Watercolors

by Vera Roberts

  He grew up privileged and the son of two respected civil rights activists. He went to USC and graduated with top honors in undergrad and medical school. He often drove his beat-up Honda but his Sunday car was a Rolls Royce Wraith.

  Aaliyah graduated from high school with top honors, but knew college wasn’t her forte. She took some classes at the local community college to get her associates in business degree but didn’t want to pursue any more education for tattooing was her calling.

  She knew the world wouldn’t care if they were two likeminded individuals who were on the same path. Everyone wanted to know what he saw in her. Aaliyah was already prepared people would see her as a gold-digger, social climber, and all sorts of nasty, untrue things.

  Maybe it was a good idea that Ocean wouldn’t appear on Aaliyah’s show. Everyone would be more focused on Aaliyah, the relationship with her parents, how she gives back to the community, and maybe she’ll go on a few dates with men not named Ocean.

  And just maybe…it’ll quiet the gossip about her true purpose with one Ocean Ellison. Hopefully, Aaliyah would be able to figure that out as well.

  ~~~~~~~

  “This is…” Katrina looked around the shop. “….this is insane.”

  Aaliyah sipped her chamomile tea as she stood next to her assistant. They watched as several cameramen with huge cameras and even bigger lighting in inconspicuous places so it wouldn’t be caught on camera.

  The men tested out the microphones from various angles and did numerous walk-throughs from multiple angles. Filming was going to start within the next few days and Aaliyah was given release forms to give to potential clients about being filmed.

  “Are you ready for all of this?” Katrina asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Aaliyah honestly answered. “Everyone else on TV makes it look so easy and I’m just like…whoa.”

  “Yeah, like whoa.” Katrina’s eyes grew wide before they settled back down. “How about Mr. O? Will he be making any special guest appearances?”

  “I don’t know yet. He thinks he won’t be able to because he’s a first-time senator and it might be frowned upon he’s doing that. I’m not too concerned because I would rather have the focus on me and my shop first. I have a few big names decided they want to be on. I already have a commitment from Dolce Gabbana and a few others.” Aaliyah sipped her tea. “So, even if O doesn’t appear, it won’t affect my brand too much.”

  “Does this mean I won’t get to meet the elusive Mr. O?” Katrina playfully frowned. “He seems like a good guy from what I’ve stalked about him.”

  Aaliyah turned to her assistant. “You’re so honest with your messy I love it.”

  “I’m serious! He seems like a hella dope guy. Like, did you know about that bill he’s trying to get passed in Congress about falsely calling the police on black and brown folks like us? That’s seriously dope! I’m not even from Cali and I would totally vote for him.”

  The Ocean Effect. It was something Aaliyah secretly coined whatever good Ocean did. He often acted if no one was watching. Now that everyone watched what he did and whom he did it with, he still acted like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  The Ocean Effect also meant there would be very little time spent with him. So many people pulled Ocean in every aspect, Aaliyah thought about the last time she’d physically seen him. Almost three weeks prior. The last time she’d spoken with him was around the same timeframe.

  It was something Aaliyah had to get used to. Ocean wasn’t available like he was two years prior where he had set hours. Sometimes he would leave in the middle of the night for a delivery or surgery but he was widely available.

  That was Dr. Ocean Ellison. Senator Ocean Ellison took his place and Aaliyah still tried to figure out where she belonged in his life.

  She would worry about that later. As Aaliyah sipped her tea and perused over the various consent forms, she wondered if she was really cut out to be a senator’s wife.

  ~~~~~~

  It was just her and the glorious sounds of H.E.R.

  As Aaliyah began tracing an outline of a custom tattoo for a new client, she burned nag champa incense and turned off every light in her home except for one in the living room. She needed as much as focus as possible. She only had one time to get the tattoo right and her success rate wasn’t something she wanted to mess up.

  It was the perfectionist within her; Aaliyah hated failure no matter what she did. It was an unhealthy ambition and she would be the first to admit how it caused more harm than good to her in various pockets of her life. Aaliyah also knew her pedantic spirit came in handy when she went to art school and then the gross details of opening her shop.

