Page 101 of Ambiguous
“Keep it,” he says.
I shake my head. “I can’t wear one of your rings.”
“Why not?”
A laugh comes out of me, and I gesture down at myself. “Skulls and preppy don’t mix.”
“I think they do.” He leans forward. “Keep it.”
The warmth of the heavy ring on my forefinger reminds me of him. “Okay,” I say. Then I rub the design it had covered on his hand.
With his head cocked, he asks, “Would you ever get a tattoo?”
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You say that so fast.”
“There’s nothing I want permanently drawn on me. Have you ever wanted to get any of yours removed? Do you regret any of them?”
“Not a one. Even the ones that symbolize things long past. They’re my history. Life is so digital, and digital can easily be erased after a few automated ‘Are you sure?’ messages. I like having the scars. I like having a record of things that happened. There are probably hundreds of thousands of photos of me out there, and I have heaps of memories, but if an event or thought or symbol made it onto my body, I know it’s important.” He sets his drink down. “What would you get? I mean, if you had to.”
I pause, thinking about it. “I don’t know. Obviously something meaningful.”
“That’s what I’m asking. What means something to you? A symbol of an event or something you love?”
“My P-touch.”
“Your what?”
“My label maker.”
He laughs. “That is awholelot less interesting than what I thought a ‘p-touch’ would be.” Then he sobers, taking in the look on my face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “What can I say? I told you I like things to be organized. Which reminds me, you still haven’t seen my condo. I mean, not that it can compete with this place,” I say, taking a sip of my wine. It’s delicious and layered and smells almost chocolaty. “And besides, you can’t go out in public without a plan. Does that bother you, or are you used to it by now?”
“I’m used to it. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to pop into a shop without people taking my picture.” He sighs. “No McDonald’s for me.” He leans forward to give me a knowing look. “With the way your grandfather’s ad campaign’s going, you’d get noticed there, too.”
“I might get asked for an autograph. Like,oneautograph. By someone my mom paid to ask me. If you picked up a chocolate shake, you’d cause a traffic jam for blocks.”
Jules hides a grin and lifts one shoulder. “Perhaps.”
“Do you ever feel trapped here?”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s not a cage. I wanted to make certain of that. That’s why I bought this heap and the surrounding land. Paps get a few photos, by hiking in or with a telephoto lens from a boat, but they have to really want them. For the most part, I can do whatever I want here. Especially in the dark.”
“Whatever you want?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“Then we should take advantage of your good planning.” I finish off my glass, put it on the table, and stand. “Come on.”
He sets down his drink, and I grab his hand, then tug him with me out the gate. He laughs at my enthusiasm but follows me readily. “Um, Sam. Where are we going?”
I don’t answer.
Jules lets me drag him toward the dunes at the north end where there are no houses for miles and miles. It takes intrepid souls to get to this part of the public beach.
When we’re well away from the lights of his house and any other signs of civilization, I say, “We’re going for a romantic walk in the moonlight.”
