Tattoos and Angels

by Casey McMillin

  "That's fine," I replied, trying to throw my voice in her general direction. "I'm just looking around."

  I knew what to expect because I'd seen pictures in the magazine article, but the sight of bolt after bolt of fabric organically and beautifully piled up on every surface still rendered speechless. The sight of the gorgeous, bold fabrics was the first thing that hit you when you entered, but there was definitely an overall warm, cozy feeling.

  "Okay, sweetie, take your time. I'll be up there in a few," she said. I thought I sensed a bit of strain in her voice, so I absentmindedly strolled in her direction just so I could peek in and make sure she was okay.

  I rounded the corner into the hallway. There were three other doors and a staircase, and fabric was everywhere. I'd seen a photograph of this hallway in the magazine, but it was even better in person. It was the most beautiful mess I'd ever seen.

  "It's not usually quite this bad," she said startling me. I'd been too preoccupied by the fabrics to even notice her there. She was about three-quarters of the way up the staircase, in what looked like an extremely awkward pose. "I'm sorry about the mess. I just got a shipment Friday."

  "I was just thinking about how amazing it was."

  "You're my kind of girl," she said. I could hear the smile in her voice, and it made me smile too. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of stuck up here for a few minutes. I'm working with fabric and glue, and I'm not sure the two were ever meant to be friends. Once I get a section looking like I want, I have to sit here and supervise until the glue dries, otherwise things will shift and I'll be really ticked at myself. I learned that lesson on the first stair."

  From my vantage point I couldn't see what she was working on or even what she looked like. I could only see the side of the staircase and part of her legs.

  "Do you mind if I take a peek?" I asked.

  "Not at all. I'm stuck holding this for a second." As soon as she finished her statement, I could hear her blow on the glue, trying to make it dry faster. I walked around to the bottom of the stairs, and couldn't believe what I saw. The vertical surfaces of the stairs, which were called risers, were covered in intricate patterns that resembled Spanish tile. Each one was different and unique, and the staircase as a whole was breathtaking. She was working on the stair that was third from the top, and she glanced down from under her arm with a regretful expression.

  "Welcome to Magpie," she said, giggling.

  "Is this fabric?" I asked, in total disbelief. I stared in wonder at the bold and beautiful artwork.

  "Yes it is," she said. "I'm not sure that I'd recommend the process or would ever do it again, but I'm happy with the results."

  "Can I touch it?" I asked.

  "Oh, sure," she said. "This is the only one that's wet. Once I'm done with the whole thing, I'm gonna put a thicker coat of varnish over all of them, but it's fine to touch now. It's sealed even though it's got a texture to it."

  I stooped down to a particularly stunning one with patterns of red, teal, yellow, and white and ran my fingertips over the design. I could feel and see that it was fabric now that I was close, and I was awed by it.

  "You should get a blow dryer up here," I said, absentmindedly as I continued to gawk.

  She let out a whimper and then a sigh-like sound that turned into a giggle. "I seriously can't believe I haven't thought about that. I'm ashamed of myself."

  "Well, it's not really the type of thing you keep lying around in a fabric store."

  "Yeah, but I live upstairs. There's a blow dryer about ten feet away in my bathroom." She glanced under her arm again. "Would you be a doll and grab it and plug it in for me?"

  "Sure," I said. "Just tell me where to go." I took my shoes off so I wouldn't accidently get dirt in her wet glue, and carefully tiptoed up the stairs.

  The cord from her blow dryer wouldn't reach from the nearest outlet so she instructed me on where to find an extension cord in a cabinet in the kitchen. I plugged it in, and she held the dryer on the fabric for all of three minutes before it was dry enough to leave alone.

  "I just want to make a disclaimer that I generally have common sense," she said, rapping up the cord and setting the dryer on a nearby table. "I have no idea why I didn't think of that." She stared at me for a second before taking my head in her hands and placing a loud smooch on my forehead. "You're like an angel from heaven."

