Zed, p.10
Zed, page 10
Shit.
I clamped my mouth shut and made a mental note not to drink any more. Since when was I so loose-lipped after two fucking whiskeys? I had no idea, but it wasn’t a state of affairs I was prepared to embrace, so it was for the best that I shut myself down before I said something I really regretted.
Octavia stared at me quizzically, as though turning over the new pieces of information in her mind.
“So tell me again how you got into tattooing.” She spoke almost absent-mindedly, but I knew that was part of the Corporate Barbie routine, one she probably used in court to lull witnesses and opposing counsel into a false sense of security before going for the jugular. She was like a pool shark only with an Ivy League education and a knockout smile, when she chose to grace people with its presence.
“A very wise man taught me some basics a long time ago. After that, I went through the apprenticeship phase like everyone does, then into a chair at a downtown salon, tattooing anything and everything onto a mostly non-repeat clientele of tourists and other transients. It was soul-destroying, and not sustainable in the long term if I was going to survive without gouging my eyes out with my needle. I left there and the rest, as they say, is history. History I won’t bore you with tonight.”
“Boring? I think it’s safe to say that of all the things you could be accused of, being boring really isn’t one of them.” She reached for the bottle again, pouring herself another before angling it toward me.
I covered my glass with my palm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”
“Pfft. I’m pretty sure it takes more than a finger or three of whiskey to get you drunk, and it certainly does me. My grandmother used to sink more on Sunday afternoon after mass than we are right now.”
When she put it like that, I felt downright foolish refusing, which no doubt was absolutely her intention. I pulled my hand away and allowed her to pour me another generous measure.
“Come on, spill. I’m all ears.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. What I doubt is the sanity of me being all mouth right now. I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret in the morning.”
“Didn’t you say it had something to do with the government?”
Of course she’d remembered. “Yeah I did.”
“So?”
“So we were both doing some work for the government at the time is all.”
“So he was a colleague?”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“What’s another way?”
“To think of it as none of your business.” Ugh. I instantly wished I’d taken a few moments to say that in a way that sounded less obviously rude.
“That’s true.” She nodded and smiled, still in good humor despite my bluntness, as she plucked another slice of pie from the pan. She took a big bite and closed her eyes, clearly in seventh heaven. I loved how much she adored pizza and whiskey; she was nothing like the precious prima donna I originally had her pegged as.
“Kind of like how sometimes I start thinking of you as a decent person, and then you remind me you’re actually an asshole.” Her tone was even, her expression neutral. You’d think she’d just asked me to pass the ketchup, yet what she’d actually done was call me on my shit without even breaking a sweat. She took another bite of pizza as though she hadn’t actually spoken, chewing on it with unreserved delight.
I was getting a real picture of how she might operate in the courtroom. I had never once thought she was in possession of anything other than a razor-sharp mind, but I suspected that maybe she was happy for people to labor under the misconception that she was less than brilliant until it suited her. Then when she made her move, the opposing counsel, rogue witness, hostile juror, or even skeptical judge wouldn’t know what hit them until it was too late. In fact, the manner of her delivery may have meant they wouldn’t notice even then.
She was a shrewd operator indeed, and I liked that about her, even when I was on the wrong side of it.
14
Vivi
As I chewed my mouthful of pizza, I silently chastised myself for not visiting more often. My peeps really did make the best pie ever. If I wasn’t going to make it out here more frequently, I should at the very least stop wasting calories eating way inferior pizza elsewhere.
It took a few moments, but Zed recovered from my calling him an asshole, smiling assassin-style, and attempted to recover the situation, speaking again. “Sorry. It’s just tha—” No deal, dude.
“It’s okay, I don’t need to hear whatever you’re about to say. Really. I think we’ve both made our positions perfectly clear. Feels like a ‘case closed’ moment to me.” I shut him down in a similarly relaxed tone.
Zed narrowed his eyes as though suspicious of my motives. I’d noticed that he did it a lot, weighed me up with his stare—or glare, depending on how he was feeling. Either way, he was constantly trying to read me.
Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.
“Seriously, this isn’t a trick. Life’s too short. Let’s move on.” I took another bite of pizza. “I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo, but I could never decide on anything I could commit to wearing on my body permanently. If I walked into SK:eTCH off the street, what would your guess be for my tattoo of choice? You do that, right? You and the rest of the guys. Judge people as they walk in the shop?”
He snorted and looked at me as though I was nothing short of an actual moron.
“You’re kidding, right? Is this some kind of trick question?”
I shook my head, mouth too full of pizza to respond any other way.
“Do we judge people? You bet we do. Everyone does. Show me a person who claims not to be judgmental and I’ll show you a liar. Or a death statistic waiting to happen. We all judge other people in some way, shape or form. Judgment is just another word for instinct or intuition. It’s part of what it means to be human. Our ancient forebears lived or died by those instincts, just as we still do today. But surely I’m preaching to the choir over here, given that a big part of your job has to be to employ and manipulate those judgments and use them to influence the actions of others every single day?”
