The Leaves 03 (Nico) (9 page)

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“You know, when I had the surgery, I kept thinking about what made my breasts special, and I concluded, they were a part of my femininity, but more than that, they fed my one and only child. They did exactly what they were supposed to do, and that baby has given me so much. It was okay they had to go. You have never let me down, Nicolas, and I thank you for making me feel beautiful.

This was never about covering up scars. It was about taking that pain and hurt and anger of being a victim of this disease.” She put my hands down and took my head in hers to make me look at her. “Nico, you gave me what you give your other women, a way to get the demons out. Now you need to find someone to help you carry that.” I looked at her, lifting a hand to wipe my eyes, and told her, “That’s kind of what Pop said to me, too.”

She stood up from the chair and slipped a thin, cotton shirt over her head. “If you can 140/510

find something or someone that gives you peace when everything else around you is chaos, never let go, baby.” She took her purse and walked away from me. I knew she was going to go straight to my pop, and he was going to give her the comfort she needed. My part in her healing process was over.

***

Fireworks on the beach would begin at nine p.m. and we never missed it. I could hear Pop laughing from the roof of the cottage. He and Mom had been there since the early hours of the morning. Mom had a nap in the hammock on my porch between preparing the normal barbeque fare. Zack, Becca, and I all took turns and went upstairs to have a beer with Mom and Pop, a plate of potato salad—the best ever—Pop’s barbequed beer chicken, and corn on the cob. Then we would tag the next person and they’d go, coming 141/510

back into the shop, bursting at the seams, and regretting having to go back to work at all.

Teensy was having a party that night, and Zack had invited me. Normally, I watched the fireworks from my roof, but we closed the shop early, and I went to my place to get ready.

Only the week before, I had taken the small pouch that held my shark attack souvenir—four teeth from the asshole of the sea—and brought them to a guy named Walt that made awesome jewelry.

Funniest conversation ever. “Where’d you get these?” he asked. “They aren’t the polished shit you see in the tourist shops.”

“Uh, they came from my leg,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.

“No shit? Are you the Naked Shark Attack Guy?” He smirked and looked down at the teeth in the palm of his hand.

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“Fucker took my boxers.” Look, I supposed it was funny. The article in our community paper had said, “
… a local man, out for a
drunken night swim, almost found himself
the next meal of a shark that has yet to be
seen again. Recent sightings off the coast
went unheeded by the man wanting to free
Willy for the night…
” My mom had put the article with my baby photos and told me I would look back on it one day and laugh.

Right.

“Four teeth from a bite? Helluva love bite he gave you,” he said. “So what did you have in mind?” He asked as he arranged the four teeth on a black velvet pad.

“Oh, sorry, just three.” I grabbed the longest tooth and returned it to a small leather pouch.

“You sure? I can do something like this with the four…” he said, showing me a 143/510

necklace with four small stones, beautifully arranged but still looking masculine.

I shoved what was actually a pouch made from a kangaroo scrotum into my jeans pocket; a souvenir Zack had brought me when he went to Australia a few years back.

Thank you, Zack.

“I’m saving the fourth.”

“What for?” He didn’t look me in the eyes, but I saw the corner of his mouth tip up in a smile, so I indulged him.

“For that special someone.” I chuckled.

“Lucky for her, shark wasn’t a big meat eater.” He started laughing, which was what happened every single time the topic came up. “Probably wasn’t in the mood for saus-age?” His round belly shook with his laughter. When I didn’t respond with anything but small a smile, he told me, “Okay, with your budget and what you want, I can give you something like this:” 144/510

The teeth would be set in white gold and treated, along with the leather string so I never had to worry about it getting wet. I figured I needed a little reminding now and then that I’d been close to losing my life, or my leg. Either way, I didn’t plan on taking it off. I chose three dark turquoise stones and the three teeth would hang as pendants, encased in white gold, separated by white gold beads that would keep them in place about a half inch apart from one another.

Now I stood in my bathroom, towel tied around my waist, and wiped a circle in the mirror in front of me. I didn’t bother shav-ing. I was trying out the scruff look for a while, and it seemed to be working for me if the four phone numbers I got today from tourists was anything to go by. I would bring them with, but I had already told Zack I was going to Teensy’s, and I was looking forward to seeing Moira, too.

