“There’s something not right about that guy.”
Rhiannon peered over Steve’s shoulder. They were huddled in back behind the beaded pink curtain, sneaking a shared cigarette next to the cracked window. The window offered a view of the alley and the backsides of buildings running along Oleander. Steve’s comment pulled her out of her contemplation of the graffiti scrawled on Canton Express’s dumpster. She turned on a small fan and angled it so the smoke blew out the window. She turned around and watched the guy approach Ronnie Boy, a Filipino tattoo artist with spiky hair and a vertical labret she’d pierced for him when she first started. The guy exchanged a few mumbled words with Ronnie Boy. The tattoo artist strolled over to the appointment book and flipped it open.
“I don’t know,” said Rhiannon. “Maybe he’s just shy.”
Steve slid the cigarette out of her fingers. He pinched a long drag, held it to her lips so she could suck in the last of it, and stubbed out the filter an empty Friskies can balanced on the windowsill. Steve studied the guy: tall, hunched shoulders, mousy hair half in his face, long sleeves under an old T-shirt, baggy jeans. He stood with his feet close together and his clasped hands held tight against his belt. Rhiannon watched him. She was reminded first of a schoolboy, then of something injured and tremulous”a young animal fallen out of its nest, perhaps, turned out by a strong storm or by the impact of a car colliding with its tree.
“How much you wanna bet he needs to use the bathroom?”
“The Pink doesn’t have public bathroom access,” said Rhiannon. “Sign’s taped right on the door.”
“Yeah, but that don’t stop some people.”
Ronnie Boy picked up a red pen and made a notation. Steve’s pierced eyebrows lifted and he folded his arms. “Well holy fuck and a hot cha-cha, would you look at that. Dude’s got an actual appointment.”
Rhiannon scowled at the small mirror hanging on the wall. She picked a flake of tobacco off her tongue.
“Yeah, don’t you have a three o’clock?”
“Yeah, don’t you?”
“I think so. But it’s not until three fifteen.” She rotated the heavy gauge hoops in her ears and glanced at him. “Holy fuck and a hot cha-cha?”
Steve gave her a one-sided grin. “Something my gramma used to say.”
Ronnie Boy angled his head around. He looked through the beaded curtain and made a come-hither gesture. Steve and Rhiannon pointed at each other. Ronnie Boy grinned and shook his head. He made pistols of both hands, pointing them at Rhiannon. He cocked his thumbs.
“Aw yeah,” chuckled Steve. “I’m just so sorry I didn’t bet. I’d be ordering up Canton Express right about now.”
“I wouldn’t eat their cockroach lo mein.” Rhiannon stuck her tongue out at him.
“No thanks. We got toilet paper for that.”
Rhiannon turned and shoved Steve into the doorframe. He fell into it and cackled. She turned her head and stuck her tongue out at him again and moved aside the curtain, walking out into the area behind the counter.
The guy stood beside the cash register. He shuffled his feet a little. He glanced at her face and looked away. She drew closer and he looked at her again through his hair and this time he didn’t look away. Rhiannon smiled at him. She was used to the attention; her height, albino coloring, and quarter inch of hair generated a lot of stares. This was before they got a look at her tattoos: full sleeves of black thorny vines and blue flowers, a small green hummingbird with wings spread on the back of each wrist. Once people got a look at her ink and the contrast of the vivid colors against her colorless skin, staring often dissolved into out-and-out fascination.
“Hi, I’m Rhiannon, your friendly neighborhood piercer.” She heard Steve snickering. She reached behind her back and gave him the finger.
“Hi. I’m Carl.” He was soft-spoken. “I have an appointment at three fifteen?”
“What can I do for you, Carl?”
“Um.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it and spread it open on the counter. “This.”
Rhiannon picked it up. Sketched on it was a diagram of what looked like DaVinci’s man. Eight rings paralleled the spine, four on each side. Faint lines sketched their distance from each other, the shoulders, the spinal column, and the uppermost ridge of the hips. A series of handwritten numbers formed a neat column. Notes along the bottom specified the diameter, gauge, and composition of the rings. She looked up from the paper to his face. He inspected her expression. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tilted her head, stroking the nape of her neck.
“You want all of this done today?”
His hands went in his pockets. “Yes.”
“Okay.” She went behind the counter and fetched a release form. “I need you to fill this out and I need to make a copy of your driver’s license.”
“I have the others done already.” His voice lowered. “The…arms, and the ones on the backs of my legs. I had them done here.”
“It must’ve been Otho who did them.”
