The head inspector, a tall woman of about forty years of age named Ms. Zellia, quickly looks around the room, and turns to smile victoriously at me. "Why would we miss an inspection date? We've only been doing these inspections in your living arrangements for fifteen years." Suddenly, that stupid grin drops right off her face, and she shrieks. "What's that?!"
"What's what?" I ask, looking behind me. Ms. Zellia points at my shoulder, and I look down at it. "Oh, that. It's a tattoo."
"I know what it is!" she screams out at me. "I was talking about the redness around it. Have you been injecting?!"
The nerve of that woman, assuming that I would do such things! "No, I haven't," I reply calmly, a hint of anger surging forth in my voice.
"Who's done this to you? Who put that thing on you?"
"I have," comes Mark's voice from the kitchen doorway. He comes out to us, and stands next to me.
"And who might you be?" Ms. Zellia asks, and, by the way she's eyeing him and the way she asked the question, I can tell she's checking him out.
Mark nonchalantly places his arm around my back, and rests his hand on my hip. "I'm her boyfriend, Mark Callaway. I own Mark's Tattoo Studio down on Main Street."
Immediately, I can see her change from interested to embarrass, but it's hard to gauge. "Well, in that case, were your tools sterilized when you gave Miss Curtis that horrible thing on her arm?" she asks, pointing to my shoulder like the tattoo would bring everyone misery.
"Yes," he replies. "All of my tools are sterilized, workplaces are cleaned after each visit, and I want to add that new tattoos are suppose to be red like her's."
Apparently peeved at Mark's tone, she nods, and quickly writes something into her inspection log. "All right then," she says, then turns to her comrades. "Let's start in the basement." She and the others descend the basement stairs.
I take Mark's hand from my hip, and pull him along with me to the living room sofa. "Mark, you didn't have to do that," I tell him as we sit down next to each other.
Mark smiles, and replies, "Do what? I didn't do anything!" I laugh a little, and punch him softly. "All right, I did do it, but only because I thought having a boyfriend in the picture would help a little." Quickly, his humor subsides. "Fifteen years?" I nod, and he continues, "How come these things haven't stopped? Isn't there a number of years you need inspection until you're declared cured or whatever?"
I shrug. "I don't know. The witch down there says she'll send in a release form every time she visits, but she's never done it once. I think she enjoys making me miserable." I reply.
Suddenly, the clomping of the inspection group on the basement stairs makes us quiet down. Ms. Zellia comes over to us. "We're going to check the upstairs now," she informs us. Mark and I follow the group up the stairs to the first guest room.
"I've got to go home for a few hours. I need some sleep." Mark tells me. "Want me to come back with some ointment?"
I look down at my tattoo. "Come to think of it, ointment might help with the redness," I reply. I look back up at him. "Sure, come back if you can."
Mark squeezes my hand softly, and says, "I'll see you later then," I nod, and he goes downstairs, exiting the house.
Sighing, I turn to the guest room where the inspectors are doing their job. "Am I clean yet?" I ask Ms. Zellia, who's sifting through some storage tubs from the closet.
She looks up at me angrily. "Miss Curtis, you are never clean, with drugs or anything else. You are sin personified. Now, if you don't mind, we're going to finish this inspection." Quickly, she sticks her nose back into her work. Just as angrily as she stared at me, I stomp out of the room, down the stairs, and plop down onto the cushiony sofa. I turn on my five-CD-player stereo, press the random selection, turn the volume up full-blast, and sit back on my sofa.
Three hours later, after Ms. Zellia and her crew inspect every inch of my house, she finally declares my house clear. I smile defiantly at her, and state, "See? I tell you every time, I don't do drugs. Now, are you going to file that release report?"
Ms. Zellia looks at me like a mother would a bratty child. "I'm thinking about it. Now, where's Mr. Callaway?"
"Oh, he went back to his apartment. He had to go get some rest, and he couldn't do it here with you all around." I tell her.
