oaklee this week and she wants me to look like a tough guy.”
I shrug and so does he. A mutual, Girls are all crazy, what can you do? gesture.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Lawton. Real glad to hear that. It’s nice when the kids come back and show me who’s boss.”
And with that he shoots me one more smile and walks off to help a customer near the token machine.
It’s weird. How my past has been missing for so long and meeting one crazy girl named Oaklee has brought it all rushing back.
Like that jacket. And the Johnny Cash t-shirt. The motorcycle and the boots on my fuckin’ feet.
I look at Oaklee, who is frowning down at a couple of tickets the skeet ball machine is spitting out, and decide… it’s kinda cool. That she’s taken me on this two-day whirlwind down memory lane. And I still have twelve more days with her. It’s not even the sex, either. Though that was pretty goddamned fun and if she’s on board, we’re totally gonna do that again. It’s just… her.
She’s got a wild side, I see that. And now that I’ve known her for two days I can understand how the guys who turned Jordan down for her game would’ve thought she’d be hard to handle. Or unreasonable. Risky, maybe.
She is all those things in some ways. But in others… she’s just a little girl who lost her dad and is getting shit on by someone she once called a friend.
I walk over to her and she smiles at me over her shoulder. “I suck today. Usually I kick ass at this game.”
I pick up a ball, roll it around in my hand, then toss it down the lane and it goes smoothly into the center hole.
“Show-off.” She giggles.
“I played a lot of skeet ball when I was a kid. Lot of skeet ball.”
“Here?” Oaklee asks.
“Yeah, but other arcades too. I was a street kid. Homeless at fourteen.”
“What? But your mother did such a good job!”
“What?” I actually let out a guffaw at that remark.
“You have such great manners. I figured… I figured wrong, I guess. I seem to figure you wrong a lot. Which isn’t fair.”
“Why?”
“Because you have me nailed down, ya know?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, picking up another ball and tossing it. It bounces out of the center hole and goes in the gutter. “My mother didn’t teach me anything except I couldn’t count on her. I could count on myself. Can’t win ’em all, right? I mean… I had it pretty rough and then it got really great because Bric changed my mind about that. He taught me people do care. And you can count on them. And no matter how hard it was back then, I don’t ever forget to be grateful for what I have.”
Oaklee just stares at me. Nodding. Then she says, “I get it too. I used to have it pretty great, and then it got pretty rough. And the only thing that kept me going was the fact that things could always get worse so I’d better be thankful for what
I had left.”
“Yeah, that sucks. Sorry,” I say. And not just because I want that word to fill the silence as she stares at me. “I really am sorry that you lost your dad. I’m sorry that Hanna Harlow is a dick and took advantage of you. And I’m on board, OK? I’m here to help you and that’s what I’m gonna do. We’re gonna get her, Oaks. I promise. We’re gonna get her back for making your life worse when things were already bad.”
She takes a ball and throws it, this time hitting her mark. We watch the ball disappear inside the center hole and then she says, “You don’t have to, ya know.”
“Don’t have to what?”
“Do this. Play this stupid game with me. I mean you have a lot going for you, Lawton, and I’m just fucking it up. I’ll still show up for that meeting. Don’t worry about that. I’ll still do my part.”
“Hey,” I say, sorta laughing, but sorta not. Because I’m not ready for this to be over yet. I like her too much to quit on her after only two days. “I’m in, babe. In it to win it, no doubts. So you say the word and we’ll get that bitch.”
She turns away, but I’m almost certain she’s smiling as she does it. So I peek around her shoulder and say, “What? Are you laughing at me?”
She shakes her head, but her smile is so big, I swear to God, she looks like a different person. A happy person. Probably more like the person she used to be than the one she is now. The girl who pranked the entire world with Rocky Mountain High beer for April Fool’s and went to jail for an entire weekend just to keep the joke going.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask.
And then she takes a deep breath, lets it out, and says, “OK, if you’re in, that’s cool. I want you to be in. And I’ve got a plan, and you’re gonna think it’s crazy, so I just want you to know you can back out and say no. I won’t get mad, and I won’t fuck up your deals and I won’t hate you or anything. That’s all. I just want you to know that.”
She says the entire thing in one breath and by the time she’s done, she’s sucking in air.
“Ahhh… should I be worried about this plan? You know, because you basically just scared the shit out of me with that little declaration.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, anyone who has to promise all those things in one breath just to make me understand that this crazy plan is entirely up to me and saying no is OK has something in mind I won’t want to hear. So spill it.”
“Well, that depends,” she says. “On how you feel about pain.”
“What?” I laugh loudly this time. “What are you talking about?”
She grabs my biceps, pulling me close to her like she’s about to divulge a secret. And then she looks up into my eyes—her caramel-colored ones looking up at me. Wide, and innocent, and very much like they’re ready to beg me if it comes to that. “Did you ever think about tattoos?”
For a second I don’t understand the connection to what we were talking about and what we’re now talking about. So I look down at her, dumbly, and say, “What?”
“Tattoos, Law. I was just thinking… you know, while you were standing over there with Larry, that you really do look like a biker today. Except he’s all tatted up and you’re not. And yeah, you’ve got the jacket, so no one knows you’re not. But Hanna knows you’re not, right? She saw you yesterday in that Johnny Cash t-shirt. So I think—”
“You think she’s not looking at me because… what? I’m just some wannabe weekend warrior?”
She pokes her finger into my chest and says, “Exactly!”
“Ah, man,” I say.
