Ink Slapped

by A. M. Jones

  Her gaze meets mine before she clears her throat, pointing at the screen. “This is where you want to make any updates.”

  Right.

  She explains each platform. Things I know like how to post pictures and updates. Things I don’t like the ever-important hashtag, and how it's used to reach more people. All the while her hands never cease moving. She’d be great at sign language. As for what she tells me, for instance, if I hashtag Nashville and music in the same update, people searching these things on their social media will see Tainted District’s posts and tweets. I should never use over two or three at a time. Who knew social media has etiquette to follow?

  I swallow hard. She might not think this is a big deal, but it is to me she’s helping. It shows a kind of initiative many people lack. Maybe she needs to work for me at the shop. As if I could afford her.

  I shake my head and it takes me a minute to meet her eyes. “How do you find time to do what you do?”

  “I don’t.” She pushes the glasses up her nose and purses her lips. “Well, I do and I don’t. I rarely leave this apartment unless I have a photo session.” She winks. “But I owe you.”

  Raising my brows at her, I grin. “You should get out more.”

  She shrugs. “It’s the biggest downside of working from home. You kind of become a recluse.”

  “Seems lonely.”

  “Sometimes, but I love what I do to the point it controls me.”

  “I know what you mean.” Her passion is admirable and contagious.

  She studies me with her head tilted. “I suppose you might.”

  “Tell me what you’re thinking for a party?”

  Her posture slumps and she rubs her hands on her thighs. “Nothing much, just a regular night at Jimmy’s with your regular fans. We can use a projector to showcase your band photos. Maybe have some free promo items featuring your new social media links to get that going. Plus, some merchandise so you can put money back into the band. Maybe for recording expenses?”

  She’d been serious when she said she had a plan. “Recording.”

  “Yes, I’d like to buy your music.” She laughs. “So, I’m sure there are other people willing to do the same. Right?”

  It’s easy when you don’t have someone leeching on your intellectual property, but I don’t voice this to Taylor. She doesn’t need to be burdened with all that. “We’ll look into it. You should setup a table and sell books.”

  Contemplation fills her expression as she scrapes her teeth against her bottom lip. “The books with your cover wouldn’t be ready in time. Besides, this is Tainted District’s thing.”

  “But you said last night you wanted to reveal the cover to the world.”

  Her face flames red. “I was just thinking out loud. You have this way of getting me to talk before I think. And besides, I meant reveal the cover to the World Wide Web.”

  I keep my expression level because apparently she sees the thinking out loud as a bad thing. But inside, I’m smiling like hell. “Next Saturday for the promo deal then?”

  Her body relaxes and she nods.

  We eat our subs and tap out things to do in our phones. I need to call Jimmy’s, but my biggest to-do is getting the band to strengthen a few new songs. She’ll send over logos when she has them ready so she can get promo items rolling. After more brainstorming, I stand. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Sure. Call me when you find out how early we can set up.”

  “Will do.” I search for a bathroom door.

  “Bathroom’s in the bedroom.” She points to the door.

  Upon entering the bedroom, it’s the same tidy mess. Other than that, nothing seems out of the ordinary. I spot the bathroom and on my way, I zero in on a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. The bed’s messy, but that could be because of Taylor’s abnormal sleep habits or other activities. My stomach drops at the thought. I shut the bathroom door behind me and an assortment of bras brushes my hand. They dangle from a hook on the back of the door. I marvel at all the colors, patterns, and material. A pair of fishnets is draped over the shower rod. My dick stirs even though I have to pee. How long has it been for me? A long damn time.

  Her sink has various woman stuff in rows, lipstick in every shade of red imaginable with other makeup lined to create a rainbow. After I do my business, which is harder than normal because it’s hard to focus with all the stuff going on in here, I wash my hands with fruity-smelling soap. How does Adrian walk around without a constant hard-on?

