The Mad Tatter

by J. M. Darhower

  Maybe never.

  My first client of the day arrives, the woman's presence effectively ending our conversation. She's undoubtedly attractive—no man can deny that, even one important to another beautiful girl, and Avery seems to agree with the sentiment. She sits back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest, her gaze piercing, as I greet the woman warmly.

  "So you want this quote," I say, glancing at the sentences written out on a piece of paper at my desk, some quote about loving and living that I've tatted on half a dozen others before. "And we're putting it on your side?"

  "Yes," she confirms, "but I want it up high, and kind of sideways… you know, to like curve up?"

  She motions around the area, running her fingers along her ribcage and up toward her armpit, around the curvature of her breast.

  "You'll have to take your shirt off," I say, hesitating before adding, "and your bra."

  The metal chair immediately shifts, scratching at the floor as Avery abruptly stands up. "I'm, uh… I'll be back later."

  I watch her hasty retreating form before focusing back to my client. I have work to do. I tweak the stencil, curving the script to the client's specifications, before standing up. Hesitantly, I close the door for privacy as I motion toward her. "You can take your top off now."

  There's no sense of modesty as she tears her shirt off, tossing it onto the chair Avery was just sitting in. Without awaiting any instruction, she unhooks her bra and lets it slide down her arms. She flings it across the room, the bra haphazardly landing on the floor beside the metal chair. She grasps her breasts, lifting them slightly as I press the stencil against her skin, making sure it's on firmly, before slowly peeling the paper away. My eyes drift to hers as I take a step back. "Take a look in the mirror and let me know if it's okay."

  She steps toward the mirror, eyeing the position, and nods. "Perfect."

  I swallow thickly, turning away from her. Fuck. I used to not mind these sessions, a perk of the job, but it feels uncomfortable today. It's never sexual—business is business—but damn if it isn't intimate, regardless. The woman settles on the table, laying flat on her back, raising her arms above her head to expose the tattoo area to me.

  "Do you want something to cover up?" I offer as I prepare my ink. "We have some of those pasties… you know, those nipple stickers… or you can drape your shirt…"

  "No," she says. "I'm fine."

  I shrug it off and set straight to work, focusing all of my attention on the words, making sure every curve of the tattoo is smooth, every line ruler-straight. A few times she flinches when I work around her ribs, jarring the lines, making me have to improvise to smooth it back out. It takes about an hour—a strained hour of her obviously flirting and me trying not to think about the fact that a half naked woman lays on my table—before I shut the machine off and shove my stool back.

  "All done." I'm on my feet, my back to her, before she can even sit up. "Have a look and let me know what you think."

  She jumps down from the table and heads to the mirror, admiring the work. I peel my gloves off and toss them in the trash as I chant in my head. Don't look at her tits. Don't look at her tits. Don't look at her tits.

  I turn around, my gaze going straight to her tits. Fuck.

  She smiles radiantly, seemingly satisfied, and that's a good enough answer for me. I take a deep breath, quickly going over aftercare and getting the spot bandaged up, before grabbing her shirt and tossing it at her.

  "I'll give you some privacy," I say, heading straight for the door, slipping out of the room and shutting it behind me, so nobody can wander by and look in while she's still exposed. Running my hand through my hair, I stroll through the shop, my footsteps faltering when I see Avery sitting on a leather couch in the lobby. I pause a few feet away, watching her flip through a magazine, turning pages hastily, her eyes glued to it but clearly not paying a bit of attention to anything on the pages.

  I hear my room door open again, my client strolling through. I turn that way as she approaches me, the smile still on her lips. She holds out a rolled up wad of cash, and I reach for it, but she ducks beneath my arm instead, slipping it in my pocket.

  "Call me," she says, winking, before strolling toward the door.

  My brow furrows as I watch her. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the cash, skimming through it. A hundred dollar tip and her phone number. Huh.

  I pull out the slip of paper that holds her number and ball it up, rolling it around in my palm as I turn back to Avery. She still isn't looking at me, her gaze painstakingly on the magazine, but she clearly watched the exchange. The pages turn with such force I'm surprised she doesn't rip the fuckers right out, her foot moving with the intensity of a propeller on a helicopter about the take the hell off.

