Rudy Can't Fail

I had moved to California from London in the vein of trying to get my life into gear.

Back home I was Natalie Carrigan. A receptionist in a construction company, who drew stuff, and studied body art in her spare time.

Bored of the monotony filled lifestyle in England and seeking a challenge, I quit my office job and started working for a tattoo parlour- Original Skin.
It was actually cool for them to give me a break, as I had no experience. But they liked my portfolio and gave me a chance.

I was soon bored again, and thought I needed a change of scenery, so I got a map and threw a dart in it to pick a destination; California was where I ended up.

Where I became Nat.

I got out here, set up camp in the East Bay and got a job at Don Quixote Tattoos, as shop manager which came with a shitty but affordable studio apartment.

That was a year and a half ago.

On one of my treasured days off, I decided to go into Emeryville with my best friend Max and some other girls we knew from the bar Black Jack‘s where Max worked.
Max, wanted to go this place called Rudy's Cant Fail Café for lunch, as it was owned by the bassist from Green Day and she wanted an autograph. I decided to leave that idea alone, stick around for a coffee and then kick back and find a spot where I could get my thoughts down on paper. Cos it’s not like any of the guys were gonna be there, was it?

So we're sat in one of the booths, listening to the rest of the girls' idle chatter and I had a craving for a cigarette. I figured this was a no smoking restaurant, as most of them in L.A were; which sucked donkey dick. Picking up my bag, I made my excuses and went outside.
Finding a spot behind a trashcan, I lit my cancer stick and inhaled, closing my eyes at the sheer pleasure of it.

"Jesus H. Christ on a fucking bicycle, you scared me!"

My eyes shot open and I squinted as the sun caught them. In front of me was Tre Cool. I knew who he was instantly for 2 reasons; one, being that I was a Green Day fan- not a big one, like I used to be. I had musical appreciation, now it wasn’t about them being hot. And the other being that he still had that twatting ginger cockatoo hairstyle.

"Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be around here." I said earnestly.

He looked me up and down, taking in my short, spiked black hair with the long blonde fringe (one of them ’scene kid jobbies’) to my tank top to my jeans to the grubby chucks on my feet.

"No harm done…ah…we have the same problem." He smiles, putting his own cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

"Yeah, I suppose so." I say, chipping out the butt underfoot. I turned to go back inside, un-phased by the celebrity before me. They were commonplace out here.
I smile at him over my shoulder and carry on walking.

"Nice tattoo." He calls after me.

"The one on my neck?" I stop and face him. He has this sort of bemused look in his eyes. Damn they're blue, I think. I look away quickly cos I'm staring a little too hard at his muscular arms in that blue t-shirt. How it hung in the right places...ok, I need to quit.

"What's it mean?" He asks curiously, flicking his butt into a nearby hedge and moving closer. In the breeze I catch a whiff of his cologne.

"It means 'Strong' in Sanskrit. And uh, thanks." I start walking again. Fuck, the door wasn’t that far when I walked out here. Or maybe I'm walking slowly.

"Uh huh. So…are you? Cos those thighs tell me yes." He was flirting with me. Rockstars, eh? Think they can get in anyone's tighty-whiteys .

"Strong enough to snap you like a twig, little man." I deadpan. "Are you done? Cos I gotta go." I ask, glancing to the café window to see my friends.

"Yeah… for now." He says following my gaze. "Sorry I didn’t quiet catch your name, there…"

"I didn’t throw it." I sigh impatiently, looking at my watch. But there was something playful about him and I couldn’t resist playing too.

"Ok, no name, I'm Tre. And am I right in saying your English?" He probes further, eyes dropping down to linger on my tank top. It was the one I had got from the shop, with the logo across the chest.

"My, your powers of deduction are absolutely astounding." I retort in a strong posh accent that was very different from my North London slang. "And I know who you are."

"Okaay...well, I wont keep you. Nice talking to you though." He waves and goes back the way he came from.

I pivot on my heel and walk back inside.

"Where the fuck have you been? We thought you 'dine n' ditched'." Max says as I stand at the head of the table.

"Oh, I just got cornered by some guy. You know…" I trail off as I see her eyes go wide. The rest of the girls stop chatting to look at me and I feel my cheeks begin to flush.

"Yeah? Who…come on…tell us!" Suzy says from her corner. This little mousey thing with a big bloody mouth, she was. And nosey to go with it.

I look around, trying to figure out how I could leave quickly. I spot the ginger faux hawk and I point him out.

"Him, there. Anyway, I’m off. See you Thursday." I say it fast and virtually sprint out the door. I’m figuring that there wouldn’t be a big hoo ha made about it, if I weren't there. But less than five minutes later, my cell beeps with a message.

"That’s Tre fucking Cool, you lucky biotch! Call me!!!"