  "Your store is like an angel from heaven," I said.

  She smiled. "I'm glad you like it. You should pick a yard of whatever you like for helping me."

  "Really?"

  "Anything you like," she said.

  "You're house is really cute," I said. "Not just the store, but the part that you live in up there is nice too."

  "Thank you. I've been here thirty years," she said.

  "My late husband's parents were rich and they bought it for us as a wedding present. Anyway, he died five years into our marriage and I lived here by myself until they rezoned the street for businesses ten years ago, and I opened the shop."

  "Why'd you call it Magpie?" I asked. "It's a bird, right?"

  "Yeah, it's a bird, but it's also a term for someone who chatters or someone who collects things, almost compulsively—and I do both of those."

  "I like it," I said.

  "I'm Blake," she said.

  "Blake?" I asked, not sure if I heard her right.

  "Yeah, Blake, like the boy's name."

  "I think I remember that from the article," I said, vaguely remembering that I'd taken note of the owner having an interesting name.

  "Oh, did you read about us? Was it in the travel magazine."

  "No, it was an art magazine, actually."

  "Oh, that one. That was a couple years ago."

  "I know. I'm from Ohio, and I usually just come to Miami between Christmas and New Years. I've wanted to come by, but—"

  "I'm closed that week," she said before I could get it out.

  "Exactly."

  "So what brings you to Miami in May?"

  "I just moved here."

  She smiled broadly at me. "Ahh, welcome!" she said. She had shoulder length, wavy hair that was a mix of blonde and grey. Her face seemed really young to have so much grey hair but it made her look sophisticated, and I stared at her wondering how old she must be. She said she'd lived here for thirty years and it was a wedding present. "How old were you when you got married?" I asked.

  "Eighteen. Why?"

  I smiled. "Because you don't look like you're old enough to have gotten married thirty years ago."

  She grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a squeeze. "I'm forty-eight, you precious little angel baby! I just love you."

  "I'll be twenty-two next week."

  "Well, happy early birthday… what's you're name?"

  "Charlotte. Charlotte Taylor."

  "Do you have a job, Charlotte Taylor?"

  "No ma'am."

  "Would you want to work here? I have two other girls, but I can put you on part time if you're interested."

  I couldn't contain my smile. "I'm so totally interested."

  "I should've asked you this already, but were you looking for something particular when you came in?"

  "I pretty much only know how to make a bag and a skirt, so I was just looking for something I could make one of those two things with."

  "Why do you only know how to make a bag and a skirt?"

  "Because I've never taken a lesson or a class or anything. I just sort of rely on things I make up in my head. I don't sew all the time. It's just something I do every once in a while for fun."

  "You'd make more time for it if you knew more about it."

  "I guess you're right, but it's not really my mom's thing, so I didn't have much exposure to it."

  "Well, I'll teach you anything you want to learn, but in the meantime there's a new website out where you can learn lots of cool things by watching videos people post." She looked at me with a completely serious expression. "It's called YouTube, I think."

  I narrowe
d my eyes at her slightly, and she smiled mischievously.

  "I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist. I never want to hear anybody make an excuse for not knowing how to do something when YouTube exists. There's an expert right at your fingertips. You can find step-by-step instructions to literally anything you type into the search bar."

  "You're right, I know. I've been really slacking with being creative lately. I was trying to finish up my degree."

  "What'd you study?"

  "History."

  "History's fun."

  "It is, but I'm not sure it's my passion. I just did it because it was easy. My parents are both history teachers so I heard stories the whole time I was a kid. I breezed through all my classes. My younger brother Thomas has plans to study history too. I have a twin named Sam who stepped out on a limb and went to school for engineering. He's the math type."

  "You're a twin?" she asked. "That's interesting."

  "Yeah, I'm gonna miss my brothers."

  "What brought you to Miami?"

  "My aunt and uncle live here. I'll be staying with them for a while. I have a cousin named Megan who is my age and we're sharing her parents' guesthouse. It's right on the ocean." I shrugged. "It's a hard life, I know."

