“Even mad, you remembered not to use your tattooing hand.Do I need to call a contractor?”she asked.
“Probably.”
“Do we need an ambulance for Trent?”
He laughed sadly.Like he’d ever hit his best friend.These guys were his family.Even Pixie, who they’d found sleeping rough in the doorway to Second Circle on the day they got the keys.She’d never told them where she’d come from or what had happened, but he thought of her a sister all the same.He shook his head.
“Okay, then.My job here is done,” she said, kissing his cheek.
By the time he had composed himself, Trent was busy doing a walk-in tribal band, which showed how desperate he must be to work again.He hated tribal bands and tramp stamps, and he refused to tattoo “you are the wind beneath my wings” on anyone.
Two hours later, it was getting near to closing time.Pixie had left for the evening.Eric, one of the other tattoo artists, had finished early, and Lia was just wiping down her workstation.
Trent put two pieces of paper in front of him.“Can you do this for me?”
Cujo looked at the images.A quote.L’amore che move il sole e l’altre stelle.The second, a picture that could only be described as outer space.All spiral swirls, in shades of slate gray and moss green, with hints of pink splattered with brilliant stars, almost like a watercolor.
“I want it.The text on top of the picture.And I want you to do it.”No one had tattooed Trent since their mentor, Junior, had covered Trent’s arms and back with scenes from, Dante’sDivine Comedy.Seriously one of the most beautiful pieces of tattoo art he’d ever seen.And sadly, Junior had been gone a couple of years now.
“What does it mean?”
“‘The love that moves the sun and stars.’It’s the last line of Paradiso, the end ofThe Divine Comedy.It’s for Harper.”
Everything had come full circle, and Cujo was thrilled for his friend.“Where do you want it?”
Trent went over and locked the door, flipping theCLOSEDsign.He disappeared into the office and came back out without his shirt and with a beer in his hand.“Right over my heart, where she belongs.”
Trent ran a razor over the area he wanted the tattoo.Cujo debated the needles he wanted, but settled for a seven-needle round liner for the quote, a three for the fine outlining of the image, and a seven-needle weaved magnum for shading.Now that Trent was a judge on the tattooing reality TV show, they were always getting free samples of the latest tattooing equipment, but for this, he selected his favorite brand.
“What’s with the image?”he asked Trent as he returned to the main studio.
“Well, it’s a galaxy, the Whirlpool galaxy—”
“Wait, is this going to be like that time you told me about the twelve souls who illuminate the earth on your arm piece?”Cujo snapped on the gloves they always wore.
“Fuck you, asshole.The galaxy makes a shitload of stars, but she’s always gonna be the brightest.I don’t give a rat’s ass if you think it sounds fucking hokey as shit,” he said with a grin.
“Okay, let me draw this up for you.”
“No,” Trent said.“Freestyle.That’s when you do your best work.”
Trent took another sip of beer, and Cujo set up the inks.
“I wish Junior was here to do it for you.”He checked that the clip chord and tattoo machine were properly covered with plastic, straightened the cables, and checked the speed setting to control the rate at which the needles would pierce in and out of Trent’s skin.
“You aren’t my second choice, Brody.Your talent at realism, man… it’s surpassed Junior’s, mine.Shit, I don’t know anybody better.”
Cujo swallowed hard, wishing he had a beer, something heneverdid while inking.He picked up a pen and started to draw a rough outline straight onto Trent’s chest.“Don’t know what to say.Thanks, I guess.”His career was all he had, and for another artist he admired to tell him he was the best at what he loved almost patched up the pieces of him that hurt.
“When are you going to let me do something on that left arm of yours?”Trent raised his eyebrow.
Cujo smiled.His right arm was filled with small, colorful tattoos that represented all of his most meaningful memories.But his left?He was saving it for something special.
***
“Not that I loved cappuccinos less, but that I loved lattes more,” Harper said, handing a latte to a flummoxed customer.“Julius Caesar.”
Shifts were so much more fun when Harper was around.She was currently serving customers with coffee-adapted quotes from Shakespeare.José had just left for the day.Joanie was in the kitchen, itching to show Harper her latest exam scores, which had improved since Harper had started tutoring her.Drea was wiping down tables.Between the chaos of the lunch and dinner rush, Drea found time to slow down.
