Work of Art (7 page)

I laughed. I had to meet this girl. And I was going to since I’d agreed to go with Brandon to get a tattoo that afternoon. He’d told her we were both getting one, but I wasn’t so sure I’d go through with it.
Trish would hate it. Maybe if I got her name tattooed she wouldn’t hate it so much. Yeah, who was I kidding? I wasn’t about to do that.

“That’s one hell of a girl, Brand
on,” I said, finally getting up from my seat at the table.

I needed some orange juice – and some bacon and eggs covered in cheese and pancakes
doused in butter and syrup. I needed hangover food, and we had nothing even remotely close to hangover food in the house. I needed grease.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” Brandon said, his eyes gleaming, and I knew that even though he told me he wasn’t going to, he’d end up sleeping with this girl.

Chapter Six

Harper

“Hey Gracie,” I said, greeting our receptionist who was leaning over the counter, her long black hair spilling over her shoulders, as she talked to a male customer who was waiting.

As I looked around I saw that already we had four people waiting, and all four of my artists had people they were working on. It was going to be a busy day.

“Hey Harper,” Gracie responded, standing back up. “There was a guy on the phone a few minutes ago who wanted to buy a few of your photographs. He wanted to know if there was a better deal you could give him if he bought all five in the series.”

I sighed. I hated wheeling and dealing, but in the art world, it was part of the game.
“Which ones?”

She pointed across the room to five photos I’d done as part of a series on urban plight. When I’d first opened my parlor, I’d had a vision in my mind, and people probably thought I was crazy, but I didn’t care. I wanted to showcase all my art in one place, so where the waiting rooms at most tattoo parlors were covered in ink options, mine looked like an art gallery
, and it was twice the size. The floors were a light wood, and the walls were white-washed, wood panels and with spotlights strategically placed throughout. My paintings and photographs were hung around the room like they’d be hung in a gallery. And instead of basic waiting room chairs, I had couches, arm chairs and coffee tables spaced throughout.

It had a fun, eclectic feel that made it truly mine. And I got people in
all the time who didn’t want body art. They just wanted to browse the artwork. I was pretty sure it was the only art gallery/tattoo parlor in the country, and that was pretty cool to me.

“Yeah, sure.
I’ll deal with him. Leave me his number, and I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Cool. And can
you show this guy the angel on your shoulder? He wants one with the date his wife died, and you have one I think he’ll like.”

I turned to face him. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” I said empathetically
.

He nodded. “She always wanted me to get a tattoo, and I always told her I would, but then she got sick, so I figure this’ll be a nice way to memorialize her.”

“I agree. Give me a minute, and you can come back and see mine and some of the other angel designs we’ve done.”

“Okay,” he said.
“Thank you.”

Poor guy.
He seemed so sad. And it sort of hit home with me.

Not wanting anyone to see me get emotional, I hurried to the back to my office/private room that I used for tattoos or piercings when they were in
x-rated locations or just when the shop got over-crowded. I sat down, put my head in my hands, took a few deep breaths and let myself cry.

I’d learned that when the feeling struck, I needed to just let it out instead of holding it in, because if I held it in, what I was feeling would build and build and eventually erupt. This was much healthier since I could cry for a few minutes, wipe my eyes and move on.

Thirty minutes later, I was working on recreating a version of the angel I had on my shoulder on the guy’s arm when Gracie came in and interrupted me. I pulled my needle back from the guy’s skin and sat up, taking a second to stretch my back and turn down the music I had pulsing throughout the room. I couldn’t work without music.

“Brandon Cooper is here for his appointment.”

“Who?”

She grinned.
“Dark hair, killer smile, a broad chest that I plan on licking later, and a kick-ass angel/devil tat that I might just have you recreate on my thigh.”

Oh,
my airplane buddy. Right.

“Tell him it’ll be about an hour if he wants to grab a coffee and come back.”

“He can grab me and come back in an hour if it’s okay with you,” she suggested.

“Then who would watch the desk,” I said amiably. Normally I wouldn’t care if she took off with a client, but not when we were this busy.

I bent back over to continue working on the guy in my chair.

“He has a friend with him.”

Oh yeah, the dude who’s marrying the boring girl or something like that. Couldn’t wait to meet that loser. Okay, that was mean. She was probably a very nice girl, and he was probably a guy in love. Brandon was just bitter about his divorce.

“Do they both want ink?”
I asked, not looking up at her.

“Brandon, yes.
His friend is still deciding.”

“And they both want to see me?”

I saw her nod in my peripheral vision. “Brandon said he wants you or the guy who did your tats.”

The guy who’d let me apprentice under him had given me
about half of my tattoos, except for the mistake on my lower back. That I’d gotten when I’d turned eighteen back in Boston. And the quality wasn’t nearly as good as Mario’s work or Paulie’s, who’d worked for me since I opened my shop and was the only person besides Mario I’d let touch me with his needle.

“
Well tell him Mario lives in Hawaii now, so it’ll be one hell of a plane ride, and Paulie’s off tonight. And let his friend know he has at least two hours, depending on what Brandon wants. I’m guessing he doesn’t want something that’ll take me twenty minutes.”

She sh
ook her head. “He was looking for something you can outline today and color in when he comes back in a month.”

