Trust Me (42 page)

“So,
how did you meet Cray?” Rochelle asked, lining her eyes with a soft charcoal pencil.

“We
met on the beach at Cote d’Azur,” Sandra told her; trying to concentrate on how she was applying the makeup, so she could imitate it herself. “I was sunbathing and he came up and just started talking to me. We went diving together and he asked me out to dinner. We’ve been inseparable since.” Sandra felt slightly embarrassed; it was the truth, though she didn't tell the woman all this happened just a few days ago.

“That
sounds very romantic and very uncharacteristic for the Creighton Ashford I know. I don’t think I’ve ever known him to pick a girl up. Most of the girls he’s dated have been introduced to him.”

“Have
you known Creighton long?”

“About
ten years,” Rochelle answered. “My father was transferred to England when I was a senior in high school. Cray and I met our first year at Mont Rose and we became instant friends. We were in many of the same classes, both studying business. After school, Cray expanded his lemonade business and I started a small nail salon. Three years later, he loaned me the money to start this place.”

“I
really appreciate all you’re doing. I just hope I can remember how to do it tomorrow.” Rochelle laughed that deep hearty sound.

“Don’t
worry; I’ll make a kit for you with everything we’re using. Just play around with the makeup and find your own style; something you’re comfortable with.” She set the brush down and smiled, very pleased with her work. “There,” she said. “Ready to see?” Sandra nodded as Rochelle stepped aside and spun the chair around so she could inspect her reflection. Sandra’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly; she looked like a whole different person, flawless and beautiful.

Her
normal makeup was replaced with a deep plum eye shadow, charcoal eyeliner, warm peach dusting on her cheeks and a pale coral gloss on her lips. Her hair was streaked with soft reddish blonde highlights and trimmed to fall around her cheeks and jaw. It was still long; she had barely cut any from the length, but it had been layered on the top and parted on the right side with bangs lying gently across her forehead.

“Rochelle,
I look so…wow!” she told the woman with a deep appreciation.

“Good.
Cray won’t be back for about another hour, tell me what you’d like now?” Sandra frowned.

“I
don’t know what all you offer.”

“We
do everything; besides hair, nails, waxing and massages; we do piercing, tattoos, permanent makeup, even lipo laser, though you don’t need any of that.”

“I
told Creighton I wanted my navel pierced, does it hurt?”

“You’ve
withstood having your va-jay-jay waxed; I think you can handle a little needle to the belly. Come on; let’s do this without prying eyes.”

The
two returned to the room where she had suffered the waxing session and Sandra sat on the clean table again as Rochelle left to gather her instruments together, allowing her to relax a few moments. Sandra sighed; she couldn’t believe all that had happened to her since she left Kansas; it seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I
sort of had an idea.” Sandra smiled shyly to the woman when she returned. “You said you did tattooing; can you tattoo anywhere?”

“Sure,
what did you have in mind?” Sandra blushed as she considered what she wanted to do, wondering if it was a little too over the top or if Creighton would find it interesting. She explained it to Rochelle what she wanted, which caused the darker woman to explode in a deep laugh.

“That’s
a wonderful idea! He’ll go crazy. Let’s do the piercing first and then we’ll do the rest. We’re running out of time and if I know Cray, he won’t be late; he never is.”

Sandra
braced herself as Rochelle prepared her navel. She chose a silver hoop with a dangling sapphire stone on the end of a small chain. She felt wicked and anxious, closing her eyes as the needle struck through the tender flesh of her navel. Five minutes later and she was standing in front of a long mirror, admiring the pink skin with the delicate jewel.

“Ready
for the big surprise?” Rochelle asked seeming more excited than Sandra was. She nodded, wrapped a sheet around her waist and sat back on the table, steadying herself for the stinging sensation of the needles as the woman quickly removed the plastic cart and returned with another, this one holding a hose and air compressor. She smiled wickedly, biting her bottom lip and held tight to the bar above her head, praying her fiancée would approve of her gift.

Sandra was nearly finished dressing when a knock sounded at the small door. She slipped her pants on carefully so not to irritate all that had happened to her pubic area, before turning and opening the door. Rochelle stood outside blocking the view of Creighton who waited in the reception area.

“He’s
here and he’s very anxious to see you,” She smiled. Sandra sighed, quickly slipping her feet back in her sandals.

“I
can’t wait to hear what he has to say.” Rochelle closed the door and walked away with a bright smile, leaving Sandra alone again. With a deep breath, Sandra gathered her bag with the makeup kit, waxing materials and special hair oils Rochelle had given her and left the room. Creighton was talking with Rochelle as she approached, cheerfully exchanging pleasantries. He turned just in time to see Sandra step up to his side. His eyes widened; his mouth dropped open as he slowly inspected every inch of her face all the way down to her exposed piercing. Sandra she knew without a doubt she was blushing from her toes to the roots of her newly colored hair.

“I’ll
see you two later,” Rochelle said with a smile. “Sandra, come back anytime you wish; I’ll make special arrangements to take care of you personally.” She hugged the young woman and then hugged Creighton, bringing him out of his silent state of shock.

“Sandra,”
he said softly, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “I knew you were beautiful, but this…this is amazing. You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank
you,” she said, turning and leaving the shop on his arm. “And thank you for bringing me here. I loved Rochelle; she’s very good at her art.”

“You
are more than welcome. It’s I who should be thanking you. After all, I’m the one who will benefit from your new appearance, in many wonderful and delightful ways.” Sandra blushed again, and Creighton laughed as they walked further down the block.

