The Sexy Tattooist Read online

  “You and Riley have really hit it off!” she said.

  “Yeah, because he’s gay. Is that it? Did you give my number to another fabulous gay guy? Maybe I can set him and Riley up.”

  “I did not,” Mom said, wagging her finger at me. “But I think you’re going to be more than pleased when I tell you who I gave your number to.”

  “Who?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to know. The sooner she told me, the sooner we could get this conversation over with.

  “His name’s Parker. You know him. You were talking with his father the other night at the party, actually.”

  Parker. That was the guy I saw Dad talking to, I remembered now. He was undeniably handsome, and Tara would probably shit a brick if he did end up texting me.

  “I really can’t believe someone like him doesn’t already have a girlfriend,” I said.

  “Well, you better believe it. And he was more than interested when I gave him your phone number.”

  “If that’s the case, why didn’t he just come up to me the other night? We were both there. That seems like a slightly more respectable way than having your mother give out your phone number.”

  “Oh, stop it, Chloe. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me wanting to be helpful. And did you ever think that maybe he was nervous? Maybe that’s why he didn’t come up to you.”

  I stifled my laughter. Parker was one of those kids I knew of, because our parents knew each other and traveled in the same social circle, but we’d never had an actual conversation. I wouldn’t even know what to say if he came up to me, but now it sounded like I would have to think of something. Thanks, Mom.

  “Anyway, Parker’s a good kid, from a good family, and he’s keen on taking you out. He rides bikes, you know. Maybe you two could go on a bike ride. Out on Martha’s Vineyard or something. You could make a day of it.”

  “Maybe you should just go on the date for me,” I said. “Since it sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”

  *****

  I wasn’t expecting Parker to call, but he did, the very next day. I didn’t recognize the number when it appeared on the screen, and usually I didn’t pick those calls up, but for some reason I did this time. Maybe it was just simple curiosity.

  “Hello?”

  “Chloe?”

  “This is Chloe.”

  “Hey, this is Parker,” he said. “Your mom passed your number along to me the other night. Sorry if it seems a little strange that I’m just calling you out of the blue like this.”

  His voice was deep and smooth, like he should be doing voiceovers on television commercials. I pictured him standing there at the party that night with my father, talking about whatever the hell it was they’d been discussing. The stock market? Golf?

  “Oh, hi.” I felt nervous all of the sudden, even though there was absolutely no reason for me to; it’s not like I was going to hang out with him. It’s not like I needed to say anything to him beyond this phone conversation. Really, I just hated being on the phone with anyone.

  “How’s it going?” He, however, seemed like the type of person that would be perfectly at home talking with anyone, in person, on the phone, via Skype, whatever.

  “Um ... it’s pretty good. How are you?”

  “It’s summer and I’m on vacation, so I’d say I’m doing pretty good, too. So, I was thinking maybe we should hang out some time. You up for that?” He spoke easily, as though we’d been friends for a while. I knew enough to know that this wasn’t necessarily a good sign; if he was this relaxed and easygoing sounding, surely he couldn’t be that interested, could he? Wouldn’t he sound the least bit nervous?

  Not that it mattered if he liked me or not; I wasn’t interested. I just wasn’t sure how to say it, because all of a sudden, I felt as though I was going to hurt his feelings.

  “I don’t know,” I stammered.

  “You don’t know what?”

  “I just ... I don’t think that I’m going to be able to hang out. I’m sorry. Bye!” I hung up the phone before he could say anything. My pulse raced, as though I’d just done something very exhilarating. In a way, I had. I doubt Parker had ever had a girl turn him down before, never mind hang up on him.

  My mother would not be thrilled, of course. But if she was that upset about it, then maybe she really should be the one to go out on a date with him herself.

  *****

  I met up with Tara later that day at the beach.

  “I have a confession,” she said as she stretched out onto her beach blanket, her entire body glistening with coconut oil. “I don’t know if you’ve been on Facebook recently, but I added a few pictures.”

  “I’ve been taking a social media break,” I said. “It’s actually been kind of nice.”

  “Well, here, look.” She reached over and yanked her bag over to her, rummaging through it until she found her phone. I watched her tap at the screen and then she handed the phone over. There were two pictures, from the day that we’d gone to the outer beach with Graham. One was a selfie of Tara, with Graham’s profile in the shot, too. The other was one I had taken, actually, the two of them, with their backs to me, facing the water. I remembered taking that photo; the sun had been just right, dazzling off the surface of the water, and the two of them standing there reminded me of something you might see in a magazine.

  “Tara!” I said. She hadn’t actually captioned the photos, or tagged Graham, but she’d gotten hundreds of likes and plenty of comments. “I thought you weren’t going to do this! Does he know?”

  “I had mentioned it to him.”

  “I know, but he said he wasn’t into it.”

  “Well, it’s not like I tagged him.”

  “He probably doesn’t even use Facebook. You can’t just put his photos up. How long have these been up for?”

  She held her hand out for the phone. “Not that long.” She scowled. “You can barely even see his face. I mean, in the second picture, you can’t see his face.”

