by Destiny Ford
I blinked, wondering if I’d entered some sort of twilight zone. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘Inked And Fantastic’?”
She doubled down on her Kate-is-an-idiot glare. “The tattoo shop name, Kate. Keep up.”
It took every ounce of restraint I had not to double over laughing. And then she kept going. “First they allowed the Beans and Things coffee shop, and now this!” Jackie exclaimed before taking a drink of her pumpkin spice hot chocolate from said coffee shop. I eyed her with suspicion, wondering if there really was hot chocolate in her cup, or if she was drinking an illegal latte. The sip seemed to rile her up even more, which was additional proof for my coffee theory. She continued, “I tried tellin’ people that coffee house was a gateway drug. Soon we’re gonna have nothin’ but crime and immorality all over town.”
I raised an eyebrow at her quick judgment and dismissal of things simply because they were out of her comfort zone. “Or you could teach your kids that the world is amazing because it’s full of all kinds of people from all different walks of life who like a variety of things and forms of expression,” I suggested.
A collective hush fell over most of The Ladies and it was clear that my suggestion of tolerance had offended them on a deep level. I accepted their reaction as a source of personal pride.
Jackie’s face turned to stone and she pointed at me. “You think you’re so smart, Kate. Comin’ back here with your liberal ideas and tryin’ to make everyone change even though you’re committin’ all kinds of sins with multiple men.” I wanted to correct her on that allegation since one, it wasn’t true, and two, my romantic life was none of her business, but she wouldn’t listen anyway so I decided not to waste the energy and let her drone on. “Well, I’ll have you know that we like who we are just fine. We don’t have to change and you’re not gonna make us!” The Ladies behind her started clapping like she’d given an award-winning speech.
And that right there, the stubborn inability to see things from any perspective other than their own, was what was wrong with the world, and what I’d been trying to help improve when I’d decided to become a journalist. I had no problem with an informed opinion—even if it differed from my own. The problem was that most people weren’t informed, and were getting the perspective from social media memes and posts instead of legit news sources and journalists who cared about objectivity. I didn’t care what Jackie, The Ladies, or anyone else said; I was still going to keep putting information out there. Someday, having an unbiased view of both sides of an argument might change someone’s mind, and that’s what kept me going.
Jackie continued, “They’re allowin’ permanent things to be done to their skin and piercin’ all sorts of unmentionable places!”
The piercings in all sorts of places had been one of the major arguments against the tattoo shop being allowed in town. I really didn’t think anything other than ears and an occasional belly button or eyebrow would be pierced. Not many people in Branson knew what a Prince Albert was, and even fewer would be interested in it.
“It’s a…a…” she seemed to be struggling to find the word, “Travesty!” Found it. “That this kind of body torture hasn’t been outlawed yet,” Jackie said, full of righteous indignation—or it might have been surprise at her own vocabulary skills, I couldn’t really tell.
I gave her a disbelieving look and did my best not to laugh. “If it had, you and most of your Lady cohorts would be in jail.”
Her eyes frosted over. “How do you figure that, Kate?”
I stared at her, wondering how she’d managed to get to this point in life without critical thinking skills. “You’re talking about body modification, right?”
She nodded.
“How are tattoos any different from plastic surgery, ear piercings, and permanent cosmetics?” I asked. Utah has one of the highest rates of cosmetic surgery in the nation. It even beats Los Angeles for plastic surgeons per capita. Perfection is a mandate in the Beehive State, and women are held to a very high double standard when it comes to body image. I knew for a fact that Jackie Wall had gotten a boob job, and Amber Kane had her nose redone years ago. Botox parties were more popular in Branson than cake—which is shocking considering how addicted to sugar most Utahns are. The injectable parties were held monthly at the homes of various Lady members.
Jackie, realizing I had a point, ignored the facts and continued anyway. “Because church leaders specifically tell us not to get tattoos. They don’t say anythin’ about plastic surgery.”
