The Mad Tatter by J. M. Darhower
Fuck it.
There's no fooling these people.
The theater fills up quickly, the lights going down as the production starts. Dancers are introduced, choreography announced. I vaguely pay attention to the stage, trying to keep my daughter in her seat, but her excitement can't be contained.
A few dances go by before the announcer comes on. "For the last performance of the night, Avery Moore, accompanied by the rest of the fourth years, will be doing an original contemporary piece choreographed by Miss Moore, entitled Extinction."
My eyes are fixed on the stage then. Instead of the usual classic music, instead of the sweet, smooth melodies of the others, the frantic thumping of bass drums echoes through the theater. A spotlight follows Avery as she steps out on the stage, each step dramatic and exaggerated, as she moves to the beat. She wears a short dress, dark green with splashes of black, tattered like rags around the edges.
The music shifts, louder, faster, growing downright angry. Avery takes off along the stage, turning and swaying, leaping and bending, her kicks high and dips low. I'm transfixed, nothing existing that moment but her, as I watch Avery command the stage alone. All eyes are on her, all attention hers. She has the audience in her hands, owning them all, body and soul.
The other dancers join her, a dozen bodies following her moves in the background, as she remains in the spotlight. She dances on her tiptoes effortlessly, gracefully, and never once does she waver. Never once does she falter.
If I thought she was beautiful in the studio, this is breathtaking. This is gritty, and emotional, full of rage and heartache, every footfall and bang of the drum striking like lightning, thunder vibrating the room. This isn't a pretty little princess in a soft pink tutu… this is a beast, a monster, breaking through. It's gut wrenching and soul shaking.
It's fucking dirty.
And messy.
The music eventually shifts again, every few beats a thunderous boom vibrating the room, the lights flashing as a dancer in the background falls and disappears from the stage. One by one they fade away, leaving her all alone again.
The bass subsides to mere small drumbeats as it morphs into a solemn melody. Avery turns and turns and turns on stage, moving at a dizzying pace, before finally slowing along with the beat. Eventually she comes to a stop on her tiptoes, her gaze on the stage, as silence takes over the room briefly.
It feels like an eternity as I stare at her, stunned.
With a thunderous bang, she drops flat to the floor, the spotlight going out, everything ending in darkness.
The crowd applauds. Lexie shrieks and jumps up and down. I just stare straight ahead, speechless.
I've got chills.
The lights come on as the dancers came out to take their bows, the show over. People start filtering out while others approach the stage, showering the performers with roses. I look at Lexie as she anxiously clutches the pink carnations.
"Go ahead, Little Miss," I say quietly. "You take them up there."
She shoots away before I even finish. I stand up and step out into the aisle, keeping my eyes on my daughter as she weaves through the crowd. People move past me out the door, eyeing me warily when I don't move.
Lexie forces her way to the front, refusing to be overlooked, and shoves her flowers up toward the stage. Avery spots them, her smile lighting up. She jumps off the front of the stage and takes them, laughing when Lexie wraps her arms around her.
A soft smile touches my lips, but it doesn't last long, a low voice breaking my fleeting moment of peace.
"I know who you are."
Expression falling, I turn my head, catching a glimpse of Laurence lurking just behind me, glaring my way.
"Rhys Hatfield," he says. "I pressed charges against you almost six years ago. Of course, I didn't know your name then. I only knew what they called you. Hatter. But I know now."
I stare at the man. I don't know what to say. You figured me out. Congratulations. Do you want a cookie? I'm fresh out of fucks to give.
There's no hostility in his voice, no threat… he merely speaks matter-of-fact, like he's so sure about his opinion that anything I say will be chalked up to bullshit.
"I know your kind," he continues. "I know the things you do, the things you want, and you won't get them from my daughter. She has a bright future, but not if you drag her down. You're a convicted felon. A criminal. And I don't mean to be rude, but I'm just looking out for my daughter. You have to understand that, being a father yourself. Would you want your little girl with somebody like you?"