  “Then what’s the point in putting them up to begin with? You don’t even know if Michael saw them. This whole thing is silly, doing this to make him jealous. Maybe he’ll send you a message and say he’s happy for you.”

  I handed the phone back to her, surprised that even she would do something like this. Was it because she really had been so in love with Michael and seeing him with another girl was making her do irrational things? “You really have to take those pictures down. Or at least tell Graham, at which point, he’ll probably tell you to take them down.”

  Tara sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But only because you’re making me feel like I’m doing something totally fucked up—which I’m not.”

  “You kind of are, a little.”

  She tapped the screen a few more times and then looked at me, her eyes hidden behind her big sunglasses. “There,” she said. “I deleted them. But I can still hope that Michael saw them before I took them down.”

  “You are crazy.” I laughed. “So. I have something to tell you, too. You are never going to believe who called me this morning.”

  “Oooh,” she said. “I love games like this. Except ... I have no clue. Who called you?”

  “Remember that guy from the party? Parker?”

  Her eyes widened. “He called you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to hang out. I guess my mother gave him my phone number. You know how she’s always trying to set me up on dates? Well she’s taken it to the next level this summer; it’s like it’s her main objective or something. Anyway, she might’ve even given him my number at the party.”

  “Wow! So, he actually called? How’d it go, what’d he say?”

  “It was a pretty short conversation, actually. He basically asked me if I would ever be interested in hanging out.”

  “That’s a start! What are you guys going to do?”

  “Nothing. I told him I didn’t think I’d be able to hang out.”

 
“Wait a second,” Tara said. “You’re telling me that Parker called you and you turned him down? Are you out of your mind? Do you know how many girls would fucking kill to have the chance to go out with him? And you turned him down.”

  I bit my lip. I should not have kept this thing with Graham a secret from Tara, but there was a good chance that once Tara knew, the rest of the world would know, too. She wasn’t into keeping things like that a secret.

  “Maybe I’m just not interested,” I said. “You’re acting like he’s the world’s most perfect guy or something.”

  “Duh! Because he basically is. I mean, you’ve seen how hot he is. He’s hotter than Graham. Well, he’s hot in a different way.” Tara looked at me closely. “Chloe!’ she exclaimed. “I think I know what’s going on here! You like Graham, don’t you? I knew you did after that day we went to the beach!”

  My face had started to flush, which would be as much of an answer as if I’d just come out and said yes.

  “Okay, fine.” I looked around even though I knew no one was within earshot. “But listen: you have got to promise me that you’re not going to say anything, okay?”

  She nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

  I hoped I could believe her. “We actually ... I slept with him.”

  Tara’s eyes got so wide I thought they were going to fall out of her head. “You did what? Why am I just hearing about this now? You were going to keep this a secret from me?!”

  “No, I was going to tell you, it’s just ... I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It just seemed like it might better to keep quiet about it. I don’t want my parents to know. If they find out I’m seeing the guy who gave me the tattoo, they’re going to flip out. They’ll be beyond pissed.”

  “You’re right, they probably will. But who cares about that! You slept with him! That is so awesome! How was it?”

  I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face at just the mention of it. “Pretty awesome. He was so sweet!” And because she was Tara and would want to know, and because part of me had been wanting to talk to someone about it, I filled her in with some—but not all—the details.

  “Well, listen,” Tara said when I’d finished talking. “I think that’s great you had such a good experience. I told you he’d be good in bed, right? I’ve got a sixth sense about these things. But anyway, I really think you should at least take Parker up on his offer. He wants to hang out with you. That’s awesome. And it’s not like you have to do anything with him—you can just hang out and see how it goes.”

  “I’d feel weird about that, though,” I said. “I want to hang out with Graham.”

  “It’s not like you two are going out. You’re allowed to hang out with more than one guy. Don’t think for a second that if a hot girl walked in to get a tattoo and then asked him he wanted to hang out, he’d turn her down. Guys only do that if they’re in like, committed relationships. Even then, some guys don’t.”

  “I just think it would be a little weird to go from being the girl who wasn’t dating anyone to the girl who’s now hanging out with two different guys.”

  Tara waved me off. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve done it tons of times. And remember—you were going to sleep with someone sort of as practice first, so when you met the right guy, you’d know what to do.”

  Except it wasn’t like that at all, I wanted to tell her. Graham and I had just had this connection that I didn’t really need to know anything beforehand. I didn’t think Tara would get what I was saying if I told her that, though, so I didn’t.

  *****

  That evening after dinner, I went up to my room to look at some of the art books I’d checked out of the library the other day. I lay on my stomach on my bed, flipping through the oversized hardcover books, looking at all these amazing sculptures. I felt sure I would never in a million years be able to come close to creating something of that caliber.

  I’d just finished flipping through the last book when I heard my mother calling me.

  “Chloe! There’s someone here for you.”

  For one, wild second, I thought that it was going to be Graham, that he’d somehow figured out where I lived. Of course, I should have known it wasn’t him just based on Mom’s reaction, but I pushed myself up off my bed and skipped down the stairs.

