A Summer Soundtrack for Falling in Love

by Arden Powell

  “Isn’t that blasphemous?”

  “I don’t think so. God is everywhere, after all.” Tom examined his drink again. “I think He is, anyway.”

  “You’re the one with the calling,” Kris said with a shrug. “You must know better than most.” Tom seemed reassured, and Kris swallowed the last of his drink and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come see us if you decide to head that way. I’m going to go find my friends.”

  He found Angel sitting on one of the long, low couches, her legs crossed and a drink in her hand as she looked around her club with the air of a queen surveying her castle. Rayne was beside her on the arm of the couch, and there was something uncharacteristically tense in the way he was holding himself that made Kris pause in his approach, and then hang back amid a throng of dancers.

  “I haven’t decided anything yet,” Rayne was saying, “but I don’t want Kris to hear it from anybody but me. Okay?”

  Angel raised her hands. “I’m steering clear of all of this.”

  Rayne glanced around but apparently didn’t catch sight of Kris, then slid down onto the couch cushions, put his arm around Angel’s shoulders, and whispered directly into her ear. Intrigued, Kris snuck in nearer, having drunk too much to feel properly guilty about eavesdropping. Something was bothering Rayne, and if Kris was even tangentially involved, he wanted to know what it was. He took up residence behind a giant potted fern at the far end of the couch and tried not to feel overly ridiculous. He missed the first half of Rayne’s whispered sentence, but caught “publicity stunt” near the end.

  “Me and some guy at the festival,” Rayne finished.

  “What kind of stunt?” Angel whispered back.

  Kris didn’t catch what followed, but Angel gasped, and flashed a wicked smile that she quickly hid behind her hand. Rayne heaved a sigh. “I shouldn’t be talking about this at all.”

  “Security breach.” Angel nodded sagely.

  “I should go.”

  “You do that. Get some sleep, and when you’ve got your head on straight, then you decide what to do about it. No decision-making when you’re drunk. You got that?”

  “Don’t tell Kris.”

  Rayne swam back into the sea of dancers, and Angel shook her head at his retreating back. Kris, crouched on the floor in the shadows of the plant, tried to make sense of what he’d heard, but all he got for his troubles was a twist in his stomach that had more to do with Rayne keeping secrets than from the alcohol. It served him right for eavesdropping in the first place. He stood, careful not to disturb the leaves and give himself away, and circled around to approach Angel as if he hadn’t been hiding amid her décor for the past two minutes. The whole thing left him feeling a bit like a scumbag.

  Angel straightened when she caught sight of him and smiled, extending her free hand to beckon him in.

  “Hi,” Kris said. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Of course not; I was just admiring the view. Come sit.”

  Kris sat gratefully, tipping sideways into Angel’s shoulder. He stole a sip of her drink and she laughed. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “I’m good. I like it here. In the club, with the band and everybody.” He forced the million questions on the tip of his tongue to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about secrets, not even business-related ones, not when he was so close to having everything he’d ever dreamed of. Shuffling down, he rested his head in her lap. “This okay?”

  “Mm. You’re an affectionate drunk, aren’t you?”

  “You’re just really nice. And comfortable. What’s owning a club like?”

  “A lot of work. I love it, but some days it feels like this place is determined to fall apart around me.”

  “You can’t tell from looking.” Kris couldn’t, anyway; the place was beautiful, and Angel had clearly poured every drop of love she had into it.

  “Boy, this whole place is smoke and mirrors.” She petted his hair, and he closed his eyes, drifting contentedly on a current of drunkenness. “I need a live-in repairman to keep on top of things. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. Not for anything. What I should do is start managing it full-time again, get everything back on track.”

  “It must be nice to have somewhere to come home to. Somewhere that’s all yours.”

  “Kansas isn’t home for you?” she asked.

  “Nah. Not my hometown, anyway. It’s a good place to grow up, or a good place to retire, but there’s nothing to do in between. I had to get out.”

  “Lucky thing Rayne found you.”

