The Call to Her Secret Account

A flight attendant messaged me about getting her tattoos removed. One on her stomach. One on her waist.

Wedding at the end of the year, and her boyfriend didn't know about either of them. While the numbing cream sat, we had forty minutes to kill. She took three calls.

All three from numbers she didn't have saved. Then a fourth call came in.

She looked at the screen and her face changed. "That's my boyfriend's number," she said. "But he doesn't know this account exists." "Then how is he calling you?" She froze for two seconds.

Then she pointed at me. "Not one of you men is any good." Me: ?! Chapter 1 My name is Desmond. I run a tattoo shop on a back alley in the old part of town. Six years now.

Year three I went and got my laser removal license too. Half this job is putting things on people. The other half is taking them off. The shop doesn't face the street.

My own flash sheets cover the walls. The glass case holds the sterilizer and the ink bottles. Business runs warm, never hot, and I don't push it.

A tattoo is something you leave on a person for life. You don't rush that. A few nights back the shop was empty. I was behind the counter scrolling videos when my phone buzzed.

A new DM request. Profile picture of an airplane. Username Skye. Flight crew, probably. Or somebody who just likes planes. I didn't think about it. I hit accept.

She led with this: Skye: [Hey hon, don't hold it against me that I'm messaging you off my burner.] Skye: [My main account isn't good for adding people.

I'm a flight attendant, so I'm careful about privacy. That's why I came at you from this one.] Me: [No problem. Send me what you want taken off.] Skye: [One sec, hon.

Let me find the photos.] Two minutes later, two pictures came through back to back. I opened the first. A red rose on her side, about the size of a fist.

Deep color, the lines bleeding a little at the edges. Whoever put that in wasn't going light. The second sat low on her stomach.

A line of English letters, tiny, running together so you couldn't read them. Me: [Why not just do the one? Two is rough. Both those spots hurt.] Skye: [Sorry hon.

Let's just say I've had a full life.] Me: [All right. Four or five sessions minimum, two to three months apart. Best case, a year and a half to clear it.

And it isn't cheap.] Skye: [Money isn't the issue.] A year and a half. And the wedding was at the end of this year. I ran the math and kept it to myself.

Me: [How long have you had them?] Skye: [The waist one, three years. The stomach one, a little over one.] Me: [The newer one should come out easier. The waist one's too saturated.

That'll take more passes.] She came back fast. Skye: [I trust your work, hon. I went through every case on your profile, start to finish.] Me: [Come by when you can.

I want to see them in person.] Skye: [Sure. But I've got a few questions first.] Me: [Go ahead.] Skye: [Can I take baths after?] Me: [Don't soak it after a session.

Shower carefully, keep the area clean, and wait until the skin has closed before baths or swimming—usually about a week.] Skye: [What if I'm on my period?

Can I still get it done?] Me: [Your period isn't a contraindication. If you're cramping, dizzy, or feeling rundown, reschedule.

Otherwise we can proceed.] Skye: [Thing is, I'm only free when I'm on my period.] I sat there a second.

Me: [What does your period have to do with getting a tattoo removed?] Chapter 2 Skye: [When I'm on my period I can call out.

When I'm not, the schedule's packed and they won't approve time off.] Me: [How high up are you at that airline? They schedule the planes around your cycle?] She didn't answer that.

She sent a facepalm emoji. I figured it was just talk. She never sent a deposit over Venmo. I get customers like that all the time. Full of questions, then gone. I let it go.

What I didn't know was that the same night, that "work account" of hers added at least six people. One of them was her boyfriend. The next evening I ate dinner at my parents' place.

My mom had put out a whole spread. Ribs, garlic green beans, tomato soup. My dad opened a beer. He poured a glass and slid it over. "Have some?" "No.

I've got work tonight." "Somebody's coming to the shop this late?" "Booked a removal. She said she'd swing by." He bit into a rib. The evening news was on.

We talked in that halfthere way you do with the TV going. Halfway through the meal my phone went off. I picked it up. Voice note from the flight attendant.

My dad was sitting right across from me. I didn't think. I hit play on speaker. "Hey hon, I'm on my period." Soft, syrupy, pitched to be cute.

In my parents' quiet kitchen it went off like a bomb. My dad's fork stopped in midair. The rib dropped off it and hit the plate. He looked up at me.

I couldn't read his face. "Watch yourself, son." I nearly choked. "Dad. She's a customer. She wants tattoos removed." "Customer makes it worse." "…Got it.

I'll be careful." He went back to his plate and muttered at it. "Girls these days say whatever comes into their heads." I picked up my phone.

Me: [Come by whenever you're free.] Skye: [I'll head over in a bit.] Me: [Fine. See you.] My dad stood up to clear the plates.

On his way past he put a hand on my shoulder. "Your shop's on a back alley. You keep track of who walks in there. Don't let just anybody through that door." "I know, Dad.

I keep track." He set the plates in the sink and came back with one more. "I don't know much about your line of work.

But a man's got to know where the line is." "I know where the line is." He let it go and went back to the TV. I didn't finish that meal easy, though. It wasn't what he said.

It was that I'd started thinking the same thing. The way she talked was off. Nobody who's asking about tattoo removal volunteers that they're on their period.

And nobody says it in that voice. Was she actually coming in for a removal, or was it something else? I washed the dishes, cleared the table, told my dad I was heading out.

It was full dark by the time I got to the shop. The streetlight at the mouth of the alley threw down a dull yellow.