The words 'you don't even fucking know me' bounce around in my mind, and I nearly speak them, but instead I turn away from the man, my gaze drifting to Lexie. Laurence may not know me, but I'm not blind to what kind of man I am… a man whose relationships consist of a string of one-night-stands that rarely survive sunrise.
Would I want my daughter with a man like me? Fuck no.
Laurence walks away, saying nothing else, and heads up toward the stage to his daughter. He wraps his arms around her, lifting her up in the air and swinging her around in a circle. I take Avery's distraction as a chance to slip away, motioning for Lexie to come to me. She runs down the aisle, joining me.
"Let's get out of here, Little Miss," I mutter, taking her hand.
"But—"
"Not right now." I cut her off before she can verbalize whatever objection she has to leaving. "It's getting late."
Frowning, she doesn't argue as I pull her out of the theater and onto the third floor of the building. She drags her feet a bit, clearly not wanting to leave. We make it down the hall, toward the elevators, when the voice shouts out behind us. "Reece!"
Avery.
My feet seem to want to stall automatically, but I force them to keep moving, not looking back.
"Daddy," Lexie says, tugging my hand. "Stop, Daddy."
"Reece!" she yells again, her feet pounding against the floor behind me as she jogs to catch up. "Wait!"
"Please, Daddy," Lexie growls, yanking my hand hard as she freezes in place just in front of the elevator. Someone holds it open for us, and I try to pull my daughter inside, but she narrows her eyes and refuses to budge, her expression clear as day: If I yank her into the elevator now, there will be hell to pay.
Sighing, I motion for the elevator to go ahead, and stare at the shiny silver door as it closes before me. The footsteps descend upon me quickly, stopping just behind us. Her breaths come out in quick pants as she exhales my name. "Reece."
Slowly, I turn to face her. Her skin is flushed, makeup smudged from sweating, hints of glitter sparkling under the lights. And she glows… fuck, she beams, brighter than the sun, confidence and happiness radiating from her.
I don't know shit about auras, but something tells me if I could see them, hers would be bright yellow.
My hand itches to reach out and touch her warm skin, to run my fingertips along her bottom lip as she smiles at me, but I keep it locked in place at my side.
"You were just going to leave?" she asks incredulously. "You weren't even going to say hey… or goodbye? Nothing?"
"Hey," I say quietly, looking away from her as I mutter, "goodbye."
"Daddy," Lexie says, tugging my arm. "Hey, Daddy."
I ignore her, not wanting her to get involved, and glance back at the elevator, wishing it would open again and end this awkward moment.
"I don't understand," Avery says, a tinge of hurt in her voice. "I mean, what did I do that was so terrible? What did I do to deserve this? I’m sorry about that day, I really am. I told you that."
"Daddy," Lexie calls out again, her free hand beating against my leg to get my attention. "Daddy!"
"Not now," I mutter, turning to Avery. "This isn't the place for this."
"Then where?" she asks. "When?"
"Daddy!"
Groaning, I look down at my daughter as she punches me hard in the side to get my attention. I wince. "What?"
"I gots to pee," she says, staring up at me as she dances a
round.
"Oh." Fuck. "Uh…"
"There's a bathroom this way," Avery says, taking a step back, her arms crossed over her chest. "I'll show you."
I glance back at the elevator, frowning when it opens again. Guess we still can't leave yet. We follow Avery down the hall to a bathroom. Lexie runs inside as I wait, leaning back against the wall in the hall, my hands shoved in my pockets, my gaze on the floor by my feet. I can sense Avery staring at me as she stands there, right in front of the bathroom door.
"I just… I don't get it," she says. "What's wrong with you?"
Everything, I think.
"What we had was great," she continues. "At least I thought it was great. Wasn't it?"
