Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1) (11 page)

Dave likes to pretend he’s a half-wit drummer, but up until two years ago he was our business manager, booking gigs and figuring out the contracts.

Tyler’s the one who brought all of us together. He wanted to be in a band, so he found us. Ever since then, he’s the guy who puts things together. He found our agent and our producer for
Beast
. He’s like a human Rolodex.

5. What do his tattoos have to do with Tattoo Thief?

He did a tat on his arm that looked a lot like another guy’s and the guy started calling him Tattoo Thief.

6. Which tattoo? Is there a story behind it?

Not telling, and yes. And that’s all you’re going to get from me on those two questions. Ask Tyler.

8. An early article about you said you used to be a street busker. What was your life like before Tattoo Thief?

I was living out of my truck and doing odd jobs at an RV park where I could get a shower for a quarter and do laundry for a dollar. I washed dishes at a restaurant and I busked to get by.

I met Tyler on a street corner when he flipped a twenty into my guitar case. That got my attention. Tyler told me to follow him back to his mom’s house where I met the other guys. He told them I was what they needed. I don’t think they believed it at the time, but when Tyler wants something, you just trust him. He’s rarely wrong.

9. Did the band click right away?

Pretty much. Dave got us gigs and we started playing on the weekends for tips and free beer. It was the most fun I’d ever had, and I finally felt like I was a part of a family. Tyler’s mom let me stay with them and the guys in the band became my brothers.

10. Your band started in Pittsburgh, where some of you went to college. How did you get to New York?

After the guys graduated, we knew that the only way to really make it big was to go to a big city, so we flipped a coin—L.A. or New York. You know which city won. The four of us got a tiny, crappy apartment in Brooklyn and Dave hustled the gigs. Tyler worked his magic and met a bunch of other musicians and that got us on the right track.

11. You all sound very different. What’s kept you together so long?

It’s the music, but also the process of how we write. We stuff ourselves in a room and just say, “two songs,” and work until we have them good enough to play. Sometimes, that only takes a few hours. Sometimes it takes days.

12. Is it just the four of you?

And Lulu. She’s a friend of the band and she helps us out, gives us a different kind of push. She’s my muse.

13. You’ve been seen with Lulu Stirling at a number of events. Is she your girlfriend?

Come on. You’ve got twenty questions and you ask that?

14. OK, then, Gavin, you’ve been linked to a lot of beautiful women including the model Maya Shaw and the socialite Monica Wells. Who’s got your heart?

My heart’s in my music, and whoever helps that along is part of it. Whoever undermines it can’t be part of my life. It’s as simple as that.

I’m not in the market for a steady girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking. I like keeping my options open.

You’re breaking millions of hearts right now.

Is that a question?

15. No. What’s the secret to your success?

There is no secret. You start thinking you’ve got one, that you know some magic formula to take a ride up the charts, and you’ve lost touch with reality.

For our band, it’s luck and hard work and sweat and failure. It’s a lot of failure. You fail enough, you do enough wrong things and maybe you’ll stumble on the one right thing that really works.

16. What are you going to do with all the money you’ve made?

Pay our agent. Seriously, it’s been a crazy ride to the top and we’ve hardly had time to catch a breath. I just bought a place in New York. Jayce is building a music studio and Dave is investing in a new label as a partner. Tyler will probably get some more tattoos.

17. What are your plans for after the
Beast
tour wraps up?

More albums. More music. We haven’t figured out what the next album will sound like yet. I want to give our fans something they love but also something that challenges them.

18. Any plans for a solo career?

Why? It’s more fun with the band. We’ve been together so long, I can’t imagine starting over with anyone else.

19. What’s next for Tattoo Thief?

We’ve got a twenty-city tour going and we’re about halfway through. When we’re done with it, we’ll take a short break and then we’ll get back into the studio for another album. New music keeps us going.

