2. Angel Wings and Crusty Sweatpants
two
Angel Wings and Crusty Sweatpants
Leah
“ A lright dude, you’re going to have to sit still, or these angel wings are going to look more like pigeon wings,” I tell the very large, very burly man sitting in my tattoo chair.
In a voice a couple octaves higher than his normal one, he defends, “Well, it hurts!”
I stare at him with my lips pursed together. “Really? It’s on your arm. There are way worse places you could be getting it.”
“Still hurts,” he says, this time almost mumbling.
I look up at his round face. The parts that aren’t shielded by his shaggy strawberry blonde beard are turning redder by the second.
“You alright, Jim?” I ask.
He simply nods.
“If you need to take a break, you just let me know.”
“I think I’ll be alright. Can’t be too much longer, right? ”
I look down at what I’ve already done and know we’ve still got a ways to go. Not wanting to give him any false hope, I just say, “Well, it’s coming along.”
He tenses under the needle as I start doing some shading. Trying to distract him, I ask, “Why now?”
“Huh?”
“What made you decide to finally get a tattoo?” Looking at the design I drew for him, I add, “Did your mom recently pass away?”
“She died about twenty years ago.”
“Oh. So again, I ask: why now?”
Avoiding eye contact, he replies, “Let’s just say I got tired of being the only one in my friend group without one.”
I have to admit that when Jim walked in here, fresh off his Harley and in his t-shirt and leather vest, I was surprised when he told me this would be his first ink.
I guess that goes to show that first impressions aren’t always right. After doing this job for damn near ten years, I really should know better than to judge a book by its cover. I’ve seen the craziest things walk through the door.
Nothing should shock me at this point.
Jim pulls me from my thoughts. “How many do you have?”
When I see him looking up and down my arms, I realize he must be referring to my tattoos.
“Oh, I lost count a long time ago.”
“I don’t know how that’s possible. I’d certainly remember every one of these experiences.”
“Well, I’ve had ones added to them and others covered up. I’m not even sure what I would actually count. ”
“And they don’t hurt?”
I shrug my shoulders and pop my gum. “Of course, they hurt. Some of them more than others.”
“Which one hurt the most?”
I think for a moment because there have been a few that hurt like a bitch. Finally, I respond with, “Probably the one on my ribs. But the tops of my feet were a close second.”
He looks me up and down. “Is there anywhere on you that isn’t inked?”
I shoot him a half-smile. “Well, Jim, a girl has to have her secrets.”
That gets a deep chuckle out of him.
A light knock on the door gets my attention. Amy, my boss and best friend, pokes her head in.
“Hey,” I greet. “Did you finish the sleeve you were working on?”
“Damn near. He’ll have to come in for touch-ups in a few weeks, but we were at it over eight hours today.”
She walks in the room and looks over my shoulder at what I’m doing. I know it’s merely curiosity rather than her checking on me or my work. If I had someone in here with anything remotely exposed, I would have shut the door, and Amy would have stayed out.
She stretches a little before saying, “My neck is killing me. I need to unwind. Why don’t we go out tonight?”
Still focusing on the tattoo, I ask, “Where did you want to go?”
“I was thinking The Dells.”
My eyebrow cocks. “You want to go to The Dells to unwind? I doubt we would do much unwinding. ”
She grins. “Well, that’s kind of the point. Maybe unwind was the wrong word. We can get out and let loose.”
“Or we could stay home and watch TV,” I suggest.
On top of coworkers and best friends, Amy and I are also roommates. Ever since I moved to town, she’s been letting me crash on her couch. It’s not an ideal living situation, but it’s sure as shit better than the last situation I was in.
“No,” she argues. “We need to get you out of the house.”
“Eh,” I say with a heavy shrug.
“Come on, Leah. The only time you ever get out of those crusty old sweats is when you come to work.”
“And aren’t you glad I don’t wear them to work?” I ask.
Jim’s eyes look up at me. “Crusty?”
“Mind ya business,” I reply with a hefty dose of sass. Turning my attention back to Amy, I ask, “Why don’t you just go out by yourself. You don’t need me.”
“I kind of do.”
“And why is that?”
“Two girls going out together is just a couple of friends having some fun. One girl by herself is just sad. It screams desperation.”
“Oh, that is not true!” I cry.
She looks toward Jim, prompting him to chime in. “Totally true. A guy will wonder what’s wrong with you.”
I lift the tattoo gun and point it at him. “Just for that, I’m going to push down extra hard.”
Amy gets my attention again. “I think it’s about time for CrazyLeah to make an appearance.
I know exactly what she’s talking about. I’ve made some less than stellar decisions in my life. And most of them involved liquor. I tend to turn into the life of the party when I’m drinking—normally a little too much so.
“Crazy Leah?” Jim whispers to me.
I lean in. “You don’t want to know.”
He grins. “Oh, I’m sure I do.”
“Not going to happen.”
In the most dramatic fashion, Amy falls to her knees and slaps her hands together to start begging. “Please, Leah! I promise we can keep it low-key. But I really need a night out. I’ll do anything!”
If it was anyone else, I’d probably tell them to fuck off. But Amy practically saved my life. I owe her everything.
“Okay, fine,” I groan. “But nothing too crazy, alright?”
“Of course. How crazy could we possibly get?” She asks.
I don’t reply because she and I both already know the answer to that question far too well.