"It was a lie, Avery," I say. "Sure, it was nice, but you've got this life, this life I don't belong in, and it's everything to you. You eat, breathe, and live this world, while I can't even tie a fucking tie to try to fit in for one night. You… you're special. You have something to offer. But nobody wants to see the prima ballerina with the likes of me… it's a waste. You belong on a stage somewhere, not slumming it in the streets."
She gapes at me. "How can you say that?"
"Easily," I say, pushing away from the wall to stand up straight. "It's the truth."
Noise draws my attention as Lexie bounds out into the hall.
"You wash your hands?" I ask.
Rolling her eyes, she shoves her way right back into the bathroom.
I turn to Avery again, stepping closer. I pause mere inches from her, smelling the sweet scent of her perfume wafting from her skin. "People still judge a book by its cover, Avery. And your story? It's beautiful. You're beautiful. But I'm nothing but a ripped out page, graffiti where some should never be. Don't taint your story with me."
I cup her cheek, tilting her head up, unable to help myself. My thumb brushes the corner of her mouth as I lean down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.
Lexie rushes back out of the bathroom just as I pull away. She shakes her hands, flinging drops of water everywhere as if to prove to me she's washed them this time. Wordlessly, I grab her damp hand and pull her away, heading right back to the elevators.
This time, Avery doesn't follow.
A crowd packs the lobby of the probation building in Tribeca, people sitting around, anxiously awaiting their scheduled appointments. The receptionist barely looks at me when I walk in, doesn't acknowledge me when I step up to her desk. She doesn't want to be here.
Can't say I blame her.
I'll be a happy man when I never have to step in this motherfucker again.
"I need to speak to my probation officer."
"Name?"
I hesitate as I clear my throat, speaking low. "Rhys Hatfield."
She glances at her computer before looking away again. "You're not on the list."
"I don't have an appointment."
"Then you need to make one."
"Look, if you'll just call up to him, I'm sure he'll see me," I say. "His name is Previn Warren."
The lady cuts her eyes at me like I'm inconveniencing her. Hell, maybe I am. But I've spent five years being inconvenienced and I'm ready to have it over with, no matter how she feels about it.
Huffing, she reaches over and snatches up the phone from her desk, jabbing at some numbers before bringing it to her ear. "Mr. Warren, one of your guys is here... yeah, he's down here in the lobby... he's insisting he see you... I told him he needed an appointment, but he doesn't seem to know how to listen."
I ignore that swipe as I stand there, tapping my foot, waiting.
"Yeah, uh, it started with an 'R'... sounded like 'rice' or something." She cuts her eyes at me with annoyance. "What was your last name again?"
"Hatfield."
She focuses right back on her call. "Says it's Hatfield."
The woman says nothing else, nodding to herself, before she hangs up the phone. Waving her hand, she motions toward the set of elevators. "Third floor."
I turn around to walk away. "Thanks."
"Make an appointment next time," she hollers after me.
"There won't be a next time," I call back.
"Yeah, yeah," she mutters. "That's what they all say."
I take the elevator up to the third floor, heading to Officer Warren's office toward the back of the building. His door is open a crack as he sits behind his desk, wearing his usual uniform, surrounded by mounds of paperwork. He glances up when I step into the doorway, leaning back in his chair to regard me. "To what do I owe the honor, Hatfield? You aren't one to just drop by."
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the folded up slip of paper and hold it up as I step closer to his desk. "Wanted to bring this by."
He eyes me peculiarly as he takes it from me, carefully unfolding it. His eyes drift along the paper with confusion. It's a money order for exactly six hundred twenty-three dollars and nineteen cents.
"Restitution?" he asks, waving it at me. "These get mailed in."
"I wanted to drop this one off to you in person."
He stares at me for a second as he riddles out my reasoning. "Last payment, I'm guessing?"
I nod.
Warren's eyes shift back to the money order as he sets it down on his desk and smoothes it out. After a moment, he shifts his chair back to stand, reaching across his desk to hold his hand out to me. I take it, shaking it, as a small smile touches his lips. He says nothing, but it doesn't escape my notice when his eyes flicker to my hand in his. He's spent five years looking at my hands, watching for any sign of spray paint, any sign I might've broken my probation.
