9. Kira
9
KIRA
“It’s just such a slap in the fucking face, you know?” I say, exasperated. The scent of metal and antiseptic soap fills my nostrils as I take a deep breath, winded from all my bitching. The low buzz in the air provides a soothing score to the moment, helping to distract me from the needle stabbing me repeatedly in the wrist right now.
I never admit to my friends that I was a little scared of getting my first tattoo. After I nearly passed out in the chair when I had my nipples pierced in college, I decided that me and needles were not meant to be buddies. But once the artist began her work and I realized that inking my skin felt no worse than a sunburn, I was fine.
In fact, I can see how people get addicted to these things. The bite of pain followed by the comforting swipe of a damp towel against my tender skin is borderline erotic.
Or maybe I just need to get laid.
Either way, I’m enjoying myself.
This is the weirdest bachelorette party I’ve ever been to. Not only are there boyfriends, husbands, and fiancee in attendance, but it’s only eleven in the morning and Rachel enforced a dress code. She’s in white, of course, while me, G, and Dottie are in varying shades of yellow day dresses.
Rachel shut down all of my suggestions for co-ed strip clubs, drag shows, champagne bars and penis straw cocktails. Instead, the bride-to-be requested that we celebrate her impending nuptials by following through on something we’ve been drunkenly discussing for months–Pussy Posse tattoos.
And since Rach hasn’t wanted to discuss venues or canapés or anything remotely wedding related while the artists draw permanent cat ears and whiskers on our wrists, I’ve taken the opportunity to finally vent to the gals about my professional woes.
“I don’t get why you didn’t tell us you were even thinking about buying Spin Sync, Keeks,” Dottie says through a wince. I don’t think she finds the hum of the needle as soothing as I do.
“Yeah, isn’t keeping secrets against The Pussy Posse code of conduct?” Georgie asks, her eyes closed as she reclines in her artist’s chair .
It’s already been five days since Warren took over as CEO of Spin Sync, and this is the first real opportunity I’ve had to fill my girls in on everything that went down.I haven’t actually seen him since our fight on Monday. Jonathan was the kind of leader who was up my ass twenty-four-seven, and I’d expected more of the same from Warren. I’d planned to nag and complain and generally annoy the hell out of him until he left me alone, but he skipped right to the ignoring me stage all on his own.
But even though Warren seems to keep to himself doesn’t mean I need to keep my side of the street clean. I may have started a few rumors about our new CEO around the studio. It’s all harmless, of course. Stupid things, like telling the production team that I heard Warren has a Teletubby tattoo on his ass cheek. Or when Maddison, one of my fellow instructors, called Warren a hot daddy and I told her I’d heard from a friend of a friend that he has a micropenis and suffers from erectile dysfunction. I don’t feel good about spreading rumors, but…
Actually, fuck it. I feel fantastic about it.
“It wasn’t necessarily a secret. I was just going to be real casual and nonchalant about it. Show up one morning at brunch like ‘Oh by the way, your girl owns a whole-ass company now. Pass the maple syrup.’”
“I don’t understand how it got so far in the first place,” Amir says, stroking Rachel’s hair as an artist works on her wrist. “Couldn’t you or your dads have sued Jonathan years ago?” I shrug .
“We talked to our lawyers, but there was nothing we could do. It’s not like I had a trademark or anything. I wrote out a sort of business plan in a journal during my freshman year at UCLA, but that journal was long lost by then. I didn’t have so much as a text message talking about the idea to bring to court. There was no way to prove that Spin Sync was my intellectual property because technically, it wasn’t.”
“And you never got any sort of documentation from this guy while you were working together? Nothing that says you’ve essentially been partners since the beginning?” Stephen asks. I try not to get upset that all the guys want to solve my problems when all I wanted to do was complain to my girlfriends. They mean well, even when they’re being annoyingly logical.
“Nope,” I answer, popping the ‘p’ dramatically. “Anytime I asked him for anything–even just a title that lent me some power, Jonathan would tell me the same thing. That he wouldn’t want to stick around forever, and that I’d get my chance at running things. And like an idiot, I believed him. I was too understanding. Too kind. All I wanted was a chance to buy what should have been rightfully mine, but no. I was holding on to an opportunity that he was never going to give me.”
“And that’s why you’re so mad at Warren. Because he represents everything that Jonathan took from you.”
I tap my nose with my pointer finger.
“Exactly, Georgie. And also, one other reason.”
“What’s the other reason?” James asks. The weirdo has his eyes squeezed shut while he holds Georgie’s hand because he can’t stand to see his wife in pain. I hate how sweet it is. “I mean, I get the symbolism shit, but Warren has been doing great so far. He seems to be getting on well with everyone. And you know he brought me on to the technical team. He’s got some really great ideas for moving the company forward.”
All true. All unhelpful.
“I kind of...sort of…maybe hooked up with him…” I say. The artist inking my wrist snorts, then coughs to try to cover it up. I can’t blame her. I’d snort at my idiocy, too.
My friends erupt in a chorus of questions.
“When?”
“Where?’
“How was it?”
I roll my eyes
“At the wedding. In the bridal suite. With Colonel Mustard–does it matter? The man has seen me come, and now he’s my boss. And he keeps telling me he didn’t know he’d be buying the company at the time, but I don’t believe him. I mean, these kinds of things take months to go through. Years, sometimes.”
