Skin

  Skin

  By

  Layce Gardner & Saxon Bennett

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Square Pegs Ink

  Text copyright © Layce Gardner and Saxon Bennett

  All right reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the authors’ written permission.

  Skin

  Whatever had she been thinking? Sam stood on the sidewalk outside the tattoo studio and stared down at her left breast. She couldn’t see the tattoo but it had burned itself into her brain. It was like Ester’s “A” from that novel she’d been forced to read in the tenth grade. How could she have been stupid enough to tattoo her girlfriend’s name over her heart? The ink was barely dry before her girlfriend left her for a pilates instructor. And now here she was with “Karen” encircled by a heart marking up her tit. She looked at the studio’s front door and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Hopefully, they could fix this snafu. If not, then she’d have no choice but to only date women named Karen.

  The tattoo studio was called Skin. It sounded a little on the creepy side. Like the serial killer with the deep voice who took your skin and made himself a dress out of it. But she’d researched Skin and it had rave reviews on Yelp. It named one tattooist in particular. Her name was Art. Just Art—no last name. Sam thought that was uber cool. If anyone could fix this and stop her aching heart every time she saw the tattoo, it would be someone named Art.

  A bell chimed when she opened the door. A large bald man sat at the reception desk. He was covered in tattoos and had so many piercings he looked like a pincushion. His ear lobes were pierced with something that looked like a ship’s porthole. Sam almost backed out the door until he spoke, stopping her.

  “No worries, bird, I’m not as mean as I look,” he said.

  He had a British accent. That made her feel better. For some reason British people weren’t as scary.

  “Looking for a tattoo, are you?” he asked.

  “Yes…I mean, I have one… but I need to get it covered up,” Sam stuttered. She was so nervous her hands shook. She jammed them in her pockets. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. She’d been fine when she’d gotten the first tattoo but then Karen had been with her. This must be one of those things that was harder to do alone.

  “Did you have a particular artist in mind?” he asked. “Wait,” he said, putting a finger to his pierced lips and squinting one eye like he was trying to read her mind. “I bet a sausage pie you’re here for Art.”

  Sam didn’t even know there was such a thing as a sausage pie, but okay. He’d hit it on the first try. “That’s right. I’d like to make an appointment with Art.”

  “You’re in luck. We’re slow today. She’s in back sketching out some new designs. She can probably fit you in.”

  Sam figured her luck must be changing for the better. First she had actually found a parking spot and now her dream tattooist was available.

  “Is Art short for something?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, it’s short for Artemis. Goddess of the hunt. Best watch out for the arrows,” he said with chuckle.

  Okay, now that was scary, Sam thought.

  He must’ve read her mind again because he said, “Artemis is also a guardian of the vulnerable.”

  That was better. She could handle a woman named after a Greek goddess who defended the weak. Art’s name had probably been teased to extinction on the play ground. That kind of treatment probably made you a soft and caring soul with the skin of a rhino. She’d known a few women like that—hard on the outside, soft on the inside.

  “I’ll tell her you’re here,” Sausage Pie man said. He winked at her. “Be back in a jiff.”

  Sam wandered around the lobby looking at all the pictures of tats hung on the walls. She was engrossed in a series of Sailor Jerry flash art when a voice behind her asked, “You like the old school stuff?”

  She turned and inhaled so sharply she gasped. The British guy had said Art was named after a Goddess, not that she actually looked like one. Art was tall with long golden hair. She wore all leather—pants, boots and a vest with nothing under it. Her arms were toned. Her smile electric white. She had the bluest eyes Sam had ever seen. They were the color of the sea near Malta.

  Like she really knew anything about Malta. She’d gotten a postcard once from a college friend who’d gone there on spring break while she had labored for a week in the college bookstore unpacking text books for next term. Some spring break. But Artemis had the bluest eyes and the loveliest lips, soft and pink, and just the right size for kissing.

  “And here’s Art,” Sausage Pie man said, doing a drum roll with his fingers on the counter.

  That snapped Sam out of her lust-stupor. She stuck out her hand which Art took in her firm grip. “Hi, Art.” Geezus, was that the best she could come up with? She could kick herself for sounding so lame.

  “What’s your name?” Art asked.

  “Samantha Reynolds, Sam for short. I never could wrap my mind around the Samantha part. It always reminded me of those Bewitched reruns I watched as a kid,” she blathered. Oh, my God, she was being so uncool. Art must think she was an idiot.

  “I adored that show. I’ve never met a Samantha, Sam for short. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.” Art smiled at Sam and her blue eyes conveyed kindness, patience and understanding.

  “Me, too,” Sam said. God, couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?

  “Ronald will get you the forms and I’ll prepare my equipment. Just come on back when you’re finished,” Art said.

  “Ron, for short,” he interjected.

  Art gave him a wicked grin and left.

  Ron handed Sam the forms. Sam’s hand noticeably shook as she signed her name. “No worries, love, Art has that effect on everyone, male and female.”

  Sam smiled politely. Was her nervousness that noticeable?

  “So you like the girls?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, if you didn’t, I’d ask you out—pretty little bird like you.”

