Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1) (10 page)

Me:
Gross.

Gavin:
It was awesome at first. But then it got weird. Now it bugs me. A lot.

Me:
I don’t believe it.

Gavin:
Well, I did earn my bad boy reputation the regular way.

Me:
That’s more like it.

Gavin:
What about you? Tell me something real. Really real.

Me:
I’ve only had one boyfriend.

Gavin:
And …

Me:
And I love passion fruit gelato and I’m terrified of spiders.

Gavin:
You’re stalling.

Me:
True. You can Google me. I guess I could Google you to figure out your secrets…

Gavin:
DO NOT GOOGLE ME.

Me:
Seriously? What are you hiding? Is it juicy?

Gavin:
DO NOT. Seriously.

Me:
Now I need to know. I need to know what you’re looking for and you won’t tell me. I can’t help you.

Gavin:
That’s different.

Me:
Like hell it is. Look, Mr. Rock Star, I know you have an exciting life and a pretty carefree one, judging by the way you treat what you have and take things for granted. But you can’t presume to measure your life against mine. You have no idea.

Gavin:
Then we’re equal.

Me:
And opposite.

The words fly from my fingers before I think about what I’m saying. After a long pause, Gavin types back:

Gavin:
Physics. You saw that interview.

Me:
Yeah.

Gavin:
Beryl, I changed my mind. I really do want you to make my place different.

Me:
How different?

Gavin:
So I don’t even recognize it. So it doesn’t feel like mine.

Me:
What should it feel like?

Gavin:
Figure it out. Transform it. That’s what I want you to do for me.

Me:
I can do that.

I suck in my breath, not even sure where to start.

Gavin:
I’ve got about five minutes left before they close the Internet café and kick me out. So I’ll ask you one more time: tell me something real.

Me:
Quid pro quo?

Gavin:
Yes. One question, and one answer. Each.

Me:
When my dad died, I was 13. I had to become the parent. My mom was no good at it; she enrolled in school and turned into a stranger for, like, years. I don’t know if she would have eaten if I hadn’t cooked for us.

Gavin:
Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere?

Me:
The ‘but’ is that I didn’t always do a good job. Parenting myself. Setting boundaries. Watching out.

Gavin:
With your job and your businesslike notes, you seem really responsible. Really capable.

Me:
Survival skill. I wasn’t always successful, but I figured it out. Instead of being daring, taking risks like a normal teenager, I had to be more careful. I feel like I missed out. Time’s up, I answered. Your turn. Tell me something real about you.

Gavin:
Her name was Lulu. And I couldn’t save her.

Gavin’s bubble abruptly turns from green to gray and I slam my hand on the table in frustration. The connection is gone. Just as he’s telling me about this mysterious someone he lost, I lose him.

But maybe I haven’t.

Maybe I’ve just gained something from this chat. Some thread of a connection.

I vow to do the best job I can making his apartment new. Maybe it’s the seed he needs to start a new life.

This time, I feel like I’m cheating when I Google Gavin, pulling up articles instead of images. I’m looking for Lulu.

I open Tattoo Thief’s website but find no mention of Lulu. Strike one.

I scan news articles on music industry websites and blogs. Strike two.

Then, inspired, I switch back to the image search.

There she is, the raven-haired beauty I saw him pose with. I open each picture, scanning the captions, and learn her full name: Lulu Stirling.

She’s stunning, reminiscent of a curvy, war-era pinup girl. I see her in a jet-black bob, false eyelashes, and peep-toe heels. I see her in a burgundy silk dress at a red carpet event. In another photo, she’s much thinner, tucked under Gavin’s arm at a premier, staring at the camera with a look that is both haunting and haunted.

Captions offer plenty of nudge-and-wink innuendo, but none of them say she’s his girlfriend.

Who is she to him?

I have another inspiration, this time thinking of Gavin’s albums on Stella’s phone. Albums come with liner notes. Maybe I’ll find something there?

