Wherever Nina Lies

by Lynn Weingarten

  “Okay. Nina.” Ron nods. He hands me back her passport. “I liked your hair better the other way,” he says. He’s talking about Nina’s hair—in the picture it’s pink. I feel a rush of something like triumph.

  “Me, too,” I say. A weird part of me is kind of enjoying this. “I had to dye it back to normal when I got my job.”

  “Oh?” Ron asks. “What’s that?”

  “I’m a bartender,” I say.

  “Where?”

  “Um…New York!” I’m digging myself deeper. I don’t even know why. Do bartenders in New York even need normal hair?”

  “Cool,” Ron says. “My buddy owns a rock-and-roll bar there, on the Lower East Side. Lipsynch.”

  “Oh of cooourse,” I say, nodding. “Lipsynch.”

  I turn back and look at Sean who’s standing a few feet behind me. He winks, and the Nina in me winks right back.

  Ron leads me behind the curtain. “Nina, meet Petra.” He motions to a girl with long black hair held off her face by a thick red headband.

  “Petra, Nina.” Petra is skinny in a cigarettes-and-too-much-coffee kind of way. She’s wearing a paper-thin white tank top and a million heavy bracelets on each wrist. Both arms are covered in tattoos. We smile at each other.

  “Petra’s the best,” Ron says. “We just stole her a month ago from the biggest tattoo shop in Nashville. She’ll help you pick something out.” He looks up at Petra. “Nina here is a virgin.” He turns toward me and smiles. And then he walks back out into the front.

  “So.” Petra’s grinning. “First one, huh?”

  “Yup.” I nod. “I just decided what the hell, y’know?”

  “Oh, do I!” Her grin widens. “Five years ago I looked just like you and then one day I was bored and I’d just broken up with someone and was thinking about how I’m always either in love with someone or missing someone so I got this.” She taps the outline of a red heart on her bicep. There’s a dashed red line in the middle and underneath in tiny script letters is written your name goes here. “But be careful, they’re addictive!” She holds out her arms, which are covered in red and black.

  And even though, to be honest, I am not entirely sure what I think about all this, I just say, “fuck yeah!” because it seems like something Nina would do.

  Petra nods and smiles at me like we’re buddies, like we understand each other.

  “I’ll go get the books,” Petra says. “And maybe you’ll get inspired.” Petra walks away and I’m left sitting in the leather tattoo chair. Off to the side the blonde-dreadlock girl is still tattooing the Harley Davidson man who is now actually whimpering out loud as the needle deposits ink into his skin. I look around the room, at the shelves full of equipment—latex gloves, disposable needles, antibiotic cream. I stand up to get a closer look at one of the framed photographs on the wall. It’s of a group of guys in black T-shirts and jeans. The one in the middle has a cowboy hat on, and right next to him Petra is standing, looking proud. Suddenly Petra’s standing behind me. “They’re Saddle Up Susie, big in Nashville,” she says. “I know, no one up here’s ever heard of them…but they were passing through town two weeks ago. I absolutely love them.”

  “Cool,” I say.

  Petra hands me a thick black binder. “Take a look at this one, I’m just going to go get the others.” She disappears down a small staircase. I get up and slowly continue wandering. Hung up on the walls, filling every available space, are more framed photos of Bijoux Tattoo’s clients with their tattoo artists, proudly displaying their newly modified body parts. I vaguely recognize some of the people in the pictures: a guy from an indie-band that Eric pretends to like because he thinks it’s cool, a giant-eyed model that Amanda thinks looks like a lizard, a performance artist I once read an article about when Amanda and I were flipping through magazines at the bookstore. I stop in front of one photo in the corner and freeze, staring at it, my heart thumping in my chest.

  There in the photo is my sister, staring right back at me.

