Just a Girl (7 page)

I was hardly the first musician to end up with a tattoo from a band they were no longer a part of, but it was a club I’d never meant to be a part of. I was grateful it was on my back so I didn’t have to see it all the time, but still, I wished it weren’t there at all.

Paul had to bend close to see it in the dim light of his bedroom. “Ah,” he said when he understood. “I can see why you might want to change that.”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly I felt the warmth of his lips against my back, and I jumped. He dropped to one knee, curving his hands around my hips to steady me while his lips and tongue explored the tattooed skin. My knees went weak, but he held tight. Slowly, he worked my skirt and panties over my hips and down my legs, kissing a path over the curve of my ass and down the back of one thigh until he kissed the soft spot behind my knee. Then I yelped in surprise when he sank his teeth playfully into my right butt cheek.

“Hey!” I twisted to give him a dirty look, but it didn’t have much authority, since, like him, I was laughing. “You bit me!”

He stood up, grinning. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You have a very cute ass.”

“Do you bite everything you think is cute?”

“Not everything.” He took my face in his long-fingered hands and kissed me. “See? No biting.” The impish gleam disappeared from his eyes when he bent to press his lips to mine again. It was hard to take anything seriously while I was standing there with no pants on, but he took care of that quickly by taking the rest of my clothes off. I returned the favor and we fell back on the bed.

There were no sisters, or godfathers, or police to interrupt us this time. We moved together with deliberation, as if we were trying to memorize each sensation. I was so tired my eyes crossed when I tried to focus on Paul’s face, but I wouldn’t have stopped for the world. He felt so right against me. Inside me.

When it was over, I nearly fell asleep in the short time that he disappeared into the bathroom. But then he was back and he put his arm over my waist and pressed lips, cold from ice water, to my shoulder.

In the dark, my head spun with exhaustion, alcohol, and the disorientation of being in someone else’s space. The quiet sounds a building makes. The hum of an unfamiliar fan. For a moment, my brain thought about rousing itself, but instead it only glanced through bits and pieces of the evening like a handful of puzzle pieces scooped up for storage.

“Paul?” I whispered.

“Mmm-hmm?” He sounded nearly asleep.

“Do you not want me to see your band tomorrow?” It seemed important that I know this before I drifted off.

“Not the band,” he murmured. “Just me.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, and I thought he’d fallen asleep. That seemed like an okay thing, and I decided to let go of consciousness, too. Then just before I was gone for good, he said in a voice that was barely a breath, “I have stage fright. Bad.”

June 7

Mom

Everything okay?

Mom

Check in when you get a chance.

June 8

Mom

Presley. Check in.

Mom

CHECK IN.

Morning was a noisy affair in Paul’s apartment. There was the whine of the pipes in the walls of the neighboring bathroom. The loud conversation between Kenzie and James, who didn’t even attempt to keep their voices down as they moved between the bedroom and the bathroom. The even louder admonishment from Greg that they should shut the hell up.

And then the god-awful beep of a truck backing up in the alley that ran behind their apartment building.

Paul had his forearm draped over his eyes when I rolled over to look at him. He lifted his arm just enough to peek at me. “I probably should have mentioned the truck before you decided to stay.”

“Your walls are, um, thin,” I said, wondering how much noise we might have made last night.

“That’s a nice way to say it.” He uncovered his face completely and rolled onto his side to face me. “Good morning, by the way.”

“ ’Morning.” I smiled and stretched out one finger to feel the scruff on his chin.

Over his shoulder, my phone vibrated feebly against the shelf where I’d left it and we both turned like Pavlov’s dogs to the sound. Paul reached around the side of the shelf with practiced ease to retrieve it. His room was so small the bookshelf was pressed right against the bed, serving as an ad hoc nightstand.

My battery indicator was in the red, but the buzz had been a text alert. It was from my mother. And it wasn’t the only one. I quickly scrolled through and read them. The most recent said,
I’M NOT KIDDING AROUND HERE. ARE YOU ALIVE?

Yes, sorry. I stayed out,
thinking
Duh
as I sent the reply. She’d obviously figured that part out.

You safe?

Yes. I slept at Paul’s place.

The battery was at 4 percent. I’d be lucky if it didn’t shut down in my hand.

Password
, came my mother’s reply.

I sighed, but quickly typed in
Barracuda
.

The reply was a smiley face, then a moment later,
Hope you had fun
and a series of kissing emojis.

The indicator dropped to 1 percent. “Fuck, I need to charge this thing.”

Paul looked at it, frowned, and said he’d be right back. He pulled on some shorts and left me naked in his bed once more, but this time his sister did not invade the room. He came back a few minutes later with a charging cable; he had to get down on the floor and slide partway under the bed to plug it into the wall before he could shimmy out and connect my now dead phone to it. It gave a happy beep as it came back to life.

“My hero,” I said.

It vibrated again and he looked down automatically, then quickly lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “I’m not trying to read your messages, I swear.”