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I opened the clasp of the necklace and put it on with no plan to ever take it off. Then I stood back to take it all in, really looking at myself for the first time… ever. I’d had a trim, so my damp hair, all one length, was just long enough to put behind my ears, even though it always fell forward. My chest was strong and tan with only a smattering of hair, arms barely visible through the thick bands of my tattoos, my stomach, flat leading to what I thought was a decent sized dick—thank you genetics—I’d never had any complaints except ones of discomfort at the size, which made me fuckin’ grin.

I leaned toward the door and clicked the lock. Then I hit play and turned up the volume on a mix I’d made a few months before. I called it the “fuck mix,” thinking I would play it next time I brought a woman home. Chances were, I would bring one home in about three hours, probably sooner, but I had not fucked a woman at my house in 146/510

a while. Not since Gina. I went to their place or the hotel they were staying in and thought it was funny how the girl-code worked. One sent a text to her posse before and after, to let them know it was safe to come back. By then, I was already leaving.

The towel fell to the floor as I loosely held my dick, moving up and down in a slow, steady rhythm. My head fell back while I palmed the weight of my balls letting my fingers just touch; that was how Gina did it, something I didn’t even know I liked until that moment. I closed my eyes and pictured her. She had become my masturbation muse over the past few months. And just as I re-called her hard fuckin’ kiss in my truck, I cli-maxed onto my stomach.

“Fuck,” I said as I cleaned myself up and threw the towel in the wooden hamper. I took the boxers I’d brought into the bathroom with me and put them on, spraying de-odorant and a little cologne, some crap the 147/510

woman in the pharmacy told me I just had to have. Admittedly, it was nice. Not grocery store cheap, not old-man stench. I guess you do get what you pay for.

An hour later, dressed in sandals, long cargo shorts, and a plain white tee, I watched the fireworks with my parents, then left them alone and made my way to Teensy’s. I looked down to the rooftop before I lost sight of them from my garage and saw my mom lying with her head in my pop’s lap, laughing at something he said. Then he just looked down at her and smiled. She smiled back, and they kissed.

I was so happy to have caught that moment between them. With that high, I walked downtown to the closest liquor store to buy some nice wine for Teensy. I hated going to her place empty-handed. She had money, no doubt about it, but people often took advantage of her generosity, and I never wanted to be one of them.

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At the back of the store, I saw a dark haired woman and a man gesturing aggressively in front of the red wine.

Deanna.

I never called clients, though I had their numbers saved. If they needed me to call them, I did. I made it clear I was always available. Otherwise, I didn’t want to have contact with them outside the shop. I wasn’t their friend, but even if we’d had a good rap-port that might have led to a friendship outside the studio, they seemed to respect my role in their lives. I had to have that separa-tion. The only exception so far had been Moira, and I hadn’t even seen her yet. Before the attack by her brother, I had seen her around town since she worked locally. We even bought coffee at the same place, but not once had she asked me if I wanted to sit with her. I, for one, was grateful.

I moved closer to the couple, clearly in an argument, but never raising their voices. I 149/510

took a small bottle of Jaeger off the shelf in front of me then returned it for a larger bottle while I eavesdropped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deanna said curtly.

“You will not speak to me in that dis-respectful tone, Wife, and this conversation is over. I asked you a yes or no question. You did not answer it correctly.” His skin tone grew red with anger.

“Then you need to rephrase the question,
Husband
, because it did not make any sense!” She threw her hands up in frustration.

He quickly grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her and pulling her close. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t sensed my presence yet.

But I was close enough to hear him threaten her,

“Talk back to me one more time, Deanna, one more, and you will find my punishment painful and lengthy. Did you forget the kids 150/510

aren’t home? Now, I am going to ask you one more time,” he said, roughly twisting her hand beyond its natural ability, “who do you love?”