I think about getting dressed and taking Jasper to a music store. But I’m here at the center of Gavin’s universe. All of his life is bared to me. I only need to figure out where to look.

Feeling like a trespasser in his home—and my temporary home—I prowl for the CDs
Feast
and
Beast
. I look through the living room, pick through the case by the stereo, and check out the music room with its acoustic foam walls. No dice.

His office is disheveled but enticing. Surely he has copies here?

I shove aside a few piles of paper but soon give up.

Maybe that’s the answer to my riddle? Maybe the sheer fact that this rock star doesn’t keep a single copy of his own album says something about his state of mind?

I don’t remember picking up bits of CD cases when I hauled out Gavin’s trash, but maybe he pitched them off the terrace? Anything is possible, and I decide to take Jasper to the music store after all.

I slide my feet into sneakers, ready for a trip to Columbus Circle. Jasper senses my urgency and doesn’t dawdle.

The city feels different. It’s nearly dark on a weeknight and the city vibrates with energy of a different kind—less tension, more intrigue.

There are still tons of people out and that’s different; in Eugene, it wasn’t uncommon to be the only person out on a street this late. It felt comfortable there, but here it would be downright scary.

I ask a clerk for Tattoo Thief’s two albums and she directs me to the rock CDs. But she also runs a quick search and I hit the jackpot—the record store has a magazine section with a back issue of
Spin
from a few months ago.

Tattoo Thief is featured on the cover with a purportedly juicy interview inside. Gavin looks thoroughly delicious and tough, arms folded, ice-blue eyes fiercely defying the camera.

There’s enough heat in his expression that it’s hard to look away. I shake my head and pull thick curls off the back of my neck, trying to cool my lust by thinking of something else.

Anything else. I’m annoyed that his looks fire me up when I
know
what a slob he is.

I grab two decorating magazines from the periodicals section and throw them on top of the copy of
Spin
and shirtless Gavin.

Think about picking out a new couch.

That Gavin and I could get busy on.

No!

My brain screams in protest against my libido, which imagines running my tongue up his washboard abs just to count the ridges.

I exhale as I wait for the clerk to ring up my purchases, mentally ticking off the ways Gavin abused, befouled, or otherwise damaged his penthouse.

I grab Jasper from his hitching post outside the music store and trot back to the apartment, two CDs and three magazines bumping in a bag against my thigh. We high-five Charles on the way in.

“So how’s it going with your new buddy Jasper?” he asks.

“I love this little freak,” I say. Jasper takes a piece of cheese from Charles and then shakes his head hard, rattling his ears back and forth. “And I think he likes me too. He baroos when I come home.”

“They’re called barkless dogs,” Charles nods. “Most of them don’t bark, but they yodel. How’s is going with Mr. Slater and his apartment?”

I stutter, steamy thoughts still fresh in my mind, realizing that Charles doesn’t know what he’s asking. As far as he knows, I’m just the house sitter. The hired help, just like him.

And that’s really
all
I am—not Gavin’s girlfriend. Not even his friend.

I’m staff.

That fact makes me a little sad.

“I’m redecorating for him,” I say, forcing my tone to be chipper. “New living room furniture, for starters. New linens and drapes. When he comes home, he won’t recognize the place, and according to him, that will be a good thing.”

Charles nods, searching my face. “We can all use a change of scenery,” he confirms. “And I know Gavin was ready for one.”

“Do you know him very well?” I ask. I know I’m on thin ice here, probing for information, but I hope Charles picks up on my just-between-us-staff vibe and spills.

“A bit. He moved in when his first album went platinum. It was crazy around here; fans dressed up like delivery personnel just to get a crack at knocking on his door. All that attention nearly got him kicked out of the co-op.”

I raise my eyebrows but stay silent, hoping for more.

“Now things have calmed down,” Charles says. “He wrapped up his tour a few months ago. I thought the band was going back into the studio to record their next album, but then Gavin just took off. Somewhere in Europe or Asia, I think.”

