Mark Of A True Queen

Francesca Golding gave the counter one last wipe over then went to start taking the chairs down of the tables. She'd left that till last because she'd thought Travis could do it, but, no, he was late again. Sure enough, she'd worked her way three-quarters of the way around the floor before he sauntered in twenty minutes before opening.

"Eh-ya," he said by way of a greeting.

"Travis," she replied. She made a point of looking at the clock on the wall as she spoke, but this was far too subtle a rebuke for him.

"What a fucking weekend!" he said. "It was off the hook."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Francesca replied. Again, there was a nuance in her voice that Travis was far too hungover to pick up on.

"Totally mental," he said, then put a hand to his head. "I'm feeling it this morning, though. How about you? You get up to much?"

"As a matter of fact I did," said Francesca suddenly breaking out into a smile. There was no point in staying mad at Travis. He would barely notice, and besides, there was something she was dying to show off. "Have a look at this."

She leant forward on the counter, presenting her upper arm side on, almost as if she was about to challenge an imaginary opponent to a wrestling match. Travis inspected it and whistled.

"Nice," he said. "I hadn't pegged you as the type."

Francesca was going to savour every moment of her newfound coolness. "I know you think I'm some kind of stuck-up princess, but I'm not too posh to get a tattoo. If it is tasteful and meaningful."

"Yeah, sure," replied Travis. "Meaningful. Right. So..."

Francesca knew Travis liked her, at least on a basic physical level, but she was totally unprepared for the way he just looked up her down, like a hungry bear. Once his inspection was complete, he continued, "Hey, we've got fifteen minutes before we have to open up and it looks like you've got everything under control. What say we head into the backroom for a while?"

Francesca looked at him blankly.

"You know," he continued. "To discuss the deep and meaningful symbolism of your tattoo and to celebrate your ascent into a whole brave new world of feminine liberation."

"What on Earth are you blathering about?" she said, shaking her head. She knew Travis wasn't averse to the bit odd bit of weed but he didn't normally come to work fully baked.

"I just thought you were...that you were indicating..." Travis wilted somewhat under her gaze. "Actually, never mind. Let's just get this shift over with."

"Good," said Francesca. "Your choice of music this morning, I believe."

It was an independent coffee shop which meant they were free to stream their own playlists, as long as it created a mellow vibe. For Francesca that meant Belle and Sebastian and Gorky's Zygotic Mynci. For Travis, it meant Bob Marley and Burning Spear. He went over to the speakers and connected his phone.

A few minutes later, Francesca flipped the sign from 'closed' to 'open' and they started to deal with the morning caffination of the rat race.

Around a quarter-to-nine, Francesca's boyfriend Chris arrived, entering backwards carrying a number of potted plants.

"My man," said Travis. "What's all this?"

"Azaleas, hydrangeas, a couple of orchids," said Francesca. "All grown by yours truly. I suggested we add a bit of summer colour to the shop and Bailey loved the idea. Yeah, just leave them over by the storeroom, I'll put them out later."

"Hey, babe," said Chris, sneaking behind the counter. "I've missed you."

"Get away with you," said Francesca. "It's been barely an hour."

"Yeah, well," said Chris. He went to hug her even though he knew full well of her distaste for public affection.

"Careful," said Francesca. "My arm is still sore."

"Oh right," said Chris. "Still love the tattoo by the way. So much detail and so well done. Err, I'll just get off to work then shall I? See you this evening?"

"Sure," said Francesca. "There you go. Latte on the house."

They kissed and her boyfriend left.

"He loves the tattoo, does he?" said Travis amused.

"What? Why wouldn't he?"

"No, I'm sure he would. Absolutely. It's definitely the sort of thing he'd be into," replied Travis.

Around half-ten things had quietened down. There was just one person in the queue, a young black guy with cornrows who was wearing a N.W.A. T-shirt and had a long gold chain hanging over it.

"Welcome to

Let the Barista Grind Yours Down

, what can I get you?" Francesca asked.

"Yeah, well, it's more about what I can get you, innit?" the guy replied.

"I don't follow," said Francesca.

"What time are you off?" The guy pulled a flyer for some local charity from the counter and started to write on it. "Call me."

"Now, why would I do that?" she asked.

He winked at her. "You know why, Queen."