Old habits die hard.
I know.
"Congratulations," he says finally, letting go to sit back down.
"Thank you, sir."
"I'll make sure it gets where it's supposed to be," he says, referring to the restitution payment. "You just keep yourself out of trouble until I can get the court to sign off on your probation dismissal. Don't make me ever have to look at you again."
He doesn't have to tell me that again.
Turning around, I walk out, taking the elevator back down and heading out of the probation building for what I hope like hell is the last time. I haven't a penny left in my pocket, not enough to even grab a beer after work today, but it's worth it, I think.
Worth it to be done with the bullshit, to close that chapter of my life and move on to something else, something better… to write a different ending in the story of 'me'.
The back room is quiet, except for the soft buzzing and thumping coming from the other spaces in the shop. I sit on my stool at my desk, sketching out a design on a piece of paper. A client came in for a consultation earlier this week, wanting a tribal tattoo on their shoulder. I've already sketched it out three times but promptly discarded it to start over. I've done so many of them over the years that they feel redundant, like I'm doing nothing but repeating designs and not giving them anything unique anymore.
But how many ways can I draw it?
I glance at the clock—half past noon. My twelve o'clock consultation hasn't shown up. It's the end of May already, a Friday afternoon. Just a few more hours and I pick Lexie up for a long weekend—Memorial Day. I'm looking forward to taking a few days off, having done nothing for the past month except live in the shop, picking up as many extra clients as I can to make enough money to get that burden off of me.
A new beginning.
There's a light tap on the open door behind me. I glance over my shoulder, watching as Ellie leans against the doorframe, scribbling in the appointment book. "Another cancellation."
Same shit, different day.
"Your one o'clock is down with a nasty cold," she explains. "I rescheduled the appointment for two weeks from now and thanked them for keeping their germs out of the shop, because we sure as shit don't want them."
I nod, turning back to the design on my desk. "Thanks."
"Also, we have a walk-in."
I shake my head. "Not today."
"But I
figured since you were free now—"
"Give it to Kevin."
"They requested you."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious."
"Well, give them to Kevin anyway."
"That's not going to work," she says. "They're requesting a Hatfield original."
I freeze, tip of my pencil stalling on the paper. "What kind of original?"
"Don't know."
"You didn't ask?"
"Yeah, and they don't know," Ellie says. "Said it was up to you… that's what makes it an original, I guess."
I sit there for a moment before dropping my pencil and spinning around on my stool. I eye Ellie curiously as I stand up, brushing by her out of the room without a word. I stroll toward the lobby, freezing when I see the lone woman standing there, facing away from me, and admiring the latest shop graffiti. It's so fresh the stench of spray paint still lingers in the lobby.
I can't see her face, but I know that body, recall every inch of it in breathtaking detail, a memory that I can't escape no matter how much I try to wipe it away.
Avery.
I haven't seen her in weeks, not since the night of her performance, but here she stands, wearing a black dress, loose-fitting and backless, showing off the curve of her spine. Her legs look impossibly long, her calf muscles well defined in a pair of tall heels, accentuating the swell of her ass.
As if she can sense my sudden presence, she turns around, our eyes meeting. Slowly, I step toward her. "Avery—"
She holds her hand up to stop me from talking and interjects before I can tell her she shouldn't be here. "Just… can I have a minute? I'll leave if you want me to. Just let me get out what I came to say first."
I glance around the shop, my eyes trailing Ellie as she makes her way back to her desk, making a point not to acknowledge us, but I'm not an idiot. I know she'll strain her ears to hear every word.
Turning back to Avery, I step a bit closer, nodding for her to continue.
She stands there quietly, as if not sure what to say for a moment, before letting out a deep sigh. "I graduated this morning. Well, more like an hour ago. I'm officially a Julliard graduate."