Ms. Zellia cocks her eyebrows at my harsh tone. "Well, what's the number I can reach him at? I need to talk to him about what he knows about you."
"Um, well, that's kinda hard," I tell her, stalling until I come up with the perfect excuse. "You see, his phone's disconnected. He's moving in here, with me, so he doesn't need his phone."
"Really?" she responds, not seeming to believe me. "Well, I'll come by tomorrow morning to talk to him. Please tell him." With that, she leaves the house with the rest of the demon pack.
Once the door is closed, I breathe a sigh of relief, and let Harley in, then go to sit on the sofa. "Well, Harley," I say to the dog, whose head is in my lap, "looks like I'm digging myself into a huge grave. I completely lied to that she-devil, and now what am I to do?" All of a sudden, the phone rings, cutting clearly through my thoughts. "Hello?" I ask when I put the phone to my ear.
"Hey, girl. Did the witch and her goblins leave yet? Did you pass?" Rita asks eagerly.
"Yes to both," I say, laughing throughout my answer. When I stop laughing, I add, "And I kinda got myself into a predicament." When Rita asks what I had done, I tell her about Mark visiting me earlier, and how I told Ms. Zellia about Mark moving in with me.
"You're on your own now!" Rita replies, and laughs. "But seriously, you'll have to tell Mark."
"I know," I respond. We continue to talk for another few minutes until the doorbell rings. "I gotta go now. I'll see you tomorrow, Rita. 'Bye!" I hang up the phone after Rita responds the same, and rush to the door. I open it to find Mark standing on my porch. "I see you made it back." I tell him. He smiles, and holds a small brown paper bag out to me. I take the bag, and reply in a comical sense, "Come in, Sir Relief of Pain,"
He enters the door, and closes it behind him. I lead the way to the living room, to the almost-antique sofa, where we sit down next to each other. "Give me the bag," Mark commands softly of me, and I obey. He takes a tube of Neosporin from it and places the bag on the coffee table, as I watch intently. Next, he unscrews the cap of the tube, squeezes a small amount onto his fingers, and looks at me, noticing for the first time that I was watching him. "Scoot a little closer, so I can put this stuff on," he tells me firmly, like he's done this before. I obey again, and before long, his soothing touch brings moans and, surprisingly, purrs from my throat. Mark asks, with humor in his voice, "Better?"
I turn my head to look at him, and see his smile. "Yes, much, thanks," I reply.
He keeps rubbing my shoulder where the pain had been only minutes before, though he didn't need to anymore. "Now that I've got you all relaxed, comfortable, and in my grasp-" he begins.
"Oh no!" I interrupt him, laughing. "I just knew this massage was leading up to something!"
He laughs with me. "Yep, I was just 'buttering you up', getting you ready for my real plan," he remarks. Soon, our laughter dies, and he grows serious again. "Now, really, I was gonna ask you something."
"What?" I ask him, noting the soothing tone of voice he's using.
Before he responds, he moves his hands to the areas nearer my neck on both sides, and begins gently massaging. Finally, he says, "Well, I got into a dispute with my landlord, and I've got to find a new place to live. I noticed you have a few extra rooms, and I was wondering if it'd be all right if I moved into one."
I turn back to him. "You've been evicted?" I ask, somewhat surprised at this information. I laugh at myself. "Of course, you have; what am I thinking? Why else would you be looking for a place to live after an argument with your landlord?" He nods. "Well, sure, you can stay here till you get yourself a place. I've got tons of room, and there's only me." Harley barks from outside at some night animal. "And Harley. We'd both love you to stay."
Mark smiles; that smile melts me in more places than I can count. "Thanks, Jess. I really appreciate it." He stands up, and grabs his jacket. "I should go get-"
The sudden ringing of the doorbell interrupts him. We both look toward the door, then at each other. "Expecting someone?" he asks, raising his eyebrow slightly. I shake my head no.
A loud, drunken male voice comes from the other side of the door. "Jess, open up this door right now! I'm gonna take you out for the time of your life tonight, and make up for last night." It's Rodger, returning to badger me some more. "C'mon, open up. I even got us a hotel room for afterward!"