  Adrian. I search for any signs of him and find none, not even a toothbrush. To my surprise, the relief I feel over this is extreme. What is going on with me? I have to leave before I do something moronic.

  Something bangs in the bedroom and I open the door to catch Taylor shoving stuff in a drawer. She spins, slamming it shut with her hip.

  “I wouldn’t bother to hide anything. I’ve already witnessed evidence of your sexual escapades.” I grin as her neck catches fire.

  “You have?” The words glide out as she watches me with none of her shyness, but with that same look she gave me at the cover shoot.

  I stride closer. “Oh yeah.” My morals fly through the window in a need to know if she feels any inkling of what I’m feeling. It’s unfair to do this to her. She’s good at keeping boundaries.

  The only blood I have left in my brain rushes south. “Come here, Taylor.” Her lips part and she looks torn. Please. I try not to exhale in relief when she steps forward. I meet her halfway and do something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw her.

  I trail my hand to the arc of her waist and she intakes a barely audible gasp. My sigh mingles with hers. She’s soft and pliant as my hand traces her curves and grazes the roundness of her breast. I imagine the thrill it would give me to explore the warmth of her body. When I reach her neck, I can’t help but think how different she is from Madison. Madison is all sharp angles and bones. My eyes burn as I look into Taylor’s. She’s frozen like a deer in headlights.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I step back. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”

  She gives me a sad smile. “I know.”

  “Do you know why the name for the band is perfect.” She doesn’t move or say anything, just shakes her head. “Because even now with you right here in front of me, panting and trembling like some kind of dream, Madison is tainting it. She’s taints everything I do. You deserve much more than that.” For a moment I think about kissing her cheek, but I can’t bring myself to. “I’ll call you, okay?”

  I scoot by her, but she stops me. “Are you in the middle of a divorce?”

  She could just be curious, but I hope she’s asking because she wants to know if there is any chance for us in the future. It would also be some kind of torment. Breathing out, I’m not sure how to say it. “I don’t know.”

  She winces. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “In some way, I wanted you to. I’ve just got a lot of shit going on—shit you don’t need placed on you.” I feel bold enough to ask one of my own. “What about Adrian?”

  She looks down, dragging her toe through the plush carpet. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay.” I smile. “We’re friends, right?”

  She returns it, but it doesn’t fill her features. “Right.”

  I drag myself out of her apartment. The last thing I want to do is sever this growing connection. I stop in the hallway to gather my senses. I can only hope our conversation won’t change anything.

  Slumping over my Martin, I jot down notes and grab my whiskey for a healthy sip. My favorite. Three fingers of Jack and two cubes of ice at a five-minute melt. Perfect.

  My process is inconvenient for the guys, but this is just how I write. I pluck and sing, strum and grumble until something resonates within and sticks. My favorite songs I’ve written have interesting melodies, amazing lyrics, and simple chords.

  A familiar form sits in the chair across from me.

  “You take the moody musician thing too seriously,” Cro
ckett comments, scrutinizing my hiding spot, a low-key bar whose manager doesn’t mind if I sit back here to drink and play my guitar.

  “I got that melody all worked out,” I try to say, but it comes out a jumbled, slurred mess. “Shit.”

  “And you needed to be intoxicated to do it?” He sighs when I don’t answer, snatching my notes to snap a picture of them with his phone. “You going to work on some lyrics?”

  I glide my fingers down the strings and the deep sound reverberates through the room. I break into a loose freestyle that has nothing to do with the melody,

  “She breaks me open with sinful-blue-eyes…

  Tryin’ to tempt me…

  I really want this to go real far…

  But she sees straight through—”

  Crockett cuts my frets, halting my singing and strumming. “All right, Nickelback.”

  A few whoops and cheers are thrown our way and I flash a smile, flipping him a bird.

  Crockett rolls his eyes. “I’m one of your best friends. I’m not going to let you do that to yourself or the band.” He waves the notes in the air. “We’ll see what we can do with this one, but we need you sober so we can get some harmony going.”