I sit down on the arm of the couch near her. "Congratulations."
There's no fooling these people.
The theater fills up quickly, the lights going down as the production starts. Dancers are introduced, choreography announced. I vaguely pay attention to the stage, trying to keep my daughter in her seat, but her excitement can't be contained.
A few dances go by before the announcer comes on. "For the last performance of the night, Avery Moore, accompanied by the rest of the fourth years, will be doing an original contemporary piece choreographed by Miss Moore, entitled Extinction."
My eyes are fixed on the stage then. Instead of the usual classic music, instead of the sweet, smooth melodies of the others, the frantic thumping of bass drums echoes through the theater. A spotlight follows Avery as she steps out on the stage, each step dramatic and exaggerated, as she moves to the beat. She wears a short dress, dark green with splashes of black, tattered like rags around the edges.
The music shifts, louder, faster, growing downright angry. Avery takes off along the stage, turning and swaying, leaping and bending, her kicks high and dips low. I'm transfixed, nothing existing that moment but her, as I watch Avery command the stage alone. All eyes are on her, all attention hers. She has the audience in her hands, owning them all, body and soul.
The other dancers join her, a dozen bodies following her moves in the background, as she remains in the spotlight. She dances on her tiptoes effortlessly, gracefully, and never once does she waver. Never once does she falter.
If I thought she was beautiful in the studio, this is breathtaking. This is gritty, and emotional, full of rage and heartache, every footfall and bang of the drum striking like lightning, thunder vibrating the room. This isn't a pretty little princess in a soft pink tutu… this is a beast, a monster, breaking through. It's gut wrenching and soul shaking.
It's fucking dirty.
And messy.
The music eventually shifts again, every few beats a thunderous boom vibrating the room, the lights flashing as a dancer in the background falls and disappears from the stage. One by one they fade away, leaving her all alone again.
The bass subsides to mere small drumbeats as it morphs into a solemn melody. Avery turns and turns and turns on stage, moving at a dizzying pace, before finally slowing along with the beat. Eventually she comes to a stop on her tiptoes, her gaze on the stage, as silence takes over the room briefly.
It feels like an eternity as I stare at her, stunned.
With a thunderous bang, she drops flat to the floor, the spotlight going out, everything ending in darkness.
The crowd applauds. Lexie shrieks and jumps up and down. I just stare straight ahead, speechless.
I've got chills.
The lights come on as the dancers came out to take their bows, the show over. People start filtering out while others approach the stage, showering the performers with roses. I look at Lexie as she anxiously clutches the pink carnations.
"Go ahead, Little Miss," I say quietly. "You take them up there."
She shoots away before I even finish. I stand up and step out into the aisle, keeping my eyes on my daughter as she weaves through the crowd. People move past me out the door, eyeing me warily when I don't move.
Lexie forces her way to the front, refusing to be overlooked, and shoves her flowers up toward the stage. Avery spots them, her smile lighting up. She jumps off the front of the stage and takes them, laughing when Lexie wraps her arms around her.
A soft smile touches my lips, but it doesn't last long, a low voice breaking my fleeting moment of peace.
"I know who you are."
Expression falling, I turn my head, catching a glimpse of Laurence lurking just behind me, glaring my way.
"Rhys Hatfield," he says. "I pressed charges against you almost six years ago. Of course, I didn't know your name then. I only knew what they called you. Hatter. But I know now."
I stare at the man. I don't know what to say. You figured me out. Congratulations. Do you want a cookie? I'm fresh out of fucks to give.
There's no hostility in his voice, no threat… he merely speaks matter-of-fact, like he's so sure about his opinion that anything I say will be chalked up to bullshit.
"I know your kind," he continues. "I know the things you do, the things you want, and you won't get them from my daughter. She has a bright future, but not if you drag her down. You're a convicted felon. A criminal. And I don't mean to be rude, but I'm just looking out for my daughter. You have to understand that, being a father yourself. Would you want your little girl with somebody like you?"
