In my peripheral, he shoves his hands in his jeans, paces around my station, heaves out an exhale, and then leaves. My lips compress. Donny being out of his office is odd. He owns East Coast Ink & Gallery but prefers to stay upstairs while Harlee, his niece, manages the day-to-day downstairs.
I finish adding the green highlights to the leaves and set down my machine, dabbing at the tiny spots of blood on my client’s wrist.
“It’s beautiful!” Gianna gushes as she leans forward to take in the ring of daises intertwined with the infinity symbol around her wrist. Dressed in a pink Chanel dress, she’s a young twentysomething with a mane of blonde hair she loves to flick over her shoulder with long sharp pink nails. There’s a huge rock on her ring finger. A socialite with money, she’s our typical client on the Upper East Side.
“I can’t wait to show my fiancé!” she says.
I push up a smile even though my head is banging and my throat hurts. A cold hit me a couple of weeks ago and won’t go away. I swallow the cough drop in my mouth. “Hey, you never mentioned how you found me.”
“Hmm, a friend of mine. She actually bought one of your canvases in the front gallery.”
“Ah.” I average three to four sales a year from the gallery.
“She’s an artist and a collector—paintings, sculptures.” Hair flick. “Jewels.”
Ah, lots of money, then. “Cool. Which one did she buy?”
“It’s an abstract of a house.”
Ah, the purple Victorian done in acrylics. My locket hangs from a tree in the front yard.
“It’s, um, interesting,” she says, choosing her words with care.
“You didn’t like it.”
She waves a hand around. “It’s a pretty house, but there was something off about it. It felt dark. I don’t know. It made me wonder who lived there.”
I did. Until I was kicked out.
“Meh. My art isn’t for everyone.”
“Well, I adore you, darling.” She bats her eyes at me. “And my tattoo is marvelous!”
I smile. She came in six months ago and asked for something unique. I worked on some designs for her; then we met at a coffee shop to go over the sketches. Since she had an extended trip to Europe planned, we scheduled today for the tattoo.
She squeals. “Oh my God, I almost forgot! You got married while I was gone and haven’t said a word! It’s been what, two months since the big day? How’s married life? Are you relieved the wedding hoopla is over?”
“Hmm.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Hey, wait a minute. What’s going on? Your engagement ring is gone.” She glances over her shoulder at the workstation across from mine where Edward sketches, his lean frame bent over his desk. I follow her gaze, taking in his mahogany hair as it glints under the lights, the shimmer of his lip ring. As if he feels my eyes, he glances up at me, swallows thickly, and then turns away.
Every time I come to work, I tell myself this is the day it’s not gonna hurt when I see him, but it still cuts.
Especially when I have to see him—with her.
“What the hell is going on?” Gianna hisses as we watch Harlee rush over to Edward as if she has an alarm set for every time I look his way. Harlee slants a smug smile at me as she gives him a hug, her hands lingering on his shoulders like claws.
“They happened,” I mutter, and Gianna gasps.
With an hourglass figure and long platinum hair, Harlee’s a blonde bombshell in a red dress and Christian Louboutin heels. Of course, she’s also younger than me, twenty-two to my thirty. I’m ready for the nursing home next to her.
A recent graduate from business school, she took over as floor manager last year. I noticed her chatting with Edward, flirting, and I assumed it was just her outgoing nature because she was friendly with all the staff. Even me.
She was very friendly in the supply closet. I came in early for my shift and opened the closet, and there she was, on her knees in front of Edward. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack, his jeans at his feet. She hummed like a porn star on his cock as he called out, Harlee, oh baby, Harlee!
Unbeknownst to them, I watched them as my head flicked through memories, the times we went barhopping and they’d disappear, the weekends he said she needed help moving into her apartment, then helping her put furniture together.
I remember wanting to yell and pummel them with my fists. I felt as if my chest would explode, but I forced myself to shut down, to pack it all away to sort out later. After all, this wasn’t the worst betrayal I’d experienced.
When Harlee turned around, I pointed at the semen on her cheek. Missed some, I said, then, Next time, lock the door. I flipped around, and Donny stood behind me, his eyes wide as saucers as he took in the scene. I canceled my appointments, left for the day, pawned my big-ass engagement ring, bought paints and canvases, and then went home and let the tears fall.
Gianna takes my hand and gives me a squeeze. “Oh my God, men are so stupid. When did this go down?”
“Three months before the wedding. I caught them in the supply closet.”
“Are you okay? I mean, are you being good to yourself?”
My head immediately goes to Prince Player. He was good for me. The first few weeks after we met, I walked around in a bemused haze, my body heavy with awareness. For once, it hadn’t pricked to see Edward and Harlee together. At night, I touched myself to the memory of him inside of me, to the feel of his shoulders under my hands. I even found myself searching the faces of men on the street, in restaurants, inside stores.
I wanted to see if a man like him was real.
I had to make myself stop. He didn’t really exist.
He was a stranger who put a bandage on my pain.
Stuffing it down, I focus on her tattoo. “Here you go.” I cover her wrist in petroleum jelly, then wrap it loosely with a clear bandage. “Remove this in twenty-four hours, wash with antimicrobial soap, and pat dry—don’t rub. Apply a layer of antibacterial Vaseline, and don’t cover it. Do this twice a day for two weeks. I’ll give you a handout that explains everything, plus tips for keeping the tattoo from fading.”
I pop my gloves off as I stand and roll my neck. It’s past seven at night, and I’ve been bent over for hours.
She hops off the chair and flutters her hands. “Francesca, darling, no way—we have to discuss. You must get revenge or vindication or something. This can’t be okay. You can’t be okay. That fucker.” Angry hair flick.
“Yeah.”
“I know people who know people who know people if you want him taken out. Or her. Italians don’t mess around when it comes to love.” She mimics shooting a gun, then stabbing.
I laugh, a rusty sound. “I’m good, thanks.”
We both watch as Edward stands from his chair and drapes Harlee’s coat around her shoulders. Then he slips on the vintage caramel-colored leather jacket I found for him in a secondhand store in SoHo. They stroll toward the door, and his arm clutches her shoulders, pulling her in as their heads touch. It’s the same way he used to hold me.
Harlee stops at the door and glances back at me, her voice sweet as syrup. “Clean up when you’re done, Francesca. Have a good evening.” Sly, evil smile. “Bye!”
My hands curl. I could take her. Black her eye. Kick a kidney. Show her who’s really in charge.