  “You think we should start recording again?”

  He freezes, staring at me. “You must crawl before you walk, grasshopper. I’m stoked we’re being productive with new stuff. So are Milo and Jack. But you need to be at a hundred percent. You’re still married to Maddie.” He shakes his head and looks away. “She’s got you thinking things.”

  I know what and who he means. “Yes.”

  “Good for you. We’ll talk about it more when you’re sober.” Standing, he bows like a ballerina and leaves.

  I slump over to eye level with the whiskey, watching the color play with the overhead light. It’s a good thing he doesn’t like the lyrics I sang because there’s no way I’ll remember them tomorrow. Besides, there’s no way in a sober state of mind I’d ever want to sound like Nickelback.

  When I walk into the shop the next morning, Milo rolls from underneath a car and jumps up, sending the creeper rolling backward.

  “You got lyrics?”

  I squint. “Huh?”

  “To the song, man. We hit brilliance last night.” His fingers make the give them to me motion. “I need to make sure we’re on the right track. We’re practicing at lunch, so you'll need to sing them to us.”

  “You built onto my melody already?”

  “Yeah, man, yeah. The harmony’s intense. You should hear the opening kicks.” He drums the air and taps his foot.

  “Fine. I need to fix a few things, but they’re in my tru—”

  “And welcome back to the land of the living.” He claps me on the chest and strides away before I tell him there’s not much to the lyrics. I glance out the garage door to see him already digging through my shit. Going into the shop office, I close the door, pull the blinds, and lie on the threadbare couch. One of the worst things about being an artist are the ups and the downs. I’m having much to look forward to but much still weighs on me. After Taylor asked about my marriage, it makes me question any true reasons for holding myself back from making a career of my music.

  After I eat and drink coffee, I feel better and less bleary eyed. The rest of the day goes without a hiccup. I also got on the guys’ good side and practiced with them at lunch to work on new stuff, no fooling around. Milo is right. The song is brilliant. It only has a few kinks that need working out, but only because they started on it without me. We also jammed for fun. Something we haven’t done in forever.

  That night, we play our hearts out on stage. For the first time in a while, I feel pumped about the band and where we can take it. As the night wears on, however, I’m becoming increasingly bummed Taylor hasn’t shown. I haven’t talked to her or text messaged her since yesterday at our lunch meeting. This is the first time we’ve been over twenty-four hours without some kind of contact since the book cover shoot. I’m nervous about seeing her because I feel like I fucked up on some level, but I can’t stop moving. Or smiling. Or watching the door.

  We take five for a short break, and Edie hands me a beer and jerks her chin toward a table. “From you know who.”

  My heart double times as it fills with a relief so strong, I might have a heart-attack right here. There’s a grin on my face when I look to acknowledge Taylor, but I falter when I don’t see anyone I know.

  “Where the fuck is that luscious piece of ass?” Crockett complains, pulling out his phone.

  I shoot him an incredulous glare. “You have her phone number?”

  A cocky demeanor washes over his features. “Told her I might be interested in her taking shots of my ferret Charlie. We exchanged numbers.”

  This would be acceptable—if he had a pet ferret. Jack laughs and Milo says, “That’s mastermind, my friend.”

  We all know what Crockett means by “Charlie” and it’s not a ferret. “You piece of shit.” I grab his phone, but his cheerful expression towards the door stops me from making a scene. Taylor walks in arm in arm with Adrian. She looks different, no shit-kickers, and she has on a dress with long sleeves. Her face is glasses-free and her lips are a darker shade of lipstick than she normally wears. Even though she doesn’t look herself, she’s still the brightest thing in this seedy bar.

  Crockett plucks the phone from my hand. “I was kidding.” He jumps from the platform and heads over to Taylor.

  Crockett laughs, which draws my attention. He somehow squeezed himself between Taylor and Adrian. Clueless Adrian laughs at whatever he says.

