Stories Beneath Our Skin (2 page)

"
Prickly. You're gonna have to loosen up if you're working here. Or toughen up. Your choice."

Ace tilted up his chin. His eyes were too delicate for the rest of him, cornflower blue with long light lashes. Whatever alpha male persona he was trying on, his eyes couldn
't back it up. "We charge $100 an hour, more for special requests. Shop takes sixty percent. We're busiest on Fridays and Saturdays -- that's when most of our walk-ins show up -- so I'll want you then. Everything else we'll figure out by appointment. I don't allow drugs or booze in the shop. You smoke?"

"
Not for years." Though Liam did miss the comforting ritual of the struck match and flare of light, he'd never enjoyed the burn of smoke in his lungs.

"
For the best, all of us quit a few years ago so you'd be alone anyway. If you do fall off the wagon, smoke in the back and toss your butts away. Keeping up personal hygiene is a must. Hand washing, all that good stuff. I run a very clean shop, never had an infection picked up here, and I'm not about to start now. If you fuck up once, I accept apologies in the form of rhyming groveling. Twice and you're out on your ass. Questions?"

"
When can I start?"

A smile twitched at the edges of Ace
's mouth. Approval, maybe. Liam raised his chin a fraction higher.

"
Eager. Nice. Soon as possible would work for me."

"
Need to run through some paperwork first." Deb waved a clipboard at him.

"
Come back tomorrow night around six, so you can get familiar with the place before prime time." A quick slap on the arm caught Liam off guard. "Welcome aboard."

With that
, Ace was gone, disappearing back through the curtain and leaving behind the faint smell of peppermint. Liam tugged at the hem of his shirt, setting the seams straight over his shoulders.

"
That's the strangest job interview I've ever had," he remarked. "And the shortest."

"
He's a sucker for a sad story." Deb held the clipboard out again. "W-2 and basically what he said, except in legalese."

"
I didn't tell him a story."

"
Kid, no one gets work done like that 'cause their life is sunshine and flowers. Especially if they cover it up."

"
I'm not a kid." He took the forms, sinking into a waiting room chair to fill it out. "I'm twenty-two."

"
That makes you a kid to me." She rummaged in her desk and pulled out a fluorescent yellow bottle of nail polish. "Leave those on the desk when you're done."

The music cranked back up as he dotted
i's and crossed t's. Deb didn't look up when he set the clipboard down an inch away from her drying nails, so he muttered his goodbyes and escaped into the humid afternoon air. The heavy beat followed him out across the broken asphalt and into his car. The air conditioning rattled to life, pumping out lukewarm air as he pulled away from the shop.

From there
, it was only a fifteen-minute drive to St. Francis. It wasn't as close as Liam would like to be, but it was the best he'd get. The facility was Great Sin's polar opposite with its gentle pastels and soft elevator music. Gretchen in reception smiled at him as he came in, a strand of hair coming loose from her harried bun.

"
How are you today?" She asked as he signed the visitor's log.

"
M'okay." He dredged up a smile for her. "How's by you?"

"
Can't complain." Her scrubs were patterned with roses. She had a different flower set for every day of the week. Liam liked the Tuesday daisies the best. "They restocked the vending machine this morning. I asked them for extra root beer."

"
Thanks." His smile softened into something a little more believable.

"
No problem. Say hi to him for me."

"
Will do."

Down the sweetly pink hallway, the pretense of happy hospital care gave way to the somber reality. No amount of pastels could hide what went on between these walls. St. Francis was a hospice, playing genteel host to guests slowly going about the business of dying. Liam waved at a few other visitors that he recognized. They pooled together at odd hours in the solemn waiting rooms, not talking, but taking comfort that they weren
't alone in preemptive grief. Liam avoided them for the most part, preferring to leave his melancholy to fester on its own. Room 15-B's door was open, a good sign. Liam slipped inside.

The thinning ghost of Liam
's Uncle Gene lay prone on the starched hospital bed. Someone had folded the sheets neatly down to expose gowned shoulders. They were hunched, frail wings of bone under industrial cotton. Once, not so long ago, they'd been broad enough to carry Liam's entire world with room left for every neighborhood stray. The second he spotted Liam, Gene lit up, and the illusion of returned health flushed his cheeks. Liam couldn't help but smile broadly in reply.

"
That was fast." Gene reached for the remote to jack up the back of the bed until he was sitting almost straight up. "Thought you said you were going to go see about a job."

"
I did." Liam took his position in the chair on the right side of the bed. "I even got it. How about that?"

"
Sounds like the owner did the smart thing. Probably not too many salutatorians applying to tattoo parlors." The smile collapsed the wrinkles around Gene's mouth, drawing him ten years younger in an instant. Despite everything, his teeth remained a perfect white line even as his skin yellowed alarmingly.

