Under His Skin (9 page)

Chapter Six

Tattoo Needle: This is comprised of groups of small needles called sharps, attached to a needle bar and inserted into the tattoo machine. They are never reused. Needles come in groups of three, five, seven or more sharps, depending on what the design calls for and what the artist is comfortable with. Also known as: group, single, liner, round, flat, magnum, shader.

Pandora pushed open the door to So Inked and paused to dig her phone out of her pocket. Unlocking the keypad, she clicked the message icon and read the text.

“About time you showed up,” Kellie called from behind the desk where she was sketching. She hadn’t mentioned the gym being sold in the last week, and Pandora didn’t know if she should ask. She seemed to be the only one to have picked up on Kellie throwing on jeans and tank tops to come to the shop. She hadn’t seen her wear a hint of makeup or one of her exotic outfits. While she was a tough girl, she dressed up fairly often.

“I’m early,” she replied, crossing the empty shop to dump her bag at her station in the corner.

Autumn lay on the couch tucked away in the corner, away from the client area of the shop and across from Pandora’s station. “How’s Briiiiiiiiiiiiiaaan?”

Scowling, she ignored the jibe in favor of stowing her dinner in the mini-fridge, around the corner from her station and set into the cabinetry.

“Seriously.” Kellie spun around to face her. “Are you ever going to fess up to boning him?”

Whipping her head around, she glared at Kellie. “Fuck you.”

“You boned him,” Kellie proclaimed and turned back to the table.

“Was it good?” Autumn propped her chin on her fist. Her hair was a jarring hot pink that made looking at her difficult.

Inside, she fumed. Why couldn’t people leave Brian alone? She’d always paid attention to snippets of him mentioned in the press, on the news, in blogs and even on Twitter, but now every last reference grated on her nerves. Didn’t he deserve a little privacy?

“I’m going to go smoke.” She pivoted and headed for the back door.

“You don’t smoke anymore,” Autumn reminded her in an annoying, childlike sing-song.

She stopped in her tracks, her shoes squeaking on the tile.

“Gee, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you like this guy.” Autumn pushed up from the couch and adjusted the miniscule shorts sitting low on her hips. “You know it’s okay to like boys?”

“I’m going to count stock,” she mumbled and retreated to what served as their storeroom.

She’d had boyfriends and one-night stands before. Hell, she’d been engaged briefly. But Brian was different. He was a piece of her past, a turning point when the world had lost a little of its glimmer. Not that it was his fault. She’d never blamed him, but neither had she forgotten how he’d saved her.

He’d set a bar for the men who would come after him, and none of them could measure up. But neither could she.

She hadn’t brought up the past again, not in all the little snatches of conversation or messages they exchanged. Why she was holding on to him, she didn’t know. Fucking him should have fulfilled that fantasy and allowed her to move on. Instead, she pitifully waited for every text, and didn’t mind when he called her at crazy hours to chat. In a month or a year, she’d reflect back and groan at her behavior now, but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

She liked talking to Brian, how he made her laugh and thought her fascination with zombies and angels was perfectly normal. And every time he shared a piece of how hard it was to spend time with the loved ones of those left behind, she cherished whatever special connection they had that allowed her to be there for him.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re counting what Sam organized yesterday?”

She looked up at Mary leaning against the doorframe. Her son was their dedicated shop assistant and didn’t miss a thing. There was no reason for her to stoop to counting barbells, but the sense of order helped calm her.

“It’s nothing.” Her eyes flicked over the retro-style leopard-print dress Mary wore, with its red tulle petticoat. “Nice. Is this new?”

“Yes.” Mary crouched, her patent-leather heels squeaking. “And?”

“And I don’t want to talk about it.” She stuck the individually packaged jewelry back into the bins marked according to size and style.

Sinking down across from her, Mary leaned against the opposite wall, crossed her ankles and smoothed the skirt over her thighs. She didn’t say anything. She simply sat there and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling tiles. Her dark hair flowed around her face in large curls.

Music permeated the building, oozing through the walls. She could hear Autumn and Kellie laughing in the front and the chime of the door. If they were lucky, it heralded the first customer of the day.