  “Well, Ron, I’m flattered but I do like girls.”

  “Damn, I kind of thought so. No harm trying, am I right?” He winked at her.

  Sam actually blushed. Somehow that made her feel a whole lot better about herself. She handed him back the forms.

  “Well, we’re done here then. Go on back. Last door on the right.” He pointed to the rear hallway.

  Sam looked at him uncertainly. She stood still trying to summon up her courage.

  “She won’t bite…unless you want her too.” Ron laughed at his own joke.

  Sam took a deep breath and walked down the hallway. She followed the sound of Nina Simone singing “I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl,” to the last door on the right.

  Sam looked through the open doorway and saw Art straddling a rolling stool. Art was undeniably hot. Her face was positively angelic—her body dynamically poised for action.

  She looked up at Sam and smiled. “Have a seat and tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Sam was stunned. She couldn’t possibly tell her what she was thinking. She stuttered, “I…need you to…do something for me.”

  Art raised one eyebrow and waited patiently for an explanation.

  “Well… I made a mistake and I need to get it fixed.”

  Art nodded knowingly. “Bad tat?”

  “Not bad bad. But bad.”

  Art looked confused for a moment before nodding. “Oh, I think I get it. Let me see the tattoo.”
<
br />   “It’s kind of in an awkward spot.”

  “Believe me, I’ve seen a bit of everything,” Art assured her.

  “It’s on my heart…I mean on my left breast over my heart. It was supposed to be symbolic,” Sam said. “Of, you know, love.” She shook her head. She couldn’t even describe love. Was it any wonder she sucked at it?

  “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got. If it’s over your heart you’ll have to take your off your shirt. What sort of bra are you wearing?”

  “What?” Sam panicked. She hadn’t thought about that.

  “Well, I might be able to work around the bra but maybe not.” Art smiled. “No worries, I’m a professional.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Sam lied. “It’s just that I don’t like knowing it’s there and even though I can’t see it I’ve been trying to cover it up because I don’t like it so I’m wearing a sports bra so more of it is covered,” Sam blathered again.

  “You must really hate it,” Art said.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  Sam took off her T-shirt and inched down her bra until the tattoo showed.

  “Inking somebody’s name on your skin isn’t a good idea.”

  “Now you tell me,” Sam said.

  Art chuckled. “Well, the good news is that it’s small, only five letters,” Art said.

  “I guess I’m lucky her name wasn’t Wilhelmina,” Sam joked.

  Art laughed. “I take it you’re not together anymore.”

  “That would be correct. She left me for her pilates instructor.”

  “Those pilates bitches are always seducing woman,” Art said, and then chuckled.

  Sam laughed. “Yeah, I hate pilates. I do like to run though.”

  “Yes, I can see that. You look very fit.”

  Sam blushed. Did that mean Art was checking her out? Between Ron asking her out and Art appreciating her body she was growing more confident and positive about herself by the minute.

  “Let me show you some ideas I have that I think will do very well for covering up your… faux pas,” Art said.

  “Faux pas is a nice way to put it.”

  “You aren’t the first person, nor will you be that last, to ink their lover’s name on some part of their body. Tattooing a lover’s name on your body is a death knell for any relationship.” Art shuffled through a book of flash art, looked at Sam’s tattoo, and shuffled some more. “I won’t do it for people no matter how bad they want it. I learned from my mistake.”

  “You did it, too?” Sam asked.

  “I was young. And stupid.” Art pointed to a dragon that trailed the length of her arm. “It used to say ‘Marsha, my eternal love.’ Like I knew anything about love when I was twenty.”

  “But it’s beautiful now.”

  “Getting that tat done over was what started me in the business. I’d been studying graphic design in art school. I saw a better opportunity for me in tattooing. It’s so much more personal and can be very spiritual. And it was looking like I might be arranging tampon ads for women’s magazines.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see where that would be very fulfilling for an artist.”

  “So what are you thinking about? Any ideas?”

  “I want one that’s…” she paused, not knowing how to put what she was feeling into words. “I want something that means something.”

  “Uh huh,” Art said with a nod.

  “Okay, that sounded really stupid, sorry,” Sam said. She pulled her bra back up, covering the old tat.

  “No, I get what you mean. You want a tat that will reflect your heart, right? Since it’s over your heart?”

  “Exactly,” Sam said quickly. She couldn’t believe Art had been able to surmise what she wanted. “Do you have anything I can look at that you designed?”

  “I do have something I think you might like,” Art said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sam eased back in the chair. A tattoo about love and renewal and hope—that’s what she wanted. And who better to put it on than a gorgeous woman. Sam smiled and relaxed. This was going to be the best tattoo ever.

  Art came back with a sheet of flash. “I was actually working on this when you came in.” She held the design up for Sam to see. It was a beautiful pink flower. “Now, before you decide anything let me tell you the story behind the camellia—that’s the kind of flower it is.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. She looked from the flower to Art. Their eyes locked and the intensity of Art’s stare made Sam lose her breath. Art didn’t say anything for a long moment and when she finally looked away, she took a deep breath. Was it possible, Sam thought, that Art was attracted to her, too?