"
Weirdly enough, they didn't seem to care about my GPA."

"
Well, they should. Don't care what business you're in. It always pays to have a smart staff." Gene reached out at tapped at Liam's temple with a wink. "Good stuff up there."

"
Yeah, well." Liam shrugged loosely. "It's the art that matters, not how many lines of Shakespeare I can analyze. Owner liked my book okay, so I get to start tomorrow."

"
That was fast. No background check?"

"
I think taking one look at me completes the check, don't you? The whole outfit sort of screams uptight and squeaky clean. I should've dressed down."

"
Why? It always pays to make a good first impression."

"
I think the only impression I left was that I'm wound too tight and would probably work for peanuts."

"
Well. You've always been a bit thin-skinned. But you'll grow into it. Can't be worse than Mikey. Did I ever tell you about the time he almost took off his own thumb with a weed whacker, then tried to tell me it was the dog's fault?"

"
No." Liam leaned forward with genuine interest. Of course Gene had told him the story before. Probably a dozen times. There wasn't a story left in Gene's repertoire that Liam couldn't tell himself word for word. He didn't care. He liked listening to them anyway, now more than ever. Chipmunk-like, he stuffed himself full for the long winter coming all too soon.

Dinner arrived in the middle of the retelling of Mikey and the Weed Whacker. Caught up and energized with the story, Gene ate most of the bland mash set before him. Fatigue set in soon after, his blood sugar careening wildly.

"Tell me about this tattoo place," Gene demanded even as his eyes sank closed.

"
Don't know much yet. There's this secretary that seems pretty bitter about something." Liam reached out, wrapping both his hands around Gene's frail one. "The owner is weird. Really intense. Short."

"
Everyone's short to you."

"
Yeah, I mean really short though. Like five-four, maybe? He said he interviewed me because he liked that sketch I did of the gaslight. The one we saw in New Orleans?"

"
Mhmm." Gene's breathing evened out. Liam sat there for a long time, just holding his hand and chafing warmth into fragile, papered skin.

Eventually, he had to admit that Gene probably wasn
't going to wake up until the next morning and that sitting here wasn't doing him any good. That meant heading back to the dark house full of Gene's things and none of his vitality. Liam drove around aimlessly for a while to put off the inevitable. In the darkness, the neighborhood he grew up in turned strange and foreign, full of looming shadows, twisting boulevards, and unexpected cul-de-sacs. Unnerved and addled, it took him far too long to find his way back home.

The house sat peacefully back from the street, shielded by old maple trees that rustled their leaves overhead as he idled up the walkway and jiggled open the antique lock. He didn
't bother turning on any of the lights as he wove his way to his old bedroom. It was strewn with boxes that he couldn't rationalize unpacking. Someday soon, he'd put the house on the market and take all of the detritus of his life back to school with him. There'd be an apartment on the other end, maybe shared with Chuck, his last roommate, or someone new. He'd unpack then. Maybe he'd stay in California with its benign winters and stretches of sand. Leave the wilds of the Northeast to grow on without him.

For now, he fell backward onto the bed and stared up at the poster of Allen Ginsberg in his prime, all thick black glasses and cigarette smoke. A younger Liam, wielding a black sharpie and the first bitter knowledge of a broken heart, had scrawled a line from the poem
"Song" over Ginsberg's thoughtful visage.
The weight of the world is love,
it still declared in stiff blocky letters, a little faded from years of neglect. The poster watched over his sleepless night in weary, unblinking solidarity.

Chapter Two

Liam arrived early to his first day, the clock just ticking over to five
-thirty when he came in the door. He would've been right on time, but Gene had kicked him out of the hospice room with firm orders to get washed up and ready for his first day on the job. Fussing with his hair had quickly driven Liam up the wall and into the ceiling with anxiety, so he'd left without regards to the time. Better too early than a gibbering anxious wreck with bad hair.

Braced for it, the smell didn
't hit him nearly as hard this time. More of a bad taste in his mouth than a headfirst plunge into the bitter ocean.

"
What I'm saying is..." A dusky skinned, beanpole of a man with a newsboy hat jammed low over tufts of curly black hair and dozens of overlapping colors inked on his arms loomed over Deb with his hands windmilling wildly, "I mean. What I'm trying to say if you'd let me finish is that there is a very damn clear difference between a dash and three dots. It's like one is an interruption and one is like, you know, when you forget shit and sort of can't finish the thought."

"
An ellipsis." Liam offered, stepping further into the shop. It was quiet today, aside from the ranting. He wondered if the music had been a fluke or only reserved for times without customers.

"
Right. One of those fuckers." The man plowed on, barely stopping for breath. "So like, if she wants a damn dash or whatever, tell her she's wrong."

