Secrets and Ink (3 page)

As my conscious brain started to power down, old memories floated to the surface.

There’s a movie opening at the Chinese Theater, fucking up the traffic at Hollywood and Highland. Onlookers are stacked several people deep behind the velvet ropes, waiting for the celebrities arrive. Riley is determined to dig his way through them, all the way to the front. His eyes shine like glitter at the prospect of seeing a star up close. I leave him there; we’ll meet up again later. A few blocks down, where the sidewalks no longer have stars in them, the hubbub barely makes a ripple. Buses rumble along; people of all sorts walk past me. I get more than a few looks—smirks, gapes and double takes. One guy catches my eye—he’s pointedly not looking at me. Backpack, red Cardinals cap, and the Stars Map in his hand give him away as a tourist.

Red is the sign of danger, but I ignore it. He turns and pretends to survey the collection of garish T-shirts in a shop window, but I catch his glance in the reflection. I sidle up to him, feigning to admire the display. Our elbows touch, and he doesn’t pull away.

“Where are you from?” I ask, friendly-like.

“Saint Louis. Here for a week.”

“So, how do you like LA so far?”

“It’s…interesting.” His gaze slips to my chest, where the sheer fabric leaves little to the imagination.

I know I’ve gotten him hooked. “I could show you some local sights most tourists don’t see.” I keep my voice neutral, but I bat my eyelashes at him. He gulps and nervously glances around. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Just follow me.”

I stroll away, down a side street. I keep walking without a backward glance but I know he’s behind me. The motel is as ugly as it is cheap. I wait for him at the entrance. He goes inside, pays for the room. I watch him take the key before heading after him.

The room smells of mildew and stale cigarettes. He drops on the edge of the bed, and I push myself between his knees. He doesn’t move, so I take his hands and guide them to my ass. He avoids my eyes. Nervous? Maybe a virgin. I pull off my shirt to break the ice. The brim of the baseball cap hides his eyes, but I see the quickening beat of his pulse on his throat.

Time to talk business. “I’ll blow you for fifty, but if you want to fuck, that’s a hundred.”

Wordlessly, he counts out five twenties. I unbutton my jeans and hear his breath hitch.

“Turn around,” he says. His voice grinds like gravel under heavy boots.

I turn, and he grabs my wrists. CLICK. The handcuffs bite into my skin, and my heart begins to race.

“You’re under arrest.”

He whirls me around, and I see the grimace of revulsion on his face.

That’s how I’d gotten arrested for prostitution. Funny how these details had stuck in my head, despite my best efforts to get rid of them, while the rest of the night is a blur. I know that Uncle Charlie came and bailed me out, but I don’t see it in my head. My parents’ reaction, Dad’s shouting and Mom’s crying—they hid in a haze.

But that expression of contempt on that cop’s otherwise unremarkable face… That had lodged in my memory like a bullet. Because it hurt the most. By then I’d been used to getting the stink-eye or being called a fag. The cop’s disgust had gotten to me because deep in my heart I’d known he’d been right—I’d been trash.

So my first time with Nick was really the second round, I thought before the sandman mercifully took me into his arms.

Saturday morning, I plodded around my apartment in a state of gloom. Usually, the first thought in my head after opening my eyes was that maybe this day would be when my curse broke. Life would be calm and uneventful, and I’d relax, until misfortune smacked me in the face again. This morning I had no doubt the jinx was still going strong. The previous night’s memory assaulted me on waves of nausea. The worst part hadn’t even been the humiliation, but that I’d really liked Nick. I considered going back to bed and staying there for the rest of the day.

Alas, my phone rang. I picked it up and squinted at the screen—my sister. If I didn’t answer, she would just come by to check on me.

“Morning, Charly,” I grumbled into the phone.

“Jem, how are you? Have you had breakfast yet?”

As always, her natural buoyancy lifted my spirits too, but I was reluctant to let go of my funk. “Dammit, Charly, how the hell can you be so chipper at dawn?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s almost ten.”

“Exactly. No, I haven’t had breakfast yet, but I’m not hungry.”

I suspected she’d suggest meeting up somewhere. She lived in Pasadena and I in Burbank—not a great distance, with plenty of diners and restaurants in between, but I didn’t feel like driving.

“Not a problem. I’m in your neck of the woods already, standing in line at Porto’s. What do you want?”