The words 'you don't even fucking know me' bounce around in my mind, and I nearly speak them, but instead I turn away from the man, my gaze drifting to Lexie. Laurence may not know me, but I'm not blind to what kind of man I am… a man whose relationships consist of a string of one-night-stands that rarely survive sunrise.
Would I want my daughter with a man like me? Fuck no.
Laurence walks away, saying nothing else, and heads up toward the stage to his daughter. He wraps his arms around her, lifting her up in the air and swinging her around in a circle. I take Avery's distraction as a chance to slip away, motioning for Lexie to come to me. She runs down the aisle, joining me.
"Let's get out of here, Little Miss," I mutter, taking her hand.
"But—"
"Not right now." I cut her off before she can verbalize whatever objection she has to leaving. "It's getting late."
Frowning, she doesn't argue as I pull her out of the theater and onto the third floor of the building. She drags her feet a bit, clearly not wanting to leave. We make it down the hall, toward the elevators, when the voice shouts out behind us. "Reece!"
Avery.
My feet seem to want to stall automatically, but I force them to keep moving, not looking back.
"Daddy," Lexie says, tugging my hand. "Stop, Daddy."
"Reece!" she yells again, her feet pounding against the floor behind me as she jogs to catch up. "Wait!"
"Please, Daddy," Lexie growls, yanking my hand hard as she freezes in place just in front of the elevator. Someone holds it open for us, and I try to pull my daughter inside, but she narrows her eyes and refuses to budge, her expression clear as day: If I yank her into the elevator now, there will be hell to pay.
Sighing, I motion for the elevator to go ahead, and stare at the shiny silver door as it closes before me. The footsteps descend upon me quickly, stopping just behind us. Her breaths come out in quick pants as she exhales my name. "Reece."
Slowly, I turn to face her. Her skin is flushed, makeup smudged from sweating, hints of glitter sparkling under the lights. And she glows… fuck, she beams, brighter than the sun, confidence and happiness radiating from her.
I don't know shit about auras, but something tells me if I could see them, hers would be bright yellow.
My hand itches to reach out and touch her warm skin, to run my fingertips along her bottom lip as she smiles at me, but I keep it locked in place at my side.
"You were just going to leave?" she asks incredulously. "You weren't even going to say hey… or goodbye? Nothing?"
"Hey," I say quietly, looking away from her as I mutter, "goodbye."
"Daddy," Lexie says, tugging my arm. "Hey, Daddy."
I ignore her, not wanting her to get involved, and glance back at the elevator, wishing it would open again and end this awkward moment.
"I don't understand," Avery says, a tinge of hurt in her voice. "I mean, what did I do that was so terrible? What did I do to deserve this? I’m sorry about that day, I really am. I told you that."
"Daddy," Lexie calls out again, her free hand beating against my leg to get my attention. "Daddy!"
"Not now," I mutter, turning to Avery. "This isn't the place for this."
"Then where?" she asks. "When?"
"Daddy!"
Groaning, I look down at my daughter as she punches me hard in the side to get my attention. I wince. "What?"
"I gots to pee," she says, staring up at me as she dances a
"Oh." Fuck. "Uh…"
"There's a bathroom this way," Avery says, taking a step back, her arms crossed over her chest. "I'll show you."
I glance back at the elevator, frowning when it opens again. Guess we still can't leave yet. We follow Avery down the hall to a bathroom. Lexie runs inside as I wait, leaning back against the wall in the hall, my hands shoved in my pockets, my gaze on the floor by my feet. I can sense Avery staring at me as she stands there, right in front of the bathroom door.
"I just… I don't get it," she says. "What's wrong with you?"
Everything, I think.
"What we had was great," she continues. "At least I thought it was great. Wasn't it?"
