The shrill sound of my phone going off cut sharply through the silence of the empty alley. Oh God, my car was here and had been waiting in front of the bar for almost five minutes. I was flustered and almost dropped my phone as I smoothed my skirt down and checked to see that the rest of my clothing wasn’t in disarray. Beck stepped back, saying nothing. He seemed to know that I needed the space. I had never had an encounter quite like this. I wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was for such a thing, so I simply smiled and blew him a kiss as I left him standing in the shadows of the alley, still holding the ruins of my undergarments in his hand.
The driver was nice enough, a middle-aged woman who asked no questions about what I was doing coming out from around the side of a dark building at almost three thirty in the morning. She simply made small talk from the front seat as she drove me home, while I ignored the fact that I was wearing the shortest skirt imaginable, sans underpants, in the back seat of a stranger’s car. I didn’t look back as we drove away, but I knew he was there. A beast in the shadows, watching as the car disappeared out of sight. I didn’t wonder if he would make it home okay. Beck had made it clear that he was a man in charge. He would be absolutely fine.
I had just had the experience of a lifetime, and even though I didn’t get to do nearly as much as I wanted with Beck, I would certainly think about him for a long, long while. He was fantasy fuel. Dangerous fantasy fuel. I wondered how I could go back to my plain vanilla existence after this.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Regina, you got a sec?” I didn’t really, I had a ton of callbacks to make, orders to enter, and several shipping fires to put out. But when the big boss was in town, and he asked for your undivided attention, you gave it whether you wanted to or not.
Two weeks had passed since that night at the bar with Beck, and even though I knew I would never see him again, something inside me had changed. I was lighter, more buoyant, even. I felt as if the weight of all my worries had been lifted from my shoulders. I had a renewed vigor at work, and even TJ seemed to have stepped up to the plate. We had become a power team over the last couple of weeks; the orders were rolling in, the time was flying by, and money was being made. Even Jeremiah had calmed down, but to be honest, I really didn’t care what he was up to as long as he stayed the hell out of my office.
Everything had been going great until I heard that Jack Fox was going to be coming back into town. As a human, he was insufferable, as a boss and the owner of Slow Grind Inc., I put up with him because he was rarely around. He was more of an activator, at least that’s what he liked to call himself when explaining why he really didn’t have much to do with his business at all. While the home office and main warehouse operated out of Toledo Ohio, he checked in every couple of weeks from his quote “satellite office” in California. A greasier slime ball I had never met off the pages of a comic book, but as long as I made the company money, he stayed out of my business, and I could handle him as long as he stayed away.
Unfortunately, the man in question was currently leaning against my open office door with a look on his face that meant we needed to have a talk. I had a sinking feeling I knew what he wanted to talk about, and I had my argument prepared.
“I got an email from Cindy Cain, she seems to be questioning the level of service she’s receiving here at The Grind.”
I hated it when he called it the grind, like it was some separate country and he was the king. “Cindy Cain can eat my ass.” I knew I was pushing my boundaries talking to Jack that way, but he needed to know right out of the gate that I was not going to bend on this particular issue. “And I didn’t give her poor service, I actually gave up that account. If she has concerns, you might want to bring them up to her new sales rep, Jeremiah. And I know she can’t have a problem with him, he was her sales rep before I was.”
I knew what Cindy’s problem was. She wanted the level of service that I had been giving her, but she wasn’t going to get that from Jeremiah. He didn’t have a boyfriend for her to steal. I went above and beyond for my clients because I was a God damn good salesperson, and I did extra shit for her because she was my friend. She screwed that up for herself though. She may have been a good commission account, but I didn’t need her money to stay number one in sales. Keeping her as a client was almost like having her pay me to sleep with my boyfriend.
Conflict of interest.
Also, fuck Cindy Cain.
“You need to keep your personal shit out of the office. Cindy Cain is one of the top adult retailers in Ohio. She has three stores in this area alone. I’m not having customers bounced around between sales reps because you’re off crying in a corner. Your boyfriend dumped you, get over it.” I was furious. Jack was crossing a serious line here, and I had to tread carefully or it would end badly for me. I’ve seen guys hauled out of the office and tossed in the parking lot by the collar of their shirt just for saying the wrong thing when Jack was in a mood. I had two choices. I could either stand my ground and get fired, or suck it up and say, “yes sir” until he went back to California, and then go back to doing whatever the hell I wanted to do. I’m the type of person that doesn’t do anything without a plan. I would have loved nothing more than to wipe that greasy smile off his face by giving him the finger and walking out the door, but that went against everything I stood for as an adult. I’m a two-week notice kinda girl. I could never quit a job without having another one lined up. I’m way too rigid for that. Sometimes I wish I could be more of a fly by the seat of my pants kind of person, and maybe that’s part of my problem, maybe I’m too rigid, but that’s just who I am. And that part of me that isn’t able to make that kind of a decision on the fly, is the same girl that swallowed the bile in her throat, looked Jack Fox directly in his eyes and said, “Whatever you say, Jack.”
