I once knew a guy called Jonny Tattoo. I swear it. I heard he had his name legally changed. I don't think anyone knew what his real name was, his given one I mean. It was probably something ordinary and dull like mine but I wouldn't be surprised if it was something just as out there as Jonny Tattoo. He was that kind of guy you know? He'd walk into the diner, in from the blistering heat not a bead of sweat on him looking like a walking commercial for denim and rock & roll, sit at the same spot at the end of the counter, order the same drink every day - every damn day - and it was all you could do from leaping over the counter, throwing yourself on the nearest table and demanding that he jump you right there and then. Not that I ever would, but I sure thought about it. You would too if you could see him. He was all boots and jeans and undersized tees and blue eyes and stubble and black, black hair with blues and greens and yellows and reds etched all down his arms, around his neck and who knows where else.
He was a tattoo artist and owned the tiny studio across the street from us. I don't know if he was called Jonny Tattoo because he was a tattoo artist or if he was tattoo artist because he was called Jonny Tattoo but either way that's how things were. He turned up unannounced one day, opened the studio, started coming in to the diner every morning and evening and that was that. That was nearly six years ago, some time before I moved here, before I made my own unassuming, unannounced arrival. I got this job the same day, walked in, asked if they were hiring and had an apron flung at me. It sounds easy and it was. I remember wishing that first night that everything worked like that; anything you want, you got; you deserve it, take it it's yours.
Josie gave me the job. She pretty much runs the place although it's actually owned by an older guy called Luke who lives two towns over. Every time I see him he's all dressed up in black , always wearing a hat, always wearing sunglasses like some kind of rock star cowboy. He calls in maybe once a month to check up on the place but as long as the money keeps coming in and he doesn't get any complaints, the place is pretty much Josie’s. She told me that she saw once saw him in a grocery store near where her sister lives and he was pushing a cart round that was filled to spilling point with ramen noodles, OJ and cheap vodka. She said it made her feel really sad, like seeing the popular kid from high school years later only his six pack has grown into a saggy paunch, his slick hairstyle is a receding comb-over and the bike that you always wanted a ride on has been replaced by a second hand, busted up sedan. Josie has a soft spot for the losers of the world. She used to give free coffee and leftovers to a wino who slept in the parking lot of the diner until he got moved on. Maybe it was this soft spot that led her to do what she did. Then again what are the reasons for any of the things that we do?
For someone that I spend every working day with and then some, I don’t know much about Josie other than the day-to-day regular stuff. I know how she takes her coffee, I know that she smokes her cigarettes down to the filter until it’s practically burning her fingertips. I know she visits her sister once a month and that her sister’s called May and she’s losing her eyesight. I don’t know where the scar on the back of her neck came from. I don’t know if her parents are still alive. I don’t know where she’s from or where she grew up. She has the uncanny ability of talking to a person without actually giving anything away about herself. Despite this I am very fond of her, not least of all because she gave me a job and continues to look after me to this day.
I don't know much about what Johnny Tattoo was like before I lived here either but I don't imagine he was any different before although I also have no reason to think that. What I do know is that he'd come in just five minutes after we'd open up - even if we'd opened late he'd amble in just as the machines were warming up. Josie would usually serve him his drink. He didn't even have to order, all he ever drank was black, strong coffee. She'd pass it over and he'd murmur a thanks and that would be it. No talk, no nothing. In fifteen minutes the cup would be empty, he'd leave five single dollar bills on the counter under the dish, nod to whichever one of us he saw first and off he would go to work. The same thing would happen around seven, just after he closed up and not long before we did. Murmur, then fifteen minutes later five single dollars and a nod. I swear the guy only ever had singles. Three of them would be for the coffee and two would be for us, me and Josie and she always made sure it went fifty-fifty, regardless of who had served him, which was invariably her. Now we serve good coffee I don't mind telling you but I don't think I would pay ten dollars a day for two cups no matter how fine the bean or the waitress is. But that was how things were and I for one was grateful for it.
So Jonny didn't say much but I would always speak to him. I would always say Hi Jonny! or Morning Jonny! or Evening Jonny! as was my habit with all the regulars who came in. Jonny, for his part, didn't seem to mind at all and on some occasions when the weather was good and the wind was right and some butterfly or moth or whatever the hell it is batted its wings in the right place at the right time, he would smile at me as I said my part. Now even though I told you about the whole jumping with Jonny thing before that doesn't mean I was into him, whatever that means, but even so my day was infinitely improved when he smiled at me, like waking up all zingy and alert or waking up to a medley of summer smells or waking up and not shaking with terror at what might happen to you that particular day. He had that kind of smile.