I hated hearing what I did for a living summed up that way, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t an accurate description.
I nodded. “For sure. I just wanted to see if you were going to be upfront with me about it.”
“Oh, so I passed the test?”
“You weren’t the one being tested.” I left him guessing intentionally.
Confusion shone brightly on his face. “If not me, then who?”
“Me.”
“I see. So you were seeing if your assessment of me so far matched up to the reality?”
“Basically.”
“And?” He quirked an eyebrow, and it was the hottest thing I’d seen in forever.
“And… I’ve still got it. So, back to the original question. Tattoos.”
“Oh yeah, sorry. So is this for Corporate Barbie or Weekend Barbie?”
I wished he would stop calling me those nicknames, but damned if I was going to say so to him.
“Either. Either. Potato. Potato.” I varied the pronunciation just like the old song. “Or neither, neither. Given how far either of them are from representing the real me. I mean, which one is sitting in a bar eating pizza and knocking back whiskey at….”
I fished in my purse for my phone. Holy shit.
“Two o’clock in the morning?”
“Don’t know. Maybe Weekend Barbie likes to let her hair down and go a little buck wild occasionally. Or perhaps Corporate Barbie secretly has a drinking problem and frequents out-of-town bars on a regular basis, safe in the knowledge that she will never run into her bougie friends or colleagues at any of them.”
“Wow. No wonder you’re so great at what you do. You have a killer imagination, but you’re way off base.”
He smirked, and I couldn’t help but wonder where his overactive imagination had taken him at that exact moment.
“Okay. Either way, you come across as the type to go for something tokenistic and discreet. A star, dolphin or butterfly on your hip or lower back. Somewhere strangers would never know it was there.”
I laughed hard at his summation. “I’ll give that line of thought one out of ten for ingenuity and originality. What you basically just did was rely on a bunch of trite and, frankly, sexist stereotypes. Disappointing to say the least, given that you know me. I gave you a little more credit than that.”
He had the decency to look contrite, at least.
“I don’t know you. I know of you. There’s a difference. I mean, tonight is the first time we’ve spoken for an extended period, so in reality, I don’t have a whole lot to base my opinion on.”
“And I was the one who instigated this interaction for exactly that reason, don’t forget,” I reminded him.
“Look, I’m not pointing fingers. I guess I’m just explaining that I don’t have a lot to work with over here. This is the first time I’ve seen you let your hair down.” He glanced at my updo. “Figuratively, I mean. And I kind of haven’t had enough time to absorb what I now know about you and factor that into my thoughts. I’ve been concentrating too hard on trying to stay sober, despite your best efforts to the contrary.” He looked pointedly at his glass that I had just refilled with whiskey and ice.
“They say a bad worker blames their tools. I’ve gleaned lots about you in the time we’ve spent together, albeit brief.”
“Like what?”
Ha! I rolled my eyes. “I’m not about to start showing my hand just because I’ve had a few drinks. Suffice to say that you couldn’t be more wrong about my choice of tattoos. As I said, for years there was nothing that appealed, but recently I’ve come up with an idea, and I really like it. And there’s not a dolphin or mermaid in sight.”
“Okay, don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me.”
“It’s a phrase—a Latin phrase, to be exact—but one I made up, not the same nonsense everyone has like ‘carpe diem.’ I bet half the people with those tattoos don’t even really know what it means. I used to work in a bar during college, and one of the girls I worked with had it as her tramp stamp. Cringey.”
Zed looked at me as though he couldn’t care less about Cheryl, my fellow waitress at the Wild Cat. I took the hint.
“Okay, so the words are ‘surge et leones, cadunt in simiis.’” When met with a blank expression, I explained further. It means ‘rise with lions, fall with monkeys.’ It’s a reminder to choose the company I keep wisely—especially important in my line of work.”
He repeated the Latin words slowly a few times, as though trying them for size, before speaking again. “I think it’s good advice for anyone at any stage in life, in any profession.”
“Me too, but it’s especially pertinent for me. In corporate law, it can sometimes be hard to see who’s a lion and who’s a monkey, and often the truth is quite surprising.”
He nodded. “I like it. What kind of lettering would you go for? I’m guessing a delicate script, something with lots of grand twirls.”
“Ehhh-Ehhh.” I made a sound like the buzzer on Family Feud. “Wrong again. Remember what I said about judging a book by its cover? I want a strong, classic, non-cursive script. Are you familiar with a font called Lewisham?” He nodded. “Well, I would want something similar to that. Across my ribs.” I pull my top out from the waistband of my skirt, lifting it to reveal the ribs in question, and point to exactly where I want the tattoo.
“You know that’s one of the most painful places to get work, right?”
“I do. I think I’ll be fine. I have a high pain threshold.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Hands up. I misjudged you.” He actually put his hands in the air as though surrendering.
“You did. Will you do it for me?”
“No.” The word was out of his mouth before mine had fully left my lips.
