“Maybe not,” he said, collecting our plates and taking them to the sink. “I’m just trying to make you feel better. Guess it didn’t work.”
I shot him a smile of gratitude and offered to do the dishes. When he refused, I then excused myself. I went up to my room, shut the door, and started Googling the crap out of Camden McQueen on my phone.
I found nothing. Well, nothing “bad.” Just things that reiterated what he’d already told me. He was a talented tattoo artist, he really was on Kat Von D’s reality TV show, and his shop in LA did quite well. Other than that, there was nothing. Only a few pictures that made me feel all quivery inside.
Ugh.
I sat on the bed and hugged my knees and tried to think. I didn’t have many options. Since I was already in Palm Valley, I could go back into town and do some serious job hunting. Maybe get a gig at a bar or something like that since the barista thing wasn’t going to happen.
I perked up a bit. Maybe I could get a legitimately great job. And maybe if I did, Uncle Jim would let me stay a bit longer, seeing that I was serious. But then I’d be stuck in Palm Valley, in the same town as Camden, and things could get pretty awkward. I mean, it’s not like things ended on bad terms but…well, I usually left when places and people got weird.
And that was still an option. Maybe I could barter for a place to stay in another town and get some employment there. Work on a farm for room and board? I’d done stranger things before.
I wondered if there was anyone I knew that could help me out. I wasn’t one for charity but there were plenty of people out there who I’d done a favor for and who owed me big time. Jeez, I was getting desperate.
I opened up my email account on my phone.
My heart thumped up into my throat. There was an email from Camden with the subject line Guano Padano albums.
How the hell did he get my email?
With a shaking finger I pressed the touchscreen to open it.
Hey Ellie, thanks for coming to the show last night. Hope you had fun. I’ve attached some zip files of the two Guano Padano albums, in case you wanted to listen to them. I realized last night that I never got your phone number (derp), so if you see this email in time, perhaps you’d like to come with me to the driving range, hit a few balls, and drink a few beers? It’s what all the cool kids are doing.
PS if this isn’t the fantastic Ellie Watt of Palm Valley fame, please disregard this email. But you can keep the music.
He had his tattoo shop logo and information in his signature, along with his cell phone number.
I felt a sick sense of relief. I say sick because now that I knew he did like me after all, now that I knew I was back in the game, I was getting a little wary of the actual game. It didn’t help what my uncle said about the company he kept.
Still, I couldn’t imagine Camden hanging out with bad people. What was with the older generations thinking everyone that had tattoos and piercings had to be gang members or criminals? Okay, so I had tattoos and piercings (a nipple ring, if you must know), but someone had to start the stereotype, right?
I decided my uncle was too quick to judge and if Camden was going to be associated with anyone unsavory, it might as well be me. With fingers that were still shaking, I dialed his number.
CHAPTER SIX
“Can you hold my balls for a sec?”
I almost did a quite unsexy snort-laugh and took the bucket of balls out of Camden’s hands while he bent over and tied up his Converse. Not exactly golf club attire, but Palm Valley’s Public Golf Course seemed to attract all the golfers who didn’t have the deeply-lined pockets to play at the private clubs. And that meant a few golfers wearing clothes that just squeaked under the regulations.
Luckily for me, this meant I could keep my jeans on. I didn’t have any other type of pants and Lord knows I wouldn’t wear shorts with the scars I had. Camden looked devilishly handsome with grey Chucks, knee-length black shorts, and a black and white checkered polo shirt. Though his glasses were missing from his face, his hair was spiked up a bit in the front. If anyone could own the trend “golf punk” it would be him.
After I had done my nervous phone call to Camden, he swung by Uncle Jim’s and picked me up. He was out in the groves at the time, thank goodness, so I just left him a note saying I had gone out job hunting. It was kind of the truth.