I rolled up the security gate, got the lights on, wiped down the table, laid out the sterilized tools. Twenty minutes later somebody knocked. I went over and opened the door.

A woman was standing there, and for a second I couldn't come up with a way to describe that face. Chapter 3 She stood in the doorway with the streetlight coming from behind her.

That face was too perfect. Perfect in a way nothing grows into. Perfect like somebody had dialed it in, one needle at a time. Her cheeks sat higher than her smile.

Her chin had been taken in sharp. Her forehead was smooth enough to throw back the streetlight.

The whole face looked built off a drawing, every line rounded until there were no accidents left in it. Six years in this trade, I spend all day looking down at other people's skin.

How many times a face has been worked on, the skin will tell you. Hers told me: a lot of times, and it isn't finished. White cropped puffer. Tight black pants, kneehigh boots.

Designer handbag. Back straight, ready for takeoff at any second. She looked at me and smiled. That smile had been practiced.

The corners went up at exactly the right angle, but there was so much filler in her face that the smile pulled at it. "Hey hon. You're Desmond, right?" "That's me.

Come on in." She stepped inside, heels clicking on the tile.

She looked around, the flash sheets on the walls, the tools in the case, and nodded. "Your shop's clean, hon." Her eyes weren't on the walls when she said it.

They were on the security recorder in the corner of the counter. Two seconds on it. Then she brought them back.

I figured she just didn't like being on camera. "It has to be," I said. "You get sloppy in this business, somebody gets an infection. Sit down.

Let me see them." She dropped into the client chair and hung her jacket on the armrest. Black turtleneck underneath. She lifted the hem.

The rose came out on her side, same as the photo. Worse in person. I had her stand and turn, then looked at it from the side. "That's in deep, and the color's settled.

Could take a few more sessions than I said. Go ahead and lie down." She got on the table and pulled the hem up to clear the rose.

Then she hesitated and tugged it back down, covering the letters on her stomach. "You want that one off too?" "Off. All of it.

Every letter." "Then let me see it." She lifted the hem. The letters sat under her navel, small, but close up you could read them. ForeverYours. Yours forever.

Not even a space between. I looked at it for two seconds. "You get that with an ex?" She didn't look at me. She looked at the ceiling. "Yeah." "You broke up?" "He ran." "All right.

Take it off. No point keeping it." I swabbed her down with alcohol. She flinched when the cotton touched her. "It's cold," I said. She didn't answer. Her whole body stayed tight.

I laid the numbing cream on, covered it with plastic wrap, and sat her up. "Forty minutes to an hour before that kicks in.

Sit tight." She leaned back in the chair and got out her phone. I went behind the counter and sorted tools, glancing up at her every so often. She sat quiet.

But every few minutes she'd pick up the phone and check it, like she was waiting on a message. Or confirming something.

When the first call came in I had my back to her, crouched at the cabinet, setting the laser. She picked up fast. One hello, then her voice dropped. "Yeah, this account.

Just message me. I'll let you know once I accept." Chapter 4 Whatever he said, she laughed at it. "Sure.

Send it and we'll talk." After she hung up she went back to scrolling like nothing happened. But she cleared the call log on her way out of the screen. The move was quick.

If I hadn't been watching her in the corner of my eye, I'd never have caught it. Less than ten minutes later, the second call came.

She turned her shoulder away this time. "I told you, I'm done adding people, why are you calling me again? …Fine, fine. Add me.

And once you do, delete what I sent you before." Her tone had impatience in it, but not all the way.

It was that pull where you're already on the hook and she can't let you think she's easy. She hung up and cleared the log again. Seven or eight minutes later the third one rang.

She didn't talk this time. She listened, made a few sounds, then said, "Great, I'll add you. Bye." Forty minutes. Three calls.

None of them a minute long, all of them run like she had the script memorized. I sat behind the counter and said nothing, but I heard every word of all three. Add me. Send it to me.

I'll add you. Not one mention of a tattoo. Not one word about a plane. I set down what I was holding. "Business is booming." "Eh. A lot of people add me.

They're all friends." "Friends?" I laughed. "Three calls, three people chasing you?" Her face locked for half a second. Then the practiced smile came back. "Eh.

It's not me chasing them. They chase me." She let a beat go by and added, "You add plenty of people yourself, right, hon?

Guy with a shop's got to build up a client list." "In my line, people come find me. I don't go around finding them. It's not the same thing." She smiled and didn't answer.

Went back to her phone. The room stayed quiet a few seconds. Then another call came in. This time she picked the phone up and looked at it, and her face changed. It wasn't subtle.

Her pupils shrank, her lips came apart, and she went stiff in that chair like something had pinned her to it. She didn't answer.

She let it ring. "Go ahead and take it," I said. "It's fine." She shook her head. "No. Probably a wrong number." The phone kept ringing. On the fourth ring she silenced it.

The screen stayed lit. I couldn't see the name on it. Her face had already given her up.

That call scared her. "Who was it?" "Nobody." She turned the phone facedown on her knee. "Then why'd your color change?" She looked at me, and those eyes, cut wider at the corners, went round. "It doesn't matter, hon.

The numbing's about ready, isn't it? Let's start." "Not yet. If it hasn't fully taken, this hurts." She made a sound. But she couldn't sit still anymore.

Her fingers kept working at the edge of her phone case. Something was moving under that calm, filledin face. The phone rang again. Same number.

This time there was a name on the screen. She didn't silence it. She didn't decline it. She let it ring. The shop was dead quiet, and the ringtone went six times before it stopped