AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I held the orange up to the mirror.
“Are you happy with your shamrock, Mr. Orange?”
I moved my wrist to make the orange nod like a puppet.
“I think he’s happy.”
The tattoo gun was on the tray and Jackson held it up.
“These are coil machines. It means they use an electromagnetic circuit to move the needle grouping. Normally we’d change the needles to comply with health and safety regulations, but we won’t do that for the orange.”
I climbed off the reclining chair and took his place on the stool. There was a foot pedal next to my right foot, and it looked like the one I remembered under my mom’s sewing machine.
“Do you use this to control it?” I asked.
“Yup.” Jackson nodded. “Hold the point just above the skin and press your foot down to activate it.”
I followed his instructions and gasped when the pen vibrated.
“It feels like it’s trying to jump out of my hand.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Jackson said. “Now pull the skin taut between your fingers and follow the outline in small, smooth strokes.”
After seeing the guys do it so much, I had a fairly good idea of what to do, but the pen’s weight made it harder to control than I’d expected. I drew multiple quick lines and when the ink pooled over the skin so much I could no longer see the outline, I wiped the orange with Jackson’s cloth.
“That’s it,” he said, when I looked up. “Now keep going until you’ve finished.”
I continued to work, tracing the outline and then, under Jackson’s instruction, blocking in the color. When I’d finished, I turned the pen off and held up the orange.
The tattoo was rough, but it was mine, and I was insanely proud of it.
“Great job,” Jackson said, touching my back. “If you keep this up, we’ll have to hire you one day.”
“I’m sure Xavier wouldn’t want a woman upsetting the gender balance,” I said, downplaying the pride that glowed in my chest.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jackson said. “Many women feel more comfortable seeing a female tattoo artist. You’d probably bring in more business.”
I considered the orange and, for the first time since my mom died, I felt like I might actually be able to build a career.
42
EMMA
On the morning of our charity day, I went downstairs early to blow up pink and white balloons to decorate the arch I’d bought online, and found all three guys there, with the arch ready to go.
“Thought we’d give you a hand,” Adrian said, and passed me the last balloon to slip into its plastic holder.
“It looks beautiful,” I said. “But shouldn’t you guys be setting up your stations?”
“Already done,” Xavier said from behind me, and rubbed my shoulders. His hands were strong, and tension melted out of my muscles as he squeezed them. “You’ve done a great job, and I know your mom would be proud of you.”
The compliment made me smile, because I knew she’d be proud of me, too, and I wished she were here to see all my hard work. In the past few weeks, I’d arranged advertising on social media, dropped pamphlets in letter boxes (with Jackson following from a safe distance, of course), visited cancer support groups, delivered pamphlets at the hospital, hung posters outside the shop and picked up coin collection boxes to display through the studio, with a QR code printed on the side for anyone who wanted to donate money electronically.
The guys had done prep work of their own: they wore pink t-shirts that Xavier had purchased and printed his logo on especially for this event, and they’d given me stacks of paper, each one containing a close-up photograph of a nipple in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Our clients would sift through the images until they found a design that they wanted, and the stencils were pre-prepared and ready to go.
All we were missing was the people… but when I checked the cameras, I saw a small group of women already waiting outside.
My advertising had obviously worked.
