Someone to Watch Over Me (21 page)

“I am.”

Tate and Tiny laughed. “Piece of cake,
babe,” Tate said, clapping me on the shoulder. “You went though
childbirth. This…this is nothing. It’s like a bee sting.”

“You have a kid?” Tiny asked. It was funny
to watch him talk. His mustache hid everything happening under his
nose, except for his full bottom lip. It kind of reminded me of
Santa on those old stop animation Christmas specials. “How
old?”

“A son. He’s two.”

“This one’s mine.” Turning to the right, he
pushed up his sleeve and flashed the most intricately detailed
tattoo I’ve ever seen. It was done in black ink, with the slightest
hints of color shading the hair and face, like a black and white
film with added color.

“Amazing.”

“Yes, she is. She’s sixteen now. Came in
last week for her first piercing.”

“What did she have done?”

Tiny laughed. “Her ears.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. She had the tragus and her lobes
done. The tragus is the hard cartilage that sticks out in the
front, just above your lobe.” Grabbing a Sharpie from his tray, he
faced me. “Stick your tongue out for me, sweetheart.”

I felt like a dork, but I stuck my tongue
out. Tate aimed his phone at me and began recording.

“Up. Down. Ok. Hold still for me.” He marked
the top with a few careful dabs. “Do I need to run through all the
rules?”

“Rules?”

“You know, aftercare, rinse well after
ingesting anything except water, no oral sex for a few weeks
etcetera etcetera…”

I blinked and looked at Tate. “No oral sex.
My god, what will I do with myself. Do you have a room we can
borrow?”

Tiny’s mustache twitched. “Funny girl.”

“That was smooth. Really. I like how you
slipped that in there right between ‘rinse well after eating and
etcetera etcetera.’ I almost didn’t catch it.”

Tiny turned to Tate. “Is she always like
this?”

“All the time.”

“Ok, down to business. This clamp here,”
Tiny said, holding said clamp in the air. “Once I put this on, keep
your tongue out. If you pull back, it can slip. That would be bad
all around. None of us wants that.”

That said, Tiny clamped my tongue, lifted it
up and down a few times, checking the placement. When he seemed
happy that he had it right, he picked up the needle. That’s when I
decided it was time to close my eyes. I hated needles with a
passion. I felt a swift prick of pain and a lot of pressure as he
pushed the pin through. Wincing, I waited for the real pain to
start.

“That’s it.”

Oh my God! I let out the breath I was
holding and laughed. Tiny removed the clamp and handed me a paper
cup of mouth rinse. I rinsed until he told me I could stop, and
then got to check it out in the mirror. The barbell hung loosely
beneath my tongue by a good half inch.

“Why ish eh so wong?”

“To allow room for swelling,” Tate
explained, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “You can have it
changed after two weeks.”

“Ooh weeks?! How a fuck am I supposed ooh
sing?!”

Finding some sort of humor in this, Tate
laughed. Perhaps it was the speech impediment caused by the
oversized barbell impaling my tongue. “You don’t. I have a concert
next weekend anyhow.”

“Whas a have ooh ooh with me?”

“Because you’re gonna come.”

“Tate,” I said, with much effort. It sounded
more like
eight
without the ‘t’ on the end. I couldn’t keep
taking days off indiscriminately.

“Coop.”

“Tate.”

“Coop.”

“Hijack,” I swore, scowling. “Ooh’ve hijack
my ife.”

“What happened to
wild
and
reckless
, babe?”

That’s all I’ve been since I met you
,
my glare said. He knew he’d won. I could barely talk let alone
sing. Besides, I did want to see him in concert. I just didn’t want
to keep taking days off from work. I coveted my days for
emergencies like the stomach flu and falling down stairs.

Off to the side, Tiny was chuckling over our
little tiff while he cleaned up his tray of implements. “You
playing somewhere local?”

“Susquehanna Bank Center.”

“No shit? What fuckin’ band?”

“Hautboy.”

“No shit?” Dragging a hand down his face, he
wiped away the shock in his expression. “You’re Tate Watkins.”

Tate twitched a smile. “No shit.”

“Goddamn.” Pulling his gloves off, Tiny
shook Tate’s hand. “Good to meet you, man. I’ve heard your shit on
the radio, but my daughter, she’s the real fan.”

