“I’m sure something amazing will happen for you. You’re so sweet. And super pretty. I’m a firm believer good things happen to good people.”
Since when could Rhea be classified as ‘good people?’ Or ‘super pretty,’ for that matter?
“When did you want to go to the tattoo place?” Rhea asked, turning her attention to her French fries.
“Oh, I dunno . . . How ‘bout after we’re done here?”
“Then I’m gonna need something with way more oomph than this Freckled Lemonade.”
“You go do that and I’ll make an appointment for us. I know a great place but they get busy as hell. Do you mind going to Chicago for it? We can take my car,” Brianna offered.
“Why the hell not?” Rhea sighed. “If you think you can get us in.”
Brianna smirked. “I’m tight with the owner. I can get us in.”
An hour after they left Rockin’ Robin, Brianna led Rhea to a pair of glass double-doors. They were covered in crosshatch on black paper and the business information printed in white on the glass: Tet-Nis with the requisite reversed N.
Brianna tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Not what you expected?” she said through chattering teeth. “Just wait.” She pulled open the door and ushered Rhea inside.
“Oh,” gasped Rhea. “Holy shit.”
“I know, right? It’s amazing.”
The parlor was expansive and open with only a couple pillars strategically placed down the center of the room, the ceiling lined with tin tiles which reflected the rich amber-colored hardwood flooring opposite them.
Small, elaborate crystal chandeliers hung above each of the six artist’s stations, each with a plush seat for customers to attempt to relax in during their procedures.
Its waiting area—occupied by several people poring over photo albums filled with flash—was situated in the center of the room between those pillars and around an old, black, wood-burning stove currently adding to the heat of a thermostat already set to oven. The girls shed their outer layers. Still, in jeans and a long-sleeved turtleneck, Rhea was hot.
The cashier’s counter in the front quarter of the shop looked like a beautifully restored and repurposed bar which sported a selection of body jewelry, shirts and mugs with the store’s logo emblazoned on them, and framed paintings for sale.
Large black ducts snaked overhead and several stations were partitioned off by lush, heavy velvet curtains. A couple were drawn closed, the constant buzzing of tattoo machines permeating the fabric.
The shop was both eclectic and opulent.
“The place I got my piercings was a hole compared to this,” Rhea remarked as she absorbed her surroundings. “This is a freaking palace.”
Brianna laughed, bumping against Rhea with her shoulder. “You got your piercings at a hole. Very funny!”
Rhea smiled; the pun hadn’t been intentional but for saving face she wouldn’t admit it. “Thanks.”
“Oh, Serenity’s in the back. Let’s go say ‘hi.’” Brianna grabbed Rhea’s hand and tugged until she followed.
She’s not letting go. Why isn’t she letting go, I’m already following her? Rhea wracked her brain for memories from high school. She recalled a few girls in band were more affectionate than what she deemed normal; she couldn’t remember if Brianna had been among them. She hung out with other girls—to the best of Rhea’s recollections—but always draped herself around some guy.
A drummer.
The drum major.
The prom king.
Rhea snapped out of her reflections once Brianna dropped her hand in favor of hugging Serenity, following that with a peck on the lips.
Rhea’s mouth dropped open. Well now what the hell does that mean?
“Rhea? This is Serenity. Serenity? Meet Rhea.”
Serenity was an absolute dumpling and Rhea couldn’t fault Brianna for greeting her with a kiss. She was petite but curvy and Rhea found a new understanding of the ‘bag of bobcats’ phrase her father often used on women with similar builds.
Serenity’s black onyx hair was done up into a magnificent bouffant. There were multiple industrial piercings decorating her ears, a tiny crystal stud catching light from the right side of her nose, and tribal tattoos covering both arms. She’d gone easy on the makeup around her stunning toffee-colored eyes in favor of a thick fuchsia lip sparkling with glitter whenever she smiled. She paired cut-off jeans with a long-line bustier in a bold floral print.
Rhea figured she would look like a nut, herself, for dressing that way—especially in the throes of winter—but Serenity rocked it. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to my shop,” replied Serenity, shaking Rhea’s hand. It was a strange blend of a tight grip with a non-existent shake. They were just holding hands.
