Tattoos and Angels

by Casey McMillin

  He was handsome as always and smiled at me with a charming smile that made it hard to be mad at him even though I tried desperately. We talked for a few minutes as he watched me clip the ends off the flowers and put them in a vase. I absentmindedly arranged the flowers as we continued our conversation about what we'd each been up to for the past few days. I told him Blake gave me a project that I'd been working on since I got home from Magpie that day. I didn't add that when I was done with it, she planned on taking it to one of her friends who was working as a costume designer on the set of a film to ask if I could hang around and maybe help out a little bit.

  Connor seemed interested in the things I was saying, but the whole time we talked, I could tell he only had one thing on his mind. It was when he moved closer to kiss me that I suddenly thought about the conversation I had with Megan after her nightmare—the one where she asked me if I thought Connor would still be with me once he became a senator. The memory of her question, gave me an uncomfortable feeling that made me have an aversion to kissing him. I turned to the side when he leaned in.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "Nothing." I stared up at him out of the corner of my eye as I kept my face turned away so he wouldn't try to kiss me again. I offered a smile.

  "I can tell something's wrong, Charlotte. What is it?"

  "This is sort of awkward, and I don't want you to think I'm asking you when we're gonna get married or anything, but I just wanted to make sure that we both have the same expectations with our relationship."

  He gave me that beautiful, bright grin and held me close to him with an arm around my waist. "That depends. What are your expectations?" I could tell by the way he was looking at me that he expected me to say something that would produce sexy results, but I didn't play along.

  "My expectations are that this relationship is leading somewhere," I said. "Not that we have to get married tomorrow or anything, but I'd like to know we're at least headed—"

  "That's the second time you mentioned getting married in the last few seconds," he said, his smile fading some.

  "I don't mean it like that. I'm definitely not trying to get married any time soon, I'm just making sure you see yourself being with me in the future."

  "Seeing myself being with you in the future and seeing myself married to you in the future are two entirely different things."

  I cocked my head at him. "So, do you see one and not the other?" I asked.

  He gave me a brief, impatient huff before saying, "If you're asking if I'm gonna marry you eventually, Charlotte, the answer is probably not."

  My gut sank at the words, but he just kept right on talking. He looked down at me like he was disappointed with me for making him write it all out.

  "I guess I assumed you understood your role, and it's sort of awkward that I'm having to explain it." He continued to stare at me as if he expected me to have some sort of revelation, but I just returned his stare with a confused one of my own.

  "My role?" I asked.

  He regarded me as if he couldn't believe I still didn't understand.

  "What's my role, Connor?"

  "You're my side girl." He used his thumb to trace a line from my temple down my cheek and gave me a little smile. "My dirty girl," he said.

  I felt like I might be sick. Had he just called me his dirty girl? What did that even mean? I was a virgin for crying out loud. "What did you just call me?" I said, pulling out of his grasp and staring up at him.

  He had the nerve to smile as if I was overreacting, but his smile faded as he took in my face, which showed all the hurt and disappointment I was feeling. "Charlotte, you couldn't have seriously thought I can make you the main girl in my life, could you? Is that what you thought?"

  I stared at him with a dumbfounded expression, but didn't deny that it was what I assumed.

  He let out a laugh and then closed his eyes as if to pray for patience. "Can you imagine for a second what it'd be like to see a campaign ad that featured the clean-cut republican candidate standing next to the sexy, tatted-up, sex goddess that he calls his wife? Think about it Charlotte." He stared at me with pity that I thought it might be a possibility. Tears stung my eyes, and I begged myself to hold them in. He let out another little laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea, and the sound infuriated me so much that a tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. He sighed audibly and rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Charlotte. This shouldn’t be a big deal. We can still be together. This will actually make it easier, so we can set some boundaries."

  "Boundaries?"

  "Yeah, now you'll understand why we can't really be seen out too much, and why I have to be careful with pictures and shit."

