He nodded at the couch. “Why don’t you take a seat? Here.” He reached over and handed me a stack of binders. “That’s all my art in there. You know, in case you have a change of heart and let me ink you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
“I don’t recall you giving me the chance to turn that idea down,” I said wryly, taking them from him and sitting down on the couch. For all the orange suede, it was really comfortable. While he busied himself getting ready for the client, I flipped through the pages.
His art was beautiful. From soaring owls to photograph-quality portraits and strange symbols, Camden looked like he could do anything. All of his work had a certain shadow, a certain dark quality about it that instantly reminded me of art class. Back when he and I were friends, back when we’d sit next to each other in Mrs. Slevin’s class, he’d doodle page after page of his sketchbook with these highly detailed and intricate drawings, all with a skinny black pen. One day I let him draw all over my arm, from my knuckles all the way to my shoulder before Mrs. Slevin yelled at him, throwing around big words like “ink poisoning. “ I had worn those drawings with a perverse sense of pride like the freak I was.
I peered up from the pages and watched him. He was sitting in his chair, prepping his station, brows furrowed and bright eyes in clear concentration. The package may have changed, but his eyes were still the same. Even now they were as engaged and coaxing as ever, like he was trying to get the ink to tell him its secrets.
“So what do you do for work, Ellie?” he asked without meeting my eyes. He knew I was staring at him.
“I work odd jobs,” I said, and went back to flipping through the book.
“You never went to college?”
“Not unless you count the School of Hard Knocks.”
“Still funny, I see.”
“You gotta be something.”
I felt him pause, a heaviness at my back. The hairs on my neck felt like they were being tugged. I was reminded of the electric shock he gave me and I slowly turned my head. He was staring right at me, his expression unreadable. Something strange passed between us, but it felt foreign to me and I didn’t know what to make of it.
Finally he said, “Audrey’s here.”
I turned in time to see the door opening and a girl in her early twenties enter, doing her best Dita Von Teese impression with black retro waves and polka dot dress. Her arms were covered in tats, a full sleeve on her left and half of one on her right. It was just an outline of cherry blossoms, the color missing.
“Hi Camden,” she gushed. She trotted over to him in her minxy heels, pausing only to give me a dirty look. I was reminded of the way I must have appeared when I first saw him, before I learned who he was to me.
“Audrey, babe,” he said and got up out of his seat. He embraced her good-naturedly and patted the chair. “Take a seat. Oh, this is Ellie by the way. She’s going to watch me color you up, if you don’t mind of course.”
She gave him a half smile which turned fully fake when she looked at me. For Christ’s sake, she even had one of those fake beauty marks on her face. “No, I don’t mind. She your girlfriend, Camden?”
I almost snickered but caught myself just in time.
“No, she’s an old friend, just visiting,” he supplied smoothly. “Or are you staying in Palm Valley now, Ellie? I can’t remember.”
“Um, just passing through,” I said, getting to my feet. I felt that itch to get out of there. Why was I even in his tattoo studio to begin with? One minute I was at the coffee shop and suddenly I was here, hanging around someone I didn’t know. I mean, it felt like I knew him, but not really. We weren’t the people we were when we were teenagers. God, I hoped we weren’t those people.
Then I realized why I was really there. What my subconscious was working away on. I found my eyes resting on the cash register.
He started dabbing cleaning solution on Audrey’s arm and noticed my wayward eyes. I tried to cover it up but he just held my eyes and said to Audrey, “Ellie is actually looking for work. Do you know of any openings at the boutique?”
Audrey shook her head politely. “We’re full up.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “Are you paying with cash or credit today?”
“Oh, cash,” she said, and he waited while she fished out a wad of bills from her wallet. It looked to be at least $200. I supposed that was enough to get by on if you had one customer a day, but it would barely pay your bills let alone all the cool stuff in the place.
“Thank you,” he told her, rolling over in his chair to the till and punching in a few numbers. “I’ll get you a receipt after.”
The register opened with a loud chime and my jaw unhinged. It was loaded with cash. And I mean loaded to the brim. There’s no way the shop could bring in that much. He must keep it for show or something, though I couldn’t fathom why. Maybe if he was the lovestruck boy he was back in the day, I could say he was trying to impress me, but he didn’t even know I’d be around.