That was true, but it was still up to each individual because one of the main cornerstones of the Mormon faith is free agency—the idea that people are free to make their own choices…church leaders just liked to restrict access to things that allowed people to do so. Growing up Mormon in a town where ninety-five percent of residents were all members of the same religion, and then overseeing a newspaper that went out to the majority of them, forced me to be extremely well-versed in their beliefs, despite the fact that I was no longer a part of the religion. “Because your body is a temple and you’re supposed to treat it like one and not do anything to disrespect it. But,” I said, repeating myself since Jackie had apparently not heard me the first time, “how is altering your skin any different than altering your body with bigger boobs or a nose job? Or even changing your hair color? Or applying fake fingernails or hair extensions? Technically, all of those things fall under body modification. And permanent cosmetics are tattoos.”
They all stared at me, speechless, like they’d never equated the two or given it any thought. And that was part of the problem. “Maybe you should think about what you’re protesting before you start protesting it,” I suggested, and walked to the other side of the picket line to talk to the tattoo shop supporters, and Sasha and Axel, the owners of Inked AF.
Axel was lean with spiked hair that had blonde tips and tattoos that covered his arms like sleeves. Sasha was tall and lithe, with bright tattoos down one arm, and hair that frequently changed colors—today it was teal.
“Hey Kate,” Sasha said with a warm smile. “Do you want a tour?”
I returned her smile and said, “I’d love one! And some pictures and quotes for the paper.” I’d gotten to know Axel and Sasha while they were trying to get approval for their shop to open and really liked them both. They swore, wore tanks tops, drank coffee, and even had wine and beer occasionally. There weren’t many of us in a town like Branson Falls, so when you found a new tribe member, you learned to befriend them fast.
I followed Axel and Sasha inside. The shop walls were painted a deep charcoal and had beautiful, large canvases of artwork on the wall. “Did you paint all of these?”
Axel nodded. “Sasha picked some of our favorite old tattoo designs, and I used them to create a theme for the pieces.”
Flowers mingled with geometric shapes, portraits, and landscapes. It all came together in a stunning way that looked almost like wallpaper on the various canvases. “You’re both so talented.”
Sasha blushed and the look they gave each other radiated love. Axel put his hand on Sasha’s back. “She was the mastermind behind the whole design.”
I smiled at the intimate interaction. I really admired couples who were clearly in love, gave each other credit, and built one another up.
“I know this has been a long road for you guys and I’m really happy for you,” I said. “Has anyone commented on the shop name?”
Sasha laughed. “Most people have no clue, or think it means something else entirely.”
I grinned. “From what I’ve heard, several people seem to think the AF stands for “And Fantastic!”
Axel threw his head back and laughed. “Inked And Fantastic works. We’ll let them keep thinking that.”
“Have you had any issues with people in town as you’ve been getting ready to open?” I asked.
Axel shrugged. “A few people here and there. A couple of anonymous notes telling us we weren’t wanted here. Nothing too crazy though.”
; I frowned at the inhospitality. “Some people suck.”
“It’s a small town where a lot of people already had opinions about us before we even got here, and don’t agree with what we do,” Axel said, leaning against the front counter. “We weren’t expecting a welcome wagon, but we were hoping to open minds. We’ve already had several people book ear piercings, so that’s a start.”
I closed my eyes, shook my head, and laughed. Because pierced ears were socially acceptable in Branson, even if they were a body modification. “Of course you have.”
“The sad thing is that a lot of people who are against tattoos don’t realize the good they can do,” Sasha said, grabbing a tattoo book off the table. “A lot of our work helps people heal from something they’ve been through, whether it’s emotional, or physical. The art becomes an outward representation of strength for our clients. Sometimes it’s art as a memorial, other times it’s to cover up scars from accidents, surgeries, or even domestic violence. Most people don’t get tattoos just to get them, there’s usually a story behind the art.” She flipped through the book, pointing out beautiful work that had been done for the reasons she’d mentioned. It was another side of tattooing that I was certain most Branson residents hadn’t thought of.