  I absolutely could not believe what I was hearing. I put a hand in the air and closed my eyes. "Wait a second, wait a second, let me get this straight… did you just say you couldn't be seen in public with me or take a picture with me, and I'm just supposed to accept this and accept my place as your secret mistress or whatever it is you think I am?"

  "Mistress. That's a good word. Yes, and it really needs to remain a secret. I just assumed you understood that."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "You assumed I knew I was your side project?"

  "Did you actually think I would encourage my girlfriend to cover her body with tattoos and work at a strip club?"

  His words came out so easily that even I wondered how I could have ever assumed any different. Then suddenly, the impact of the words and how utterly embarrassing they were hit me like a crushing blow. Tears silently streamed down my face.

  "Does that mean you don't even consider me your girlfriend?" I asked, pretending the tears weren't even there.

  "I have a girlfriend, Charlotte. I'm actually surprised you didn't know that already. She's tagged me in some of her photos."

  I stared at him for a few seconds wondering how in the world I could have been so blind. "It seems sort of stupid to bother with a side project who wouldn't even have sex with you," I said, trying any thing I could think of to hurt him.

  He gave me a half-smile. "I thought you were just into a long chase," he said.

  "I'm a freaking virgin, you idiot!"

  "You can't expect me to believe you're serious when you say that. I thought you were just doing some role-playing."

  I threw my hands up unable to believe it was the second time I'd gone through this. "Believe me or not, it's the truth!"

  "Well, now you're making me want you that much more, baby girl!" He leaned toward me and I reared back and slapped him straight across the face. When I brought my hand back, I made a fist and originally wanted to punch him, but I changed my mind in mid air, and opened my hand to deliver a slap. Because of the decision to switch, my momentum was thrown off and my slap didn't connect nearly as hard as I hoped it would. He smiled. "See? I knew you liked it rough." He reached out to grab me, and I stepped back, giving him a warning glare.

  I put a finger in the air. "I do not like it rough, and I will not be your side girl or whatever you called it. As of now, I'm nothing to you."

  "Come on, Charlotte. You're overreacting. I think we can work something out. I seriously didn't think you were a virgin."

  "Oh, does that change things? Can you see me on your little campaign poster now?"

  "No, but it makes me want you bad enough to lie and say I can." The hint of a smile touched the edge of his lips like he thought he was really funny and cute.

  I reared back, but this time I didn't hesitate or change my mind in mid air. My closed fist connected with his nose in a blow that was hard enough to send a shooting pain through my hand and into my wrist. There was a popping sound and he put a hand to his nose with a pained expression.

  "You fucking whore!" He said. He glanced down at his hand to check for blood before looking up at me angrily.

  I held my palm out, warning him to stay away as I dug my phone out of my pocket with the other hand. "I can video and call 911 simultaneously from this phone," I said. "You have ten seconds t
o get out of here."

  I was paranoid in places like parking garages or empty streets, and I'd actually thought about that exact line, but I never dreamed I'd have to say it.

  He stared at me. For a second I thought he might be mad enough to call my bluff, but he just turned and left before I had time to push any buttons.

  I knew I'd never hear from Connor Newman again.

  Chapter 15

  As if to reassure me he was gone, Connor screeched his tires when he left the driveway. I'd never been so pissed off and humiliated in my entire life, and the tears were already flowing when he shut the door, but the tires screeching sent me to a new level. Anger boiled inside me.

  How could he say such hurtful things when I'd been nothing but nice to him? Was there some unspoken rule that people who wore tattoos were beneath those who didn't? Was I limiting my chances with men, thus limiting my chances at happiness by putting tattoos on my body? Why did I care about chances? Why couldn't I just look how I wanted to look and find someone who likes me for who I am? Is that even feasible?

  For most of the night, I sat up and replayed the conversation (if you can call it that) with Connor. I cried for a while, then I quit for a while, then I cried again until I fell asleep. I heard Megan come in right after Connor left, but I was too depressed to face anyone.