  She laughed. "Hey, I have no complaints either. My late husband left me some money. I've never wanted for anything. The store's just something I do for fun."

  "Well, I definitely need this job. My parents are both teachers. They'll send me a little help every now and then and they pay for my phone and car insurance, but otherwise I'm on my own."

  "That's gonna be a piece of cake," she said. "Are your aunt and uncle charging you rent?"

  "No."

  "Oh, you'll be fine!"

  I smiled. "I'm not worried about having the things I need, but there's one small problem."

  "What?"

  "I have an expensive tattoo addiction."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Is that gonna be a problem with me working here?"

  She looked me over, searching every inch of my exposed skin. "I don't even see any tattoos."

  "Yeah but they're coming. I don't know how quickly I'll be able to get them, but you should know that there will definitely be visible ones soon."

  "I'd have one myself if it were up to me."

  "Why isn't it up to you?"

  She thought about that. "Well I guess it is now. My late husband would have been mortified if he heard me say that. He was strictly against them."

  "Didn't you say he's been dead for twenty-five years?"

  She giggled. "Yeah. I guess it just never crossed my mind once I got older."

  "You know you're not too old to get a tattoo, right?" I asked.

  She laughed again. "I just never thought about it."

  "You don't have to pay me for that one," I said making a joke. I raised my hands innocently. "Just don't get mad at me once you get addicted."

  "I'll have to take your word for it," she said, "but I'll enjoy watching your progress."

  "I'll enjoy that too," I said. "I think I found a pretty good artist here too. He's someone my boyfriend knew about."

  "I almost asked if there was a boy in the picture."

  I hate to admit this, but when she said that, Angel crossed my mind.

  "Connor," I said. "His name's Connor."

  "He's one of the reasons I moved here."

  "Is he handsome?"

  Again, I pictured Angel. The mental image made me blink and give my head a little shake, hoping to get him out of my brain.

  "Are you okay?" she asked, looking at me with a concerned expression.

  "Yes," I said. And in a moment of feeling super honest, (and because I felt oddly comfortable with her) I said, "I moved here for this really great guy named Connor Newman, but this other guy named Angel, who's dark and mysterious with an accent, kissed me the other night, and he's the one I thought of just now when you asked me if someone was in the picture."

  She stared at me for a few seconds, and I had no idea what she was going to say. "Young love and all the wonderful heartache and drama that goes with it," she said longingly. "You want me to make a pot of coffee?"

  "I'd love some."

  Chapter 6

  I had a cup of coffee with the coolest lady I'd ever met. She was artsy and down to earth at the same time, which I wasn't sure truly existed. I actually doubted my own artsiness at times since I was certain the two couldn't coexist, and if I had to choose, I'd rather consider myself down to earth.

  Anyway, I loved her already and was so glad I'd gone in there. Who would have thought my first friend would be my Mom's age? Maybe that was just proof of how much I'd miss her. I called her as I walked to my car. "I'm sorry I'm a few minutes late. You're never gonna believe what happened," I said when she picked up the phone.

  "What happened? Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah, oh yeah¸ it's good. I'm good. I'm just leaving that fabric store and the lady who owns it totally just offered me a job."

  "Awww, I'm so glad to hear that sweetheart. See, I told you everything would fall into place."

  "It's just part-time, but I'm really excited about it. I think I can learn a lot from her. You know—about sewing."

  "I think that's great, Char. I'm proud of you. You'll have to tell me all about it when you get here. Are you on your way?"

  "I'll be there in ten minutes."

  "I'm in the Macy's wing. I did see something I'd like you to try on in Nordstrom, though. Do you want to just meet me over there?"

  I sighed. "You know how much I hate to try stuff on, Mom. I'm good on clothes, anyway. I'll just pick you up at Macy's."

