Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  We stopped in front of the the Naumburg Bandshell, a beautiful stage under a high arch, the ceiling domed and stamped with recessed stone plates for acoustics. They held concerts there in the summer, and a public piano stood in front, painted in waving colors like a melting rainbow.

  Play me, it encouraged from the panel above the keys.

  And so, she took a seat and did just that.

  It was a classical song I recognized, though I didn’t know the name. Her fingers brushed the keys with certainty, and a slow waltz that sounded both happy and sad. Her eyes were down, her head bowed, her body moving gently, as did her arms, as did her fingers. The movement of her body was in synchrony with the movement of the song, rising and falling, speeding and slowing, the notes echoing from the wooden chamber that held the strings and hammers.

  Her fingers stilled when the song tapered off, disappearing like magic realized and gone too soon, and when she turned to me, when she met my eyes, hers were full of tears, of pain and joy and deliverance. And I knew with absolute certainty that I would never find another woman like her.

  Not as long as I lived.

  Alley-oop

  Annie

  The afternoon had slipped away before I even realized it; I’d been happily distracted by Greg and New York and the wonder of new experiences.

  But sharing it with him was the best part of all.

  It was late by the time we made it to the tattoo parlor, and when he opened the door and we stepped in, my eyes widened with excitement as I took it all in.

  I’d heard about Tonic—the shop that was on the TV show of the same name—but nothing I’d seen did it justice. Stone Temple Pilots played on the overhead speakers in the open space, and a few people looked up from the Victorian-era furniture in the waiting room as I gawked.

  Everything felt old and gothic with velvet and leather and swirling rococo details on all the furniture. Lining one wall were booths with antique desks and retro tattoo chairs, curio cabinets full of bottles, and paintings in elaborate gilded frames.

  A girl with hair the color of purple cotton candy, pinned up in glory rolls, walked toward us smiling with cherry-red lips. Her high-waisted pants had sailor buttons in the front and straight legs, and her tight T-shirt that bore the phrase But Really was tucked into the slim waistband.

  “Hey. Annie, right?” she said as she approached, her wedges drumming the hardwood floor.

  My heart picking up in its uneven gait. “Yeah, hi.” I took her extended hand, struck by her gravity. She was confident and cool in a way I’d never come across in real life.

  She jerked her chin at Greg in greeting. “Hey, Greg. How’s it hanging?”

  “Can’t complain, Penny,” he said with a smile.

  “Come on back.” She turned, and we followed. “Did you bring the drawing we talked about?”

  “I did.” I dug around in my bag as we walked, handing it over once I sat in her chair.

  She nodded with appreciation. “Man, I love this. Where do you want it?”

  “I was thinking between my shoulder blades.”

  Another nod as she looked from my shoulders to the paper and back again thoughtfully. “Yeah, that would be perfect. About four inches, like this.” She held up her hand, thumb and forefinger spread. “Let me get a transfer ready. Wanna take off your coat and sweater? Do you have a tank or anything underneath?”

  “I do.”

  “Perfect. Be right back.”

  When she was out of earshot, I looked at Greg and squealed like a little girl. “I cannot believe you got me in here.”

  He shrugged, but he was smiling that crooked smile of his. “Rose’s boyfriend works here, so it wasn’t all that hard.”

  “Don’t be modest,” I teased, stripping off my jacket, which he hung on a hook on the wall.

  I pulled off my favorite yellow sweater next, and when my head was clear of the neck, I found Greg’s eyes on me for just a moment before he looked away.

  They weren’t eyes of a friend or a boss or a big brother or uncle; those eyes sent a spark of heat through my chest and cheeks and pinched the air from my lungs.

  I wondered if he’d gotten a good look at my scar, and I had a rare moment of insecurity about it. Maybe it disgusted him, reminded him of how imperfect I was. Maybe he was just curious. Maybe he hadn’t seen it at all.

  Penny walked over before I could consider the moment further.

  “Got it,” she said as she held up the transfer, smiling. “Swing your legs around for me.”

