Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5)

by Heather Wardell

  "Hey!"

  "I'm sorry, I'm trying not to. It's just so not you."

  "It is too me."

  "No, it's not. But hey, if you want it, that's okay. Want company?"

  "No, I'll be fine. Go have a drink for me, and I'll show it to you tomorrow at the spa."

  Meredith had arranged for a group rate at a spa, "since we're all so stressed at work these days". I'd never been to a spa, but this one sounded gorgeous. Set in two hundred acres of pine forests and rolling hills, it had a whirlpool, tons of relaxing spots to sit and lounge, and treatments made of chocolate. What could be better?

  "Please don't, I hate tattoos." And with that, Meredith gave me a big smile and departed, leaving me standing alone and confused.

  Did Ian hate tattoos? It hadn't seemed like it in his email; he'd just said he didn't think I was the type. What would I do if he hated it?

  Did Kegan like tattoos?

  And why on earth would that matter? Completely irrelevant.

  Would he think it was sexy?

  He wasn't even going to see it. Why did I care what Kegan thought?

  I don't care, I told myself, and headed out.

  I arrived about fifteen minutes early, which gave me time to grab a quick slice of pizza and a bottle of water, and time to obsess over what I was doing. Once all of those important tasks were accomplished, I walked on shaking legs into the tattoo place, past the sign on the door that read, "Warning: tattoos are addictive", and up to the counter. The same girl was there.

  "Hey, ready for your bear?"

  My bear. I'd been dreaming about that bear for years. And finding him here had to be significant. Didn't it? Things like that didn't happen for no reason. Something that major couldn't just be a coincidence.

  "I guess," I managed, sounding, even to myself, like someone being asked if she was ready to have her head chopped off.

  "It'll be fine," the girl said comfortingly. "I was terrified my first time, and look at me now."

  Indeed. A walking billboard for Neon. I forced a weak smile and she patted me on the shoulder. "Might as well take a seat. Spike's just finishing up a tattoo, but he'll be ready for you in a few minutes."

  Spike. I was about to get a tattoo from a guy named Spike. This could only be more of a cliché if I was wearing black leather and a ripped Metallica t-shirt.

  Which I wasn't.

  And never would be.

  Some things are just not right.

  I sat down and took deep breaths. I turned the lid of my water bottle back and forth, and tried to think calming thoughts. Pain-free thoughts. Tough thoughts.

  Suddenly I knew I couldn't do it. I got up and headed for the door.

  "Hey, polar bear, where are you going?"

  I turned toward the deep voice, to see a huge man. Seriously huge. The big man at the gym the first day who'd taken my treadmill lumbered into my mind. This guy could beat up that guy. And he was wearing...

  He was wearing black leather pants and a ripped Iron Maiden t-shirt. Close enough.

  "I was, umm..."

  "You were bailing out. You can't bail out on me, polar bear, I love that tattoo. I drew it myself, you know."

  "Really? I didn't know that."

  "So, you have to let me do it. I'll be gentle, I promise."

  "Ummm.... okay."

  I followed Spike (Spike. I still couldn't believe it) into the back room.

  To: ianw@buildaid.com

  From: ninjacatrocks@hotmail.com

  Subject: Sorry about yesterday

  I was out for coffee with Larissa and just didn't feel like getting online when I got home. I didn't think you'd mind so much since you've missed a few days.

  My design with your yarn is coming along well. I might just have it together by the time you get home.

  Tell me more about what's happening there. What are the people like? Is your sunburn better?

  C.

  Saturday, August 13th

  When I woke up, I was afraid to move. Was it going to hurt? Would it look hideous?

  I still couldn't believe I'd done it. I had a tattoo.

  When I followed Spike into the back room, I'd been terrified, my heart beating so fast I was sure he could hear it.

  Maybe he could. He put his hand gently on my arm. "It's okay, polar bear. I know you're scared. Wanna know a secret?"

  I nodded.