  Flashing a smile, I wave. When she smiles back, I’m reassured I didn’t fuck up our budding friendship. Adrian leaves them and heads to the bar. Crockett makes a vulgar movement with his tongue close to Taylor’s ear and watches me.

  I step forward, but someone grabs my shoulder. “He’s messing with you,” Jack says. Crockett grins when Taylor turns his way. I laugh and run a hand through my hair, knowing he’s right. This is all I need—another woman driving me fucking crazy. Maybe someone will give me an intervention.

  More people file into the door which is my cue.

  “You ready?” I need Crockett to do something other than irritate me.

  Putting the guitar strap on, I check the frets one by one and adjust the tuner for the third string while hitting the G note until it sounds right. I straighten the mic. “Evening ladies.” I put on my best sultry voice, and it doesn’t disappoint. Shouts commence with female screeches. “And gentlemen.” I wait for them to calm. “I wrote a song yesterday.”

  “Yeah, Eli!” Someone shouts among the cacophony of cheers.

  “He was fucking wasted,” Crockett says into my mic as he passes by and grabs his bass. The crowd laughs with whistles and applauds.

  Taylor’s down in front, catching it all on camera. I send her a smile, just for her, with my mouth against the microphone. “Everyone, don’t mind this lovely lady in the front. Her name is Taylor, and she’s taking our pictures because we’re ready to… Bring. It. All. Back.” An eruption of yells, banging, and beer bottle clanking vibrates the bar with heavy anticipation. “We finally have a new name.”

  I smile at the band as patrons and loyal fans bellow, “What is it?”

  Taylor sends a sly smile with a barely perceptible shake of her head. The tease. I love it. “You’ll find out next Saturday,” I announce.

  Jack takes off on an opening chord and using his whammy, and Crockett hip bumps me from my mic, “A big coming out shindig!”

  More laughs, but Taylor’s is like ear candy. It’s more prominent and contagious to me. Her teeth flash from the bottom of her camera. Shaking my head, I laugh, too and join Jack in a duo of electric and acoustic sound. We’ve played together for about fifteen years. We’re like a well-oiled machine—so in tune with each other and our different styles.

  Our performance is the most fun we’ve had on stage in a year. We play new songs, old songs, take a few cover song
requests, and jam. This is what it’s all about. I’m surprised when our set is over because I want to keep on playing.

  Later, we’re sitting at a table in the mostly empty bar. Monica gives us time to drink the beer that inevitably comes with doing a great show. Taylor studies images on her camera, smoking a cigarette. I’ve decided I don’t like her look tonight. Caught off-guard by my thoughts, I realize that in the past few weeks her appearance no longer distracts me. I’ve never been attracted to such an offbeat style before. There’s more than just her blatant flaunting. Is that what she wants? For people to be distracted, so they don’t dig deeper? She doesn’t look herself in this conservative garb. And she hasn’t spoken two words directly to me.

  Adrian looks like he might pass out any minute when Crockett jumps to his feet. “Who’s up for a game of pool?”

  This perks Adrian up. “I’m in,” he slurs. Taylor sighs and glances at him with scorn.

  Milo and Jack stand. “Teams, but I get Cockett,” Jack informs everyone. This earns him a sardonic grin from Crockett. Milo groans and eyes Adrian warily.

  When they leave, I lean over. “You get anything good?”

  She smiles still flipping through the camera. She holds it for me to see. “They’re all amazing.”

  I look, seeing myself at the microphone… sweating like a pig. “Right.”

  She must hear the doubt in my voice because she laughs. Her eyes flash with an emotion that has me in a trance. “You have this charisma, and the band has an energy. You guys can go far, Eli.”

  We stare at each other, but she breaks the moment by looking to the camera and clearing her throat.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  She shakes her head. “Just dreading a two-hour drive when we leave here. Adrian isn’t in the shape to be driving, so it looks as though it will be me.”

  I cringe. “Yeah, don’t let him behind the wheel. Precious cargo and all.”