The Other Fish in the Sea (39 page)

“Hey Baby? Gary said he’ll do your tattoo this morning but he’s coming here so he doesn’t have to open the shop…he’ll be here in about a half-hour and since I know how you get when you can’t, you might wanna take a shower now because you really won’t be able to today after it’s done.”

“Oh! Okay!” I replied with genuine enthusiasm from the other side of the door from where I could hear him chuckling at my exuberance. Yay! I’m getting a tattoo-oo, I’m getting a tattoo-oo!

“Alright, I’m gonna go see who’s awake in the main house and let Pete know Gary’s comin’, so just come find me over there when you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah, okay!” Huh. He sounds so normal. I know he already knew the secret prior to last night and knows what to do with the info as well, but I guess I was kind of thinking he’d sound different or something now that we’re sharing a little of that previously elusive to me knowledge.

I’d just started the shower and was startled a smidgeon when he knocked again.

“Hey, is my toothbrush in there?”

“Uhhh…(looking, looking, ah-ha!) Yeah, here, you want it?” I asked him and opened the door to hand it to him.
 

Okay, that was weird too. I mean I still have the towel wrapped around me, but I opened the door and handed Tristan his toothbrush like it was no big deal at all. And he took it from me like it was no big deal. He was just pulling a long-sleeved shirt on when I handed it to him and then he stuck the toothbrush in his mouth and around it, he told me to hurry up. I wish I had my camera or phone right then, maybe then I could’ve gotten even for when he took a picture of
me
when I was brushing my teeth in the desert, the big (ridiculously lovable) jerk.

Most of my “morning after weirdness” had pretty much dissipated with the whole toothbrush thing, so by the time I got myself put together and found Tristan in the main house with just enough time to have a little breakfast before Gary showed up, I was able to behave normally and essentially just followed Tristan’s lead. That lead was being slightly more affectionate and playful than normal, but not in a way that would have people guessing how we privately rang in the New Year. His behavior reminded me a little of how he was acting at Jeff’s that day when he was being sort of clingy, which was nice.
 

He was laughing and throwing little pieces of waffle at me when Gary walked into the kitchen and all of a sudden with his arrival, my recently recovered equilibrium began to crumble.
 

I’ll admit it, I got scared. And
not
because Gary is a big and kinda scary lookin’ guy, which he totally is. His hair is shaved practically to the skin, he has a bushy mustache and a fairly long goatee, which totally reminds me of a walrus by the way, his arms and legs are almost completely covered with some seriously grim tattoos, his ears, nose, tongue, as well as his eyebrows are pierced and he just has a “don’t fuck with me” aura about him in general, but even with all of that, one really good look at his eyes and you know he’s a big teddy bear. He’s still a completely intimidating mofo, though.

“Hey man, thanks for coming out on New Year’s Day,” Tristan said while he and Gary gave each other the guy version of a hugged greeting.

“Are you kidding? I’m grateful to get outta the house, man, my kid’s been crying all night because he wanted his mom. She went out with her friends after work last night so the second she walked in the door this morning, I got the hell outta there. I mean I love the little dude, but when he’s away from my wife, there’s no shuttin’ him up and that kid can
scream
.”

“Yeah, I remember…how old is he now? Like one?”

“Almost, he’ll be one at the end of the month…shit, I shoulda brought him over here and let
you
deal with him, I completely forgot how chill he is with you.”
 

I’m totally stifling my giggling at this point. From what I’ve seen, kids and Tristan
love
each other and he’s really good with them, but I’ve seen Tristan with Gary’s son once or twice, you know, when I *ahem* thought he was Tristan’s son… Ah anyway, if that’s what Gary calls “chill,” then I’d hate to see what Joey’s like when he’s warm, you know what I mean?

Tristan sorta kicked me under the table and winked at me. “Well, Joey’s like the son I never had and I have a blast with him, so anytime you guys wanna go out again, just holler. Oh, don’t holler on a Friday night though.”
 

“Thanks, man. Okay, so where we doin’ this and where’re we puttin’ it?”
 
Gary asked as he turned to me and I immediately had no trouble swallowing my giggling anymore.
 

We got set up right next to the kitchen bar which Tristan and Gary both made sure was sanitarily spic-and-span clean, and where Gary had some counter space for his paraphernalia. Remember how I like to use that word? Well, it was totally justified this time. And that’s also where I would spend the next two-ish hours straddling and being sort of bent over the back of a chair. I’d decided I wanted to mirror Tristan’s tattoo so mine is going on my right shoulder blade. If it’s placed right, my hair will cover the tattoo completely when it’s down so with that and not wearing tank tops around them, I’m hoping I can keep the inky mutilation of my body a secret from my parents for as long as possible. I had to get back into my bathing suit top for Gary to do it, though, because sitting in my sort of see-through lacy bra with a strap hanging over my shoulder really wasn’t an option, what with Tristan’s disapproving expression due to the leftover party guests still in attendance.
 