"It was a lie, Avery," I say. "Sure, it was nice, but you've got this life, this life I don't belong in, and it's everything to you. You eat, breathe, and live this world, while I can't even tie a fucking tie to try to fit in for one night. You… you're special. You have something to offer. But nobody wants to see the prima ballerina with the likes of me… it's a waste. You belong on a stage somewhere, not slumming it in the streets."
She gapes at me. "How can you say that?"
"Easily," I say, pushing away from the wall to stand up straight. "It's the truth."
Noise draws my attention as Lexie bounds out into the hall.
"You wash your hands?" I ask.
Rolling her eyes, she shoves her way right back into the bathroom.
I turn to Avery again, stepping closer. I pause mere inches from her, smelling the sweet scent of her perfume wafting from her skin. "People still judge a book by its cover, Avery. And your story? It's beautiful. You're beautiful. But I'm nothing but a ripped out page, graffiti where some should never be. Don't taint your story with me."
I cup her cheek, tilting her head up, unable to help myself. My thumb brushes the corner of her mouth as I lean down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.
Lexie rushes back out of the bathroom just as I pull away. She shakes her hands, flinging drops of water everywhere as if to prove to me she's washed them this time. Wordlessly, I grab her damp hand and pull her away, heading right back to the elevators.
This time, Avery doesn't follow.
A crowd packs the lobby of the probation building in Tribeca, people sitting around, anxiously awaiting their scheduled appointments. The receptionist barely looks at me when I walk in, doesn't acknowledge me when I step up to her desk. She doesn't want to be here.
Can't say I blame her.
I'll be a happy man when I never have to step in this motherfucker again.
"I need to speak to my probation officer."
"Name?"
I hesitate as I clear my throat, speaking low. "Rhys Hatfield."
She glances at her computer before looking away again. "You're not on the list."
"I don't have an appointment."
"Then you need to make one."
"Look, if you'll just call up to him, I'm sure he'll see me," I say. "His name is Previn Warren."
The lady cuts her eyes at me like I'm inconveniencing her. Hell, maybe I am. But I've spent five years being inconvenienced and I'm ready to have it over with, no matter how she feels about it.
Huffing, she reaches over and snatches up the phone from her desk, jabbing at some numbers before bringing it to her ear. "Mr. Warren, one of your guys is here... yeah, he's down here in the lobby... he's insisting he see you... I told him he needed an appointment, but he doesn't seem to know how to listen."
I ignore that swipe as I stand there, tapping my foot, waiting.
"Yeah, uh, it started with an 'R'... sounded like 'rice' or something." She cuts her eyes at me with annoyance. "What was your last name again?"
"Hatfield."
She focuses right back on her call. "Says it's Hatfield."
The woman says nothing else, nodding to herself, before she hangs up the phone. Waving her hand, she motions toward the set of elevators. "Third floor."
I turn around to walk away. "Thanks."
"Make an appointment next time," she hollers after me.
"There won't be a next time," I call back.
"Yeah, yeah," she mutters. "That's what they all say."
I take the elevator up to the third floor, heading to Officer Warren's office toward the back of the building. His door is open a crack as he sits behind his desk, wearing his usual uniform, surrounded by mounds of paperwork. He glances up when I step into the doorway, leaning back in his chair to regard me. "To what do I owe the honor, Hatfield? You aren't one to just drop by."
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the folded up slip of paper and hold it up as I step closer to his desk. "Wanted to bring this by."
He eyes me peculiarly as he takes it from me, carefully unfolding it. His eyes drift along the paper with confusion. It's a money order for exactly six hundred twenty-three dollars and nineteen cents.
"Restitution?" he asks, waving it at me. "These get mailed in."
"I wanted to drop this one off to you in person."
He stares at me for a second as he riddles out my reasoning. "Last payment, I'm guessing?"
I nod.
Warren's eyes shift back to the money order as he sets it down on his desk and smoothes it out. After a moment, he shifts his chair back to stand, reaching across his desk to hold his hand out to me. I take it, shaking it, as a small smile touches his lips. He says nothing, but it doesn't escape my notice when his eyes flicker to my hand in his. He's spent five years looking at my hands, watching for any sign of spray paint, any sign I might've broken my probation.
