Chapter 1 #2
Well, maybe you were due some good luck after all that crap you went through, my often-smothered inner optimist murmurs to me, but I quickly squash the thought before it jinxes anything.
“Perfect,” Leo says, pleased, “when can you start?” It’s a huge relief to me that he seems to be such a nice person.
It’s a far cry from my last boss, a misogynistic dinosaur who never noticed any of my good work but pounced mercilessly on the smallest error.
You know the type. The type whose coffee you spit in.
“How about tomorrow?” The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned, and starting mid-week is my preference anyway: time to learn the ropes, rather than having to hit the ground running on a Monday.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says with visible relief. "I'll get you set up on the laptop tonight. What's your last name?"
"Cole," I reply.
“Great. I’ll set you up on the system tonight. Now, let me introduce you around," he says, beckoning back towards the back corridor.
The walls in the long corridor are painted dark red, with beautiful sketches of dragons and statues and skulls - I'm assuming more tattoo designs - hung here and there. There are rooms off either side of it all the way to the end, and the buzzing noise of the tattoo needle intensifies, seemingly coming from slightly further down. Leo knocks on the first door on the left. “This is the kit - chennnnn, whoah!” He quickly leans back mid-word to avoid getting smacked by the kitchen’s swing door, which opens outwards as a woman around my age with long, curling ginger hair pokes her head around the door with a curious smile.
She is possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in real life.
“I thought I heard voices,” she says, beaming at me. Her smile is knockout megawatt amazing, lighting up her whole face.
“Hi,” I say shyly.
“Sadie, this is our new receptionist, Emily,” Leo says with a smile bordering on smug.
Her bright, ocean blue eyes widen. “Seriously?” Leo nods happily. “Thank fuck! Hi, I’m Sadie, Leo’s best tattoo artist. You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here. When do you start?”
"Tomorrow," I reply, admiring her easy confidence. Leo’s best tattoo artist. Love it.
"Yay!" She claps quietly. Like Leo, she also has a sleeve of tattoos on her right arm in soft greys, pinks, purples, and blues, like a watercolour, and I'm already dying to raid her wardrobe.
Her black top is covered in a cool skull x-ray print, and just drapes so perfectly.
I can never find anything like that. Maybe I'll ask her where she got it, now that I can wear whatever I want, and now that I’m finally allowed to spend my money on myself.
"I'm just showing her around. Dean back?"
"No, not yet."
Leo turns to me. “Dean’s one of our tattoo artists.
It’s a family business. Dean and Eli are my cousins.
Just to let you know now, Dean can’t talk.
” His eyes turn serious. “Dean and Eli emigrated here from America a few years back, after...well, do you remember the Nolan High School shooting?” I nod.
It was an awful tragedy in Louisiana about ten or fifteen years ago, when one of the school’s teachers shot up a Senior Prom after getting sacked.
“Dean was in it. Caught a bullet in the throat, can’t make a sound. He was lucky to survive.”
My heart sinks for this Dean. “I’m so sorry.” I can’t think of anything helpful to say. How awful for him.
“Thank you.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, you’ll find Dean has his own ways of communicating, and he has a notepad and pen on him at all times, so there won’t be a problem.” The smile has returned to his eyes.
“And Eli knows American Sign Language, so he can translate when needed, or Leo or I can, though we’re not as good, me especially,” Sadie adds. “Dean’s the best, and I’m sure you’ll have no problem getting to know each other.” She sounds genuinely fond of him.
"Sure." I wonder if I should maybe look into an online course in ASL to be able to help out. At least there are probably some YouTube videos that can get me started with the basics. I decide to look it up tonight.
“Come to think of it,” Leo says, looking thoughtful, “one sec.” He walks back through to reception and leaves me with Sadie, who gives me a bright smile.
“I’m really happy we have a receptionist again,” she says, chatting easily with me with a total lack of awkwardness.
I’m a little - OK, a lot - in awe of her.
“We’ve been taking duty shifts at the front desk for the past couple of weeks - well, except for Dean, obviously.
To be fair, the boys have been good about taking their turn, and haven’t been relying on me to do it all just because I’m a woman.
They’re not into that sort of sexist bullshittery, or I’d have to break their kneecaps.