I laughed. “Stop, it’s fine.” Sliding across the bed, I reached for it to see the screen.

Did you get laid?

Which is when I dropped my face into the mattress in complete humiliation. “Did you read it?” I asked the sheets.

“What? No, I—I mean, I didn’t try to, but…”

“You saw it.”

“Sorry.”

I raised my head slowly to find him looking at me with a mixture of contrition and barely contained laughter.

“Oh, laugh it up,” I said. “You know that’s from my mother, right?”

His grin dropped immediately.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I was sort of wondering who used the word ‘laid’ anymore.” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking back over his shoulder at me. “Well, I guess that settles it. I’ll be looking for a new job.”

I laughed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

“They don’t care. Honestly.” I sat up with the sheet clutched in front of my chest and moved close enough to kiss his shoulder. My lips landed on the border where the tattooed tree changed from summer to fall. “The only person they’ll be upset with is me if I cost them a good teacher.”

“That’s fine, but I’m still the one who has to go to work on Monday and have them look at me as the guy who defiled their only daughter.”

With my lips still pressed to his warm skin, the snicker that escaped me made a breezy sound. “Sorry, but that ship sailed a while ago.”

“You know what I mean. Isn’t it pretty much an unwritten rule that you’re not supposed to sleep with your boss’s daughter?”

I sat back on my heels. “They’re really more like your landlords than your actual bosses.”

He gave me a look that required no words.

“But if it helps, feel free to blame me.” I slithered forward and wrapped my legs around his waist. “Tell them it was the boss’s daughter who slept with you.”

Paul laughed softly and patted my knee. “Not helpful, but thank you.”

“You really shouldn’t worry. My parents are total fucking hippies. Free love. Make love, not war. Just be cool and it won’t even come up.”

Grabbing my ankles, he untangled my legs and stood up to free himself. “I’ll try.” His hands jittered for a few seconds, and then he strode to the guitar stand by the closet and snatched up the acoustic. Perching on the end of the bed, he checked the tuning with great concentration.

I had a feeling I was watching a coping mechanism in action. So I got free of the sheets and retrieved my clothes from the floor. My underwear definitely had that not-so- fresh feeling as I stepped into it for the third time, but frankly, it went with the rest of me. I was sticky with dried sweat and smelled like a human walk of shame.

Paul settled his fingers into the same chord progression he’d been working on at the store. Despite my efforts to keep my mind away from the path of songwriting, I was starting to hear the melody that
belonged
with the chords. It was in my head, playing over and over as Paul’s fingers strummed out the rhythm. And then it was in my throat and I found I was humming it under my breath as I studied the books on the shelf beside the bed.

The guitar grew softer until Paul was only picking out the root notes of each chord and I could feel his eyes on my back. At last he spoke. “You got it.”

I glanced at him for a second, but returned to the shelf when I caught his gaze. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“No, I want to hear yours.”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Music’s for hearing, isn’t it?” He parroted my inflection from the day I’d made him play for me at the store.

“Not mine. Not anymore.”

Paul stood; I could tell from the sound of the bedsprings. And then he was behind me, one hand on my shoulder. It was his turn to kiss my shoulder, softly. “I get it,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes as a tide of emotions threatened to bring tears. But it wasn’t enough so I turned and wrapped my arms around Paul’s naked waist, keeping my head down, and pressed my cheek to his chest. He still held the guitar in one hand, but he squeezed me with the other arm. I fought the sadness. Hard. It was easier if I let the anger well up and take control.

Fuck you, Brendan. Fuck you, Shawn. And fuck the hell out of you, Dixon.
It was my mantra, but it wasn’t for inner peace. Still I let it flow through my mind for a moment while I squeezed my eyes shut. At last the urge to cry receded. I took a deep breath.

And immediately regretted it.

I pulled away from Paul, wrinkling my nose. “Oh my God, we smell so awful right now.”

He did a perfunctory sniff of himself and pulled a face. “We, or just me?”

“I think it’s both of us.”

“I’ll go grab a shower and then I can take you home, if you want.”

“Okay.”

When he was gone, I decided to get a glass of water. I had a bit of a hangover, to be honest, and my mouth was cottony. James and Kenzie were in the kitchen, taking up most of the room while James cooked…something.

“Hey, good morning!” Kenzie hopped off the counter where she’d been perched and came close to hug me again. I was definitely not used to this kind of routine affection anymore, and I stiffened unintentionally. She sensed my hesitation and backed off. “Sorry.”

“No, I—it’s just that I—I don’t think I smell all that great right now.” Very smooth cover.

“Oh, you’re fine.” Kenzie waved off my concerns. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Oh God, yes.”

She grinned and crossed the tiny kitchen to pull a mug from a cabinet and pour me some. I had to squeeze past James to add sugar, but I would have squeezed past a hungry grizzly bear to get my coffee.

“Thank you,” I said between inappropriately huge gulps.

“No problem. Hope we weren’t too loud this morning. We’re morning people.”

