Tattooed Moon Read Free Page A

you know, how you have a wait time, but I don’t know…” She sighed on the other end.
    “You could always go to a different shop,” he offered. “I have recommendations actually, of salons that are pretty good where they will give you one as soon as you walk in. It’s just that…” He put his hand across his chest. “I don’t operate that way. But, I want you to be happy so you just tell me, and I can direct you to another place if you are concerned about my first-timer policy.”
    There was a long pause, and though he was tired, he soon discovered that his patience was untested. He had no qualms giving her all the time she needed to sort it out.
    “No, I think I should follow your advice, actually. Alright, I’ll be in for the consultation tomorrow at 6:45. My number is 762-971-1002.”
    “Alright, got it.” He tilted his body around in an unnatural way as he busily scrawled her information down with a fast left hand. “If you need to cancel, or are running a bit behind, just give me a buzz.”
    “I will, and thanks… See you tomorrow.” And she disconnected the call before he could give his farewell. He hung up the black, cordless phone covered in peeling red rose stickers and ivory crossbones, tossed the appointment book to the side, and made his way back to the safe.
    I can’t wait to get into my damn bed… I should come in at noon tomorrow, but I can’t. Lonnie’s appointment is at ten, so I have to be here. If I don’t get some decent shuteye though, I’m going to fall asleep at the damn needle!
    *
    Milan had been staring at the same damn screen for over five minutes. Nothing had changed, except her growing annoyance. Martin had been hovering over her like a storm cloud. His pale, freckled arms were crossed and his all-too-familiar, nauseating over-powering cologne made her nose hairs tickle and curl.
    Is he embalmed in it?
    This was his habit.
    To come.
    To stand.
    To stare.
    He never said, ‘excuse me’ or ‘hello’, no…none of that. He’d just wait for her to acknowledge him first, as if he were some red-headed much sought after top-notch celebrity that she should feel privileged to have in her company. She kept right on typing and reading, refusing to even blink her eyes in the fucker’s general direction.
    Hers was one of three large cubicles. She’d given it a cozy feel with a few adornments, including a small cactus with whimsical Christmas ornaments wrapped around it’s needles, a photograph of her and her mother in a yellow, ceramic frame, and a molasses jar filled with wrapped gourmet peppermint candies. The office chatter was at a minimum this particular day, and the occasional burst of belly churned laughter or husky whisper about the game would break up the monotony for a brief spell every now and again. She almost forgot Martin was there, but then, she caught his bloated likeness in the computer reflection. Today, she simply wasn’t having it. The last few weeks had been emotionally brutal. She’d been beat along her heart, and her mind hung on by a loose, practically serrated thread. Everyone knew what she’d been through, but Martin didn’t seem to care. There was no acknowledgement, no kind words—sincere or not. His paper-thin lips had not offered one utterance of sympathetic consideration. More seconds passed, and the jerk still stood there, huffing and puffing, trying to draw her to him with his damn near pornographic heavy breathing. Two more minutes passed, and she refused to budge. She scrolled down the screen, inputting information after reading her fill from the last report. Two could play this game. At that moment, she had the patience of Mother Theresa in a hospital full of dying children vying for their last wish to be granted…
    Dying…
    You douche. Why can’t you just say, ‘Excuse me?’ like everyone else?
    She stomped the keyboard with her gel-nail fingertips, as if all ten of her flying digits were marching beasts, beating out paragraph-ridden