"I really don't," Francesca replied. "If you're trying to invite me out, I have a boyfriend."

"'Course you do. They always do." the customer replied. "You know I can give you what he can't."

"If you're not going to order, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said Francesca coldly.

"Yeah, well, Americano to go then," said the guy offended.

"Coming right up," Francesca said, finding comfort in a return to the corporate script.

"Cheers," said the guy once it was delivered. "Hey, don't lose those digits, babe."

Francesca watched him go. It must be the summer. Every man was a dog on heat today.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. She got some of the pot plants arranged nicely in the window. Then, just before noon, Bailey, the manager came out of the back and headed straight up to Francesca.

"Could I talk to you for a moment?" she asked.

"Sure," replied Francesca.

"In my office..." continued Bailey.

This was not good. Bailey was a cool boss for the most part, but she didn't take any shit. Which was usually fine, because Francesca never came anywhere close to giving her any. She'd seem Travis get shit for his shit though on a number of occasions and something about Bailey manner felt ominous. She followed the larger Jamaican lady into the back.

"What's this about?" she said nervously.

"I'm going to have to ask you to cover that tattoo up," said Bailey. "We've got some of the long-sleeve tops in the back."

"Those are for winter," said Francesca. "It's boiling out there, hotter still next to the coffee machine. Besides, why would I have to cover up? Travis is covered in tats and you've never had a problem before. Mark and Holly too."

"That's different," said Bailey. "We support our baristas to express their individuality. What we can't support is open solicitation."

"Solicitation?" said Francesca. "I'm confused. This is just a tattoo"

"Yeah, right, purely decorative. Come on!" said Bailey, rolling her eyes. "You know what's up."

"What is up? I don't see anything up. What issue you could possibly have with it?" said Francesca.

"Okay, fine," said Bailey. "We'll do this the Jackanory way. Why don't you tell me what think the tattoo means and then we'll discuss why some customers and staff might find it offensive."

"Offensive? No, it's just a playing card," said Francesca. "This is just something I got to celebrate graduation. You see there are four of us who've been living in our student house together most of the way through uni. We have this little joke, silly really, but we call ourselves the Four Queens. You've got Anna -- she's the Queen of Hearts because her love life is always such a mess. You've got Sophie -- she's the Queen of Diamonds because her family is loaded..."

"I thought you were pretty darn well off yourself," said Bailey. "I always got the impression you only work here because you think it makes you more bohemian."

"No, well, I mean, this is a cool place to make a bit of extra cash and all, but Sophie, well, she's like super, super, family estate in Scotland, daddy owns a helicopter, straight-up loaded. Anyway, then you've got Rebecca who's the Queen of Clubs because she's a total party animal and lush. And finally, me, the Queen of Spades. Because I'm good at gardening."

"You're good at gardening?" said Bailey, her expression perfect level.

"Yeah, it runs in the family really. You should see the mess the front of most of those student properties are in on our row. Three years in that house and I've finally got the place blooming. I'm doing not only our front and back now, but also our neighbours on both sides. Oh, that reminds me, Chris brought in those pot plants you agreed to."

"You got a Queen of Spades tattoo to celebrate the fact that you have green fingers?" Bailey's expression was just starting to crack around the edges.

"Sure and to, you know, mark an important friendship."

"Oh boy!" said Bailey. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to out to help Travis with the start of the lunchtime rush. You are going to stay here, switch your phone off the cafe WiFi and then search for the words 'Queen of Spades tattoo'. Then, in ten minutes when you're done, you're going to put on a winter shirt and get on with the rest of your shift."

"Er, alright," said Francesca. "I guess there must be some reason why we're talking at cross-purposes."

Bailey got up and as she walked out the door, she shook her head. "Gardening!"

Francesca googled.

She put on a winter shirt.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Francesca had just gotten home from her shift when there was a loud knocking at the door. When she opened it, Chris was standing there. He was clearly fuming.

"Hey babe," said Francesca. "How was your day?"

"It was..." He paused for a second. "Not great, actually. Not great at all."

"The printers still causing issues?"

"No, the printers are behaving themselves for once. When I say 'not great,' actually my day started off pretty well. Printers running well. Network smooth as butter. A free calendar with no pointless upper-management meetings on it for the whole day. Then I happened to mention that my girlfriend had got this cute new tattoo. Sent out that photo I took last night to a few friends. Well, then things seem to go downhill fast."