“So
Rochelle said you two met in college,” Sandra said. “Was she and you…”

“No,”
he said. “Rochelle and I were just friends, but I did give her a few pointers. In case you hadn’t noticed, she was really into you, not me.” Sandra gasped, coming to a halt in front of a bead shop, ignoring a tall blonde man who smiled at her as he passed. Creighton narrowed his stare on the man before taking Sandra's hand and pulled her back to a casual stroll beside him.

“Rochelle
is into a stranger side of sex than even I am,” he explained. “I never had a desire to be with her, but the offer has always there. She is very bisexual; she likes it both ways. She has had a steady partner, Carlos Sanchez, since her second year at Mont Rose; he likes to play the same way she does. They have a
weekend outing
as she refers to it, where they get together and invite a friend or two over. Sometimes it’s Carlos’s brother, other times it’s a client or another stylist, a model, someone Carlos knows, but regardless they spend three days having crazy sex. She and Miriam would have made a great team; they are both sexual maniacs.”

“I
can’t believe…I mean she saw me….I feel really weird right now.” Creighton laughed.

“Don’t be; take
it as a compliment that even women find you attractive. She wanted me to tell you, if you ever find the desire to explore a different path, she’s available.”

“Now
I’m really creeped out,” Sandra said, thinking back on all that had happened at her shop. Creighton laughed again.

“Don’t
worry; I told her I wasn’t about to share you with anyone. Let’s forget about it and just enjoy the rest of our day before we have to meet with Aryana and Daniel. I know of a few places I think will help us fulfill your desires.” Sandra fell into the familiar comfortable state of relaxation that only this man could make her feel, regardless of his strange friends.

“Where
are we going, now?” Sandra asked when he slipped his hand around her waist protectively, after a man nearly walked into a light post staring at her.

“Well,
you’ve already gotten your belly button pierced; I like it by the way; it's very sexy. So, that’s two out of five things off your list. Do you still want the tramp stamp?” he asked, glancing back at another man who was watching her as he passed by.

“Um…
sure,” she said absently as they stopped in front of a nearby tattoo parlor.

“Once
you have this done, there’s no turning back so choose wisely. You wanted this, remember?” Sandra swallowed hard and nodded. “Would you feel better if we got matching tattoos?” She turned and looked into his dark eyes.

 
“You would really get a tattoo to match mine?” He opened the door to the parlor, smiling.

“Just
promise me no Tinker Bells, or butterflies.”

A
heavyset middle-age bald man with tattoos across his scalp and arms stepped from the back of the shop and smiled to them, speaking in a very thick French dialect. Creighton spoke to the man easily while Sandra listened as patiently. She was getting more nervous as the minutes ticked by, watching the man walk back behind a thick black curtain. He returned a few minutes later, carrying with him a large photo album and set it on the granite countertop.

“Choose
your poison,” Creighton teased as they shuffled through the pages, looking at all the examples.

“See
anything you like?” he asked her.

“Not
really.”

“What
did you have in mind?” Sandra blushed, shrugging her shoulders. “Come on, tell me. What is it you want?”

“My
parents had a symbol they put on their stationary when I was younger; I have always contributed it to them. It’s similar to the necklace you bought me yesterday. I came to France because of them; I think I would like to have it if he thinks he can do it, a way of linking me to them and remembering my time in France.” Creighton spoke to the man who removed a tablet of paper from beneath the counter and set it in front of her, speaking with Creighton again.

“He
said if you draw it; he'll try to make it,” he said. Sandra picked up the pen and drew a double heart, the bottom attached to the top by the right loop at an angle as though swinging on the first.

“I’m
not an artist, but it was something like this.” She slid the paper around to face the man who quickly redrew the design, making it look very professional and almost three-dimensional.

“Is
that what you want?” Creighton asked.

“Yes.
Can he do it in pansy purple?” Creighton asked the man who nodded. “Still want a matching one?” she asked as they followed the man behind the curtain, into a large operating room style parlor. Creighton looked at her, raising her hand to kiss the knuckles.

“I
want to be linked to you forever. If this is the first step, then I’m game. Besides, it’s a beautiful design and I’ll be proud to wear it.” Sandra smiled, as the tattooist said something to them.

“He
wants to know where you want it. I think he’s hoping for the breast.” Sandra blushed.

“The
low back,” she said nervously. Creighton nodded and repeated her desires to the man who again said something in French.

“He
wants you to change out of your pants. Do you think you can just pull them down at the waist? I really don’t want to punch this guy for ogling you before he finishes your tattoo.” Sandra blushed again.

“I’ll
unfasten them. I’d really rather not change.”

“Good,”
he said turning to the middle-age man who shrugged his shoulders and again issued instructions in French. Creighton told her to sit on the seat backward and to lean across the chair in order to straighten her spine out. She did as she was told, adjusting her pants so that the area of her body to be inked was exposed. She clenched her arms around the back of the chair and screwed her eyes shut tight.

“Relax,”
Creighton told her as a young woman with multiple tattoos and black leather skirt, matching vest and knee-high boots stepped in through the back door. The tattooist spoke to her in French and Sandra suddenly became fascinated with her as she walked around Creighton, looked at the drawing. She smiled at him as he sat down in the seat next to Sandra removing his shirt to reveal his muscled chest and flat stomach. Sandra narrowed her eyes as she watched the woman assemble the supplies, glancing repeatedly to him. She actually found herself wanting to shout at the girl to keep it professional; the man belonged to her.