So Wild

by Eve Dangerfield

  “What about Fadeout Festival?”

  Fucking hell, Fadeout Festival. He’d forgotten about that. He’d planned to go and support Sam but now, after everything that happened, he doubted she wanted to see him there. And even if she did, what if he distracted her? He knew how badly she wanted to win.

  “She’d want to see you,” Toby said. “I know she would. Let’s just go together, get a coffee on the way in and go.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it and see how we feel in the morning.”

  Toby winced. “Yeah, how are we going to feel in the morning?”

  “Fine if we take a couple of aspirin and drink a bottle of water. Come on, I’ll show you the spare bedroom.”

  As he led Toby to the back of his apartment, Scott pictured himself at the festival, standing by as Samantha did her work. He wanted to be there, but he wanted a lot of things—a kind father, a living mother, a personal history that didn’t include the phrase buy­scott­sanderson­aroot.com… That he loved her, he was certain, but did he have a right to love her? To impose himself on her after what his father had done? He laid down on his bed and watched the room tumble and turn around him, hoping the morning would bring an answer.

  Chapter 22

  Fadeout Festival was held in Melbourne’s exhibition center, one of the largest entertainment venues in the city. It sat beside the innocuous-looking Yarra River, whose toxic depths locals knew never to dip a toe in. The entire festival lasted a weekend and encompassed hundreds of tattoo artists, stalls and demonstrations. In spite of this, everyone knew what the biggest and best event was—the ‘Top Tattoo Artist in Australia’ comp. Some people flew in just for the event and when artists said they were going to Fadeout, everyone knew they meant they were watching or competing in TTAA. The prize money was good, the title was great, but the best thing about Fadeout was the exposure—that was if the pressure didn’t go to your head. Careers nosedived over the course of a single afternoon at Fadeout and even promising artists had made cocks of themselves on camera, their sterling reputations never to be as shiny again.

  Sam slept badly. Tabby took all the puppies back to her room, and though they were going to pee all over her sheets at two in the morning, Sam decided that it would be a small price to pay for some company. She crept to Tabby’s room and whispered to the dogs. Only the biggest one came to her, a mischievous female with particularly soft ears. Sam carried her into her bed and cuddling her eased the pangs of both nerves and loneliness.

  At five in the morning, Nicole had come in, puffy eyed but determined. “I know you can’t sleep either, so I’m doing your hair and makeup. No negotiations.”

  “I wasn’t going to negotiate,” Sam said but she let Nicole lead her and her puppy companion to the bathroom all the same.

  Nicole wanted to give her French braids ‘to keep the hair out of your eyes,’ but Sam had refused on the grounds she didn’t want to resemble a dark-haired Pippi Longstocking. Also, hair was useful for hiding behind when you fucked something up. Her twin dutifully gave her a blowout and as Nix worked, Sam found herself relaxing a little. They avoided talking about men or tattoos, instead trash-talking The Bachelor and discussing whether they could create a beauty YouTube channel under the guise they were the same person.

  When they were both dressed and ready, they went downstairs to triple check the equipment. To their surprise, they found Noah sleeping on the client couch. Nicole shrieked at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

  Noah leapt to his feet, fists raised. “Oh,” he said, when he saw them. “Morning.”

  “What in God’s name are you doing in here?” Nicole demanded, as Sam struggled not to laugh.

  “Watching the studio,” Noah said, bending down to collect the battered leather jacket he’d been using as a blanket. “I’m driving you to the festival.”

  “Oh?” Nicole put her hands on her hips. “Says who?”

  “Me. I’m going for a smoke then I’ll load up the van.” He gestured to the green Krispy Kreme box on the front desk. “There’s doughnuts if you want them.”

  With that, he headed for the door.

  “We’re not Americans,” Nicole called after him. “We don’t eat doughnuts for breakfast!”

  The door slammed shut without a response.

  “God, what an arrogant asshole!” Nicole snapped. “I hate that he has a key. I mean, he shouldn’t have a key. Only you should have a key. And dad. When he gets back. What was he even doing here?”

  “Making sure we’re safe, I’d imagine.” Sam wandered over to the Krispy Kreme box and flipped it open. Noah had gotten all vanilla crème ones, like a weirdo, but it was better than no doughnuts at all. She selected one and bit in.

