The Sexy Tattooist Page 3

  “You know, I think I’m done with this conversation.” And I was, but at the same time, as irritating as she was, her doubting me simply made my resolve stronger. She’d be highly annoyed to find out, at the end of August, that I had managed to keep my word.

  It was somewhat of a relief when the parking lot to The Finery came into view, and right there, my mother’s white Toyota Camry. How that piece of shit was still running was beyond me, but I guess they weren’t lying when they said a Toyota engine will keep running long after the body rusts away—which appeared to be exactly the fate my mother’s car was heading for.

  The parking lot itself was mostly empty; there were two cars toward the back, probably belonging to one of the waitresses and the head bartender for that day shift. Hopefully they wouldn’t come out; I didn’t feel like dealing with any of my mother’s co-workers.

  “You really should get a new job,” I said as I stepped out of the truck. The parking lot was strewn with crushed cigarette packs and other, various detritus. It looked like a barren wasteland.

  “Where? At some convenience store? A gas station? That’s about the only places that’ll hire someone like me.”

  “Why don’t you just get a regular job waitressing?” I pulled the jumper cables from the bed of the truck. “Go pop the hood on your car.”

  “I don’t get a ‘regular job waitressing,’ as you so put it, because I just don’t think I could stand to be in an environment like that.”

  “Like what? Like normal people taking their families out to dinner?”

  “Like ... so wholesome. Yes, exactly that! I don’t want to be serving Suzy and her handsome husband and their beautiful children!”

  Okay. Clearly that had touched a nerve. “Look, Mom, I’m not trying to give you a hard time, okay? I’m really not. But I know the type of dirtbags that go to a place like this and I just think that after all these years, maybe a change would be good for you.”

  “You’re embarrassed by me, aren’t you?” She leaned against the side of my truck, her arms crossed, a glare on her face. “Just like your father was. That’s why he stayed away, you know. Because he couldn’t bear to think that the rest of the world might know he had actually gone to The Finery and fucked one of the dancers there. Not that there should be any shame in that, for Christ’s sake.”

  I gritted my teeth and tried to focus on getting her damn car started so I could get the hell out of there. The drama that I was trying to escape from this summer clearly wasn’t just related to the women I hooked up with. I was probably some sort of magnet for this sort of shit just because I’d grown up with a mother like this. But I couldn’t cut her off. I’d thought about it before; I’d considered just not answering my phone when she called, or better yet, changing my number, but there was some part of me that knew I couldn’t do it. At this point, the tables had turned and I felt more like the parental figure in our relationship than she was, but really, it might’ve been like that all along.

  “Let’s just drop it, okay?” I said. I made sure both clamps were attached to the Camry’s battery and then I went back over to my truck and started it. “Try to start your car,” I told her.

  It took two tries, but the Camry started. My mother got back out of the car and came over and stood in front of me. “You ever think about him? Your father?”

  “Not really,” I lied.

  “Me neither. Well, once in a while, maybe. Once in a while I might start thinking what it would be like if we had stayed together. I think that maybe you could’ve had a better upbringing, a different sort of life.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. When it came to my childhood, my mother was either overly sentimental about what could have been, or vehemently delusional about how she did the best she could. There was no in between. But I didn’t feel like consoling her about it. That wasn’t my job.

  “You should be good,” I said. “Drive the car around for a little bit, let the battery recharge, but I don’t think it’ll give you any more problems.”

  “You really are the best, sweetie; thank you. Now, I just have one more favor to ask: can I borrow fifty bucks? Just until I get paid next week. It would really help out if you had it.”

  I’d probably “lent” my mother thousands of dollars over the years; I didn’t keep track of that shit because I knew she’d never pay me back.

  “Fine,” I said. “You’re going to have to follow me to the ATM though; I don’t have that much cash on me.”

  “You’re a good man,” she said. “Whichever lady you end up with is going to be damn lucky!”

  I started to say something in response, but then thought better of it. It might just be better to be a bachelor for life.

  4.

  Chloe

  I let myself sleep in until nine-thirty on Saturday, which was something I hadn’t done the entire school year. The house was again empty, another note on the counter from Mom saying that she and my father had gone out but would be back in a few hours and wanted to take me to lunch. I made myself some tea and then sat on the veranda and looked out at the ocean. It was late enough that if I ate something for breakfast, I wouldn’t be hungry for lunch, and my mother would inevitably start asking if I had an eating disorder. So, I ignored the rumbling in my stomach and sipped my tea. Then I went back up to my room and unpacked my clothes, realizing that I basically had nothing to wear out tonight with Tara. Nothing that she would consider worthy enough, anyway. The thing was, she liked when people looked at her, and she knew how to dress so she looked her best. Me, I mostly felt like an imposter when I dressed up, like everyone would somehow know that I felt more comfortable in jeans and a paint-spattered t-shirt than some fancy dress. It didn’t help that I couldn’t walk in high heels even if my life depended on it.

  I did have a cute, sleeveless, cotton dress, printed with pink and turquoise flowers. I took it out of my bag and hung it on a hanger so hopefully all the wrinkles would be out by the time I needed to wear it.

