Tattoos and Angels

by Casey McMillin

  "Five hundred dollars?" I asked. "For one night?"

  She laughed. "I know, right. It's not something I want to do forever obviously, but it works out well for me right now since I'm trying to get all this tattoo work done."

  "Can you get me a job there?" I asked.

  I said it with a little giggle just in case she thought it was a stupid idea, but I was serious. If I could make five hundred dollars a night for prancing around in vintage lingerie, then sign me up! She stood there in silence for a moment. I couldn't see her face very well since I was on my stomach, but figured she was looking at my body.

  "I can certainly talk to the owner for you," she said. "Can you dance?"

  "You mean like sexy dancing?" I knew it was a ridiculous question as soon as it left my mouth, but I couldn't take it back. Tim and the piercer, whose name was Lola, both laughed, causing me to laugh too. "You know what I mean," I said, feeling shy. "I don't know how to use a pole or anything."

  "You're gonna have to get some experience with dancing and working with a pole before you talk to him. I hate to put it like this, but if you don't act and look smooth on the stage when you show up to your interview, he might not be so nice."

  "Is he an okay guy?"

  "Oh yeah, definitely. He's great. It's just that he's extremely busy and he's sensitive about having his time wasted. You can come up to the club sometime before we open and I could see where you're at if you want." She was quiet for a few seconds, and then she gasped as if she was just remembering something. "Mike specifically asked me if I knew anyone who could replace one of the cigar girls who just quit. I think he wanted someone with tattoos, which was why I was the one he came to."

  "Well, I don't have that many yet, not compared to you."

  "I think that's okay. He'd probably still talk to you," she said.

  "What's a cigar girl?"

  "But the bad news is that the cigar girls only make about two hundred a night. Oh yeah, and as for what they are… you've seen them before. It's those girls who walk around with a tray strapped over their shoulders. They sell cigars and some other things I think."

  "Two hundred dollars for carrying around a tray is fine with me," I said. "All the money I came to Miami with will be gone in a heartbeat if I come to this shop as often as I want. What kind of outfits do those cigar girls wear?"

  "A little more than us."

  "What are the hours?"

  "There are two shifts—a 5 to 9 and a 9 to 1." "And they make two hundred dollars for working both shifts, or one?"

  "One," she said without hesitation. "Mike won't let any of us work more than one shift unless it's an absolute emergency. He'd rather be shorthanded. He wants the girls to be fresh."

  "Fresh?"

  She giggled. "It sounds funny, but it's a nice place. He treats us well."

  "So, if you worked a double, you could earn a thousand dollars in one night?" I asked, unable to believe it.

  "Yeah, but I never work doubles. I've literally never done it and I've been working there for a year. That reminds me. How old are you?"

  "I'll be twenty-two tomorrow."

  She nodded as if that were an acceptable answer.

  Lola and Tim both wished me a happy birthday, and we talked about things I should do to celebrate. I told them I was having dinner with Connor. It would be the first time we'd go out together since I moved to Miami, and I was glad we were finally making it happen.

  Five hours after I arrived, I was the proud owner of a beautiful, permanently colored piece of skin. I got Lola's phone number and made plans to go to Maison Blanc the next time she worked, which was that coming Wednesday.

  That day arrived before I knew it. It was like I blinked an eye, and my birthday had come and gone, and there I was, walking into Maison Blanc for the first time.

  On a side note, I had a good birthday. Uncle Alan, Aunt Candice, Megan, Steven, and Addie all met me at one of my favorite seafood restaurants for lunch, and Connor brought me to dinner as promised.

  I was thinking about dinner with him as I walked in the door at Maison Blanc (which was literally a huge white house as the name suggested), but my attention shifted to taking in the place. If it was originally built as a house, then the place had been gutted. It was an official club now. It was one huge room with a stage and catwalk running right down the middle of it. There were several platforms with poles at different locations throughout the room. It was nice and cool in there, it smelled good, and the décor was beautiful and ornate. Music was playing, but probably at about half the volume it'd be playing once they opened.

