Train Wreck

by T Gephart

  Oliver—the bastard—like a lot of men, was a simple creature. He could get hard by simply looking at a Victoria Secret catalogue. Of course, I never suspected he’d actually act like a dog even if he had the libido of one.

  Not that any of that mattered now as I was confronted with skin. Lots of it, and a pair of breasts that were too fantastic to be real.

  “See, look.” She lifted her hair as her body twisted, her fantastic boobs no longer visible as she revealed a large and incredibly intricate back tattoo.

  “Wow.” It escaped my lips as I climbed to my feet. “It’s stunning.” My eyes squinted in disbelief.

  I’d seen decent tattoos, lifelike pinup girls and pretty butterflies. Hell, a few of my friends even had a couple and they were better than just good.

  But to say Kitty’s was just a good tattoo was incredibly arrogant.

  It was an extraordinary piece of art.

  Across her shoulders and down her spine was Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, so clean, crisp and perfect it looked like Botticelli had painted it on her himself.

  To achieve that level of excellence on a page or canvas was difficult. So many nuances—the positioning of the hands, creating the movement in her hair and fabric, the softness in the curves of her body.

  On human skin?

  It was impossible.

  “No, not impossible.” Kitty laughed, my silent thoughts not being so silent. “Josh is amazing. You should see his original work. I’m going to get him to do something else for me too.”

  “One man did all this?” I gave up fighting the urge to touch it, my fingers sweeping across her back. She had said she wasn’t shy. “It must have taken months.”

  It was as if the image leapt off her back and spoke to me. Every color, every line—it told the story as clear as someone whispering it in my ear.

  “I lost count after twenty hours.” She turned to face me. “Not all in one session obviously, he worked on me for as long as I could take and then I’d go back. He was so gentle.”

  “Gentle? He was jamming a needle in your skin. How can someone be gentle?” My brain couldn’t comprehend it, but that level of skill . . . in a tattoo?

  Wow.

  He must be a god.

  Some kind of deity under the guise of a man put on Earth to live among us. Dazzle us with his talent. The tattoo artist part was throwing me, but Jesus had been a carpenter, right? Who was to know that if the second coming had happened now that the Son of God wouldn’t have traded the long flowing robes for a black T-shirt and tattoo gun. I was in no position to judge.

  “I don’t know, he just is.” Kitty brought me back to the present. “He’s amazing.” Her voice got breathy.

  See, maybe there had been some divine intervention.

  “Please tell me you got this here. In New York.” My hand grabbed hers and squeezed.

  The tattoo had taken hours, which meant there was a promising chance it had been local. But who could be sure? After all, I knew pretty much nothing about the almost naked woman whose hand I was clutching.

  “His studio is in Queens.” She laughed, her perky boobs shaking with the rest of her. “Same place he’s always been.”

  And praise the Lord, hallelujah! Tattoo Jesus lived in Queens. It was definitely a sign of divine intervention.

  “Could you introduce us?” Not sure what I would do or say when I met him or even if he could help me, but mental clarity was not the flavor of the day, clearly. In any case, I needed to meet the man who was capable of that level of excellence. Awed didn’t even come close to it.

  “I don’t really know him like that.” She blushed. “I mean, I wish. He’s gorgeous. I’d throw myself at his feet if I thought I had a chance.” Cue the dreamy eyes and wide smile—enraptured like a blonde, naked, tattooed Mary Magdalene.

  It had to be a sign.

  “Yeah, I’m sorta not interested in how gorgeous he is.” Firstly, because I’d been single for less than an hour and dating wasn’t really on my agenda. And I doubted that he—while talented and magical by Kitty’s reports—would be my type. “I still need to evict Oliver.”

  “Oh, yeah.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “I forgot.”

  Ah Kitty, she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

  My mind spun. All of it had to have happened for a reason.

  Surely me coming home early and finding Oliver and Kitty was part of a bigger picture. And who was I to deny the method to the madness.

