by Staci Hart
She sighed. “I know, but it’s like a disease. I can’t help but see the weak spots and try to exploit them. It’s been years of conditioning, and you have to admit, it would make good TV.”
“It would, but let’s just focus on conflict outside of the store instead of creating conflict in it.”
“That works for me,” she conceded without a fight.
I relaxed a hair. “Thank you.”
“For now.”
I gave her a look.
“Don’t give me that. We need a hit, you know that.”
“I do, and I think we have one. You’re right, they’re going to love Joel and the shop. They’ll get to learn, see a little drama. It’s going to be great.”
“They’re going to want a lot of drama. But that’s what Hal is for.”
I took a breath and let it out. “Right.” The word was far less emotional than it felt. It sounded apathetic, which was a massive crock of shit. And I was tired of feeling like I didn’t have control over my own show.
I snapped my computer closed as if I could leave my discomfort there, in a spreadsheet or an email or somewhere harmless where it couldn’t do damage.
“I’d better get down there to make sure everything’s set up. I’ll see you later.”
“Let’s do dinner tonight. How does cold pizza on our desks sound?”
I chuckled. “Sounds like heaven. Let’s see if we can make it work. Have your people get in touch with my people.”
“I’ll pencil you in.”
I waved at her over my shoulder as I walked out and headed downstairs, feeling a little raw. Mostly because Laney was right after all. Joel was already clouding my judgment, and I didn’t think the problem was going to get any easier.
Downstairs in the shop, everyone was already bustling. Crew hurried around testing lighting and cameras. The shop had been cleared for the day so we could focus on Joel alone without any other noise, since we couldn’t edit any background chatter out. I answered a few questions from various crew when I came in about positioning, timing, running any ideas they had by me. But I got away as quickly as possible, heading to the back room where I was hoping to find Joel.
I wasn’t disappointed. He sat in a makeup chair, looking a little sullen as a girl dabbed his face with foundation. I tried not to laugh. I also tried not to let the sight of him rattle me. His hair was neatly combed, the line of his hard part bright against his dark hair, and he sat straight up in the chair, filling it to the brim, making it look tiny in comparison to his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He wore a Henley, the top buttons undone, the sleeves pushed up his forearms, the taper of his waist apparent even sitting down.
Gorgeous, hairy bastard.
His eyes found me in his periphery, though he didn’t move his head.
“Morning,” I said, stepping around the makeup artist, clipboard in hand. I didn’t realize that his client was already there, and I paused, surprised. In part because she was much prettier than I remembered.
Her hair was platinum blond and tied in a knot on top of her head, though her roots were dark, which somehow looked purposeful and cavalier rather than unkempt. Her features were all big, except her nose, which was pierced in several places, including a large septum ring. Sitting next to Joel, she looked like she belonged in his world — an alternative girl with gauges and surface piercings, tattoos, combat boots. And there I stood across from him in black and white, tailored and pristine, heels and hair tight and impeccable, about as cavalier as a judge.
I smiled at her, and I knew it looked genuine, though it was a lie of massive proportions.
“June, right?”
“Yeah,” she answered with a wide smile.
“Are you two ready for today? It’ll be a long one, but I think it’ll be worth it.”
Joel had a strange look on his face, though he was smiling. “Oh, yeah. I’m ready. Are you?”
I just kept on smiling. “I was born ready. Can I get either of you anything before we start?”
June shook her head, and Joel said, “I’m good,” unable to move with the dabbing still happening.
“All right, just let me know if that changes. So the first thing we’ll do is film June walking into the shop a few times, greeting you, Joel, behind the counter. Shake hands, and then June, I want you to tell Joel what you’re looking for. We’ll stop there and I’ll go over the next steps again, but that’s really the most talking you’ll have to do. After that it’ll just be getting the work done. I’ll be asking you questions as we go.” I looked them both over, unnerved again at how different she and I were, even though we could have been related, we looked so much alike. “Any questions?”
June looked to Joel, shaking her head. The dabbing had stopped, so he shook his head too.
“Great. Then let’s get going, if you’re all set, Kyla?” I asked the makeup artist.
“They’re ready for you, Annika.”
“Perfect. Come on, you two.” And with that, we walked into the front of the shop, and I took my seat next to the director of photography, who was geared up with his camera and ready to roll.
Everyone milled around for a moment, getting last minute instructions, including June, who had a PA instructing her on where to go and what to do one more time.
I felt Joel all around me as he laid one hand on the arm of my chair and the other on the back, his fingers brushing my shoulder as he leaned into my ear.
“I hope your night was better than mine, because mine was terribly lonely.”
I tried not to grin down at my clipboard, biting my bottom lip to stop myself. “Can’t say that mine was any better.”
He laughed, a single simple sound through his nose, but he was smiling, I could feel it. “Good. I’d hate to think I was the only one. Come back tonight.”
I leaned away and turned to look at him, speaking loudly enough to not look secretive. “Oh, I brought the ledgers for you to take a look at. Maybe we could start tonight?” One of my brows rose, hoping he got that I was leading him.
