5. FIVE
FIVE
CORY
The entire month of June was a whirlwind of rushed and seemingly endless to-do’s, as well as triple checking to ensure everything was all in a row. Kinsley had joked that the next world war could’ve begun and I wouldn’t have known, but it was kind of true. A bomb could’ve gone off right outside the shop and the only way I would’ve realized it would have been if something happened to my building. But as the Fourth of July weekend approached, and I got into the final days before opening, it all came together.
I found two other girls, Sasha and Lexi, with incredible portfolios to join me—both bringing a different style of tattooing to the table. We had hit it off from the first moment I met them during their interviews. They were both funny and genuine; I had a really good feeling about them. I had a really good feeling about all of it, actually.
There was only an hour left until DelINKquent Tattoos officially opened, and I was sitting in the waiting room on one of the emerald green couches I’d picked for the space, the velvet soft under my finger tips. My portfolio, as well as Sasha and Lexi’s, sat on a black wooden coffee table, its polished surface catching the glow of the neon sign above the refreshment bar. Various coffees, teas, energy drinks. and snacks for clients were arranged in an organized display, and I knew I’d probably be frequenting it more than anyone else. The front desk was behind me, the glass top of it so new and shiny it looked like a sheet of ice, and behind that was a dog bed for Siren.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, an excited smile creeping onto my face. This was it—all my hard work had finally paid off.
“Okay, so I know we can’t drink because we’re all about to tattoo people, but . . .” Sasha sing-songed into the room holding a twenty ounce Red Bull and three shot glasses. “It’s the best I could come up with for the moment.”
I laughed and met her and Lexi at the front desk, grabbing one of the freshly poured shots.
“Cheers! To DelINKquent Tattoos!” Lexi grinned.
“And to kickass coworkers!” Sasha added.
I laughed. “Cheers!”
We clinked glasses and threw back our Red Bull shots. It probably wasn’t the first time someone had done a shot of Red Bull, but it was a first for me, and I kind of loved having that as part of our opening.
We hung around the desk chatting and doing more shots until the bell above the door dinged. I turned around, ready to greet our first client, but was met with Glen.
“First day open and you’re already slacking off?” He chuckled .
“Prick.” I walked over to him and gave him a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“My favorite apprentice opens a tattoo shop and you don’t think I’m going to be her first client?” He slapped a spot on his ribcage and smiled.
I frowned, shaking my head. “I wish I could, but I’ve actually got an appointment in fifteen minutes.”
He shrugged. “Sorry I’m early. I was already in this neck of the woods and I didn’t feel like driving around aimlessly.”
I was fairly certain my eyes were on the verge of popping out of my head. “ You’re Clive Hendrix?”
“Honestly I’m surprised the name didn’t give it away, kid. Never heard a more fake name in my life. Now are we going to do this or what?”
The burn of tears threatened my eyes, but I held them at bay. This was a first. I’d never tattooed him before, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he’d never let anyone but “his guy” tattoo him. Ever.
“Well come on then. Let me carve into you, old man.”
A throaty chuckle sounded from behind me as I led him toward the back. “I could still kick your ass.”
“I know you could,” I said, as I made my way toward my chair.
***
We were about halfway through the day and both Sasha and Lexi were in the middle of tattooing. Sasha had clients from her previous shop scheduled for the first two weeks, and Lexi was doing a flash special for a group of girls. Glen was sporting a new neo-traditional heart wrapped in an ocean wave on his ribs. I tried to figure out the meaning of it myself, because all of his tattoos had a story behind them, but when I asked about it, he deflected. He had me draw it up and place the outline, then just lay down on the table without ever looking to approve it. I had joked with him that the waves were all phallic looking, but he didn’t so much as glance down.
Afterward, he took up a post behind the counter, a content and quiet Siren curled up comfortably on the bed by his feet. He had taken the entire day off to be here with me, and if I thought about it too long I’d cry. Kinsley would’ve been there too, but she had a big day at work with an important client, and I couldn’t fault her for that.
With the exception of Glen’s appointment, I had made the decision to leave my first week open to walk-ins, so I had only done two, small, flash tattoos so far. People were popping in off the street to see what opened up in the building, and a handful made appointments. Some of my and the girls’ clients from our previous shops were milling around socializing and congratulating me. None of it felt real but it all felt amazing.
I bounced between Lexi and Sasha, watching their pieces come to life on each of their clients. Sasha was doing a japanese style dragon on the side of a guy’s head, and Lexi was doing astrological star signs on four different girls’ ankles. When I felt less like company and more like a bother, I headed back out to the front.
“How’s it going back there?” Glen asked, drawing random sketches on receipt paper. I looked over his shoulder, and muttered an appreciative curse.
I’d let him tattoo even his rawest of sketches on me. The man was that talented.