I groan aloud. "Damn him!" I say under my breath. "Why doesn't Rodger ever leave me alone?"
"A friend of yours, I presume," Mark states.
"No," I tell him, "not a friend. He's the date from Hell's Hell."
We both chuckle a bit. "Well, let's have a little fun with 'Rodger'," Mark says to me, then goes to the door.
Once he opens it, Rodger has to look almost straight up to look into Mark's face. "Who in the Hell are you?" he asks, quite nervous at Mark's size and how he looks like he'd do anything to break his neck.
"Doesn't matter," Mark replies, his voice cold and angry-like. "What do you want?"
Rodger regains some courage, and states, "I want to speak to Jess,"
"She doesn't want to speak to you," Mark replies.
"I want Jess," Rodger demands, "and in more ways than one. I've got us a romantic date planned out, ending with a bed, sheets, and shedding clothes!"
Instantly, Mark grabs Rodger by the throat, and easily lifts him into the space in front of him. I can see Rodger struggling in Mark's grip, and the color begins to drain from his face. "Let me down! If you don't, I swear, you'll regret it!" Rodger grunts out. Mark's grip tightens around the smaller man's throat. I begin silently snickering at Rodger's struggling.
Finally, I think Rodger's been punished enough, and get up from the sofa. "Mark, that's enough," I call out to him. I stroll over to the two men. "Put him down," Mark looks down at me for a second, then obeys, placing Rodger on his feet outside the door. I turn to Rodger. "Get out of here, Rodger. You're not wanted here. If you show up again, I'll let Mark do a little more than just choke you." Rodger turns his stare from Mark to me, then looks back at Mark before stumbling down the porch steps. He falls flat on his face, but quickly scrambles to his feet and races out of my huge front yard. All the while, Mark and I are laughing heartily. I glance out in front of the house, and see a Harley-Davidson parked there. "Is that your's?" I ask Mark, pointing to the motorcycle.
Mark nods, and replies, "Before that 'Rodger' came, I was going to go get whatever stuff I can, and bring it back. I guess I should go now."
"No need," I tell him. "Besides, you'll never bring everything over on that bike. Come on, we'll use my truck." It takes us an hour to pack his stuff in boxes and bring it all to my house. By 10:00, I'm ready to hit the sheets, but I stay up to help Mark put his things away into the largest guest room. When he insists on paying rent, I shake my head. "Nope, I won't let you. You are my guest, and I don't care how long you live here, you will not pay me a dime." I tell him. "Unless you eat the whole week's groceries in one day." I add, sporting a smile. Finally, around midnight, I enter my bedroom with every intention to take a nice hot shower, but as soon as I sit down on my bed, my eyes close, and I lay down, falling asleep.
********
The phone's ringing awakens me at 9:00 the next morning. Groggily, I reach for the phone, place it to my ear, and mutter, "Hello?"
"Hiya, sleepyhead!" Rita responds from the other side. "Get up, because I'm bringing you breakfast. I'll be there in half an hour, so you take a shower and whatever else you need to do. 'Bye!" She hangs up before I can say another word.
I get out of bed, grab some jeans and a Black Label T-shirt, and head to my bathroom. I step out of the clothes I fell asleep in, and step into the hot, steamy shower. The hot streams relax my aching muscles, and also remind me of my shoulder tattoo, which is hurting a little bit. The pain makes me remember the night before, and who lives across the hall from me now. Immediately, I wash the conditioner out of my hair, turn of the water, and wrap a thick terry-towel around my slender figure. Once my body is dry, I put my clothes on, blow-dry and brush out my hair, and exit my room, ready for a new day.
I silently close my door, and tiptoe across the hall, then lean my head to his door. Mark's snoring quietly. "Good," I whisper to myself, and go downstairs to feed Harley. I let my dog in from her large yard, and set a bowl of kibble on the floor. Harley greedily eats from the bowl as I put a bowl of water next to her, patting her at the same time. "Good girl," I say to her. "Eat it all up so you won't be hungry till dinnertime."
