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Chloë stuck out her tongue at Morgan and Morgan felt a flush of heat that was not in her face.
Christ almighty, I need to get laid.
***
They made it to San Diego with fifteen minutes to spare, despite the traffic delay, a fact which Morgan made sure to harp on about after Chloë parked the Jetta in the East Village neighborhood of the city.
“Yes, Miss Banks,” Chloë said as they started to walk along F Street. “You were right, Miss Banks.”
“Gee, I’ve kind of missed hearing that level of respect from you, Chloë,” Morgan said. “I may have to make you start calling me ‘Miss Banks’ again.”
“Ooh, you’d better be careful, though, Miss Banks,” Chloë rejoined.
“And why is that?”
“Because sexy, domineering schoolteacher happens to be a top fantasy among lesbians.”
Morgan burst out laughing.
“You are terrible!” she said, nudging Chloë playfully as they walked. The younger woman’s step didn’t falter even though she was wearing four-inch heels. “I like your shoes,” she told Chloë.
Chloë stopped and stretched out her left leg, the one closest to Morgan, balancing herself perfectly on her right foot. She cocked her left foot this way and that so that Morgan could get a good look at her coral dress pump sandals with a strap which fastened at her ankle. Once again, Chloë was in a dress, this one coming down to her knees, and so in addition to the shoe, Morgan was also treated to a view of Chloë’s lower leg and its smooth and flawless skin.
Morgan not only liked the footwear Chloë was displaying but she was now suddenly very much aware of how the sandals also showed off Chloë’s perfectly painted toenails with shimmering blue polish, and she liked that as well. When she looked back up at Chloë, she found Chloë staring at her and she blushed.
“Um…really great shoes,” she managed to squeak out.
Chloë gave her a little smirk and then gestured forward.
“It’s just over on the next block,” Chloë told her.
“What is?” Morgan asked with a frown.
Chloe’s eyes signaled something that Morgan could not quite make out. Amusement?
“The Ink Well?” Chloë said. “You know…the reason we’re in San Diego?”
Fuck! Embarrassing!
“Of course! Right, let’s keep going.”
And hopefully I’ll fall down an open sewer pipe on the way.
In a couple of minutes, they arrived at the tattoo parlor.
A neon sign over the door announced that this was, in fact, The Ink Well. A large picture window was darkened by heavy blue curtains which were drawn and did not allow anyone to see inside. There were two signs affixed to the window from the inside, one displaying the studio’s hours, another informing the world that masks were required for entry. Morgan and Chloë both put theirs on before Chloë held open the shop’s gorgeous polished wooden door with brass handle.
Morgan had never been inside a tattoo parlor before and so wasn’t sure what to expect, but she was certain it wasn’t this. The studio was bright and cheery, with potted plants in a couple of the corners and wood-plank flooring. A small reception desk sat at the entrance and to the left was a waiting area furnished with red leather sofas and a coffee table. Overall, the space was modern, cozy, clean. What thrilled Morgan, though, were the walls which were adorned with framed tattoo art, both in color and black-and-white. Morgan stood, turning, taking it all in, admiring the beautifully drawn works depicting everything from dragons to pirate ships, famous cartoon characters to scantily clad women, religious symbols to race cars, all done in various styles.
A squeal tore her attention away from the walls and their art. Morgan saw a masked young woman of about Chloë’s age hurrying towards Chloë from the back of the studio where there were two tattooist chairs. She was brunette, very petite and slender, and dressed in artfully torn jeans, Converse sneakers and what looked to be a vintage Milli Vanilli t-shirt. Her and Chloë embraced and there was something about the familiarity of the way Chloë’s friend placed her hands on Chloë’s body that actually caused a pang of jealousy to hit Morgan.
“Morgan, this is Sienna,” Chloë said, keeping her arm around Sienna’s waist as she introduced her. “She’s going to be doing my tat.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sienna effused.
In the old days, Morgan knew they would have shaken hands. Even now her right arm twitched a little in the still remembered reflex, but she managed to keep it at her side.
“Nice to meet you too,” she greeted Sienna. “You probably can’t tell because of this stupid mask, but I’m smiling.”