  I raise my hand up to my mouth. Her hair is a very faded blue, the color of jeans that have been washed too many times. She’s standing with three guys in their early twenties. Two of the guys have red hair and red goatees and they’re pointing at a third dark-haired guy whose pants are pulled partway down to reveal a giant tattoo on his lower stomach right below his belly button. The tattoo is a stylized picture of the faces of the other two guys in the band, surrounded by musical notes. Nina did this. The tattooed guy has one arm around her shoulders. Her mouth is curved into the shape of a smile. She looks very far away, not how I’d pictured her when I saw the drawing on the mirror. At the bottom of the photo is a scrawly signature, but it’s impossible to make out what it says. I turn around, the dreadlock girl is hunched over Harley Davidson’s arm. His eyes are squeezed shut. I reach up and grab the framed photo off the wall. I flip it over, there are three little metal pieces on the back holding a piece of cardboard in place. I pry them up with my nail, my heart is pounding. I shake the cardboard out and grab the photograph. I lift the front of my T-shirt, push the edge of the photograph down my cutoffs, and pull my T-shirt down over it. I drop the now empty frame behind a black metal cart just as Petra walks back into the room, holding a big stack of black photo albums. She holds them out toward me expectantly.

  “I think I changed my mind again,” I say. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I want a tattoo after all.”

  “Really?” she says. She looks at me with her eyebrows raised. I shake my head. “Poops!” She sticks her lower lip out in a jokey frown.

  “Sorry,” I say. And then I remind myself that I’m Nina. “I can be a little impulsive sometimes, I guess.” I shrug and give her this big radiant smile. And because I am smiling Nina’s smile, Petra can’t resist it. No one ever could. Petra smiles back, and then I turn and walk back into the main room.

  Sean is standing by the door looking nervous. I grab his arm and drag him outside.

  “What happened?”

  “Just keep walking.” I lead us outside and up the hill, and only when we’re three full blocks away do I stop and turn toward Sean. His eyes are sparkly, open wide. He’s already nodding in anticipation of whatever it is I’m about to say.

  I take the photo out from under my shirt.

  “She actually worked there.” I hand the photo to Sean. “Look.”

  “Whoa! Who are the dudes?” Sean is holding the picture up to his face.

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing they’re at least kind of famous since the photo was up on display. I’m figuring they’re in a band. So now we just need to figure out who they are.”

  Sean is nodding. “You know who knows an awful lot of stuff about guys in bands?”

  “Girls who want to do it with guys in bands?”

  “Well, yeah,” Sean grins. “But also, guys who work in alty music stores who think they’re going to get to do it with the girls who want to do it with the guys in the bands by knowing about them…Guys who work in places like that.” Sean points diagonally across the street to a store with posters and band memorabilia covering the windows and bottom forty printed on the black and green awning.

  “Shall we?” Sean puts out his arm for me to grab onto. I take it and we cross the street.

  Bottom Forty is another little pocket of anytime in the middle of this sunny summer day. The windows are covered entirely in band posters so the bright summer sun is blocked out. It smells sweet in here, like incense mixed with something else. A woman rapping in French plays loudly over the sound system.

  The guy standing behind the counter is about our age wearing a white T-shirt with ASK ME ABOUT MY DUCK written on it in black sharpie. His face is covered in giant painful-looking zits and there’s a silver zit-shaped piercing protruding from the middle of his chin.

  Sean takes the photo up to the front. The guy looks at Sean and nods the way people do when they think they’ve spotted one of their own.

  “Hey, man,” Sean says. “Can you help me ou
t here? I’m trying to figure out who the band in this picture is.” He slides the photo across the counter. The guy looks at it and nods.

  “Of course, this is Monster Hands.” He looks up at Sean. “You seriously didn’t know?”

  “I’m not from around here,” Sean says.

  “Yeah, I guess not.” The guy shrugs, then hands the picture back to Sean. “They’re really fucking good. They’re Irish but they got their start here in Denver, then got signed a couple years ago by Paragon Records and have been touring pretty much solid for the last two years or so. You should check them out. Their old release is over in the M section. Well, obviously.” The guy points. “But they have a new album coming out in two and a half months.”

  The guy glances at me, as if to see if I’m impressed by how much he knows. I’m flattered that he’d care.

  Sean nods. “Cool,” he says. “Thanks.”

  Sean starts walking toward the back. There’s a guy and a girl standing in front of the Ms, both about the same height, with straight, shiny, copper-colored hair. They both have pale clear skin, piggy looking upturned noses, and giant eyes. Like they’re from another planet where this is just how people look. The girl has her hand in the guy’s back pocket. Sean starts to reach for the M.

