by Sophia Henry
The week in Philadelphia is almost over, and I can honestly say, I’ve never been so exhausted in my life. The first two days were fast and fun. With the exception of Sandy’s blinged-out St. Michael piece, I was doing a bunch of small, quick tattoos which are relatively easy on my body. But the last three larger, more intense tattoos have been grueling, keeping me hunched over for hours at a time.
It felt like my first few years of tattooing, taking any clients I could to build my portfolio and client base. Despite the fatigue, I’ve loved every minute of the day meeting all the kick-ass people and every night doing interviews or promo or whatever else Ambassador had scheduled.
Well, except for the night Zayne reamed me out. Can’t say that part was fun, but he was right, and it did set me straight for the rest of the week.
With my last day tattooing at The Kandy Shop complete, I’m curled up on the couch in the lobby, sketching as I wait on Zayne to pick me up. Ever since I got off the plane in Philly, I’ve been drawing random faces. Portraits aren’t my specialty, I’ve been inspired recently. Maybe it’s my subconscious trying to remember people I’ve met or passed during my travels.
My heart aches, a mix of sadness about leaving and excitement for the next adventure. Saying goodbye to Bryan and Ike earlier was harder than I expected. I didn’t realize I’d get so attached so quickly, but they were honestly the coolest guys to tattoo with over the last week. They were welcoming, funny, and always willing to take me out and show me around Philly. I appreciated that because you never know what kind of personalities will be in the shop you walk into. Because Kandy and the guys were so rad, it’s quelled my anxiety about going to another new place tomorrow.
“Hey, Em! Come over and help me, would ya?” Kandy calls.
“Absolutely,” I say, closing my sketch pad and jumping off the couch. My heeled boots tap against the purple concrete floors. I’m going to miss the eclectic décor here. It makes Krasivo Custom back home seems so sterile. If I ever open my own shop, I want it to be funky and cool.
“Your first week is in the books. What do you think of being on the Ambassador Ink Pro Team?” She lifts a huge box off the counter and carries it over to the empty chair at Bryan’s station. “Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”
“Not to be a kiss-ass, but my week here has been amazing. You and the guys’ rock and my clients were awesome. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be. But I wish Louis were here. Zayne is such a tool.”
“What? Zayne is cool as shit.”
“Are you joking?” I ask, punching at the side of the box to loosen the tape. Once I have that tiny gap between tape and box, I dig my finger in and pull the tape from the top easily. “He’s a stuck-up snob.”
Kandy watches my technique, nodding her head. “That’s a great trick.”
Sliding one leg behind the other, I bend at the knees and courtesy at the compliment. “Scissors or a knife would be easier, but I don’t know where to find either in this shop.”
“Oh my god! Just ask, girl! There are scissors at the desk.”
I shrug and open the box of individually wrapped disposable tattoo tubes. “Seriously though, you think Zayne is cool? I haven’t gotten that vibe at all. And we’ve spent every day together.”
“I’m not shitting you. We had a blast on Tuesday night.”
“You went out with Zayne?” I ask, hoping the inflection in my voice comes across as surprise rather than jealousy. “The night I went out with the guys?”
“Yeah. He took a bunch of shop owners out for dinner. He’s trying to get us to become Ambassador-Ink-only shops.”
I rack my brain, trying to remember if I was supposed to be at that dinner. It couldn’t have been on my itinerary. I wouldn’t have missed anything after Zayne’s tongue lashing about my expectations the first morning we were in Philly. It hurt, and it was embarrassing, but that’s because he was right. This tour isn’t the time to do things as I’ve always done them. This is my time to shine.
“How did that go?” I ask. I love Ambassador products, but every artist has the ink they like using best. It’s like paint, there may be a popular brand, but you experiment and figure out what works best for your projects.