Carl nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“About a year ago? Or more?” Rhiannon folded up the diagram and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Otho’s been back in Germany about that long.”
“Yes.” He took his wallet out of his back pocket. “Do you…do you want the money first?”
Rhiannon smiled and shook her head. He handed her his license. She took it. “Nope. Needles first, dollars second. I need to go make a copy of this. I’ll be right back.”
She looked at the picture on his license as she wandered into the back room. She paused and turned it over, then scanned the front for the expiration date.
“Pssst.” Steve stuck his head out of the autoclave closet. “So what’s he in for?”
“Jesus Christ, Stephen.” She swung at his head and he ducked. “You scared the righteous fuck out of me.”
“Prince Albert?”
“You’ll never believe it.”
“Apadravya?
“No.” Rhiannon opened the scanner and centered the license on the glass. “Permanent suspension piercings. Rather, he wants to complete his collection of permanent suspension piercings. For a grand total of fourteen.”
“Superman?”
“Yep.”
“That’s killer. Can you do it?”
She leveled him with a look. “Yes. I can do it.”
“It’s pretty intense. The skin is thick. You have to pierce pretty deep.”
Rhiannon tucked the photocopy into a file folder. “Why don’t you worry about your own fucking job?”
“I’ve got a girl out there who wants a unicorn.” He rolled his eyes. “A rainbow one. On the small of her back.”
“My condolences.”
“You get to do something cool. While I go forth and do another tramp stamp. My jealousy burns. It burns us, precioussss.”
“Long live the tramp stamp. Knock not the tramp stamp, for it pays your bills.”
“So true.” Steve gathered up packets of sterilized needles. He glanced into the waiting room. “Shit. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?”
“I don’t care if he’s quiet.” Rhiannon clipped the license to the file folder. “He is single-handedly making my rent for next month.”
“You should give him a kiss and say thank you.”
“You should go whack off out the window.”
Steve burst out laughing. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Don’t forget the gloves.”
“Oh, the humor.”
Rhiannon strode out into the waiting room. Carl sat on the overstuffed couch with his knees together and the clipboard balanced on them. He looked up at her.
“All set?”
“Yeah.” He handed it over.
“Okay.” She unclipped the form and slipped it into the folder. She handed him his license. “Your license.”
He stood up and retrieved his wallet. “Thank you.”
“Follow me.”
“No,” he said. “I mean…thank you.”
“Hey don’t mention it. I should say thank you, really,” she said. “This is far and away the most interesting piercing I’ve done.” She stepped to one side and held open the beaded curtain for him. “I’ve done a few corsets, but nothing like this.”
Carl looked around as he stepped through the doorway. He took in the framed documents on the walls, a bulletin board, a large calendar covered in handwriting, and framed photographs of tattoos. His eyes followed the lines of beads. “I didn’t know Otho had gone back to Germany. I just…just assumed.” He shrugged a shoulder. “You know.”
Rhiannon let the curtain fall. “We can cancel this if you aren’t comfortable. I’d totally understand. No hard feelings. I promise.”
“No.” Carl shook his head. “No. I want to.”
“All right. Step into my office.”
She grinned at him over her shoulder and led him into a small room with a massage table made up in black flannel sheets. The walls were painted a dark blue and hung with framed photographs of body modifications: an elegant Asian model with a nose stud and three rings strung through her bottom lip, a young man with a blue Mohawk and horns implanted in his forehead, a captive bead ring adorning the hollow of a disembodied dark-skinned throat. A small rolling steel table similar to the kind employed by dental hygienists stood in one corner. The room was well-lit, temperature controlled, and hidden speakers piped in music.
“I’ll step out while you undress,” she said. “If it’s too cold in here just let me know and I’ll turn the heat up. Okay?”
“You don’t have to step out.”
Rhiannon stopped. “What?”
He took his shirt off. “It’s just a shirt.”
“Okay.” She walked away from the door and went to a chest of drawers. She opened one and rummaged through it. “Whatever works.”
He sat on the table and watched her. “Your tattoos are pretty.”
Her face warmed. “Oh, hey. Thanks.” She glanced at her arms. “Ronnie Boy did them for me. The design, the application, everything. I guess he was inspired for these by the covers of those Flowers In The Attic books, I don’t know. He was in into this whole retro art phase at the time? I didn’t care because he’s just that good. I really liked it. It was loads better than anything I could’ve come up with. It took forever to actually do it or at least it felt like forever…I mean, just the outlining took four appointments. And the colors…whew.” She showed him the backs of her wrists. “The hummingbirds last. The detail work really hurt. See that green and turquoise coloring? It’s fresh. Maybe four months old.”