But still, I could not be any gladder you’re here! ”
Her smile is impossible not to return. “I’m very happy to help. And it couldn’t have come at a better time for me – I just moved here.”
“Cool! Where from?”
Before I can reply, Leo’s back. He’s holding a black piece of paper covered in white writing, and hands it to me to read. “You’ll need to hand these to all of Dean’s new clients. He wrote it himself.”
The arty white border around the page that frames the text is beautiful and intricate, swirling lines intersecting seemingly at random but so perfectly arranged that a lot of work clearly went into it.
I imagine Dean designed that, too. I’m clearly going to be working with some exceptionally talented people.
I read the page.
Hi there –
My name is Dean, and I’ll be your tattoo artist today.
A quick point before we start: I am completely 100% mute.
This is due to an injury I sustained during a mass shooting in America, where I am originally from.
Yes, it was one of the well-known mass shootings.
No, I definitely do not want to talk about it (which is useful, given that I can’t talk), so please do not ask me anything about it.
Suffice it to say, I don’t like guns at all, I emigrated to get away from them, and, having been a victim of gun violence, I hold the unshakeable opinion that gun control needs to be more of a thing in my country.
End of discussion, and I will end your appointment early if this subject is raised again, even if your tattoo is incomplete.
Boundaries are healthy, y’all, and that’s one of mine.
Please let me know any of yours so I can return the favor if needed.
Now, you may be thinking this will make your session rather quiet and stilted.
Maybe even awkward. It ain’t necessarily so, my friend.
Think about it. You can talk to me about anything you want, and 1) I won’t be able to tell you to pipe down if you go on and on, and 2) I am guaranteed to be able to keep it all 100% confidential.
Tell me all about your secret affair with the mailman.
Tell me why you hate your asshat boss, or your in-laws.
Practice your TED Talk on me. I’ll take it all to the grave.
If you need me to answer any questions that require more than a nod or a shake of my head, it’s all good: I have an iPad I can type on, and if the battery dies on that, I have a pen and paper. Or I’ll just tattoo the answer to your question on you. Kidding! Probably.
Nice to meet you, and let’s get started.
Dean Gastright
PS: I’m sure this doesn’t need saying, but you’d be surprised how often this happens: I’m mute, not deaf, nor cognitively impaired, so there is no need to shout at me or to speak slowly.
I chuckle. “I like him already,” I say.
Leo grins. “Yeah, he’s good fun. You'll need to make sure there are always plenty of those sheets available. He’s popular with the customers.
Anyway," he says, getting back on track, "That - " he knocks on the first door on the right, opposite the kitchen, "is Sadie's room, because it’s closest to the coffee machine.” He smirks at her, and she good naturedly gives him the finger as she heads back into the kitchen.
I get the impression from the humour in their expressions as they look at each other that they have a very banter fuelled friendship, and they seem evenly matched.
“Mine is the one at the end. Dean’s is the second door on the right, and Eli’s second on the left.
He’s in, so we’ll say hey.” Sure enough, the buzzing is loudest outside Eli’s door, and I take a deep breath to steel myself to watch someone getting tattooed.
I’m going to have to get used to it, after all.
Just don’t faint. Anything but that. My knees shake a little, but I squeeze my hands into fists, clenching rhythmically, because I read online it reduces the chance that you’ll black out.
“He probably won’t look up, but don’t take it personally.
He’s a good guy, he just really zones out when he’s focusing on his work.
But we might get a ‘hello’. Maybe.” He winks at me as he knocks twice on the door and opens up.
Eli is sitting with his back to the door, tattooing what looks like the bright stained glass window from the Disney cartoon of Beauty and the Beast onto his customer's thigh. The skin around it is glowing red and looks tender, but the girl doesn’t react as he works.
She has denim blue hair, and she’s making it inescapably clear, with her burning hot looks and the way she’s squeezing her ample cleavage together with her arms, that she's very, very interested in him.
I'm surprised he's able to ignore the smoulder she's sending his way, but, as Leo said, he's so focused on what he's doing that he doesn't look up, even when we enter, or give any indication that he’s at all aware we’re there.
The buzzing from the tattoo gun sounds like an angry hornet, and I try to hide a shudder, quietly taking a steadying breath so my throat doesn't close up at the thought of needles puncturing skin.