I remembered reading an online interview with an abused woman. She’d said there was a breaking point when she began to fantasize about hitting back. She went on to say that she knew that wouldn’t happen, so she had to either get out or kill him. I watched Deanna push her husband. She had reached that point and knew exactly what she was doing when she responded, “Fuck you!” I could see him seething, his body shaking with that adrenaline rage I knew only too well when faced with Moira’s father. In that moment, I had a decision to make; I could either intervene, which could make things worse for her, or I could play along, let her lead and let her know I had heard every word. Since I only had a quick moment to decide,

I

grabbed

two

more

bottles

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randomly, so my arms looked full, and made a shitload of noise walking through the store, behaving like a belligerent drunk.

“Sorry kids.” I stumbled into them, almost dropping the cheap bottle of Butterscotch Schnapps in the process. “My girlfriend likes something called Sheeerozzzz.” I then buzzed my lips together, actually spraying the man in the process with my spittle.

I pushed between them, handing the man the pile of bottles in my arms. “Be a pall and help me out, bro.”

He was beyond stunned and beyond pissed, but I ignored that like any drunk would. “Hey, asshole, do I look like your fucking personal assistant? Take this shit outta my arms immediately or I drop it.

Now, you trashy low-life waste of space!” I turned to take the bottles. “Geez, man, just because I have a couple tattoos…” I laughed. And because I couldn’t help myself, I added, “I’ll have you know, I own my own 152/510

business, house, and a restored vintage Apache truck.” And for good measure, I shoved my finger into his chest. Before he could react, I turned to Deanna. “Hey, sweetness.” I leaned in close to her, knowing her husband’s hands would be on me any second, and whispered, “Blink once if you want my help. Twice and I leave. You send me a message.” Then I raised my voice. “You wanna share a bottle of Sheerozz with me and my girlfriend? Your man can watch, but he’s a bit cranky.”

His hands gripped my arms, actually lifting me off the ground, and I had to resist the urge to fight back. “Get away from my fucking wife!” he yelled.

I barely missed a display of mini-Heineken kegs. “I only wanted a bottle of Sheerozz.” I forced myself to keep it going and looked over to see Deanna blink once, and a moment later, another deliberate blink.

Fuck!

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“There a problem here?” Yosh knew me.

He had owned this store for years. I wasn’t sure where he was from exactly, but he had never lost his thick accent, which I thought might be Korean.

I looked at him, my face morphing into a serious expression to let him know it was all an act, and shifted my eyes toward the couple behind me.

“No, man.” I began to laugh. “Just a little misunderstanding. We’re cool, bro.” I never turned back around, but I could feel my skin prickle with that fucker behind me.

***

I walked into Teensy’s, stone-cold-sober, my arms holding a box of random cheap booze, and rage coming out of every pore.

“Where is Zack?” I asked a woman who looked like a porn star and shoved the box at her.

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“Well, hello, yourself!” She giggled with an annoying helium kind of laugh that made me want to rip my ears off so I would not have to hear it.

I pushed past her and yelled out, “Zack!” The party of about twenty or so went dead silent. All you could hear was a thunking backbeat of some kind of electronica shit fuckin’ music.

“Zack!”

“Dude!” He appeared in boxer briefs.

“What the fuck?”

“Nico? Everything all right?” Teensy pulled me gently to the right, which led to a guest bedroom, and closed the door behind us.

“Nico, man… talk,” Zack demanded.

I told him and Teensy everything that had just happened while I went through my phone from over a year ago to find the text from Deanna.

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“And I knew it was happening and I let it fucking go. I shoulda fuckin’ done something then. I made her promise to call me, but he could have killed her. He’s been doing God knows what to her all this time and I looked the other fuckin’ way.” I paced back and forth, shouting, “
Fuck!
” Just then, I received a text from her:
Nico,

Do not report this. Do not do anything. I am
begging you, family holiday in three days…

it will end.

Please

I showed them the text, and Teensy made me sit down on the bed.

“It reeks of sex in here. I’m sorry, guys,” I said to them as I rested my head in my hands.

“Do you really want to report this?” Teensy asked.