  “Looking for Monster Hands?” The guy half of the couple is watching us, well, watching me, actually. But he’s talking to Sean.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Sorry, honeys!” the girl says. She’s holding up a gray CD case with a black-and-white photo of a big monster hand holding a coffee cup on the front. “We got the last wuh-uhn!”

  “Can we see the CD just for a second?” I say. The guy is still staring, at my boobs now.

  “Sorry, I know that trick!” The girl is shaking her head. “We let you see it for a second and then you run off with it. Nice try, though. People get very snatchy-snatchy when it comes to Monster Hands CDs. That’s why we have to get this replacement. Because a friend, well, an ex-friend, of ours stole our last one.” The girl frowns. “Awww, you look so disappointed. Awww. Seriously. I can relate. Me and boyfi loooove Monster Hands, don’t we, babes?”

  Her boyfriend nods at my boobs. “We love them.”

  “Me and my smoochy-face here cannot wait until their new album comes out. We’re going to camp out in line like a week before. We already bought the tent.”

  Then the four of us just stand there for a second, until the girl lets out a high-pitched animal scream.

  “NO WAY!” She drops the CD, and snatches the Monster Hands photo from Sean. “Oh my God. I’m shitting in my pants. I’m shitting in my pants right now! They got the Bijoux picture of Ian’s tattoo! Can you believe it?!?” She waves the picture in her boyfriend’s face.

  “How the fuck did you get this?” he says. “That lady who works in there is a beast! She could snap your leg in half with that jaw of hers.”

  I shrug.

  “Rock and roll,” the guy says. He holds his hand out, his pinky and pointer finger in the air. The girl gives me a nasty look, then links her arm through his and pulls him close to her. Then she goes back to staring at the picture.

  “But seriously though, the people on the forum will pee their pants over this. Every single one of them in unison the second they see this.” She shakes the photo around a little. She has green ink caked around each fingernail. “Okay. How much do you want for it?” She looks up and brushes her bangs to the side with her hand. She’s wearing so much eyeliner.

  “I’m not selling it,” I say.

  “Okay. I see what you’re getting at. I can respect that.” The girl nods. She takes a deep breath and then forces her mouth into a fake-looking smile. “I’m Jamie,” she says. “And this is my boyfriend, Jamie. I know, Jamie and Jamie, so adorable, right? And what are your names?”

  “I’m Ellie,” I say.

  “I’m Sean,” he says.

  “Well, Ellie and Sean, I understand why something like that might not be for sale, however, you might be open to a trade, right? Any reasonable person would be.” Jamie-girl reaches into Jamie-boy’s back pocket and takes out a homemade-looking duct tape wallet. She opens his wallet and removes a folded piece of paper. She leans in toward me. “Okay, like just the fact that I am even showing you this is a big deal and seriously there are people who would probably pay serious cash just for a tiny peek at this but…” She unfolds the paper, glances to her left and her right. “There. There it is. This is the drawing that’s going to be on the cover of their new album.” She holds it out in front of her with a proud smirk on her face.

  I raise my hand up to my mouth, inhale sharply. My heartbeat starts playing in fast-forward.

  There in the center of the paper is a photocopy of a drawing—a girl with her hands on her head, her feet spread apart, her head tipped back, screaming.

  “Oh, shit,” I whisper. A Nina Wrigley original. I can feel Sean pressed against my arm. His heart is pounding, too. “Where’d you get this?”

  “We’re just really well-connected,” Jamie-girl says. And then she shrugs as though she doesn’t think this is a huge deal, but clearly we’re supposed to. “This is just a copy of course, we keep the real one locked up. But if you’ll give me that photo, I’ll let you have this.”

  I stare at the drawing, I can barely even process what she’s saying as my mind opens up to hold all this new information. Nina wasn’t just some girl who tattooed them. She was probably someone they knew. Might still know. They might even know where she is.

  “I need to meet them,” I say. I look up. Jamie-guy is still staring at me, his tongue protruding ever so slightly from between his chapped lips.