He held her eyes for a moment. He looked at her hands. “It’s beautiful work.”
“If you’re ever in the market for ink Ronnie Boy’s your guy. He’s amazing.” Rhiannon liberated a box of gloves, sterilized needles, and packets of sterilized rings. She picked a bunch of clamps and tossed them onto the hygienist’s table. “I think I’ve got more rings in here somewhere. I hope so. Otherwise I’ll only be able to”hold on, I’ll be right back. I’m going to check the closet. This’ll just take a second.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Rhiannon slipped out into the hallway and trotted to the closet. She opened the door and went inside, switched on the overhead light and closed the door to a crack. Inside were a couple of battered bureaus and stacks of cluttered shelves. She took in a deep breath and tried to visualize the backup body jewelry. The last time she’d need to come in here for a labret it was…where? She opened a middle drawer and found inks. She opened a bottom one and found clamps, needle gun stuff, sterile cotton pads. She stood on tiptoe and peered at the topmost shelves. She found the rings, dusty in their sterile packaging, lounging behind an ancient bleach bottle. What the fuck? She tried to remember tossing them back there and couldn’t. I didn’t put them back there. No way I did. I hate not being able to find my shit and it was probably that fucking Ronnie Boy. She took another breath and let it out through her teeth. She turned and headed back down the hall. Calm, serenity, oxygen, fucking tranquility. Sparkly blue beach shit. Fruity fucking drinks. It doesn’t matter. Get it together.
She tossed the rings on her palm. She bit her lip and opened the door.
Carl was still sitting there. He turned his head and looked at her.
“All good, I’ve secured the booty.” She grinned and showed him the rings. “So if you’re ready, and you don’t have any questions for me, please assume the position. I’ll do something about this music, too. It’s getting on my nerves.”
“I like the music.”
“Well, you’re paying.” Rhiannon lined the hygienist’s table with a sterile absorbent pad and arrayed her supplies. “So I guess if you like it I’ll keep it on.”
“You don’t. Have to.” He shifted on the table. “I…I’ll be all right.”
She started to smile. “Are you sure?”
He climbed onto his hands and knees. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
She stopped what she was doing. She watched as he settled onto his stomach.
Fruity fucking drinks.
“Okay. I’m going to measure out and mark the places with a felt-tip.” Rhiannon took the drawing out of her pocket. “Do I have permission to touch you, Carl?”
His shoulder twitched. “Yes,” he whispered.
Calm. Serenity. Oxygen.
“Okay,” she said.
She consulted his diagram, then consulted her memory. She brought a soft tape measure out of a drawer, unrolled it, and lined it up with his spine. It warmed to the temperature of his skin. She leaned over him and used a fine point washable marker to make tiny marks at corresponding numbers. The tape measure moved up and down with his breath. She steadied it with her fingertips. The precision of her action calmed her thoughts. She turned the tape measure and lined it up crosswise with the lower edges of his scapulae. Her fingers relaxed as she did the same with his floating ribs, the crests of his hipbones, the lower segments of his tailbone. She made an invisible grid of his skin and drew the lines in her mind. On a long exhaled breath she calculated the placement of the rings. She wiped the skin down with alcohol pads and marked the places with black ink. Goosebumps rose and swept up his flanks. She rubbed the survey marks off with gauze.
“Hold still,” she murmured. “Just let me take a picture.”
Rhiannon tossed the tape measure back into the bottom drawer and pulled out a digital camera. She caught an image and brought the camera around to the head of the table. She held the screen below the face cradle.
“Is this all right?”
“Yes. It’s perfect.”
She smiled. “Good.”
She put the camera to one side and snapped on a pair of gloves. Her eyes swept the expanse of his back. The black ink stood out in the strong overhead light. “I know you know what to expect, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m going to pinch your skin and lift it with my fingers. Then I’m going to clamp it in place. I need you to keep your arms at your sides because moving them will shift the skin of the back.” She wanted to lower her palm with these words, to touch between his shoulder blades. “I need the skin to remain still. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Are you going to hold still for me?”
His breath hitched. “Yes. I will hold still.”
Rhiannon placed her hand on his skin and framed the first mark with her thumb and forefinger. “Good.”
She took in a breath and gathered up the loose skin, securing the fold with a hard pinch. She lifted it away from the underlying structure. She positioned the clamp and let go. The metal bit in. The skin blanched. She left the clamp in place and unwrapped a needle. She unpackaged the ring. She picked up the needle and bent down over his back and rested her forearm on his skin. She balanced the needle between her fingers.