  Smirking, I stroll toward her, her annoyance only growing at my leisurely approach. I sit down on the arm of the couch away from her, propping my feet up on the cushion as I gaze at her.

  "You're cute when you're jealous," I say, flicking the ball of paper at her. It hits her chest, right between her tits, and lands on the magazine just as she turns the page again.

  Her eyes cut my way as she flips back, grabbing the ball of paper. She smoothes it out, glancing at it, and dramatically rolls her eyes at the digits surrounded by hearts. She crinkles it right back up, clutching it in her fist. "I'm not jealous."

  "You're cute when you lie, too."

  Avery shuts the magazine, letting out an exaggerated sigh as she tosses it down on the table beside her. She tucks her leg beneath her as she turns her body to face me on the couch. Her eyes bore into me inquisitively. "Do you do a lot of women like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like naked."

  "She wasn't naked."

  "Fine. Topless."

  "Occasionally."

  "Do you, you know… do them, too?"

  "I imagine it's kind of hard to tattoo and fuck at the same time, but I'm game if you want to try it."

  She narrows her eyes, throwing the balled up paper back at me. "I'm serious. You know what I mean."

  I stare at her, grasping the paper and rolling it around in my palm again. I want to lie to her. Fuck, it would be easiest to. I like easy. But the way she's looking at me with such vulnerability, such honesty, I can't. I can't do that to her. "Occasionally."

  She looks from me to the door of the shop, where the girl disappeared outside just minutes earlier, before her gaze shifts back to me. "Do you still do it?"

  "Do what?"

  She groans. "Sleep with your clients, Reece."

  "I haven't, not in a while, but I can't really say I never would again," I say, her expression twisting with hurt at my response. Before she can respond, I climb across the couch, startling her as I hover over top of her, pushing her back against it, my lips just inches from her skin. "Because the second I finally get you on my table, Avery? I plan to fuck the daylights out of you."

  I kiss her hard, pressing myself against her and letting out a low groan at the feel of her body warmth. Avery gasps from surprise, and kisses me back briefly, before pushing against me. I sit up as she laughs, her cheeks flushing. "Not here."

  "Yeah," Ellie chimes in, shuffling past us as she strides through the lobby. "We're not running a brothel here."

  A voice chimes in from a back room. "Can we start?"

  Kevin.

  I chuckle, climbing to my feet. "We'd probably make a hell of a lot more money."

  I offer Avery my hand and pull her to her feet before leading her back to my room so I can get ready for my next client. I start cleaning up, sanitizing my station, when Avery plops down on the chair and lets out a groan. "Oh, gross, she left her bra!"

  I glance that way as she reaches down, carefully grasping the black garment by the strap, trying not to touch it. She holds it up, waving it toward me.

  "Oh and of course," Avery says, glaring at it. "Victoria's Secret."

  Huh. Hundred-dollar tip, phone number, and a souvenir? "Guess you sco
red a free bra."

  Avery grimaces, visibly gagging. "You're kidding, right? That's disgusting! I'd never wear that skeeze's bra. Besides, I've practically got mosquito bites over here and she's like, a freaking Double-D."

  "She was more of a C."

  Avery slings the bra at me, smacking me in the chest before it hits the floor. "Not helping."

  I shrug. I'm just being honest. I toe the garment, picking it up, and toss it in a drawer of my desk.

  Avery watches, still scowling. "You're keeping it?"

  "It's the lost and found," I say with a laugh, motioning toward the drawer. "I can't just throw other people's shit out."

  She scoffs. "Like she'll come back for it. Actually, you know what? Let me know if she does come back for it. It would take a lot of balls, you know… I wanna know if she's the kind of girl with balls."

  "A girl with balls," I say with amusement. "I'm pretty sure she was all female."

  "Again, Reece, not helping."

  My next appointment shows up a few minutes early, just as I finish sanitizing my station. I sit down on my stool, working on the stencil, as Avery shifts around in her chair. "Please tell me your next appointment is a guy."

