Free Sky Tongues by Gina Ranalli Page A

pierced.
   We were a little buzzed and I think he was half-joking when he said it but I thought it was the best idea I’d ever heard. My one hesitation was the studio heads.
   “They’ll be pissed,” I said.
   “Fuck the bloody studio!” David roared. “Tell me, what have they done for you lately?”
   “Fucking A!” I agreed. “Fuck the bloody studio!”
   “That’s the spirit!”
   And off we went, searching the boulevard for a place to get pierced. We found one just minutes after beginning our quest, a place called The Medusa, Tattoos and Piercings.
   We strolled in to check the place out and were immediately greeted by shouts of recognition.
   “Oh my gods! You guys are from Exquisite Afterlife! Oh my gods, I love that show!”
   A small crowd had gathered around us, mostly young girls mooning over David and telling him how dreamy he was. We played the game as best we could and then I was able to talk to the piercer. She was a young Outie Mue who was tickled pink for the chance to pierce a celebrity, even a minor one like myself.
   “Now, don’t you have bones in your tongues?” she asked me. “I think I remember something about that.”
   “Only small ones,” I said, “and they’re near the bases of them. If you stick something through the middle or near the tips, there are no bones there.”
   “Rad!” she said. “Which do you want?”
   “Which tongues?”
   “No, middle or tip? Most people get near the tip done, but far enough back so the studs can’t be ripped out or anything like that.”
   “Sounds good to me.” I was trying to act as sober as possible and evidently I was succeeding because there was even a sign on the wall warning people that unless they were completely straight, no work would be done on them, no exceptions. “We’re Serious!” the sign admonished at the bottom.
   So, either I was a pretty good actor or she didn’t give a shit that she could smell alcohol on my breath. I’m sure it was the latter, but I didn’t care much myself. I just wanted to get it done.
   Meanwhile, David was still busy chatting it up with his fans and trying to get them to tattoo the shows logo on their bodies, two of whom actually did it, much to his amusement.
   After much deliberation, I decided to get only the tongues on my right hand pierced, a simple silver stud through each of them. She said I wouldn’t feel a thing and for a while, I didn’t.
   Later that night however, my tongues swelled up like tiny eggplants and I was worried that maybe they were infected or I was allergic to the steel. But by morning they were pretty much back to normal and the only unpleasant part was dousing them in peroxide, which was what I had in the house. And if there’s anything that’ll make me gag, it’s the taste of peroxide.
   I had to go to work that morning feeling extremely nauseous. David whispered that I was probably hung over, but I knew I wasn’t. It was the damn peroxide.
   As soon as it got around that my tongues were pierced, as expected, I was called on the carpet and asked to explain myself. It was in my contract that I was strictly prohibited from doing anything dangerous while working on the show, i.e. no skydiving, mountain climbing, racing cars or motorcycles, etc…
   Also in the contract: no body modification of any sort unless it is in a private place and will remain unseen by either the cameras or the general public. This puzzled me a bit. The general public?
   I was told, “You are playing an angel, after all.”
   Long story short, they made me take out the studs every morning and I wasn’t allowed to put them back in until the days shooting was completed. It made the healing process twice as long and twice as irritating and as revenge I completely ignored the ‘don’t wear them out in public’ rule. I wore them everywhere and still do.

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   During the hiatus between