And just like a switch had been flipped in his brain, the storm clouds flew out of Jack’s eyes and he was happy again. He was so predictable. When he was upset he threw a fit, made sure that everybody bowed down in obedience, and when he assured himself of his authority over everyone in the vicinity, then he could go back to being happy.
I had thought that if I gave him the answer he wanted, he would leave my office and leave me alone for the rest of the time he was in town. He was normally only ever in town for about four days at a time anyway. I could handle four days, especially if he stayed out of my office for all four of them. There was usually one employee that he picked on when he was in town, almost as if he needed a whipping boy to keep him entertained until he went back home. If I thought that I was going to be so lucky that he would walk out of my office and I would not see him again for the next few days, I was sadly in the wrong. It looked like my time to take my place at the whipping station had come.
“I’m glad that’s settled, Regina. I do have something else I want to talk to you about.” He left his lounging position in the doorway and came even closer into my office. I didn’t want him in my office, in fact, Jack Fox standing anywhere within a three foot radius of me just creeped me out. He was misogynistic, chauvinistic, and had a tendency to make every conversation have an undercurrent of sexual harassment. He never turned it directly on me, after all, I was the token female sales representative that just happened to bring in more business than anybody else in the company. My mousy brown hair pulled back in the low ponytails and my grandma sweaters did not make me a target for his advances. He kept me around because I made money, which was the end of our relationship. That’s why I was really surprised at the next words out of his mouth.
“I’m going to need you to do Vegas this year.”
I had been with the company for five years, and never once had he asked me to do the Vegas show. The biggest trade show of the year for the adult and party industry was held in Las Vegas every fall. The same guys went every year, it was definitely a boy’s trip. It had been made clear to me when I first started working at Slow Grind that my place was in the office while the boys were gone, or doing little in state shows that p
opped up. And that suited me just fine. I had no desire to go work the booth at the big trade show. I was only at this job to make money. None of that other shit sounded like a good time to me at all.
“For some reason, there’s a lot more chicks that are business owners in the industry now. All of a sudden there’s an uproar about booth babes, and even though I think the whole argument is stupid, I’ll get the bitches what they want just so they shut up. New rule this year—no more booth babes. Everyone in the booth has to be a company employee.” His thick nose wrinkled in disgust, and I could tell he really meant every word he’d just said. I have no idea how the guy was so popular in the industry, he had the crassest and rudest way of talking. Just the sound of his voice grated on my nerves, and I wondered how many customers we would lose if any of “those bitches” ever heard the way he talked about them.
“I’m going to need you to dress up a bit so you don’t embarrass us. Customers have been asking to meet you, but I’ll be damned if you’ll be working the Grind booth looking like a retired librarian. Try to remember the industry you represent and dress appropriately. TJ can handle the accounts while you’re gone. Get your shit together.”
CHAPTER SIX
I paced outside the building, trying to muster up the courage to walk in the front door. Gallery B, funny name for a tattoo shop. I thought it was curious the first time I went to Affini’s and saw it out the window years earlier. I’d never really thought more about it since, until I made the decision to finally get some ink for myself. I always wanted a tattoo, but they are so permanent. How would I know if something I picked now would be something I’d want to see on my skin in fifteen or twenty years from now? There was no way to know, and I could never make up my mind, so I never went through with it until today. I even knew what I wanted to get. And once I had that figured out, I knew exactly where I had to go.
Gallery B.
The tattoo shop directly next door to the bar where I had met Beck. The place where I’d had that wild encounter, the place where I had done something dangerous and brave and realized a deeper part of myself. The place where new Regina was born. It was exciting, running my hands down the rough bricks I had been pressed against not more than a few weeks before. Now if I could just make myself go inside the building.
Five more minutes of walking back and forth under the low hanging awning in front of the shop and I had almost convinced myself to open the door. The decision was taken out of my hands, however, when the glass door slowly swung open, and a shaggy-haired young man peeked his head out and said quietly, “Are you coming in? I can see you walking back and forth in front of the door and it’s making me dizzy. Come in and sit down before I throw up.”
The jig was up, I couldn’t turn back now. The young man with crazy hair and kind eyes simply stood there with the door held open, waiting for me to come in, so I did.
“Thank you,” I said to the young man. “I probably would’ve been outside for another fifteen or twenty minutes before I made the decision to either come in or bail.” I wasn’t kidding either, I probably could’ve paced until I talked myself right out of that tattoo, even though I wanted one more than anything.
“I’m Cody,” he said with a smile, holding out his hand in greeting. He was a little taller than I was, with a septum piercing and plugs that stretched his earlobes out. It wasn’t a fashion statement that I wanted to make, but to each his own, and he was really quite polite.
“I’m Regina,” I said nervously. And before I could change my mind I finished my sentence in a rush. “I’m nervous if you can’t tell, I came in for a tattoo but I’ve never had one before and I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”
Cody smiled again and gestured for me to take a seat on a comfortable looking couch in the corner of the small waiting area. There were two brown leather couches situated in an L shape, while a large low coffee table sat in front. There were tattoo coffee table books, as well as art books, and even a sketch pad and pencils on its surface. Cody saw where I was looking, closed the sketchbook and placed it on the counter behind him.