  I imagined silly things like, if I turned on my TV, I'd see an interview with Connor and some newsperson like Matt Lauer. Connor would be saying, "And can you believe she actually thought she was my girlfriend?" Then, he and Matt would both laugh and so would the sidekicks who were sitting on the couch with them. That's the kind of stuff I thought was happening while I was locked in my room crying. I knew it was ludicrous and it was just my paranoid imagination, but I was really hurt and my world felt like it was crashing in on me.

  I did some major soul-searching all night and realized before I went to sleep that I didn't regret deciding to get tattoos. I was sad that this decision apparently limited my options, but I still didn't regret it. Figuring out I had no regrets was a great thing, but it didn't ease the pain caused by Connor's rejection. I was so hurt and embarrassed by the things he said that I didn't know if I would ever come out of my room.

  I woke up the next morning at 11:15. It was Monday, and I didn't have to work at either job. I called my little cousin Steven, and we smoked pot all day, only stopping to go get another bag of weed and pick up a pizza. I didn't tell him what happened with Connor. I'm sure he knew something was wrong by my insistence that we remain utterly baked all day, but he never mentioned it. We just watched TV, ate, and stared at our phones all day. Thank God Megan had to work and didn't witness the couch potatoery that took place. I had to do it, though. It was either call Steven or cry all day, and I simply didn't have any tears left.

  "Did you know I'm bout to go get all fuckin' shreaded up by dat boy Angel? You know, Rory's brotha'?"

  I could usually understand Steven in spite of the fact that he spoke like a rapper, but this time, I didn't get what he was saying. I didn't know whether to blame the eight blunts we smoked that day or the shock of hearing Angel's name, but I was confused.

  "What's happening with Angel?" I asked.

  "He's about to shred me the fuck up. Make me a fuckin' beast."

  "Oh, are you going to the gym to let him train you?" I asked.

  "That's what I just said, son." He flexed his bicep and bent to put a kiss on it. "Get ready for the fucking gun show, bitches!"

  I laughed. "I trained with Angel."

  "You did? Was it hard?"

  "No, he makes it fun. You'll like it." I paused for a second before adding, "I thought he wasn't taking new clients."

  "It's just an hour a week," Steven said, "And my dad's paying him extra to do it. It's like over a hundred fuckin' dollars an hour or some shit like that. He better deliver the guns, is all I'm saying."

  "You gonna talk to him like that?" I teased.

  "No," he laughed. "I'm proally gonna tell him 'yes sir' and shit."

  I laughed. "He's really cool."

  "I know. I met him lots of times. Angel's my boy."

  Steven left late that afternoon, right about the time we thought Megan might come home and bust us for stinking up the house. I spent the rest of the evening in my room, only coming out to grab something out of the fridge.

  Megan went to work the next morning. She left before I woke up. I wasn't scheduled to work at Magpie that day, but I did have the 9-1 shift at Maison Blanc that evening. It was Tuesday. Connor had come over on Sunday, and the time since then had passed in a surreal, depressed blur.

  I was still in that state when I went to the club for my shift. I put on my costume, and got help with my hair and makeup from one the assistants. I wasn't on drugs, but felt like I was. I went through the night with a fake smile on my face that I hoped seemed real. I just couldn't forget the fact that Connor viewed me as unworthy, and going to work at a place like that only made me feel worse about it.

  It was impossible to shake the feeling that every man there saw me as more of a plaything and less of a person. I was smiling but not feeling it when I saw someone waving out of the corner of my eye. My eyes were drawn to the movement.

  Angel Reyes, in his stunning male glory was sitting at the end of the bar, smiling at me. I felt a little happier at the sight of that smile, but that was before it hit me that I should probably be embarrassed to be seen there.

  I got increasingly nervous as I approached. I knew my hands were shaking, so I steadied them on the straps that came over my shoulders like suspenders.

