Woman of the Night

My mouth fell halfway open. I was waiting for her to laugh as a sign that she was joking. But when her face remained stern, I asked "you're serious?"

"Very serious," she made clear, raising her brow.

My open lips transformed into a grin. I propped my head up with my hands and leaned closer to her. I whispered, "am I allowed to say both?" My heart jumped a little. I couldn't believe I said those words.

She turned her head to the side but maintained eye contact. "You are." Her voice grew ever-flirtatious, "but I don't like a slow build-up. I'm a fast girl."

"Unfortunately, I'm the opposite. I'm not a fast girl," I said. "But a girl in uniform turns me on."

"I'll be sure to wear it more often," she teased.

"You should," I murmured. "But this is only the first date. I've never had sex on the first date."

"How long do you normally wait?"

A man's voice interrupted from behind me, "evening, ladies." I jumped and covered my heart with my hand.

"Oh, hello," I gasped.

He was an older man with silvery hair. "I just wanted to say that I talked to your waitress and told her to let me pay for both of your meals." He looked to Jenna, "thank you for your service, ma'am."

"Thank you," she returned.

He asked, "did you fight overseas?"

"Afghanistan," she answered. "Twice."

"I'm a Vietnam War guy myself, so I know how tough it is. Ordinary people don't quite understand how it feels to go there, fight, and come back, especially when we don't win the war in the end. And back in the day, us Nam veterans didn't get much respect at all since the war was so unpopular. So, I always make sure I say thanks to everybody who has served, especially you young people. I thank you for your valor."

"And thank you for your service, sir," Jenna bowed her head shallowly. "And thanks for paying for our dinner."

"That was nice," I remarked as the man walked away.

She said, "one of the perks of the job, I guess. I try to be humble."

"But you don't have to be humble," I said. "It's your valor. It's not like you owe it to someone else. You earned it."

She lifted her shoulders subtly without a reply.

"Do you miss it?" I wondered.

"From time to time," she huffed. "It had its pros and cons. There's a unique brotherhood — or sisterhood — that you really don't get anywhere else. And it was fun and the benefits were great. But the profession is dominated by men, so that can get annoying real quick."

Her canny grin returned. "You never got to answer my question, Emily. How many dates do you go on before you take your pants off?"

"Hmm," I returned the smile. "Definitely a lot. I'm going to need a good twenty dates before I can make that kind of decision." I held up my finger, "and that's no guarantee. I actually have to like you enough by then."

"Damn shame," she joked. "Have I won your approval enough for a second date?"

"Yeah," I giggled. "Next week?"

"Tomorrow?" She asked pathetically.

I shook my head. "This week is extra busy. I probably won't be out of the office until late and will be too tired and irritable to be around. And if I go out after that, I'll be groggy the next day and piss off Laila."

"Laila?" Jenna lifted her eyes.

"Oh, that's my paralegal — my employee — the one I mentioned a minute ago. She's fantastic. I'd lose my head without her. So, I really don't want to make more work for her by being too sleepy or groggy. She already does more than I ask."

"I understand," Jenna said.

"What made you want to join the Army?" I asked.

She swirled her cup of water around. "Grandpa was in the Army — he fought in Vietnam. Dad was in the Army — he fought in the Gulf War. I guess it's more of a family thing. I wasn't forced into it, but I felt like it was the right thing to do." She shrugged.

"I'm the first in my family to be a lawyer. My Dad left when I was little, so it was just Mom and me for most of my life. She's a nurse, and nurses work long hours. So, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents growing up."

"Are those the Scottish ones?"

I nodded, "they were born in Scotland and came here in the sixties. Mom was born here in Columbia. But I'm only half Scottish."

"It doesn't look like it," she smirked, pointing at my hair with her glass. "I bet you've been called every name in the book, haven't you?"

I leaned forward and widened my eyes, "yes! Especially as a kid, but some adults do it too. Literally, three or four weeks ago a defendant addressed me as 'Ms. Firetruck' in court. I wanted to say 'fuck you,' but that'd be unbecoming of a lawyer. I've been called ginger, candle-top, carrot-top, red, little orphan Annie, fire girl."

"I'll call you Emily," she proclaimed. "Unless you let me call you Gorgeous."

"You're a flirt, aren't you?"

"If you say so."

I said, "let's do something next week. Where do you want to go?"

"Hmm," she considered. "How about I text you and let you know?"

I wrinkled my nose, "what's with you and the secrets?"