I thought about a friend of mine who’d gotten a tattoo in memory of a lost loved one, and another whose mom had gotten tattoos to cover up the scars from her mastectomy. “I agree completely, and believe you’re right that a lot of people don’t understand. They think of tattoos as a blanket mistake, not something with meaning. Do you have the names of some of your clients with interesting stories who might be willing to talk to me? I’d really like to include that angle in the article since it’s one I don’t think many people here have considered.”
“Sure!” Sasha said, her smile bright. “I’ll check with a few of them and email you some names.”
“Perfect.” I looked around the shop again and loved the warm energy and feeling of inclusion it represented. It didn’t matter whether you were tattooed, pierced, or nothing at all, you’d be welcome at Inked AF. “Do you mind if I get a few photos?”
“Not at all,” Sasha said, gesturing toward the main room and the tattoo chairs in the back.
I walked around and got the pictures I needed. A wide shot of the shop, the tattoo stations, and a few with Axel and Sasha. I went outside and got some photos of the front of the building, and talked to a few of the Inked AF supporters. The owner of the antique store next door, Fred Carlson, was standing on the sidewalk, eating a cookie from the grand opening party table.
“Hey, Fred,” I said.
He gave me a big smile. Fred and his wife, Molly, had owned the antique shop for years. Fred had worked in the shop as a kid and took it over from his parents when they retired. He should be pretty close to retiring himself. They lived down the street from me and frequently brought me amazing treats. “Hi, Kate!”
“How do you feel about this?” I asked, motioning toward Inked AF.
He shrugged. “It’s not somethin’ that interests me personally, but I’ve got no problems with it, or with people who like tattoos.”
I smiled. “Can I quote you on that?”
“Sure can,” he said with a grin.
I got a few more pictures and quotes as I snaked my way through the crowd, and made sure to give The Ladies a fake smile as I walked to my Jeep. I didn’t like them, but I’d jotted down their opinions and would be sure to include those perspectives in my story for objectivity.
As I got in my SUV, my phone rang with the familiar strains of “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.” I didn’t even have to glance at the phone to know exactly who it was. I’d given Dylan Drake, our local representative in the Utah House of Representatives and resident Branson Falls heart-throb, that ringtone after he’d come over to my house with chocolate covered coffee beans and used his wide chest, full lips, and muscled arm wizardry to try and convince me that a relationship with him was totally doable. It had almost worked. Almost. The ringtone was my personal reminder that despite his arguments to the contrary, and how intrigued I was with the idea of seeing him shirtless—and pantless too—he was a religious politician who was encouraged to date someone with the same beliefs as him, and that meant we could never work as a couple.
And Drake’s wasn’t the only Neil Diamond ringtone I’d been avoiding. “Play Me” was also on my no answer list. I’d been actively evading both Hawke and Drake for weeks—which wasn’t easy in a small town so it had required a few covert maneuvers—and I’d congratulated myself for remaining unseen on multiple occasions.
However, it was painfully clear that I now had feelings for two entirely different men in my life, and I had no idea what to do with that information. I’d been hoping time would reveal the answer. Apparently, time didn’t feel the same sense of urgency about the matter that I did, because I’d received no solid answers from the universe, or even Ella—a surprise considering she had an opinion about most things. Her advice about Hawke and Drake, however, had always been, “Do them both—I would.” That coincided nicely with what my lady parts were also broadcasting. Luckily, my frontal lobe was still in control…for the moment.
I wasn’t sure of my feelings yet, and wasn’t ready to explain myself to either one of them. Until I was, I’d keep letting the calls go to voicemail. If I was being truthful with myself I might call that cowardly—but today I called it survival. I put my phone in my purse and drove back to the Tribune office.
