“The travel will be more difficult,” I suggest. “But the payoff of a quieter life could be worth it.”
“It is, trust me. I’m glad Luke never moved out of Portland. I love traveling, don’t get me wrong. But there’s something great about coming home to a slower pace.”
“I guess it’s at least worth a conversation with Carolyn about it.”
“If she isn’t reasonable, maybe it’s time to find an agent who will be,” Juliet says. “Micah would love to steal you away from Carolyn.”
“You’re right,” I agree. As nice as it’s been hiding away here for a couple of weeks, it’s not a sustainable way of life. Or, not a healthy one, anyway. I need a life, some work and hobbies. A social life. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow. For the rest of the day, though, we have some fun.”
Juliet eyes me, aware of my tendency to put my problems on the back burner. Delaying them and making them tomorrow’s problems, too. When all you do is fret and worry all the time, though, you constantly crave a break.
“Right. Rebellion,” she says. “What’s something we can do in Stowaway that your piece of shit ex would hate?”
“Anything I do here, Pierre would hate,” I tell her. “Is there a dive bar here?”
These things may seem small to others. For me, they’re experiences I’ve only dreamed of. Well, I’ve been to my share of dive bars, but in Manhattan and Monaco, they aren’t really dive bars.
My agency found me young. By the time I was legally allowed to walk into a bar, I’d already been on the covers of most major fashion publications. Carolyn had always coached me to believe my free time wasn’t mine.
“Everything you do, you do to be seen and you expect to be seen,” she said so often, I feel like it is tattooed on my skin.
“There’s The Wave Break,” she says. “It’s exactly what you’d imagine a tiny beach town bar to be.”
“What about a tattoo parlor?”
“Oh, fuck,” she says, surprised. “Are you sure about that?”
“Now that I’ve had the idea, yes.” I can get away with it. There are a handful of active high fashion models with small tattoos. With my name, reputation, and experience, I’d still get booked. Not for everything, but I’m over the days of wanting everything. “Yes. Hell fucking yes, Jules.”
“Okay,” she says, laughing. “There’s only one place here, unless you want to go into Portland.”
“No. It has to be here. In Stowaway.”
“Like a memento,” she says, and I nod. “Stewie is your guy, then. Get ready, let’s go.”
Leap.
Four little letters neatly scrolled along my collarbone. A statement. A reminder. A motto.
Stewie, a grizzled man in his sixties with a white beard grown down to his oversized belly, was patient and gentle with me. He ribbed Juliet, who he’s known her whole life, at every opportunity, keeping us all laughing. I think he was nervous I’d have a low pain tolerance, it being my first tattoo.
He couldn’t guess my relationship with pain. I don’t wear it like a badge; I’m quite practiced hiding it. Enduring it. Stewie’s needle strikes were nothing more than a tickle in comparison. A controlled pain is welcome, compared to the unexpected type I’ve been living with.
Now, we sit at Miss B’s, the same pregnant server from my first visit here waiting to take our order.
“The chocolate cake,” I say. “And the strawberry milkshake.”
“I like the way you live,” she says with a wide smile.
“You know what? Fuck it,” Juliet says. “I’ll have the carrot cake with a butterscotch milkshake.”
“You got it, ladies,” the server says before retreating behind the swinging doors to the kitchen.
“Can we share?”
“I was hoping you’d ask that,” Juliet says. She checks a few notifications on her phone while I stare out the window at the people walking by. The weather is changing, the late spring rain taking a backseat to midday sunshine. A strong ray shines through, casting a flower shadow on the table from the vase that holds a single white Gerber daisy.
Single. Alone, but with a sturdy stem that allows her to hold her head high. The simple beauty makes me smile sadly. I want to be that flower. Some days, I feel like I am…today, for instance. Then, there’s a trigger, an intrusive thought, something to drag me back into the shadows I’m trying so hard to escape.
