Stories Beneath Our Skin

by Veronica Sloane

  "Yeah, guess you'll have to. Damn." Ace shook his head. "I had Alex coming back in for that last session on his back too."

  "I've got back-to-back piercings after eight." Deb frowned. "Maybe I could move 'em around?"

  "Do you just need someone to watch him for a few hours?" Liam pulled out the much-abused black marker and started shading in a wall. "I don't have anything scheduled, and we're doing okay here. If we get walk-ins, I can do the sketches tonight and book them for tomorrow."

  "Are you sure?" Ace rubbed a smudge of marker off Cole's cheek with a spit-dampened thumb. "I mean, he's not really any trouble and he's already had dinner."

  "It's fine." Liam shrugged.

  "Can I have the blue?" Cole held out his hand, and Liam plopped the marker into it.

  "You know I'm right down the hall if you need me, right?" Ace said to Cole.

  "Uh-huh." The boy didn't even look up from the drawing, and Ace snorted.

  "Guess I know where I stand." One hand braced on the couch, Ace levered himself up. "Thanks, Professor."

  Coloring occupied Cole for a surprisingly long time. He was an intense kid, and the longer Liam sat with him, the more he saw Ace in his features. Their noses had the same strong jut, and their eyes were a matched set down to the slight droop of the lids. Liam would bet that when Ace didn't have dreadlocks, his hair would fall in a thick sweep over his forehead just like Cole's.

  "I've got juice boxes for the kids." Deb announced and plonked down one in front of both of them.

  "I can't get a glass?" Liam asked as he peeled the straw off Cole's box and pierced the thin aluminum for him.

  "It'd be so much less entertaining." She tapped Cole's drawing. "What happened to the spaceship?"

  "We landed, and it exploded. Now we have to meet the aliens," Cole explained. The aliens were questionable purple and green blobs with zigzag antennas. "They're nice."

  "I always thought aliens might be." Deb glanced at Liam. "He's Ace's nephew, by the way."

  "Oh." Liam concentrated on his own juice box, neatly sinking the straw inside. He didn't want to analyze the relief that had flooded through him. "So the woman outside?"

  "Ace's sister. Named Joy. How's that for irony?" A customer came in, the electric chime summoning Deb back to her desk. "Let me know when he gets tired. We've got a few blankets stashed in the back. The tables make pretty good beds in a pinch."

  Pressed into service not an hour later, the blankets proved to have a faded Smurf pattern on them. When Goose sauntered in at nine, he ducked his head into Liam's room and grinned when he spotted Cole's hair sticking out of the top of white and blue fleece.

  "Hey there, little dude." He murmured, coming in to tuck the blanket a little closer. "Didn't know he was gonna be here tonight."

  "Wasn't suppose to be, I don't think." Liam shrugged. "His mom had an interview."

  "Yeah, right." Goose pulled a face. "She's always looking for a reason to drop him here, and Ace loves the kid too much to say no. Joy had him when she was like eighteen, and I don't think she ever grew up much past that. Never has any money 'cause it goes up her nose. Don't tell him I said that. Probably kill me for talking shit about her. She loves Cole, though. Tries her best when she remembers. Her best just sort of... sucks."

  "Good thing he has Ace then."

  "You got no idea."

  "No. I guess I don't," Liam lied.

  Liam passed the time drawing a spaceship. He made it fat and thick, like a Looney Toons rocket, and added some bulbous stars with a winking moon in the background. He'd never really gone through a space phase as a kid, but he'd always liked Marvin the Martian's overwrought plans and centurion helmet.

  "He do okay?" Ace strode in around midnight, a small Spiderman backpack thrown over one shoulder. "Didn't get upset or anything?"

  "He was fine. We drew a little, talked about literature, and drank the fruit of the vine." Liam smiled. "Most cultured and mature night I've had since I started working here."

  "Hilarious." Ace didn't rise to the banter. "Thanks. For looking after him."

  "It's cool. He's a good kid."

  "Yeah." Ace slid his hands under Cole and picked him up.

  "M'tired." Waking a little, Cole rubbed his face over Ace's t-shirt.

  "Yeah, I know buddy. We're going home now." In a practiced move, Ace had blanket, backpack, and kid well in hand.