Chapter Three
I was opening the Tribune door when my phone buzzed with a message from my mom. I grinned at the picture of my sweet puppy staring back at me. I’d recently adopted the cute little guy, a tiny pup with a mixed heritage that looked a lot like a terrier. He was black, with a grey and white beard, and I’d immediately named him Gandalf in honor of my favorite wizard. Working as a small town newspaper editor wasn’t super conducive to owning a dog, however, because my work hours were so sporadic. Luckily, my mom and dad were close, and my mom had demanded that Gandalf be with her whenever he wasn’t with me. I was fine with that, and extremely grateful for the help raising my tiny ball of fur. I adored him and his little grey beard.
In my mom’s photo, Gandalf was being a very good boy, sitting and waiting for his treat in his outfit for the day—an adorable little royal blue cape with a sky blue paws embroidered on the back. My mom had serious sewing skills, and had appointed herself as Gandalf’s personal stylist. It was a good thing he liked clothes.
I walked to my desk and put my bag down as another text popped up:
Gandalf had his afternoon treat. Now we’re snuggling!
My mom had recently discovered emojis, which meant that text was followed by approximately seventy-six of them. Several of which were the little poop surrounded by hearts. Given her frequency of little poop emoji use, I had a feeling my mom didn’t know what it was. In fact, I was certain of it. I was about to text her back and attempt to explain when I heard Spence’s voice, “How was the grand opening of Inked AF?” But he said the full words instead of just the letters AF represented, and that made me laugh and love him even more than I already did.
Spence was tall with dark skin, eyes so clear they could probably see a person’s soul, and a jawline that looked like it had been cut from granite. He wasn’t interested in girls, or I’d be in even more trouble than I was already in with Drake and Hawke.
“It was good,” I said, sitting down at my desk and putting my bag in the drawer. “They had protesters there, of course. Mostly The Ladies, who seemed unable to grasp that permanent make up is a form of tattooing.”
Spence rolled his eyes. “Of course they didn’t get it. And they’re probably told permanent makeup is fine because makeup makes them look more appealing for men and what makes men happy is what matters.” Spence was also well-versed in the local religious beliefs, and somehow managed to maintain a life in Branson despite the predominant religion’s treatment of LGBTQ+ people like h
imself. He wasn’t out of the closet to anyone in town but me, however. If he ever decided to reveal that fact, people’s behavior might change. More than one business had closed when the owners got divorced—because divorce isn’t something the church supports either, and townspeople started boycotting the companies, immediately blaming the wives for the failed relationships. The things some people placed value on were often ridiculous.
“Exactly,” I said in agreement with Spence’s church-related sentiments. “But Axel and Sasha also had a lot of people there supporting them, and they have several ear piercings already booked. I’m certain they’ll get more piercing and tattoo appointments as time goes on and they’ll do well.”
“I hope so,” Spence said. “We need diversity here.”
I nodded in agreement. It’s why I hadn’t moved away again yet, and why I hoped Inked AF and the coffee shop succeeded.
“I know you just got back, but I have another story for you.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Betty Turner called. She wants to tell you her potato story.”
Both of my brows went up at that. “Potatoes?”
He shrugged. “I have no clue. She just said she wants to talk to someone about it.”
I sighed. “She probably found a potato in her garden that looks like Elvis or something.”
“That was also my guess. Have fun.”
I grabbed my bag and left to uncover the great potato mystery. Sometimes my job was extra glamorous.
I knocked on Betty Turner’s door and when she opened it, she was wearing a floral print lavender housecoat, glasses, and holding a newspaper and pencil. The phrase “sweet grandma” probably had her picture next to it in the dictionary. She was around the same age as Ella, and I’d always thought she had a great sense of humor.
“Kate!” she said, full of excitement. “Come in, come in! I was doing my crossword puzzle. Keeps the mind sharp, you know. Though some of the answers are pretty tricky. I didn’t even know what a Bluetooth was until I looked it up.”