"
I don't give a shit if she's wrong. She's the customer." Deb's viciously yellow nails clattered away on the keyboard. "If that's what she wants, then that's what you give her."

"
See, that's just a fundamental difference in philosophy, Debra. I do not believe in giving in to people that want to scribble over themselves without giving thought to the level of douchebaggery they're displaying. Forty years from now, they'll be staring at their stained, wrinkled skin asking,
'Why? Why? Why?'
."

"
It's a dash. If it gets wrinkly, it'll look like dots. Or a wavy line. I'm not really seeing the reason for your tantrum." She hit the enter key with a hard stab. "Unless, you're just worried you can't do it."

"
What do you think I am? Five? You can't double dog dare me into giving up on my ideals."

"
You don't have ideals. You've got opinions you choose out of a hat and then defend to the death just to get on my nerves."

"
I'm an idealist of the highest order, I will have you know. Gandhi has got nothing on me."

"
Now you're just talking shit." Deb snorted, a hint of a smile on her face.

"
Maybe. But my point still stands--"

"
Um," said Liam, teetering uncomfortably at the edge of the conversation. "Sorry, but--"

"
Goose, meet Liam. Liam, this is the one, the only, thank Santa and all his little helpers, Goose." Deb flicked a nail at each of them. "How about you show the kid around, Goose? I'll just book this job for you at ten tomorrow."

"
Are you even listening to me?"

"
Tragically, yes. Try not to forget to show him where the bathroom is."

"
You're a harpy." Goose threw up his hands. "Come on. I'll give you the dime tour. This is the waiting room."

"
Yeah, that part I got." Liam jammed his hands in his pockets. He'd tried to dress for the role today, digging out old black jeans and a loose V-necked shirt that showed off the billowing smoke of his chest art. He'd shaken his hair out of its usual side part into something messier and ran a little gel through it. When he stood before the mirror, he wore the costume of the boy he used to be. It made him shaky in his own skin, like the threat of teenage angst was woven right into the cotton.

"
Awesome." Pushing the curtain aside with slap, Goose bowed low and swept an arm in. "Welcome to the inner sanctuary."

Warily, Liam went through. There was a hallway, two doors latched closed on either side. The walls were covered with photos of tattoos, not neatly displayed like in the waiting room. There were thousands of them, each secured with a small piece of tape. They overlapped like dragon scales, clattering together at the slight breeze of Liam
's passing. Even the doors were laden with work.

"
Were all these done here?" He couldn't take in a single image, awed by the sheer gleeful mess of it all.

"
We put one up for every tat we do, as long as the customer gives the okay." Goose grinned wide, showing off a chipped tooth and a tongue piercing tipped with the tiny face of an equally smiley frog. "Best stuff goes on your door or in the waiting room. Place opened four years ago, and we're going to have to start hanging on the ceiling soon."

"
And it's just you and Ace doing the tattooing?"

"
Most of the time." Goose swept open the first door. It was a classic setup -- table, cart with supplies, two chairs and a mirror propped against the wall. "This one'll be yours; neither of us use it. We get floaters in sometimes, guys we know from trade shows or whatever that need a space for a few days."

"
Looks good." He walked over to the equipment, ghosting a hand over the gun.

"
You stay long enough, Ace might let you put a poster up or something." Goose tugged at the edge of Liam's shirt. "Now, come see some of the real cool shit."

The door across the hall exhaled a cloud of sandalwood incense when Goose flung it open. The tiny room,
apparently once a twin to the one across the hall, had experienced an unfortunate cataclysmic encounter with a head shop. Psychedelic tapestries billowed down from the ceiling, a bamboo rug ran underfoot, huge black velvet posters of a wise, heavy-lidded wizard lined the wall, and a small stone fountain burbled away in the corner. The attempts at creating a relaxing vibe were so intense that they went right back around to nerve wracking again.

"
My home away from home." Goose patted the pointed hat of a half-melted wizard candle on the top of his cart.

"
It's really... mellowed out," Liam settled on.

"
Right? See, you get me. You gotta have a good vibe or people'll be all tense. I like a relaxed customer. I've got a knack of sending people to sleep while I work on 'em."

Liam couldn
't imagine falling asleep while the needle buzzed over his skin. He'd never minded the pain, had even grown to like it a bit until the end, but he had certainly never relaxed into it. Definitely not in a room far out enough for a dozen stoned hippies.

"
So which one is Ace's room?" Liam edged back into the hallway.

"
If you want to approach the lair, you better be prepared to bring an offering. In the early evening, the wild Ace grows hungry." Unseen bells clattered when Goose pulled open a few drawers. He fished around until he produced a bag of beef jerky. "Sweet sustenance. Onward, young adventurer."

