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1. It Smells likeSwineDied in Here
Philipp
“And, how do you like your arm now that the tattooed sleeve is complete?” First, I throw the ink cups and disposable needles in the discard bin. Then, I strip the plastic covers from the machine and the grip. I toss them and the overlays from the treatment couch and armrest into the trash can along with my disposable black gloves. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the customer admire herself in the mirror. Meanwhile, I pluck a fresh pair of gloves from the box to begin cleaning my workspace.
“Woooow!” she says. “It really turned out so cool!”
I loosen my shoulders by circling them, stretching the tense neck muscles. Then I spray on the surface disinfectant and while it’s doing its job, I turn my attention back to the girl.
Girl. Well, young woman is more appropriate.I convinced myself that she is older than eighteen by looking at her ID card when she came to her first appointment half a year ago. German authorities are extremely strict when it comes to protecting minors. Of course, she grumbled that it wasn’t her first tattoo.But I know this too well. As if I would have waited until the age of consent back then…
“You know how to handle the adhesive backing I put on it for protection?” I wipe the surfaces with paper towels. For safety’s sake, I repeat the instructions while she gets dressed. “Leave it on for three days. Today is Monday, so today, Tuesday, and Wednesday… And since it’s evening now, it’s best to leave it on all day Thursday. Then you can peel it off and shower carefully. Wash it with soap-free shower gel, and take care of the fresh tattoo regularly…”
“…three to four times a day with virgin coconut oil,” she finishes for me. “I haven’t forgotten your tip, Philipp.” She winks at me. “I now use it daily for body care. Aside from the exotic scent, it moisturizes great!”
Awesome. Philipp, the beauty product influencer.I contort my mouth into a wry smirk. It’s just too bad that, at most, the organic products sections of supermarkets benefit from my advice. I dry the treatment couch with fresh crepe paper one last time, then let the customer go ahead of me into the reception area. “Okay…” With the help of the mouse, I wake the computer from its doze, search the calendar for the job I just did, and bring the related info to the forefront with a double click. “That was three and a half hours now, plus the flat rate for the design, minus your deposit of 150 euros. That makes it 320 euros.”
“Do you take a credit card?” She rummages in her backpack.
I sigh. “Nah, sorry.”Hopefully soon.I push aside the sinking feeling in my stomach that has been bothering me since the weekend at the thought of tomorrow’s appointment.
“Luckily, I was expecting that—” She slides four orange-brown and six blue bills across the counter, “…and got cash on the way to your place.”
I carefully smooth out the bills, arranging them so the fronts face me and the top faces up before placing them in the register. “Thank you.”
“Thank you!” she croons, shouldering the backpack and letting me escort her out. “As soon as I have saved up enough money, I’ll get back to you, OK?”
“Always a pleasure,” I return. “It was my privilege…” Standing in the alcove outside the front door, I suppress the urge to light a cigarette. I let my head turn on the back of my neck. As much as I love my job, my hunched posture plus my concentration hurt my bones. Especially when I don’t get to do exercise like I’ve been doing lately. I descend the two steps onto the narrow sidewalk. Stretching my arms above my head, I let my gaze wander down the street to the former ferry dock on the banks of the River Neckar.
A forty-ton truck rumbles past, forcing the small car’s driver, who has the right of way, to brake in the narrow section.
I take a last deep breath, give myself a mental kick in the butt, and go inside.
Bella has plopped herself down on the sofa in the waiting area. “Well, finally done, Philly? I’ve already cleaned the kitchen, the toilet, and all the tattoo compartments except yours.” She gives me one of her typical I’m-annoyed-and-feel-neglected looks over the edge of the tattoo magazine she’s flipping through.
“Feet down!” I deliver a well-aimed kick to her Chucks, which she has jammed into the sofa cushions. “How many times have I told you not to put your shoes on the upholstery?”
“Blah-blah-blah,” she mimics me with a puckered mouth but lifts her legs off the couch. “What kind of pussy are you, Philipp? You can’t stop getting upset with stiffs, but you’re no better than them! You’re nitpicky!”
Fucking hell!I roll my eyes. But only inwardly. “Do I have to explain to you again how important first impressions are to our clients?” I guide our conversation off the thin ice she’s steered me onto. Even though Bella and I have shared the same table, bed, and tattoo parlor for over two years, she doesn’t need to know the reason I ran away at fifteen and haven’t ventured closer than 125 miles to my hometown since. “Especially regarding cleanliness. Do I have to, Bella?” As I give my lecture, which is by now required at least twice a month, I flip off the neon signs and spotlights that illuminate the waiting area.
“Yeah, all right. I get it.” Bella manages to organize the tattoo magazines and template folders on the side table on her own and shakes out the sofa cushions with emphasis.
The cheap swivel chair creaks as I plop down to transfer today’s receipts into the computer’s accounting program. I scroll through tomorrow’s calendar page and discover two dates in my column that have not been rescheduled. “What the hell, Bella?” Trying not to flare up, I crack the knuckles of my right hand. “I thought you canceled everything for tomorrow? You know I have to go to…”
“…to the Chamber of Commerce and Industries,” Bella finishes. Full of energy, she stuffs her lighter, pack of coffin nails, and wallet into the truck tarp bag she carries everywhere. “I’m not completely stupid either. You’ve been talking about nothing else for weeks.”
“Because it’s important.” Silently, I count to twenty. “Without a professionally prepared business plan, we can forget about getting a loan for a new, bigger business space.”
“Bigger, newer, better… Isn’t this enough for you?” Bella snorts, spins around once, and points to the four tattoo compartments I carved out of the former hair salon two years ago.
“You…”Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…“…didn’t cancel the appointments on purpose?” I must close my eyes, lest I’ll get dizzy from the blood-red streaks of rage I thought I’d conquered so long ago.
“So what?” She shrugs, and I raise my hand with an outstretched index finger.
“Out,” I whisper, because if I yell now…I don’t want what would happen then.
For her good, Bella says nothing. She only widens her eyes and stomps out the door, her bag slung over her shoulder.
