Page 10 of Omega Artist
Without further ado, she quietly opens the door and backs into the hallway, and I’m left inside my head, acknowledging that my anger hasn’t subsided. I stare blankly at the screen, trying to regroup.
Wait a minute…
Before I know it, I’m typing in the search bar as if my life depended on it. New York. Tattoo artist. Tig Nolastname.
Bingo! Nice to meet you, Tig de Luca… I didn’t think it’d be this easy.
There’s no need to comment on who Sybil finds attractive, or used to find attractive to piss off Father, if I heard her correctly. This guy fits the part and my sole thought is: yuck!
I dig some more, comb through his social media, and unearth pics. A painter… well, he definitely has the artistic vibes that my sister craves—or craved? I learn more from his online pedigree in less time than it takes for a quickie—everything but his personal life that he managed to keep under wraps.
Still, sir, you should be more careful!
I wonder if Sybil did this kind of research, too. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he needs to be taught a lesson.
Playboy. Manwhore. Player.
Such a heartless man deserves to be knocked down a few pegs. I refuse to allow Tig de Luca’s behavior to be accepted as normal when mine isn’t. My mind is made up within seconds, and I’m almost tempted to search for him on the app that Sybil mentioned earlier.
Nah, I know better.
He’s the perfect medium to set the record straight for all the men who act so wrong. He’s the perfect medium to set the record straight for all the men who think it’s so right. He was the perfect medium to set the record straight for all the men who condemn me.
It wouldn’t be fun to use his weapon of choice against him, and I refuse to become a handle on a hookup app. I’d rather use my actual handle. My online presence doesn’t reveal my identity. So I follow, like, or comment on everything that he’s posted on social media to make myself stand out. He was more active several years ago. These days, the posts are scarce, and his replies contain more emojis than words.
Tig, you enjoy toying with women that you consider disposable goods, and your friends cheer on your behavior simply because you have a cock... Fine…
One way or another, I’ll set an example, trick this player, and give him a taste of his own medicine. And just like that, my summer vacation gets much more exciting. Now…
Let’s play.
Chapter Four
Bang a Gong (Get it On)
Tig
Because of the size,lack of ventilation, and reluctance to let the freezing November air creep in through the windows, the bar smells like sweat… and beer. I welcome the familiar odor. This place feels like home in a way. It’s cozy. It’s friendly. It’s perfect…
Mike and Troy, a young, friendly gay couple, have owned this place for about two years. They don’t give me hell for pledging allegiance to the dark force, aka sobriety. They don’t give me hell when I pretend to be drunk while singing along with the old jukebox. They don’t give me hell for kindly requesting that they avoid reggae when I’m around. They don’t know the first thing about my life and agreed to comply, no questions asked. I’m grateful for the rare opportunity to be someone without a past with them.
“You should pay more attention, man,” Claire shouts to be heard over the chatter, music—not coming from the old jukebox for now—and background noise as we head towards a booth in the back of the already crowded bar, holding our heavy coats in one hand and our beverages in the other. But then again, it’s Sunday.
The square-shaped place isn’t small, but its layout causes it to get packed pretty fast, especially on weekends. The counter, which is also square, sits proudly in the middle of the space, only allowing a narrow pathway and leading to traffic jams. Still, I dig the modern, industrial ambience afforded by the exposed steel beams. Granted, it would require major renovations to be labeled a trendy bar by the hipster clientele.
This particular booth is our standard spot in the bar. Truth be told, there aren’t many to choose from. Located in the farthest corner from the entrance and almost opposite to the jukebox area that patrons use as a makeshift dancefloor on weekends, our booth grants us more privacy and a bit of quiet—relatively speaking.
So, this is where we meet every Sunday night. As if Claire, Lucas, Marco, and Leroy don’t spend ample time together during the week. As if introducing a couple of new friends into our group now and then couldn’t be accomplished anywhere else. As if breaking the tradition would be tragic.
Tonight is no exception. Another Sunday night at Mike and Troy’s packed bar. Another hectic week at work slipped by. Another hookup with a role-playing enthusiast later. This time, the fake nurse PMed to inform me that she had a burning fever and couldn’t wait for me to examine her with my thick stethoscope. No wonderNurseNaughtysuggested that we rendezvous at an indecent hour. What a life! It’s so fucked-up, and yet, it’s way better than it used to be, so…
For the moment, it’s just the four of us; Leroy, who often DJs and bartends when Claire and I host events at the parlor, will join us later. Part of me died when my wife did. Part of me is slowly becoming human again, but I’m still not a people person. Part of me gets stuck in my own head at times, but I refuse to pretend to be someone I’m not. They’re all aware of my limits by now and that I’m simply doing the best I can. As emotionally impaired as I can be, I do care about them, as I care about Soraya and her family, who I haven’t seen much of lately.
The second our drinks land on the table and our butts slide across the leather benches, Claire shakes me from my reverie by firmly slapping my back for good measure in an odd attempt to get my attention.
“Relax, will you?” I warn, shooting her a murderous glare, and take a gulp. After Soraya and Graham’s intervention, I gave up alcohol cold turkey and haven’t touched a drop since. It’s been months, and I’m not even tempted anymore.
When our little group became fast friends with the couple and consequently regular customers, Troy, who’s often the one behind the bar, even decided to treat me to free bottomless seltzer. How sweet is that?