  Something about the way Ace ran a soothing hand over Cole's back pulled at Liam and left him aching. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere else but in the little shop with its paper-thin walls. He said a hurried goodnight to Deb and walked out into the steaming night air. Without much choice of destination, he wound up back at the house, pacing the floorboards until he was tired enough to pass out on the couch.

  ***

  "I guess it just struck a chord with me," he confessed to Gene the next morning over oatmeal. "Remember when you'd pick me up on those weird late nights? I'd stand on the sidewalk with my blanket."

  "And your stuffed moose. You'd never let me carry you though, even when you were asleep on your feet. Always too independent for your own good." Gene thumped Liam's knuckles with a spoon. "You know, I'm beginning to like the sound of this boss of yours."

  "Yeah, he's a decent guy."

  "How decent?" Two salt and pepper eyebrows waggled at Liam.

  "What?" The penny dropped. "Gene!"

  "I'm not allowed to ask?"

  "No! No, you can't just..." Liam buried his face in his hands. "It's weird!"

  "Why? If you were interested in a woman, I'd be allowed to ask."

  "No. No, you wouldn't. And I'm not interested."

  "Could've fooled me." Gene dipped his spoon into the oatmeal. "Sounds like your type."

  "I don't have at type, and if I did--"

  "I did see that one boy, I remember." The oatmeal was unsweetened, judging by the wrinkle in Gene's nose. "What was his name? Benny?"

  "Ace isn't anything like him," Liam said fiercely. "Nothing."

  "Okay, okay." Gene laughed. "Ease up. Sorry I said anything."

  Liam pressed his hand to his stomach and changed the subject. It was a good day. Gene was awake for most of it and happy to watch the episodes of Jeopardy Liam had been carefully hoarding. They kept score, Gene beating Liam roundly at nearly every turn. By four though, it was clear he was wiped and accepted Liam's goodnight without the slightest sign of regret.

  For the first time, when Liam got to the shop, Deb wasn't already at her desk. Someone had been in, leaving the front door unlocked, but there wasn't any sign of them. On impulse, Liam went into the only door in the hallway that didn't lead to an artist's room. Deb had pointed him down here for the bathroom once when she realized Goose had indeed left it off the tour. The bathroom only took up one corner of the storage space that ran across the entire back of the building. There wasn't anyone among the boxes and file cabinets, but there was a ladder. It led up to the roof, the hole normally covered by a heavy steel plate. Today, sunshine streamed down.

  Liam turned his face up to the light. He should probably leave whoever it was alone and go back to his workspace. There were things he should be doing. Sweeping maybe or taking out the garbage. Chores seemed to get done by whoever had the time, usually Deb, though she frequently complained through it. She'd appreciate someone else taking a turn. Liam rested his hands on the bottom rung of the ladder. The broom sat in the corner only a foot away from him, in easy reach. The metal was warm under his hands, and, faintly, he felt the first hint of a breeze.

  He climbed upward. A gritty sand greeted his hands as he hauled himself through the hole.

  The roof was flat, gated in by four feet of cement on all sides. A few sad potted plants huddled together on one side, and a mismatched collection of folding chairs were gathered in a loose circle. Ace sprawled out on one, dark sunglasses over his eyes and a can of beer between his feet.

  "I thought we weren't supposed to drink in the shop." Liam edged in, grit crunching under his shoes.<
br />
  "In being the important word there. We are currently on the shop. Huge difference." The sunglasses slipped a little. "What are you doing here so early?"

  "Had the time, here I am." He chose one of the safer looking chairs and sank into it. "View from here is kind of nice."

  "It's awful." Reaching for his beer, Ace took a long drink then offered it to Liam. "Americana as far as the eye can see. Suburban wasteland."

  "Thanks." It was a weird gesture, but Liam couldn't see a way to refuse politely. He took a sip, rolling the wheat of it over his tongue then handed it back over. Beer had never been his favorite, and drinking it warm made it worse. "You're not from here, right?"

  "Depends what you mean by here. Mom's American. Dad's Welsh. Spent most of my childhood in Wales. When they got divorced, Mom took us back here. I've got dual citizenship."