  Parker stood there in the front entryway, smiling at whatever my mother was saying to him.

  I slowed, coming to a stop on the staircase. He looked up and saw me. “Hey,” he said.

  “I’ll give you two a minute.” My mother hurried off before I could accuse her of inviting Parker over here.

  “I apologize for coming by unannounced,” he said. “I was really hoping you might reconsider. I’d really love to take you out some time.”

  I knew my mother wasn’t far, and that she was probably eavesdropping. I coughed. “That’s nice of you. I guess I just ... I mean ... don’t you have a lot of other girls that are interested?”

  He tilted his head slightly to the side and gave me a quizzical look. “Well, there’s a few, sure, but ... I don’t know, I’ve seen you around every summer now for a while, and I thought we might have a good time together.”

  Parker was very handsome, in a completely different way than Graham was. Parker could be the face of a Ralph Lauren ad, or a luxury car brand, or something. He just radiated this feeling of well-being; not in a Zen sense, but more in a he’s-never-had-to-deal-with-a-hardship-of-any-kind sense. He thought life was good because that’s all life had ever been to him: good. But, I realized, it was kind of the same for me. I’d never really experienced any hardship either, even though some things might’ve seemed like a big deal at the time.

  I thought about all the things Tara had said. She did have a point, I supposed; Graham and I weren’t actually going out. I thought about the endless amount of crap my mother would give me if I turned Parker down, if I didn’t even give him a chance. He wasn’t a bad guy; I could tell that just by standing here talking with him these few minutes; hanging out with him wouldn’t be awful. We could go out and do something and then I could tell my mother—and Tara—that it hadn’t worked out and at least I had given it a shot. They couldn’t be upset over that. Plus, Parker would probably realize that I just wasn’t on his level, because, well, I wasn’t.

  “Fine,” I said. “We can hang out some time. What did you have in mind?”

  23.

  Graham

  Francesca was one of my long-term customers who came to the Cape every summer for a few weeks. She was married and worked as a model and a professional cyclist. And not just mountain biking; she did cyclocross, criteriums, and road races. She had a full sleeve on her left arm, a half-sleeve on her right, and we were currently working on a full back piece that was sort of a Salvador Dali/Edward Gorey mashup. With bikes.

  Ninety percent of Francesca’s tattoos were done by me, and she’d given me free reign to design the back piece, which had been a lot of fun. I was always happy to see her, and today was no different. Except, midway through our session, when she told me that she and her husband, Anthony, had called it quits.

  “We’re divorced,” she said. She was lying there on her stomach, her shirt off. I was working on an area on her mid/lower back, so she’d kept her bra on. She craned her neck around and gave me a devilish grin and a wink. “I know you’ve been waiting to hear those words. I’ve been waiting to say them to you.”

  “Oh boy, Franny,” I said. “You fuckin’ slay me.”

  “I’ll be here for another two weeks. And then taking off for Les Gets. Care to join me?”

  “You know I’d love it, but I can’t.”

  “Well, you can at least keep me company in that big hotel room of mine.”

  Ah, timing. I smiled and shook my head ruefully. “Afraid I’m going to have to pass,” I said.

  She craned her neck further, a genuinely surprised look on her face. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Have you taken the cloth?”
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  “No, definitely not becoming a priest. I met someone, actually.”

  “Ah.” She lay her head back down on her forearms. “That figures. So, it must be serious, then?”

  “Well, we haven’t known each other that long.” An image of Chloe appeared in my mind and I smiled.

  “Listen to you!” Francesca giggled. “I can hear how much you like her. That’s sweet. I’m happy for you, Graham. Disappointed for myself, naturally, but happy for you. You’ll have to introduce me.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Actually, no, don’t—I’ll just be jealous.”

  “You’re the worst,” I said, shaking my head. I got back to work. Before I’d met Chloe, I would’ve been all over the chance to sleep with Francesca. And now, here she was, basically offering herself to me and I just wasn’t interested. “You know,” I said, “if you’re looking for a little fun, I could pass by buddy’s number along to you. I think you might’ve met him here at the shop before, his name’s Todd ....”

  24.

  Chloe

  Parker surprised me, because instead of saying he wanted to go to some fancy restaurant or take his father’s boat out, he suggested we go to the county fair.

  “It’s only in town for another two days,” he said. “I’ve got a hankering for some fried dough. And it’s a great time to mingle with the locals.” He grinned and winked at me.

  I didn’t tell him I’d never been to the county fair, nor had I ever had fried dough. If anything, this whole summer was only making me realize how I basically had never done anything.

  The fair was packed. We parked in a grassy field and walked the short distance to the entrance. Parker paid for our entry and we stepped through the turnstile. There were people everywhere; families pushing strollers and holding the hands of young children, groups of rowdy teenagers, kids my age, and then plenty of adults, too, everyone with big smiles on their faces.

  The animal exhibits were just shutting down. “Oh, that’s too bad,” I said. “I wanted to see some of the animals.”