She slides the thick, purple-rimmed glasses to the top of her nose. “His sales pitch is a lot softer than Louis’. That’s for sure.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t come across as a salesman kind of douche. Just a dude who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
That’s a slight exaggeration. His interactions with everyone else have been normal. It’s me that he chooses to lash out at.
“Put five or six of each size at each station. We can put the rest in the storage drawer,” Kandy instructs me, bringing an armful of tubes over to Ike’s station and tossing them into a drawer. “You two really aren’t getting along, are you?”
“All he does is yell at me, telling me I need to be more professional,” I say, filling the drawer at the station I’ve been at before taking some to Bryan’s. “He assumes things about me without knowing me. I’m totally professional.”
“I agree with you. You’re actually pretty mature for someone your age in this industry. I’m not saying all twenty-two or twenty-three-year-olds are idiots—but there’s a lot of leniency in this environment, right? It’s not a bank or an office. But Zayne’s interpretation of professional is completely different than ours.” She laughs. “I’m sure Louis doesn’t even fit it. Hell, if you were on tour with him you’d be having a completely different experience.”
“More fun, I bet,” I mutter.
Kandy uses my punching technique to get the tape off the bottom of the box and flattens it out. “Don’t be so sure. Louis is all over the place. You may not like how unstructured he is. The difference between the two is the yin and yang of running a business, ya know? Gotta find the people who compliment you and make you better.”
“So that’s why you wanted me at your shop!” I wink.
Kandy gives me side-eye, but she breaks into a smile. “It’s been rad having you here. Watching you work is fun and Em, your shit is absolutely gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” I say with genuine appreciation. Compliments from people I admire in the industry mean a lot to me. It’s validation that I’m meant to be here. “You make a good point though. What’s the saying, ‘the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence?’”
“Exactly.”
“But why is he giving me such a hard time?” I pull up a chair, ready to sit, but Kandy clears her throat.
“There’s another box on the counter. Should be needles.” She points to the front. “I don’t know. Maybe he thinks you need PR training. I mean, sure, you got drunk your first night, but honestly, you could be doing much worse.”
“Right?” I stride to the counter to retrieve the needles. “I could be stealing lobsters from grocery stores.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I dismiss it with a quick shake of my head, dropping the box on the table. Thankfully that story stayed in Charlotte and didn’t follow me on tour. It’s funny, but it’s not badass. Mainly because I was an unknowing participant, I totally would have thrown fake blood on someone if that’s how Fozzie had chosen to be an activist.
“You should ask Zayne why he’s being a dick to you,” Kandy says, easily ignoring the lobster tale. “I’ve always found that talking to someone is the best way to find out the answers. You can go over it in your head a million times, but you’ll never know until you ask him.”
“Communicate?” I ask, holding my chin between my index finger and thumb. “That’s a novel concept.”
Kandy nudges me with her shoulder. “When you’re finished with the needles, you can fill up the green soap bottles.”
“Oh my gosh, really? Can I fill the alcohol bottles, too?” I beg with feigned excitement.
“You’re such a brat!” She shakes her head as she walks away. “No wonder Stan wanted to get rid of you for a month.”
<
br /> “Truth.”
At the far end of the shop, past all of the stations, there’s a huge, oriental-themed armoire where Kandy keeps all the supplies. I scavenge through the cabinet looking for an industrial size bottle of alcohol. Hopefully, there’s a funnel in there, too, since that would make refilling the smaller bottles we keep at our stations so much easier.
Suddenly, Ike bursts through the door, startling me so much, I almost drop the alcohol.
“Vicious! Get your ass out here! The Lyft is waiting!”
“What?” I tighten my grip on the bottle and look around the shop, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. Zayne will be here any minute, so there’s no way I can leave for unscheduled hijinks. That would reverse all the hard work I’ve done this week to prove how serious I am about my career.
Kandy takes the bottle from my hand, saying, “It’s a Zayne approved kidnapping.”
Well in that case: Let the hijinks begin!