“Does he have a picture of what he wants?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he liked that dagger with the flowers wrapped around it that you did for that guy two years ago. He wants it on his thigh.”

“Okay, I can outline
it an hour, maybe less, and then I can do his friend.”

“Can I do
him
while you do his friend? I want to try out my piercing you gave me last week. It’s healed.”

“Gracie,” I said impatiently, pausing again to look up at her. “I’m a little busy here. Quit thinking with your vagina, go back to the desk, get his number, and hook up with him after you get off.”

She brightened. “Okay!”

I rolled my eyes as she left the room. Jeez, she got on my nerves sometimes, but I gave her a chance because she reminded me of myself when I was her age, only I didn’t talk that much. And I wasn’t that sexually aggressive. At her age I’d been in one of m
y swearing off guys phases.

An hour later,
Brandon, looking smug, walked back into my private room.

“Too good for the main room?” he asked, smirking at me.

“Did you see how busy we are? I had no choice but to be exiled back here.”

He nodded his head in time with the beat pulsing from my iPod player in the corner.
Creep
by Radiohead was playing.

“Hey, does that chick out there really have her clit pierced?”

I nodded, not looking at him as I got my tools ready. “Yeah, she does. I pierced it myself.”

“Shut up. You did not.”

I looked over at him, and he was grinning like an idiot. “I did. And it wasn’t my first.”

“Jesus, that’s hot. Did she get off when you did it?”

I closed my eyes and shook my head in annoyance. Typical guy question. “I’m not answering that. You can ask her.”

He grinned wider. “I think I will.”

“So you want the flower dagger?” I asked, changing the subject.

“
Yeah. I think it’ll look pretty badass on my thigh. What do you think?”

I thought about it for a minute, as I searched for a sketch I’d done a few years back. “Yeah, it’ll look pretty cool. The first guy I did it for put it on the middle of his back.”

Brandon grinned, turned and lifted up his shirt. “Yeah, that’s not really an option for me.”

“Oh, wow,
” I said, as I walked over to him. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said his back was done. It was almost fully covered, and the detail work was intense. “How long did this take?”

“Five years or so.
I paced it out, got tats when I wanted them, but my goal was to do the whole thing.”

I ran my palm down the length of it, stopping on the skull in the middle that
was the main focal point of the piece.

“Do you want to see something funny?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, as he dropped his shirt and turned around.

I turned, pulled my hair over one shoulder
and lifted my tank top up to reveal the sugar skull between my shoulder blades.

“Nice. That’s awesome.
We’re like soul mates or something. I told you.”

I laughed. “Just sit in the chair, Brandon.”

He settled into the chair and didn’t say much while I got the pattern ready, asked him where he wanted it, prepped and shaved the area and started working, but he watched me the whole time.

“Hey let me ask you something,” he said when I was halfway done.

“Sure,” I said, not looking up.

“I’ve got that wedding next month
, right? It’s my buddy who I’m visiting this weekend?”

I noticed he made a lot of statements with an added question on the end of them. “You mentioned it.”

“Right, well, I don’t have a date, and I was wondering if you’d be mine.”

I pulled my needle back and looked up at him. He was eying me expectantly.

“Um, aren’t you planning on sleeping with Gracie tonight?”

He shrugged. “Sure, but I don’t want to take her to the wedding.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Brandon, I’m not going to go out with you after you slept with my receptionist.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you out. We can just go as friends. I told you I wasn’t planning on sleeping with you, Harper
. I genuinely like you, ergo, I won’t sleep with you.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That makes no sense.”

He shrugged. “Messy divorce. Maybe I’ll date in a few years, but for now I’m just trying to make up for all the pussy I missed out on in the eleven years I was with Heather.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“I try. So will you go with me? It’s gonna be a bunch of stuffy, boring people and my buddy’s fiancé hates me, so I’m kind of going to be SOL with her friends, and if I can’t get laid, I’d like to have someone I can get drunk with and who won’t get mad at me for making sarcastic, under my breath comments about everyone, including the bride.”

I laughed. “Well, I don’t know her, so I could give a shit if you make fun of her. When’s the wedding.”

“Four weeks from today.”

Everyone was telling me to take time off. M
aybe I could do it then.

“Where?”

“Monterey. Some resort out there. I’ll get us a room, but it’ll have two beds, or I could get two rooms if you’d prefer.”

I shook my head. “One room is fine. You don’t scare me.”

He grinned wickedly. “You don’t know me that well.”

“Yeah, well, I have a concealed weapons license and my dad taught me how to shoot.”

“Damn, you’re hot.”

“I try.”

“You don’t have to,” he gushed, then he got serious again. “Oh, and you also have to come to the rehearsal dinner with me.”

“What?” I asked, pulling my needle back, so I could look at him.

“I’m in the wedding party,” he explained. “I have to go to the rehearsal and the dinner party they’re throwing afterward. It’ll be more fun if you’re there, and there’s free booze – good booze too, because these people are rich as shit.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

My phone chose that moment to vibrate on the counter closest to Brandon.

“Can you see who that is?”

“It’s Julian?” he said.

“Oh, good.
I need to talk to him. Can you answer the call and put it on speaker?”

I lifted the needle, so he could move.

“Hey Jules,” I greeted him. “You’re on speaker.”

“
Hey Cupcake. What’s shakin’?”