  "Are you Sam?" asked the bartender, who had just spotted me. I was startled by the question because that's my twin's name. I glanced behind me just to make sure he was talking to me before answering,

  "Charlotte. My name's Charlotte."

  "Oh, I thought you were this new beer rep who's coming by tonight. Her name's Sam."

  "No, I'm here to see—"

  "Me." I heard a deep voice come from the other end of the bar.

  "Oh, well, there you go then. It was nice to meet you, Charlotte."

  "You too," I said, even though I didn't know his name. I considered asking before I took off to meet Mike, but I was just too nervous. Honestly, I was taken off guard by how pristine the place looked and suddenly felt intimidated about talking to him. He was extremely handsome, and gave me a dazzling, white smile as I approached.

  "I'm hired," I said, smiling as I shook his hand.

  I hoped he'd know I was just joking, and fortunately, he smiled and said, "Oh you think so? What if I'm gonna need you to breathe fire or something."

  "I might have to YouTube it, but I think I could figure it out," I said, smiling and thinking of Blake.

  "That's a nice smile, which is a good start," he said. "Did you come with a swimsuit?"

  "It's on under my clothes."

  "We're just gonna sit right here," he said. He sat at one of the many tables that were scattered on the main floor and gestured for me to take a seat. "You might as well get down to your swimsuit," he added.

  I glanced back at the bartender, who was hanging glasses on one of those overhead racks.

  "We're filled to capacity every night. If you can't do it in front of Jesse and me, there's really no point in—"

  "I'm fine," I said. "I'm good."

  I sat my bag on the table and pulled off my shirt before slipping out of my shorts. I folded them quickly and sat them on the table next to my purse. I had on the black swimsuit my mom got me, and hoped it would be enough to convince him I could sell cigars.

  "What made you shave your head on the side like that?"

  I reached up and touched the spot above my ear where I had it cropped short. I'd gotten used to it and loved the looks of it, but forgot it wasn't really a mainstream haircut.

  "I can hide it if I part my hair to the other side, but I like it, so I hope you won't ask me to do that."

  "I won't ask you to," he said, smiling and looking me over. "I was just wondering why you chose to do it?"

  I shrugged. "Because I like how it looks, I guess."

  "Is the same true with these tattoos?"

  "Absolutely. I love them and have every intention of getting more. That's the main reason I want this job."

  I stayed standing and tried to look relaxed but poised since he was blatantly checking me out. He glanced up at my face.

  "Did Lola warn you that I speak plainly?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Did she explain that I tell it like it is?"

  "She mentioned that you didn't like to have your time wasted, yes."

  He smiled. "Is that how she said it? I like that." He caught my gaze and stared up at me with a no-nonsense expression. Then suddenly, he reached out and pinched the spot right at the top edge of my bathing suit bottoms.

  I knew the exact area he pinched, and it was called: the freaking muffin top!

  Holy shit, he just reached out and pinched my muffin freaking top. Th
is was officially humiliating.

  My eyes were wide when he glanced back at me, and he smiled casually. "Don't let that embarrass you," he said. "You're really beautiful, and different. I like you and think you'll fit in here. That's nothing." He gestured to my waist. "The cigar girls wear corsets anyway, but what you have there is nothing a week at the gym won't fix. A gym membership is included with your job here. We use one of the nicest places in Miami, and it's only like three miles down the road. We all go."

  "I guess I could stand to go to the gym," I said, feeling slightly less embarrassed.

  "If I pinch you it means you need to talk to Carol and get signed up for three sessions of personal training. You'll need to check in with me afterward to let me know you went to them."

  "You mean you walk around pinching people, and if you do, they have to sign up for supervised workouts?" My eyes were wide again.

  "Yes, but it's not as bad as you think. We don't really have a problem with it as long as you try to stay fit. I wouldn't have normally pinched you for the amount you had there, but I wanted to do it so you'd understand what it feels like if it ever happens. We run a tight ship around here. Personal hygiene, personal appearance, manners, etiquette, and a cordial personality are things that are not optional. We're adamant that you look and behave like a professional. If this type of structure seems too extreme for you, well then it's not going to work out."