  "Even I was afraid for my first one."

  "You were?"

  "Oh, yeah. I thought I was going to throw up."

  "I know the feeling."

  Spike said, "The first tiny bit is the worst. Once you know what it feels like, you'll be fine."

  I took a deep breath, and said, "Well, then let's get that first tiny bit done."

  Spike made a big deal of showing me that all of his instruments were sterile. Throughout, he kept up a running patter, explaining what he was doing, talking me through the process. It was strangely soothing.

  Until he said, "Okay, we're good to go."

  I caught my breath.

  "Keep breathing and mangling that water bottle. You'll be just fine."

  Spike motioned me to a table, and I lay down on my stomach and pulled my skirt and top out of the way. He transferred the drawing to my back, then had me get up and take a look in the mirror. I studied my back. Perfect.

  I returned to the table, and Spike said, "Here we go, kiddo. Deep breath."

  I took a breath and held it. The machine started to buzz, the buzzing noise became slightly louder, and then I felt the machine touch my back. Touch, and punch tiny holes in.

  I continued to hold my breath, waiting for pain to explode through me. It never happened. It hurt, certainly. But it was such a precise pain, so focused on the area beneath the needle, that I didn't mind it much.

  "You doing okay, polar bear?"

  "Yup," I said. "I actually thought it would be a lot worse."

  "There's my girl. You'll be getting a sleeve soon."

  "Sleeve?" I asked, wincing as the needle passed over my spine.

  "Tattoo covering your whole arm."

  "Ah."

  Ten minutes in, I was ready for the sadist with the pin to stop harassing my poor sunburn. It was still a precise pain, but the finished areas throbbed uncomfortably, and the more he did, the more parts throbbed.

  "Hey, Spike?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you think we could make the tattoo smaller? It's kind of starting to hurt."

  "Well, babe, you're about a minute too late. I've done too much of the outline to change it now. Do you need a break?"

  "No, I'll be okay," I said, and shoved the lid of my closed water bottle into my mouth. Chewing on my bottle seemed to help me handle the pain, so I kept it up. About the time the lid started to flake off little bits of plastic, Spike stopped the machine.

  "Are we done?" I asked hopefully.

  Spike laughed. "Well, the outline is done. Some people think the outlining is the worst, and some think the filling-in part is. Let's see what kind of people you are."

  I, apparently, was the 'the filling-in is the worst' kind of people. I kept waiting for the machine to move on to a new area, but it stayed hammering away at the same tiny spot on my back until I thought I'd scream.

  I'd taken the lid off my water bottle and was doing some serious chewing on its neck when Spike stopped the machine, wiped my back with a clean cloth, and said, "There you go. Polar bear, meet polar bear!"

  I jumped to my feet and promptly got the worst head rush of my life. I could actually feel the blood draining from my head. By sheer good fortune, I managed to sit back down on the edge of the table before I fainted. Spike pushed my head down until it was hanging between my knees.

  "Take it easy, Candice. Your body's had a shock. Just sit there for a minute."

  I mumbled something even I couldn't understand.

  "Pardon?"

  I took a deep breath. "I said, I didn't think you knew my name."

  Spike laughed, and I cautiously
raised my head again. When that went off without a hitch, I slowly got to my feet. Good, blood staying where it belonged. I turned around and checked out my back.

  Absolutely gorgeous. We stared at it in reverent silence for a moment, then he said, "Okay, let's get him covered up and you're on your way."

  Five minutes later, having paid and given Spike a substantial tip, I was heading for the subway. It hurt a bit, but really not bad at all.

  I sat on the subway, making sure my back didn't press into the back of the seat, reading the care instructions. Sounded pretty simple. Basically, I would leave the bandage on overnight, and then I would just wash the tattoo and make sure it stayed moisturized. No worries.

  *****

  So now it was bandage-removal time. I sat on the edge of the bed and carefully peeled off the tape holding the gauze pad to my back. When the pad came off, I brought it around in front and checked it out. I had bled a bit, but nothing serious.