  “Lucky I met him. Lucky I met you too. Need you to keep making me pretty.”

  “Rayne seems to appreciate it.”

  Kris snorted and flicked her knee. “I appreciate it. I never got to play around with any of this stuff back home. I didn’t have the guts. Now you’re dressing me up in girls’ clothes and makeup and I’m— Onstage, with the— It’s fun. I wish I could have started years ago.”

  “Well, you’re too old now,” Angel said matter-of-factly. “Can’t make up for lost time.”

  “I’m baby-faced.”

  “Over the hill. Ancient.” She fluffed his hair. With all the spray in it, it stayed in whatever position she put it. Kris was counting down the days until it would be long enough for her to have some real fun styling. “Soon you’ll go bald, and then what? Career, over.”

  “I’ll get a wig. Rayne would get me a wig, right?”

  “Honey, I think Rayne would get you anything you asked for.”

  Kris hummed, pleased. “Good.” He poked her knee again. “He’s a good kisser, you know.”

  “I figured. A couple hundred thousand people figured.”

  Kris grinned and turned to look up at the ceiling, where the mirrors glittered and winked above them. He remembered first meeting Angel; he’d been drunk then too, and had spent the night wondering if he should kiss her, or maybe kiss Rayne. In the end Rayne had made the choice for him, and he didn’t regret how it had played out. He didn’t regret anything about that night, or anything about the tour after. The constant travel and playing had left him exhausted, but the drinks had taken the edge off and left him boneless and content. Angel was warm beneath him, her fingers twining through his hair, and he was suddenly, intensely grateful for the turn his life had taken.

  “You’re a good friend, you know that?” he said. “Rayne’s lucky to have you. You’re just—you’re a really a good person, and I’m glad I met you.”

  She laughed, and he felt it all the way through his body. “How much have you had to drink, hun?”

  “Some,” he admitted, “but it’s still true.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  Their conversation paused for a second, and the questions Kris had tried to bury came tumbling back. He chewed on the inside of his lip before finally asking, “Do you know what’s bugging Rayne? He was annoyed with Brian, but he wouldn’t tell me what about. Did he talk to you about it?”

  “It’s business stuff, but it might turn out to be nothing. If it is something, he wanted to tell you himself. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over, in any case.”

  Even drunk, Kris was skeptical. “Promise?”

  “You haven’t been around long enough to see the business side of things,” she said. “I promise: if it’s really important, Rayne or Brian will call a meeting. This is just . . .” She shrugged. “Rayne likes to make a fuss once in a while. He’s a diva at heart, you know. Then he’ll get over it and move on.”

  Kris couldn’t imagine Angel lying, so he took her at her word and let it slide. Rayne would tell him eventually, and in the meantime, he would pretend he’d never heard anything at all.

  They lapsed back into silence, watching the dancers move over the floor like fish shimmering in a pond. They were beautiful, all leather and lace, and Kris wondered again how he had ended up in such a place, and why it had taken him so long to realize it was where he belonged.

  “Angel?”

  She blinked and lo
oked down at him. “Hm?”

  “When did you know you were trans?”

  She paused. “That’s a big question,” she said eventually. “I didn’t start calling myself trans till I was almost through art school, but I did drag for a while before that. I took baby steps to figure it out. Some people know and are out from the minute they’re born, and others take a more scenic route, like me. There’s no wrong way to do it.”

  “So you didn’t just, like—” Kris wet his lips. He could still taste the sugar from his last drink on them. “You didn’t just wake up one morning and start dressing in girls’ clothes, and like . . .”

  “Turn queer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think it works like that.” She smoothed his hair down again. “Why? You got something on your mind?”

  “The clothes, and the makeup, and stuff. I like it. I like wearing it.” He bit his lip and glanced up at her. “I can still be a boy if I do that, right?”

  “The gender police aren’t going to come arrest you because you like wearing skinny jeans, hun. If you want to be a boy, you’re a boy.” She tapped his nose. “Just like kissing Rayne onstage doesn’t make you gay.”