  And while it was incredibly hard to admit, maybe—and I’m not saying I was sure, but there was the possibility—some of those things that had been said about my work, were true.

  Not the part about me not having talent, because that was bullshit. Sure, my family had money and I wasn’t eyeball deep in student loans. But I was not being drunkenly evicted from nightclubs with my photo splashed on TMZ either. They could shove the socialite tag up their ass; my last name did not disqualify me from having actual ability and talent. Those grades I’d earned—fair and square.

  But there was a—very small, tiny even—possibility that there was some flatness to my work. Not anything I could put my finger on exactly, but it was missing something. It didn’t have the same magic I saw when I looked at this tattoo. I didn’t get the feeling in the base of my throat and my skin didn’t tingle when I looked at my pieces like I did when I looked at the back of my naked “friend”.

  And I wasn’t sure I knew how to fix it.

  Maybe at some point I’d been so preoccupied with being good, it got lost in the translation. Where my strokes became robotic, and instead of emotion it had been my ego leeching out.

  Oh, crap.

  What stage was this?

  Acceptance?

  No, no. I wouldn’t accept I was bad. I would never accept that.

  I could be wrong, have room for improvement but I wouldn’t allow myself to accept bad.

  “Here’s an idea.” My head dipped to the direction of the floor, the pool of black fabric still at Kitty’s feet. “Why don’t you put your dress back on.” Because there were currently more boobs in my kitchen than on HBO. “And you can tell me everything you know about Josh.” Aka Tattoo Jesus. Oh, and that wine that I had intended to drink, was totally happening. Because if ever there was a conversation that needed some feel good juice, this would be it.

  “Okay.” Kitty nodded, smiling brightly as she gathered up her dress and pulled it back over her head. “Are you going to get a tattoo?”

  “Me? No, I’d never get something that permanent.” The thought of marking my skin made me shudder. “But if this Josh is as good as you say he is, then I think he can help me.”

  I mean it was worth a try, right? If this tattoo guy from Queens could replicate one of the most famous renaissance paintings of all time, and translate that much emotion into skin, then I at least needed a conversation with him. And maybe find out where the leprechaun was he captured or if he had any other neat tricks, like turning water into wine. We needed to be friends, and he would soon see that.

  And just like that, on the day where my life had been spinning out of control, I had enlisted the help of a stranger so I could meet another stranger. Neither of which was guaranteed to help the situation I was in.

  Either I had totally lost my mind or I was on the road to greatness.

  Time would tell which it would be.

  Josh

  “YOUR TWO O’CLOCK IS HERE,” DALLAS CALLED from the door, looking less than pleased at having to play secretary.

  Two o’clock already? Wow, morning had really gotten away from me.

  “Thanks, I’m just finishing this sketch then I’ll get to it.”

  I hated leaving shit unfinished but it had been session after session and I’d barely had time to scratch. Still, being busy was not the kind of thing to complain about. And business was definitely good.

  “You know since that feature in Ink Magazine we’ve been getting slammed.” Dallas pulled a mind reader, echoing my
thoughts. “Both of us are booked solid for six months and I think our phone disintegrated with all the unanswered messages.”

  This was his version of polite, probably because I had an appointment waiting at the front of the shop and not because he was being tactful. I fully expected that the minute I flipped the closed sign he would be saying it a little different. More fucks would be used for sure.

  “I know, dude.” I pushed back from my desk, my chair rolling out. “We need at least one other artist, and someone to man the front desk.” One artist was bare minimum, I could hire three and we’d still have to turn down work. “But it’s just not something I want to get from Craig’s List. It takes time to go through portfolios and even if they are decent, I want them to gel with us as a unit.”

  The shop for me was an extension of myself. It was more than a job; it was my life. With my mom following my sister down to Florida to live, I overlooked the lack of family by putting all my energy into my dream. Built up with a high interest loan from the bank and a small inheritance when my pop died, I had even slept on the floor in the early days. Not that the health inspectors would be pleased to hear that. And now that I’d finally built a rep and business was good, I wasn’t going to hand it over to some half-rate hack to destroy. Fuck that noise.