  "It's not."

  "Another woman?"

  "Yes." I hesitate, running through my schedule in my mind. "They're all female today."

  "All of them?"

  "Yes."

  "Are they at least going to keep their clothes on?"

  I smile, not answering that question. I finish the stencil, eyeing the design, as my client waits in the lobby. She's young, barely eighteen, and nervous as hell. I remember her from her consultation weeks earlier… her first tattoo.

  I love these.

  The design isn't a favorite of mine. In fact, it isn't much different from the one they plucked off the wall and I slapped on Bridgette. Hearts, and flowers, a banner, and a name—but I meticulously drew this one from scratch based on my client's wishes. Violets, not roses… a keyhole on the heart with the key incorporated in the name on the banner. Connor.

  Once it's ready, I call for my client to join me. I smile, greeting her warmly, walking her through everything and spelling out every move I make to set her at ease as I apply the stencil to her upper arm. I introduce her to Avery, not wanting any negativity building in the room.

  "Pick out some music and we'll get started," I say, sliding the cassette box toward her. She plucks through it, pulling out a few, before settling on some cheery pop that Lexie would've picked. I put it in the boombox and press play before settling in to start her tattoo.

  Conversation is relaxed. I remain attentive to my work, taking cues from her as to when to back off. She twitches more than most, slowing the process down, but I keep my patience, grateful when she starts to relax. The tattoo comes together smoothly, flawlessly, as the women chitchat about shit like shoes and movies.

  It takes nearly an hour with the detail, but I only charge her for half a session. When it's finished, she steps over to the mirror and stares at it, tears welling in her eyes. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

  "Thank you," I say, "for letting me do it."

  She smiles brightly, wiping her eyes as she pays me. I fix her up, surprised when she wraps her arms around me in a hug. "Thanks again."

  "My pleasure," I say, showing her out.

  After she's gone, I hit stop on the music and start cleaning up. My next client is already waiting, hanging out in the lobby.

  "You seemed awfully happy to be doing that tattoo," Avery points out. "You know, considering it looked a hell of a lot like Bridgette's."

  "Yeah, but looks are deceiving," I say. "I told you—I don't give a shit what it is as long as it means something. And that? It probably meant more than every other tattoo I've done this month."

  "Why? Who's Conner?"

  "He was her boyfriend," I reply. "He passed away. And yeah, I hate tattooing names on people, because feelings change, but like I said before… I make exceptions. She's young, and will probably move on someday, and get married, and maybe that dude will hate it, but her? Her feelings won't ever change. Because people we love die, but the love? It never does. It became eternal the moment he stopped breathing. She'll always love his memory."

  "That's deep," Avery says. "And really beautiful."

  "It's just the way it goes," I say, shrugging.

  The next session is short, a twenty minute consultation. She tells me what she wants—a dragon design twisting along the top of her foot to around her ankle—and I give her every warning under the sun about everything that could go wrong with a foot tattoo, but her mind has been made up. I concede, jotting down notes of what she wants, and have her head to the receptionist's desk to schedule the tattoo.

  I sigh, stretching my back as I hunch over the design on my desk for my next client. I tense, feeling the hands clamping down on my shoulders, the scent of Avery's perfume washing over me. She wordlessly rubs my shoulders, kneading the muscles, her hands stronger than I expect. My eyes drift closed briefly, tingles shooting down my spine. "Fuck, that feels good."

  "I get banged up a lot," she says. "I know how to work tension from the body."

  "I know how to work out tension, too," I reply. "But it mostly just involves banging you."

  Avery laughs, playfully kneeing me in the back. "Maybe later."

  "Drop the 'maybe' part and we have a deal."

  "Reece!" Ellie's voice rings through the shop, loud and grating. Before I can holler back, to yell at her for fucking yelling and not walking to my door, the front door of the shop faintly dings, and an excited voice screeches.

  I spin around, Avery's hands dropping from my shoulders as I spring to my feet. My eyes dart straight to the time. Three o'clock already.