Suddenly, the phone rings. "Hello?" I ask after I pick it up on the second ring.
"Yes, Miss Curtis, this is Ms. Zellia," answers a harsh voice. "I was wondering when would be a good time to get a few words from Mr. Callaway."
I look up at the clock, stumped on what to answer. "Well, how's about in two hours?" I reply. "Mark should be awake by then." Ms. Zellia agrees, and we hang up. As soon as I hang up, the doorbell rings. "Oh! I almost forgot about Rita!" I say aloud, and race to the door. As I open it, I say, "Sorry, Rita, I almost forgot about ya!"
Rita pretends to be hurt. "How could you forget your best friend? The one that brings you bagels for breakfast?" she says, using a voice full of pain. We both burst out laughing. She follows me into the kitchen, and places a brown paper bag on the counter island as we sit on the bar stools. "I bought plain ones today. I'm not up for the exotic kind today." Rita explains.
"Neither am I," I tell her, pulling two out, and handing one to her. "Cream cheese?" She nods, and I go to the fridge. When I close the door, a big tub of Philadelphia Cream Cheese in my hand, I nearly step in Harley's water dish. I pass Rita the tub, then stoop down to pick up the empty bowls. "I had one helluva night," I tell her as I place the bowls on the counter, slip onto my stool, and begin spreading some cream cheese on my bagel.
"Oh? And what did you do?" Rita asks me as I take a bite of my breakfast. Before I can answer, Mark comes down the stairs in just denim shorts. My eyes widen at the sight of his muscular body, and when I glace back at Rita, her eyes are just as big, maybe even bigger. Mark nods to us, grabs a few bagels, and exits the kitchen. He lumbers back up the stairs. "Oh, I see now," Rita says, with an all-knowing tone in her voice.
"See what?" I ask, quite surprised at her assumption. "Look, Mark needed a place to live, and since I have so much space, and only Harley to share it with, I told him he could live here until he finds a better place. That's all, I swear."
"Yeah, right, whatever!" Rita exclaims, then tilts her head sideways. "Wait, is that "You Shook Me All Night Long" I hear?" I quickly punch her in the arm, and we both laugh. She looks at her watch. "Well, I gotta go, so I'll see you later, all right?" When I nod, she says, "I'll leave the bagels with you. You may need them with a huge guy living here now." We both laugh as I walk Rita to the door, where she gives me a quick hug, and she walks out of the house.
Mark comes down the stairs, with a T-shirt on this time, just as I'm closing the door. "She left already?" he asks me.
"Yep," I reply, looking at his physique, and how his green eyes sparkle in the sunlight. "Oh! Before I forget. You remember that Ms. Zellia that was here yesterday?" When he nods, I continue. "Well, I kinda told her you were moving in with me, and she wants to speak to you. She's coming around 11:30 or so."
Mark smiles. "Well, I guess you didn't totally lie. You just knew the truth before it happened." he tells me. "Besides, I don't need to go to the shop until 12:30 anyway." We sit in the kitchen, and talk about anything and everything over bagels and coffee. I learn a great deal about Mark, as he learned stuff about me, and I'm hoping this stuff will help him for his 'act' later in the morning. The only thing I've refrained from telling him is my life before the age of 20.
At exactly 11:30, the doorbell rings. I answer the door, and let Ms. Zellia in. Promptly, she demands we sit in the living room. She sits in the large sitting chair, while Mark and I sit together on the love seat. "Mr. Callaway, how long have you known Miss Curtis? Have you ever seen her use drugs, or even have symptoms of using drugs?" Ms. Zellia begins to question.
"I've know Jess for about two and a half years," Mark says first. "As long as I've known her, she never used drugs, nor had any symptoms, as you call it, of using anything."
"What about you? Have you ever used drugs like steroids or anything else?" Ms. Zellia next asks. "What about your tattooing procedures? Are they safe? Who taught you?" She goes into more personal questions, like about his love life before he met me.
