Tomas
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I don’t know what fucking day it is when I got off the bus. I would have gotten ‘home” sooner but I ‘d waited around for one of the newer buses with an easier to navigate wheelchair ramp. I hated the spectacle of having the driver strap my chair in. Last time I tried to push myself into a seat, I hit a nerve and fell flat on my fucking face. Someone mumbled “drunk” and I willed myself into that seat
When I woke up that morning Sofia was gone. I dragged myself out of bed and dropped Eli off at the daycare and picked up my dry cleaning in sweats. Dr. Lane had finally prescribed me some low-dose Vicodin, I could take one a day and it took a little of the edge off. The little pill was hard to resist but I kept it tucked away.
I grabbed some coffee from the Dunkin Donuts before going back to the duplex, My wheelchair wouldn’t’ fit in the kitchenette and I’d tried making instant coffee with the hot water from the bathroom but it tasted like metal. I spent ten minutes getting my sweats off and had flashes of waking up in searing pain last night, trying to dig out whatever was burying itself in my legs and causing the pain. I hated nights like that when I believed I had the fucking right to not feel pain.
I manage the hardest part of my morning…getting into the shower. I only fall once sliding into the shower chair and the bruises are fully formed by the time I get out. I shave my face then my arms and chest so the ink show up better. Venus has me working at Club iL Notre tonight, so I hang a dress shirt on the back of my chair and some cologne. I grab my phone charger and a condom out of my bag. While my phone is charging I put the condom on and start masturbating, it’s a stupid idea because I’m on SSRIs and because I can barely feel anything with the latex, but Sofia cleans everything and she would notice--but I need to focus on something that’s not the pain.
I don’t think about Sofia because that feels wrong somehow, but I think of a girl like Sofia. I’m so fucking close when screen door creaks open and the lock turns. There is a soft thump and I remember today is Mrs. Randolph’s laundry day. I hear Sofia set the clothes in the corner and close the door. The moment is over and I decide to just get my fucking day started. I load my kit (ink, two tattoo guns and a portable battery) into my bag along with my first aid kit and head out.
I take three buses all the way to the Bronx where I was doing a few fake prison tattoos for clients I’d met when we lived in the neighborhood, then I take two buses back downtown to a sketchy Russian neighborhood where I kept my head down and started phase two on a lower back piece I was doing for some old school cab owner who liked to talk about the glory days of the Soviet Union. I knew enough Russian to go-along-to- get-along, but I just pocketed my hundred dollars and kept my mouth shut about anything I heard or saw.
I’d had some time before I needed to get to Venus’, so I spent an hour eating lukewarm borscht and working on some sketches. One of my New Year’s Resolutions had been to start painting again and so far I had shit to show, mostly due to the fact I was broke.
When I make it down to Venus’ shop it is slow as fuck, so I am basically everyone’s bitch for the afternoon. I’d worked on six big pieces these past few months, but Venus still thought I was too much of a wildcard because I hadn’t been traditionally apprenticed and trained.
Any bitterness I feel melts away when I finally finally slip that Vicodin in my mouth and let the bitterness melt against my tongue. I don’t know why I chew it, but it feels like it hits my bloodstream faster that way. Around me Venus’s tall gorgeous and talented daughters, Essence and Brightly, are poking and prodding at their face and hair in the shop’s basement.
Essence was the youngest at 20, her entire left side was inked in black in white from neck. Her sister had done the same to her right-side so when they stood together they were a study in contrast.
They were both in black shorts and strappy sandals, wearing matching red tank tops with Venus’ Body Art & Studio logo on it. DiVo rolls himself out of one of the bunks in the corner of the basement and helps the girls carry my sorry ass and clunky wheel chair up the stairs. There is always a buzz in the air when we work clubs, we smoke a little before Venus arrives in a rented limo.
During the ride over my phone vibrates in my pocket, I turn off the alarm and take my HAART in mid-conversation with Brightly about the next International Tattoo show in Brazil. I took the pills so quickly and naturally without even breaking the conversation. Every time I’m I the back of that limo with Venus ad her daughters I realize Venus is the kind of woman my mother wanted to be, not letting age or social norms dictate what she did.
Venus was 49-years old and decked out in her signature sparkly red pumps, leather miniskirt and off the shoulder red blouse, her right leg was a tribute to her own unique style of watercolor free-hand tattoos. She sat in between her daughters who she’d scarified and provided for after losing her husband and going bankrupt twice. She’d struggled financially and a little bit with drinking, but she’d put her daughters first and fought for their happiness and future in a way my mother couldn’t. Was it just luck …or did she just have something my mother lacked?
The club had already set up most of Venus’ signage, Venus usually sponsored Thursdays through the weekend. Her late night “pop-up” tattoo shop had gotten a write up on Gawker so we were all ready to work when the music started.
We can bring our books and are allowed to do single session tattoos for 30-50 dollars, we keep 60 percent. On a good day I can do 15 tattoos and take home at least $200 in cash, if I didn’t get mugged like I did last time.