  Jamie-girl lets out a snorty little laugh. “Well, unless you have a way to get to Phoenix by tomorrow night, that’s not gonna happen, girly. That’s the last show of their American tour before they go to Europe for two months.” She takes the drawing and folds it back up and puts it back in Jamie-boy’s wallet, which she then puts back into his pocket. “If you’re such big Monsties, how come you don’t already know all this?” I’m about to explain that really we’re just looking for my sister, but before I can say anything, Sean starts talking.

  “We just heard them for the first time the other day,” he says. “But right away it was like one of those things where you just connect to the music. You know how it is.” Sean turns toward me and winks. “So, what about this Phoenix show tomorrow night? Where exactly is it?”

  “This underground place that doesn’t technically have a name,” Jamie-boy says. “But everyone calls it Spit Pavilion, because it’s really dusty out there in the desert and the dust makes everyone have to spit all the time. It’s intense.”

  “You’ve been there?” Sean asks.

  “Well…no, but we read all about it on this Monster Hands online forum,” Jamie-girl says. “And it’s not just a regular forum anyone canjoin, you have to be invited. Anyway, good luck getting in at this point without a ticket or some serious connections.” She makes a little noise in the back of her throat. “Oh, and you’d also need a car because this place is basically in the middle of nowhere.” She crosses her arms and smirks.

  “Well, what if we have one,” Sean says. “A car, I mean. And what if we were willing to drive out there…”

  Jamie-girl leans forward. “Well then, maybe we could work something out…” She’s trying to sound calm but under all her eyeliner her left eyelid starts to twitch. “Because we just so happen to have those very special connections one would need to get in last minute. We were planning on going but then smoochy-face’s car broke down. But if you give us a ride there and throw in the picture of course, we might be…” She’s starting to smile, she takes a deep breath and forces the corners of her mouth down. “Well, we might be willing to come with you to Phoenix and help you get in and help you get backstage. We’d have to leave, like, now though.”

  “And we’d have to stay overnight somewhere,” Jamie-boy says. “Y’know, all together.” He grins,
still staring at me. “You guys in?” He sticks his hand out to shake. He has bits of green ink on his fingers, too. Jamie-girl glances at him and opens her mouth slightly.

  “We’re in,” Sean says. But as he starts to stick his hand out, Jamie-girl steps forward and wedges herself in between Sean and her boyfriend. “Wait! Before we agree to anything”—she glances at me and for a second almost looks embarrassed—“you guys are a couple, right? I mean, because otherwise, this could get…”—she glances at her boyfriend, who is still staring at me—“…awkward.”

  “No, we’re not a couple,” Sean says slowly, shaking his head. “Where did you get that idea? We’re brother and sister!” And then without missing a beat, Sean reaches up and puts his hand on the back of my neck. He turns so he’s facing me and then starts gently pulling me toward him. I see his face coming closer, closer, his lips are starting to part. I can’t breathe. And then, his lips are touching mine, his mouth slightly open. I close my eyes. I’m floating in space and the only parts of my body I can feel are the ones he’s touching. He holds me against him for one more moment and then let’s me go long before I’m ready. Jamie and Jamie stand there with their mouths wide open.

  “Kidding!” Sean puts his arm around my waist and gives me a little squeeze. “Ellie’s my girl. Right, El?”

  And all I can do is nod because I’m too shocked to do anything else.

  Eighteen

  Sean and I are sitting in the car pulled up in front of the Jamies’ apartment building, acting like nothing happened. Or rather, Sean is acting like nothing happened, while I am silently freaking out.

  “Riding for twelve hours with the Jamies is definitely going to be funny,” Sean says. He pauses. “Question is will it be the kind of funny that makes a person laugh? Or the kind that makes a person barf a little?” Sean grins. I try and laugh too but it comes out sounding like a cough. I know it didn’t mean anything, Sean was being resourceful, just doing what he needed to do to get the Jamies to come with us, but I can’t stop thinking about the kiss. Lip against lip, the heat from the inside of his mouth entering my own. I know it was just for show, and I know I don’t have much experience to judge it against, but I swear, I swear, that kiss felt real.