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“I should have reported it then. You know, it’s always after I meet my women, never when the threat is still there. It caught me off guard. She had a plan, and I stupidly listened to her, anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m wasting time. Yes. I want to report it.” Exactly one hour later, I stood with Officer Ynez and Officer Trask while they talked to Yosh. It was a public holiday, but Officer Trask—or Cam, as I knew him—and I went to high school together. He knew me, and he was the officer that went to get my shit from the beach the night of my brush with death.

He also mentioned the rumors about me helping women had made their way to him.

He pulled me to the back of the store and asked for Deanna’s number from my phone.

“It doesn’t usually work like this, but you’re a good guy, Nico. I’ll see what I can find out.

Did you try calling her?” Yeah. I had. About sixty fuckin’ times.

“Yes.”

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“And?” he asked.

“The number is disconnected.” I was so fucking pissed. About the third time I’d tried, it wouldn’t go through. “Fuck!” I pulled my hands from my hair and just walked back and forth.

“Nico, can you stand still a minute?” Cam asked.

I got close to him so no one else could hear. “Dude, I can tell you for sure, she had fresh scars and old scars on her back. I know skin, I know scars, and that shit was fucking brutal, man. And I did nothing. And now?

I’ve probably just fuckin’ killed her by not forcing her to walk out of this fucking store with me earlier.”

All I could think about was that woman from when I was a kid, the one my pop told me about. Yeah, if this asshole killed Deanna, I would find a way for him to meet his motherfucking maker. I totally got how 158/510

my pop had done what he did all those years ago.

Officer Ynez came up to us with Yosh walking behind him shaking his head. “I am so sorry, Nicolas. I did not know what was happening. Camera broken. No tape for tonight. So sorry.”

He looked pretty upset, but I didn’t blame him. I was acting like an idiot. I should never have reported it, or tried to. What the fuck could that possibly accomplish?

“Look, man,” Officer Ynez said, “we have an underage party to go break up, and, unfortunately, the man paid with cash. Do you have a last name for her? Anything?”

“No. All I had was her number.”

“Chances are, that wasn’t her main cell. If she was making plans to leave him, she wouldn’t want him to have any clue it was going to happen. But look, we’ll see if we can’t do something about that number, okay?”

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“Yeah, thanks for fucking nothin’.” I knew it was better this way. I had a lapse in judgment thinking I was some sort of knight in shining armor. I was just a tattoo artist. I owned my business in a building my mom and pop owned. I owned my home, a home mom and pop gave me, and I was everything Deanna’s husband said I was, and I did not fucking care.

Chapter 7

Three a.m. and I was fucking hammered. I was also hammering Porn Star Number One and her friend, Porn Star Number Two. I wasn’t sure about their names or if they were actual porn stars, but whatever they were, they were free and easy and happy to let me fuck the shit out of them. I was drunk, but that didn’t matter; so were they.

Safety first, I grabbed a few condoms from my pocket. P.S. One sat on the bathroom counter, her back against the mirror with her legs wide open and P.S. Two’s face between them. Then my dick was in Porn Star Two’s ass because she said, “No, no, I insist.” I wish I had been more sober so I could have remembered the experience more 161/510

clearly. I was sure that I did, but when I was home, alone in my big fuckin’ chair, this scene could be my new masturbation muse.

After P.S. One came, they switched places, I switched condoms and everyone had a happy ending, most especially me.

I walked back toward the downtown shops, not a soul around, and decided to sit on the curb for a minute. I was able to shake the thoughts of Deanna while I was balls-deep in porn-queen ass, but then, when reality started to make its way back into my booze-saturated brain, I was fucked.

“I’m fucked,” I said to no one and clumsily stood up. I was just in front of that shop with the jars of big, fat olives and stationary. But something caught my eye that hadn’t before.

The same thick leather-bound journal was displayed, but on the window of the shop was a decal that cast the perfect shadow of a bear paw on the front. And just like that, the memory of that little girl came back to me.

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There was no escape to the ocean for a lux-urious night swim; that was never gonna happen again. I closed my eyes and the word,

“Dish,” passed my lips.

“Dish?” someone asked.

I was so drunk and ready to pass out that I didn’t even bother to see who had spoken.

