Promise Me This(11)
But what most of the virgin inkers didn’t understand was that some people got a tattoo simply because they liked the look of it, not because it was symbolic. Sure, some were meaningful, like the replica I had of my father’s camera. But I’d also gotten other things inked, like my feminine Día de Muertos mask, purely because it looked cool.
The door swung open and in stepped two tall university kids with kappa something or another emblazoned across their shirts. Emmy gave me a look without rolling her eyes that said exactly what I thinking. She strode to the counter to replace the spray bottle that was in her hand.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
The tall guy with the blond surfer hair eyed Emmy up and down and then said, “You an artist here or just the person who answers the phone?”
Emmy raised her eyebrow and I worked to keep the scowl off my face. If there was one thing you didn’t want to do, it was insult the front desk staff. We were the gatekeepers, the eyes and ears of the shop, and so much more.
Instead of answering him directly, I said, “What do you need?”
“Some tattoos,” the other dude said, stepping up. “Do you take walk-ins?”
“Depends,” I said. “What do you want done?”
As soon as I asked, a group of girls yanked open the door and rushed inside, squealing and surrounding these two clowns like they were celebrities. Great, they had brought their own entourage. Hell no. There was nothing so nerve-wracking as when customers brought friends or family members who were there for the sole purpose of shooting pictures, taking videos, and running their mouths throughout the whole process.
They got in the way, created a disturbance, and didn’t appreciate that the artist had a job to do. These guys were highly skilled, had high-pressure tasks, and were in the business of modifying a person’s appearance for the rest of their life. I got that customers required moral support, but they needed to respect the workspace.
After greeting the girls, the tall guy said, “We want our Greek letters tattooed.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“Got it,” I said. “Well, our letter specialist has back-to-backs today, but I could set you up for another appointment this week. Unless you want to come back later today with another artist.”
“That’s cool,” the blond dude said, almost looking relieved. “We’ll come back another day.”
The girls immediately began pouting. They apparently were raring to go, given the tipsy state of one of them.
“First tattoos?”
“Yeah,” they both said at practically the same time.
I nodded and then gave them their new time and date.
“I recommend you come in sober and ready for a little bit of pain. But you guys are tough enough to handle it,” I said with a smile, trying to ease their minds a bit. “You can look on our website for some other Greek inspired tattoos. Or come in early and search through some portfolios.”
They both nodded but still looked slightly unsure, so I kept going.
“If you want to bring a guest, limit it to one, so your artist can truly concentrate on giving you some great ink.”
“Got it,” the tall guy said.
“So it really does hurt?” one of the girls asked in a high-pitched voice that grated on my nerves.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Emmy said, shrugging. Like me, she thought it was best to be honest about the pain. “Pinches and stings, but you get used to it after a while. And you’ll love it when all is said and done.”
When they walked out, Emmy said, “Let’s hope they don’t tip for shit.”
That was Emmy’s huge pet peeve. Tattoos were pricey and people could get stingy on tips, but these guys deserved them, especially if they worked on you long and hard.
When Emmy came back around the desk, I showed her the appointment schedule for the rest of the day and started packing up my things.
“I’m thinking about asking Nate to help me with my bridge project.”
“Help you how?” Emmy said, swiping some of the red locks that had come loose from her elastic tie off her cheek. I’d kill for that hair color, but even a bottle made for a meager reproduction of it, and believe me, I’ve tried.
“I’ve decided to take a drive up to the town of Bridgeway. I was hoping since Nate knows so much about it, he’d tag along with me for the day.”
Emmy narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do you seem nervous? You’ve spent time on the road with him before, right? So no big deal.”
I wanted to tell her the big deal was that little blip on my radar from the other night. How I let my imagination run wild about him after I saw him with that girl in the bathroom.