A series by November

Chapter 72: You're Already In

“...But you're already in there, I'll be wearing your tattoo...”
--Tori Amos

She slept late. When she wandered outside, hair still wet from her shower, she found him painting on the beach. He wasn’t facing the water though, and the painting wasn’t a seascape. He was painting the lab again. She frowned and wondered if this was a good thing or not.

She stopped a respectful distance away from him. “Morning sweetie.”

“Mornin’,” he said around his cigar.

“You all right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just painting.”

“I’m gonna go for a swim.”

He turned his easel toward the water so he could watch her over the top of his canvas. She frolicked and played leisurely in the surf, cupping her hand to schools of fish that tickled.

The painting supplies were packed up and he was waiting for her when she walked out of the ocean like a mermaid, hair covering her breasts.

“Hey there.”

“Have a nice swim?”

“Yeah.” She wrapped her wet body around him and they kissed.

“Love you.”

“You too.”

“What do you wanna do today, darlin’?”

“You.”

They made love until mid-afternoon and dozed to the sounds of the surf outside the window.

That evening they went into town and walked among the touristy shops. He wore a white wifebeater and cargo shorts with Birkenstocks and he was looking quite relaxed. She put her pink bikini top on with a denim skirt. “I’m not letting you out of my sight dressed like that,” he grinned.

She took his hand and pulled him into a tattoo shop. It was full of other white tourists and the place was immaculate.

“You gonna get your tat?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s about time, don’t you think?” They waited for about a half hour and then a fat man ushered them behind a curtain.

She hiked up Logan‘s shirt. “I want one like his, but with these initials on top. And I want the date 8/8/05 added in really small script to the middle.”

“On your chest?”

“Here,” she said, and touched the small of her back.

“Okay. Lie down.”

“And I want him to stay in here with me.”

“No problem.” He got to work and Marie winced as the burning thin outline needle worked over her skin. “I’m Dave, by the way. Where are you guys from?”

“New York.” Marie said.

“No kidding. I’m from Brooklyn.”

“You don’t sound like it.” Logan watched as his initials appeared on Marie’s back. The skin around them was red and it made him wince. He smelled blood and it made his hair stand on end.

“I spent a lot of time in the Midwest. Where in New York are ya from?”

“Westchester.”

“Nice area.” These two didn’t seem the type. She was half his age and both seemed to have a wild streak. The guy was very quiet and gave him the willies.

“How long have you been down here?” Marie asked.

“’Bout three years now.”

“It’s a nice place.”

“Thanks. What do you guys do for a living?”

“We teach,” Logan said tersely.

“Oh yeah? What do you teach?” Dave found this highly improbable.

“Martial arts.”

“Cool.”

Logan was quiet. He was not thrilled about this man touching her, even though it was through gloves, even though he was marking his initials on her body.

She reached out and stroked his calf. “Chill,” she would have said, if she were a telepath.

“So are you kids on your honeymoon, I take it?”

“Yeah.” Logan said.

“Congratulations. My wife and I are coming up on ten years.”

“Good for you,” Marie said. “How did you meet your wife?”

The tattoo artist laughed. “I met her in a bar. Can you believe that?” Marie giggled. He waited until she stopped to put the needle back into her skin. Marie couldn’t see it but Logan had a small amused smile.

“A bar. What a horrible place to meet a woman.”

Dave looked up at Logan, a bit unnerved by his sudden mood change. He wondered if the man was on drugs but he didn’t think so.

“Dave, could you lift that needle way up for a second?” Marie asked sweetly. He did, and Marie reached over to smack Logan’s leg.

“Hey, baby, relax!”

“We met in a bar too,” Marie explained.

“Luckiest day of my life.”

“You remember that, hairball,” she grinned.

“Can I smoke in here,” Logan asked.

“Please do.”

He bit off the end of a cigar and lit it up.

“Gimme one of those, sugar.” He lit one for her and Dave’s eyes widened. This little girl was smoking a cigar.

“Are those Cubans?”

“Want one?”

“I’d love one!”

“Don’t get any ashes on my wife,” Logan said good naturedly. Marie smiled at him.

So the three of them smoked until the tattoo shop smelled like a board meeting.

“What color do you want the script in, honey?”

“Purple.” Dave now concentrated on inking the tiny numbers.

“That looks cool,” Logan said, leaning over Marie and turning his head. “Can you add the date to mine, too?”

“Sure.”

Soon after they shook Dave’s hand and paid him and they were out on the street again. They ended up in a cheesy cantina drinking watered-down margaritas. Marie got tipsy and got up and danced on the bar. He looked up at her happily as she undulated, his initials prominent on the skin above her skirt. He took her picture and caught her just as she fell.

“Fun,” she said.

“Oh yeah?”

“You can carry me home like this.”

He snorted. “Sure, darlin‘.”

He did sweep her up when they returned, and carried her across the threshold of the beach house.

“You’re late!” she joked.

“Yeah, well I’m not the most clueful guy.” He gently set her down inside.

She touched his face with her palm. “I think you’re beautiful.”

He thought he’d never been so happy.