Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Weirdly enough, I didn’t feel the dread and embarrassment that usually accompanied a call from my mother. Just a dull ache in my chest—an ache that burned a little hotter, a little deeper at the thought of giving up on the opportunity to try to make something of myself.
Not answering Mom was a choice I could undo.
Not showing up to my first intern interview would be something I’d definitely regret.
I pivoted, stomping my way back to the tattoo shop with purpose. I was still fifteen minutes early. I pushed the glass door, tornadoing to the reception counter before self-doubt weighted down my legs again. The place was packed, as usual. Misfits and Shadows didn’t accept walk-ins, and it wasn’t hard to see why. They were the busiest parlor in Los Angeles.
“Hallie!” Meadow, the receptionist with the Chelsea haircut, three lip rings, and an abundance of green eyeliner greeted me. “You’re here. Want something to drink while I get Grady?”
Grady was the big boss. The owner. The guy who inked all the famous people in town. He hadn’t been accepting new clients in a decade or so. I’d managed to squeeze in with him only twice, when he was in a good mood and had last-minute cancellations.
A ball of anxiety lodged in my throat. I swallowed hard, pushing through it.
“If you don’t advance yourself—who will?”—Ilona.
“Water would be great.” With a side of Xanax.
“Sure. Have a seat.”
I did, tucking myself between an excited couple who came to get matching tattoos and a large biker who kept fingering a tattoo on his arm he was obviously re-doing. I hugged my backpack to my chest, reminding myself that this place was like home. I’d been here dozens of times before. Knew who each of the four stations in the studio belonged to. Recognized the red vinyl chairs each artist had—and remembered that Grady’s had a huge rip in it.
If he said no—I would be all right.
If things are not failing, you’re not innovative enough. Elon Musk’s words, not mine.
Meadow returned with a glass of water. A few moments later, Grady appeared—a scrawny, thoroughly-tatted, aging rock star type of a man who enjoyed muscle shirts and collecting pencils from all over the world.
“Hal. Good to see you.” He stopped in front of me.
I stood up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, feeling like a kid. I reached to shake his hand. “Thanks for having me.”
“My pleasure. Let’s talk in my office.”
His office was at the back, and totally isolated, which was a relief, because I didn’t want an audience. The minute I sat down in front of him, he laced his fingers together, sitting back.
“Why do you want to become a tattoo artist?”
“Because it’s my passion. It’s what I think about every morning and every night. Because I want to change lives. I want to help people hide their scars. Enhance their personalities. Their beauty. Who they are. Because the more time I spend on this earth, the more I believe that self-expression is one of the most important gifts we owe to ourselves. And because…” I took a deep breath, bracing myself, preparing to say something positive about myself for the first time. “Because I think I can be damn amazing at it with the right guidance. And I think you’re the best in the business.”
By Grady’s slight smile, I could tell he was satisfied with the answer.
“You’ve been a longtime client,” he pointed out.
I nodded. “As I said, you are my first choice. My only choice right now, to be honest, for an apprenticeship.”
“I’ve never taken a client on as an intern before. It’s a demanding apprenticeship,” Grady warned. He pushed open his desk drawer, pulling a pile of pencils out and beginning to sharpen them. “We’re talking two years of no salary at all. I know your background and know you have means—”
“Actually, I don’t,” I cut him off. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m okay with a long internship. I have a lot of stuff in storage I can sell to pull me through. And I’m getting a part-time job in a few days.”
If someone would give me a chance.
“You’d start from the bottom up if I were to take you on,” he continued. “Taking out the trash, setting up and breaking down stations, going on coffee runs, and covering for Meadow whenever she bails on work, which is every time she breaks up with a boyfriend, which is every other month.”
I had long-suspected Grady was in love with Meadow, just by silently observing the two of them over the years.
I smiled. “I can do that. No problem.”
“The first thing you’ll do, approximately six months after you become the shop’s designated errand girl, is mix ink. I won’t let you touch live skin before the one-year mark.”
“Sounds fair.”
“You’ll do about a hundred and fifty tattoos for free—and you’ll have to find volunteers if you get accepted.”