  "Fuck."

  Lexie.

  I stride out, meeting her in the hallway as she runs straight for my room. I scoop her up in my arms, kissing her cheek and nuzzling in her neck as she squirms, giggling and frantically trying to break free.

  "Daddy, stop! It's tickles! Let me down! Please, Daddy?"

  I carry her to the lobby, seeing Rebecca standing there, clutching the little pink backpack. I set Lexie on her feet in front of her mother. She tries to slip past me, to get away, but I pin her there. "Rebecca."

  "Rhys." Rebecca glares at me, turning her nose up as she looks around at the shop, before her eyes settle on me again. She thrusts her arm out, nearly punching me in the chest with the backpack. "She has plenty to play with in there, and she's old enough to entertain herself, so she doesn't have to be involved in your things."

  "In my things," I echo, taking the backpack. "What things are those?"

  "You know what things," she says. "I wouldn't have brought her here if I had any other choice. You know how I feel about this place."

  "Yeah, you've made your opinion known."

  "Just… take care of her. And she's your daughter, for Christ's sake, not a coloring book, so stop coloring on her. You hear me?"

  "Loud and clear." I motion toward the door. "I'm sure Dick's waiting for you."

  "His name's Richard," she says, narrowing her eyes at me, before leaning down and kissing Lexie on the forehead. "Be good, Alexis. Mommy will be back Sunday night."

  "Bye!" Lexie finally manages to escape my grasp, slipping through my legs when I loosen my hold. Her feet pound against the floor for a few steps before stopping abruptly, her voice cutting through the air. "Avery!"

  Rebecca's footsteps falter momentarily, but she doesn't turn around, heading straight out the door. Sighing, I turn around, spotting Avery standing right near the lobby, smiling brightly at Lexie. The little girl slips by her, bolting through the hallway toward the room, as I start strolling that way.

  "That's Lexie's mom?" Avery asks with surprise.

  "Yep."

  "Not very nice, is she?"

  I let out a laugh. "That's putting it mildly."

  I head into the room, catching Lexie just as she's climbing on top of the tattoo
table. "Can I have a tattoo, daddy?"

  "Of course you can," I say, "just not right now."

  "Why not?"

  "It's somebody else's turn."

  Her expression hardens. She doesn't like that answer. "After their turn?"

  "Sorry." I shake my head. "I have appointments all night."

  Her eyes widen. "I have to wait 'til tomorrow?"

  "I have appointments tomorrow, too."

  That she definitely doesn't like. Her forehead scrunches up, her eyes piercing through me angrily. "But this is my weekend!"

  "No, next weekend is your weekend," I point out. "This is an extra weekend, and Daddy has to work."

  "That's not fair!" she exclaims. "I want this to be my weekend!"

  "I know. And I do, too. But—"

  "But it's okay," Avery chimes in, "because you and I are going to do stuff together while your daddy works."

  Lexie's attention turns to Avery. She still doesn't look happy. "Do what?"

  "Whatever you want."

  "I want Daddy," Lexie says, frowning as she points at her arm. "I want my tattoo."

  Her expression is like a stab right to the heart.

  "Well, I know I'm not your daddy, but maybe I could give you a tattoo."

  Lexie eyes her warily. "Do you draw like Daddy?"

  "Well, not as good as him, but—"

  "Nobody's gooder than daddy," Lexie says. "But he draws dinosaurs, and not everybody can draw them."

  "I can," Avery says. "Well, I can try..."

  Lexie jumps down and pushes me out of the way to scour through my desk, pulling out a marker and a crinkled piece of paper. She gives it to Avery and pulls her toward the chair. "Try!"

  Avery seems startled. "Huh?"

  "You offered to tattoo her," I chime in, shaking my head. "You never let someone ink you until you've checked out their work. Isn't that right, Little Miss?"

  "Right!"

  Avery starts drawing a dinosaur while I take my seat and start back on tweaking the design for my next client. The room is dead silent for a few minutes as we immerse ourselves in work until Avery lets out a sigh. "Okay. Done."