Pierce Her Stepbrother

by Saffron Daughter

  “I know. I’m willing to risk it. It’s only skin.”

  “I won’t make a mistake. This will hurt,” I say.

  “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 a cat scratches you 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, and 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. It’s a good machine, well-balanced, and light-weight.

  “Okay,” I say, and look at Tina. “Where’s the reference design.”

  She nods her head at the whiteboard behind Pierce, and I notice it for the first time. It’s drawn on a cocktail napkin.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say to Pierce. “You designed this on a cocktail napkin?”

  “Aren’t I just full of surprises? You’re the artist. Improvise a little. Do what you artists do.”

  I peer at the cocktail napkin that’s held to the whiteboard by a magnet. It’s actually a pretty good drawing, though the shadowing is off.

  “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.

  “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. My heart just starts racing. “Are you sure about this? You want me to try?”

  “Yeah,” he says, smirking. “Why not?”

  “Well, if it means something to 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.”

  “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.

  “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 say, 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.”

  I watch as she sticks a plastic covering over tis 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 surge in my temperature, and 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 me. “Because if it is, take a day tomorrow.”

  I balk. “That wasn’t my fault,” I say.

  “Penelope,” she says, walking up to me. She’s a little 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.”

  I nod.

  “You have no idea how many men I’ve tattooed who got hard during the process.”

  “Any who were naked?”

  “Yes,” she says, nodding. “I’ve also tattooed a woman’s labia, and she got visibly aroused, too. This is an awkward setting for everybody involved. You can’t react the way you did, no matter how uncomfortable you find it. Now, I know it’s not the case with Pierce, but if you make a client uncomfortable for an involuntary reaction, then we may lose him as a customer. There is a certain level of trust and intimacy between artist and client, Penelope. You need to make them feel free from judgment.”

  “He was doing it on purpose!”

  “No,” she says, “he wasn’t. All that joking was just a cover for a reaction he couldn’t control. And that’s not the point. Look, I’m not trying to get you in trouble or lecture you, but you really can’t freak out like that. When nurses do prostate exams, men can get erections. Some women are aroused when they see their gynecologist. Most of it is just a result of physical stimulation, paired with an intensely awkward situation. The brain processes things in strange ways, and stress can often be displaced into arousal.”

  I bunch my brow. “How do you know this?”

  “I read a book by a psychologist who became a tattoo artist. Anyway, if those doctors were to freak out in those situations—”

  “I didn’t freak out.”

  “You did,” she says. “You totally did. You shattered the ink vial.”

  I look toward the metal tray, and there I see the tattoo machine sitting in a puddle of black ink.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll pay for that.”

  “It’s fine,” Tina says, putting up a hand. “Listen, you and him got a history?”

  “No!”

  She eyes me hard, and I wilt.

  “We kissed the other night. I don’t know. I don’t like him at all, he’s so, just, irritating.”

  “Look, if he’s too close—”

  “For a tattoo?” I blurt.

  “For this tattoo, Penelope.”

  I swallow. “If he can control himself tomorrow, I can do it.”

  “Fine, but you’re not
doing the shadowing. That was a mistake on my part.”

  “Tina,” I say, holding my voice steady. “I can do the shadowing.”

  “No. Tomorrow you’ll just be going over the outline. The fin thing is not dark enough, anyway. We’ll need to give the outline more contrast, so that the shadowing fits.”

  “Tina—”

  “He had us both going in there, Penelope. “Played you like a fiddle, goaded you into doing the tattoo, and me into letting you. No, you can just do the outline of the fin. I’ll do the rest, and you can watch.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  She smiles at me. “Do you like him?”

  “I don’t know. I know that I dislike him.”

  “Sometimes the two are hard to separate.”

  At first I think that she may be patronizing me, but from her expression, I know that she’s not.

  “He likes you,” she says.

  “No he doesn’t.”

  “Judging from what just happened, I’d say he definitely does.”

  “His erection?” I say, shaking my head. “No, he’s just a dog.”

  “Not his erection. His eyes. He never stopped looking at you.”

  *

  chapter eight

  My phone rattles against the glass coffee table, and both Rose and I look down at it. I’m curled up on the sofa trying my best not to think about how disastrous my first day apprenticing for my favorite artist was.

  “Who even has your number?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I gave it to Tina.”

  “Why would she be texting you at half-twelve?”

  My eyes flick to the clock on the wall above the television, and she’s right. It is way too late, and I somewhat doubt it’s an emergency. Playing on the television is a nature documentary about jellyfishes…

  I squirm out from under the blanket and reach for the phone, unlocking it.

  “Unknown number,” I say, and then I read the text. My eyes go wide.

  “What is it?” Rose asks, concerned.

  “You won’t believe this,” I say, shaking my head. “How the hell did he get my number?”

  “What is it?” Rose asks again, reaching over and grabbing the phone from me. She reads the text.

  Drinks and dinner, tomorrow after my tattoo? Don’t worry, I’ll behave. Oh, I’m the last appointment of the day as well, so I’ll drive you.

  “Who is this?”

  I look at Rose. “Guess.”

  She shakes her head. “I have no idea. Someone from the tattoo shop?”

  “Yeah. Someone you know.”

  “Someone I know?” she says, pondering with a finger to her lip. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s Pierce.”

  She balks. “Pierce Fletcher?”

  I nod, and I rub my forehead. I’m trying to hide it as best as I can, this heady concoction of mixed emotions I feel. On the one hand, there’s annoyance, irritation, even anger. On the other, excitement, this anticipation, a physical response. Personally, I think Rose sees right through it, judging by her smile, but she’s too polite to say anything.