Since tonight is my last free night in Philly, Ike and Kelly said they had one last surprise for me—something I had to do before leaving. Because I couldn’t imagine what they had in store, I’m staring out the window the entire drive, trying to figure out where they’re taking me.
Though I went to a few touristy places on my lunch breaks, I really didn’t have an opportunity to see much of the city. When our driver pulls up in front of a gorgeous building with massive columns and a torturous number of steps to get to the entrance, I’m perplexed.
Ike is the first one out of the car. He yanks open the door to the backseat. “It’s your last night in Philly, and you said you didn’t have anything going on for Ambassador. We couldn’t let you leave Philly without running those steps,” he explains.
“Why would I do that? Why would anyone do that?” I ask, glaring at him.
“Those are the steps Rocky ran up during the super-famous training scene in the first movie,” Kelly explains. She presses my back to get me to exit the car, before scrambling out behind me.
The reference is completely lost on me because I’ve never seen any of the Rocky movies. Not even the “new Rocky” movies with Michael B. Jordan. Though, that man is hot as hell, and that alone is reason enough to check them out.
“Ohhhh! The torture steps have pop culture meaning. I thought this was some kind of final initiation prank for the newbie in the shop.”
“Torture steps.” Ike scoffs. “It’s good for you to pound seventy-two steps every once in a while.”
“Is there beer up there?” I ask.
“No, but there’s a fantastic art museum,” Kelly offers, as she pulls her hair long, red hair into a ponytail. I didn’t notice before, but now I realize, she and Ike are dressed like they’re going to the gym.
Usually, I’m not one to turn down touring an art museum. Being amid the beauty of other people’s creative mind is one of my happy places, but it would have been nice to know I’d have to trudge up seventy-some steps to get there before I got dressed this morning.
“Rats,” I say, lifting a foot to show off one of my gorgeous, but extremely running-unfriendly, five-inch-heeled boots.
“Good thing I brought your running shoes,” a familiar voice says from behind me.
I whip around, surprised to see Zayne standing there, holding out the flip flops I’ve kept in our rental car to put on at the end of the night when my feet are sore and tired. They’re decidedly better than my boots, but not necessarily what I would call running shoes.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the flip flops. “What brings you here?”
A heavy breeze rustles his hair. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to run the Rocky steps one last time before we left.”
“You’ve already run them?” My shoulders curl inward, and I inch closer to him, using his body to shield me from the frigid wind gusts. It’s freezing tonight. Not only am I not wearing the right shoes, but I’m not dressed for the weather either.
“I’ve run them every day we’ve been here, before you even wake up, honey,” Zayne says.
Overachiever.
“Roasted!” Ike shouts, then waves me toward the steps, “Come on, Em. Let’s see how Vicious you really are.”
Zayne and Kelly join Ike at the bottom. All three of them turn around and stare at me, evidently waiting for me to get into gear.
“Guys? Are you for real?” I ask. They must be joking. I’ve been working ten-hour days all week, and we’ve got an eight am flight to Chicago. Cardio is the absolute last thing on my mind right now.
“There’s a Rocky statue over there,” Zayne points over his shoulder with his thumb. “You can take a picture with it and tell everyone you ran the stairs.”
And just like that, my competitive drive kicks in. Hell no! I’m not going to take a photo with a statue and say I did something without actually doing it.
Without hesitation, I plop down in the middle of the sidewalk and start removing my boots. Once my socks are off, I slip on the flip flops, and I’m ready to go. Well, as ready as I can be with what I’ve got. I brought a pair of black and white Vans on the trip, but they’re back at the hotel.
Zayne offers me his cold, yet soft hand and yanks me to my feet.
“Thanks,” I say, bending down to grab my boots.
“Do you want me to sing ‘Eye of the Tiger’ as you run?” Zayne asks, climbing the stairs next to me.
“That wouldn’t be cinematically correct,” Ike calls. He and Kelly are twenty steps ahead of us. “The Rocky theme song is playing during the scene.”