  His ears burned, suddenly too hot under the club lights. “I still like girls,” he blurted, trying to force his blush back before it gave him away.

  “Sure you do,” she replied, obviously fighting a smile. “You can still like girls and like kissing Rayne at the same time. They’ve even got a word for folks who like both. Hell, they’ve got a couple of words.”

  He poked her. “Stop making fun.”

  “I’m not, sweetie. I’m just saying.”

  “I don’t know if I’m, you know. Ready. For those words yet.”

  He felt her hum more than he heard it. “I get that. Anything in particular holding you back?”

  He shrugged ineffectually. “Not really? Where I grew up—Kansas isn’t a great place for stuff like that. Experimenting, or coming out, or . . . any of it. I guess I’m still wrapping my head around things.” He chewed on his lip for a minute before tipping his head back to look at her properly. “You won’t tell anybody, right?”

  “Course not. You can tell whoever you want when you’re ready.” She paused. “Rayne would be excited to hear it, though. Everybody would, but especially him. Just so you know.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Kris agreed. “I know he’d be supportive of whatever.” He caught a glimpse of Angel rolling her eyes as he settled more comfortably. “What?”

  “Nothing, hun.”

  He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, still lying on his back with his head on her lap. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he didn’t mind. “He’s right, you know,” he said, apropos of nothing. “The not-a-priest-yet over there.” He waved to the bar.

  “Tom? He’s been coming here a few months now. He’s a good regular. What’s he say?”

  Kris smiled. He could feel his blush lingering over his nose; it felt like he was glowing. “That we’re blessed. That we’re all blessed.”

  They rolled into Texas at ten the next morning, a solid ten hours before their Dallas show. While the majority of Passionfruit and The Chokecherries seemed happy to bury themselves in their bunks and take the time to sleep in, Rayne was out the door as soon as the bus stopped moving. Kris followed him, blinking in the sudden sun. Whatever had been bothering Rayne at the club seemed to have dissipated overnight, which Kris hoped meant Angel had been right about it being an overreaction. In the meantime Kris, though still curious, was happy to let it go.

  “My tattoo artist from LA has a guest spot at one of the parlors here this week, and I’ve got an appointment,” Rayne said, fairly buzzing with energy.

  Kris was aware of a certain internet faction’s obsession with Rayne’s tattoos. He’d just never seen more than two in person in any detail before. He knew the mercury sign on Rayne’s left thumb and the burst of rose blooms on the side of his neck, but the others remained hidden, only caught in stolen glimpses when Rayne changed backstage. The pictures on the internet didn’t do them justice, and anyway, Kris was trying to feel as little like a stalker as possible.

  Cassie, who emailed him scanned magazine spreads, wasn’t helping.

  “What are you getting?” Kris asked.

  “A snake. She sent me the drawing a month ago, and I’ve been freaking out ever since. It’s going to be amazing. Do you want to come?”

  “Yes. Can I? I’ve never been to a tattoo parlor before.”

  “It’s going to take the whole day,” Rayne warned. “It’s a long session.”

  “If I get bored I’ll go walk around, or I’ll have a nap in the corner,” Kris said. “No big deal. I want to see.”

  They walked to the tattoo parlor, Rayne insisting it was just far enough to stretch their legs, while Kris was happy to tag along and soak up the sun. The only thing to identify the place was a koi fish painted on the door; there was no sign or window or anything else to indicate the nature of the building. Rayne pushed through the door and led Kris up a narrow staircase wallpapered in art, over the landing, and into the shop above. A long black couch sat in front of the reception desk and framed art hung on the walls. The buzz of tattoo guns filled the air as a handful of artists worked at their stations, scattered around the room.

  “Rayne!”

  The woman who greeted them was maybe forty, with spiky black hair and inked art covering every inch of exposed skin below her jaw.

  “Hey, Jiao,” Rayne said with a wave. “This is Kris; he’s just here for company. Kris, this is Jiao Fang, my artist.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kris,” Jiao said. “Come over here, take a look at the final design.”