In the year that I knew him, those nods and smiles, dollars and one-way greetings were the extent of our communication apart from one time. It had been almost six months since I had been working there and I was feeling good. I felt like I was at home, my home, in a place where I belonged. Granted my life wasn't especially exciting but excitement wasn't what I wanted, not any more. All I wanted was a life where I could work hard and sleep easy and that was what I had. One day I got called in from the back room where I was checking an order. Josie stuck her head in the office.
There's some guy at the counter looking for you. Says he's your dad. Wants to know if you work here. Do you?
I nearly threw up right there and then. I had my back to Josie so she couldn't see how the blood had dropped from my face, couldn't see how my eyes had bulged and contracted within the space of a heartbeat. I gripped the table and told her I'd be out in two minutes.
You sure hon? she said, 'cause you don't have to work here if you don't want to. I don't have to ever have met you.
It's fine, I lied, still holding on. I’ll be two minutes.
Josie left me and I pushed hard against the table, stretching my muscles, trying to force it into the wall and beyond, trying to break a hole in the plastered brickwork. I stood upright, stilling my body and willing the blood to return before I went out front. I stood opposite him on the other side of the counter.
Laura, he said, or stated rather.
Hi, I replied, not knowing what else to say.
Is there somewhere we can talk? ...In private."
Here's fine.
I think you should come home, don't you?
I am home. This is my home.
My voice was firm; I barely recognised it.
You should come home. With me.
Another pause
Now.
His voice was firmer, darker, much as I recalled. My head began swimming.
I don't think...
I couldn't end the sentence. I felt tired and a year younger.
The car's outside. Get in it, we're going home.
I think I must have made to move, although I don't remember. What I do know is that Josie was stood beside me, blocking my exit with her arm around my shoulder. I could hear my father speaking.
You step away. You let her go.
I felt almost nostalgic for the rising anger I detected. I looked up and saw him move around, closer to us, to me. As he did I also saw Jonny rise from his stool, standing in front so my dad was suddenly not there, hidden behind Jonny's back. My father stopped speaking and although I couldn't hear I could tell that Jonny was saying something, something very quietly. It probably didn't take more than a few seconds for him to speak but it felt longer. I could tell when he'd stopped and after, both of them seemed to freeze like at the end of those old TV shows where the camera stops rolling and everyone is captured in their poses, laughing, smiling, joking. Except none of those things were happening here. It was my father who broke first. He stepped and turned away all at once, walked out the door and down the street without once looking back. Jonny sat back down at his stool and said nothing more. The three other people who were witness fell uncomfortably silent. Josie took me back into the office, poured me a whisky from the bottle she kept for 'emergencies' and held me until I stopped shaking. I heard the front door open and close while we were sat there and when I went back to the counter there was an empty cup with five dollars stuck beneath it.
I closed up that night. Josie had a date although she did offer to cancel if I didn't want to be left alone. I promised her that I would be fine. At around seven-thirty Jonny walked in - I had his coffee waiting - and sat on his stool. We were the only people in the place and on this occasion I didn't say hello, the only time I didn't as far as I recall. I busied myself with wiping the countertop and cleaning the machine, the whole time the air being teased with a silence filled with my unasked questions. I was refilling the sugar dispensers with my back turned to the counter and I heard him tuck notes under the saucer and rise although he didn't walk away. I could feel him standing there looking blue eyes into my back. I turned around, not knowing exactly what to do. The only things I had ever said to him were my stock words of hello or morning or afternoon and I didn't see how they could help me just then. Fortunately I didn't have to as he spoke for me, the only real words I ever heard him say.
Two things you should remember in this world Laura. One of them is that you should never put yourself in a situation that you wouldn't put your best friend in.
I hesitated before asking.
What's the second thing?
Hell, you’ll have to find that out yourself - I can't do everything for you.
At which point he smiled his smile and walked out the door.
That was the extent of our conversation in all the time I knew him. The next day the world assumed it's original position and life carried on. I poured coffee, I voiced my hellos and he threw me his tips and occasional smiles. People continued to drink their coffee, eat their pie, read their newspapers and tut-tut over something or other - there was always something to disapprove of in the newspapers.
About a year later I opened up one morning and put Jonny's coffee on the counter. Twenty minutes later it was still there, untouched, heat escaping up and out. Josie came in and asked the inevitable, unanswerable question.
Where's Johnny?
Don't know - he never showed.
What do you mean he never showed? He always shows. He doesn't just not show.
But, apparently he did just not show; he didn't show that morning, not that evening nor the next morning or evening after that. On the third day Josie went to the studio to see him but returned with the information that it was closed and had been all week according the neighbors.
What are you going to do? I asked.
Nothing I can do. It's not a crime to stop drinking coffee.
But it's not like him. We should call the police. Something might have happened.