  “But he doesn’t need to be protecting us!” Nicole went on. “I told him Scott’s father’s in the hospital at Malvern. What possible need could we have for him to act as our unofficial bodyguard? I swear, if he tries to bill us even one hour in overtime I’m going to…do something about it.”

  Sam stifled a yawn. “Nix man, can you shut up about Noah already? It’s early and I don’t give a shit.”

  “All I’m saying is he’s wildly unprofessional. We don’t need him to drive us, I said ages ago that I’d…”

  As her sister talked, Sam noted the hot blush burning on her cheeks, the way her hands kept fluttering like trapped birds. Then the penny dropped. Her sister had a crush on Noah. Sam stared at Nicole in wonder. This made no fucking sense. Nix had always, always been attracted to straight-laced social climbers. Pretty boys who were as vanilla crème as the doughnuts in front of her. Yet the impossible had occurred. She had a thing for a big tattooed, monotone bruiser. She took Nicole’s hand and shook it to get her to stop talking.

  “Here’s the thing, woman. Are you horny for Noah? Is something about his wordless angst doing it for you?”

  “What?” Nicole shook her hand away as though it were red-hot. “No! How dare you! I’m engaged, remember?”

  She flashed her ring as though there was a chance Sam could have forgotten about fuckface Aaron from Adelaide.

  “I know you’re engaged,” she said. “But you’re clearly crushed out on Newcomb, so what’s the deal?”

  “Piss off!” Nicole strode away without another word, her heels clicking loudly on the floorboards. Sam considered going after her and forcing her to tell the truth, but she still hadn’t looked over the machines and that had to take precedence over whatever was going on between her top tattooist and her twin sister. Besides, she could observe them in the car and try to get a better read on the situation. That might be easier than talking to them.

  Twenty minutes later and her gear was safely loaded into Noah’s van along with a thermos of hazelnut coffee and the rest of the doughnuts.

  Sam climbed in, trying not to think about Scott. She’d refrained from calling him on the landline and the temptation to run back inside and do it before she left was overwhelming.

  Noah started the weary sounding engine. “Where’s Kelly? She’s your model today, yeah?”

  “Tabby’s picking her up at ten and meeting us at the exhibition centre,” Sam said. “Neither of them are morning people. In fact, Tabby once kicked me in the face for trying to wake her up, remember Nix?”

  But Nicole pretending to be engrossed in her phone, a fresh blush blazing across her cheeks.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go already.”

  They arrived at nine to find the exhibition building already bustling with organizers, tattoo artists and their entourages. Most of the tattooists Sam knew on sight. Some—like Jerry from Black Tie—smiled and said hello. Most just pretended they didn’t see her and kept looking at their phones. Nicole and Noah set off to get her gear through the check-in area and an assistant with bright red hair steered Sam into a side room for a briefing.

  “Okay,” a short man in a suit said. “This your first Fadeout?”

  “I’ve attended a few times. Done a few othe
r comps, as well.”

  “Great, well this shouldn’t be too different from other comps, but there’s a few specifics. We’ll have seventeen cameras operating in the main hall, and three hosts walking around interviewing you at random. When you get approached by a host, you don’t have to have a deep and meaningful with them, but we expect you to respond. Non-compliance will affect your overall score.”

  Sam fought the urge to smile, as she wondered what moody bastard had made them put that rule in place. She knew artists who jabbed at you with the tattoo machine if you didn’t stop talking to them mid-job.

  “You need to operate with the impression you’re being filmed at all times,” the short man continued. “That means keep any and all offensive unPC shit and bitchiness about the other artists to yourself.”

  “Sure.”

  “Key performers, AKA people we think might win, will be pulled aside for one on one interviews later but I’m letting you know right now you should consider your USP carefully.”

  “USP?”

  “Unique selling point, what’ll get the judges interested in you and, more importantly, what’ll get the viewers interested in you.”

  “You mean like…my ability to tattoo well?”

  The short man laughed. “You’ll want to do better than that. You want a story, something that’ll get people invested in your progress and remember your name.”

  Sam thought of those cooking shows where every performance was preceded by a fifteen minute soap opera about a contestant’s dead grandma or painful struggle with foot boils. “Yeah, look I think I’ll just stick to trying to tattoo well.”

