I turn to face them, and give him a glare, flashing my eyebrows. But he doesn’t seem checked.
“Don’t worry, I’m only playing. But I know what the real reason is.”
God, I’m losing my temper. “What?” I snap. “What’s this ‘real’ reason?”
“That you’re scared you’ll fuck it up because you’ll be distracted.”
I snort, and roll my eyes. “Please, Pierce. You’re such a pig.”
“Hey, just calling it like it is.”
“Right.”
“You are scared, aren’t you?” he asks. His eyes tunnel into mine, and I find I have to look away. My heart is beating fast, and I try to look anywhere else but his naked lower half, but I can’t.
“It would be unethical for Tina to let someone as inexperienced as me fill in your whole tattoo,” I say, voice level. “But, in order to get some hands-on experience, perhaps she would let me fill in only a portion of the tattoo.”
I look up at Tina, and she just presses her lips together and nods. To me, it looks like she’s just accepting that this tide won’t recede.
She steps back, and I sit on her stool, snap on latex gloves, and take the coiled tattoo machine.
“Ah, so the rook’s going to be wielding the tattoo gun this morning, eh?”
“We don’t refer to it as a gun,” Tina says. “It’s a machine.”
“Okay, Tina.”
“Pierce, you know that if she makes a mistake—”
“I know. I’m willing to risk it. No skin off my leg.” He grins.
“I won’t make a mistake,” I say through gritted teeth. “This will hurt.”
“No it won’t.”
“Yes it will. The skin on the inside of the thigh has shallow nerve endings. That’s why it’s so painful when we chafe there, or if you get cut there. That’s also why it’s so painful to get a tattoo there.”
I still my hands, place one on his knee to steady it. His flesh feels burning hot. Just touching him is making my heartbeat quicken.
His smell, just faint, reaches my senses. I try to ignore it.
Carefully, I trace the inside line of the jellyfish’s main outline with the machine. I’m holding it about an inch above his skin, but getting a feel for the device, how long the needle extends, the weight in my hands, the balance. There are a great many models of tattoo machines, and little standardization because of the industry’s taboo nature. Understanding the weight and balance is crucial.
It’s a good machine, well-made, and light-weight. It pulls a little up – the back is heavier than the front – but that’s the way you want it to be. Better for the machine to fall out of your hands backwards away from the client’s skin, rather than forward into it.
“Okay,” I say, and look at Tina. “Where’s the reference design.”
She nods her head at the corkboard behind Pierce, and I notice it for the first time. There’s a cocktail napkin pinned to it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say to Pierce. “You designed this on a napkin?”
“And only during my date’s bathroom trips,” he says.
“What jellyfish is that?”
“Portuguese Man of War.” He smiles at me. “Tentacles go back dozens of feet, like the net cast off by a trawler. The fin-like thing you see? At distance, if you see it, it just looks like the fin of a dead fish. Difficult to notice if you’re in the water with it.”
“You go on a Discovery Channel binge, or something?”
I notice that Tina stiffens, but still she says nothing.
“Best guy I ever fought got tangled up in one while surfing.”
I suck in a breath of air, and feel instantly embarrassed and terrible. “I’m sorry.”
“He didn’t die. But he’ll never fight again. Too much nerve and muscle damage.”
Behind me I hear Tina sigh.
“Why are you getting this tattoo?”
“Because I haven’t fought a guy who challenged me as much. I miss it.” The tone of his voice has changed. He’s become less… well, posturing.
“Alright. Tina, what are we doing first?”
She traces the outline of the fin that sits on top of the jellyfish’s body, and then tells me that the fin actually undulates – like a seashell. I know exactly what she means, and take another look at the drawing on the napkin, and figure out what Pierce was trying to do. He got the angles of the shadowing wrong. The guy can’t draw for the life of him.
“Alright,” I say. I look at him one last time, and when I meet his snowy eyes, it’s like I’ve been injected with adrenaline. I’ve suddenly got a buzz. I’m bordering on shaking.
I never expected this kind of exhilaration when giving a tattoo. I hope it never fades.
“Are you sure about this? You want me to try?”
“Getting cold feet?”
“No. But I’m not so full of myself that I can’t admit I might make a mistake… unlike you.”
“What can I say? I’m a risk taker.”
I sigh. “Fine. But seriously, this will hurt.”
“Nah. It won’t.”
A moment later I press it into his skin. He doesn’t even flinch, and despite knowing I shouldn’t, I press it in a little harder.
“Woah, Pen, take it easy!”
“Relax,” I say. “It’s not your first time.”
“But it is yours… among other things.”
“Not so hard,” Tina interjects. She puts her hands on mine, guides me. “Just like this. The skin here is very delicate, very easy to mark. Not like a hand or top of the arm.”
“I understand, Tina.”
I begin shadowing on the fin, and to my great satisfaction, I feel his body temperature begin to rise through my palm steadying his knee.
“Sure it doesn’t hurt?” I say, sneering, but not breaking concentration. “Your body temperature is increasing; this is typically a sign of physical distress, or pain.” I say it in as smug a voice I can.
“Nah,” he says. I know he’s grinning. I can hear it in his voice. “I just think you look really hot like this, head down in my lap.”
Appalled, I turn my eyes to him, and that’s when I notice that his penis is starting to get hard.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I cry, slapping the tattoo machine down on the metal tray and pushing my chair back. I get up, and walk away, and stand at the window, shaking my head. “You’re such an asshole, Pierce.”
“Hey!” he says, voice all don’t-blame-me. “It’s you. You do it to me.”
“This session is over now, Pierce,” I hear Tina say. Her voice is calm, but there’s venom in it. “Please leave and come back tomorrow when you can control yourself. If you can’t control yourself, you’ll never be welcome here again.”
I watch as she sticks a plastic covering over his tattoo, adhesive on all sides to cover it.
“Don’t get this wet,” she says.
“I know the drill, Tina.”
“Really?” she says, eyes flashing anger. “Because just now it seemed you didn’t.”
“Hey,” he says. “I can’t fucking control my body. Your apprentice is hot. I like her.”
Despite myself, I feel a tightening in my belly. I don’t know exactly if it’s because I like hearing that, or because I hate him for saying that, for using that.
At this point, it doesn’t really matter.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, swaggering out of the shop.
I turn to Tina, and she just sighs, eyeing me.
“This going to be a problem?” she asks. “Because if it is, take a day tomorrow.”
I balk. “That wasn’t my fault!”
“Penelope.” She’s shorter than me, way smaller in frame than I am, and yet somehow I’m terrified of her. I shrink completely.
“In our line of work, we sometimes encounter troublesome clients. Perhaps, some might say, more often than in other lines of work.”