“I hate when you do this,” she said.

Mary arched one perfectly penciled brow.

“You’re going to sit there and wear me down until I tell you everything. You always do this, and it frustrates the hell out of me. I don’t want to talk about it. Talking won’t change what happened or how I feel. I’m going to do something stupid, and there’s nothing you or anyone can say that will stop me. Quit with the silently waiting for me to do confession or whatever it is you Catholics do.”

Snorting, Mary shifted to one hip. “I haven’t been to confession in a long time,
mija
. I’m reading between the lines, so correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you’re upset because you’re following your heart. It’s scary and there are no guarantees.”

Nodding, she drew her knees up to her chest and rubbed her forehead since she couldn’t rub her eyes and not smear the makeup she’d so carefully applied. Autumn was teaching her, but it took practice. “I’m still not talking to you,” she mumbled.

Mary patted her leg.

Although she didn’t speak, Mary’s presence still made Pandora feel better. She was lucky to work in a shop where they were all friends. But she couldn’t tell them about Brian. He was a public secret.

“How are you doing?” Pandora rolled packages of barbells around between her fingers.

Mary’s brow wrinkled and her gaze dropped to the ground. “Sam got in trouble at school. I had to go talk to his piece of shit teacher. Says he’s been helping other kids cheat on exams. Do you know what the
punta
did? He failed Sam on two exams. Two!”

Speechless, Pandora gaped at Mary. The woman of few words shocked her. “Wow, that—that blows.”

Mary’s finger jabbed the air, anger radiating off her in waves. “I told that no-good teacher what I thought of him. No one treats Sam like that.”

Pandora set the packages on the floor and leaned forward. Mary rarely shared much. Though she was quick to offer advice and a shoulder to lean on, she never allowed the same in return. “So what happened?”

“Mr. Ricky is giving Sam detention, and he has to make up the exams.”

“His name is Mr. Ricky?”

“No, it’s Mr. Ricky Nunez.” Mary smiled, an impish gleam in her eye. “I call him Mr. Ricky and this vein in his forehead bulges.”

Pandora snickered at the mental image of Mary giving an elderly teacher what for. Mary caught her giggles and they devolved into laughter.

“Hey, Mary, Pandora,” Kellie called. “I need you out here.” There was a certain oh-crap quality to her voice that got them moving.

Pandora hopped up and helped Mary to her feet. Together they went out to the front of the shop. A group of five twenty-somethings stood on the other side of the display case where they showed off some nicer jewelry, after-care products and artwork.

“This is my co-owner Mary,” Kellie was saying. In her hand was a bright yellow flier. Each person in the group had one in hand. Turning, she held up the paper to Mary. “Did you make these?”

Mary plucked the flier from her hand and brought it closer. Pandora leaned over her shoulder and her brows rose. Disbelief was a punch to her gut. The bold type in front of her face could not be real.

“Going out of business discount?” She looked up at Kellie and Autumn, who were looking at Mary for answers.

Glancing at the assembled possible clients, Mary waved the flier at them. “Where did you get these?”

Pandora knew who would do something like this. Her blood began to boil. She clenched her fists, waiting for Mary or Kellie to tell the kids to get out. They’d raise some hell after that.

“It was on my car,” the tall blond with a buzz cut said. “But there was a guy about a block away putting them on cars.”

“And you all got one on your car?” Mary asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

The remaining clients shook their heads.

“No,” a petite girl wearing a Sucker Punch Sunday t-shirt shook her head. “We took them off the cars on our street.”

Mary looked down at the flier. Her cheeks were pink, and Pandora dared to hazard a guess that she would be spitting some interesting curses in Spanish shortly.

Kellie nodded and turned back to the group. “We didn’t print these, and we don’t have a man that works here.” She slid the flier back across the glass to buzz cut. When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a finger. “But I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Were you all wanting to get a tattoo?”

The assembled group nodded.

“Do you know what you want? How big? Do you have a picture?”

Pandora knew this switch. Kellie could haggle and bargain with the best of them. She often bartered for shop services or things they needed. It was amazing to watch. Kellie said it came from her inborn business sense and a thrifty grandmother.