"Yeah, about that...," Francesca started.

"You know I'm in IT support, right?" said Chris. "That means that anyone in the company can call me up over any minor issue and I have to be at their desk in fifteen minutes? As a result, I have a pretty good idea of exactly when news of your tattoo reached each and every department in the company."

"It's not what you think..."

"You know people in computer-related industries are immature dicks, right? Have you any idea the amount of completely deniable but obviously prank calls I've had to deal with today? Do you know how much passive-aggressive just barely safe-for-work humour I've been subjected to? Do you know how many people just happen to be running Solitaire on their desktops when I stop by to answer their ticket?"

"I know it must have been humiliating..."

"I tell you how many. Enough that I've barely even had time to process the news that the love of my life is fucking other guys."

Francesca slapped him.

"Now listen here," she said. "I know you're upset, but that's not what's happening and you should know that."

"Should I?" said Chris bitterly. "Why else would you get that tramp stamp?"

"I told you," said Francesca. "The Four Queens. Representing"

"Yeah right. Chris is such an idiot that if you keep repeating that enough times he'll go back to thinking you're all cute and innocent again."

"Nothing is going on," said Francesca. "Nothing! I'm as shocked as you are. I had no idea. Really! Come through, sit down and we can talk about it sensibly."

"You're right," said Chris. He was still breathing heavily, but he followed her into the lounge and they sat on the sofa, though a bit further apart than they would normally.

"I'm upset," said Chris. "But I do love you. You know I'd do anything for you. It was just...I wasn't prepared for it."

"I love you too," said Francesca. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"I know. I don't want you to ever feel you have to hide," said Chris. He took a deep breath. "Therefore, you have my blessing to go out and sleep with whoever you want."

"I'm sorry?"

"I know I don't satisfy you. In some ways it's a relief we can finally talk about it. I'm only concerned with your safety. I'm going to suggest that you bring guys back home. Whichever guys make you happy. You know...whatever your type is. Just bring them home and that way...I know you're okay. Safe. Or, maybe just give me the address of the hotel you're staying in. That's all I really care about. You. I could even well...watch, sometimes, while you...if that's alright? It can be our thing. Something we do together."

"Together!"

Francesca paused for a moment to gather her thoughts.

"I am not bringing men back home with me, with or without you watching. Which...ew. Just, yuck. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you. You need to stop this right now."

"Stop, eh," said Chris. "Oh, I get it. You really don't want anything to do with me, do you? Poor old Chris is not even enough of a man to even be your cuck."

"Why would you even..."

"Tell me, how many black men have you already fucked?"

It was pretty much immediately after that question that they officially broke up. Especially as Chris hadn't actually used the words 'black men'.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The nightclub was heaving. Sophie made her way back to the table from which the Four Queens were enthroned and reigning with cocktails fit for royalty.

"There you go, Fran," she said, passing a tall glass over. "My round. I asked them to put in an extra shot of rum, you look like you could use it. Did you go back to the tattoo parlour?"

"Yes," said Francesca glumly. "He said there wasn't a lot he could do. If I wanted to change a club into a spade that might have been possible, but the geometry is all wrong to go the other way. In any case, the different suits all have different designs. It'd still be a Clubs Queen even if you changed the symbol. He's talking about needing to have laser removal which is six to eight sessions with each session six weeks apart. Plus I'll have to go into Birmingham for it each and every time."

"Crickey," said Anna. "That's...rough."

"Yeah, tell me about it," said Francesca. "Whose stupid idea were these tattoos anyway?"

"Let's just chalk that one up to collective responsibility," said Sophie. "We're still the Queens together. We'll all chip in for you, whatever it costs."

There was a general murmur of agreement around the table.

"Aw, thanks guys," said Francesca. "You're the best."

"Now, come on! Let's forget our troubles and have some fun," said Rebecca.

"You go," said Francesca. "This dress isn't really made for clubbing."

She'd had to find something that covered her arm down to the elbow and the voluminous flowery frock was intended for more formal company. If they'd been attending a Regency Ball, she might have managed a gavotte but attempting to get down to the high-energy techno blaring out was asking for immediate dehydration and exhaustion.