  Either she gave it her all or she went home.

  The client requested a hummingbird on the backdrop of varied splash of watercolor paints. Soft hues of lavender, pink, and blue would go lovely on the pale skin of the client. Aaliyah often sent a client markup of her tattooing on dark skin to see if they would like it and she made that intentional.

  If the client loved the markup, she made an appointment. If they requested the same markup on pale skin, she declined the offer. She knew a backhanded racist comment when she saw it.

  She spent the next few hours working on the markup until it was perfect in her eyes. If the beak was too pointy, she corrected it. If the feathers weren’t just right, she softened them. If the colors were too loud, she added mixtures until they were muted.

  Aaliyah wasn’t like other tattoo artists who could boast how many times they’ve made mistakes. Sure, she had plenty and they were all regretful, but she always corrected them the moment she saw it and never alerted the client about said mistake.

  It was why Aaliyah was one of the primer tattoo artists in the nation. Her pieces were pricey but everyone could admit they were worth it. She didn’t just give perfection; she gave an experience.

  Years of being denied the same perks and benefits as her lily-white counterparts didn’t dim Aaliyah’s star but rather, brightened it. She could’ve been bitter about everything and she had reason to. Instead, she channeled that energy into becoming the best. She would always have her detractors and haters, but success was always loud and never wrong.

  “Ah…” Aaliyah sat back and admired her work. The hummingbird was the right shade of purple, black, and green against a soft pastel background. The clash of something with something soft made the tattoo stand out and become vibrant.

  She would test the tattoo on her assistant, Katrina, and then snap a photo of it for the client. Then she would patiently wait as she worked on the next piece. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

  Her cell phone suddenly rang and Aaliyah was startled by the interruption. She turned down her gospel music and glanced over at her phone. “Ocean,” she whispered under her breath.

  Aaliyah purposely kept herself busy so she wouldn’t have to think about him nor stalk his social media pages. He only had the standard Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram like so many other politicians who wanted to stay connected but really couldn’t have cared less.

  Now he was blowing up her phone at hours only reserved for liquor stores and open legs. She knew he worked late hours and politicking often went into the dead of night when most normal people would be asleep. Ocean was never one who had a set bedtime and rise, so Aaliyah wasn’t too surprised she received a phone call from him at midnight.

  She was surprised why her heart was pounding out of her chest. “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you?” His voice dripped with honey and sex.

  Aaliyah cleared her throat and crossed her legs. The pounding in her heart went down to the vee of her sex upon hearing Ocean’s deep voice. “Actually, no. I just finished a piece I’m doing for a client. I’ll be going to be soon, though.”

  “Are you sleepy?” He asked.

  “Normally, that’s how people feel when they’re about to go to bed.” Aaliyah stated.

  “Are you alone?” He asked.

  The yearning between Aaliy
ah’s thighs quietly tempered as the rage in her body began to appear. She took a sip of her tea to quiet it. “Does it matter?”

  “It kinda does.” Ocean replied.

  “Why?” Aaliyah hoped the eye rolling and equal amount of neck movement wasn’t visible in her voice. “It’s not like you care.”

  “Since when?” His voice was soft as a cloud.

  “Oh, since it’s been a month when I last heard from you and whenever I did call, I got your press secretary or your chief of staff.” Aaliyah and Ocean decided to keep nosey people and rumors at bay, she would use a fake name whenever she called him.

  Of course, the fake name was maybe too fake for Ocean’s taste. “In all honesty, baby, I’m probably not going to take a phone call from Oda Mae Brown, Clare Huxtable, Olivia Pope, or Princess Tiana.”

  “You said to use a fake name,” Aaliyah laughed, “you didn’t say it had to be good.”

  “Maybe a bit more believable?” He inquired. “That’s a start.”

  The politician within Ocean came through in snippets whenever he talked to her. He was still the same slightly awkward dude with the gorgeous face and brilliant smile, but he became more polished and reserved over time.

