Beautiful Oblivion

CHAPTER FIVE

JESUS CHRIST, CALVIN,” TRENTON SAID. HE WAS LOOKING AT the large Chinese mural on the wall, trying not to notice that Calvin couldn’t manage to stare anywhere else but at my breasts. Trenton’s red ball cap was on backward, and his boots were untied. On anyone else the look would have appeared sloppy and screamed douche bag, but somehow the look made Trenton even more appealing. It felt wrong to notice anything about him, but I couldn’t help it.

I didn’t have the most voluptuous chest in the world, but my slight frame made my small D cups seem bigger than they were. I hated to admit it, but they helped score extra tips at the Red, and now they could help me get a second job. It was a vicious cycle of not wanting to be objectified, and using the gifts God gave me to my advantage.

“When did you say you could start?” Calvin said absently, straightening a picture of a brunette beauty on the wall behind the counter. Her tattoos covered nearly every part of her, and ink and a smile were the only things she wore as she lay across the bodies of other naked, apparently sleepy women. Most of the walls were covered in either art or photographs of tatted-up models draped over muscle cars or sprawled in a way that best displayed their skin art. The counter was a mess of papers¸ pens, receipts, and paper clips, but the rest of the place seemed to be clean, even if it did look like Calvin had bought the décor at an auction held by a failed Chinese restaurant.

“Right now. I can work Mondays and Tuesdays, noon until close, but Wednesday through Friday I can only work until seven. Saturday I have to be off by five. I can’t work Sundays.”

“Why not?” Calvin asked.

“I have to study and do homework sometime, and then I have an employee meeting at the Red, before working the bar.”

Calvin looked over at Trenton for approval. Trenton nodded.

“Okay, I’ll let Trent and Hazel train you on the phone, computer, and paperwork. It’s fairly simple. Mostly customer service and cleanup,” he said, walking out from behind the desk. “You got any tats?”

“No,” I said. “Is that a requirement?”

“No, but I bet you’ll get one within the first month,” he said, walking down the hall.

“I doubt it,” I said, walking past him to stand behind the counter.

Trenton came over to me and rested his elbows on the desk. “Welcome to Skin Deep.”

“That’s my line,” I teased. The phone rang, and I picked it up. “Skin Deep Tattoo,” I said.

“Yeah . . . uh . . . what time do you guys close tonight?” Whoever he was, he sounded drunk off his ass, and it was only three in the afternoon.

I looked at the door. “We close at eleven, but you’d better sober up first. They won’t ink you if you’re intoxicated.”

Trenton made a face. I wasn’t sure if that was a rule or not, but it should be. I was used to dealing with drunks, and I would probably see my fair share of them here, too. In a weird way, I felt more at ease with drunks. My dad had popped the top of a Busch beer can every morning for breakfast since before I was born. The slurring, the stumbling, the inappropriate comments, the giggling, and even the anger was what I was used to. Working in a cubicle around a bunch of uptight weenies discussing memos would be more unsettling to me than listening to a fully grown man crying into his beer over his ex-girlfriend.

“So, if it’s a personal call, and it’s for one of us, you can either transfer it to the back like this,” Trenton said, pushing hold, the transfer button, and then one of five numbered buttons at the top. “One hundred is Cal’s office. One-oh-one is my room. One-oh-two is Hazel’s room. One-oh-three is Bishop’s room . . . you’ll meet him later . . . and if you hang up, that’s okay, they’ll call back. The list is taped under the phone base,” he said, pushing the base to the side.

“Fantastic,” I said.

“I’m Hazel,” a tiny woman said from the other side of the room. She walked over to me and held out her hand. The dark bronze skin of her arms was covered from wrist to shoulder by dozens of pieces of colorful artwork. Her ears glistened with hardware that spanned the entire rim of her cartilage, and a rhinestone glistened in the place of a beauty mark. She was naturally a dark brunette, but her faux hawk was a brassy blond. “I’m the body piercer,” she said, her thick lips forming around the words with elegance and the tiniest hint of an accent. For such a tiny thing, her grip was tight; her bright turquoise nails were so long, I wondered how she did anything, especially the complicated task of piercing small areas of the body.

“Cami. As of two minutes ago, I’m the receptionist.”

“Cool,” she said with a smile. “If anyone asks for me, always get their name and take a message. If it’s a girl by the name of Alisha, tell her to choke on a dick.”

She walked away, and I looked at Trenton, eyebrows raised high. “Okay, then.”

“They broke up a few months ago. She’s still angry.”

“I caught that.”

“So, here are the forms,” Trenton said, pulling out the long, bottom drawer of a metal filing cabinet. We went over those between phone calls and customers, and when Trenton was busy, Hazel came up to help. Calvin stayed back in his office for the most part, and it didn’t occur to me to mind.