  "I don't know anything about Wales." Something tugged at the edges of his memory. "Wait, wasn't Dylan Thomas Welsh?"

  "Yeah." Ace pushed his sunglasses back up his nose, kicking his feet up onto the ledge. "Rage rage against the dying of the light, blah blah blah."

  "Well sure, but also," Liam licked his lips, summoning the long ago memorized phrases, "Fear not the waking world, my mortal, fear not the flat, synthetic blood, nor the heart in the ribbing metal. Fear not the tread, the seeded milling, the trigger and scythe, the bridal blade, nor the flint in the lover's mauling."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "A lot of things if you read all the critiques, but I think it means you're not supposed to worry about earthly concerns or the pain that can be inflicted on flesh." He ran his nail over the arm of the chair. "I always liked it."

  "Guessing that's got something to do with that wicked thing on your chest?"

  "Yeah." Liam blinked in surprise. "Yeah, it does. The heart in ribbing metal. I mean, it's a little literal."

  "Literal seems to be your thing, Lamplighter." Unreadable behind the glasses, Ace didn't add inflection to his voice. Liam couldn't tell if it was an observation or a poke. "So to remember not to be worried about pain, you got a tattoo? Guess that makes sense."

  "It reminds me that what feels important is usually only something passing." A line of cars rambled by, the noise of their engines creasing the air. "Even when it feels like your heart might burst."

  "There's a story there."

  "Maybe." He leaned back, the chair creaking in protest.

  Ace smiled then, a slow lazy thing, and he stretched upwards, the hem of his t-shirt riding over a lightly furred belly. Liam looked away, then glanced back. The tip of a tattoo, a vicious slash of red and orange, appeared and then winked out again as Ace dropped his arms. Guilt and pleasure went to war under Liam's skin, raising up a flush that Ace could probably see through his sunglasses.

  "For someone who says so much," Ace said gently, "you don't really talk, do you?"

  "I say what needs saying."

  "And not one word more." Ace shrugged, holding the beer again. "I get it."

  The sun baked down, the can passing between them over and over until it was drained dry. Though they were quiet together, Liam didn't fear the intrusion of unwanted thoughts. Ace was too present even in his silence.

  Chapter Four

  "Where do you think you're going?" Deb stopped him at the door. In the month he'd been working at Great Sin, Liam thought he'd grasped the ebb and flow of the place. Come in early, chat with Deb, pray for customers, work, work, work, kill time drawing or listening to Goose's theories of everything or Ace's music, work, work, work, leave. Lather, rinse, repeat.

  Apparently not tonight though.

  "Uh, home?"

  "Uh, no," Deb mocked. "It's Goose's birthday. We're going out."

  "It's after midnight."

  "What the hell kind of college student are you? You're supposed to be all about wild parties and drinking until you pass out."

  "I think you've watched too many movies. And I don't exactly go to a party school." He shoved his hands into his pocket. "Where are we going?"

  "Where we always go. Frankie's." Satisfied that he wasn't running out the door, she stomped away calling for Ace to get his ass in gear.

  "I'm going to get fucked up," Goose informed everyone as he looked for his wallet in every corner of the shop. "Seriously. Gonna be hungover for days."

  "If you vomit on my boots again, you're buying my next pair." Ace found the wallet, once black leather and now mostly duct tape, between the couch cushions and handed it over. "Who's driving?"

  "Guess I can." Deb looked a little put out, giving Liam the side eye.

  "I don't mind being DD." He shrugged. "I've got places to be tomorrow, and I'd rather not have a hangover."

  "My man!" Goose clapped him hard on the back. "I will personally buy you as many lame-ass sodas as you want. You a ginger ale kind of fella?"

  Liam couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full car, certainly never in Gene's ancient Civic. It was a tight fit. Goose called shotgun, jamming himself in with his knees against the dash and Deb piling in the back to kick at his seat. Ace sat behind Liam and the entire ride, he swore he could feel eyes on the back of his neck. Every time he glanced up in the rearview mirror though, Ace was talking to Deb with unwavering attention. Liam was sixteen years old with a hapless crush all over again: imagining the things he wanted to see and mentally murdering the butterflies in his belly. Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, Liam gave himself a silent pep talk while Goose lazily reeled off directions beside him and turned the knob on the radio filling the car with muddy static.