  “Yeah, whatever.” He rolled his eyes knowing the whys better than most. “But at least get someone for the front desk. They don’t have to be a rocket scientist, a trained monkey will do.”

  “Isn’t that your job description?” I laughed. Couldn’t help myself, Dallas was too easy a target.

  “Fuck you, man.” He flipped me off, shaking his head as he smirked. “Don’t think for a second I won’t leave your ass and go elsewhere.”

  Dallas was full of shit. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he knew it.

  Not only was he one of my closest friends—we’d know each other since junior high—but there weren’t too many bosses who gave him the kind of freedom I did. He wouldn’t last two days in someone else’s shop. Besides, he watched my back and I had his, so as much as he was a pain in the ass at times, I liked having him around. And when it came to business, he respected my decisions and deferred to me, even if it sometimes came with a soundtrack of bitching.

  “Well buddy, you know where the door is anytime you get a better offer.” I rose to my feet wearing a smirk of my own. “Probably cost me a lot less in liability insurance, and I won’t have to worry about you hitting on everything that’s wearing a skirt.”

  “I only hit on girls when they aren’t customers anymore,” he argued, the smile he wore telling me he knew it was straddling the line. “Once they’ve paid, dude, there’s no conflict.”

  Like I said, he was right there on that line. Something I may have done in the earlier days too before I wised up and realized I could be screwing up my career. Still, I wasn’t going to waste my breath arguing considering most of those girls had no problem with it.

  “Go do some work or something, monkey.” I laughed, walking out of my room and into the hall.

  The shop was a pretty sweet lay out. Not huge, but a decent storefront and Dallas and I had hung sheets of dry wall to section us off. It wasn’t completely soundproof, but we insulated as best we could and it gave us the illusion of personal workspace and of course privacy. Important when some tats required more skin than others.

  Not that it was a problem today—my two o’clock was a forearm piece on a dude called Matt.

  “Ten to one, he flinches on the outline,” Dallas coughed under his breath from behind me. “He looked like he was hyperventilating in the foyer,” he added with a chuckle.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.” I laughed as I punched him in the arm. “Make sure you answer the phone if it rings.”

  “Answer it your damn self,” Dallas smirked, “I won’t be able to hear it wearing my headphones.” He pulled the wireless Beats that were hanging around his neck and situated them on his ears. “Can’t hear a thing.” He tapped them to illustrate the point.

  “I definitely need a new monkey.” I shook my head as I watched him disappear into his room. “One that follows instructions.” Said for my own benefit as my boots took me down the hall to the front of the shop.

  Whoa.

  That was not Matt.

  Standing on the other side of the counter was a knockout brunette with insane curves. Dressed in clothes I could tell were expensive, and shoes that went beyond stiletto territory and into stilts. And her eyes were the lightest shade of brown I’d ever seen. Like caramel or whiskey.

  Two things were obvious.

  She was gorgeous, and she was lost.

  “Can I help you?” I tipped my head, wondering if she perhaps needed directions. The idea of playing GPS was suddenly very appealing.

  “Are you Josh Logan?” She rolled her lips with her teeth in a move that was straight up sexy and I had to remind myself to be professional.

  And huh, she knew my name, didn’t expect that. Still not hard to read the accreditation on the walls, my name plastered all over them. She was probably here to sell me something even though the sign on the door clearly stated no solicitation. But unlike most door-to-door salespeople, I had no desire to toss her out. Maybe I needed a new bible, phone company, light bulb—or whatever the hell she was selling.

  “Yep, that’s me.” I gave her a smile and a nod, trying to discreetly look around for Matt. The front of the shop was empty except for the two of us.

  “If you’re looking for the guy who was here.” Her mouth spread into an amazing smile that made my dick take notice. Yep, was definitely buying something today, especially after a smile like that. “He left.”