After Trenton finished a client, he saw her out, and then poked his head inside one of the double glass doors. “You’re probably getting hungry. Want me to grab you something from next door?”

Next door was Pei Wei’s, and the delicious, salty, and savory smells of their food wafted in every time someone opened the doors, but I was working two jobs to help Coby get caught up on his bills. Eating out wasn’t a luxury I could afford.

“No, thanks,” I said, feeling my stomach growl. “It’s almost closing time. I’ll just grab a sandwich at home.”

“You’re not starving?” Trenton asked.

“Nope,” I said.

He nodded. “Well, I’m going. Tell Cal I’ll be right back.”

“No problem,” I said, feeling my shoulders sag a bit when the door closed.

Hazel was in her room with a customer, so I went back there and watched her impale the septum of some guy’s nose. He didn’t even flinch.

I recoiled.

Hazel noticed my expression and smiled. “I call these The Bull. They’re pretty popular because you can just tuck the ring right up into the nostrils and hide it, like so.”

I winced. “That’s . . . fantastic. Trent went next door for dinner. He’ll be back.”

“He better bring me something,” she said. “I’m fucking famished.”

“How do you fit food in that body?” the client said. “If I eat rice, I gain ten pounds, and all you Chinese chicks are tiny. I don’t get it.”

“I’m Filipina, you fucktard,” she said, flicking his ear, hard. He yelped.

I pressed my lips together, and walked back to the vestibule. A few minutes later, Trenton walked in, two large plastic bags in his hands. He set them on the counter and began pulling out different dishes.

Hazel walked up with her customer. “I already went over the care instructions, so he’s good to go,” she said. She took one look at the thin boxes on the counter and her eyes brightened. “I love you, Trent. I seriously, motherfucking love you.”

“You’re making me blush,” he said with a smile. I had seen the scary sides of Trenton more than once, in middle school, high school, and more recently, at the Red. Now he had the most content look on his face, just happy that he’d made Hazel happy. “And this is for you,” Trenton said, pulling out a box.

“But . . .”

“I know. You said you weren’t hungry. Just eat so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

I didn’t argue. I peeled the cellophane off a set of plastic utensils and dug in, not caring if I looked like a wild animal.

Calvin strolled up from the back, clearly led by his nose. “Dinner?”

“For us. Go get your own,” Trenton said, waving Calvin off with his plastic fork.

“Goddamn,” Calvin said. “I almost wish I had a vagina so I could get fed around here.” Trenton ignored him. “Did Bishop ever come in?”

“Nope,” Hazel said, her mouth full of food.

Calvin shook his head and pushed out the double doors, likely on his way to Pei Wei’s.

The phone rang, and I answered, still chewing. “Skin Deep Tattoo . . .”

“Is uh . . . is Hazel busy?” a voice said, low pitched but feminine, like mine.

“She’s with a client. Can I take your name?”

“No. Actually . . . uh . . . yeah. Tell her it’s Alisha.”

“Alisha?” I said, looking at Hazel. She began silently mouthing every cuss word in existence, and flipping off the phone with fingers from both hands.

“Yeah?” she said, sounding hopeful.

“The Alisha?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so. Is she coming to the phone?”

“No, but she left a message for you. Eat a dick, Alisha.”

Trenton and Hazel froze, and the other end of the line was silent for a few seconds.

“Excuse me?”

“Eat. A. Dick,” I said, and then hung up the phone.

After a few moments of shock, Hazel and Trenton burst into a duet of laughter. After a full minute of trying to stop laughing and making that tired sigh sound in between giggles, they both began wiping their eyes. Hazel’s thick mascara was running down her cheeks.

Hazel leaned in to pull a tissue out of the box sitting on the counter next to the computer. She dabbed under her eyes, and then patted me on the shoulder. “We’re going to get along just fine.” She pointed back with her thumb as she retreated to her room. “Land that one, Trent. She’s right up your alley.”

“She has a boyfriend,” Trenton called to her, staring into my eyes and grinning.

We just stood there for a few moments, exchanging small smiles, and then I righted my posture, looking for a clock. “I’ve got to go. Need to read a chapter before bed.”

“I’d offer you help, but school wasn’t really my thing.”

I slipped my red hobo over my shoulder. “That’s only because while you were there, partying and girls were your thing. It might be different now. You should look into taking a class.”

“Nah,” he said, pulling his cap off his head and turning it forward. He adjusted it a few times as he mulled over my suggestion, as if he had never considered it until that moment.

Just then, three college kids stumbled in, loud, obnoxious, and giggling. Even if they weren’t drunk, it was easy for us locals to spot the transplants. Two guys, probably freshmen, approached the counter, and the girl, wearing a pink sundress and thigh-high boots, followed behind. Trenton immediately caught her eye, and she began smoothing out her hair.