  I did as she’d asked, and she moved behind me.

  “I brought two sizes.” She handed me a mirror, and I angled it to face the mirror behind her. “This one,” she held it up to my back, “and this one.” She swapped it with the other.

  “The bigger one,” Greg said.

  “I think so too,” Penny agreed. “What do you think, Annie?”

  “I’m not sure. So…go big or go home.”

  She laughed. “My kinda girl.”

  We spent a little time getting the transfer where I wanted it before she directed me to lie down on my stomach.

  Greg sat in the chair at my head, and my heart thumped and jittered with anticipation as Penny set up her tattoo gun.

  He leaned forward, hanging his elbows on his thighs. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  I nodded and tried to smile.

  “That was super convincing.”

  I chuckled at that. “I can’t believe you had both your arms done. How long did that take?”

  He inspected his forearms in thought. “I dunno. Probably a dozen sessions. And these aren’t all I have. There’s more on my back and chest.”

  Penny chimed in, “I did the Ganesh on his back. So fucking cool.”

  “I wanna see!” I lifted up onto my elbows.

  He glanced around. “Right now?”

  “Well, why not? I took my shirt off.”

  A puff of a laugh left him, but he stood and turned, putting his back to me. And, in what almost seemed like slow motion, he reached back over his shoulders to grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling it over his head with a whispering of fabric.

  On his wide, muscular back, the elephant god sat, drawn in black and white inside an ornate frame. The lotus flower under him curled out from his feet, and he looked out at us sagely, each of his four hands in motion, each with a different purpose. The piece looked immeasurably masculine, the lines strong and powerful, the details unreal. The shading was done in tiny dots; I could barely see them with the few feet that separated us. And the artwork was as impeccable and stunning as the ripples and curves of muscles underneath.

  “Wow,” I breathed, only in part at the artwork. I had seen a grand total of zero backs that looked like that. “Why Ganesh?”

  He pulled his shirt back on, and I mourned the loss of my view when he turned around.

  “It was a few weeks after my mom died. I was on the subway on a mostly empty train, and at one of the stops, this Indian man came in and sat right beside me, asked me my name, told me his. We chatted for a little bit, I can’t even remember what about now, but just before we reached his stop, he looked into my eyes—his were so brown, they were almost black—and said, An end is just a beginning in disguise. And he handed me a silver token with Ganesh on it, saying something in Hindi before he disappeared. I wish he’d told me what it meant.”

  He looked down at his hands. My throat squeezed so tight, I couldn’t speak.

  “Anyway, it was exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right moment, you know? So I got this tattoo for my mom. Ganesh is the god of beginnings, the mover of obstacles. He’s the god of the first chakra, the one that roots you to the earth, the one that governs your safety and stability, the foundation for all your other chakras.”

  “Did you know all that when he gave it to you?”

  He shook his head. “When I started researching, it just felt right, you know?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  Penny’s m
achine buzzed as she tested it out. “You ready, Annie?”

  I took a deep breath and lay back down on the table. “Yep,” I said more confidently than I felt.

  “Okay, I’m gonna do a little bit just so you can see what it feels like. One, two, three.”

  The buzz hit my ears first, then my skin, through the muscle, into my ribs, and up and down my spine in a jolt.

  She stopped within a second. “What do you think?”

  I assessed myself. Mostly, I felt the adrenaline zipping through me and my heart’s da-dum but not really any pain, just a little sting, not even as bad as a paper cut.

  “I think I’m okay. That wasn’t so bad! I feel lied to. Cheated.”

  They both laughed.

  “Wait until you’ve had something done that takes a few hours, and then tell me how you feel,” Penny said. “I’m gonna go for it. Shouldn’t take more than twenty.”

  She started up again, and a few minutes in, I could see how it could maybe get uncomfortable. My lips pursed. I could feel the vibration behind my eyeballs, which was more distracting than anything.

  “Hanging in there?” Greg asked, concerned.

  “Mmhmm. Tell me a story.”

  “Okay,” he said, thinking. “So, my mom used to have this psychotic Chihuahua.”