  "How can I help you, sir?" I asked.

  His smile broadened, and the sight literally made me weak in the knees. "I was hoping we could talk sometime," he said.

  "I know, I need to get to the gym more. I've just had a crazy last couple of days."

  "I was hoping we could talk about other stuff besides working out."

  He was quite possibly the most handsome, mysterious man I'd ever seen in my life, and here he was being sweet to me and maybe even saying he liked me, but all I could do was think about how unworthy I was of any man's affections.

  I smiled sadly at him. "Unfortunately, I'm gonna be in trouble if you don't pretend you want to buy something," I said. It was a lie, I just couldn't stand him looking at me since I didn't feel like smiling and was almost certain my face was red. "And I'm actually not feeling too well," I added. That wasn't a lie. I felt sick. Angel was perfect, and not only had I made the wrong decision in choosing to go out with Connor, but now that bastard had gone and broken me. I stared at Angel thinking how sad it was that I'd never be with him. I was such an idiot for choosing Connor.

  "What's the matter?" Angel asked. He regarded me with sweet concern, not bothering to look at my box like I asked.

  "Nothing. I'm just tired—ready to get off."

  I glanced at his watch and could see that it was midnight and I still had an hour left.

  "Listen, Charlotte. I'm gonna have to go to Puerto Rico soon, and…" he hesitated and glanced around before looking at me again. "…It's silly I guess, but I just wanted to see if you thought there'd ever be a time when you weren't with that guy Connor, and if so—" he trailed off again, and glanced around as if looking for the words. "I like you and I just want to see if you like me too. It's sort of going to make the difference whether or not I come back."

  My expression begged him not to put that kind of pressure on me—especially on a night like this. "You can't ask me a question like that tonight," I said, trying to keep a smile on my face, or at least keep it neutral when all I wanted to do was cry. "Right now I don't feel like I want to be with anyone."

  "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing. Like I said, I’m just tired."

  Even though I was in a terrible mood, I still had the presence of mind to worry about him. I wanted him to come back to Miami when he was done with whatever he had to do there. I hated to give him false hope that I'd ever feel worthy of a relationship wi
th him, but I also didn't want to see him go.

  "When are you leaving?" I asked.

  "I don't know. I can leave whenever really. I've been trying to decide what I'm going to do after I finish the job. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

  I couldn't believe he was saying this to me after I chose Connor over him. He caught me at a moment when I felt like the scum of the earth, and I was honestly confused that he would care enough to check with me before going home for good. I was befuddled by the conversation and just stood there and gawked at him until I heard a gentleman yell my name. I turned to see one of the regulars motioning for me to come over. I glanced back at Angel who said, "I had you first."

  I looked at the other guy and told him with a finger in the air and a nod that I'd be there in a minute.

  "What would you like?" I asked staring down at my box.

  "You."

  I glanced at him, smiling sadly. "Angel, I'd sure hate to see you go, but I'm just not in any condition to have this conversation right now."

  He stared at me for a long minute before returning my regretful smile. "That's too bad."

  I wanted to break down crying and fall into his arms, but I knew rebounding and relying on his strength right then was not an option. After the things Connor said to me, I felt desperate for male approval and attention, but I needed to learn to be strong on my own before I started another relationship.

  Angel dug a money clip out of his pocket and put two hundred-dollar-bills into the little compartment on my box.

  "What'll you have?"

  "Nothing."

  "Why'd you put that money in there?"

  "It's for you."

  "Angel, you shouldn't—"

  "Keep it."

  He stood up and walked out, and because I had no idea what else to do, I let him. I was so pissed at Connor for breaking me, and wondered if I'd ever forgive him for doing it or myself for letting it happen.

  That night when I was in bed, I thought about Angel, feeling heartbroken at the timing. I could only hope that he'd come back to Miami and would still be single by the time I got my emotions back in order.