“Jeremy lost a bet,” one of the kids said. “He’s going to need a Justin Bieber tat.”

Jeremy let his head fall to the counter. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“We’re closed,” I said.

“We have money,” the kid said, opening his wallet. “I’m prepared to give everyone in here a tip that will blow your mind.”

“We’re closed,” I said. “Sorry.”

“She doesn’t want your money, Clay,” the girl said with a smirk.

“She wants my money,” Clay said, leaning in. “You work at the Red, don’t you?”

I just stared at him.

“Working more than one job . . .” Clay said, thinking.

Jeremy cringed. “Come on, Clay. Let’s just go.”

“I have a proposition for you to earn some extra cash. You’d make in one night what you probably make in a month here.”

“Tempting . . . but no,” I said, but before I could finish the sentence, Trenton had Clay’s collar in both fists.

“Does she look like a whore to you?” Trenton seethed. I’d seen that look in his eyes before—right before he beat the shit out of someone.

“Whoa!” I said, rushing around the counter. Clay’s eyes were wide. Jeremy put his arm on Trenton. Trenton looked down at Jeremy’s hand. “Do you want to die tonight?”

Jeremy shook his head quickly.

“Then don’t fuckin’ touch me, bro.”

Hazel jogged to the vestibule, but she didn’t seem afraid. She just wanted to see the show.

Trenton kicked open the door and then shoved Clay out backward. Clay landed on his backside, and then scrambled up. The girl with them walked slowly outside, watching Trenton, twirling a small piece of her long, golden locks.

“Don’t be too impressed, Kylie. He’s that psycho that got that girl killed a couple of years ago.”

Trenton rushed the door, but I stood between him and the glass. Trenton immediately stopped, breathing hard, and Clay retreated quickly to his shiny black truck.

As the kids backed out of the parking lot, I kept a hand on Trenton’s chest. He was still breathing hard, and shaking from anger. He could have stared a hole through the truck as it drove away.

Hazel turned on her heels and returned to her room without saying a word.

“I didn’t kill her,” Trenton said quietly.

“I know,” I said. I patted him a couple of times, and then dug my keys out of my purse. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes lost focus, and I could see that he wasn’t. I knew exactly what it was like to get lost in a bad memory, and even over a year later, just one mention of the accident had sent Trenton down the rabbit hole.

“I’ve got a bottle of Crown at my apartment and some lunch meat. Let’s drink until we throw up ham sandwiches.”

One corner of Trenton’s mouth turned up. “That sounds pretty awesome.”

“Doesn’t it? Let’s go. See you tomorrow, Hazel!” I called.

Trenton followed me to my apartment, and I went straight to the liquor cabinet. “Crown and Coke or just Crown?” I called from the kitchen.

“Just Crown,” he said from behind me. I jumped, and then laughed. “Jesus, you scared me.”

Trenton managed a small smile. “Sorry.”

I flipped the bottle in the air with my left hand and caught it with my right, and then poured double shots into two tumblers.

Trenton’s smile got a little wider. “It’s pretty cool having a personal bartender.”

“I’m surprised I can still do it. I’ve had too many days off. By the time I get back to work on Wednesday, I’ll probably forget everything.” I handed him his shot glass and clinked my glass to his. “To Crown.”

“To fucking up,” he said, his smile fading.

“To surviving,” I said, pressing the glass against my lips and throwing my head back.

Trenton did the same. I took his empty glass, and poured us another. “Do we want teeth numb drunk, or porcelain praying drunk?”

“I’ll know when I get there.”

I handed him the glass, picked up the bottle, and led Trenton to the love seat. I held up my glass. “To second jobs.”

“To spending more time with awesome people.”

“To brothers who make life impossible.”

“I’ll drink to that shit,” Trenton said, throwing back his shot. “I love my brothers. I’d do anything for them, but sometimes I feel like the only one who gives a shit about Dad, you know?”

“Sometimes I feel like the only one that doesn’t give a shit about mine.”

Trenton looked up from his empty glass.

“He’s old school. Don’t talk back. Don’t have an opinion unless it’s his. Don’t cry when he beats the shit out of my mom.”

Trenton’s eyes tightened.

“He doesn’t do it anymore. But he used to. Fucked with us kids, you know? That she stayed. That she could still love him.”

“Goddamn. That’s awful.”

“Your parents loved each other?” I asked.

The smallest hint of a smile touched Trenton’s lips. “Like crazy.”

My expression mirrored his. “I love that.”

“So . . . now?”

“Everyone acts like nothing happened. He’s better now, so whoever doesn’t pretend that she didn’t have to spend extra time in the mornings covering bruises is the bad guy. So . . . I’m the bad guy.”

“No, you’re not. If someone hurt my mom . . . even if it was my dad . . . I’d never forgive him. Has he apologized?”

“Never,” I said without hesitation. “But he should. To her. To us. To all of us.”