There was an ace of hearts laminated with packing tape to the center of Ace
's door. Fanned around it were photos that made Liam want to stop and stay awhile: an intricate coat of arms across a bicep, the curve of a cherry blossom clinging around an ankle, and a watercolor horse running over broad, freckled shoulders. They were all intensely detailed, perfectly proportioned and definitely done by the same hand that had inked the delicate elbow knotwork out front. Goose put a finger to his lips, a picture of exaggerated silence like Elmer Fudd wabbit hunting.

"
Just come in, you moron," Ace called out.

"
Stupid piece of shit paper-thin walls. Ruin all the surprise," Goose grumbled, pushing inside. "Just wanted to show the kid your space."

Ace lay on his table, a sweatshirt jammed under his head as a makeshift pillow and a magazine splayed over his chest. He held out his hand expectantly until Goose dropped a piece of jerky into it. Whatever followed between them, Liam missed entirely. He was too absorbed in trying to take in the vast
, markered mural that sprawled over the back wall. It looked like a city, but no city Liam had ever visited. Skyscrapers butted up against mosques, tangles of forest grew up around abandoned houses with loose shutters, and a turbulent sea crashed onto a skeleton-studded desert.

Squatting down, he followed a winding road and found the city
's miniature population. They ranged from a half-inch to a towering two-inches tall, their features rendered in swift, felt-tipped strokes. There was a woman holding a swaddled baby, two men dancing naked under a streetlamp, children playing on a swing set that hung on a platform between two high rises, and a dozen revellers circling an obscene maypole. Liam ran his fingers over one smiling face, tipped up to the sky.

"
It's sort of an epic doodle." The tips of Ace's boots nudged in next to Liam's battered sneakers.

"
Way more than that." Liam followed a swift line upwards, a coil of rope that tracked up into the sky where a fat zeppelin buzzed through cotton candy clouds. Following it drew him up next to Ace, and he caught another faint whiff of peppermint. "This is really incredible."

"
Just something I do when I get bored." Ace glanced up at him, a faint smile rising. "Couple of markers and too much free time."

"
It's so vital." And then Liam wanted to sink into the ground when he realized he'd said that out loud. Way to blend in.

"
Vital." Goose twirled the world around his mouth. "Hear that, Aces? You're a vitamin."

"
Go fuck yourself, G-man." Ace said around a laugh. Liam flushed and stepped away, though the smell of peppermint lingered. He wished he could have discovered the mural on his own and taken his time with it. There were still corners he wanted to explore, like the tantalizing hint of a subway system down around the rubber crown molding.

"
I know this barely matters to you lot, but we have a customer!" Deb shouted down the hall.

"
Walk-in?" Ace called back.

"
Yep!"

"
Fantastic." Ace stuffed a piece of jerky in his mouth. "Looks like you're up, kid."

"
Really?" He tried not to sound too hopeful.

"
Really. Might have Goose lean over your shoulder. Make sure you remember which way the point goes in."

Liam tightened his left hand into a fist. Then he saw Goose
's friendly smile, and his stomach went sour. He had gotten out of practice with teasing and being teased. Everything felt too close to the surface, raw and gritty. He let out a shaky breath and looked for the next line of banter.

"
You mean we don't use knives and pens here?" He said mock casually.

Goose snorted and then grinned at Ace as if Liam had done a nifty trick.

"He's got a sense of humor. Why didn't you tell me?"

"
News to me." Ace slapped Liam casually on the back, propelling him out the door with something like approval.

He
'd scored some kind of point, but he wasn't sure what it meant. The hard-edged hearty friendship that hung between Goose, Ace, and Deb seemed too old and deeply coded to allow anyone else in. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be let in. That kind of closeness turned all too easily into claustrophobia and too many questions.

Liam pushed through the curtain into waiting room. A tiny slip of girl sat in one of the waiting room chairs, holding hands with a curvy brunette. They both looked up when Liam came in.

"Hi, I'm Liam. Heard one of you was looking to get some work done today?"

"
Me." The blonde licked her lips. "I'm June. This is Alice."

"
Okay, June." Liam slid into the seat on her other side. "Did you have something in mind?"

"
Yeah." She rifled in an oversized purse and pulled out a piece of paper. Three five-pointed stars, red and yellow. "Is it too simple?"

"
No." He took it from her gently. "Classic, I like it. Where were you thinking?"

"
On her left shoulder." Alice answered.

"
Here?" Liam made a point to look at June as he pointed to his own shoulder blade. "Or the back?"

"
To match this." Alice drew the neck of her shirt down, revealing three blue and black stars trailing over her right shoulder.

"
Nice. Why not go back to the original artist?"

"
We moved." June smiled tightly. "My parents--"

"
The original artist is halfway across the country," Alice cut her off.

"
I want it where Alice has it," June said earnestly. "Exactly, if possible."

"
I get it." Liam held the sketch up. "Do you want these colors, or the blue and black like Alice?"