Human Hieroglyphix - Dex & Leila (9 page)

"Okay, so now let's set up appointments for follow up, 'kay?" she asked.

And we set up the follow up on my manicure, my hair cut, style and possible highlights, as well as having another waxing done.

My calendar for April and parts of May was starting to fill up.  And I loved it.

"You look a lot different, Leila girl, than you did when you came in," Dee said softly.

I nodded, because she was just saying the God's honest truth.

"Be careful out there," she said with a chin lift.  "'Kay?"

"Will do," I said fervently.  "And, Dee?"

I saw her eyes raise to mine as I reached over her desk and grabbed her hand.

"Thanks.  Thanks a lot."

"You're most welcome, Leila."  she said with gentle squeeze of her fingers and a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure something out.

I readjusted the heavy bag on my arm containing my new shampoo, conditioner and style gunk as well as my new hairbrush and blow-dryer, before leaving the salon.

When had it gotten dark? I wondered as I made my way back to the mid-city parking garage. 

Storing my heavy bundle in the trunk, I thought about my next move and I saw a neon sign from my position of leaning against my car. 

Henry's.

Where it kind of all started.

It would be kind of a shame if I didn't celebrate a bit with my new hairless face and beautiful new hairdo, now, wouldn't it?  Not to mention, it was just on the other side of the street from the parking garage.

Chapter Eleven

"Hi," I breathed sitting down at the bar, trying to remove my Levi jacket and talk at the same time.  I'm not that coordinated, if you want to know the truth.

"Hi," the bartender said placing a coaster in front of me as I draped the previously believed to be straight jacket, hereto forth known as the Levi jacket, on the seat back of my stool.

"My name's Leila and I'd like a kamikaze, please," I said trying to sound like I've introduced myself to every bartender between Colorado and the Georgia state line, and ordered a kamikaze, which I wasn't actually sure was a drink, as smoothly as possible.

The bartender, maybe my age or a little older, asked to see my I.D.

"Uhm, say again?" I asked.

"Your I.D., sweetheart," he said firmly crossing his arms on his chest and planting his feet.  Okay, he was one of
those
.

I handed over my I.D. and even managed a smile as I did so, but I was pissed.

"You don't look like the photo," Dirk, as his name tag read.  My eyes moved over him.  He was cute, in a surfer kind of way that he was working pretty good considering we were in a land locked state.

I pulled my glasses out of my purse and plunked them on the counter before putting them on.

"This better?"  I asked trying to keep the seething out of my voice as I slipped the frames on.  Why had I never noticed how heavy they were?

"Pull your hair back, right?" Dirk requested.

I sighed before pulling my hair away from my face.

"Satisfied?" I asked and saw a soft, slow grin crease Dirk's face as he slid a glass in front of me.

"More than, gorgeous," he admitted with a full-fledged smile.  "Name's Dirk."

Geez, Louise, is that how everyone introduces themselves around here?

"Leila.  And, no, my parents didn't lose a bet with Clapton, okay?"  My voice was a lot sharper than I intended.

I sipped my drink, trying to work my aggressions out with looks shooting out into the restaurant.

Hey, Gloria's on!

"Dirk?  Any chance at some olives?" I asked eyeing Gloria as she worked through the restaurant.

I never realized what waitresses went through as I watched her maneuver the room.  And the watching gave me a whole new reality into those that had simply served me for so many years.  How they explained and talked to their customers compared to the way they talked to co-workers, how they were always under the gun to deliver the meals on time and exactly to the customer's expectations. 

And, worst of all, they were the ones that took the brunt of the customer's complaints whether or not they were the one's responsible for the customer's dissatisfaction.

Huge revelation, that.

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was the last coherent part of my evening.

By my recollection, I was simply going through the drinks menu one at a time.

But, sadly, found out that I only actually sampled three different drinks before I found myself riding next to Dex.

In a car.

Next. To.
Dex
.

Holy shit.

*.*.*.*.*

It was a Monday night and things were slow enough at HH that Dex could excuse himself and leave the shop in the capable hands of Benny.

Benny was a good guy that he'd met in his travels after his melt down and had taught him just about everything he knew about ink.  But Ben had also been there when he practiced.  And practiced.  And practiced some more.  According to Ben, you'd better get your shit down before you actually applied a needle to another human being.

Good advice.

The talk from Ben, while unwelcome at the time, made more sense than anything else in his life, so he went with it.

And he was glad he did.

HH was turning a profit.

Which was huge. 

Meant he didn't have to babysit anymore or look over the other inkers shoulders as they worked and didn't have to do even half the office shit that was more of a pain in his ass than he let people know.

Which is why he was able, on a Tuesday night, sit at his normal stool at Henry's trading barbs with Dirk.

Dex was on his second beer when he heard a soft sentence of cussing from Dirk.

"I'd give it a nine outta ten Dude, but you repeated yourself," Dex said to Dirk.

"You'd be cussing, too, hombre, if you had to put the skids on that," and Dirk's head pointed across the bar to the gorgeous young woman who was having a very animated conversation with Gloria, one of the waitresses.

"I'm calling her a cab," Dirk said as he reached for the phone.

"I'll take her," Dex said much to his own surprise.

"What?" Dirk asked his finger still poised above the numbers of the phone.

"I'll make sure she gets home all right, okay?"

"You're sure, hombre?"

"More than sure,"  Dex reached into his back pocket to pull out his money clip and threw a couple of twenties on the bar.  "That gonna cover it for her and me?"