  A laugh bubbled out of me.

  “His name was Jacques Poosteau, and I’m almost entirely certain he was part of the legion of hell. He hated everyone but my mother, and he’d sit on her lap like he was guarding the Crown Jewels. And if anyone got close—anyone—he would bark and snarl and bite and snort in a blast of noise like a hairy chainsaw. Look, I’ve still got scars.”

  He held up his fingers in display, pointing at a few dashed white marks on his skin.

  “So, my sister, Sarah, was obsessed with trying to get Satan’s Mouthpiece to love her. She would bribe him with hot dogs—he didn’t give a shit about dog treats, only the best for the King of Hell—trying to lure him into her room. More than anything in the world, she wanted that dog to sleep with her, cuddle up and snuggle like a normal dog. She even tried to dress him up once. She had this little sailor suit with a hat and everything—one of her doll’s, I think.”

  “What happened?” I asked raptly.

  “She got it on him and even had enough time to get a photo with our old Polaroid. And she only needed two stitches.”

  Penny and I laughed as Greg went on, “Anyway, so Sarah was a nut about it, had convinced herself that he was coming around. And, one morning, she woke up, and what do you know? Jacques Poosteau was curled up in her bed, fast asleep. She started yelling and screaming, and we all ran in there. Sure enough, there he was, but Mom’s face fell. Her eyes darted to my dad, and then she started making this big production about getting us all out of the room. But Sarah wasn’t to be deterred. She moved to pick him up, and…”

  My eyes were wide. “And what?”

  Greg leaned in. “He was dead, gone back to hell where he belonged. But before he’d jumped into bed to terrorize that her one last and most permanent time, he’d ripped all the stuffing out of her favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Bigglesworth.”

  My face dropped, but I laughed. “Oh my God.”

  He chuckled. “He was nineteen by the time he finally took the long sleep. But Sarah made us all hold séances and burn sage and everything for years after that. She was convinced Jacques was still hanging around. She might not have been wrong; we got a cat after that, and I swear, she’d go in there and hiss at corners. The moral of the story is, never fuck with a sure thing. Just leave it alone and let it be what it is. Jacques, he was the surest of things.”

  I laughed again, the discomfort mostly forgotten as he told another tale—this time of his brother and a rollerblade incident gone horribly, comically wrong—and before long, she was finished.

  When I sat up, I took the mirror from Penny again to look in the opposite mirror. The ink was deep and black, my skin red and hot around the edges, and it was absolutely perfect.

  “I love it,” I breathed. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Penny.”

  She smiled. “Hey, no problem at all. I’m just glad to be your first,” she said with a wink.

  And I found myself blushing, my mind on Greg.

  He knew the extent of how many firsts I still had to cross off the list, and that knowledge made me feel vulnerable in the most decadent way; he knew my secrets, and he would handle them with care.

  “All right, let me cover this up for you, and I’ll get you some salve and instructions.”

  Greg stood. “I’m gonna use the restroom. Be right back.”

  I sat up as Penny gathered tape and an opaque sheet of plastic.

  “So, how long have you and Greg been dating?”

  My cheeks caught fire. “Oh! No, no—we’re not…we aren’t…”

  She raised one brow at me in the mirror in front of me, but she was smiling. “Well, why not?”

  I made some sort of airy noise and rolled my eyes. “Because he’s, like, way older than me.”

  “So?”

  “I mean, I’m only eighteen.”

  “I know. But I honestly don’t think that really matters if you’re into him.”

  Was I into him? I didn’t know for sure, and the thought made me uncomfortable.

  “Well, I think he’s into you. I’ve known Greg for a while, and I’ve never been able to figure out why he hasn’t been snapped up yet. He’s hot, he’s funny, he’s got a great smile, that jaw…I mean, the guy’s a catch.”

  “He’s my boss.”

  It was her turn to make a noise like an air leak. “Please, Cam and Rose don’t give a shit about that. But do you?”

  “Do you what?” Greg asked innocently enough that I knew he hadn’t heard us.