  “You going to go?” she asks.

  “Probably not,” I say.

  She just shrugs and makes a huh noise.

  “I’m not!” I say. “He really is an asshole, Rose. You should have seen him today. Plus, like I told you before, my dad is dating his mom. No way.”

  That’s when she starts laughing. “Well, damn, Penny, it’s not like they’re getting married! It’s not like he’s your stepbrother or anything! You should go. See what he wants.”

  “I know what he wants.”

  “You obviously made an impression on him the other night, not to mention the fact that you saw him this morning in the tattoo parlor.”

  “So what? He was a dick. I don’t want to go.”

  Rose peers at me, and then grins. “Did something happen today?”

  “No.”

  “Yes it did!” she says, wagging a finger at me. “What haven’t you told me, Penelope?”

  “He’s in the middle of getting a tattoo.”

  “Oh? And it just so happens that your boss is his tattoo artist?”

  “Yeah.” I bury my face in my hands. “What are the chances?”

  “Well, it’s a big city, but it’s not huge.”

  “He was getting a tattoo near his groin.”

  Her eyes widen, and she gets this really mischievous grin. “Tell me more,” she says with narrowed eyes.

  “He had to be naked from the waist down.”

  She covers her mouth and lets out a high-pitched laugh. “So you saw…?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Everything?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Was it weird?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Because you had kissed him before?”

  “That,” I say, nodding. “Yeah.”

  “But…?”

  “It’s, uh,” I say, my voice fading.

  “No!” Rose cries, slapping the armrest of the sofa. “You’re kidding, girl!”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’ve never seen a guy naked before?”

  “Not the lower half.”

  “So you’re still…?”

  “Yes.” I frown, and close my eyes, placing my finger and thumb on my eyelids. “Is that weird?”

  “No!” she says, quickly rubbing my leg. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin.”

  “Don’t say it like that,” I groan.

  “But I just find it hard to believe.”

  “Why?” I say, my voice raising. This indignation is a convenient outlet for my embarrassment.

  “Because of your tattoos and stuff.”

  “Well, that’s a stereotype.”

  Rose sucks in a breath of air. I can see she’s thinking about how to word her next sentence.

  “I don’t mean that all girls with tattoos—”

  “Yes you do.”

  “No, I really don’t! I mean, you just got one pretty early, you were hanging out with all those older kids before I came here to Australia. You know, I just assumed you would have dated an older guy. One of the guys from that tattoo parlor you always hung out at.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” I say. “I cared about the art.”

  “Okay,” Rose says, putting her hands up. “It’s not like I meant anything by it.”

  I sigh. “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap.”

  She grins at me. “So,” she says, drawing out the word. “What was he like?”

  “Who?”

  “Pierce!”

  “What do you mean?”

  She narrows her eyes and drops her voice to a low whisper. “Was he big?”

  I swallow, and nod.

  “Did he shave?”

  I shake my head.

  “Trimmed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about his balls?”

  I blink. “I didn’t notice,” I say, staring hard at her.

  “Has got lots of tattoos?”

  “You saw him fight.”

  “I mean, under his shorts.”

  “No, not really. He had this jellyfish, and the tentacles wrapped around his thigh.”

  We both turn to look at the television. The narrator’s in a posh, sticky British accent is talking about the Portuguese Man of War – one of the deadliest jellyfish in the world.

  “You should go,” she says.

  “Why? I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t think he’s hot?”

  “He’s a dick. He’s so full of himself. He’s probably got, like, three STDs. So what if he’s hot?”

  “He’s a fighter, but he’s not stupid. I don’t get that impression from the few times I’ve been out with him and Jason.”

  “What do I want with a rude man-slut, anyway?”

  “I know you’re attracted to him. I saw how awkward you became after the fight.”

  “I was awkward because he was being inappropriate.”

&nbs
p; “Yeah, he was, but you were also awkward because you liked him.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t.”

  “Whatever you say, girl.”

  I exhale, annoyed. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay,” she says, flicking her head to the side. She watches me out of amused eyes.

  “Stop that, Rose.”

  “Stop what?”

  I go into my bedroom cheeks feeling warm and flop down on my bed and stare at the screen of my phone.

  Maybe fifteen minutes pass by, before I finally tap out a reply:

  Only if you’re not an asshole tomorrow during your appointment.

  I put the phone on my bedside table, and turn out the light, but moments later I hear it vibrate.

  I thought girls liked assholes. See you tomorrow.

  *

  chapter nine

  “Told you I’d behave.”

  She smiles, and actually it’s one of the few times she’s not being hostile to me. I… I like it. She’s beautiful when she smiles. Her whole face just lights up.

  “You did behave. Tina did a good job with the shading, didn’t she?”

  “She did,” I agree.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No. Tingles.”

  I pull the Porsche over. “We’re going to Lou’s.”

  “Lou’s?” she says. “That sounds like an American pizza restaurant.”

  “That’s because it is,” he says. “Deep dish, Chicago style. Thought you’d like something from home.”

  There it is again, that smile. “Thanks, but it’s not really just a Chicago thing anymore.”

  I get out, and then help her out of the car on her side. It’s so low that she practically has to climb up onto the curb.

  We get seated in our own booth, which is nice, and pick out a spinach and mushroom mix, and then order drinks. To my surprise, she gets a gin and tonic.

  “More of an afternoon drink, don’t you think?”

  She shrugs. “I like it. It’s not a bad evening drink, I think. Give it a try.”

  I flag down a waitress and tell her I want my drink changed to a gin and tonic, too.

  “So, what made you want to become a tattoo artist?”