I thought briefly, crazily, of my father and his temper and those unknown words before dismissing such ideas from my head.
Honey, there's nothing and no-one in the world like Jonny. If he doesn't want coffee he doesn't want coffee and as much as I'd like to know where he is, my guess is that he won't thank me or you for getting the cops to bust down his door. Wherever the hell his door is, she added as an afterthought.
We left it at that although his sudden non-appearance in our lives bugged me and I'm sure it bugged Josie too although she didn't let it show. About two weeks after this she told me to leave early as it was quiet and that she would close up alone. I slept uneasily that night and dreamt fitfully of abstract flashes that made little sense in the morning. I woke up late and hurried to the diner to find it closed. It was almost nine and there were a couple of people milling around outside. I apologised and dashed in to set the place up for their morning. By the time I had finished it was past ten and only when I took a little time out for my own coffee did I see the open directory next to the register.
He's in the book!
I could barely believe it.
Johnny Tattoo is in the fucking phone book!
And he was, I swear, right there under 'T'. I laughed out loud, almost hysterically when the phone rang.
Laura, it's me. I'm so sorry about this morning, I couldn't come in. Are you ok?
Still laughing I replied.
Yes, sure, of course. I'm fine - how are you, are you sick?
Then I realised where she was or rather who she was with.
I'm good. I'm ok. I'm... I'm with Jonny.
I stopped laughing.
I... is he ok? I mean, where are you? What's happened"?
"Look, everything's fine I swear. I'm fine. But I can't come into work for a couple of days. Can you cover for me? I'm sorry to ask you to carry the place, but you know what you're doing and there's always Luke if there's a problem and you can have my wages for the week. I'll be back Saturday, I promise.
I laughed again.
Don't worry. I'll run the place, I'll take care of it all and I'm not taking your money. Just tell me you're ok and we're good.
I am, I'm ok. I'll see you Saturday, I have to go now. Thanks honey, talk soon. Bye.
By-
The connection died.
I spent the rest of the week much as I ever did only I was in charge, I was running the place and it felt good. By the time Saturday came round I had almost forgotten about Josie and Jonny until she walked in while I was on the phone ordering more supplies. I didn't ask how she was or what had happened, I just got on with what I was doing and she started serving a group of people who had followed her in. The days went on. Jonny didn't come in but nobody, not even I, asked about him. About five or six weeks later we closed up together and she asked me if I would come back to hers for a little while, she had something to tell me.
******************
It's a year now since Jonny didn't come in and a year since I last saw him. That night I sat up with Josie until way later than I ever should have done while she told me what had happened. After she finished work that night she'd looked him up the directory, on a whim because, she had said, you never know. And she saw just what I had seen the day after - Tattoo, J. 143 S. Rose St, Daly 555.1118. She was there in twenty minutes she said, just knocking on his door like it something she did every day and even more out of place was the fact that he had answered almost straight away, as if he knew she was coming, as if it was something he did, every day. They sat up all night, talking, much as we would do weeks later. They talked about a lot of things, but mostly they talked about Jonny. About how he was sick, about how he had been for some time and how he wouldn't be getting better and how much it didn't upset him or make him angry, only he though he would miss everybody. They talked for a very long time. Josie asked him if he had any regrets about his life, was there anything he would change. Jonny said that he wished he'd gotten married. Then he asked Josie if she had any regrets up until now. Josie said that she didn't have any regrets as such only she always wanted a child and she didn't think that would ever happen anytime in this town and she wasn't in a position to move on anywhere so she guessed that that was that.
I found it surreal that the two most enigmatic people I'd ever met were sat together telling each other their closest secrets and that those secrets turned out to be so... normal. Jonny just wanted to get married. Josie just wanted a child of her own. I wondered what my secret desire was and felt that if this was all the Jonnys and Josies of the world could ever want, my own ambitions must be lower than the dirt in the ground. She didn't go into the details of how they came to their decision and I didn't ask. Suffice to say that the next day they drove over to Carson and registered their details with the county clerk on arrival. Josie Tattoo took the bus back alone on the Friday night and went to work on the Saturday morning.
******************
Josie works less now. She had to because of the baby. Luke let her move into the apartment above the diner because it was cheaper than her old place. Seemed like he had a soft spot for the losers in life too. Nothing much has changed since the day I arrived here and I don't think much had changed before then either. People continue to drink their coffee, eat their pie, read their newspapers and tut-tut or something or other - there is always something to disapprove of in the newspapers. When I can I help out in looking after Francis; he’s such a beautiful child with his quiet demeanour and his blue eyes. It's good practice for when I have my own children. I run the diner now too. Turns out that my ambitions aren't so low or different either; that we're all pretty much the same under the scars, under the skin; under the ink, under the dirt.