“I have the needle, Carl,” she said. “I want you to take in a breath for me and hold it. On the count of three I want you to release that breath. Do it slowly. I’m going to put the needle in. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand.”
“One.” She felt his ribs expand. “Two. Three.”
His breath released in a long slow sigh. She exhaled with him and pushed the needle through, willing her strength into his skin. A small amount of blood stained the hollow tip. She left the needle balanced at the midpoint. She straightened up and retrieved the ring off the hygienist’s table.
“Now for the ring,” she said. “You’re going to feel the needle moving.”
“O-Okay.”
She aligned the edge of the ring with the needle and slipped it though. She rotated the ring, easing the clamp off the skin. The paleness dissipated and the skin filled with a pleasant shade of pink. The area started to swell. She used pliers to secure the captive bead.
“There.” She became aware of the sweat on her forehead. “One down.”
“You don’t…have any. I noticed. Piercings, I mean.”
Rhiannon pinched the skin opposite. She tugged it and brought her eyes level to his skin and situated the clamp. “I have them. They’re in hidden places.”
“Oh.”
“I have two barbells in each nipple. Kind of like a cross. I used to have lip rings but they got in the way. You know, the important stuff: eating, kissing, giving head. I got tired of them catching on my other lip and on my teeth and on other people’s teeth and getting yanked on.” She unwrapped and positioned a fresh needle. “Okay, I’m going in. Give me a breath. One. Two. Three.”
His chest didn’t move.
“Dammit, Carl, come on.” Her arm tensed and she mouthed a stream of silent profanity. “Look, I’m sorry, that was unprofessional in the extreme, but I need you to take a breath. A nice deep breath. No breath, no needle. This is me counting. One. Two.” He drew in a deep breath and her tone dropped in pitch and went silky. “That’s it, yeah. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Three.” She drew out the word three as she pushed the second needle through. She moved quick, unwrapping and positioning the ring. She slid the ring into place and loosened the clamps. “Hey, sorry if the nipple thing offended you. Be glad you didn’t get Tatiana, this chick I used to work with here. Not only would she have told you about her pussy piercings but she would’ve whipped up her skirt and showed you.” Rhiannon felt herself blush. She brushed her cheek against her shoulder before fixing the bead into place. “There. Now look at that. What a pretty pair.”
“Did you…did you do it yourself? The nipples?”
“Oh no, no. I had them done a couple years ago on a trip to Toronto.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” She stepped along the side of the table. “I’m getting ready to clamp the next one.”
“Okay.”
In the silence she punctured the third hole and threaded it with titanium. She fixed the bead. At the fourth a drop of blood welled up beneath the needle. It fattened, grew dark and gleaming. It paused there. The edges of it tinted scarlet and merged with the fine sheen of his sweat. It gained languid velocity. Her eyes followed. It rolled down the swollen skin and twisted toward his spine in a slow ribbon. A corner of her mouth twitched. Her breathing changed.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. No.” She felt a little dizzy. “Just a little blood, that’s all.”
“Oh.”
Her trembling fingers abandoned the needle. She brushed the piercing with a square of gauze and the blood stained it a pretty red. She blotted the valley of his spine. “There.” She wiped the skin. “All taken care of. How do you feel?”
“I feel good.”
She touched her forearm to her upper lip. She sighed. “Do you need a break?”
“No.”
“All right. We’re halfway through.”
“Good.”
The skin of his upper back flushed in hot patches. The skin around the rings was tight and tinged a faint swollen purple. Rhiannon folded gauze over her fingers. She pressed, circumnavigating the fifth and sixth marks, soaking up the last traces of sweat. She tossed the gauze onto the floor and threaded her fingers through the clamp. Her thumb flexed against the metal.
“Number five,” she said.
With the clamp situated she pushed the needle through. The muscle beneath twitched. His breath loosened and rasped over his teeth. He uttered a small sound. Rhiannon put her hand on him, framing the pierced skin with her splayed fingers. Her hand rose and fell with his breath. She leaned over him. Her face hovered over his hair. “All right?”
He started to nod. “Y-Yes.”
“It’s okay if it hurts,” she whispered.
“I…I know.”
“Now for the ring.”
She slipped it through. He held his breath. She secured the bead and let the ring rest on his skin. She slid her fingers around the sixth mark. “Let it out, Carl.”
He let out a long sigh.