I was about to object to her questioning of Mark's love life, but Mark speaks up. "First of all," Mark replies, "I'm not answering anything that relates to my private life, but I've never used drugs, at any point in my life. I've been taught well in my area of the tattooing profession, and the procedures are quite safe, and used only with sterilized tools. Is that enough?"
Ms. Zellia writes some things down on her pad of notebook paper, then up at Mark. Her face is tight with anger, and, if I'm right, a bit of embarrassment. "All done, but I'd like to visit your shop to do a thorough inspection," she says to him. "I'll call you in a day or so to set that up." She rises, and shakes Mark's hand. "Good day, Miss Curtis, Mr. Callaway." She leaves my house, closing the door tightly behind herself.
I exhale deeply. "I thought she'd never leave," I tell Mark, and he nods in agreement.
After fifteen minutes of talking, joking, and laughing, Mark announces, "Well, I gotta get going. I'll see you later, all right?" I nod. "'Bye." He walks out of my front door, and all the life in the house leaves with him.
I sit down on my sofa again, and think about the boredom I've thrown myself into. Rita's at her office; she's probably adding up the account of a new client. Mark's on his way to his shop, getting ready to give at least ten people new tattoos before he leaves today. I, on the other hand, have nothing to do. I don't work; I never went to college, which was my original plan, because of this stint with the law. I sigh heavily, and pick up the paper. Immediately, I flip to the horoscopes. I scan down until I see the lion symbol of the Leo zodiac sign. The 'scope reads: "Today is one to review all trials and errors from the past. Many opportunities spring up today, and you should choose a job 'tunity wisely. One of the opposite sex may be the reason for choosing one, but beware. Within a few months, this business relationship may turn into something more, almost catching you by surprise. Goal for the day: Go see a movie; it'll calm your nerves."
After reading my 'scope, I flip to the back page, and scan over the movies playing at the Cinema. I select one, and I place the paper on the table. "Well, one things for sure. I haven't seen a movie in a long while." I mumble to myself, slipping the straps of my pack over my shoulders, and head out to the garage. As I back out of my driveway, I think back to my 'scope, and say to myself, "I wonder what it means by someone of the opposite sex making me choose a job."
I arrive at the Cinema fifteen minutes later, buy a movie ticket for 'The Skulls', and get some popcorn and a drink before going to sit in the theater. As I sit in the dark theater, watching the movie, I try to imagine what could possibly be in store for me today. After two hours, I walk out of the cinema, get into my truck, and zoom out of the parking lot. As I drive, I unconsciously drive down Main Street. When I pass by Mark's shop, I glace out my window, and see a red and white sign on the door. I'm going too fast to see what the sign says, so I turn onto a side street, and turn around.
I slow down the truck when I begin to approach the shop, and park in an available parking space beside the storefronts. I sit in my vehicle, trying figure out why I decided to come back. I get out, and walk up to the door. I glace at the sign I had spotted, and smiled to myself as I entered. The sign had read: "Help Wanted. Inquire Inside."
I glace around the waiting area, and see about six people sitting in chairs, and another four standing, gazing at the designs on the walls. I sit in an empty chair, and see some people look up at me, smile, and go back to their magazines. I look around the area. 'It seems different to me now,' I think to myself. 'Maybe if I came in more, it wouldn't look so foreign.'
Five people are called to the tattooing rooms before the phone on the counter begins to ring insistently. After five rings, and Mark doesn't come from the back rooms, I walk over to the counter, and pick up the phone. People look at me funny when I answer the phone, and say into the mouth-end, "Hello, Mark's Tattoo Studio. How can I help you?" It's an appointment call, and I look all over the counter until I find the clipboard with the appointment schedules in a drawer. Quickly, I schedule an appointment for next week, write it in, and hang up the phone.
After the ten morning appointments pay for their new skin art, I come back around to the front of the counter. It amazes me that Mark hadn't seen me there whenever he came up front to get his clients. I'm staring at the skull with the dagger again. "It's so delicately designed," I observe. "I wonder who the artist is."