“Africa,” I tell him, “Kenya.” The news takes him by surprise.

“That’s where I was born. Nairobi.”

“He’s there now. Maybe you inspired him?” I take another tack: “Charles, did you know any of Gavin’s friends? Anyone other than the band?”

His brow furrows.

“Lulu?”

He looks surprised. “How do you know about her?”

“Gavin told me,” I say, and it’s not a lie, though I’m not sure what to ask next since all the information I can get on Lulu is in the record store bag dangling at my side.

“She was a sweet girl. A sweet, troubled girl,” he murmurs. “It was like she floated when she walked; she moved with such grace. But she had troubles of her own.”

“And Gavin couldn’t save her,” I supply.

“That’s right. You can’t save an addict. You can only give them the tools to save themselves. Mr. Slater didn’t have those tools to give.”

“I see that. He’s still an irresponsible boy.”

Charles straightens and hustles to the door where he welcomes a resident home for the night. “You’d better head up now,” he says, signaling the end of our conversation. “Have a good night and take care of our friends.” He nods to indicate both the dog and the rock star are in my care.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

I flip through
Spin
to find the interview with Tattoo Thief and it begins with a stunning photo spread—the four band members are posed in an auto shop as if the photographer caught them stealing cars and selling them for parts.

There’s a wall of muscle on display—Gavin’s shirtless and the tall, slender guy next to him has an open mechanic’s shirt with tattoos littering his forearms. Another guy is wearing grease-stained jeans and a T-shirt so tight I can see every ripple of muscle, and the last band member wears a white ribbed tank top that makes his dark olive shoulders look even broader.

Collectively, Tattoo Thief looks so raw, edgy and sexually charged that I believe they could make it as stars even if their music stank.

I dive into the story.

STEALING THEIR WAY TO THE TOP

How four regular guys from Pittsburgh took the

music world by storm

By Cynthia Moyer

Tattoo Thief’s band members are more that just muscle and ink—they’re musicians bent on pushing rock to a new place with influences from hip-hop, indie hits, and jazz.

With a sold-out tour in progress, their sophomore release
Beast
has hit the top spot on the Billboard 200 list of bestselling albums less than a year after
Feast
reached No. 1.

Tattoo Thief has joined an elite group of only ten artists—most recently Eminem, Susan Boyle, and One Direction—who have sent two albums to the top within a year.

But with this meteoric rise comes speculation that the stars could burn out just as fast. We caught up with Tattoo Thief’s front man Gavin Slater for Twenty Questions to find out how they’re juggling fame, pressure and a passion for music.

1. Gavin, many people who discovered your music recently don’t know that Tattoo Thief has been together for seven years. How does that affect your music?

We’re a garage band at heart—we’re always jamming and trying new stuff. We started in Tyler’s mom’s garage and we still play scrappy like that. You know, something goes wrong at a show and you don’t let it get to you. You play through it.

I think working together for so long makes crises seem smaller, and so it’s easier to stay together knowing that these guys got my back no matter what.

There will always be haters who say we’re going to burn out, but who cares? That wasn’t the point. The point was to play music, have fun and maybe meet some girls.

2. Girls?

It worked. Next question?

3. In your mind, what made
Feast
and
Beast
so successful?

If you measure success by albums sold, then the answer is obvious: the fans. We have some amazing people backing us, telling their friends, tweeting clips from our concerts. And I think that energy is contagious. When someone’s passionate about something, it just works better than a slick marketing campaign.

But you don’t get passionate fans without good music. So we spend a lot of time challenging each other, trying to pull out the best stuff and then push it further.

4. Tell us about collaboration in the band. Who does what?

I’ve been writing songs ever since I got a guitar in high school. Jayce is amazing with the instrumentals, so I just lay down a melody and lyrics and he’s the one who figures out the shape of the song and how we’ll play it.