"I like to keep things interesting."

"I'll have to tell Laila to make sure I'm not going to be busy next week."

Jenna joked, "you can't do that yourself?"

I shook my head. "Nope, if I do I'll wind up working until midnight. That's why I need her."

Jenna changed the subject, "so what are your hobbies?"

"Reading is my biggest one."

"Lawyer books?" She asked naively.

"God, no," I answered. "I like fiction, as long as it's realistic. I'm not much into sci-fi stuff."

"I haven't read too much lately," she confessed. "I spend a lot of my spare time tattooing."

"You're a tattoo artist?" My face lit up.

"I am," she answered. "Licensed and bonded. I don't own a business, though. My friend owns a shop and has me on the books as a freelance employee."

I pointed to her arm, "I noticed your art at the bar. Did you draw that?"

She shook her head, "no. I have a rule — no drawing on myself. But I've drawn on hundreds of people — usually friends and their friends. It's not a big money-maker, it's just fun."

"I don't have any tattoos," I said. "I've been thinking about one for several years, but I don't know what I'd get. And I've been nervous about the whole thing too."

"Nothing to be nervous about," she promised. "I'd be willing to give you some ink in the future if you're interested."

"Huh," I breathed. "I'll think about it."

Chapter 3 - Fabulous

Looking like a younger version of my mother, it was obvious I took after her side of the family. We both had naturally red hair and were about the same height, though she was a little heavier than me. Her personality was what some people might call "extra;" her voice carried and she always wore bright, bodacious outfits. Occasionally, Mom would jokingly refer to herself as "Fabulous" and to me as "Mini-Fabulous," or sometimes "Mini-Fab" for short.

We aimed to have dinner at least once per week, usually Saturday evenings, at her house. It was our way of keeping up with one another, and meeting with Mom was always refreshing. She had always been an ally of mine, no matter what I was pursuing.

I brought Zeus, my dog. He was a six-month-old Labrador retriever; he was no longer a tiny puppy, but not full-sized either. My elderly neighbor volunteered to periodically check in on him and walk him while I was at work. Zeus was particularly attached to Mom. He was practically clawing at her front door while I tried to open it. Once inside, I released his leash and he darted into the kitchen. Mom crooned in a high voice, "hey, little guy. How are you doing?"

Zeus panted and whined as she rubbed his belly. She beamed with excitement, "you're so adorable." But the dog's jealousy grew when Mom greeted me with a hug. "Hey, honey. How's my girl?"

"Hey!" I exclaimed, welcoming her joy. It smells good in here."

"Roast beef," she said, returning her love to Zeus. "Mashed potatoes, green beans, and macaroni and cheese."

"I'm starving," I said.

"You sure are," she chided, poking my tummy. "Haven't you been eating anything?"

"I'm not as good at cooking as you are," I shrugged.

She said, "so instead of eating you go hungry?"

"I eat," I replied. "I had a can of chicken noodle soup last night."

She twisted her mouth as she washed her hands. "Those things are like two hundred calories. You need more than that." She returned to the stove and stirred the pot of gravy. Zeus, wagging his tail, sat and stared at her with anticipation. Mom retrieved a dog biscuit from the cupboard and tossed it into the living room. Zeus launched like a rocket but returned within seconds in hopes for more. "No more right now, little guy. I can't spoil you." Mom joked, "he's the opposite of you. All he does is eat."

I waved my hand, "I don't eat when I'm stressed." She raised her eyebrows. "But I'm healthy," I added preemptively, knowing she was about to ask.

"You sure?" She crossed her arms. "You're not lowballing me, are you?"

"I'm fine. I promise." I peeked at the food and stuck my finger into the potatoes. Mom slapped me on the wrist.

"What are you doing that for?" she snapped.

I giggled, licking my finger. "It's good."

"Go wash your hands," she yelled. "You've been handling that dog and you're sticking your fingers in the food."

"Yes, ma'am," I smirked.

"Honestly — and to think you're thirty years old."

She grabbed two cooking mittens and opened the oven. I went on, "I've had a thought over the past few days that's been stuck in my head."

"Yeah?" Mom huffed, lifting the cast-iron skillet of mac and cheese.

"Dating again," I answered, washing my hands.

Mom's expression grew curious, "that's nice." She was more excited than she let on. I'm sure she was overjoyed by my wanting to date again, but she restrained her excitement.

I shook the water from my hands. "It's been a while. And it's just Zeus and me at the house."