As the two fell into conversation about
signatures and photographs, I perused the shop, checking out the
diverse collection of images on the walls and workstations. There
were the typical skulls, roses, angel wings and tigers. The tribal
and Celtic designs were aplenty. I found a wall of girly stuff with
flowers and butterflies, but nothing had jumped out at me. I wanted
something unique, something personal, yet nothing unusual or overly
conspicuous.

Abruptly, I had just the idea.

A little over an hour later, I emerged from
the shop where Tate, Carter and Jake stood waiting. Levy was asleep
in the stroller. Zonked. His shirt was covered in what I assumed
was chocolate. It looked like he’d finger-painted the front of it
with ice cream and fudge sauce.

I had made Tate leave before Tiny started. I
wanted it to be a surprise. I could do a private unveiling later at
home. While he had agreed earlier, he looked overeager now.

“So let’s see,” Carter said, “where’s the
damage?”

I stuck my tongue out—which was really
beginning to hurt—though I knew that wasn’t what he wanted to see.
He wanted to see my ink. Unfortunately, that was for Tate’s eyes
only.

Rolling his eyes, Carter’s nose wrinkled.
“Jesus, you two are made for each other.”

Smiling, I took the cup Tate offered me and
sipped at the ice water. I had a feeling that’s all I would be able
to eat for a few days. Already, my tongue was swelling. The barbell
wasn’t as loose as it was an hour ago.

“When your tongues are stuck together,”
Carter warned, “you won’t be laughing.”

“Where is it?” Tate inquired, searching for
the telltale patch of gauze. “What did you get?” He was like a kid
in a candy store, peeling back my hems to get a peek of where it
was. I finally had to slap his hand away.

“You can’t see it yet!” I almost laughed at
the pout on his face. “I can’t take the patch off for two hours.
You know that.”

“At least tell me what it is!”

“It’s a surprise!” Dropping the mouthwash
and the ointment into the basket of the stroller, I had to swat him
away again. He continued as we made our way back to Main Street. I
had to keep Jake and Carter between us just to get a moment’s
peace.

“How was he, Carter?”

“A pain in the ass. He gets separation
anxiety.”

“Really?” I said, stunned. “I’ve never heard
that before. Everyone at the daycare always says he’s so well
behaved.”

Carter smirked and jabbed his thumb at Tate.
“Oh, I thought you meant him.”

“He was all, ‘
What time is it
?’” Jake
expounded. “’
Has it been an hour yet?’
Then he checked his
phone about a dozen times to see if you called.”

“Fuck you both,” Tate scoffed. “I was taking
pictures of the kid. Carter gave him chocolate ice—”

“I gave him vanilla. I bought myself
chocolate. But he gave me those puppy eyes and kept begging. If
you‘d seen it, you would’ve caved too.
I chocowit…Wevy
chocowit
…”

Unable to help myself, I giggled. I
had
seen it, like a million times.

“I chocowit.” Rubbing his eyes, Levy blinked
and took in his surroundings.

“Time to go,” Carter said quickly. “You’re
done here, Coop, right? We’re done—we can go now? Jake, Tate, you
done?”

“I’m done.”

“Me too.”

Carter clapped his hands together and pasted
on a smile. “Great, I guess we can all go home. Hey, let’s go this
way. So much less crowded. Look how spacious the sidewalks
are.”

“But there were a few stores—”

“Nothing worth looking at,” Carter
interjected. “We checked ‘em out. Junk. All junk. And
so…mature.”

“Mature?” I inquired.

“You know…not kid friendly.”

Stopping, my hands slapped my thighs. “Oh
Jesus, what did he do?”

“It was a disaster,” Jake confessed. “Carter
gave the kid chocolate ice cream—”

“I couldn’t say no!” Carter snapped.

“There were clothes racks… and merchandise
stands… and displays… and they were all within reach. The kid put
his arms out and stuff just jumped into them. It was as if he was
Noah and the stroller was the Ark.” Jake spread his arms wide,
demonstrating with exaggeration, Levy’s exploits. “
And they went
in unto
Levy
into the ark, two and two of all
merchandise, wherein is the chocolate cream of ice…
”

I didn’t know if I should laugh or not. It
seemed wrong, but I did anyhow.

“What a mess,” Jake continued, “A real mess.
He used that shi—”

“Language.” The kid was awake and alert now.
The ears were open.

“—stuff like a marker. He just held his hand
out, and colored things in as we passed. That painting, that
mirror, that scarf…they’re all missing something… Hey! I know! They
could all use a little chocolate! There! That’s it! Now they’re
just
perfect
!”