"When did you get here?" calls a voice from behind me, and I jump.
I turn around, and see Mark standing against the doorframe. "You scared me!" I tell him.
"Sorry," he apologizes, then comes over to the counter. "You been here long?"
I look at the clock on the wall. "Just a couple of hours. I was working behind the counter. Things were getting busy."
"So that's why it looks so deserted," Mark says, looking around. "My clients usually wait until I can get a chance to collect the fees. Any calls?"
"A couple," I reply. "Just calls to make appointments for next week." I look around, and notice that I'm hungry. "Want to go for some lunch?"
Mark nods. "I don't have another appointment until later. Just let me close up first." I wait around, watching him clean the shop up. About ten minutes later, we're walking out of the shop after Mark locks the door. "Where are we going?"
"Just down the street. There's a great Chinese restaurant I haven't been to in a while." I tell him. "We can take my truck." I hop into the driver's seat while Mark gets in on the passenger side. I drive a few minutes until we reach the Jade Villa, and I park by the curb.
We enter the restaurant, and grab a booth by the window. A waiter comes over, and takes our order quickly. After the waiter leaves, Mark says to me, "You'll never guess what happened today when I was at the shop."
I think a little while, and reply, "You're right; I can't. What happened?"
The waiter comes back with our combo orders, places them in front of us, and leaves again. "Well," he starts as we begin to eat, "I finished my first appointment, and came to the front counter to get the payment. After the guy leaves, in walks your Ms. Zellia, and she's wearing this God-awful skimpy dress that doesn't agree with her body at all. She said she was there to check out my facility, but then she starts hitting on me."
I start laughing, and reply, "Ew! Jeeze, Mark, I'm trying to eat!"
Mark laughs, too. "Hey, how do you think I felt when she kept flirting at me!" he protests. He takes another bite of his meal, and continues. "The things she kept saying…" He shudders. "I promptly kicked her out of the shop."
I'm laughing pretty hard by now, and getting looks from the other people. I quickly swallow my laughter, and pick up a fortune cookie. I break it open, remove the strip of paper, and read the little writing. It reads: "Your future is staring you in the face." I look up, and see Mark looking at me. "What?" I ask, and, thinking I had something on my face, brushed my hand over my mouth.
"Nothing," Mark says, smiling, and continues to eat. We finish our meal in silence. While I'm paying the bill, I think back to the fortune I tucked into my pack. We leave the restaurant, and head to my truck. "That's a nice place to eat," Mark comments.
Mark's voice takes my mind off the fortune. "I know," I reply back. "That's why I love it so much. That, and the good food." Mark laughs a little at that.
I drive Mark back to his shop. "Did you want the counter job?" Mark asks suddenly.
"What?" I reply, kind of thrown off by the question. "Oh, that. Yeah, kinda. I need a job. I'm tired of hanging out at home all day, doing absolutely nothing." I park in front of the shop. "Here's your stop."
"It's your's, too," Mark tells me. "Come on." I follow him into the shop. "I'm hiring you to work at the counter. You'll be taking appointments, collecting payment, giving those pain pills, all that stuff."
"Thanks, Mark," I tell him with sincerity. "I really appreciate the chance."
Mark turns to me. "Well, you've given me a place to live. I thought the least I could do was give you a job."
"And I'll make you proud," I say with a smile. Mark smiles back, and goes to the back rooms to get them ready for the afternoon appointments. As I step behind the counter again, I think back to my 'scope from this morning's paper, and to the fortune from the fortune cookie from lunch. "Damn," I swear softly, "the one from the paper came true. What about the fortune? What's that one mean?" I think back to when Mark was looking at me in the restaurant after I had read it. "I hope it's not saying that Mark and I…No! Definitely not. I won't let it happen. Not again." The bell on the door rings, and I turn to see a man walk in. "Hello, welcome to Mark's Tattoo Studio. Mark is in the back, in room 1." I point to the doorway for him to go through.