  I padded to the bathroom in my polar bear paw slippers and whipped off my nightgown, then turned around, looked over my shoulder, and studied my new artwork.

  It was still a bit pink; Spike had said it would take a good week or so to recover. Still, it couldn't have been more what I'd wanted if Spike had gone into my head and ripped out the image I'd been carrying around. The bear looked sweet and pensive, the star was softly shimmery, and the water looked so frosty that I shivered.

  I had a tattoo. Whether or not I was 'the tattoo type', I now had a tattoo. I couldn't believe it.

  *****

  While I waited for Meredith and my coworkers to arrive to take me to the spa, I tidied up the house. Somehow my usual housekeeping routines, such as they were, had fallen apart, and the place was starting to look like the stereotypical bachelor pad, with dishes and stuff everywhere.

  To: ianw@buildaid.com

  From: ninjacatrocks@hotmail.com

  Subject: I'm going to the spa

  I'm glad the work's going well and the people are nice. We're nearly halfway through your time away. I can't believe it's gone so fast.

  I'm writing early because I'm off to the spa with Meredith and everybody and I'll probably be too relaxed later to write.

  I'll check email tomorrow morning, and then I guess you'll call me tomorrow evening.

  Have a good day.

  C

  I definitely couldn't believe how quickly the time was going; Ian would be home in two weeks and I'd done nothing about our marriage. Tomorrow afternoon, I would have to give us some serious thought.

  My doorbell rang, and I quickly gathered my purse and a backpack I'd filled with everything I thought I might need (two novels in case I got bored with one, a book on how to reduce clutter, and a deck of cards in case we all got bored) and ran out to meet Meredith.

  "What's with the backpack?"

  I shrugged. "Just some stuff I thought I might need."

  Meredith took the backpack from me and rifled through it. She zipped it back up with a jerk and flipped it into the trunk.

  "It stays in the car."

  "But what if I get bored?"

  "You won't."

  "I can't even eat breakfast without reading the cereal boxes."

  "Really? That's pathetic. Anyhow, this place is different. It's so lovely and peaceful that time just seems to slow down somehow."

  Great. A whole lot of slow time and nothing to do to fill it.

  We picked up Allyson and our new coworker Marian, and I noticed that neither of them had brought anything with them. Well, there was nothing wrong with being prepared.

  Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for Allyson's immediate questioning about Kegan. She was barely in the car before she started quizzing me, wanting to know about his love life past, present, and definitely future, as well as his interests and hobbies... basically anything she could use to get him interested in her.

  I answered her questions with as little information as I could, but Meredith and Marian, nearly as interested in him, had questions of their own, and I couldn't withstand their combined pressure. In fairly short order, I'd admitted I'd dated him instead of just his roommate as I'd told Allyson.

  She tapped me on the head from her position in the back seat. "Bad girl. Don't lie about someone as hot as that."

  "It's his eyes, mostly," Meredith said. "If he's not looking at you, he's still good looking but it's not the same. When he does look..." She sighed. I knew the feeling.

  I held out for a while longer before confessing I'd been the one to end our relationship (a fact which left them stunned for a few blissful minutes before they renewed their interrogation), although I flatly refused to say why. They only gave up on that issue when I told them he was presently single.

  I did tell them about Fiona, doing my best to make it sound like their engagement was imminent, but even knowing about her didn't cool their collective jets, which bothered me. If Kegan ended up dating a coworker of mine, it would make things awkward, and I didn't think any of them were right for him.

  All in all, I was exhausted and ready for a vacation by the time we arrived at the spa.

  Or maybe it was actually a summer camp, because it didn't look like any spa I'd imagined before. A fence made of warped and weathered boards that didn't seem to have ever felt the touch of a paintbrush surrounded a large patch of long grass studded with lounge chairs. The front door hung open, and the screen door was clearly on its last legs. The only saving grace was the luscious scent of chocolate wafting from the place.