20. What inspired “Peace of Madness?” This song has really resonated with fans.

Nothing personal. And if I’ve counted right, that’s twenty questions. Catch you later.

I pour a glass of wine and plop back on my bed with the magazines and discs, chewing on these few new tidbits about Lulu. I crack open the CDs to page through the liner notes, scanning for Lulu’s name.

I read every credit: every musician, producer, and sound mixer who worked on the CD, and find nothing.

Until the end.

Cover design: Luke Cowdin. Cover photography: Jessica Naslund. Cover model: Lulu Stirling.

Jackpot.

Lulu wasn’t just Gavin’s muse. She was the cover model for
Feast
—the naked body covered with sushi.

On a hunch, I rip open
Beast
and flip to the end of its liner notes. Gotcha. Same designer. Different photographer. Same model: Lulu Stirling.

I take a moment to study the second cover. She’s scowling, angry, as if she were ready to attack the imaginary lion that mauled her. She looks thinner, too; her cheekbones are more pronounced, her eyes sunken.

She looks haunted.

I flip open my laptop and get ready to Google more about Lulu Stirling when a G-chat window pops up.

Gavin:
Beryl.

Across ten thousand miles, he calls my name and my heart leaps. How can I let him affect me like this?

Me:
I’m here.

Gavin:
What are you doing?

I hesitate, unwilling to admit my full-court-press toward stalkerdom.

Me:
Looking at magazines.

I push the
Spin
magazine aside guiltily.

Me:
Picking out your new furniture.

Gavin:
I wanted to talk to you more. I found another Internet connection.

Me:
We can chat. What are you doing?

Gavin:
I’m going to head west today, toward Lake Victoria. I need to listen to Maasai songs.

Me:
Why do you need that?

Gavin:
I need new music. I need a new inspiration. I’m stuck.

Me:
That sounds familiar. I was stuck too, you know.

Gavin:
How?

Me:
My life. I was stuck being the manager of a coffee shop. Stuck in my hometown, which compared to New York is small and boring. I was stuck until last week, when my Uncle Dan offered me a job. This job.

Gavin:
I got you un-stuck?

Me:
Yep. Thanks for that.

Gavin:
Beryl, you don’t know how fantastic that is.

Me:
I do. I feel more daring and adventurous than I’ve ever been in my whole safe, sane, responsible, boring life.

Gavin:
I need to get un-stuck.

Me:
???

Gavin:
That’s why I’m here. Why I’ve been traveling. Partly to forget, to get away. Partly to get un-stuck.

Me:
Why are you stuck?

Gavin:
I lost my muse.

Me:
Lulu?

Gavin:
Yes
.

Me:
What happened?

Gavin:
Overdose. When Lulu died, I freaked out. I tore up my house, I tore up myself. I went on the world’s most disgusting booze-and-takeout bender. You have no idea.

Me:
Actually, I do.

Gavin:
Oh. Yeah. Sorry.

Me:
Trust me—it gets better. Never all the way, but different.

Gavin:
But it might get worse. There was a reporter. The first day I left my apartment after Lulu died, he followed me and pushed a camera in my face and asked me if I was responsible. He accused me. And I was so freaked out that I ran. I got a flight to Madrid, and then hopped to Rome, and then Istanbul, Jerusalem, Cairo, and Nairobi. I just kept going.

Me:
You left Jasper. That sucks.

Gavin:
I know. I feel terrible about that. I just couldn’t take it. He was a constant reminder of her.

Me:
He was Lulu’s?

Gavin:
I got him for her. I thought that might bring her back from the edge, give her someone to take care of, someone who loves her unconditionally.

Me:
The edge?

Gavin:
I admit that I’m no angel. I hit booze. Some pot. But she went deeper. Heavier. She was an addict. She couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. I saw her wasting away, the drugs eating her up. I couldn’t bring her back and I’m afraid I didn’t try hard enough.

Me:
Sounds like you loved her.

I feel tears leaking from my eyes as I write that.