“The right amount of money can make anything happen quickly,” Dottie says, and all the guys nod. I guess they would know. Last year, Stephen went to James for a loan so that he could expand his family’s construction company to California. Amir also once used his money and power for good, buying an entire startup just so he could fire Rachel’s shitty ex-boyfriend for hurting her.
“Whatever. I don’t even care that he’s the King Asshole leading the parade down Shithead Street. It’s just humiliating. I thought with my clit instead of my brain and now I’m just the girl who fucked the guy who was intent on screwing her over.”
Again.
The buzz of the tattoo guns fades as the artists wrap up their work, and I’m met with pitying stares from my friends. We’re quiet as our wrists are wiped and wrapped in plastic.
“So, how did that Jacob’s ladder feel inside you?” Amir asks bluntly, breaking the awkward silence.
Fuck. As if I wasn’t having a hard enough time trying to forget Warren’s gorgeous, bejeweled dick as it is. I was so shocked when I palmed him through his briefs and felt the barbells. He seemed too buttoned up to even entertain something as frivolous and sexy as a dick piercing–let alone multiple along the length of him–but maybe that’s just the accent.
“We didn’t actually have sex, just fooled around. And how do you know about the Jacob’s ladder?” I ask. Amir just shrugs.
“I caught a glimpse in a steam room once. I wasn’t trying to look, but it’s hard to miss all those barbells. It’s a shame you didn’t get to climb the ladder. I’ve always wondered if it would be worth it. ”
“Am! You’d actually pierce your penis?” Georgie asks.
“I’m not afraid of a little pain, Peaches. And I’m quite dedicated to Rachel’s pleasure.” He winks, nuzzling his nose into his fiancée’s hair.
“God, I almost threw up when I got my nose pierced. Can you imagine a needle in your dick?” Dottie asks. Stephen winces and violently shakes his head as he shudders.
“It’s an interesting concept, though,” James pipes in with a shrug. “I mean, I’m ninety-five percent sure that I’m straight, but I was there in that steam room and I had some pretty gay thoughts about that dude’s cock.”
“Okay, enough dick talk. C’mon, let’s go outside and take pictures of our new tattoos in the sunlight!” Rachel squeals, and the four of us head into the daylight to admire the permanent love letters we wrote for each other under our skin.
My emotions get the best of me, and tears well in my eyes. I blink them back, but there’s still a crack in my voice when I turn to my friends.
“I love you guys. Georgie, Rachel, Dottie, you’re all so important to me. I’m so lucky to call you guys my friends.”
“Aw, Keeks, you’re not supposed to be the sentimental one! You’re the bad ass, that’s why you’re my maid of honor!” Rachel says while pulling me into a hug. I squeeze her, feeling a little shocked by her declaration .
“Wait. Maid of honor? Me? Seriously?”
“Well duh. It only makes sense. You introduced all of us. Kira, you’re the glue that keeps The Pussy Posse together. Of course you should be the one to stand next to me while I marry Amir today.”
My lip trembles, and the tears in my eyes are hanging on by a thread, ready to spill down my cheeks when Georgie shrieks and Rachel’s words catch up to me.
“Today? What do you mean today?” I ask as I look Rachel up and down. Her hair is curled in old Hollywood waves, her lips are painted cranberry red, and she’s wearing a simple but beautiful white sundress with matching white pumps.
Holy shit, how did we miss this? Rachel isn’t dressed like it’s her bachelorette party. She’s dressed like a bride.
We’re having a wedding today.
“Ah, you told them,” Am says as the guys catch up with us outside of the tattoo shop. Rachel smiles so wide, I’m surprised her cheeks don’t split.
“We’ve already got the license. Am’s mama and my dad are already at City Hall waiting for us. Dottie and G, you ladies are bridesmaids, too.”
“You’re serious? We’re having a wedding right now? And we all get to be bridesmaids?” Dottie asks. She and Georgie don’t seem to share my disdain for crying in public. They’re both openly letting the tears fall.
“Well, yeah. Why else would I have pulled my bridezilla card and made you all wear matching outfits?” Rachel asks as Am wraps an arm around her waist.
“Are you ready to become Mrs. Rachel Davenport-Salman?” he asks.
“Are you ready to become Mr. Amir Davenport-Salman?” she answers.
“Aww Am, you’re hyphenating your name, too?” Georgie asks, placing a hand over her heart.
“Sure. We both have great last names. Why should either of us have to choose one or the other?” Amir looks down at Rachel as if she’s the only thing in the world worth seeing, and my chest aches.
As if on cue, two blacked-out luxury SUVs pull up to the curb, and the seven of us pile into back seats and head to the center of the city.
The ceremony is quick and simple. Rachel’s dad walks her down the aisle, and a photographer snaps pictures while the bride and groom repeat simple vows. The judge pronounces them husband and wife, and Rachel is swept off her feet and into a searing kiss. In less than ten minutes, another one of my favorite people in the world has legally tied herself to another person.
Everything is changing. James and Georgie are already married, Am and Rachel have joined them. Before long, Dottie and Stephen will be headed down the aisle. There will be pets and kids and a slew of changes that I wouldn’t be able to stop if I wanted to.
I feel a little sad that my friends have found their partners and I haven’t. I hate that I’m upset that while Rachel, Dottie, and Georgie all get to go home with someone tonight, I’ll be going back to my quiet house by myself. I look down at my wrist, already finding a newfound appreciation for the cat tattoo on my skin. At least when I’m lying in bed alone tonight, I’ll be able to look at my tattoo and remember that I’m never really on my own as long as I have The Pussy Posse by my side.