  I said a little prayer to Ganesh in thanks.

  “I asked if she needed to hear the instructions for tattoo care again,” Penny said like the hero she was.

  “Nope!” I cheered. “Got it all the first time. Locked in. Right here.” I tapped my temple like an idiot.

  She laughed. “I bet you do. Come on, let’s get you checked out.”

  A few minutes later, we said goodbye to Penny and were standing on the sidewalk, the itinerary cleared—even the sushi dinner, which I had decided I should have left alone—and the day was done. My feet were sore, my heart was full, and I’d had one of the best days of my life.

  But it was over. And that shouldn’t have made me so sad, but it did.

  Greg and I stood outside the tattoo parlor, watching each other for a moment, and when we spoke, it was at the same time, my, “Well, I should probably—” on top of his, “Can I give you a ride home?”

  “A ride home?” My brows pulled together.

  He smirked. “On my board.”

  I eyed it sticking out of his backpack. “Is that…how do you…”

  “It’s easy. I have a longboard. You stand on the tail; I stand on the deck. I skate; you just hang on.”

  “I don’t want you to go to any trouble, Greg. You’ve already wasted your whole day on me.”

  “Trust me, it wasn’t a waste, Annie. Not at all.”

  I looked up at the quality of his voice, dusky and rough, but he looked away, slipping off his backpack to unstrap his board as he kept talking.

  “I bet you’ve never ridden a skateboard before.”

  I chuckled. “How’d you guess?”

  He glanced up at me, smirking. “Just a hunch. Let’s cross off another first. Come on, we’ll take the traverse through the park.”

  “Is that safe at night?”

  “Sure, on the bike paths and main roads. They’re well lit. You get in trouble when you go wandering around in the park. And anyway, you’re with me. I wouldn’t put you in any danger.”

  I knew without a doubt that was true.

  As he put one foot on his board, he looked up at me with truth in his deep blue eyes, backpack in one hand and the other extended, palm up. “Do you trust me
?”

  I slipped my hand in his and said, “I do.”

  He kept hold of it as we walked out to the street, only letting it go to dig around in his backpack.

  When his hand reappeared, it was with a navy sweatshirt, which he pulled over his head, then a sweater cap, which I expected him to put on his head. But instead, he stepped into me and slipped it on mine, tugging it over my ears.

  “It’s gonna be cold,” he said as he situated it, taking a moment longer than was necessary.

  My heart stopped, my breath frozen. His face was so close to mine, I could see the tiny creases in his lips.

  He stepped away, breaking the connection when he grabbed his pack and put it on backward.

  He’d kept my breath, taking it with him. I wondered if I’d ever get it back.

  I wondered if I even wanted it back.

  “Okay, so stand back here on the tail, feet next to each other, parallel to the deck. You’re gonna have to hang on to me, which will help our balance. Just lean with me; don’t try to stand still.”

  “Got it.”

  “All right. Alley-oop.”

  The board was crowded with both of us on it, but I found my footing on the back and wrapped my arms around his waist, slipping them between his pack and his sweatshirt.

  “Put your hands in my pockets—they’re freezing.”

  “Thanks,” I said, sliding them into his kangaroo pouch.

  “Okay. Ready?”

  I laughed. “I think I’ve been asked that question more today than I ever have in my life.”

  He turned his head. He was smiling, his nose strong and straight and masculine, his breath coming in warm puffs against the dark night. “Must mean you did something right.”

  And then, he kicked off.

  I squeezed, squealing a little as I tried to hang on to his bobbing torso.

  Greg laughed, turning his head again so I could hear him. “You okay?”

  The sound hit my ears and my chest, reverberating through his body into mine as I hung on.

  “Stop asking me that,” I said with another laugh.

  It was colder once we were moving, and I wished I’d had my mittens and my big coat. My hands really were cold. But we went on, the rough pavement under us sending tremors up my legs and numbing my feet. He leaned with a turn, and I leaned with him, the world tipping up just a little as we rounded a curve. His body bobbed again as he kept us going.