* * *
So, I began reconstructing my life. I left the baby with Mary at the farm and drove to the studio. Unlocking the door, I flipped on the light, and the concrete cavity that was my supposed haven glared back at me. It was cold and foreign, ugly with its memories of bad times and fears for survival. The tattoo chair looked like it belonged to an executioner, and suddenly the designs of devils and dragons leered at me with some sick, primeval mockery. What had I been thinking when I’d planned to bring my dear, sweet baby into this altar to darkness and perversion?
I became angry with myself for having had such poor judgment. Not just for the plans with Jinx, but with so many things, Bolt included. Desperation causes an unwise decision-making process. There was no doubt I’d been feeling the pressure for perfection, so afraid that as the younger sister, I’d screw it all up. After all, Natalie came off the rails. We couldn’t afford for me to make any wrong moves, or we’d have been on the street. I hoped that someday Natalie and I could have that rational conversation, and that she might acknowledge what I was up against.
In the meantime, when you realize you are on the wrong path, the right thing to do is to acknowledge it and get off. I needed to make some changes. I decided to take Bolt’s advice and turn to my graphic design and illustration skills. He was right—they would make me more flexible. I could work on a laptop anywhere and that meant that I could be there for Jinx at the important times in life.
Excited, I sat down and turned on the computer, opening software and plugging in my tablet. I began the rudimentary foundation of a new logo and wrote some tentative copy for a website. I needed to create a larger portfolio of my work from the past, along with some examples of what I could do now. I made the bold move of going to an online source and ordering a powerful laptop—I used Bolt’s card and made the mental tabulation of adding that to the list of things I’d have to pay him back for.
Empowered, I dug around until I found a single-edged razor blade in my drawer. The front window was emblazoned with advertisement of my tattoo services and some images. I began scraping these off, the paint forming little curls that fell to the floor. It felt right, even symbolic.
A lean man in jeans was walking by the studio. He stopped and looked at the window, then at me. Eventually, he tried to open the locked door. I interrupted my scraping to open it. “Can I help you?”
“Hi there. Yeah, was hoping to get a tat done.”
I hesitated. In the spirit of new beginnings, I was tempted to send him away, but there was going to be a lot of expense in starting over, including a lack of transitional income. I couldn’t afford to turn away business. “Come on in. I have an opening, you’re in luck,” I said, pointing to the tattoo table. “Have any idea what you’re looking for?”
He pulled out a folded piece of paper, opened it, and handed it to me. It was an illustration of a phoenix, the mythical bird that rose from the ashes to be reborn. I could identify with it. “This is what you want?” He nodded. “Nice drawing.”
“Thanks,” he answered, rolling up his sleeve.
“You have the copyright to this?” I asked.
“Nope. I drew it.”
I looked back at the paper and could see then that it wasn’t a tracing. The lines were sure and deliberate. “No kidding? You’ve got talent.”
He laughed. “We’ll let the world decide that, but right now, I appreciate the encouragement.”
“You an illustrator?” I put the drawing on my scanner and got it into the computer so I could darken some of the lighter shading and make it work for a tat.
“Planning to be. I’ve been freelancing for quite a while, but I’m ready to approach some of the agencies and maybe even head out to California and try my hand at animation. It’s a growing field, you know.”
I was nodding as I worked. “Yes, I do know,” I called over my shoulder as I finished it up. Flipping on the printer, I sent the phoenix to it and then showed it to the client. “What’s your name?”
“Mark. Mark Fuller. Hey, you didn’t louse it up at all. You’re talented, too,” he acknowledged.
“We’d better hope so since you’re going home with my work on your body,” I teased him and pulled up the stool to the table as I began to arrange my tools. “If that works for you, get up on the table and we’ll get started.”
He smiled, handed back the printout and laid his tall, lean body on the padded worktable.
“You comfortable? This is going to take a while. I want to do my best work,” I said.
“It’s now or never,” he chuckled and nodded to me to get started. It was his first tat from what I could see. People were always a little nervous at first—unsure how to anticipate the pain they’d feel. I always tried talking to them, which seemed to help them relax.
“So, tell me about illustration freelancing,” I cued him and he nodded and started talking. He was on the table for almost two hours. I was meticulous in the detail. For some reason, this tat held a special significance. It would be the last one I’d do, at least as a studio. I wanted it to be perfect. I wished I’d drawn the original. I might have been tempted to add my initials in tiny print between the bird’s claws.
Finally, I felt it was done and began dabbing it clean. “Keep it clean and dry for a few days, and the redness will fade. They always look angry and swollen at the beginning,” I told him as I turned and began cleaning up my tools.
He hopped off the table and was rolling down his sleeve.
“By the way, I really enjoyed talking with you,” I told him. “I’ve made the decision to get out of the tat business and concentrate on what I went to school for.”
“What was that?”
“Graphic design and illustration.”
“No shit? I had an idea, by the way you worked on this. I’d like to see some of your work.”
I blushed. “It’s on your arm,” I teased him.
“Yeah, but I mean things you drew from your own heart.”
I looked up. He had a fresh, enthusiastic look on his face. In some ways, I could almost see myself in him—the same anticipation to get started in a new world. “Don’t have anything here. It’s all at home in portfolio cases.”
“Yeah, I get that. I kept mine hidden for a long time, too. It’s sort of like protecting your baby.”
I started at that. Jinx! Good god, I’d been so involved in the future, I’d forgotten about the present. I began to hurry, and he must have noticed.
“So, how much do I owe you?”
On an impulse, I smiled and shook my head. “Not one cent. What you shared about freelancing was worth many times that. Anyway, this is my last tat, and let’s not ruin it by making it about money. Someday I hope to be in your shoes, but for now, I think I’ll try a few of your freelancing tips and see where it gets me. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not in the least. In fact, I’ve got some clients I’ll be abandoning now. What do you say you let me buy you dinner at that place across the street, and I’ll give you some contacts. I’ll let them know you’re looking for new clients and that will give you a hand up.”
“Wow, really? That would be truly awesome!” I was thrilled and considered that just maybe good karma was finally coming my way. “Tell you what, it’s a deal. Why don’t you go on ahead, and I’ll close up and be over in a few minutes?”
“Works for me,” he nodded and with a wave, went out the door. I watched as his tall, lanky frame drifted across the street and went into the restaurant.
I finished up with my cleaning and grabbed my phone. “Mary? It’s me. How is Jinx?”
“Snug as a bug, as they say. He’s sleeping nicely.”
“Oh, good. Listen, I’m at the studio and a customer came in for a tattoo. We’ve finished, and he’s invited me to dinner across the street. As long as Jinx is OK, I think I’ll take him up on it.”
“Jinx is just fine,” she reassured me, and I disconnected.
Mark smiled as I walked in and found him at the booth near the door. “Is this OK?” he asked, and I nodded.
“It’s fine.” I took off my coat, slung my purse onto the booth bench and slid in across from him. We ordered, and then I got out a notepad from my purse. “So, tell me about these clients and what they typically look for. This is super exciting for me, I don’t mind telling you. What a coincidence that I happened to be in the studio this afternoon. I’ve been away for several weeks. Just had a baby.”
“No kidding? Well, congratulations!”
I smiled and naturally brought up a picture of Jinx on my phone to show him.
“He’s a cutie. Such dark eyes,” he commented, and his words stopped me mid-smile. Why had I never noticed?
Jinx had Bolt’s eyes. He looked just like him!