  Frankie's turned out to be a bar with a white clapboard exterior and a smoke-laden interior. Liam remembered the place vaguely as a wide spot on the road when he was a kid. Had his parents stopped in here once with him when it had a different name? It was the kind of thing they would have done.

  No one inside the bar actually had a lit cigarette, but the place must've marinated in nicotine for countless decades before Johnny Law had intervened. There were booths along one side and a makeshift stage at the back where a second-rate band worked their way through a screechy cover of "Paint it Black". Goose led the way, charging toward the bar like a man on a mission. As soon as the bartender spotted their group, she broke out in a wide grin and waved them all over.

  "If it isn't my favorite boys and girl." She leaned over the bar, showing off some impressive cleavage. Her haircut and black retro dress were pure Betty Page. A devil winked on her right forearm. It looked like Goose's work, all bright colors and generous curves. "I thought you might be in tonight."

  "Hey, Frankie." Goose got right up in her personal space, practically touching noses. "It's my birthday."

  "Is it really?" Her smile flashed with a diamond stud in the dimple. "Guess I should make you something special then, huh?"

  "Something tall and red and hot." He waggled his eyebrows.

  "One Spicy Motherfucker coming up." She bussed him on the cheek, and Goose's grin got impossibly wider.

  "Are they?" Liam glanced at Deb.

  "Don't even ask." She slid in next to Goose. "His drink is on me Frankie, and can I have vodka tonic? Oh and you know, something bitter and dark for Aces."

  "Jack and Coke." Ace corrected. "Tall. Lots of ice."

  "It's real cute how you think I don't already know that. You are the most boring drinker alive." Frankie rolled her eyes. "What about your new friend?"

  "Professor, meet the most glorious giver of booze to ever grace a bar. Frankie meet our newest staff member, the Professor." Goose waved a hand between them. "He'll have a ginger ale, so the rest of us can get pickled."

  "Make that a Coke, please." Liam sat down next to Ace.

  "You got a real name?" She poured him his Coke first, settling it on a coaster.

  "Liam."

  "Nice." She added a cherry to the top of his glass. "You been hanging out with this motley crew for long?"

  "Just a month."

  "He's still got that new employee
smell." Goose set his elbows on the bar. "We haven't broken him in yet."

  "So I see." Frankie started pouring a truly daunting amount of booze into a shaker. "Maybe you should play nice with him, since he's willing to stay sober while you get soused."

  "Maybe." Goose fluttered his eyelashes. "I can be real nice."

  "If you watch real hard, you'll see him spread his mating plumage." Ace muttered, surprising a laugh out of Liam.

  "One Spicy Motherfucker." Frankie set a tall glass of threateningly red liquid in front of Goose, a stalk of celery tipping to the left.

  "Isn't that a Bloody Mary?" Liam asked.

  "Only if you like your Bloody Marys saturated with ghost chilies." Goose took a heavy sip, tears instantly jumping to his eyes. "Hot damn!"

  "They tell you why we call him Goose?" Frankie started pouring Ace's drink, the whiskey rising past the ice. The Coke barely had room at the top of the glass.

  "No."

  "Then you'll love this." She pulled out a pile of napkins and set them next to Goose. "Go ahead and blow, baby."

  "Showin' me off?" Picking up the top napkin, Goose brought it to his nose and blew so loudly that the band stopped playing for a second, trying to pinpoint the sound.

  "I know that duck call anywhere!" The lead singer called over the mic.

  "It's his birthday!" Frankie shouted back. "How about you play something that doesn't suck to celebrate?"

  "Aw, love you too, Francesca!" The singer twirled the mic. "How about it boys? Crank out a little birthday song for the Goose?"

  It was the first time Liam had heard a thrasher metal version of Happy Birthday. Goose seemed wildly pleased with it, taking to the small dance floor with his drink in hand and rocking his body towards anyone inclined to get close. A clutch of laughing girls swarmed around him, happy to be spun around for a few turns.

  Deb took a sip of her drink. "Better show him how it's done before he gets a big head about it." Then she slipped onto the dance floor, pulling Goose into a complicated looking tango. Goose flailed for a second before matching her step for step, still holding his drink.