Awake now and enjoying Jake’s commentary,
Levy cheered along. “Chocowit!” His nose scrunched up in his
angelic smile. His tiny teeth gleamed in the sun, adorable and
misleading.

“On a lighter note,” Carter spoke up, “if
his poop is reddish tonight, don’t be alarmed. The cone was red
velvet.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“At least it wasn’t glitter or yarn.”

“Is no red,” Levy argued, peeking in his
diaper. “I no poopie. I card.”

Sometimes, hell, most of the time, much of
what Levy said didn’t make sense. His verbal skills were still hit
or miss. “You what, Lev?”

“I card.”

Confused, I glanced at Carter, who was
looking the other direction, as was Jake. “What are you saying,
Lev?
Carter
?”

“Babe,” Tate mumbled. “That’s not what he’s
saying.”

“What
is
he saying?”

Tate bugged his eyes at me and cocked his
head to the side, as if I should get it, and suddenly it dawned on
me. “I can’t believe this. I leave my kid with you for an hour and
you’ve taught him how to say c-o-c-k.” It wasn’t a question.

“It wasn’t me!” Tate rebutted. “It was
Carter!”

“It slipped!” Carter exclaimed. “It was an
accident!”

“How does that just slip out while shopping
in the middle of Main Street? Even if you were being derogatory, he
wouldn’t know the context of how to use it!”

“Jake and I had to use the bathroom! We
couldn’t leave him outside! It’s not like we could tie him to the
light post and tell him to stay!”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Coop,” Tate
intervened. “You’re thinking of it in a girl’s perspective. He’s
going to learn this stuff sooner or later.”

“Later is better, Tate. He’s two. It’s not
as if I had a little girl, I’d be calling her female parts by any
crude slang terms. I mean, there’s an age for that stuff, like
eighteen or twenty.”

“What
would
you call it?”

“That’s not the point! I can’t have him
running around the daycare saying he has a c-o-c-k!”

“He won’t. He’s calling it a card.” Tate was
grinning now, but fighting it for all he was worth. Jake and Carter
found the subject amusing as well. Men.

“Fine,” I sighed, taking a mental step back.
“Fine. Just don’t teach him any more bad words. That’s all I
ask.”

“So we shouldn’t call it a d-i-c-k?” Carter
inquired with a Cheshire grin.

“Or a w-e-i-n-e-r?” Jake added.

“S-h-l-o-n-g?”

“B-o-n-e-r?”

“M-e-a-t s-t-i-c-k?”

“B-a-l-o-n-e-y p-o-n-y?”

“How about p-e-n-i-s? Is that ok?”

“Ooohhh how bout s-h-a-f-t?” Carter asked.
“That’s what they call it in all those smutty romance novels.
He
slipped his thick s-h-a-f-t into her dewy heat...
”

Crickets rang out in the momentary
silence.

“How would you know?” I asked, smiling my
own Cheshire grin. “Have you actually read a romance novel before?”
I just couldn’t picture it.

“Of course. That’s all my mom used to read.
They were like the bible in her eyes. Christ, it was some of the
first porn I’d read. Tate and I used to hide under the blankets at
night with a flashlight reading the things.”

Impossibly, my grin grew wider. I looked
from Carter to Tate. “You did not.”

“Once,” Tate admitted. “I don’t know how
many Carter read.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh. My. God!” I exclaimed, bitch-slapping
Carter across the arm. “I can’t believe you, Carter! Am I going to
have to wash your mouth out with soap?”

“It slipped!” said Carter, ducking away from
me.

Levy, watching with rapt attention, pointed
at Carter, forming an F with his mouth. I could see his front teeth
set into his bottom lip. “Fff—”

“NO!” I snapped at him. It was the tone of a
parent when extremely unhappy with their child’s behavior. Levy
recognized it with a flinch, which turned the consonant into a
whimper, and pushed his lips into a pout. “That’s a bad, bad word,
Levy!”

Levy’s eyes brimmed with tears, his mouth
curved down, his chin quivering around a wail. My heart swelled in
my chest. I had to pick him up from the stroller, unable to bear
the sound of his lament. He clung to me, wrapping his arms around
my neck and his legs around my waist like a baby monkey. “Him
bad?”

“That’s right,” I said, glaring at Carter.
“Carter’s bad.”

For a few lengthy moments, we walked in
silence. Slowly, Levy began to unwind from his embrace. Lifting his
head, he rubbed his puffy eyes, wiping the tears from his
lashes.