Old habits die hard.
I know.
"Congratulations," he says finally, letting go to sit back down.
"Thank you, sir."
"I'll make sure it gets where it's supposed to be," he says, referring to the restitution payment. "You just keep yourself out of trouble until I can get the court to sign off on your probation dismissal. Don't make me ever have to look at you again."
He doesn't have to tell me that again.
Turning around, I walk out, taking the elevator back down and heading out of the probation building for what I hope like hell is the last time. I haven't a penny left in my pocket, not enough to even grab a beer after work today, but it's worth it, I think.
Worth it to be done with the bullshit, to close that chapter of my life and move on to something else, something better… to write a different ending in the story of 'me'.
The back room is quiet, except for the soft buzzing and thumping coming from the other spaces in the shop. I sit on my stool at my desk, sketching out a design on a piece of paper. A client came in for a consultation earlier this week, wanting a tribal tattoo on their shoulder. I've already sketched it out three times but promptly discarded it to start over. I've done so many of them over the years that they feel redundant, like I'm doing nothing but repeating designs and not giving them anything unique anymore.
But how many ways can I draw it?
I glance at the clock—half past noon. My twelve o'clock consultation hasn't shown up. It's the end of May already, a Friday afternoon. Just a few more hours and I pick Lexie up for a long weekend—Memorial Day. I'm looking forward to taking a few days off, having done nothing for the past month except live in the shop, picking up as many extra clients as I can to make enough money to get that burden off of me.
A new beginning.
There's a light tap on the open door behind me. I glance over my shoulder, watching as Ellie leans against the doorframe, scribbling in the appointment book. "Another cancellation."
Same shit, different day.
"Your one o'clock is down with a nasty cold," she explains. "I rescheduled the appointment for two weeks from now and thanked them for keeping their germs out of the shop, because we sure as shit don't want them."
I nod, turning back to the design on my desk. "Thanks."
"Also, we have a walk-in."
I shake my head. "Not today."
"But I
"Give it to Kevin."
"They requested you."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious."
"Well, give them to Kevin anyway."
"That's not going to work," she says. "They're requesting a Hatfield original."
I freeze, tip of my pencil stalling on the paper. "What kind of original?"
"Don't know."
"You didn't ask?"
"Yeah, and they don't know," Ellie says. "Said it was up to you… that's what makes it an original, I guess."
I sit there for a moment before dropping my pencil and spinning around on my stool. I eye Ellie curiously as I stand up, brushing by her out of the room without a word. I stroll toward the lobby, freezing when I see the lone woman standing there, facing away from me, and admiring the latest shop graffiti. It's so fresh the stench of spray paint still lingers in the lobby.
I can't see her face, but I know that body, recall every inch of it in breathtaking detail, a memory that I can't escape no matter how much I try to wipe it away.
Avery.
I haven't seen her in weeks, not since the night of her performance, but here she stands, wearing a black dress, loose-fitting and backless, showing off the curve of her spine. Her legs look impossibly long, her calf muscles well defined in a pair of tall heels, accentuating the swell of her ass.
As if she can sense my sudden presence, she turns around, our eyes meeting. Slowly, I step toward her. "Avery—"
She holds her hand up to stop me from talking and interjects before I can tell her she shouldn't be here. "Just… can I have a minute? I'll leave if you want me to. Just let me get out what I came to say first."
I glance around the shop, my eyes trailing Ellie as she makes her way back to her desk, making a point not to acknowledge us, but I'm not an idiot. I know she'll strain her ears to hear every word.
Turning back to Avery, I step a bit closer, nodding for her to continue.
She stands there quietly, as if not sure what to say for a moment, before letting out a deep sigh. "I graduated this morning. Well, more like an hour ago. I'm officially a Julliard graduate."
I sit down on the arm of the couch near her. "Congratulations."