"Lonely?"

I hunched my shoulders. "I don't know. I don't quite want to put it that way."

"You're lonely," she said. "Admitting loneliness is hard."

"It makes me sound pathetic if I'm honest."

"It's not pathetic. It's a normal emotion. But I'm glad to hear you're interested in starting again." She waved me over to the stove. "Come dish yourself up a plate, honey. That's your grandmother's recipe. We had it all the time growing up. Thought I'd give it a try."

The roast beef was melt-in-your-mouth divine. The potatoes, fluffy and delectable. And the macaroni, cheesy and gooey. Mom was an excellent cook and she'd recently been trying her hand at old Southern cuisine, which was my favorite style by far.

Mom continued at the table, "but whatever choices you make, you need to do what's going to make you happiest. Don't make a major life decision if you're going to be miserable in the process."

"Umm," I hummed, continuing to eat. Zeus sat patiently on his hind legs. His eyes followed our every movement, waiting for us to drop food onto the floor. "Mom, what would you say if I came home one day with a tattoo?"

Mom coughed and dropped a bit of meat, which Zeus promptly scavenged. Mom looked at me suspiciously. "Emily, did you get a tattoo?"

"No, but I've been wondering what it'd be like to get one."

Mom tilted her head and ruffled her face. "I don't find tattoos very attractive. You're already very pretty — you don't need a tattoo to look good."

"But that's what people from your generation often say."

She grunted. "You mean old people, don't you?"

"You're almost sixty, Mom. You're not old."

She widened her mouth and gasped, "I most certainly am not almost sixty. I'm fifty-six."

I giggled. "Well, I'm rounding up."

"Rounding up? Yeah, you laugh. You're living in your fourth decade, so don't get too excited."

"Fourth decade?" I squeaked. "I'm thirty!"

"You were born in 1993. You've lived in the 1990s, the 2000s, the 2010s, and now the 2020s. You've been alive in four different decades, sweetheart."

I leaned back and rested my hands on my knees. I whispered, "that's a thought that'll fester." I pointed at myself, "anyway, what would you say if I had a tattoo?"

She exhaled audibly. "First off, it would depend on where it was. It's one thing if it's on your back or somewhere you can hide. It can be your little secret. But if it were on your face — I'd probably smack you so hard it'd come right off."

"Oh, Mom," I groaned, trying not to laugh. "I'm not dumb enough to get one on my face. Just something small that wouldn't be seen in the courtroom."

Mom shrugged, "I stopped coloring on myself in kindergarten." She laughed at her own comment. "To be honest, I thought I was going to have to have this conversation when you were sixteen or seventeen. I thought you'd be like some of the other kids your age who wanted tattoos. But you never asked for one. So, why is it that I'm suddenly having this conversation with you at thirty years old?"

I sighed, "I've been seeing this girl. Her name is Jenna."

Mom's smile grew like the Grinch's heart on Christmas morning, her voice rife with intrigue. "Ooh, so you are already seeing someone, not just thinking about it."

I nodded. "She's sweet. Former military and very cute. I've only had one date with her, so we'll see where things go. But she does tattoos."

"Well, you should have her over for dinner sometime to meet me, Emily."

I shook my head, "not quite yet. I've only known her for a week or two. And she draws tattoos. I was just thinking about it, that's all."

"You don't need my permission, Emily. You're an adult. You should make that decision on your own. Obviously, I wouldn't get one on myself — I never have. But if you want one, then get one. Just understand that it's permanent. And if you get something stupid, I will slap you." She chuckled again.

"And how's work going?" She asked.

"It's awesome," I answered. "Tiring, but awesome. But you know Laila does a great job and keeps me on top of things."

"Laila," Mom repeated. "You talk about her quite a bit, you know? She's really that good of an employee?"

"The absolute best," I bragged. "She's going to be going to law school pretty soon and I have no idea what I'm going to do when she leaves."

Chapter 4 - We have to do what we have to do

Jenna and I agreed to meet at the Horseshoe, which was a beautiful combination of immaculate landscaping, towering oak trees, brick-paved sidewalks, and centuries-old buildings. The wind blew gently and the birds sang their evening melodies. February had arrived and the temperature hovered around forty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

Zeus and I walked along the burgundy brick. In the spring, summer, and fall months, it was common to see people lying on blankets in the grass, playing Frisbee, or studying. People had their evening picnics outdoors and couples enjoyed one another's company on the grass. But at this hour in the winter, people stayed indoors. Winter in South Carolina is no arctic wasteland, but it's no tropical paradise either.