“What? Why not?”
“Because Y has a long tail, and Z’s a crooked letter.”
“What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m asking you legitimately. I’ll pay, of course. It’s not like I’m demanding a freebie.”
“Money isn’t the issue.” Apparently not in any area of his life. I had a flashback to Xavier trying to pay him for the damage to the shop that first day.
“Then what is?”
He looked into the distance. “Just trust me. It’s best that I don’t do it. Harley is great with script of all kinds. He’d be perfect.”
What the actual…? I could tell he wasn’t about to back down, and I was offended. Big-time. Not that I’d let him know that.
“Cool. Don’t worry about it. Lottie has awesome ink. I’ll see if her guy can hook me up.”
Now he had the audacity to look offended. I had no idea what the hell was going on. He reached for his drink, knocking it back in one gulp without taking his eyes off me. Then he grabbed the bottle, poured himself another, before slamming it back down as though he hated it.
Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in his chair, not fooling me in the slightest with the faux-relaxed gesture, as he looked at me expectantly. I downed my drink and refilled my glass, running my fingertips around the rim and wondering how to end our visual game of chicken.
Zed’s eyes traveled slowly to my hands, then back to my eyes again, so I guessed I’d won, yet somehow it felt like a hollow victory.
“I think I need to go home.” I spoke slowly, keeping my gaze locked with his despite having won our face-off.
“Okay. Let’s grab a cab.”
“Cabs, you mean,” I corrected sharply.
“Nope. I’m not letting you get in a cab alone right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because yo—”
“Don’t even. I’m not a kid. You can’t spin me some bullshit and expect me to just swallow it.”
He took a deep breath before speaking again. “Because I would like to see you get home safely with my own eyes.”
“Well, I can more than look after myself, but thank you for the gesture. I appreciate it.” I emptied my glass, relishing the feel of the smooth amber liquid as it slid down my throat.
“It’s not a gesture. It’s a thing. If you’re ready, let’s go.”
Now it was my turn to cross my arms. “Listen, Zed. You don’t get to go all alpha caveman on me and have me just take it. That’s not how I roll.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, sure. Point taken, loud and clear. Now if you don’t mind, I’d love to accompany you in the cab home, for my own peace of mind. Humor me. Please?”
Ugh. I could hardly say no when he said it like that, and looked at me with those eyes.
“Okay. And thank you. I really do appreciate the sentiment.”
He nodded curtly, standing up and extending his hand to help me stand also.
“Are you okay? You’ve had quite a lot to drink.”
Ha! He was in for a shock if he thought this session constituted big drinking to me. Not that I did it often anymore, but leaving this place before sunup was practically unheard of.
“I’m fine. Must be the Irish genes, but I can drink whiskey like it’s water and be totally fine. Three glasses of wine or champagne and it’s a different story.”
“Noted.” He winked and smiled, changing the game. I literally felt the physical shift between us in that small gesture.
“Let me just say goodbye to the fam and we can get going.”
After forty minutes of trying to get out of there, we were finally on the sidewalk.
“Sorry. It’s a bad combination, Italian and Irish. You can’t shut either side up, and they’re kind of excited to see me because it’s been so long. Even more so to see me here with someone who’s not the douchecanoe ex.
“Don’t sweat it. I’ve got nowhere to be right now but here.” He draped his arm across my shoulders as we peered into the gloom of the early morning, waiting for a cab to pass by.
15
Zed
Realizing too late what I had done, I stiffened, expecting her to push me away or verbally admonish me, or both. To my surprise, she said nothing and turned her body toward me, slipping her arm around my waist. As she looked up at me, eyes wide, leaning down to kiss her seemed like the most natural thing in the world, so that’s exactly what I did.
The moment our lips lightly touched felt more right than anything in my life until that point. Our connection felt so real, so vital, so inevitable that it took my breath away and obliterated everything around us. I couldn’t see, hear or think of anything other than Octavia Douglas.
She stood on her toes, sliding her hands farther up my back, pulling me in closer to her. I lowered my hands to her waist, pulling her nearer, and we both applied more pressure to the kiss. I opened my mouth first, letting her explore the unchartered territory and relishing the feeling of her leading the dance.
I waited for her to yield to me in the same way, roaming her mouth with my tongue as though it was the last thing I would ever do. The thought occurred to me that there was no better way to go out; I couldn’t remember feeling as at peace then as I had since… forever.
The moments glided by, and I became increasingly aware that we were kissing on the street and not hailing a ride as we should have been. Though it went against every desire in my body, I was the one to end our embrace.
“Let’s get going. It’s not getting any earlier.”
She nodded but said nothing.
Within a few minutes, we were in the back of a cab heading toward Octavia’s East Village apartment. The silence stretching between us was loaded, and not knowing how to break it, I did the next best thing. I reached for her hand across the cracked vinyl seats, sliding the palm of mine over the back of hers, interlinking our fingers. She squeezed her acknowledgment but didn’t look at me or speak. The silence was golden.