“I’m a doodler,” he said with a sheepish grin, making him look even younger than I had first thought. Twenty-two, maybe? Twenty-five, tops? He ran his hands through his mop of brown hair, and by the way the top stuck straight up off the top of his head I could tell there had probably been product put into it at some point. I bet he left the house with his hair styled in the morning and then messed it up repeatedly throughout the day by running his hands through it. It was a nervous gesture, and since I was queen of being nervous at the moment, I felt endeared to him, this nice young man with the piercings in the tattoo shop.
“That’s okay, everyone is nervous their first time. I remember my first tattoo. I went on a dare and was so scared of the needles I almost passed out.” Cody laughed at the memory. Clearly he had gotten over his fear considering the amount of work he had done. “Tattoos are intensely personal, so if it’s something you put a lot of thought into, then it will be all the more special to you. They are, after all, permanent.”
Such a wise statement from such a young man, and yes, I had put a lot of thought into getting a tattoo. An agonizing amount of thought actually, and if I wouldn’t have had the experience with Beck, then I might still be pondering. But no, I was new Regina now, and new Regina didn’t spend too much time overthinking things. This new Regina went out and lived.
“I’m practicing to apprentice someday.” Cody nodded to the sketchbook he had removed from the table earlier. “Unfortunately, I’m a ways off from being able to tattoo at the moment. Now if you had come in for a piercing I could have taken you right back. I’m a licensed piercer here at Gallery B. Not the only one on staff, but certainly the most handsome, and the one with the most charisma.” His wink at the end had me laughing off the last of my nervousness.
“Now, tattoos are all done by B, and by appointment only, unfortunately, but if you give me an idea of what you’re looking for, and fill out some contact forms, then we can get you scheduled for your tattoo.”
Swallowing my disappointment, I took the tablet with the electronic forms and proceeded to fill out my personal information, as well as answered questions about possible medical issues. It was quite thorough, and I felt like any company that took the time to request this much information from their clients must be pretty serious about what they were doing.
Finished, I handed the tablet back to Cody so we could talk about my appointment when I got my first actual look at the inside of the shop. The walls were covered in paintings, all different kinds. Somewhat large mural-size paintings, probably four and five feet across, but others were small, no bigger than a five by seven photograph. The walls were painted a deep rust, and the color on the multitudes of canvases popped like a deconstructed rainbow all around the room. It was breathtaking, and I had to ask, “Cody, who painted all of these?”
I was breathless with excitement, what a hidden gem here in the city that I never even knew about. I was already running up to one of the walls to get a closer look at some of the paintings when Cody said, “All kinds of people painted those. This is a tattoo shop but it’s also an art gallery, these are all local artists. As long as there is space on the wall, and it’s not offensive, anyone can hang their art here. Do you like it?”
“Oh, I love it, are these all for sale?” A flash of color caught my eye and I snapped to attention in front of a three foot canvas in the center of the wall. I recognize that style of painting, the swirls of color, the dark overtones like a black lace overlay across the entire painting; as if you are looking through a mesh screen. I knew this artist. It was the same artist that had painted my Beauty Sleeping.
I reached my hand up to lightly caress the air in front of the canvas. I knew better than to touch the painting hanging on the wall. “Who painted this?” I whispered to myself as my eyes drifted toward the small letters in the right-hand corner of the painting spelling out, B. Gallagher.
”
I did.” The voice that replied was not Cody. I recognized it anyway, the deep timbre rolling through the air like a drum beat. The voice that I had not thought I would ever hear again. Beck.
My mind struggled to keep up with all of the thoughts whirling inside of my head. The tattoo shop was also an art gallery. Gallery B. The art hanging on the wall—the painting done by B. Gallagher. Beck was here. I hadn’t turned around to match the face to the voice, but I knew. I knew it was him just the same as I knew the person that painted the artwork on the wall in front of me was the same artist who painted Beauty Sleeping. I turned around to see him standing there in front of the curtain that separated the front of the shop from the rooms in the back. Fuck me, he looked edible standing there with his arms folded across his chest. Another black t-shirt straining against the muscles in his arms, and his jeans hanging over the top of his scuffed, heavy-soled boots. I let my gaze travel up from the floor, skimming past his jeans. I couldn’t focus there because my mind would flip out remembering just how close I was to getting at what was inside. His hair was a little longer, a little messier than I remembered it, the dark mass tumbling over his ears and curling a bit. The perfect length to run my hands through. His slight smirk let me know that he knew what I was thinking.
“You’re Beck Gallagher.” It sounded like an accusation but I didn’t take it back. I had been searching for him as the artist of my painting for so long, and somehow, thanks to six degrees of serendipity, here he was. How could it have been so easy, when it had been so damn hard? And, oh my God, I had damn near begged him to have sex with me up against a wall in an alley.
“Hello, Cinderella. I thought I would have to go searching for you, but here you are, coming to me in what looks like a very happy accident.”
I was no princess, but I had run off when my coach came in the night, leaving him standing there holding my panties in his hand instead of a glass slipper. An embarrassing, if not accurate, comparison.
The Permanence of Pain Page 4