  “Well then, here’s the story behind the camillia,” Art said. She straddled the rolling stool again.

  Sam couldn’t help but notice Art had long, shapely legs. Just the right length to wrap around my waist, she thought. Okay, maybe that was a bit much. Art probably had some hot babe for a girlfriend and they had rocking sex every night. She was getting all worked up over nothing. She tried to rein her thoughts back in.

  “The camellia expresses devotion because the calyx, that’s the center part of the flower, you know where the seeds end up being, falls at the same time as the petals when it finishes blooming. The whole flower falls together. Most flowers don’t do that. That’s what makes the camellia special. It symbolizes perfect devotion and everlasting love.”

  Sam couldn’t believe it. It was as if Art had been reading her mind. How did she know exactly what she had wanted? “I can’t believe…So beautiful and…perfect.” Just like you, Sam thought, but wisely didn’t voice.

  “We’ll have to see if it’ll do the cover up okay.” Art reached over and gently lowered Sam’s bra, revealing the old tat.

  Sam gasped at the touch of Art’s fingers.

  “Sorry,” Art apologized. “Are my hands too cold?”

  “Not at all,” Sam said. “Your hands are…” she stopped herself from saying ‘perfect,’ and added lamely, “Fine. Your hands are fine.”

  Art held the camellia next to Sam’s old tat and studied the two side by side.

  Sam waited, silently pleading with the forces-that-be that it would work. She wanted this tattoo. She wanted everlasting devotion. Perhaps with this tat sitting atop her heart the new and improved Sam would walk out into the world a changed woman. A woman ready to experience everlasting love and accepting of nothing less.

  “Sam?” Art said.

  Sam blinked.

  “Where were you?”

  “Right here,” Sam said, not looking at Art.

  “You know what I mean,” Art said.

  “I was…I was thinking about finding that kind of love.”

  “The everlasting kind?” Art prodded.

  “Yes,” Sam said, meeting her eyes.

  “You and me both,” Art said. Sadness clouded her blue eyes.

  It was those eyes. They mesmerized Sam. What if she woke up to those eyes every morning? Wouldn’t that be as close to heaven as a girl could get?

  Art continued, “I think that’s why I’m so drawn to the camellia flower.”

  “What do you mean? You must have a smoking hot girlfriend.”

  “That appears to be a common myth about me,” Art said. “Everyone always assumes I’m taken.”

  “It couldn’t have anything to do with you being gorgeous,” Sam said. Oh, sweet Jesus. Did she just say that out loud?

  “Well, thank you. You’re no slouch in the looks department yourself.”

  Sam chuckled. “Thank you. But if we’re both so gorgeous, why are we the ones who’re alone with bad tats of other women’s names?”

  “I know, right?” Art lifted up the flash to the overhead light and peered at it, looking for any imperfections in her design. “Let’s just say I learned more about falling in love when I fell out of love.”

  “Why, what happened? Oh, my God. Don’t answer that. I had no right asking that question,” S
am said.

  Art laid the flash over her knee and studied her. “Have you ever noticed that lesbians always seem to start any new relationship by telling our stories about the old. It’s like a lesbian dating ritual—get that out of the way and you know what you’re in for.”

  “In for?” Sam said.

  “If you listen to each other’s story of lost love, you can sort through it and decide whether your date is crazy, or mean, or both, or just a really nice person who got shafted by their lover. Which, by the way, I think that’s what you are.”

  “Which one are you, the crazy, the mean or the nice?” Sam teased.

  “Probably all three,” Art said. “Take your bra off.”

  “What?”

  Art laughed. “Sorry, that’s not my best opening line. I mean, so I can trace it out and see how it works. Your bra will get in my way.”

  “Oh.” Sam peeled off her shirt then lowered her bra strap. She stopped. “This is kind of embarrassing.”

  “No worries. I won’t judge, It’s okay,” Art said in a soothing tone.

  Sam took off her bra. Art took the bra from her, and put it on the counter alongside her shirt. Sam tried to act nonchalant. Like sitting topless in front of a beautiful woman was no big deal.

  Art held the camellia up so the light caught it. Its pink petal seemed to shimmer. “This will be beautiful against your skin,” she said. Her gaze moved to Sam’s breasts and lingered there.

  Sam’s breath quickened. She felt the heat rise from her chest to her neck. She knew it was impossible but she swore she could actually feel Art’s eyes caressing her nakedness.

  Art laid the camellia over Sam’s breast. Overwhelmed by the touch, Sam closed her eyes and held her breath.

  “Open your eyes.”

  “First, tell me if it’ll work. Will it cover the old tat?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, it will work perfectly,” Art said.

  Relieved, Sam opened her eyes.

  “Are you ready?”

  Sam nodded.

  Art traced out the flash onto Sam’s breast. Sam tried not to squirm, but there was no denying this felt sensuous. It was supposed to be clinical and professional, but her nipples obviously had other ideas. They’d gone all rogue on her. Sam looked at the ceiling. She was afraid if she looked at Art, all her feelings would show themselves.