Hearing the name of my favorite Cuban bakery opened my mind to the idea of food. “Mmm…a breakfast sandwich would be nice. Or maybe a butter croissant. You know what? I leave it up to you. But definitely get some potato balls.”

She laughed. “That’s a given.”

By the time Charly knocked on my door twenty minutes later, I’d gotten myself washed and dressed, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the apartment.

She stepped inside carrying an FTP canvas bag I’d given her, stuffed full of bakery boxes. “Unpack this while I get the plates.” The women in my family always bossed the menfolk around. We were used to it and accepted that it was for our own good.

Charly was my closest friend, but it hadn’t always been so. When she was a toddler, I’d tried to sell her to a couple at the park. Hey, they’d commented on her cuteness and I’d been only five. Twenty bucks and an ice-cream cone had seemed like a fair price. They’d laughed and called me funny. I’d been dead serious.

In hindsight, I’d realized I’d resented her for taking my place as the baby of the family and sending me on an identity crisis. Stuck between an ever-so-responsible big brother and an adorable baby sister, it was no wonder I’d became the troublemaker.

Then a building collapsed on me, and I had to learn to walk and talk again. People I’d considered my closest friends vanished into thin air, but my little sis, who’d just gotten into the nursing school at USC, postponed her studies for a year to look after me. So yeah, she could boss me around all she wanted.

I moved a stack of books from the coffee table to the entertainment center, and then opened the boxes and laid them out. Charly, who knew her way around my kitchen, brought out plates and napkins and cups of coffee. I poured myself a glass of carrot-orange juice, and we sat down around the coffee table.

After the first bite of my medianoche sandwich, I realized I had plenty of appetite after all. Charly appeared similarly famished, and for a while, munching and slurping were the only noises to be heard. However, Charly kept surveying me over her sandwich. At the time of my convalescence, she’d appointed herself as my personal caretaker and hadn’t been able to completely give it up since. With a concerned expression, she put her plate down. “You look pale. Are you taking care of yourself?”

“You sound like Mom. I’m fine.” She had a knack for making me feel like a kid, even though she was four years younger.

She eyed me skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Just tired. Went out last night.”

Her face lit up. “Oh really? Hot date?” Charly was far too interested in my love life. She’d kept hoping I’d meet “someone nice”. She and Mom.

I had to disappoint her. I was good at it. “Sorry, it didn’t work out.”

She sighed. “Oh, Jem. You’re too picky. Like that doctor I introduced you to. He was a perfectly nice guy.”

Unfortunately, my sister was the worst matchmaker in the world. “We had nothing in common, aside from being allergic to girl cooties.”

During our one date, Doctor Lombard had yammered nonstop about his golf game and how much he’d paid for his Mercedes. And his vacation in Majorca.

She shook her head with resignation. “So, what was wrong with this one?”

“Ehrm, we didn’t click, that’s all.” I tried to sound offhanded, in hopes she’d drop the subject. “Mmm… This is so good,” I added, biting into a potato ball. Mashed potato wrapped around meat stew and deep-fried. What’s not to love?

She ignored my diversionary tactics. “Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

“I’m fine.” I grinned and shoved more food in my mouth, chewing as cheerfully as I could. A wasted effort.

She folded her hands in her lap in a gesture that was an exact copy of our mom’s. “Why don’t you tell me? It’ll make you feel better, you know it. Your habit of bottling up your feelings isn’t healthy.”

“You’re a nurse, not a shrink,” I grumbled, but I knew she was right. I still had a hard time getting the words out. “You remember when I got arrested?” I asked at last.

“How could I not? Mom cried for weeks and Dad was spitting nails. You got this close to getting a real hiding.” She indicated a quarter-inch space between her thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t I know it.” My parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment, but I’d made it exceptionally difficult for them to stick to their principles.

“You got off easy only being grounded for the rest of the school year.” She picked up her cup.

I hadn’t just been grounded. I’d had to account for every minute of my time and hadn’t been allowed out of the house any farther than the backyard, aside from going to school. I still got off easy. “I know,” I said.

“So, what about it?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“My date was the cop who arrested me.”

She made a choked sound and spat some of the coffee back into the cup. “What? How? Did you know it was him?”

I handed her a napkin. “No, of course I didn’t.”

“How could you not?” she asked, dabbing coffee and spittle from her chin.

