Page 6 of The Sounds of Her

He walks towards a tattoo chair and an immaculate station. I nod and sit down on the chair.

“So, what are you after?”

I show him an image of a fret board buried beneath the skin. It’s shaded to appear as if the skin has torn with the guitar beneath instead of bones. His brows lift.

“That’ll take a lot of hours.”

“I’ve got time if you have.”

“Pricey too.”

“I’m good.”

Chez laughs. “You got a big enough space? If you want it to be realistic, it’s gonna be a decent size.”

I roll up the leg of my shorts. My left thigh is bare, so it’s prime real estate for a tattoo. Chez nods at me.

“Do you want it like this, or can I change it?”

“Go for it,” I say.

He asks if I want to wait, or I can come back in a little while, I decide to stay. It’ll be too much hassle to leave and come back. In the waiting area, I pull out my notepad and pen.

I’m still struggling with this damn song. Most of my writing is shite lately, even Adam commented on it. He’s subtler about it than that. He never likes to mess with the artistic muse. Thank God he’s a fucking legendary song writer.

I’m pissed the hell off, and I scribble out another stupid line of lyrics. The whole pad is full of them. I flip to another page and focus on writing some chords instead of words. That comes a little easier.

Chez returns with a drawing worthy of a place on the wall. I’m fucking amazed. The tattoo is a million times better than the image I brought. I get on the bed and Chez places the stencil, then gets to work.

The first needle scratch calms the maelstrom of emotions in my head. I put one arm behind my head, looking at the woman’s photograph. I point at it and Chez looks up.

“My wife.”

My brows lift in surprise. I’m sure people wonder why he allows everyone who comes in to see his wife like that. Few guys I know would have a naked picture of their wife displayed for the world to see.

“She’s a model, but that was something we did together.”

“You photographed her?”

Chez nods. He waits for my reaction, as if I’m going to comment that his wife is hot.

“It’s a stunning piece of art. You’re a photographer and a tattooist?”

He blinks a few times and nods. He talks about his photography and his wife’s modelling career as he gets back to work. And how he knows Phoenix, my tattoo artist, who is based out of Baltimore.

Bianca calls about the recording studio session on Sunday when Chez takes a break. She’s pissed but says she’s worked it into the schedule. There is nothing more from Madison. Why would there be? She’s got what she wanted. Being an exec at the label allows her that luxury.

Bianca can be a hard ass, but she is no match for the execs.

Chez gives me a couple of breaks and the young guy at the counter goes out for sandwiches for everyone, which is thoughtful.

He’s almost finished when his wife comes in. Chez excuses himself and goes to greet her. She hugs him and they kiss before he brings her over.

“I didn’t mention you coming in cos she’s fucking gone for your band.”

“Oh shit,” the woman shrieks.

“Archer Harris, this is Carina, your number one fan.”