  It made Aaliyah uneasy how well he could slip on his politician mask and remove it when it was appropriate. She never knew if she dealt with Ocean from before or the Ocean who was rehearsed and always ready to go with a statement. “Okay, how about SugarTits McGhee?” Aaliyah suggested. “No one would think otherwise.”

  “How about you let me play with your tits the next time I see you?” Ocean asked. “I do love your titties.”

  “O,” Aaliyah sighed as the warmth of his voice zapped throughout her body, “what are we doing here?”

  “I’m trying to have some phone sex with you since you won’t let me in the front door.” He replied. “So, there’s that.”

  Aaliyah’s back straightened as a board. “I’m sorry?” She heard a knock and whipped her head towards it. She carefully got up and stalked across her living room until she reached the front door. She opened her video doorbell app and saw Ocean waving at her.

  She hung up the phone and opened the door for him. “I thought you were in D.C.?”

  “Yeah,” Ocean licked his lips and smiled at her, “you thought.”

  Aaliyah leaned against the door jamb and slowly moved her head. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

  “Actually, I don’t. The three-day weekend applies to everyone.” Ocean produced a bouquet of white roses. “I do believe white roses were your favorite, right?”

  Ocean seemingly remembered every detail about Aaliyah and that unnerved her. It was one thing to remember when her birthday was but something so minute like her favorite flower?

  This same man also blissfully ignored her for a month. “You know showing up unannounced at my doorstep, giving me my favorite flower, doesn’t mean I won’t hate fuck you.” She replied. “I’m still very hurt you ignored me for a month.”

  “Well, you could hate fuck me,” Ocean closed the distance between them, “or I can make love to you all night and give you every inch of my apology that way?”

  Aaliyah looked away and let out a frustrated sigh. She was no longer angry at Ocean, but rather her body for how it betrayed her. Even her brain was wondering why in the hell was she cock-blocking ol’ dude? “O, I’m being serious here. If we’re going to be together or at least dating, you can’t ignore me like I don’t exist and then when you want some ass, you suddenly remember who I am.”

  “I wouldn’t fly two hours for some ass when I could get it anytime I want anywhere.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “I want yours.”

  “Liquor store convenience pussy?” She gave a sad smile. “Is that what I am?”

  “I don’t like using food and drinks to compare women and their genitalia but since that’s the topic we’re doing, you’re Ace of Spades champagne.” Ocean gave a sensual smile. “One of the most expensive and savory.”

  “How is it you turned a derogatory feeling I had about you into something incredibly corny with a touch of cheese?” Aaliyah smiled; this time, a happy one.

  “You get all of me, baby,” he swept his lips over hers and pulled back, causing Aaliyah to softly moan, “the good, the bad, and the husks of corn.”

  “Get in here,” she began to close the door behind him and noticed there wasn’t an overnight bag, “you’re not staying the night?”

  “It’s being delivered tomorrow morning,” Ocean replied as he removed his jacket and placed it on the sofa. He made his way to the living room where he saw Aaliyah’s hummingbird sketch. “In case, I was followed by paparazzi, they wouldn’t see me with an overnight bag coming here.”

  “But if they saw you coming here?” Aaliyah questioned. “They would know why you’re here.”

  “I can’t say for certain no one saw me but I’m sure me changing cars several times threw off some scents. It’s rather difficult to not be noticed you’re following a new car.” Ocean studied Aaliyah’s sketch. “New tattoo?”

  “Um, yeah,” Aaliyah walked up to Ocean and stared down at the drawing. He revealed something about his politician life as if it was just a run of the mill, no big deal, and not the most mind-blowing thing Aaliyah had ever heard. “I’m going to put it on Katrina come Tuesday and then we’ll go from there. I always do my mockups on dark skin so the client knows how it’ll look. If they request the same markup on pale skin, I usually deny it.”

  “You don’t run the risk of being accusatory or prejudiced?” He asked. “Sounds like something some people would get butt hurt over.”

