She adjusted the purse on her shoulder and the tattoo on her inner arm flashed. That black ink in bold, gothic letters, etched into the petal-soft skin.
Gimme Shelter
When she looked away, briefly, my eyes traced the round curves of her face.
Ask her.
Her eyes skipped back to mine again and I took a slight step back, slipping my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
“I should probably be honest with you,” she said, “and admit that I may fail. But I will try.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She cocked her head a little, like she was trying to make sense of that comment. “Did you ever set out to do something feeling like you’ll probably fail?”
“Yeah. That’s pretty much where panic attacks come from.”
The slight smile on her face snuffed out, like a dark tide had washed in.
I had that effect on people.
“You have panic attacks?”
“I used to.”
I could see her thinking. Considering if she should ask me about that. Why did I say it? What did it mean?
Who offers up that kind of information so abruptly?
This guy.
“What does it feel like?” she asked softly.
“Like you’re out of control. When it’s really bad, it feels like you’re dying.”
We just stood there, at the threshold, staring at each other. Me inside my living room and her right outside. I didn’t step outside with her.
I wanted to. I wouldn’t.
Out. In.
I was at war with myself. I felt like I was at war with her, when I wasn’t. I was still at war with the world, a world that no longer wanted to be at war with me.
But I couldn’t stop fighting.
Go. Stay.
She didn’t say anything else. But she didn’t turn to leave.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That sounds like an awful thing to go through.”
Ask her.
“Why do you have that tattoo on your arm?”
She looked down at it, lifting her arm a bit to expose it again. “Uh, yeah, that wasn’t so smart, in retrospect.” She looked up at me. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“No.”
“Well, here’s a pro tip. If anyone ever tells you it’s okay to get a tattoo on that part of your arm, they’re lying through their ass. It hurts like a bitch.”
“I meant, why ‘Gimme Shelter’?”
“Oh.” She dropped her arm. “Well… I got kinda screwed over a few times recently. I won’t bore you with it.”
Please, bore me with it.
Please leave.
“Uh, I guess it’s kinda my plea to the universe right now,” she went on. “For mercy, kindness. You know, shelter. And besides, it’s my favorite Rolling Stones song.”
“I thought everyone’s favorite Rolling Stones song was ‘Paint It Black.’”
“Not mine.”
My fingers twitched in my pocket, trying to tap out that restless rhythm. I dug my fingers into my thigh to stop it.
When I said nothing, she said, “So, thank you for your time… Should I call you Mr. Clarke?”
“Cary.”
“Okay. Cary. Have a nice day.”
She dipped her head as she turned to step away, but then she glanced at me one last time like she couldn’t help it.
I watched her walk away, her dress and the purse with the long pink fringe swishing against her legs. Curves. She was all curves.
I watched as she bent to get her shoes by the pool. Gold leather sandals that didn’t really go with anything else she was wearing. She sat on the edge of one of my lounge chairs to put them on. I was still standing in the open door, staring. She didn’t seem to realize it. Which was why I kept doing it.
Freddy wandered out of the trees and over to her, harassing her for attention while she did up her shoes. She spent a good two minutes rubbing his chin with her fingertips as he twitched his tail in pleasure. Then he flopped down on his side on the patio at her feet. She ruffled the thick hair on his stomach for a moment, until he got frisky and started attacking her hand, gently, and she got up.
She waved goodbye to him with her fingers, and he rolled up to sit on his butt and watch her go. He sat there for a long moment after she disappeared from view. I knew she was out of his earshot when he relaxed his ears.
Then he turned his head, and the moment he saw me he popped to his feet and lifted his back, his tail, and drifted toward me.
“Lemme guess,” I said. “You want food.”
He quickened his pace, his eyes opening like saucers at his favorite word. Food. As he