“That’s it.” She clamped. “That’s it. Take a few breaths. I need you to relax. Please relax for me. Can you do that?”
His breath rushed out and hitched on the way in. “Yes. I-I think so.”
“Good. Good.”
He drew in another breath. It slid out of him, long and slow, and as he last of it left his body her hand settled on his neck. She left it there. The flesh tightened, then started to relax. The bones in her hand loosened. Her fingers spread open. His breathing changed. It became shallow.
“Shhhhhh, no. I want calm from you, I want to feel it in you.” Her hand turned over. Her thumb stroked the prominent vertebra at the base of his neck. “Give me calm. That’s it. That’s it. Yes. Yes. Give me calm. Give it to me. Give it to me.”
“Um.”
“Shhhhhh. Breathe.”
She lifted her hand away. A fresh sheen of sweat gleamed on his skin. Tiny droplets nestled in the small of his back. She pushed the needle through and his spine flexed. He grunted. Air puffed through his teeth. She threaded the ring and he drew in a deep breath. She clamped the bead into place. His chest froze and he let the air out in a long quivering hiss.
“That’s good,” she said. “Breathe into it. Just breathe into it. Don’t hyperventilate, though.” She draped her hand across the bottom of his neck. “Go slow. Go slow or you’ll make yourself dizzy.”
“I am already. Dizzy.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
His fingers flexed. “No.”
She took off her gloves. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She leaned over him and slipped her fingers under the waistband of his jeans. She tugged them down a couple of inches and put on a fresh pair of gloves and used a bit of gauze to mop up the sweat. The ink started to smear. She folded the gauze and blotted the surfaces of the marks, retouching them with the marker. “You’re going to want to wear your pants a little lower. You know. While it’s healing,” she murmured. “It’ll pull. And chafe.” She blew on the ink. “And generally make your life a living hell.”
The hairs over his tailbone stiffened.
“Last two,” she murmured. “Last two.”
“Please do it.”
Rhiannon opened her mouth and exhaled. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and felt hot patches bloom on her cheeks. She blotted the skin one last time and clamped one side of his spine and retrieved a second clamp and clamped the other side. The skin stretched between them. It paled. She looked down on her trembling fingers. She readied the needles. She willed the unsteadiness out of her hands. She longed for the muscles to relax and little by little the tension drained out of her fingers and dripped into her clit. She felt it swell, felt it throb to the beat of her heart. Her breath grew shallow. The sound of it filled her ears. She pushed the needle through and once it cleared the skin she closed her eyes. The sound of his breath was loud in the darkness, the tightening of his throat, the trapped air rushing through his vocal cords. The high soft breathy plaintive pitch of it.
She rotated the ring through his flesh. She panted.
She lowered her head and tried to control her breath. She moved around toward the end of the table. His feet were curled, the muscles in his legs tight and trembling. She squatted and gazed down the valley between his spread heels. She looked at his feet and her fingers moved close to his skin. Her palm passed through the air hovering just above the sole. She leaned forward and held her breath. She longed to touch him with the bridge of her nose, to kiss his Achilles tendon. Her mouth drifted closer. She let a little air slip out and his foot twitched. She straightened up, startled, and released her breath. She took a step back. She tried to breathe through the adrenaline as she walked around to the other side of the table. As she picked up the last needle she felt dizzy.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Last one.”
“Last one.”
She broke the skin and blood spilled. He whimpered.
“Blood.” She wiped it up.
“B-Blood,” he whispered.
Rhiannon rotated the last ring into place. She affixed the bead and took a breath and stepped back. She tossed the clamps onto the table. They landed with a loud clank. Carl jumped.
“You’re done,” she said.
He took a deep shaky breath. She picked up the dirty gauze off the floor, dropped the dirty needles to the sharps container, and peeled off the gloves. She stepped on a pedal and flipped open the wastebasket. She threw the gloves and the wrappers away. “Lay there as long as you want,” she said. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be waiting for you out front. Okay?”
“Uh huh.”
Rhiannon opened the door and stepped out into the hall. She eased it shut and leaned up against it. She sighed. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
“So…how’s Superman?”
Rhiannon flinched and her eyes flew open. She pushed Steve away hard enough to bounce him off the opposite wall. He slammed into it on his shoulder. He moved away and put his hand on it, looking at her with stunned eyes. “Goddammit, Jesus Christ, don’t sneak up on me like that! My eyes were closed!” A hysterical edge crept into her rising voice. “In case you didn’t notice, I couldn’t fucking see you! Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Holy fuck, girl. Calm the hell down.”