Jenna sat on a lone bench in front of the old library. She wore a loose blue jacket and black pants that hugged her body. She became giddy with excitement when she saw Zeus and me.

"Awww — may I pet him?" She asked politely.

"Of course," I answered. "He's the friendliest dog in the world. But he might try to jump up to your hips."

But Zeus was reluctant. He stiffened and stared harshly at Jenna. His cheeks lifted to reveal his little fangs and he growled softly. The fur near his neck stood up and his tail became stone.

"Come on, buddy," I tugged at the leash. "It's okay."

He barked.

"Zeus!" I exclaimed. "It's okay, buddy." I clicked my teeth. "Come on, it's okay." But his barking persisted.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "He's never barked at anyone before. I don't know what his problem is."

Jenna got on her knees and spoke in a childlike manner, "you're a cute little guy, aren't you?"

His barking surrendered to a whine. He tried to hide behind my legs, nearly tangling me with the leash.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I don't know what's gotten into him tonight."

"It's okay," she said. "Dogs are peculiar sometimes."

We sat on the bench together. Zeus crawled underneath in an attempt to hide from Jenna. He stopped whining, but his eyes never left her. It was as if he feared she would attack him at any moment.

"Interesting place for a date," I remarked. "Aren't you cold?"

"I thought it'd be nice and quiet. Plus, I love the chilly weather."

"How's the 911 business going?"

She chuckled, "same old — same old. Although, there was a woman that called today because the kid working the register at Burger King accidentally gave her a tomato when she asked for none."

"Seriously? People are ridiculous."

"They are," she agreed. "Considering the next call was from a guy who had just witnessed a stabbing."

"Yikes." I changed the subject, "hey, can I ask you something weird really quick?"

She looked at me intriguingly. "Okay—"

"May I look at your tattoos? I was curious about them at the bar, but I didn't want to be weird by examining your arm when we had just met. I just want a closer look.

"Sure," she said, partially taking off her jacket so that her right arm was exposed. I lightly gripped her arm. "May I look?"

"Yeah, go ahead." I gently turned her arm to admire the artwork. Near her shoulder her ink was that of clouds and a flying eagle and nearer her elbow were roses. Amid the clouds was the name "Kimberly" written in cursive.

"Kimberly?"

"My Mom," she said. "The only person in my life worth writing on my body. So far, anyway."

"Do you have tattoos anywhere else? If you don't mind my asking."

She nodded, "there's one on my lower back, but that's it." She stood and turned away from me and lifted the back of her shirt to reveal the drawing of a small butterfly." She said, "I know — a butterfly is so generic. That's the one I got just a couple of days after my eighteenth birthday, but I still wanted it hidden." She turned back around. "Everybody and their mother has a butterfly, so I wouldn't recommend it."

"When did you get the arm done?"

"Two years ago."

I said, "I really want one, but it'd have to be hidden. It's frowned upon for lawyers to have visible tattoos. Matter of fact, I could probably get fired if I came in with short sleeves and tattoos on my arms."

"Fired?"

"Yeah, or maybe not. Who knows? The world's changing so fast I can't keep up."

She wondered, "any thoughts on what you might get?"

"See, that's the other problem. I don't know what on Earth I'd get. And I figured if I'm going to commit to something as permanent as a tattoo, I'd need to know what I want."

"Tell you what," she suggested. "You think of a tattoo idea and let me know. I'll get it stenciled up and give you one for free?"

"For free?" I smiled. "I'm willing to pay."

She shook her head, "I can do it for free. I can do it at your home too because I have all the equipment."

"I'll think about it. I just want to be sure I know what I'm doing before I get something like that."

"Please do," she said. "The stupid things that people have had me tattoo on them—"

"Oh, do tell," I said alluringly.

"One guy wanted a tattoo of his girlfriend's name — except he only knew her for a couple of weeks. I honestly tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted that I draw 'Megan' on his upper back. He came back a few weeks later and said they broke up — that he needed to cover up the tattoo. So, he asked for a fire-breathing dragon to cover up 'Megan.' But then he came back about two months later and said he was dating another girl—."

"Don't tell me he made the same mistake again."

"No, he said his new girlfriend's name was also Megan and wondered if I could get rid of the dragon."

I chuckled, "people are dumb. And I suppose we both have professions that expose the dumbest of humanity."