  I sighed, and decided to be totally open and honest with him. "Honestly, the side pinching surprised me. I thought I should write you off the second you did that, but I can almost understand why you'd need to have that sort of quality control in a place like this.

  "Quality is everything," he said. "I do nothing if it's not done right."

  "Do I seriously have to see Carol for a time go to the gym?"

  "Yes. Don't worry about it. That's part of the process. You'll be evaluated and given a workout plan."

  I thought about it for a second. "I think I'm okay with that," I said.

  "Good. You'll need to see Carol to set up a time to get fitted for your costume. Keep working on those tattoos," he said. "The guys love it."

  "I will," I said. "And work with Lola on your dancing. You don't need to know how to use the pole, but it helps if you know how to move. Your tips depend on the connection you have with the customer, and you have the potential to make a lot of money if you'll polish up a few things."

  "I'll start with the muffin top," I said.

  "You've got a good figure," he said, being nice. "Just try to be conscious of your calories, and when you talk to Carol, make sure she hooks you up with the trainer named Angel. He's good. The girls really seem to like him."

  Chapter 11

  I knew in my very bones that the Angel Mike was talking about would turn out to be the same Angel who had his hands on and in unspeakable places on my body. There must have been more than one trainer in Miami named Angel, but I knew this one was mine. I had an instant stomachache when Mike said that name, and it didn't go away until I went to Carol's office and she laughed at me and said Angel was booked with a waiting list. I'd have to see a girl named Cat, who was supposed to be just as effective as Angel.

  It was probably better that way.

  Angel was tempting to the point of being dangerous, and it was probably best to avoid him. I had a great time with Connor at my birthday, and even though he'd been a little rough with me again, it seemed like things would work out between us.

  Yeah, it was definitely better that I was going to meet a girl named Cat rather than someone who could make me think sinful thoughts when I had a boyfriend.

  "I'm here to see Cat," I said as I walked into the gym for my first session. The girl working behind the counter was smiling at me like she might be the person I was looking for, and sure enough… "I’m Cat," she said, reaching across the counter to shake my hand. She had on skimpy workout clothes, and I couldn't help but notice her beautifully sculpted body.

  A head popped up from underneath the counter. It was an older lady with permed hair, and she smiled up at me, revealing her gapped teeth. "You must be Charlotte," the lady said. "Normally I'd call for Cat, but since you two have already met, I'll just need you to fill out a little paperwork." She handed me an iPad with a stylus and I sat in one of the chairs that lined the front wall of the lobby.

  "I'm just gonna go get set up," Cat said.

  I smiled and nodded at her and she took off into the gym. I was done with the forms by the time she got back, and she motioned with her hand for me to follow her. We rounded the corner into the main room where, on the left, was row after row of machines, and on the right, was row after row of free-weight contraptions. I did a quick scan of the room before my eye stopped on a guy on the right side of the room.

  It was him.

  He was here.

  Right now. This very second, in this very room, Angel was working out. He was on his back, bench-pressing what looked like a thousand pounds with someone spotting him. He lifted the bar up and let it down about five times before hooking it into the support bar. Then he sat up and looked back at the guy who'd been spotting him. They said something and both laughed before Angel wiped sweat off of his face and neck with a towel.

  "He works here," she said.

  "Who?" I asked.

  "Both of them do actually, but I assumed you were looking at the sweaty one." There were several groups of guys working out, and I looked at Cat to make sure she was referring to the same guy I was looking at. I followed her line of vision to see that she was indeed talking about Angel. "His name's Angel."

  "I know him actually, that's why I was looking at him."

  And just as the words left my mouth, he looked in our direction and made accidental eye contact with me.

  I forgot to breathe.

  "It looks like he sees you," she said, as he stood up and started walking straight toward us.

