He agreed to this. What else could he do? He was also wary.
I patted him on his tense shoulder. “Why don’t you get a tattoo, Guido? We’re here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Some of the Italians itched to get one—a few of the Legion men had tagged along, and they were talking the Italians into it. Guido didn’t respond, but his eyes flicked to the wall, where more tattoos were on display.
After Violet shut the door to the bathroom, she gave me aI know you too well for this just to be a social visit to the toilet(local slang was totally appropriate to use while in said country, as long as it was respectful)look. “What’s on your mind, Sandy?”
I gave her a smile in return, as my head peeked in the other room, my mouth whisperinghelloooooo.
The man was a firecracker if I ever saw one. A mop of fiery orange hair sat atop his head and spread along his jaw.Firecrackerwas tattooed across his wrist. Made sense. When he looked up at me, I thought he was more of a Steely Dan.
D. A. N. was tattooed across his knuckles.
I said this, and after a few tense moments, he cracked a smile. “What’s it that you need, love?” He scooted back in his rolling chair to get a better look at me.
“Can you shut your door?”
One of his firecracker brows lifted at this. “Aye, I can.”
He strode over, took a peek out, and then came back. “Your old man against ink?”
“No, not exactly,” I said. “Are you good with letters?”
He laughed at this. “What is this? An episode ofSesame Street? I’m good at it all, love. Or I wouldn’t be here, ken?”
Violet took my wrist and squeezed. “Watch out, double entendre if I ever heard one,” she whispered in my ear.
I pulled my hand back, smacking at her hip. “I’ll pay double to keep this quiet.”
He patted the spot in front of him, where he wanted me. “Nah, I’ll do it for free, in exchange for a picture. I do this for celebrities.”
“Celebrities?”
“Aye, your kind.” He gave me a pointed look. “Don’t act coy with me. You’re the dancer. Big banners of you are spread all over London, Los Angeles, Rome, all the important places. And you’re a Fausti.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. The rest of me felt as though it was made of air. If someone told me to fly off, I would’ve asked where the runway was. I held my hand out. “Deal.”
Violet squealed behind me. By some miracle of fate, she kept Guido off with themessy women’s business in the bathroomspeech. To his credit, Dan was swift—fifteen minutes at best, all the while humming “Peg,” and after he was done, the three of us threw back a shot of Jameson.
Emerging from his room liberated, I shouted, “Who’s next?” Violet and I did “the bump” to the sound of Firecracker still singing Steely Dan. The entire place went silent for a moment, and in the next, our tribe of women whooped and hollered, lining up to be next in Dan’s chair—even Eva and Layla.
Gabriel went pale, Michael red, and Guido held on to the wall to steady his teetering body.
“Ire!” I shouted and then fizzed with laughter.
* * *
The good thing about mixing alcohols—no, there isnogood thing, not one possible good thing about drinking.
Period. End of story. Move on. There’s nothing left to see here.
When my heels ran across the soft sheets, I winced. I peeked down, making sure the ink was still there. It wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, like Brando wasn’t. Therefore, no regrets, not in that respect.
It was unlike me to do something so impulsive, so permanent. But nothing was as everlasting as Brando was to me. And he was the most impulsive and irrevocable decision that I had ever made. Nothing could compare—so whynotthis?
No, I have no regrets. Never will.
I looked down and smiled, pleased, thinking how beautiful they were. Firework—or was it Firecracker?—knew his job and did it well. Both letters were small, but mighty. Then my face fell when my phone went off, chirping much too loud.