“No, of course not,” I lied. The truck was the last straw, but their noise had definitely contributed to my waking up much earlier than I would have chosen.

We chatted for a few more minutes while I downed my first cup and started on a second. Meanwhile, James served a huge omelet onto a plate and offered to make one for me, but the thought of eggs was a bit more than I could handle. I waited until they were both seated at the coffee table—now miraculously clear of beer bottles—before I asked Kenzie about my tattoo.

By the time Paul joined us in the living room, I was standing beside the couch with the back of my skirt dropped and Kenzie studying my tattoo under the glare of two cell phone flashlights.

“Uh…hi?” Paul said.

“ ’Mornin’,” James said around a mouthful of omelet.

“Hey, bro.” Kenzie brushed a feather-light finger over part of my tattoo. “This is nice work. A little prosaic, maybe, but well done,” she said. “I’m not always a fan of white ink, but whoever did this did it well.”

“Don’t be a snob, Kenzie,” Paul said.

“I got it in L.A.,” I said. There were three other similar tattoos in the world, belonging to my former bandmates. Mine was a feminine version, and the only one in tramp-stamp territory. God, who decided that eighteen-year-olds could choose tattoo locations?

“Tell you what, come down to the shop with Paulie today. You can look through my book, show me what appeals to you. But then I’m going to need some time to think about this.”

I looked at Paul, wondering what he’d think about having me shoehorned further into his day. He just shrugged. “You want to stop at your place for a change of clothes first?”

“I think we’d all appreciate that,” I answered.

Paul visibly relaxed when we got to my house and found that my parents were not in residence. I was happy they weren’t around too, to be honest, but it was mostly because I didn’t want to deal with my mother’s knowing grin. After giving Paul the dime tour, I left him browsing my vinyl collection while I took a shower.

When I came back, he was playing my Amy Winehouse record and he had a few more records scattered on the floor around him. I moved through the room getting dressed, my lips occasionally forming the lyrics as Amy sang her heart out. I loved her bluesy, husky tone and this was one of my favorite records to sing along with, but I still couldn’t let myself.

My heart beat madly in my chest as I tossed an extra pair of underwear and a clean shirt in my bag. I wasn’t counting on another night with Paul, but better safe than sorry. Still, I made sure he couldn’t see what I was doing and I buried the clothing at the bottom of my bag below the usual crap that I toted around. I didn’t want him to think I was the all-in-after-one-date kind of girl.

We drove across town to a small brick building painted lemon yellow with the name “City Ink” scrawled on the side in neon. The letters weren’t lit, and the “Closed” sign hung below the posted hours, but there was a light on inside, and Kenzie was waiting for us.

She let us in and showed us back to her workstation. She already had it set up to get to work on Paul’s musical notes, with her hand-drawn art clipped in view.

“You cool?” she asked Paul with a meaningful tone I didn’t understand.

“Jesus, yes, Kenz.” He sounded irritated.

“I just don’t want you to have another pani—”

He cut her off. “It was one time.”

“I’m just saying…”

“I’m fine.”

“Tell me if I need to stop.”

“I know, I know.” Paul sat on her adjustable chair and pulled his shirt off before settling into what looked like an uncomfortable but familiar position, with his right arm across his chest.

“My book’s right there.” She nodded toward the counter behind the chair. “Take a look. Tell me if there’s anything you like.”

“Thanks.” I took the thick black binder and sat on a chair opposite Kenzie. Music played from unseen speakers, and she bopped her head in time as she did a few adjustments to the chair and Paul’s position. He turned his head to look at me, and I gave him a slight smile.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“Not really.” Still he took a deep breath when her hand came to rest against his torso.

“Okay, here we go,” she said. The machine whirred, and Paul winced. I couldn’t take my eyes off his face as his eyes closed and his mouth made a small O shape as he breathed out slowly.

The buzzing tattoo machine made memories of my own experience spring to life, and my lower back suddenly felt hot. I’d been pretty stoned at the time; still, the stinging wasn’t something I could forget.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” The response was slow and soft, like he wasn’t totally paying attention to me, but his eyes opened slightly and he gave me the smallest of smiles.

Kenzie’s book sat unopened in my lap for a long time as I watched her work. When I couldn’t resist any longer, I stood up to peek at the tattoo. The beads of blood on his skin made me woozy for a second, and I had to put one hand on Paul’s arm.

“Sit down. I don’t want to scrape you off the floor,” Kenzie said without looking up. It wasn’t an order so much as a suggestion that was not to be ignored. I had a feeling she had to give the warning to a lot of people.

I complied, sinking back into my seat and focusing on the binder of photographs and drawings in her portfolio. Her work was colorful and intricate. None as beautiful and as elaborate as Paul’s tree, but still lots of lovely images. She seemed particularly good with natural images. They appeared to have motion and depth.

Paul gasped suddenly, and my head snapped up to look at him.

“Okay?” Kenzie asked him, looking worried.