“Just when I think I’m sad about leaving Philly, you bring me back down to earth by correcting stupid shit like that, Ike.”
The view from the top is lackluster, but I guess it’s about making it up there without dying, not about being able to see buildings in Philadelphia from a higher vantage point.
I’m bent over, with my hands on my knees, huffing and puffing. I may have been the last one to finish, but I’m proud I made it—in flip flops with frozen feet.
“Nice work, EmVee,” Zayne says, holding his fist out to me. I lift one hand to bump his knuckles quickly. “I’m really proud of how you stepped up to all of the challenges this week.”
“I don’t back down, Zayne,” I tell him between heavy breaths. “Throw everything you’ve got at me, baby! I will take it all and run up seventy more fricking stairs to prove how important my career is to me.”
“You doubted her to her career?” Ike asks, leaning over to touch his toes. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Zayne? She’s the only one in the shop who doesn’t fuck around all the time.”
“She’s changing my perception every single day,” he says.
It’s the nicest thing he’s said about me the entire trip. I’m happy to hear he’s changing his tune about my work ethic.
Chapter Nine
Zayne
I’ve just woken up from a much-needed nap during our two-hour flight to Chicago, when EmVee turns to me, still wearing the oversized cat-eye sunglasses she’s had on since we left for the airport—in the dark, at five am.
“What do you do all day while I’m tattooing? Do you, like, roam the city? Check out the tourist attractions?”
“You know I have a job, right?” I ask with only a slight hint of sarcasm. Has she been sitting there waiting for me to wake up just to ask me what I do all day?
“Yes, I know you have a job, dude.” She leans back and—finally—pushes the silly sunglasses on top of her head, holding her hair back like a headband. “But I mean, no one works every minute of the day. You don’t plan on playing hooky during the free time?”
I laugh, because, while it’s true that no one works every minute of every day, it sure seems like I do. EmVee’s schedule is the only reason I stopped at a decent time most nights.
While she was sitting pretty in her tattoo chair, my schedule is packed with normal day-to-day Ambassador operations, coordinating her after-work events, getting payroll i
n on time, so our employees don’t call me bitching about that, and trying to fix a massive issue with a new monthly box subscription we started offering recently. It all falls on me because—as I predicted—Louis only made it into the office once the entire week.
Not to mention, we’re so desperately in need of manpower back home, I used any “free time” I had over the last five days to scour more than two hundred resumes, and narrow them down to the thirty candidates I wanted to hold phone interviews with. Out of those thirty, there were four people I believed were strong enough to schedule for a final interview—which I conducted on Skype. After we got back from running the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Arts last night, I drew up offer letters for three of them, which I’ll print and send out when we get to the hotel today.
“Actually, this week has been one of the most hectic in all my time at Ambassador.” I close my eyes and rest my head against my seat, trying to relax for a minute before my mind starts going again. “I’d like nothing more than another nap right now.”
“Oh, shit,” EmVee stammers. “Sorry, Z. I just, I had a lot of fun with you last night. I mean, running all those steps sucked monkey balls, but it was such a Philly thing to do, right?”
“Yeah,” I agree, opening my eyes and shifting to look at her. “I can’t believe you’d never heard of the Rocky steps.”
“I’m twenty—”
“Two. Yes, I’m aware.” I laugh.
I’m even more aware when we’re in such close proximity and getting along as well as we are. My pulse pounds and heat flushes my skin. Thankfully, I have Italian blood running through my veins and an olive skin tone that hides subtle color.
She shrugs. “Movies were never my thing. I was always much more interested in music and art. When I was younger, my oldest sister used to call me EmCat because every morning I would sit in the window, basking in the light and warmth of the sun as I sketched. I still do that to this day. I’ve chosen every bedroom I’ve ever had because it faces east and gets morning sun.” She nudges me with her elbow. “So maybe I was up every morning you were running those steps.”