“Would you remember someone you saw for twenty minutes nine years ago?”

“Under the circumstances—”

“While high?”

She screwed up her face. “No, probably not. He didn’t know who you were either?”

“I’ve changed a lot since.” In addition from the long, black hair and the eye shadow, I’d also been rail thin back then. Currently I kept my hair short and naturally brown. I was even a few inches taller—my last growth spurt hadn’t hit me till I was eighteen. I’d put on some weight and muscles after the accident, thanks to the physical therapy that started me swimming regularly. You had to know me well to connect me to that scrawny kid.

Charly nodded. “True. How did you realize it was him, then?”

“He recognized my tattoo.”

“Oh. Oh! I hope you used protection,” she said sternly.

“Charly!” I loved her, and she was a nurse, but talking about my sex life with her weirded me out.

“Don’t get in a huff. I care about you.”

“I know you do. And I always use protection.” These days remained unsaid. Yeah, I’d done a lot of stupid things back in the day, and gotten away with them too. Up to a point.

I opened the last box and took out the two chocolate croissants and put one on Charly’s plate. I claimed the other one for myself. I’d probably skip lunch. The failing of most chocolate croissants is that all the fillings on the inside and the two ends are plain pastry. However, Porto’s dips both ends of their croissant into melted chocolate, so you get it from end to end. Simple and brilliant.

“The whole thing was Riley’s idea, wasn’t it?”

I knew she meant the hustling. Riley and I had met in fourth grade and quickly became inseparable. Charly had disliked Riley from the start, not without reason. He and I had always pushed each other toward edgier stuff. Smoking pot, taking X… There’d always been something new and forbidden to try. He came up with the idea of how we could make some extra money for drugs and clothes. And he’d been the one who had wanted us to get our own place in Hollywood the moment we turned eighteen. But I’d gone along willingly every time.

“I don’t remember. It really doesn’t matter now,” I said.

“He was always a bad influence on you.”

“You can’t put all my fuck-ups on him.”

Charly had her stubborn streak. “That boy’s trouble. You stopped acting up when he was out of the picture.”

“And it only took a ton of bricks to knock some sense into me.”

“I keep thinking you could’ve gone to college if it wasn’t for him.” She waved at my wall of books as if there was a connection.

“Charly, I’ve never had the desire, and I’d probably be just where I am now.”

“But are you happy working at Fred’s?”

“I’m not unhappy, which is more than a bunch of college graduates with their crushing student loan debts can say.”

Charly pressed her lips into a thin line while she stacked the plates and carried them into the kitchen. On her way back, she said, “You could do worse than a cop, you know.”

I couldn’t believe what she was suggesting. “He looked at me like I was dirt.”

“He did?”

“Toxic sludge.”

She threw herself back down on the sofa. “Well, the hell with him. His loss.” Charly had an unwavering high regard of me, despite all the evidence to the contrary. She seemed especially upbeat today. Her big brown eyes had a dreamy sheen.

I had a suspicious thought. “Tell me, Sis, what are you doing in Burbank on a Saturday morning?”

“Oh, I just had a craving for Porto’s,” she said dismissively, but the tips of her ears turned pink.

“They have one in Glendale. That would’ve been closer. You’re hiding something.”

The pink spread from her ears to her cheeks. “Michael lives nearby.” She tried to suppress a happy grin but failed spectacularly.

“Oh-ho! Tell me all about this Michael person,” I urged her.

And while she gushed about Michael, the greatest guy on earth, I almost completely forgot about my own troubles.

Nick didn’t show his face in the store for the whole next week. I knew I should’ve felt relieved, but that annoying pang behind my sternum refused to go away. I had to take pills just to get a full night’s sleep. At work, Olly kept giving me pitying glances. I told myself the whole disaster would fade from my memory eventually.

My hopes went up in flames in an unexpected way. Getting home one afternoon, I picked up my mail and then checked in on my downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Gallagher. When I’d once asked Mrs. G about her age, she’d replied, “Older than the hills but younger than dirt.” She lived alone and managed well enough, but I checked in on her every couple of days. I once read a news article about an old man who died in his apartment and nobody realized it till the neighbors complained about the smell. It had struck a chord in me, and I’d wondered how he’d ended up so alone. Had he outlived all his family and friends? What a depressing thought. Maybe he’d been cursed too.