Gavin:
I did. We were together for a long time. And even when she was using, I needed her. She inspired almost every song on my albums, or helped me work them out somehow. And she never wanted credit for helping me write. So I gave her credit with the album covers themselves. Made her the art that went with my music.

Me:
Did you ever try to get her help?

Gavin:
Of course I did. But it was always on my terms—I couldn’t let her get far enough away from me in a closed treatment program.

Me:
You blame yourself.

Gavin:
Yes. I kept her close to help my music, and that kept her close enough to the lifestyle. She decided she wanted drugs and their dealers more than she wanted me.

Me:
You can’t let the guilt eat you up, Gavin. You
tried
to save her. Some people just don’t want to be saved. What happened with the reporter? Did he ever write the story?

Gavin:
No. But I keep wishing he’d ask me again. Like, I’d just run into him in Nairobi and he’d ask me if I was responsible for Lulu’s death, and I could finally say yes.

Me:
Yes?

Gavin:
When treatment didn’t work, I got her the drugs.

Me:
You did? What the fuck, Gavin?

I feel my heart racing, panicked. I was almost ready to forgive Gavin for all of his other selfish, slovenly behavior, and all the shit he left me to clean up. But to think he was responsible for Lulu’s death—I’m not sure anyone can be forgiven for that.

Gavin:
Don’t you dare judge me. You have no idea what it’s like to watch the person you love killing themselves, little by little, every day.

Me:
So it’s suddenly OK to enable them? Hand them a time bomb and walk away? She was an addict!

Gavin:
I thought that was the only way to keep her safe—off the street, away from dealers who took advantage of her.

Me:
Or maybe it’s just like you said—you needed her to help your music.

She needed a hero, and
you
took advantage of her.

I’m seething as I type. I want an explanation, something that will reconcile his unforgivable actions. But as my eyes flash over our chat, I see that he’s given me the explanation and it’s an ugly truth.

He’s not the hero. He’s the villain. Maybe his self-imposed exile is not too harsh a penalty. Maybe he deserves it.

I wait, my heart begging him to type something to redeem himself. But I get nothing. His green bubble goes gray.

“I won’t take no for an answer. You get the most badass little black dress you can find and fuck-me shoes, and be ready by nine.”

Stella’s on a mission. Blayde is history and she firmly believes that the best way to get over one man is to get under another. She says I’ll feel a million times better about the breakup with Jeff once I see who else is on the market.

“You’re freaking me out,” I say. “Who owns fuck-me shoes? Other than strippers and prostitutes?”

“Every woman needs a pair, honey,” she drawls. “They’re like a giant neon sign for guys that says, ‘Hey cowboy, tonight’s your lucky night!’”

I run my hands through my hair and go to my closet. Bumpkin Fashion’s not gonna cut it for the dance club Stella has in mind. I head to the other guest room, where Lulu’s clothes lie on the bed.

They’re begging me to take them.

“I think I might have something,” I say, fingering a short black dress with a silver chain detail in the front. “But we’d better put
comfortable
fuck-me shoes on my shopping list for next time. I’ve got to be able to dance in them.”

“Once you’ve had a few drinks, you won’t be able to feel your feet,” Stella says. “That’s my secret.”

I suppress a snort. In college, Stella’s drinking wasn’t a secret—it was more like a public address. The frat boys loved her antics and sometimes I tagged along.

“So how are we going to get there? On the subway?”

“The
train
. New Yorkers call it the train.”

“Sorry.” I’m still learning the lingo, but at least I know Houston Street isn’t pronounced like the city in Texas. “The train. Or do you want to take a cab?”

“Tell you what. I’ll bring my stuff over and we’ll get ready at your place. I’ll do your hair.”

I’m sure Stella’s far more into seeing Gavin’s apartment than giving me a beauty consultation, but I hear myself agreeing. My thick, curly hair takes forever to tame, especially if I want it straight and sleek.