Tristan gave my bare shoulder blade one last kiss before Gary cleaned my skin with some kind of antiseptic and adhered the stencil thingy that was really only a very rough outline of what the tattoo would be. From what I understand, Gary free-hands the majority of his work unless there’s a specific font someone wants or something extremely specific that he feels would turn out better if a “paint by numbers” outline is used. That’s what he calls it, paint by numbers. Personally, I thought that analogy was pretty funny and kind of clever.

Being that it was still kind of early after the all-night reveling, I was a little surprised that the majority of my friends were awake already and were planning on watching us like we’re some kind of breakfast freak show. It made me a tad nervous. I also became slightly apprehensive when Jillian floated into the kitchen. I think I expected her to be condemning or at the very least, reproving, but she surprised me by looking more than a little intrigued with the whole thing.

“You ready?” Gary asked in his gruff voice from behind me.

I glanced at Tristan and noticed he was trying to keep a straight face and then I realized I was probably very visibly showing my anxiety on my face and that expression was probably very comical looking.

“Go ahead and laugh, you brat. Gary? Is there a way you can do this without it hurting a lot?” I asked nervously. See, I’m not having second thoughts, but I
am
scared because it’s gonna hurt. A lot. And everyone’s watching me like a carnival sideshow attraction.

“Sorry, sugar, you gotta earn ‘em…here we go,” he told me kindly but punctuated his rather dismaying response with the alarming buzzing sound of the tattoo machine.

I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, grabbed one of Tristan’s hands in another death-lock grip and held my breath. Then I felt it.
 

I think.
 

I mean I know I felt something but, it was more like a dull pressure rather than the piercing and searing feeling I was expecting. I cracked my eyes open a little and turned my head to see if Gary was using the gun looking thing on my skin or if he hadn’t started yet. I even thought that maybe he’d forgotten to put a needle in the damned thing in the first place.

“Did you start?”

“Mm-hm…you gotta hold still for me though.”
 

“Oh, sorry…but, you guys, it doesn’t hurt!” I told them in surprised relief, releasing Tristan’s hand so the blood could begin to flow into his fingers again.

“Not even a little?” Melissa asked, still wiping sleep from her face.

“Uh-uh. I mean, it’s not the most pleasant feeling I guess, but it doesn’t actually hurt. I’ve had bee stings and freaking paper cuts that are more painful than this.”

“I run into a few of you from time to time…Daniels here is like that,” Gary told me as he took a paper towel and wiped at my shoulder before going back to drawing on me.

“What do you mean a few of you?”

“We’re freaks of nature, Camie, it’s supposed to hurt.”

“Fuck yeah it hurts,” Brandon said, making his first appearance of the day while pulling up a chair to sit next to Melissa.

“See? Like I said last night…there’s something wrong with us,” Tristan whispered with a small chuckle while shaking his head, being at a loss for knowing what that something might be.

“Huh. So if it hurts so much, why do you have so many?” I asked Brandon. I know why I’m getting this
one
, or rather, why I wanted it, but it wouldn’t have occurred to me to do on my own. And the other thing is, if it hurt as much as it’s supposed to, I would
not
be a repeat customer, that’s for sure.

“Eh, they’re addictive…I start fiending for another one about every four to six months.”

“Ain’t that the truth...you got some good lookin’ ink, who does it?” Gary asked, still plugging away at my shoulder. Being what I’m guessing is a pro; I’m assuming it didn’t take much more than a glance at Brandon, who’s shirtless at the moment, for Gary to evaluate the artistic quality of Brandon’s “ink.”

“Oh, this kid I know through one of the guys in the band.”
 

By the way, I think it’s hysterical that Brandon’s band is, as of yet, unnamed…even though they’ve been together for more than three years and play actual clubs and stuff. Everyone, including them, just calls it “The Band.”

“Kid?”

“Well, yeah. He’s not really a kid anymore, but he’s been doing ‘em since he was like eleven or some crazy shit like that. His older brother was in jail and came out with some fucked up art and Bo can seriously fuckin’ draw, so Lyatt made a prison-style machine and had him fix all his messed up shit. He enjoyed it so he started drawin’ on all the neighborhood kids and anyone else who asked.” Eesh, I can’t imagine letting an eleven-year-old permanently draw on me.