  *****

  My parents took me out to L’Orange, which was my mother’s favorite bistro. It was downtown, right next to a little breakfast joint that had really good chocolate croissants. I could tell by the way my parents kept exchanging glances with each other that they had something they wanted to talk to me about. I tried to ignore the uneasiness I felt. I already knew what I was going to order, but pretended to go through the menu. My mother wondered whether she should get the crab cakes or the lobster bisque for an appetizer. I racked my brain, trying to figure out just what it was they were planning to tell me. Our server came over, and I ordered a side Cesar salad and the chicken pot pie. My parents placed their orders, and once the server left, my father cleared his throat.

  “Chloe,” he said. “There’s something your mother and I would like to discuss with you.”

  I tried to force a smile, but it probably came out looking more like a grimace. “Okay,” I said. “I had a feeling there was something you wanted to talk about.”

  “Oh, darling, you make it sound so doom and gloom!” my mother exclaimed, placing her hand over mine. “It’s nothing like that at all.” But something didn’t ring quite true in her exuberant tone, and the glance she threw my father’s way as she said this only served to confirm that she didn’t entirely believe what she was saying.

  “Chloe,” Dad said. “There’s really no point in beating it around the bush. So I’m just going to come out and say it: your mother and I don’t think pursuing a career in art is the right move for you.”

  I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. So I just sat there while the seconds ticked by and didn’t say anything, while my parents exchanged glances with each other once more.

  “What your father’s trying to say ...” my mother started.

  Finally, I found my voice. “But ... I just finished my third year. I’m supposed to graduate next year! Why are you just telling me this now? And what exactly do you expect me to do?” I might have found my voice, but I sounded shr
ill. I sounded like maybe I was about to completely lose my shit or burst into tears, or maybe both. I took a deep breath and willed myself to be calm.

  “Sweetie, we want what’s going to be best for you in the long run,” Dad said. “And we don’t think that a degree in art is that. We feel like you’ve got a lot of talents and you’re just ... well ... wasting them.”

  “I don’t understand what you want me to do though,” I said. “I mean, it’s a little late in the game to be telling me this. I’m supposed to graduate next year. With an art degree that the two of you are apparently so certain will be useless.”

  “It’s not that we think it will be useless,” my mother said. “I just ... we’re just not sure it’s going to present you with the sort of opportunities that you really deserve.”

  My mother baffled me sometimes. “But Mom, weren’t you just the one who called me last week, so excited because your friend Claudia was going to let me have a piece in her next show?”

  “What’s this?” my father said.

  “Oh, you know Claudia, Claudia Bennet, she’s got that little gallery.” Mom waved her hand dismissively. “I had talked with her about letting Chloe submit some work for the next show, and she agreed.”

  “I see.” Dad appeared to mull this over, deciding whether or not this new news was going to change the trajectory of their talk. “We’re not saying that you don’t have talent, Chloe, but we just don’t see a future for you in art.”

  I couldn’t look at either of them, so I stared across the street at the Ocean View Realty building. It was a former sea captain’s house, one of those restored, mid-nineteenth century homes, with low ceilings and cramped, drafty rooms. I kept staring across the street, vaguely aware that my mother was saying something to me.

  As she talked, I went over the countless ways that I’d always done what I thought was the right thing, the thing that my parents wanted. Had they ever had to fight with me to do my homework? To get up for school in the morning? To make my bed or keep my room picked up? Had I ever been one of those reckless, rebellious teenagers? Did I ever come home with dyed hair or break curfew? Had I ever lied to them, saying I was going to study at the library when really, I was going to hang out with a boy? No. No, no, no. No to all of that, and here they were, giving me a hard time when I was giving my all to art school.

  “You know what?” I said abruptly, interrupting my mother. “I’m actually not hungry. And I’m not going to sit here and be part of this conversation anymore, because it’s completely ridiculous. I have worked really hard to get where I am, and I’m not going to stop going the year before I’m supposed to graduate. And if you guys don’t approve, fine, you don’t have to. And if you want to stop paying for my apartment and stop paying for tuition, go right ahead—I will find some other way to make it work. I’m not just going to stop now because you’ve randomly decided that I should.” I stood up.

  “Where are you going?” my mother asked. “Chloe, please, sit down.”

  “Yes, listen to your mother.” Dad held his hands up. “Listen. We’re not saying you have to stop going. We get that you’re going to graduate next year, and we do know that in and of itself is an achievement of sorts. And maybe you even will be able to do something with that degree—who knows? All we’re saying is, we’d like you to think about exploring other options. It’s not going to hurt anything to explore your options, is it?”

  “Yeah, except I don’t even know what that means.” And I really didn’t, but I also didn’t want to hear them elaborate about it, either. I sat back down. “I’d rather we just didn’t even continue this talk, okay? I don’t see the point if you guys are still going to let me keep going. I have a whole year left, and I think it’d just be better not to think that you guys thought I was completely wasting my time.”

  My parents smiled but said nothing, and it was clear that that was exactly what they thought I’d been doing this whole time.