Serenity smiled at Brianna. Sparkle, sparkle. “Huvie will be here soon. Me and him will work on you two tonight, ‘k?”
“Sounds good,” said Brianna.
“Go ahead and hang out. Look through the flash and albums if you need help with ideas.”
Brianna nodded. “Can’t wait, can we, Rhea?”
“Uh huh,” was Rhea’s weak reply.
Brianna looped her arm with Rhea’s and escorted her to the waiting area. “I’m thinking of getting a cluster of stars behind my right ear. What do you think?” She plopped into the only unoccupied seat—a wide lounge chair—and snatched an album from the coffee table.
“That’d be cute,” replied Rhea, shifting from one foot to the other. Guess I’ll just stand and pray I don’t pass out while waiting.
Brianna looked at her. “The hell are you doing? Sit.”
“Um—”
She scooted over as far as she could and patted the upholstery. “Join me, girlfriend. I’m current on all my shots, right hand to God.”
Rhea didn’t want to appear stand-offish or be mistaken for a prude by declining so she wedged herself between Brianna and the arm of the chair. She couldn’t decide if she was grateful for wearing jeans or annoyed by it; Brianna’s thigh pressed against hers, her skirt short enough it was unsurprising the guy across from her wouldn’t stop staring.
Rhea hoped Brianna wasn’t going commando, although she hadn’t noticed any panty lines from behind. Maybe a thong? Not as if she’d been paying such close attention; though how could she not look at Brianna’s rear end as it sashayed in front of her the whole walk to the waiting area? Rhea considered pointing out the gawker before Brianna crossed her legs with a sly smirk at her.
How very Basic Instinct of her.
“I think you should get something sexy. I dunno, maybe a really colorful sweepy floral design that follows the arch of your hipbone,” suggested Brianna.
“That sounds excruciating.” And expensive. “Maybe later if this one goes well.”
Brianna flipped through flash in the studio’s album. In the back half, crude black-and-white drawings were replaced by photographs of previous clients’ ink. “Butterflies?” She pointed. “Like these?”
“Y’know, I actually think I’ve got an idea.” It was something she’d bounced around in her head ever since she and Adam parted ways; she’d never had the guts to get to a parlor for it. Now she hadn’t the guts to leave one.
“Is it involved? ‘Cause what I’m thinking of getting might take some time.”
Rhea scratched at her collarbone through her shirt. Goddamn it was hot in there. “Probably not? But don’t worry, I can keep myself occupied.” She had her phone, a fully charged battery, and that morning downloaded a new puzzle game she hadn’t yet gotten sick of.
“If you finish before me, keep me company. We’ll talk.” Her eyes lifted from the photo album and her face lit up. “Handsome Huvie’s here!”
Rhea followed Brianna’s gaze to the front of the shop where she saw who she assumed was Huvie: a man of average height with a tall, kinky, high-top fade which was mostly black with caramel highlights; rich, clear skin matching those highlights, chocolate brown eyes and a neatly gr
oomed Van Dyke so thin it almost wasn’t there at all. He had industrial piercings in his ears and large-gauge black plugs in his ear lobes. He wasn’t Rhea’s type yet she didn’t doubt he had his choice of women.
Serenity hustled out to greet Huvie with a long hug before leading him to Brianna and Rhea. He and Brianna fist-bumped. “It’s been way too long, lady. How’s Travis?”
“Fuck if I know. He moved out without warning a week ago.”
“Oh shiiit,” Huvie groaned. He addressed the ceiling: “The fuck, Travis. Seriously? Leaving the best girl in the world? The fuck are you smoking?” Back to Brianna: “So sorry, babe. You’ll be okay.”
Brianna pressed her shoulder to Rhea’s. “I know I will. I got me a homegirl, here.”
Rhea somehow doubted she’d ever used ‘homegirl’ in conversation previously—ironically or otherwise.
Huvie reached out to Rhea for a handshake.
“I’m Rhea,” she introduced herself.
“—Of sunshine?” replied Huvie.
Rhea’s breath hitched. Is it a sign? Is he my qualifying plow? As if it’d be so easy. “Ye-yeah. That’s me.” He’s not Adam but . . .