He held out his empty glass this time. I poured a single, and we held them out again.

“To loyalty,” he said.

“To running away,” I said.

“I’ll drink to that shit,” he said, and we both knocked back the drinks.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, and rested my cheek on my knee, looking over at Trenton. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his red baseball cap. He had brothers who were identical twins, but the youngest four could have been quadruplets.

Trenton reached for my shirt and pulled me into his chest. He folded me into his arms and squeezed. I noticed on the inside of his left forearm was thick script that spelled DIANNE, and a few inches down, in much smaller, cursive font that read MACKENZIE.

“Is that . . .”

Trenton turned over his arm to get a better look. “Yeah.” We sat in silence for a moment, and then he continued. “The rumors aren’t true, ya know.”

I sat up and waved him away. “No, I know.”

“I just couldn’t go back there, with everyone looking at me like I’d killed her.”

I shook my head. “No one thinks that.”

“Mackenzie’s parents do.”

“They need to blame someone, Trent. Someone else.”

Trenton’s phone buzzed. He lifted it, took one look at the screen, and smiled.

“Hot date?”

“Shepley. Travis has a fight tonight. At Jefferson.”

“Good,” I said. “Every time they schedule one on a night the Red is open, it’s empty.”

“Really?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know that, since you go to all of them.”

“Not all of them. I’m not going tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I have better things to do than watch Travis beat somebody’s ass. Again. Besides, he doesn’t have any moves I haven’t seen.”

“Right. You’ve taught him everything he knows, I’m sure.”

“One third of everything he knows. That little shit. We beat his ass so many times growing up, he picked up on everything to keep from getting pummeled. Now he could beat all of us . . . at the same time. No wonder no one can beat him.”

“I’ve seen you and Travis fight. You won.”

“When?”

“Over a year ago. Right after . . . he told you to quit drinking before you drank yourself to death and you beat him pretty bad for it.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not proud of that. My dad still hasn’t let me live that down, even though Travis forgave me the second it was over. I love that little bastard.”

“You sure you don’t want to go to Jefferson?”

He shook his head, and then smiled. “So . . . I still have Spaceballs.”

I laughed. “What is your obsession with Spaceballs?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. We watched it a lot as kids. It was something we did as brothers. It just makes me feel good, ya know?”

“You just keep it in your car?” I asked, skeptically.

“No, it’s at home. Maybe you can come over. Watch it with me sometime?”

I righted my posture, creating more space between us. “I’m thinking that’s a horrible idea.”

“Why?” he asked with his charming smile. “Don’t trust yourself alone with me?”

“I’m alone with you right now. Not even worried about it.”

Trenton leaned in, just a couple of inches from my face. “Is that why you just leaned away? Because you’re not worried about being close to me?”

His warm, brown eyes fell to my lips, and his breath was the only thing I could hear until the front door swung open.

“I told you not to mention the Dallas Cowboys. Daddy hates the Dallas Cowboys.”

“They’re America’s football team. It’s un-American to hate the Cowboys.”

Raegan turned on her heels, and Kody leaned back. “But you didn’t have to say that to him! Jesus!” Raegan turned to look at Trenton and me on the couch. I was leaning back, and Trenton was leaning in close.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “Did we interrupt?”

“Nope,” I said, pushing Trenton away. “Not at all.”

“Sure looks like it—” Kody began, but Raegan turned her wrath on him again.

“Just . . . stop talking!” she yelled, and then retreated to her room, Kody following quickly behind.

“Great. They’ll probably be fighting all night,” I said.

“Just . . . go home!” Raegan said, slamming her bedroom door. Kody rounded the corner, looking distraught.

“Look at the bright side,” I said. “If she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t be so upset.”

“Her dad fights dirty,” Kody said. “I didn’t say shit until he’d been talking about Brazil for an hour. Then I tried to change the subject, and couldn’t resist.”

Trenton laughed, and then looked at Kody. “Can you give me a ride home? We’ve had a little bit to drink.”

Kody jingled his keys. “Yeah, man. I’m heading over here in the morning to grovel if you want to pick up your car.”

“Sweet,” Trenton said. He stood up, ruffled my hair with his fingers, and then grabbed his keys. “See you at work tomorrow.”

“Good night,” I said, smoothing my hair.

“You get anywhere with her, man?” Kody said, purposefully louder than necessary.

Trenton chuckled. “Third base.”

“You know what I hate?” I asked. “You.”

Trenton rushed me and turned, lying on top of me, letting his entire weight push me down. “No way. Who else can you drink Crown straight from the bottle with?”

“Myself,” I said, grunting against his weight. I elbowed him in the ribs, and he pulled himself up by the back of the couch, awkward and dramatic.

“Exactly. See you tomorrow, Cami.”

When the door shut, I tried not to smile, but failed.