  It might have been a few months since I last dated, but all the parts still worked. And if we’d been in a club, I would have definitely offered to buy her a drink. But I hadn’t completely lost my train of thought, my two o’clock pulling a disappearing act.

  “He just left?” I didn’t hide my surprise. “Is he coming back?”

  Matt had made the appointment three months ago. And sure he was a little nervous when we spoke on the phone yesterday, but he gave me no indication he was going to punk out.

  “I paid him two hundred dollars to reschedule,” she said with zero hesitation and even less regret. “I tried calling you two days ago but no one’s returned my call.”

  “Okay, look.” She might have been the hottest woman I’d ever seen but she didn’t get to walk into my shop and order people around. “Yeah, we may have had some issues with the phone, but you can’t just pay people and take their appointments. That’s not how it works.”

  To say I was annoyed was putting it lightly. And underneath the beautiful face and knockout body she was probably like some of the other entitled people who believed their shit didn’t stink. She wasn’t the first person to walk through the door who thought a fist full of bills got her priority. And while I appreciated that in other places lubricating a palm or two got her what she wanted, I had more integrity than that. And I sure as hell had more business ethic.

  “Trust me, the way he was pacing he would have passed out on the chair so I was just saving you time.” She smiled, no apology offered. “Besides, he was very happy to take the money. He didn’t even try to talk up the price.”

  Can you believe the nerve on this girl?

  I might not be tossing her out the door—something she totally deserved—but tattooing her probably wasn’t happening either. My name on the door meant I got that choice.

  “That’s great.” I gave her a tight smile and swallowed down the who the fuck are you I wanted to say. “But I don’t have time to do a new sketch and do the work.” Not a lie, I needed at least one consult before machine touched skin. “So let me know what you were thinking about getting,” I forced myself to keep it sweet, “and I’ll see when I can fit you in.” I grabbed the appointment log and flipped to the end. “I think I have an opening around the first of December. Might be a nice Christmas present for you
rself.” I glanced up at her and grinned. Six months away. No way she’d wait that long. Not when she couldn’t wait two lousy days for someone to return her phone call.

  “Oh, I’m not here to get tattooed.” Her head shook as she laughed, the sound going right to my balls even though I was annoyed. “Sorry, I should have said. Let me start over, I’m Eve Thorton.” She stuck out her hand.

  “Josh, but you already knew that.” My hand clasped hers and shook. “So, Eve.” I’m assuming using her first name was fine. “What brings you to Ink Addiction?”

  “Well, you actually,” she said, her shoulders shifting back. “I saw the back piece you did on my . . . er . . . friend, Kitty. Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. It was absolutely stunning and I want to work with you. I’m an artist.”

  Huh?

  What?

  My mood shifted gears as I processed the words and tried to connect the dots. And while I remembered the back piece, and the girl, I was a little foggy on the name. But that wasn’t what I was scratching my head over.

  This woman was a tattooist?

  Maybe I was profiling, judging a little, I’ll own that. But apart from the fancy threads she was wearing and the immaculate hair—her arms, legs, neck and face were bare. Not one black line or flash of color unless you counted her bright pink lips and thick black eyelashes.

  So unless she was hiding her ink underneath her dress—and there wasn’t a lot of it—she had virgin skin.

  And call me pedantic, but I didn’t know of any decent artists who hadn’t taken a machine to their own flesh at least once. Not to mention the other pieces that accumulated over the years. It wasn’t the sort of thing people dabbled in. And other than a diamond stud in each ear, there weren’t any piercings either. Nothing to even hint that this wasn’t her first time inside a tattoo shop.

  “Huh?” It fired out of my mouth as I squinted in disbelief.

  I wasn’t usually wrong when I got a read on people. It’s why I was as successful as I was. Feeling out what people wanted and putting it into the art. Which could only mean that someone was having a little fun at my expense.