Daltrey’s face seems to pinch slightly. “I have a few you haven’t seen. That I got in the last year.”
“Oh.” I look down, feeling shitty. Of course he would have gotten tattoos this year. He loves body art and has a tendency to get something new every time he has something to celebrate. And there’s been a lot of that in the past year. I just haven’t been around to see it.
“I did that one for him the first time they came out here, back when they were still opening for Grey Skies,” Carlos explains, ignoring the awkwardness. “He came back again a few months later. What was that for? When you guys were recording?”
Daltrey nods, his eyes on me.
“Well, after that, he realized how he couldn’t live without me and started flying me out to meet them on the road whenever he wanted more ink.”
“He’s done all the guys,” Daltrey says. “Even Lennon.”
“Lennon has a tattoo?” I ask, shocked. I cannot for the life of me picture it.
“Barely,” Daltrey says. “We all got one of the album title when it went gold. We kind of bullied him into getting one. Cash said we’d kick him out of the band otherwise.”
I shake my head. “Mean brothers.”
“So what are we doing today?” Carlos asks. “Who’s first?”
Daltrey looks at me. “Want me to go first, so you can watch? See what it’s like?”
I shake my head. “No, I think that will scare me more. I just want to get it started.”
“I like that,” Carlos says. “You’re brave. Just jump in and go for it.”
I smile, liking the sound of being called brave.
“So what can I do for you?”
I try to ignore Daltrey’s eyes. “I want some words. I like this font, here.” I point at the book.
Carlos peers at where my finger rests on the page. “No problem. Why don’t you tell me what the words are, and I’ll practice the print.”
I swallow and look up at Daltrey, meeting his eyes, before reciting the lyrics of the chorus of “Heartache.” As I speak, I see his eyes get bigger.
“Wow,” he whispers when I’m through. “Daisy that’s… that’s pretty cool.”
I shrug, feeling embarrassed. “That song is pretty damn important to me. It was always my favorite of yours.”
He swallows several times. “Mine, too.”
Carlos has finished the print, and he shows it to me. “Like this?”
I nod. “Perfect.”
“And where are we doing this?”
“Here?” I ask, pointing to my left side. “Like, over my rib cage?”
“Perfect. Okay, I want you to lie down on your side. I’m going to trace it out first to make sure I have the spacing right. It might feel cold.”
Daltrey helps me to hop up onto the table. “You sure about this?” he asks.
I nod. I haven’t been so certain about anything in a long time.
The pain is as bad as I thought it would be, but Daltrey distracts me by telling stories about his brothers and how they had each reacted to their tattoos. “You’re doing much better than Cash,” he says. “He moans and groans like a little baby.”
“It’s true,” Carlos agrees. “Total wimp.”
I laugh, and Carlos chides, “Don’t move.”
“Then stop making me laugh.”
It takes about forty-five minutes. When he’s done, he gives me a mirror so I can see it. The print is large, each letter about a half-inch high, and the tat stretches from just below my breast down over my ribcage, spanning around my side.
“Perfect,” I whisper. My skin is red and swollen, but my tattoo is still one of the coolest I’ve ever seen.
“You handled it like a pro,” Carlos says. After he wraps up my side with plastic and tape, he stretches. “I’m going to take a little break, then we’ll get started on you, Dalt.”
Daltrey nods and helps me down off the table. “Impressive,” he tells me. “You barely flinched.”
I nod nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’m a badass.”
He laughs. “I’ll say.”
“So what are you getting?”
He shakes his head. “Oh, no, you’re going to be just as surprised as I was.” He pulls out his phone and taps something in.
“What?”
“Just finding an image.” He slips the phone back into his pocket. “So how’s your dad going to react to this?”
I shrug. “I doubt he’ll ever see it.”
“What if you wear a bathing suit?”
I try to imagine a time when my dad and I might take a happy family vacation to the beach, and I just can’t. I don’t know if the thought makes me want to laugh or cry.