  “If you don’t want a tattoo based on how it looks on dark skin, that says more about you than it does the artist. When dark-skinned people go to get tattoos, they often see sketches of tattoos on fair-skinned individuals and they know the same tattoos won’t look the same on them. I’ve had an artist tell me I couldn’t get a colored tattoo because of my skin tone, despite me actually having a color tattoo that I showed him. There’s a clear bias in the tattoo industry on black people getting colored tattoos but those same artists don’t hesitate to accept dollars from colored folks. I’m trying to change the stigma.” She explained. “And if they don’t want to deal with me, so be it.”

  Aaliyah always held to her beliefs. She never flip-flopped. She never went back and forth. Either she stuck to something or she didn’t do it at all. He loved her tenacity along with her sunflower spirit. She was definitely not a pushover despite how free-spirited she appeared to be. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  The sensual air passed between them and Aaliyah tried to keep it at bay. “I can be at times.” She headed to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.” She opened up various cabinets. She ate rather clean and she knew Ocean did as well, yet her pantry felt short of viable options. “Or, we can order something? I’m sure something is still open here.”

  “How about?” Ocean held Aaliyah’s waist and nibbled on her earlobe. “We make love first and then eat second. The only appetite I have is for you and I’m rather hungry.”

  Aaliyah was about to take Ocean on his offer until she heard the not-so faint rumble of his stomach. “Or…we can dine first and then you can ravage me second.”

  “You drive a hard bargain but I won’t argue,” Ocean stepped aside and opened the refrigerator door. He found his meal within seconds. “Are you in the mood for grilled cheese?”

  Aaliyah remembered how amazing Ocean’s grilled cheese sandwiches were. It wasn’t a coincidence she kept some of the ingredients on hand at any given time. “Sure.”

  He quickly prepared a late dinner while Aaliyah began to sketch another tattoo. This customer wanted a full sleeve, starting with a lion’s head. The head was going to be half black and white and half watercolor.

  The black and white portion of the lion’s head was going to be a mixed of splatter and harsh lines while the actual head remained intact. The color side would sho
wcase the lion’s illustrious mane with soft splashes of pink, blue, and grey surrounding it.

  She’d been steadily focused on the piece until Ocean called her over for a late-night snack. “Take a break, baby.”

  Aaliyah got up and stretched. Her belly piercing showcased a small loop in a burgeoning pouch. She wasn’t fat, by any means, but she wasn’t as trim as before. She could blame stress or the real culprit – her love of French fries.

  She joined Ocean at the counter and felt her mouth watered as he prepared two grilled cheese sandwiches. Ocean never used just one type of cheese, but three – fontina, Colby jack, and pepper jack. Sometimes if he felt fancy, he made a grilled cheese sandwich with brie and warmed cinnamon apple slices.

  Ocean once told her his parents sent him off to see his paternal grandparents for a summer in Maine while he was a teenager. He worked at their local pharmacy that was the old-school kind; the type where someone could get a prescription filled, order a lunch, and pick up some Tylenol all within the same setting.

  It was there Ocean learned how to cook. Growing up in Bel-Air, he didn’t have to worry about cooking or cleaning for that matter. Chefs prepared his dishes and maids looked after him. His grandparents taught him to clean up after himself and prepare his own meals.

  “Be your own man,” his grandfather, Herschel, taught him. He was an older man with white hair and matching beard. He stood close to six feet tall and still had that commanding Marine presence about him. “If you can wipe your own ass, you make your own bed.”

  From that moment on, Ocean was the pharmacy’s handyman, cook, busboy, security guard, and cashier. While his grandparents’ filled prescriptions, Ocean scooped out peppermint ice cream for teen girls who gossiped about what boys were cute at the beach. He gave out candy to little kids who had owies and ouchies and proudly showed off their band-aids.

  He wiped down sand-filled tables from drunk beach goers who wanted some of that famous home-brewed lennonay (lemonade) they sold. He took down numbers of college women who shamelessly flirted with him, not knowing the family connection but just wanted to get into his pants. He obliged a few requests.