He straightened up and smiled down at me. “Sure. Bring it by my apartment whenever you’re finished with work for the day and I’ll take a look.”
“Mr. Anderson?” one of the PAs called, and Joel turned to him. “Can I get you behind the counter here? We just want to test the lighting one more time.”
“Sure,” he said, and I tried not to stare at him as he walked away, smiling to myself that I knew what was etched on every inch of his skin. But I looked toward June so I wouldn’t give myself away about Joel and found her watching him too with her bottom lip between her teeth.
Jealously flared in my chest, and I felt my blood simmer. I took a breath to stave off the blush climbing up my neck and turned my eyes to the clipboard in my lap, flipping through the pages without actually looking at anything. In the back, I found my dick drawing of him that I’d done what felt like ages before, which made me feel somehow a hundred times better.
“Places,” I called after a second, and everyone scattered, quieting down. “And, action.”
The cameras rolled, and June entered the shop, smiling. I watched her long legs span the entry, extending her hand to take his. They were both smiling. Smiling and touching hands. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and the action made me want to get up and push her.
Four times we recorded it, though it was perfect the first. Then we moved on to June sitting across from him in the waiting area, looking at his sketches, still nodding and smiling. It was ridiculous — she wasn’t coming on to him, but her body language told me she was into him. His was neutral, which somehow upset me. I don’t know why, but I thought he’d shut her down hard, make sure she knew there was absolutely nothing between them. It would make terrible television, and I imagined me having to pull him aside and tell him he had to at least pretend to be somewhat interested in her, but he did exactly what I needed him to. And for some reason, that pissed me off.
We turned around to our secondary setup around Joe
l’s booth and filmed him walking up with the transfers, with tight shots of him putting on his black latex gloves with multiple cameras, setting up his station. Then shots of June taking off her shirt and lying on her stomach on the table. Makeup had given her a sticky bra to wear, but it did little to hide the fact that she was pretty much naked from the waist up.
She laughed, her nose wrinkling up as he laid the long transfer — a single black line that ran from her tailbone to her hairline — on her spine and wet it down. We recorded it all. Him smiling, asking if it was too cold, her laughing and saying it tickled, me grinding my teeth to dust next to the camera. Then the second transfer, a fractal design, was applied, spurring off the line of her spine and up her shoulder. Then a third, spurring down in the opposite direction and around her hip. It was a huge piece, but it was composed only of lines, all the same width, in a pattern that was somehow fluid and linear, delicate and masculine. It was beautiful, hugging the curves of her body, turning her into a canvas.
She stood and looked using two mirrors to make sure it was placed where she wanted, though she told Joel she trusted him, to which I replied, Cut!
Joel smirked and gave me a look that said he knew exactly what I was thinking. I tried not to stare at his bottom lip when he swept it into his mouth with his tongue.
I was unsuccessful.
June stretched out on the table again, her face turned toward the cameras, worry creeping in as Joel took his seat and rolled up to the chair.
“All right,” he said, his voice deep and comforting. “Just tell me if it gets to be too much and we’ll take a break. Wrap your arms around the underside of the chair and hang on.”
Seriously, everything he said sounded sexual, and I couldn’t even deal with it.
She nodded, her smile gone, lips pinned between her teeth.
“You ready?”
She nodded again as he picked up his gun and turned it on. She flinched at the sound.
“Okay, June. Take a deep breath and let it out.”
She did, her back rising and falling.
“Good girl.”
He dipped the needles in a black ink cup and started at the bottom of the line on her spine. The second the needles made contact, her eyes widened, face ashen, her arms tensing around the bench.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Mmhmm,” was all she could muster, the sound muffled, her lips a tight line between her teeth, where they’d stay for hours.
He worked his way up the line, the only sound in the room the buzzing of the gun. We’d cut the segment down to probably thirty seconds, but we’d record the whole thing and time lapse it, cutting in the questions I had prepped and anything else I came up with on the fly.
“So,” I started once he was midway up her back and moving quickly, “what are the challenges of this kind of tattoo?”
Joel dipped the needles in the cup and picked up where he left off, wiping the ink and blood away with a paper towel as he went. “Line art is some of the hardest tattooing to do, especially things like this, geometric designs.” Buzz. Press. Wipe. Repeat. “Straight lines, essentially freehand?” His eyes were on his hands, though his speech didn’t seem overly focused on what his hands were doing. “Getting straight lines is one of the most difficult things any artist will do. It takes a lot of practice, a lot of patience. One tremble of your hand and you blow out a line, and there’s no undoing that.”
“How do you get good at it without messing up?”
He chuckled. “All of us mess up, it’s just a fact of life. Doesn’t matter your profession.”
I offered a small laugh at that. “True enough.”
Press and wipe. Dip the gun. Poor June looked a little green.
“Most of us learned by practicing on bananas.”
“Bananas?”
“Yeah, or oranges. But bananas work best. The skin is tough and porous, smooth, too. If you can make a straight line on a banana, skin should be pretty simple. You can buy pig skins to practice on too, which is almost identical to human skin in terms of how it takes ink and moves under your fingers.” He dipped the gun in ink again. “Still doing okay, June?”
