“It’s me.” I step around the corner. She’s in her recliner glued to the TV in one of her many flowery pieces. She must feel good today. Her silky silver hair is brushed and mostly styled. “What’s it today?” I tip my chin to the TV as I grab her glass to freshen up her water.
Bright hazel eyes slide to me. “This dumbass is suing his neighbor over a wind chime making too much racket. Can you believe it?”
At eighty, Dotty doesn’t watch soap operas like any normal older human being. No. Instead, she is quite obsessed with court shows. Every single one of them. And there are so many.
“They should be happy they can still hear the song it makes. Complain too much and God will take away that sense. I know He will. Saw it with my own eyes when Doris told me her husband complained about having to listen to her talk all the time. Weeks later, he couldn’t hear at all,” she tells me as I head into the kitchen of her small apartment.
I pour out the water and make a fresh glass before returning to the living room. “You sure he didn’t just turn off his hearing aids?” I set her water on the table beside her with a grin.
“God probably killed the batteries.” Deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth bunch up as she flashes a wolfish smile. “What’s new with you?”
“I called things off with Jason.” I sit on the couch beside her recliner.
“It’s about time. That little shit didn’t deserve you or your heart. He’s the type who won’t grovel when he’s done wrong. Bet he blames you for his misdeeds.” She shakes her head and then bounces a frail bony finger at me. “You need a good man. One who cherishes the ground you walk on, will rub your feet after a long day, and will celebrate the little milestones. You’re a good girl, Pea.”
For me, those type of men are unheard of. It’s not in my cards. They’ll eventually leave when they grow tired or realize that relationships are in fact hard work. But I don’t argue. Instead, I smile at her.
She narrows her eyes and pinches her brows together. “Don’t look at me like you don’t believe me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re a shit liar, Pea.”
I laugh and change the subject. “What do you want for lunch?”
“I’m not hungry,” she grumps. “Had a big breakfast.”
“Yeah? What?” The skepticism is evident in my tone.
She flicks her little wrist, waving me off. “Don’t ask so I don’t have to lie to you.” She goes back to watching TV as the judge reams the plaintiff for not enjoying the finer things in life. If I was a betting woman, I’d bet my life savings these shows are fake and put on for entertainment only. No way in hell I’d express that thought out loud, though. Knowing Dotty, she’d dismember me limb for limb and bury me throughout the city.
“That John across the hall asked me to have dinner with him,” she says as the show runs into a commercial.
“Are you going to take him up on his offer?”
She shakes her head. “What type of woman does he think I am if he’s the one cooking?”
I can’t help but laugh at her old-fashioned ways. “He’s trying to romance you, not insult you.”
She purses her thin lips. “If he wants to shake the sheets, why wouldn’t he just tell me.”
“Oh my god.” I drop my face into my hands to hide my laugh.
Her shoulders shake as a raspy laugh from her soul lights up her face. “I’m not a floozy. Hell. My purse is so unused there’s got to be an inch of dust up there. He’d need a Swiffer and shake it around first.” She’s in stitches. “Last man to touch me was my Ted and that was ten years ago before he selfishly left me first.”
“If it counts for anything, I think you should share a meal with John. It’ll do you some good.”
She points to me. “When’s the last time you’ve been dusted off and taken for a ride? Bet that Jason didn’t know how to get your motor purring. He had selfish lover written all over him.”
She’s not far off. Sex with Jason was mediocre, never great. He’d never make sure I had an orgasm first and oral sex was a chore instead of something he wanted to do.
“Oh no. We’re not switching this on me,” I tell her.
“Nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is natural. Why do you think God gave men penises to poke and women vaginas to be poked.” She makes a circle with one hand and uses a finger to shove it in.
My cheeks flare and I bring my face to the ceiling. “Please make it stop.”
She chuckles. “Complain and he’ll take that away too.”
I burst out laughing and for the next few hours, we watch and discuss the court shows, talk about random things we did this week, and our plans for the upcoming week. I don’t tell her about my kidnapping hero and the kiss that momentarily knocked down every brick around my heart. Some things are best when left in the dark.
Chapter Three
Once I leave Dotty, I meet Lucia at the subway stop between the apartments and head toward the tattoo shop. We laugh as I retell the conversations of the morning. It keeps us occupied and my nerves under wraps.
The bell above the door chimes as we step inside the old brick building with a large neon sign in the window. Smells of disinfectant and cinnamon along with a high-pitched buzz instantly fill my senses.
“Hi. Welcome to Tig’s. I’m Delia. Do you have an appointment?” Her smile is wide. Her nose ring blings under the lights, and she has tattoos sprinkled down both arms.
“Yes,” Lucia replies. “With Ash.”
I step away as she checks in to scan the framed artwork on the walls. There must be thousands of little black and white images, most looking like an emotional hormone raging teenager was bored and doodled a bunch of randomness. Skulls, hearts, cartoon characters, roses, weird people, symbols of death and love…
“He’s finishing up with another client. It’ll be ten minutes or so,” Lucia informs me.
“Some of these are really ridiculous.” Obviously. “Why would anyone want a…” I lean closer, squinting, “a headless woman on all fours with a ponytail coming out of her ass, no feet, but heels? It looks like a toddler drew it.”
Lucia titters under her breath. “These are called flash tattoos. Not everyone is as creative when it comes to what they want. And not everyone is a graphic designer with creativity running through their veins.”
“They’re permanent and hideous.” I point out.
The mind-numbing buzz stops.
She lifts a shoulder. “They wouldn’t have flash tats if people didn’t want them.”
“You’ve got virgin skin, don’t you?” Delia asks. I glance over my shoulder. Her smirk is mischievous.
“I’m too chicken,” I reply.
Her smirk explodes into an ear-to-ear grin, morphing her face to look ten years younger. “You’re like gold. The guys will have a boner over you.”
“Hopefully all their blood stays above the shoulders so they don’t mess up,” I quip.
Her laugh fills the room and I look back to the god-awful, pre-made art. You’d have to be drunk to get one of these.