  It took several seconds for Angel to cross the gym, and he was walking at a good clip. I stood there the whole time he approached, with my heart beating like a jackhammer. I didn't even care what Cat was doing. Heck, she was probably watching him same as I was. He didn't have a shirt on, and seeing him in his sweaty, muscular glory with nothing on his upper body except a towel hanging over his shoulder was a distraction unlike any other. He might as well have been walking in slow motion it was so magnificent.

  His expression turned into a scowl as he got closer. "What are you doing here?"

  My stomach was so tied in knots, that I felt like I needed to run to the restroom and splash some cold water on my face. "I, I, just came to a…" I hesitated and motioned to Cat as if that should explain everything.

  "She's one of Mike's girls," Cat explained.

  Angel's expression was comically stunned.

  It was so stunned that I started stuttering again. "I, it's not really, uh, I'm not… I'm just a cigar girl—I'm not a dancer or anything."

  He stared at me, and I had no idea what he was thinking or what he'd say next. I listened dazedly to the clanging of weights being moved around as I stood there, wondering who'd be the next to speak.

  "You work at Maison Blanc?" he asked in disbelief.

  "Not as a dancer," I repeated. I thought about Lola and felt bad for speaking like that about her job.

  Angel stared at me for a second before shifting his gaze to Cat.

  "I'm gonna take her."

  "What?"

  "I got her. I'll do her session."

  Cat shook her head at him. "You're not even working today."

  He took the towel from his shoulder and wiped the sweat from his chest and arms. The gesture made it seem like he was calling it a day on his own workout.

  "I'm sorry, Angel, but I need this one. My little boy's got a birthday party coming up, and I'm picking up extra sessions this week."

  "I'm not worried about the money," he said. "You can just tell Lori to tell Carol you did the hour." I watched Cat as she considered what Angel was saying. It seemed at f
irst like she was gonna deny him. I didn't even know how I felt about it, not that either of them even cared.

  Cat crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you expect me to believe you're just gonna do the hour for me and let me get paid for it?"

  "Yes," he answered simply.

  She was visibly confused, and then it seemed something hit her, and she looked at Angel with a smile as she pointed to me. "Oh, I think I understand," she said. "She was my last one of the day, so if you're sure—" she wiggled her eyebrows as she waited for his answer. Then, all of a sudden, she cut the silliness and stared at me, shamefaced. "I'm so sorry, Charlotte. I didn't even think to ask you how you felt about Angel taking over for me."

  I tried to act casual when I replied. "I'm good with whatever you guys decide." I smiled nervously, waiting for them to work it out.

  "I'm done with my workout anyway," he said.

  "Did I just hear you say you were done with your workout?" the guy who'd been spotting Angel earlier said, coming to stand with us.

  "Yeah, I'm gonna take this session for Cat," he said, nodding in my direction.

  "Is she here to train?" the guy asked, glancing at me.

  Angel nodded and started to answer.

  "I'm outta here, if you're sure," Cat said, cutting in.

  "I'm sure, go ahead," Angel agreed.

  "Thanks!" she said, smiling at all of us as she ran off with her ponytail swinging behind her. It was at that moment I knew why they called them ponytails. That was exactly what it looked like.

  "Yeah, she's here to train, and I'm gonna take her," Angel said, drawing me from my thoughts.

  "Does that mean you're done with your workout?"

  "He can finish," I said. "I actually wouldn't mind taking care of a few texts if you guys want to wrap it up."

  The guy looked at Angel.

  "Do you mind giving me fifteen more minutes?" Angel asked, glancing at me.

  "Not at all," I said. "Just tell me where I can go to get out of the way."

  He showed me to a padded bench that lined the wall. It was really close to the spot where he'd been working out, and I smiled at the thought of him wanting me to watch him. Well, that was too bad, because I wasn't planning on giving him the satisfaction. It wasn't that I had "texts to take care of," because all I had to do was text my mom. Truth was, my new obsession was making pleats and ruffles, and I was planning on watching a tutorial on YouTube.