“I think so.” Her voice was thin.
“Okay. Let me know. Don’t be a hero — no need to puke in the middle of the shop with Annika’s cameras rolling.”
Everyone would have chuckled if they hadn’t been trained into silence. Instead, they glanced around and pursed their lips to stop themselves.
“June,” I said, “are you able to answer questions?”
She paused for a second as he pressed the buzzing needles into her back. “I don’t know.” Her voice was thin, touched with trepidation.
Joel paused, his brow dropping. “June, look at me.”
Laboriously, she turned her head, and he tilted his so it was angled the same as hers, looking into her eyes like he was diagnosing her. When he looked up, he didn’t look happy.
“Somebody go grab me a cool washcloth from the back, a glass of water, and some crackers.”
The PAs glanced at each other before springing into action as Joel turned his machine off and set it on his tray.
“Come here,” he said softly, helping her to sit. “Did you eat today?”
She shook her head, chin tipping down like she was swallowing down a burp. “I was too nervous.”
He chuckled. “This is one of the most painful places to get a tattoo, especially for a skinny little thing like you.” His hand was on her arm, and he peered into her eyes in a way that made me want to stab him in his.
He was just being a good guy. Taking care of a client. I thought about when the light knocked me out and realized he probably would have done that for anyone. And that realization made me feel insignificant.
The PAs came scurrying back in, one with a bottle of water, another with crackers, and the third with the washcloth and a bag of ice. The foresight gained a solid nod from Joel, and he helped get a little food in her belly, holding the washcloth and ice on her neck while she nibbled the crackers.
After a few minutes, the color was back in her cheeks, and she was ready to go again. I tried to think about it in terms of ratings. Half-naked girl almost passes out on the table, Joel takes care of her like the hero he is. It would be an adorable, swoony blip in an episode. Laney would love it.
It was a win on all counts except the one in my achy chest. He’d barely even looked at me since he’d gotten started. He’s working, I told myself. You’re being ridiculous, I chided. Get a fucking grip, Belousov, I said in my head, honest to God wondering what was the matter with me. I’d never been jealous before, and it made me feel terribly petty and disgusting.
The only thought that set me back on course was that I’d screw his brains out later and show him exactly why girls like me were exactly what he needed.
My heart skipped a beat.
Joel had turned me into an animal. A jealous, feral animal. And I didn’t completely hate it.
FIRE AND ICE
Annika
THE TATTOO SESSION LASTED JUST over three hours, and I kept my cool, reminding myself every time I got weird that I would, in fact, have his naked body in front of me within a matter of hours.
My eyes lasered in on where he touched her skin, thinking about his hands on my skin, cranking up my body heat through the course of the day. What I’d do to him when I got my hands on him played in loops, changing every time. There was so much I wanted from his body, and I didn’t know just how much time I had left. I mean, if the show was picked up for another season, we could repeat the process again, but the thought of walking away from him before I was satisfied narrowed my eyes and sped up my heart.
Somehow, the genial smile stayed on my face, and I asked them both questions, her about her piece, him about his process, the tools he used, all the classics. We recorded the reveal of her tattoo in the mirror a handful of times, though I know we’d use the first, her tear-filled eyes, fingers pressed to her lips and nose as she whispe
red its perfection.
Joel smiled, lips together, arms folded, looking relaxed, like this was just something he did every day, nothing new. But I could feel the pride radiating off of him. It was the same feeling we’d talked about with my tattoo — her happiness was tangible. I definitely didn’t feel that way when I’d gotten mine, and I considered asking him to draw something up for me after all, wanting to see that pride on his face, happiness on my own, something we could share. His mark, on me.
I was overwhelmed by the thought and cleared my throat. “June, let’s get you two saying goodbye and then I think we’ll wrap for the day.” I was glad we were still rolling, because she smiled and nodded before bounding into Joel’s arms, her brows together and eyes pinched closed.
He looked a little surprised, eyes widening just a touch as he wrapped tentative arms around her. I couldn’t even be jealous — the embrace was so pure and genuine that I found myself smiling and warmth blooming in my chest.
They walked to the door where we went through a few rounds of her thanking him, walking out, waving, smiling. And then, we cut. The crew milled around for a while, moving back to the makeup room where the table of food stood, everyone wiped from the long day of filming, though I knew the editing crew was just gearing up to run all night upstairs.
I could barely breathe the same air as Joel, circling around him like a magnet, keeping that invisible barrier between us so I wouldn’t give myself away. Instead, I made myself busy with directing everyone on what to do next, even though they mostly knew. June left. The crew began to disperse, the cameramen taking their gear upstairs to pass off, the engineers storing equipment, the PAs cleaning up. Joel walked up with a sandwich in each hand, offering one when he reached me.
I waved it off, my heart thumping. Zero chill. He’s stripped me of my ability to be professional. “I’m good, thanks.”
He shrugged and took a bite of his. “Did you bring the ledgers?”
“I did,” I said, thankful for the light topic.
He smiled at me, a small, salacious turn of his lips. “Bring your box to me, Annika.” The words were low and hot, tinged with amusement, and I felt myself blushing.