Huvie smiled. “It’s a pleasure.” To Serenity he asked, “Can I take this one? Please? I want this one.”
“Fine by me.” Serenity nodded. “It sounds like Bri and me need to talk through this Travis bullshit.”
“Eh. It’s fine, honest.” Brianna shrugged.
Huvie held out his hand to help Rhea to her feet. “You’ve gotta sign a couple forms ‘n’ then we’ll be good to go.”
So apparently this is happening. Rhea drew in a steadying breath. Okay. She followed Huvie to the front of the store where he pulled out a couple pieces of paper from a file cabinet at one end of the bar. She glanced back to see Brianna talking with Serenity, motioning with one hand across her ribcage. That’s nowhere near behind your ear, Brianna. And do you even have the money for it? Oh so not my place.
“Here you go, Rhea.” Huvie put a pen atop the forms and slid them across to her. “Top form is shop policies, waiver of liability, you know, legal bull. The other is care instructions. Follow them and your artwork is golden.”
“‘K.” Rhea skimmed the forms without actually reading them and signed the waiver.
“Shop minimum is ninety.” He rested his elbows on the countertop and folded one forearm over the other. “Whatcha got in mind.”
Rhea flinched. Holy shit, ninety. She assumed the amount was exorbitant though she had no frame of reference. Nonetheless it was roughly the cost of groceries for two weeks; three when being especially frugal.
But she was already there and knew if she walked away, she’d never go through with this. Besides which, walking away wasn’t so easily done knowing Brianna was committed to getting her own ink, and she’d driven Rhea a good forty miles from her home. “Well, uh, I wanted the word ‘smile.’ Here.” She bunched her sleeve back to her elbow and drew a line with her index finger across the top of her left wrist. “I know, it’s totally lame huh?”
Huvie smiled, catching Rhea’s eyes. “Not at all. That’s an awful small tat for the shop minimum, though.” He glanced toward where Serenity and Brianna were engrossed in conversation before dropping his voice and leaning forward. “Tell ya what. Let’s haggle a bit. You let me turn your smile into a little bracelet—” He took her hand and ran his middle finger the whole way around her wrist. “And I drop the ninety to fifty if you let me take you out for drinks this weekend.”
Free drinks, cheaper tattoo and potentially qualifying plow? I’m not seeing a downside to this. “‘K,” she squeaked.
Huvie grinned and clapped once. “Let’s get this party started.” He filed away her form in a drawer beneath the counter and gestured for Rhea to follow him into one of the two open stations at the rear of the store.
She settled into the chair and he leaned against his tall red tool chest. “What colors were you thinking?”
“Oh. Uh . . . Just black, I guess.” Rhea forced an awkward smile at him, hoping he wouldn’t somehow be offended. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course it is. Give me a sec to get everything prepared.”
While Huvie prepared his tools, Rhea looked around at the artwork in his station. He was good—to say the least—and seemed to have a penchant for the clean lines of tribal designs. Rhea wondered if he’d done Serenity’s arms. Whatever the case, she lucked out. And the more she considered it, the more she realized she indisputably had a type: artists.
“Did you want any particular font? Simple? Fancy?”
“Actually . . .” Rhea dipped into her purse and pulled out her little notebook. She flipped through it until she found the page in question, on which Adam had left her several notes of varying importance. “Could you copy this?” She held it out to Huvie.
He glanced at it. “Oh yeah, sure. Let me get it transferred and we’ll get started.”
Rhea handed him the notebook and he stepped out of his station. In the neighboring one, Brianna was settling down. She gave Rhea a wide smile and small wave before pulling her top off over her head. Rhea looked away, blinking furiously. The flash of Brianna’s chest would be seared into Rhea’s memory until the end of time. She was wearing an unlined lace bra in a flesh-tone a hint paler than her actual skin. I saw nipple.
Two. Actually.
“You okay there?” asked Huvie, pulling over a wheeled stool with his foot and plopping down on it. “You’re a little flushed.”
“I’m fine,” Rhea chirped, well aware she was sweating and he could see the telltale stains forming on her clothes if he glanced beneath her arms. “Just anxious. This is my first tattoo.”
