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I give her a small grin. “When can you start?”
“Effective immediately.” Confidence and no hesitation are key ingredients in this industry.
I like her eagerness to learn. It’s the impression I got every single time I talked to her.
Dean Walker: The shading you’re trying to do can be very simple. Some artist never drew a real image in their life but they make incredible tattoos, it’s all about the technique you’re using and adapting.
Lennon Quinn: So how would you approach it?
Dean Walker: Don’t rush through it so you get the details right, feather their skin, and go layer by layer. Understand the client’s type of skin, and that way you’d be able to set your machine properly.
“Welcome aboard, Lenny.” The second I finish that line, Welcome to the Jungle by Guns and Roses booms, causing us both to laugh.
“That was right on time,” she utters between giggles.
Gesturing her to follow me toward the equipment, “Couldn’t have planned it better myself,” I finish.
In my shop, everything is out in the open, behind my desk there’s a bathroom and fridge and on the other side of the shop, two stations with a chair and the required equipment. Some organized on the shelves, some inside the cabinet every station has alongside a cart.
After a full tour of the gear I own. I spread a plastic wrapper around the black leather chair and take a seat, flexing my limbs.
One of the best things about tattooing is to watch all my fears fade to ink-black when the adrenaline rush starts to boost my system. To see my skill coming to life before my eyes is addictive.
She’s no stranger to this.
“Are you ready to ink me?” I didn’t schedule any appointments, knowing I wanted some one-on-one time to show her around.
She doesn’t need to practice right now yet it is part of the reason she came here.
The confusion on her face deepens, and those big ocean eyes grow in horror. “You?”
“Yes… me,” I respond in a low monotone voice, my calm and collected demeanor stays intact, showing her I have no problem with what I’m asking.
“No!” She squeals, shaking her head and her hands sideways.
Amused by her reaction, I cross my arms over my chest. “Why not?” I’m still not wavering.
“Because you’re an insanely gifted artist and you have beautiful tats I don’t want to ruin that.” The words roll out of her tongue at the speed of light.
“I’m touched by your concern, Lenny, but I would like to get a touch of your art too.” I extend my right hand before her in hopes it would be our olive branch.
Her gaze travels upward my arm and halts on the lion tattoo I have on my bicep for a lengthy minute. She swallows hard, pursing her lips before glancing at my chest, and focusing on the shelves behind me.
There’s a small part of me that wanted to get a tattoo from her. Be under her needle as she strokes my skin, imprinting me with an idea of her own.
She waves her palms to the sides, perplexed by this situation. “What would I draw?”
“I give you full permission to come up with something cool like your sketches.”
Her blue incredulous eyes look at my blue ones. “Are you sure? I know we’ve talked about tattoos for months and you’ve seen my work but this is permanent. For life!” Her palms sway in the air.
I want to laugh because the faces she makes are quite entertaining but I don’t want her to think she is the joke so I nod instead and blink once. “Yes. I’m just like any other client you’ll have, it’s overwhelming when it’s someone who has a tattoo or several but it’s just the same.” I explain, trying to infuse doses of reassurance back into her.
“Try a tattoo artist who knows everything.” She retorts.
In a single beat, she flicks her eyes at me, and our gaze seals.
Her hands move to brush her thighs soothingly, and then clutch them tightly. Her shirt wrinkles where the collar meets her rising chest as the rhythm of her breaths increases.