Rebecca pulled Sophie up and the two girls hit the dance floor. Within minutes a circle of various men of varying quality started to orbit them. The two girls lapped up the attention but didn't invite anyone any closer.

"You sure you're okay, Fran," said Anna, still enjoying her drink.

"Not really," she replied. "It's just...I can't believe I broke up with Chris over this. It's so fucking stupid."

"Well," said Anna. "These things happen. Take it from me. It's good he showed his true colours before the relationship went any further."

"I guess," said Francesca.

"Trust me," said Anna. "What you need after a breakup like this is to get laid. Find the dishiest bloke you can and have your way with him. No commitments accepted or asked for. A relationship palate cleanser, if you will."

Francesca gave a wicked smile and took a shot of her cocktail. It sounded like a plan. Then her face fell a little.

"I can't," she said. "I really can't. If we get down and dirty then we get naked. If we get naked then he sees this, no question." She indicated her arm. "And that's really not something I want to stop and explain mid-session."

"Hmmm," replied Anna. "You could put plasters over it?"

"How many am I going to need to cover it?" Francesca replied. "It's going to look ridiculous."

The two girls sat quietly for a while.

"Or...," said Anna slowly. "Or, and bear with me on this one...you could always just, you know, lean into it."

"How do you mean?" said Francesca, then the penny dropped. "Oh, you don't mean..."

"Look behind you," said Anna. "Slowly! Slowly!"

There was a crowd of guys in business suits a few tables away. They were a mixed group, but amongst them there was a great-looking guy, tall, muscled, clean, shaven in a smart dark business suit that matched the rich colour of his skin. He locked eyes with Anna just long enough to let her know that, yes, he was looking in her direction, and then returned to his friends, cracking a joke that got a laugh from the whole table.

"Oh, my!" said Francesca. "He's a bit of alright."

"He's been looking at you," said Anna.

That had surely been the case just now, as always, Francesca felt she had to play it down. "Yeah, I'm sure he's just looking around the room. Making a list of options."

"Yeah, sure," said Anna. "You are clearly on that list. How high up that list you end up is up to you. Go on. Make it an easy decision. Lean into it."

"Oh, I can't," said Francesca. "The whole tattoo thing, it's just so incredibly un-P.C. Racist even. I just have to get rid of it as quickly as possible."

"Sure," said Anna. "And you will. Although, as you said yourself, 'quickly' is a problem. And in the meantime, it's like you've got this temporary super-power -- sure one that's a bit corrupting and evil, but imagine you had Frodo's ring. Are you seriously telling me you wouldn't try invisibility just the once? Just to see."

"You're wicked," Francesca said. "It's...I can't...I'm not going to."

"Of course, you're not," said Anna with a wink. "You could always just go and talk to him. Although, historically, you're not great at that."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Anyway, we all wouldn't think any less of you whatever. I'm just going to leave you here and join the others for a while. It seems like the talent on the dance floor has kicked up a notch. You do what you gotta do."

Francesca cradled the rest of her drink. She found her glance falling naturally back on the same table of guys. He was looking, again. She quickly turned the other way and watched her friends let loose. When she turned back, he was chatting to his friends, but just for a moment, his eyes darted to her, held her gaze then returned.

She took a deep breath, then focused her attention completely on him.

She waited, and then the next time their eyes met, she slowly rolled up her sleeve and then looked down at her arm. His gaze followed.

He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Francesca held tight to the bedhead as she was furiously railed from behind.

"Oh, fuck, you don't know how much I needed this," she sighed. He had her waist clamped firmly in his big hands and was pushing his cock in and up at what she'd come to think of as the 'magic angle'.

Doggy had been completely reinvented for her this past week. Before she'd seen it as impersonal. Now she saw at liberating. She wasn't pinned like she'd be in missionary. Nor was she completely in control, but forced to work for everything like in cowgirl. On her hands and knees, she was completely free to move her arse as passion took her, she could push back onto her lover to lengthen his strokes, she could wiggle side to side playfully and best of all, she could raise and lower, making sure that his dick kept on her G-spot. And whatever she did, there was the chance to feel his hands in a dozen different places. Around her waist, like now, or holding her shoulders, squeezing her breasts, running up and down her back. They could, and did, roam freely.