Dex got a chin lift from Dirk but watched as his old friend turned his back on the customer he had formerly been complaining about.

Dex moved around the bar and stopped right in front of the brown haired beauty that was tugging on the edges of his memory.  He knew her somehow, someway but he just wasn't quite sure of the way.  Or the how.  

"Hi," he said.  "Name's Dex."

He watched as she slowly dragged her big chocolate gaze to his.

"Is that how you all introduce yourselves?" She said, slurring only a little while keeping her left eye closed.

Was she winking at him?

"Am taking you home, babe," he said as he gathered up her cell and the other items of hers that were scattered across the bar and shoved them into her messenger bag.

Even the bag pulled at his memory.

"Dex!" he heard her exclaim as she slowly shook her head.  "The man that took my heart, but gave me a tattoo. Let's all drink to Dex!"

"Okay, honey, let's get you in the car so we can get you home, 'kay?

"But we gotta drink to Dex," she whined.  "He'sh the bes' of the bescht.  Gorgeoush, schmart, an' an artischt.  Look, err, jush, look at what he done, 'scuse, did to me!" and he snagged her around her waist as she appeared to be trying to take off her jeans.

"Let's go this way, 'kay?"

"Shure, no problems.  I'm with my Dex, raight?" He heard her say.

Having absolutely no clue what she was saying, much less where she was parked, Dex bustled her into his jeep and fastened her seatbelt and shoved her purse between her thighs.

"So, pretty drunk lady, where do you live?" Dex asked as he started the jeep.

"You sh-should know, Dex," he heard her drunken whine.  "Gave all my info to Crysh…"

"Crys?  You gave your info to Crys?"  Thank Christ, he thought pulling his phone out of his hip pocket.

"Hey, Crystal, listen.  Got a problem.  What?  No, that ain't the problem.  What?  No it ain't  that either.  Geesh, will you shut the fuck up and listen?  Got a girl in my car that is drunk off her ass.  And, Merry Christmas back to you.  She says that she knows you and she knows me."

He chanced a glance at his inebriated passenger who seemed asleep.

"What do you mean, what does she look like?"

"Tallish, shoulder length brown hair, nice figure, jeans, t-shirt and jean jacket," he recited as his eyes ticked off the points before uttering them aloud.

"What the fuck do you mean she could be one of a thousand girls?"

"She thinks she knows me.  What?  No, she tried to take her jeans off in Henry's to show me," he said slowly hoping that Crys might know the girl he was talkin' about.  But she just laughed at him and disconnected.

Fuck!

He glanced over at his passenger, illuminated in the glow of the dashboard.  How did he know her?

He pulled to the side of the road and snagged her purse from between her legs.

"So, you're Leila McCarthy, huh?  And you live  at 812 Vermont Ave.  Perfect!" Dex rumbled as he took a sharp left out of the parking structure.

*.*.*.*.*

I was dying.

No one could feel this horrible and not be dying.

I cracked one eye open slowly and saw I was flat on my back on my couch still fully dressed, although my shoes had been taken off.

I swallowed thickly and dryly.  Why did my mouth taste so bad?

I raised one hand to my head and brushed my hair out of my eyes but just that little bit of motion shot fresh pain through my aching head.

I sat up.

Slowly.

By degrees.

Having to stop every few seconds as the room spun crazily around me.  And I felt like I'd accomplished something amazing when I was finally sitting fully upright.

Now if I could only make it to my feet.

"Hey, sunshine.  You're awake," I heard a deep voice say.  "How 'bout some coffee?"

My head swiveled towards the sound of the voice but I had moved too fast and the dizziness hit hard.  I closed my eyes and waited for my stomach to settle which was an interesting little chain reaction to the dizziness.

"Here, " I heard the voice say as I felt a water bottle pressed into one of my hands.  "Drink.  Small sips.  It'll help you feel better."

I did as the voice instructed and found the instruction to be true.  I did feel marginally better after a few sips.  Enough so I was able to open my eyes.

Dex was sitting on my coffee table facing me wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.

Oh, shit. I slammed my eyes closed again.  This had to be a dream and, from the way my body was feeling, was of the nightmare variety.

Dex.

In my house.

"Wha' happened," I growled, my voice sounding nothing like my normal self.

"Think you tied one on, babe."

I took a couple more sips of the water bottle as I stoically kept my eyes closed.

"Think you're gonna live?" he asked.

I ventured a look and got snagged on the green eyes before me.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, his face splitting into a grin as he put his hands on my knees.

"How…" I began but I wasn't sure what I was trying to ask.  I cleared my throat and that action about took the top of my head off.

"You need coffee, food and some meds, in that order," he said giving my knees a pat before I watched him stand up and move towards the kitchen.  "Have woken up a time or two feeling just like you look."

Oh, God.  I hadn't even thought of how I looked, but I could figure from the way I was feeling that I was a sorry sight.

I heard him moving around my kitchen and I tried standing up aided by the arm of my sofa.  So far, so good.

Carefully putting one foot in front of the other, I made my way to the half-bath tucked under the stairs.  Seemed like those few steps were as long as a mile.

After I'd taken care of business and was washing my hands, I ventured a glance into the mirror.

Crap.

That's exactly what I looked and felt like.  Pure, unadulterated crap.

I washed my face and tried finger combing my hair.  Luckily, the long layers that Frank-Kay had made were tamable.