“Yeah, when I was a kid, there was this little girl—I never got her name—dishwater-blonde—we

slept

hand

in

hand

all

night—shit night, fucked-up night for her and for me—saw my first dead body that night—her mom—husband killed her, beat her—I

fucked-up—he’ll

probably

kill

her—just like Dish’s dad—never felt peace like I felt with her—I’ll write it all down—I’ll talk to her—she’d get it. Dish would get what I do.”

I pushed away from the window and opened my eyes to take another look at that journal. The first thing I was gonna do tomorrow was come back and buy it along with 163/510

one of those fancy fuckin’ pens. I needed to get all this shit out. Perfect idea. The bear paw was a sign, just like Georgie. I wondered if she still had Georgie.

A movement in the reflection distracted me from my thoughts, a man, in a ski-mask, in July. Who would wear a ski mask in July?

I assumed he was gonna rob me. Didn’t matter. He could have everything in my wallet if he was that desperate. I had cash in the safe at home, and Mom and Pop would loan me their credit cards if I had the sudden urge to say, buy a television or something big like a car.

“Hey man, you can have whatever you want in my wallet… I’ve had the most fucked up day. Just take it…” I reached down to un-chain my wallet from my belt loop when something hard hit my face.

I was on the ground, and he was next to me.

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“You fucking hear from my wife, you’re not dead. She’s dead! You hear me? She is so fucking stupid, it makes me sick. While she’s working on her tan in fucking Cabo, I’ll be golfing with people who can hold a decent conversation. You, on the other hand, won’t be doing any talking. Will you, Nico?” The pain in my jaw made me wonder if I would ever be able to eat food again. Talking had not even crossed my mind. What did cross my mind was the fact that I was being kicked repeatedly—in the ribs, the stomach, my head, my legs… then it stopped, but that was only so he could walk to the other side of my body and do the same thing.

Then the big finale, he picked me up by my shirt and dropped me and my head against the sidewalk. It felt nice actually. I turned to see something blurry coming toward me.

Someone started to talk to me, but I couldn’t make it out.

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Then I looked toward the shop window and told the mysterious stranger, “I’m pretty fucked up… can you come back tomorrow and get that journal with the paw? And one of those pens. I need to talk to Dish.” If the other person said anything after that, I had no idea. All I could hear now was beeping.

Beeping.

Beeping.

Fuck, I had to answer my fucking phone and my goddamn head hurt.

“My goddamn head hurts.” Fuck. Was that my voice?

My eyes were being pried open and someone was shining a bright light into them.

“Fuck. Off,” I managed to say. I had the worst cotton mouth ever. So thirsty and really fucking hungry.

“I want penguins.”

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I heard my mother’s laugh. “Okay, baby.

When the stiches come out, we’ll get you penguins.”

“Stitches?” I asked.

What the fuck?

I slowly opened my eyes to see a room that looked more like a flower shop than anything else. Zack, Teensy, and Moira were on one side, and Moira’s eye makeup was all over her face. Mom and Pop were on the other, and two people I knew as Hank and Ramona, the couple that owned the other cottage and shop next to mine, were leaving.

“Okay, everybody out.” This was from Nurse Naughty. I would continue to call her that, partly to piss her off and partly because her cheeks flamed bright red when I said it.

She was also responsible for giving me my first sponge bath and my dick had a mind of its own, which made her blush every-fuckin’-

where.

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“We’ll be back in a little bit, baby,” Mom said, squeezing my hand.

“Mom?” I turned my head, or tried to, but pain shot through my entire skull as I let out a long moan.

“Don’t turn your head. Just try to relax, okay?” Her voice was soothing, but I had some questions.

“What happened?”

I felt Mom move and my pop leaned down.

“Nurse, give us a minute, please?” My pop said insistently.

“Sir, we—”

“Lady, one minute.” I eventually heard the door click, and Pop leaned down next to my ear. “Zack said you ran into one of your girls and her husband. Now, I want you to listen to me carefully; you don’t remember anything, you got me? Aside from the report you gave the police at the liquor store, there is nothing connecting you to her or her husband, trust me.”