“I’m calm.” She rubbed her face. “I’m calm. I need a fucking cigarette.”
“Don’t we all.”
“Just…just back off on me, okay?” She waved her hands. “I’m all right. I’m all right.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I just need…I just need…I don’t know. I don’t know. A minute.”
She turned and strode off down the hall. She grabbed her purse and moved through the waiting room and out the propped-open doorway. She slouched in the hot sun and lit a cigarette. She stepped into the shade. She took a long drag off it and let the smoke leak through her lips. She rubbed the space between her eyebrows with the side of her thumb. She blew the smoke skyward. She squinted through the big window. She took another drag and flicked the ash. She stood in the slanting shade of the building and cupped her elbows. She smoke curled around her arms. She scraped at the gravel with the toe of her shoe, took a last drag and bent her leg. She twisted around and killed the coal on the sole of her shoe and slipped the cigarette into her pocket. She kicked the wedge out of the door and went back inside. The door crept shut.
“I don’t know who chocks the door open when the air conditioning is running,” she said.
“I do it when the lobby feels like a morgue,” said Steve.
Rhiannon looked past the waist-high partition. Steve paused in his shading and wiped away a runnel of blood.
“Hey, sorry about that,” she said. “You know. That thing in the hallway.”
His eyebrows twitched. “No blood no foul.”
“Good.” Rhiannon bit the side of her thumbnail. “Has he come out yet?”
“Ain’t seen nothin.”
“Okay.” She spit out a bit of cuticle. “Okay. God I hope he’s not in shock or anything. I’m going in.”
Steve shook his head. “You do that.”
Rhiannon walked back down the hallway and tapped her knuckles on the door. “Carl?” She flattened her hand on the door and brought her mouth close to the wood. “Are you all right in there?” She turned the knob. “Is everything okay?”
The knob pulled loose of her fingers. Rhiannon took a step back. The door swung inward.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Okay good. Good. I was…you know.” She backed away from him. “Getting a little worried there. Sometimes people have a little syncope. It’s like this shock reaction and oops, out go the lights. It happens because the body thinks its being injured? Well, it is being injured, technically, but I guess it doesn’t know the difference between a little cut and certain imminent death. So it just tunes out for a minute or so.” She flapped her hands. “Happens all the time.” She looked up at him and flashed a smile. “Is everything okay? How does it feel?”
His hands rested in his pockets. “Hurts.”
“I have some aftercare literature for you.” She pointed down the hall. “Over by…in the office. I know it’s nothing you haven’t read before, but…policy and all that, and besides you might learn something. They keep it pretty updated. Come on.” She gestured. “Follow me. I’ll get that stuff together for you. And I’ll ring you up. And then you can get out of here. Okay?”
He nodded.
She started to walk. “Do you have any questions for me?”
He followed along behind her. He stood there and watched as she dug through messy piles of papers. She extracted three separate sheets, shuffled them into a pile, and straightened out the edges. She stapled them together. “There you are, that’ll do you.” She used the surface of the desk to fold the stack into thirds. “Pocket-size. Hey, is there anything you want to ask me?” She handed it to him. “You want to know what I did, how I did it, any aftercare questions? Anything at all, trust me. I’ve had people ask me”oh my God. Suffice to say it takes a lot to embarrass me.”
His voice softened. “No.”
She blushed. “Okay.”
She took his two hundred and fifty dollars at the cash register and printed him a receipt and handed it to him. She tucked her copy into his file folder. She tossed the folder to one side. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re welcome back anytime. I mean it. You want ink, and Ronnie Boy’s your guy. And Steve totally doesn’t suck. And…I’m here.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. They settled into a small smile and he held her eyes a moment before looking away. “Thank you.”
“Have a nice day, Carl.”
He nodded. He stood there as if his feet were stuck to the floor, as if he wanted to say something more. He glanced at her and stuffed the receipt and the aftercare sheets in his back pocket. He left.
Rhiannon stood on her tiptoes and looked around the sign in the window as he walked across the gravel lot and climbed into his truck.
“Don’t hurt yourself or anything,” said Steve.
Rhiannon stuck her tongue out at him.
He sighed. “Toilet paper.”
Rhiannon grinned. The grin broadened and she started to giggle and she clapped her hands over her mouth. The giggling deepened into true laughter. Her shoulders shook and she bent over, resting her elbows on the counter. She laughed until the tears streamed from her eyes. It started to taper off and she wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands. She stood up and leaned into the wall. She looked at the ceiling. She sighed and flipped open the appointment book.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”