  She led them to her station in the back corner. The two walls were covered floor to ceiling in art: pencil sketches, charcoal, watercolor, ink—Kris’s mouth dropped open at the sheer skill of it. There were dragons and phoenixes and flowers, unidentifiable monsters, fish, knights, and portraits drawn with such delicate attention to detail that he couldn’t fathom the time they must have taken. He could understand Rayne’s devotion to Jiao; if he were going to have a drawing tattooed on his body forever, he would want it from someone as skilled as her.

  Jiao fished a drawing from her desk drawer and handed it to Rayne. It was marked with a faint grid, but on top of the lines was a thick, coiled serpent, its scales immaculately rendered, flashing its fangs as it reached back for its own tail.

  “This is what I sent you earlier,” Jiao said. “If you’re happy with it, we’re all set.”

  “It’s perfect,” Rayne breathed. “I love it.” He beckoned Kris over. “Isn’t it perfect? Jiao’s done every tattoo I have. She’s the best there is.”

  “I believe it,” Kris said.

  Jiao smiled and retrieved the drawing. “I’ll transfer it to the tattoo paper and we’ll be ready in a minute.” She headed off in the direction of the printer to do just that, leaving Kris and Rayne alone.

  “Where are you putting it?” Kris asked.

  “My arm. It’ll start here”—Rayne pointed to his shoulder, right where it met his chest—“and wrap around down to my elbow.”

  “That’s huge. Won’t it hurt?”

  “Yeah, but in a good way.”

  Kris’s eyebrows lifted of their own accord.

  “What? You don’t think there’s different kinds of hurt? This is worth it because you get to walk away with something amazing at the end. It’s not like you’re suffering for no reason.”

  “Uh-huh, sure.”

  Rayne waved him off. “Get one yourself and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Kris looked back at the wall of art. He’d never really considered it before, but then, he’d never considered a lot of things before The Chokecherries. Not seriously considered, anyway. His eyes were smudged from yesterday’s makeup, his nails were painted black, and he had left home for the big city and joined a rock band he’d never heard of before. It occurred to him that he was the
perfect candidate for a spontaneous tattoo.

  “Huh,” was all he said aloud.

  Before Kris could elaborate, Rayne took his shirt off and Kris lost his train of thought entirely. He could see Rayne’s tattoos.

  Rayne had two birds perched on his chest, one near either shoulder. The left wore a crown, and the right had an arrow through its heart. Under his throat, running parallel to his collarbone, was an old-fashioned key. His right shoulder was capped with flowers, the same roses that crawled up the side of his neck to sit under his jaw, always half hidden by his hair, opposite where the snake’s tail would start. The tattoos were all blackwork, and all recognizably Jiao’s. Kris wanted Rayne to turn around to see if he had any more on his back. Maybe there were others below the waist of his jeans.

  He swallowed.

  “Like them?” Rayne asked, his tongue poking out between his teeth.

  “They’re beautiful,” Kris replied, and Rayne’s eyes softened and lost their teasing edge.

  “Thanks. I’ve got these ones too.”

  He turned; between his shoulder blades was a mandala like the sun, and when he lifted his hair there was a second mandala hidden along his hairline, peeking out down the back of his neck, like the fan of a peacock’s tail. Kris inched closer to get a better look. The ink was older there, but it was still Jiao’s work.

  “The one on my neck was my first,” Rayne said, dropping his hair and turning back. “I had an undercut then; it’s a full mandala, but I grew my hair out and you can’t see the top half anymore. It’s supposed to be—”

  “A peacock,” Kris finished. “I can tell. It suits you,” he added. “They all do.”

  Rayne preened but whatever he was about to say was cut short by Jiao’s return. The snake was printed on transfer paper, the design in reverse, and she smoothed it over Rayne’s arm bit by bit, adjusting the angles as she went, starting at his chest and working her way down. When she removed the last of the paper, the snake coiled blue around Rayne’s arm with not a scale out of place. Rayne twisted around to see it from all angles as Jiao held up a mirror, waiting patiently as he examined every inch of it.