  Truth was, I was terrified of my mom watching me change. I'd collected several palm-sized tattoos on my ribs, back and upper thighs. (Okay, so a few of them might have been whole-hand-sized.) I loved them and thought they were beautiful, but my parents didn't feel the same way. They weren't against them, and they didn't have problems with people who had them, but they each mentioned several times over the years that their personal opinion was that they looked "dirty". I wasn't really fond of disappointing my parents, but my love for tattoos was greater than my concern for their opinion.

  I wanted to be one of those girls with a whole butt-load of work. That was just my taste. It's who I was. I knew my parents would find out one day since it's not the type of thing you can hide very long, but I never felt like telling them, and I had no intentions of starting today. If I could avoid changing in front of my mother, I'd most certainly do it.

  "I don't know very many girls who would turn down shopping."

  "I'm sorry. I'm just not a good clothes shopper. I'd rather shop at a thrift store."

  "And take the clothes apart and put them back together, right?"

  I laughed. "Sorry you got stuck with a weird-o for a daughter."

  "Heyyyy," she said, offended. "I raised you to be a weird-o."

  "Oh yeah, what am I saying?"

  "That you'll meet me at Macy's in ten minutes."

  "Can I just pick you up at the door?"

  She laughed. "I guess so—if you're sure you don't want to do any shopping."

  "I'm sure," I said. "I got some new fabric."

  "What are you gonna do with it?" I started my car, and my mom heard it with her super-sensitive, mom-strength x-ray ears.

  "Okay, put your phone in your purse when you're driving."

  "Okay."

  "Seriously, put it in there. I'll see you in a few."

  My mom was waiting outside Macy's when I picked her up. She was holding two bags in one hand and was squinting into the sun as she waved at me with the other.

  It took us the better part of an hour to make it back to uncle Alan's. We drove through Starbucks to get my mom a cup of coffee on the way. I passed on it since I'd just had a cup with Blake. Mom had a hard time believing that meeting someone as good as Blake was possible. She made a point of telling me that she didn't mean to be skeptical or negative, but I could tell she was uncertai
n about me getting a job offer so quickly. I told her that Blake reminded me a lot of her, which appeased her tremendously, and by the time we got home she was gung-ho about my new job.

  "Oh I forgot to tell you, I bought you a swimsuit at the mall," my mom said as we pulled into the driveway at my uncle's house—my house now.

  "What? Why?" I asked, laughing nervously.

  "Because you're going to need one down here. You can just return it if it doesn't fit."

  "Thanks," I said, trying to sound sincere.

  "I'll just come in with you so I can see you try it on."

  "Oh, no. That's okay. I'm sure it's perfect. You know my size better than I do." I laughed nervously again. What a dork.

  "Oh, come on Char. Try it on for me."

  I was quiet for a second. We'd both gotten out of the car, and she was staring at me from across the hood. It was a reasonable request and we both knew it.

  "I can't, Mom."

  "Why not, Charlotte?"

  "Because I have nine tattoos, and if I try it on, you'll see most or all of them."

  She stared at me with an unreadable expression, and I stared at her like a deer in headlights, waiting for whatever would come out of her mouth.

  The corners of her mouth turned up into a slow grin.

  "What?" I said defensively. "What are you smiling at?"

  "It's about time you told me," she said.

  It took a second for that to sink in. "How'd you know? Did Thomas tell you?"

  She laughed. "No, Thomas didn't tell me. Don't you know you can see straight through that beige top you wear all the time?"

  My face turned red. I could feel it happening. I knew exactly what top she was talking about, and I did wear it all the time. "Are you serious?" I asked. "You knew this whole time? I've been collecting them for like three years."

  "I only noticed about a year ago. I guess it was when you bought that shirt."

  I sighed and looked toward the sky. "I can't believe you let me keep it from you all this time."

  She laughed. "I can't believe you kept it from me all this time."

  I figured this was as good a time as any to tell her my intentions. "I have plans to get a lot of them."

  "What do you mean by a lot, Charlotte?"