I leaned on the counter next to him and watched the octopus he was drawing take shape. “They’re really nice girls—talented, too. You should go back there and see what they’re doing.”
He grunted in response. It wasn’t anything against Sasha or Lexi, Glen just wasn’t a people person, kind of like me. He had a select few he tolerated, and two he liked. I held one of those positions, but the other went to Misty, his girlfriend. He was obsessed with her, and they complemented each other perfectly. Seeing them together, though, was kind of hilarious. Glen’s wardrobe consisted of ninety-eight percent black, the other two percent being his white socks, but Misty? I don’t think that woman owned so much as a black pair of underwear. Not that I was ever going to inquire about that.
Glen continued to draw in silence, and I continued to watch until the bell above the front door alerted the shop to a man walking in.
I stood up and smiled. “Hey, welcome! You looking to get a tattoo?”
The man shot me a smile and then looked toward Glen who was still working on his sketch. “Yeah, I was hoping to get a small chest piece done.”
“Cool, cool. What were you thinking?”
I watched his eyes ping pong between myself and Glen, before realizing that he wasn’t going to talk to him, and settling on me. “Uh, yeah, I was thinking of doing a bald eagle with the American flag in its talons.”
I nodded and grabbed a pen. “Do you have any reference photos? And can I snag your I.D. real quick?”
The man pulled out his driver’s license and passed it over the counter so I could confirm he was legal, which he obviously was. He had to be in his early forties at least, but you never assumed.
It was also a great way for me to snag a potential client’s name and start building the bond that would allow someone to trust a complete and total stranger to permanently mark their body.
“All right, Alex, thanks.” I grabbed my notebook and started walking around the counter. “We can grab a seat over-”
He cut me off, a perplexed look on his face. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I was looking to have Cory give me a tattoo.” His gaze cut back to Glen, who had started paying attention no doubt at the use of the word “sweetie.”
“I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself.” I held out my hand. “I’m Cory. I own the place.”
He didn’t shake my hand.
So, it was going to be like that, huh?
“You’re Cory?” Skepticism dripped from his voice.
In my peripherals, I could see Glen gearing up to defend me. He always did anytime I had a client like this, which wasn’t often, but was unfortunately more frequent than you’d expect.
But this was my shop, so I shot him a look to stand down, then answered, “I am.”
Alex pulled out his phone and scrolled. “Well, then, whose Instagram is this?” He turned it around so I could see my own profile.
“Mine.” I crossed my arms over my chest, bracing myself for the next words out of his mouth.
“No offense, but this can’t be your work.”
“And why’s that?”
In all of his audacity thus far, he did have the sense to look a bit sheepish now. “I mean, it’s all traditional and neo-traditional.”
I just stared at him. His embarrassment sizzled to anger, as if I was the one being dense.
“It’s not girly, is what I’m saying.”
I pursed my lips on a nod. “Well, some of it is, I think, if you scroll a bit.”
Intentionally pissing him off probably wasn’t the best business move, especially as a new business, but while the shop was new, I certainly wasn’t a new artist. This man had found my Instagram, seen and liked my work. The problem was, as it often was with people like him, that I was a woman, and not the man they expected.
For ninety-five percent of people, having a female tattoo artist didn’t matter. My work spoke for itself. But for the other five percent? The fact that I didn’t have a dick between my legs somehow meant I either couldn’t tattoo, or only did dainty, “girly” pieces, as Alex put it.
“Look, I’m sure your stuff is fine, but what I really need is a guy artist.”
My stuff was more than fine .
“No, what you really need is to drop the sexist attitude. It’s the twenty-first century my dude.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You came to my shop because of my work. Your problem is that I’m a woman, and that’s not my problem.” I walked back behind the counter and set my things down. “Thank you for stopping in.”
He pointed a finger at me. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
I smiled. “So I’ve been told.”
With that, the guy left, muttering something about shutting the shop down, and tried to slam the door behind him, but the soft close made the gesture funny more than anything else.
Once he was storming down the sidewalk, I puffed up my cheeks and slowly exhaled, looking at Glen, who was smiling at me.
“What?”
He shook his head and resumed sketching. “I’m just proud of you, is all.”
“Yeah, fuck that guy!” Sasha called from the back.
I whipped my head in the direction of the back where all eyes were on me, having just watched everything that went down.
I laughed, but apologized. I shouldn’t have done that in front of Sasha and Lexi’s clients. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m still working on the whole professionalism concept.”
The guy getting a head tat called back, “Don’t apologize for him, and don’t apologize for standing up for yourself.”
Lexi started a chant of “fuck that guy,” and I couldn’t help but laugh. This was why, even with assholes like Alex, I loved my job. Who else could say they got to chant “fuck” at work?