“Just listen, OK? Hanna likes the guys I date. She’s proven it to me over and over again. And even though she hasn’t actually stolen a boyfriend from me since college, she does date them after I’m done. It’s like… it’s like she goes out of her way to find my ex-boyfriends and then she brings them places she knows I’ll be. So I know, I just know… if you had tattoos she’d really think we were together. I mean, I don’t know what she thinks we’re doing together now, but she must feel pretty confident that I’m not serious about you. So we need to make her think we’re serious.”
“And tattoos will do that?” I say, giving her the stink eye.
“Yes!”
“I don’t know,” I say. “And it’s got nothing to do with pain, either. It’s just… Bric always warned me about the body art, ya know?”
“Bric?” she asks, confused.
“Elias Bricman. He owns… well, a lot of shit. Used to own a… a private club over by the capitol building. That’s how Jordan and I know each other. Bric is the common denominator. He found me when I was sixteen, shook the thug right out of me, and set me up with a scholarship to a private school. I never looked back, ya know? And he was glad I’d never gotten a tattoo like a bunch of the other kids he was sponsoring. Said it would be easier in the real world if I didn’t mark myself up like that. Announce who I was to the world before they got to know me and shit like that. So… I dunno. It’s a big deal to me.”
She nods. Frowning. “I get it. No problem. It was just an idea. I’m sure the jacket will be fine.” And then she smiles. Weakly. And turns back to the skeet ball game.
And I hate that. I hate that I’ve disappointed her. I hate the frown, and the worry lines creasing her forehead, and that look in her eyes. That look that says things can always get worse. Because I used to feel like that too. And people who live by that creed know. No matter how good things get, life will always be there to kick you when you’re down.
So I say, “Now hold on a minute. I didn’t say no. I just said it’s a big deal. I mean, I’ve never even thought about getting a tattoo, so I don’t even know what I’d want. I don’t know who I’d get to do it, but I’d want it to be someone special. Someone who knows their shit. Not just any fucking Joe Shmo at some dirty tattoo shop.”
“It’s totally fine, Law. Just forget I mentioned it.”
“I mean, what would I get?” And now I have to take a seat on the edge of the skeet ball machine and think it through. “I don’t even have a clue. How did you decide on those words on your back?”
She looks over at me and smiles. “Do you want the short version? Or the long one?”
“Long,” I say. Automatically. Because I don’t want the short version of anything at all when it comes to Oaklee Ryan.
“OK, but let’s get hot dogs because I’m starving. I’ll tell you over hot dogs.”
Ten minutes later we’re sitting at a booth drinking Bucked Up on tap and staring down at our exotic hot dog choices. Larry’s known for his hot dogs. Apparently. Since this is what Oaklee tells me as we wait in line to order. He’s got wild boar dogs. Buffalo dogs—which we turn our noses up at, since, you know, Hanna Harlow’s company has ruined that particular animal species for both of us now. He’s got one he swears is rattlesnake. But we finally decide on the jackalope dog, which is stupid. Because there’s no such thing as a jackalope.
“It’s antelope,” Oaklee says, noticing my reluctance to eat it. “I promise you. It’s just pronghorn antelope. Which is really just a special kind of small deer with antelope-like antlers. They’re actually a member of the giraffe family. You’ve seen them right? They’re all over the countryside east of Denver.”
I shake my head no, because even though I know they sing about the place where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play in that old-time song, I’ve never thought about it before.
“Just eat it, you wuss. Take one bite and I’ll tell you my tattoo story.”
So I do. Because I want that story. I take a huge bite because when I go in, I go all in.
“Not bad,” I say, still chewing.
Oaklee takes her bite and chews, nodding her head like this is the most delicious hotdog ever, then wipes her mouth with a napkin and begins her story.
“OK, so when I was in sixth grade I had to do a report on a famous woman I admired. So I chose Ingrid Bergman because my dad loved classic black-and-white movies, so by t
he time I was twelve I’d seen Casablanca a million times and I thought it was just… very romantic. I mean, Rick gave up Ilsa because he knew she was better off without him.”
Oaklee sighs. Smiles at me. “I loved that ending, even though it was sad and everyone wanted Rick to go to America with Ilsa instead of Laszlo. I think he did the right thing by leaving her behind. He knew she’d be unhappy and he loved her so much, he couldn’t ruin her life like that. So I chose Ingrid Bergman for my report and that’s when I found her quote. ‘Be yourself. The world worships the original.’ And for my eighteenth birthday my dad took me to get my tattoo. Right before I left for college. Because he knew what I wanted and he thought that would keep me grounded when I came up against the wider world and people wanted to try to force me into being something I’m not.”
I grin. Truly loving that story. “So why didn’t you get the whole thing?” I ask. “Why didn’t you add in the ‘be yourself’ part?”
She shrugs. “I think it goes unsaid. I mean, you can’t be original if you’re not being yourself, right?”
“You’re a smart woman, you know that, Oaklee?”
She grins. “I have my moments.”
Yeah, she sure does. “So listen, I’ve never been against tattoos. I sorta love them. I love yours, that’s for sure. It was a very nice surprise to flip you over last night and see that waiting for me.”
She blushes. And oh, fuck, yeah. I love that blush. I mean, I do realize that I just met her two days ago, but I don’t like to see her sad. Which gives me an idea for later. But first—“So if I say yes, I need to go somewhere good. A real artist, ya know? Not someone who draws cartoons, because that’s not what I’m looking for.”
“I have just the place,” she whispers.
“And I need to think of something worthy. Something I can look back on over the years and say, ‘Yeah, I’d do it again.’”
“OK,” she says. “So let’s see what we can come up with. What is meaningful to you?”