  Meredith led, and we followed, picking our way across a path made of concrete squares to the front door. Inside, the lighting was dim, but bright enough to show walls in serious need of a paint job and a cobblestone floor. Cobblestones inside? I must have looked somewhat quizzical, because Meredith leaned in and whispered, "This part used to be outside. Then they made it a sort of porch thing."

  Well, that was good to know. Maybe the real inside of the place would be nicer.

  And it was, although still not the glamour spot that I'd been expecting. The word 'spa' conjured up an image of vast expanses of white marble, gleaming mirrors, and beautiful people as far as the eye could see. Skinny people. Women like dark-tanned boards, with huge breasts attached. Men who looked like a cologne ad come to life.

  This was so not that kind of place. But the inside was painted a soft tan, and the hardwood floor shone with the sun streaming in through the windows, and the smell of chocolate was even more intense. It was nice, although it was reminding me of something.

  Allyson said softly, "I feel like I'm inside a Caramilk bar."

  We all giggled. Yup, that was it.

  We went to the registration counter and got ourselves signed in. I was having a wrap, which apparently involved being spread with a chocolate-based moisturizing cream and then being wrapped in warm cloths to hold it all against my skin. Then I would "rest and relax in our beautiful treatment room".

  I wished Meredith had let me bring my book.

  The receptionist gave us a tour of the place, and it was definitely a lot nicer than it had seemed. Tour concluded, we changed into bathing suits, picked up glasses of cool water with lemon and cucumber slices, and went for a soak in the whirlpool. I perched on the edge and only put my legs in to keep my tattoo dry.

  After everyone had commented on my new bear, which even Meredith said was "pretty cute", Marian regaled us with the lies her last boss had told her. Apparently he'd promised to give her a promotion, a raise, a new office. In the end, all she got was an indecent proposal, and then a pink slip when she refused to "put herself out for the company" as she called it.

  "Do you guys think you're honest? I didn't think it mattered all that much before this, but now I do."

  Allyson said thoughtfully, "I've always been good with the major stuff, but I tend not to worry so much about the little lies. You know, the 'yes, that dress looks great on you' and 'ooh, what a lovely haircut' kind of things."

  I was about to agree with Allyson when Meredi
th said, "I don't lie."

  "Ever?" Marian said, looking doubtful.

  "Ever," Meredith said firmly. "It backfired on me when I was seventeen and I've never done it since."

  "Ever?" Marian said again.

  Meredith splashed a little water in her direction, and said, "Never ever."

  "How do you manage that?" I asked. "Aren't there times when it's easier to lie?"

  "For sure," said Meredith. "But I don't."

  Marian said, "Well, what on earth happened when you were seventeen to make you the truth queen?"

  Apparently Meredith had been in the school band, with practices after school twice a week. One day, the teacher had decided to cancel practice (probably just unable to face two hours of loud music and louder complaining). Meredith had therefore headed off to the mall with a few friends.

  At dinner that night, her mother had oh-so-casually asked her, "How was band practice today?" Meredith had, for some inexplicable reason, lied and said it was fine. Her mother was instantly livid.

  "Then how come I saw you walking to the mall during band time?"

  Meredith had then needed to explain that practice had actually been cancelled. Naturally her mother was less than convinced by this explanation, and such phrases as, "Why did you lie then?" and "How am I supposed to trust you?" and "What else have you lied about?" were frequent, although unwelcome, guests in Meredith's home for the next few weeks.

  "Why did you lie?" Marian asked.

  "I don't know," Meredith snapped, and I suddenly could picture her as a seventeen year old, furious with herself.

  More calmly, she went on. "It just sort of came out. As soon as I said it, I knew it was stupid, but it was too late. Since then, I have never lied again, even to myself, so I can be sure it won't happen again."

  We sat silently simmering, each lost in our own thoughts.