With a suggestive smirk, Huvie replied, “I’m a big guy but I know how to be gentle.” He grabbed her arm and rubbed it brusquely with an ice-cold alcohol towelette. Catching the abject horror on her face, he apologized. “It’s a rite of passage. It’s fun to put the fear of God in people before they discover the needles themselves aren’t so bad.”
“Needles?” yelped Rhea.
Huvie looked at her, his eyes popping open and jaw falling the same.
“I thought tattoos were licked on by kittens.”
He exhaled and shook his head. “Oh God, you got me. Fair ‘nuff, I deserved it. Friends fan, huh?”
“You did deserve it. And yeah . . . I’ve been known to watch it on occasion.” Or all the damn time. Rhea could own any opponent in Friends trivia but it wasn’t something she broadcasted. Even Adam had no idea she was obsessed with the show and he was the best bestie she’d ever had.
Shaking his head, Huvie smiled and turned his attention to positioning the copy of Adam’s handwritten ‘smile’ on Rhea’s wrist. “No one ever tries to freak me out. You’re feisty.” His gaze met hers long enough for him to say, “I like that.”
She’d never been accused of being feisty; rather, she was Routine Rhea, predictable, and boring as brown grass. What next? Someone would call her sassy? “Thanks.” But I’m really just trying to keep from shitting my pants, here.
“How’s this look?”
Rhea scrutinized the positioning of the copy. “I think it looks good.” If it were crooked or off-center, she didn’t know and wouldn’t be able to tell him how to adjust it to her liking. Looks good was more than good enough.
“Okay, then. Get comfy. Take five deep breaths.” He switched on his tattoo machine and with her fifth exhalation, pressed it to her skin on the top of her wrist.
It wasn’t at all as painful as she anticipated.
She studied the tin tiles of the ceiling above her and bit by bit, fell into a trance. Conversations around her dimmed to white noise and the buzzing of Huvie’s tattoo machine immediately followed. Rhea was vaguely aware of his gentle touch manipulating her arm, repositioning her hand while he worked. And there was the occasional sharp but brief sting that brought her back to reality.
He paused to wipe off the excess ink— or blood? —before continuing t
o work and Rhea found herself wondering how his touch felt without the nitrile gloves between them.
He was being gentle, she had little doubt, and the whole experience with him was surreal, even Zen-like. Rhea saw how getting inked could become addictive—if not for the steep studio minimum. Not as if I’m hurting for money.
She glanced at Huvie and he met her gaze as he wiped her arm again.
“You’re a superstar,” he told her. With a smile, he repositioned her wrist and continued along its underside.
Rhea found this area considerably more unpleasant and she turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her grimacing. The idea of being regarded as a superstar for her pain tolerance pleased her.
His voice low, he assured her, “Almost done, baby. Hang in there.”
Oh thank God. It wasn’t the worst pain ever but the less meaty areas stung so much she felt it tingling in her teeth. Her next tattoo would be on a thigh or maybe an upper arm.
Sometime later—it was probably a few minutes although it felt like several hours—the buzzing stopped and he wiped her wrist a final time.
“Whaddaya think?”
Rhea scrutinized it and fended off tears, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”
With more of the same gentle touch, Huvie applied some colorless salve and enough cling wrap to cover it. He taped it down before snapping the lavender-colored nitrile gloves off his hands like a satisfied proctologist.
“Leave that on ‘til you get home. Wash with Dial several times daily—pat dry with a clean paper towel, apply A & D after for the first couple weeks.” He ticked off with his fingers: “No sun, no pools—indoor or otherwise—no hot tubs, no lotions while it heals. Try to keep your clothing off it. Treat it like an open wound because—y’know—that’s what it is. It’ll scab like a sunburn. Pinky promise me you won’t pick at the scab.” He held out his little finger.
Rhea smiled, hooking her pinky around his. “I promise.”
“Expect it to itch like a mofo. That’s perfectly normal. Anything weird, you give the studio a call for help. Everything’s great? Give the studio a call for more ink. And also? I’ll need your number to make our date.”
Smiles By Trials (Rays of Sunshine Book 2) Page 3