  *****

  I was actually more than happy to go out with Tara because that meant I wouldn’t have to be at home, which felt pretty unbearable since my parents’ little chat with me about school. The first part of dinner I spent listening to Tara bitch about Michael. She got her phone out and scrolled through a bunch of pictures that I tried to pretend to be interested in seeing, though I really had no desire to ever see his face again. Still, even I had to admit it looked like he and whoever that girl was were having a good time.

  “Is she prettier than me?” Tara asked. She shoved the phone in my face. “I mean, this is who he left me for, so she better be.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “She’s not unattractive, but I don’t think she’s prettier than you are.”

  I’d meant to be consoling, but Tara just got an even more perplexed look on her face. “If she’s not prettier than I am, then what the hell? Is she better in bed than me?”

  I held my hands up. “I am not qualified to answer that question. Maybe we should talk about something else.” I reached over and took a piece of bread from the bread basket. “He’s really not worth your energy, Tara.”

  “It’s not even that I want to get back with him, because I don’t—I just want him to know that I am completely unbothered by the fact that he left me for someone else. And to do that, I need to find someone hotter than he is.” She cast her gaze around the restaurant, which right now was mostly full of couples and a few families with children. “My prospects here don’t look that great, though.” She picked up her glass of white wine and drained it. “Anyway. I feel shitty enough about this as is; let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about how this summer is going to be the best summer of your life! Because you’re twenty-one and can now officially come with me to bars and clubs. Which we’re going to tonight, by the way.”

  “So you’ve told me. I’m not planning to get drunk, though.”

  “Have you ever been drunk before?”

  I took a sip of my own wine, which tasted bitter and not very good. I tried not to make a face as I swallowed it.

  “I knew it.” Tara had a satisfied smile on her face. “You’re such a good girl. I mean, that’s one of the things I like about you, but it’s almost unbelievable. What twenty-one-year old has never been drunk before?”

  “I’m sure I’m not the only one,” I said. “And it’s not like I didn’t have the opportunity.”

  “Which almost makes it worse. I mean, next you’re going to tell me you’re still a virgin.”

  I felt my face flush a little. I was still a virgin. Tara’s eyes widened before I could say anything. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed, loud enough that the people seated nearest to us glanced over. “You are! Look at you—you’re blushing!”

  The heat rose even further on my face. I hated that I blushed so easily, but I hoped I could blame it on the few sips of wine I’d taken.

  “It’s just the wine,” I hissed.

  Tara raised a skeptical eyebrow at my still-full glass. “I’m not judging you if you are,” she said.

  “Well, I am.” I shrugged. “I just decided that it was something I didn’t want to do unless it was with someone that I was in a relationship with. You know, so it would actually mean something.”

  It sounded a little silly now, though, as I said it out loud, and I could tell that Tara thought so, too.

  “See, I’ve always felt the opposite way,” she said. “I wanted to get some experience first, so when I finally met the right guy—who I thought was Michael—I’d know what I was doing. You know, so you’re not going into it completely clueless.” She took another sip of her wine and then put her elbows on the table and leaned toward me, a conspiratorial grin on her face. “I just had the best idea,” she said.

  “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

  “No, you do. It’ll be great. This summer—we’re going to get you laid. We’re going to find you a guy to lose your virginity to. Maybe he’ll end up being the one—if so, great—but if not, you’ll now have some experi
ence for when you actually do meet the one.”

  “I’m too busy to meet the one right now.”

  “It’s summer! Who’s busy in the summer?”

  “I mean I’ve still got school. I’ve got an internship this summer, too. Well, an unofficial one.”

  Tara looked thoroughly unimpressed. “But why? Summer’s when you’re supposed to relax. No obligations. No responsibilities. What is this ‘internship?’”

  “My mom’s friends with one of the gallery owners downtown, and they agreed to include a piece of mine in their next show at the end of August.” I decided not to mention the previous conversation I’d had with my parents; I didn’t feel like getting into all that again.

  “Oh. So, you’ve got all summer then.”

  “Yeah, but it needs to be good. I can’t just slap something together last minute.”

  “Painting?”

  “No, I’m going to do a sculpture. I feel bad enough about it as it is—my mother didn’t really tell me that she was doing this until after she’d talked to Claudia about giving me a spot in the show. Which means that someone else isn’t going to have that spot.”

  “You’ve really got to let go of this guilt you’re always feeling. So, your mom used her connections to get you a spot in a gallery show. Use it to your advantage! Don’t waste all your energy feeling bad about it.”

  “I’m not going to, which is why I need to actually spend time working on it.”

  Tara nodded. “Okay, fair enough. But you’re not going to be spending all summer doing that. You’ll have time for other things, too. And I really think one of those things should be finding a guy to sleep with. You really don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

  I was almost wishing that the conversation would go back to Michael. I knew that most people my age had slept with at least one person, and had gotten drunk a few times, but neither of those things seemed that important when I was so busy with school. I didn’t want to be like so many other kids who just used college as four years to go out and party while their parents paid for their tuition and living expenses. Yeah, my dad was paying for my apartment and footing the bill for school, but I wanted to make something of myself, I wanted to find success after school without the help from my parents. I wanted to show them that, regardless of what they thought, I could do something with my art.