“How old is he now?”

“Sixteen or seventeen…wait, yeah, he’s seventeen.”

“He do drugs?”

“Nope, the kid’s clean as a whistle…dude doesn’t even fuckin’ drink.”

“He ever apprentice anywhere?”

“Nope. No one’ll give him the time of day because he’s just a kid and he’s not a high school graduate. His family situation was really jacked up and he has dyslexia, so he dropped outta school and moved in with Lyatt to get away from their dad…the guy used the poor kid as a fuckin’ punchin’ bag when he thought the kid was gay. He’s not, the kid just wouldn’t bring his girlfriend to the house, but that fuckin’ asshole won’t believe the truth and even
if
Bo was gay, who the fuck gives a shit? So he’s gay, big fuckin’ deal.”
 

Wow. I would’ve sorta thought before that Brandon might be a little on the prejudiced side against homosexuality, but he’s really not. You can totally tell he honestly wouldn’t have a problem being friends with a gay kid and/or having the gay kid do his tattoos…and that right there, in my mind anyway, equates to a
substantial
amount of trust.

“Shit. I hate child abusers and homophobes. Have him come talk to me. I just had to get rid of two guys because they’re still usin’. Idiots. Get this, the previous owner of my shop dies from a drug overdose barely a year ago, so these tools tell me they’ll clean up and fly right if I buy the shop and keep it runnin’ and then they had the nerve to act all surprised and shit when I fired ‘em after their drug tests come back positive for blow. Honestly unbelievable… Anyway, if this Bo kid is as good as you say, and judging from what I can see of his work, he’s got some talent, and if he’s clean, I’ll apprentice him if he wants a shot at an honest living.”

“That’s
really
fuckin’ cool of you, man. Oh, he doesn’t have a whole lotta money though to pay for something like an apprenticeship...”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure we can work somethin’ out. He’s gonna have to learn all the safety, health code and legal shit before I let him start shootin’ ink into a live person though,” Gary told Brandon while breaking the law himself by tattooing a minor.

During the time we had, I discovered that Gary is twenty-eight and the oldest of four children, which Wayne is the youngest of. There are two girls in the middle; Mia, who is twenty-one and Lorna, who is twenty-five. The conversation stayed far away from Gina, Gary’s wife, who Tristan can’t abide even a little bit, but when Wayne and Gary were talking about how fun it was to have Mia home for Christmas, Tristan adjusted his shoulders in what looked to me like an uncomfortable way. It was kind of weird but, whatever. He could’ve just been doing some sympathy shifting for me because he knows exactly how it feels to have to be still like this for so long. It’s really not easy and I desperately want to fidget or stand up to at least stretch my legs. Anyhow, Gary started his “apprenticeship” when he was sixteen. From what I understand, an apprentice does all the grunt work and stuff no one else wants to do. You know, like cleaning, prep work, etc… Then they watch and learn. The next step is to practice on the skin of fruit and the like, and when the master says it’s time, the apprentice moves on to people. It took roughly three years for Gary, so by the time he was done and able to work on actual customers he was nineteen. It doesn’t sound like Bo will have to go through all of that, though, because the kid already knows what he’s doing, but like Gary said, he will have to learn the specifics of working in a shop and get acquainted with quality machinery and stuff.
 

Anyway, just thought you’d be interested…I was.

So Gary finished me up and gave me a run down on the care instructions which included having to wash it in a couple of hours. I glanced at the clock and decided I’d really rather not do that at home, so I called my parents to wish them a happy New Year and asked them if it would be okay if I stayed at Pete’s for a little while longer because I was still really tired (totally not a lie either) and wanted to take a nap. It was only about eleven in the morning and I explained that Pete’s neighbor’s yappy dog (again, not a lie) was barking at the crack of dawn so we were all kind of beat. They had no problem with Jillian and me staying for a while so Tristan and I did actually lay down for a nap. Of course that was after he showed me some ways of how to
not
sleep on my back, which I shouldn’t do for two or three days. The only time I’m not a back sleeper is when I’m sleeping next to him—I mean I can start out in any position, but I inevitably end up on my back, so anyway, I learned all about what Tristan calls “cuddle pillows.” He even admitted to referring to one of his pillows at home as his “Camie Pillow.” I know, he’s so stinkin’ adorable. Basically I get to pretend a pillow is him and use it the way I would if he were actually there with me. I also discovered at that time that Tristan
can’t stand
sleeping on his back unless I’m using him as a pillow. Kinda funny how everyone has these kind of quirks, huh?