“I have a picture,” the girl said.

“I want one that’s on the wall,” another chimed in.

Turning away, Pandora stared at the mural by her station. She wanted to punch something, or preferably someone. She wanted to get even with Robert for doing this. The utter calmness spoke only of how pissed off they all were. A yelling woman would wear herself out. A quiet one would do damage.

“Okay,” Kellie said. “Lay them out and we’ll see what you’ve got.”

Pandora turned around and watched the clients produce their pictures. Kellie rubbed her temple and muttered something that sounded like Korean under her breath.

Glancing over the images laying on the display case, she bit her lip.

Kellie and Mary bent over the pictures, mumbling and shuffling them around.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Kellie said. “We’ll match the percentage off on the flier, and raise it five percent if you promise to tell your friends that we aren’t going out of business. The catch is that they absolutely have to have a flier. One per person, no photocopies. And I’ll give anyone who can get a picture of the guy putting these out a hundred bucks. How does that sound?”

Pandora groaned. Thirty-five percent off was going to chop her profits to nothing unless a ton of kids came in wanting small tattoos.

The clients nodded, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. She balled her hands into fists to keep from rubbing her face. She couldn’t tattoo with a piss-poor attitude. Drawing in a deep breath, she took a step toward the display case to get a better idea of what they were going to be working with for the next few hours.

Eyeing the girl wearing the Sucker Punch Sunday shirt, she glanced down to the picture she’d produced. It was one she knew well. It was the album cover for
The Good Ship Clementine
. The old school style of the ship sailing across the paper was a party boat, something she’d tattooed a few times. Snatching it up, she caught the attention of the girl and waved her down the counter a little. Pushing a clipboard with the necessary documents at her, she leaned on the case.

“Got an ID?”

The girl produced a license and smiled shyly. She fidgeted with her pockets and tugged on her t-shirt between filling out the sheet.

Her anger cracked. This kid just wanted a tattoo. She had that look to her that said she probably tried too hard to fit in. The shirt practically smelled of the mall and her jeans had that artfully worn look that wasn’t authentic. She’d been that kid when she was younger. Glancing at the ID, she cleared her throat. “First tattoo…Carly?”

Carly nodded and scrawled her name at the bottom of the sheet.

Pandora mustered a smile and flattened the worn album cover on the counter. “Sucker Punch, huh?”

Her face lit up with a big grin. “Yeah, they’re my favorite.”

Taking a deep breath, she pushed past the lump in her throat. She’d never had a problem tattooing the album cover before, but now it was different. “Where do you want it?”

“Um, I was thinking on my arm.” She rubbed her left shoulder.

Skating her gaze over Carly, she took in her pop culture rock style, her petite size and considered her age. Eighteen was young to be putting a party boat on her body as if it were a billboard.

“Can I make a suggestion?” she said slowly.

Carly nodded and leaned forward.

“I’m not saying no to the tattoo, but I want to put some stuff out there for you to consider before we do this. It’s permanent, and not to sound like an old, grouchy woman, but you can’t change your mind.”

“Okay.” Carly’s eyes had opened wide.

“Are you going to college?”

Carly shook her head. “I’m enlisting in a few months.”

She paused for two beats, taking in the young woman in front of her, wondering if she knew what she wanted in life. But there were many days when Pandora herself didn’t know the answer to that question.

“Do you know the regulations on tattoos?”

Now Carly paused. “Uh, no.”

“Okay, I’m going to make a suggestion, and then we can go back to the office and search the internet to find out. I would advise you to put it on the back of your shoulder. I’ve tattooed this a few times, and I think it would look cool on a shoulder blade. You could even make it sail if you flapped your arm or something.” She demonstrated and got a laugh from her client. “What do you think about that?”

Carly nodded. “That sounds cool. Will it hurt more there?”

“All tattoos hurt.” She shrugged and waved Carly behind the display case. She didn’t think she’d tell Brian about this. Maybe if she’d met him before the accident, but right now she didn’t think he’d want the reminder of how invested people were in his life’s work. She’d take a picture and show him later. If there was a later.