Fuck, couldn’t think about that.
I smiled and played up the accent for the large groups of college girls. Working at the shop and learning piercing from Brightly, I’d gotten used to all types of bodies but it was hard not to find groups of smiling, perfectly made up and carefree women attractive. They were young, but going places and talked about their colleges and new careers in a way women where I was from just didn’t.
It was easier to keep a tattoo virgin calm during their first tattoo if her friends where there cheering her on, so there was always a swarm of beautiful women surrounding me. When DiVo would show me the pictures on his Myspace page I would barley recognize myself.
Sometimes there was small talk--flirting was fine and even necessary, but I’d had to reminds myself not to take it too far, even though I’d received more than a few invitations to house parties and dorm rooms.
Like, it would be easy to sneak out behind the building with the overly sarcastic blonde haired blue eyed college sophomore who I’d worked on twice. I liked her humor and it always distracted me from the pain plus she kept buying me white Russians even though I told her I was Lithuanian. I’d taken down the hand rests off my chair so I could work easier, and I could imagine her straddling my lap and that first kiss would probably be every drop of pent up lust that couldn’t be satisfied with the occasionally clinical hand job.
I needed to focus.
I shook my head and zeroed in on the simple mandala I’d been outlining, I was already running a little behind on time and some of the lines I’d done were blown. I concentrate on the flesh, the ink and the art.
When I finished I quickly bandaged the client and cashed out. I packed up, stopping by the bar to grab my allotted free drink, ginger ale and lemon. I stuck around long enough for Venus to raffle off the “sexy spring” swag bags and for her to get enough drunks to take a hit at a piñata that when opened rained rose gold glitter condoms. I snagged a few on my way out because I had spent enough of my life poor to never turn my back on anything free.
It was only 10pm when I caught the bus out of Manhattan.
Out of Manhattan.
I hated saying that phrase.
I’d done pretty well making 262 dollars. It’d be gone once I paid on my medical bills and gave Sofia the rest for the groceries and rent. I slide 50 dollars in a hidden compartment in my bag, I was too tired to feel guilty about it.
I can already hear Eli crying from down the block, when I get myself up the ramp I can see Eli propped up on some pillows and blankets on the couch screaming at the top of his little lungs. Sofia has that fucking aromatherapy diffuser on high but nothing about lemongrass is going to make me forget about the pain. Neither was the meditation, bubble baths, massages, or other bullshit alternative therapy.
“Leave him alone”, Sofia said from the kitchen, “He has a small thrush infection. His pacifiers keep getting confused with the other kids at the daycare.”
“Get him some Tylenol. I’ve seen that work.”
“We don’t have any”, she said which code was for I can’t afford it, “Please Tomas I don’t want you to catch it.”
She’s wearing one of my t-shirts and jogging pants. Her eyes are rimmed red and glassy. She seemed shaken which was odd because Elijah’s screaming and crying usually never bothered her.
I have a little bit of change in my pocket and put it in a jar we keep on the counter. No idea what it’s for… but it’s there. Sophia pours herself some tea and sits on the couch rubbing cream onto Elijah’s chest. I take the fifty dollars I’d hidden out of my bag and set it on the coffee table. She looks at it and turns back to Elijah.
This was all so odd. She was usually asleep or heading off to bed when I came back. That black tea she was drinking probably had caffeine in it.
“Sofia, don’t you have to be at the pharmacy in like four hours? Get some sleep.”
“I’ve got it.”
She buttons up Eli’s onesie and sets him back up on a cocoon of pillows, he keeps crying. He’s angry and I get that. Unlike the rest of us doesn’t have anyone else to really take it out on. Sofia shuffles back to the bedroom carrying a basket of clean clothes to fold.
I eat some of Sofia’s homemade soup for dinner, even though I feel like I’ve been eating itfor weeks. I turn on the small black and white TV the previous owner left behind, it gets three channels but it’ all background noise to me.
Elijah is still crying and stuffing his fist into his mouth to soothe the thrush. I let him cry it out, I think being able to scream would help me deal with my shit so I let him do it for me. The thoughts of kissing a beautiful blonde are officially out of my head. This is my reality. This and the pain. Mostly the pain.
I dig in the bottom of my bag for the mini bottles I keep for jittery clients. I find a bottle of brandy, I drink half of it and splash a bit on my thumb and let Elijah suck on it. After about thirty minutes he is asleep and I take him to the bedroom and put him in the crib.
For some reason Sofia was still awake and folding Mrs. Randolph’s towels
“Sof, you have to be at work in like two hours.”
“Someone stopped by”, she said looking at the seashell print on the yellow towel.
“Who?” I’d hoped it wasn’t one of my shady clients or one of those fucking creditors.
“Martina Haskell…she was from Petal Brooke. Well, from around Petal Brooke.”
“Small world?” I said. I didn’t really know anyone from Petal Brook. I’d grew up in Riverside which was Petal Brooke only if you are an outsider.
“No”, she said and then proceeded to say something intelligible and starts crying. I hadn’t’ seen Sofia like this since she’d been using. I was kind of on edge and a little drunk.
“Sofia, what is going on?”
“She wants to…Allen Fenton…she wants me to press charges.”
“Fenton?”
“He was the nurse at the hospital”, she whispered.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
“It’s…not too late?”
“No.”
I didn’t know what to say. Where I was from we didn’t handle shit like that like this.
“Sofia, I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it…but it’d be public record. You want to put all that out there? Is it worth it?”
She started to shake a little and I regretted saying anything. I hadn’t wanted or asked for the details about what happened to her. Our marriage had been mostly celibate and it (obviously) drove me fucking insane, but it all went back to whatever the hell happened to her in that hospital. I thought maybe she’d get over what had happened to her because well…I had the moment I met her.She’d been diagnosed as Bi-polar last year only having spurts of sexual desire during manic episodes, which was mostly how she got pregnant---also partially because she cheated on me--- but we didn’t talk about that.
Anyway
The monster that had taken part of her finally had a name.
Allen Fenton.
Fenton.
I knew that fucking name.
“There is money”, she continued, “like a lot of money---and I’m not saying I deserve it or want it. . . . but we do need it and it did happen, and he just got away with it. He’s been on disability you know. They’ve been paying him to stay home and …it’s not fair.”
For the first time I notice the calculator on the bed, spread out around bank statements, loan notices, medical bills and school fees. I thought about the other things money could buy Sofia; more sleep, more time, her future.
+2+
Sofia
I didn’t make it to the pharmacy. I call out sick, but really I was taking a mental health morning. Tomas and I just sat in silence for hours and I could tell Tomas was exhausted, he fell asleep watching me fold Mrs. Randolph clothes. I hadn’t felt like helping him under the covers, but I did get a warm cloth and wipe a smear of light pink lip gloss and glitter from his cheek.
I sat up in bed all night, partially studying and partially reading. At 8am, when is seemed appropriate I took out Martina’s business card and called her. The phone only rang once before she picked up.
“Sofia?” she answered.
“Yes. Ms. Haskell”
“Martina, please.”
“Can we talk?”
We arranged to meet at Brew Stop, the tea cafe was out of the way for both of us but it was one of the better tea cafes in NYC and Severine had given me a $100 gift card for Christmas. I bundled up Elijah and took him with me and scrawled a note for Tomas.
I gave him his pacifier so he’d be good when we stepped inside the bustling café, but he could take it out now and threw it on the ground. Martina was sitting at a booth with her rolling bag and printed out directions to the Greyhound stop, she had already ordered a blueberry jasmine tea and a bagel. I hurried to the counter and ordered a vanilla mint tea latte and a lukewarm soothing tea blend for Elijah to sip on.
“I was glad to hear from you”, Martina said blowing on her tea, “I love this place, by the way.”
“Thanks, it’s communal and approachable . . . not as pretentious as some of the other tea shops. I like to study here.”
“I forgot to mention last night, you have a beautiful baby. I’m glad what happened to you hasn’t stopped you from having a family.”
“I wish I could say it was like that”, I said putting the tea in Elijah’s bottle.
An awkward silence filled the booth as we sipped out teas.
“So, why did you call me?” Martina finally asks.
“. . . Do you really think we can win?”
“Officially, you haven’t hired me”, she said leaning back, “So I can’t tell you anything due to privilege. But I will tell you that there are some mitigating factors that will really make this case. ‘He said she said’ cases can be really nasty.”
“How does this work?”
“Well”, she pulled out a notebook, “You’d have to come back to Petal Brooke. The next court session starts in June and I can probably get on the docket. We can prep over the phone, but I’d need you there if this goes to trial . . . you’d have to be in North Carolina for maybe 60 days.”
I did the math in my head. I could skip summer classes that would be fine. I didn’t know how lenient the hospital would be.
“Would I have to see him?”
She tapped a pen on her notebook.
“Ideally…we want this to go to trial, it gives us better leverage for the civil case against the hospital. So, you may have to face him in court.” Martina didn’t bullshit, I appreciated that, “I think the best way to get through this is to build a team behind you, you’ve got me, little Elijah and your husband?”
I nodded even though I wasn’t sure Tomas and I would come out of whatever I put him through next unscathed.
“I know you can do this”, Martina said, “I know you can do it.”
“I know”, I said, “Me too.”
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Yes. I did a thing. So, Martina and Sofia’s conversation was sitting on my desktop for YEARS and when a lot of the #MeToo started happening I felt like I had to re-orient what this serial was about. Originally it was going to flashback between the trial during the summer and their time in New York in the winter and spring (with Adam coming back in the picture)…but I quickly got away from that and realized I could tell the story of Tomas, Sofia and Elijah in New York better in another serial. So here we are.
Muse: You really need to stop teasing that sequel we are running on fumes
Lils: Ugh…to the trenches.
Muse : Also, didn't SHV characters have vanilla mint tea ?
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