  “Whatever suits,” the short man said with a glance that said he was mentally crossing her off the ‘potential winners’ list. Sam’s stomach gave a hard pang, but she still knew she couldn’t tell the camera people about her broken heart or abandonment issues, and she was praying no one would bring up yesterday’s fire.

  “One last thing. We’ll be announcing the theme of the comp on-stage in…” He checked his watch. “One hour, but for PR’s sake we like to give contestants a head start. If you reveal the theme to anyone outside of your table crew, you’ll be sued according to the application packet you signed.”

  “Okay, noted. What’s the theme?”

  “Angels and demons. And we expect elements of heaven and hell to be represented in the tattoo.”

  God, another biblical theme. Kelly would be pleased though, it would go well with the Adam and Eve motif on her thigh. She could always do some wings down Kelly’s back. A little basic, but if she could get them to curve in with her spine, she could—

  “Now, there’s to be no sketching or attempts to map out your design until we’ve officially announced the theme,” the short man said. “You don’t have to try to look surprised but it doesn’t hurt. Check your equipment, take some deep breaths and remember, whenever the interviewer comes around, we expect you to talk, talk, talk. This is going on Netflix to be seen by hundreds of thousands of people worldwide. Remember that and put your best self forward. And reconsider establishing a USP.”

  “Will do,” Sam lied. She had enough on her mind without trying to come across as some kind of quirky loveable doof.

  She returned to the main area looking for Noah and Nicole. They were easy to find among the heavily tattooed crowd—a mountain and a woman who looked ready to deliver a TED Talk. They’d set up at one of the competitors tables and Noah was opening the small banner she used whenever she did competitions. Nix was placing a small collection of Silver Daughters Ink business cards on the table so passersby could pick them up. Sam couldn’t help noticing other artists had full color books, A4 prints of their work and multiple assistants that looked like they weren’t directly related to the tattoo artists. She licked her lips as her nerves spiked higher. Why hadn’t she gotten merch printed?

  Because we don’t have any money. Don’t worry about it. Merch doesn’t mean you’ll win.

  She approached her table. “Hey guys.”

  Noah and Nicole stopped what they were doing and moved over to her.

  “What’d they brief you on?” Nicole asked.

  “The importance of talking to the interviewers mostly. Apparently if you don’t talk to them, you’re pretty much disqualified.”

  “You’ll have to talk to them heaps then,” Nicole said, lowering her voice. “Did they tell you the theme? I heard another assistant say they’d gotten the theme already.”

  Figuring the cat was already out of the bag, Sam leaned in close. “Yeah, they told me. It’s angels and demons, incorporating elements of both.”

  Noah nodded. “What are you thinking?”

  “I dunno, a fallen angel thing?”

  “That’s a bit of a…”

  “Cliché? Yeah I was thinking that. I need something else.” She racked her brain but nothing came up except disjointed wings and demon horns. She needed to look at Kelly, at the place where she’d be tattooing. Whenever she was stuck, she always found inspiration in her living canvas, drawing on aspects of the individual to create something unique. She looked around but couldn’t see blue hair or Kelly’s statuesque figure. “Where’s Tabby and Kel? It’s half an hour until the theme’s announced.”

  Nicole pulled out her phone. “I’ll call her, call them both.”

  Her twin rushed away and Sam sat down. With nothing to do, her mind instantly jumped to Scott. She scanned the crowd for a tall, sandy-haired Englishman, knowing he wouldn’t be here but hoping all the same.

  Nicole returned in a whirl of black hair. “I can’t get ahold of Kelly or Tabby, but we’re running on schedule and there is no need to panic.”

  “You say that, but your expression and general aura is making me think there is.”

  “There isn’t,” Nicole said fiercely. “There is. No. Need. To. Panic. We have plenty of time. I am not worried about this at all!”

  “Uh…?”

  Wordlessly, Noah picked up a nearby bottle of water and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” Nicole said without looking at him. She cracked it open, took a long gulp and pulled out her phone. “I’m going to go away and call-bomb everyone and everything until we’re okay. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she and Noah said at once.

  Noah watched her go, his eyes trained not on her ass but the back of her head. He turned to her and cleared his throat. “Should we…do something about her?”

  That was when Sam knew she couldn’t let this go. Doughnuts and sleeping on the couch was one thing, expressing concerns for someone with his voice was fucking unheard of. “Okay, what the fuck, Newcomb?”

  Noah’s eyes scrunched up. “What?”

  “You’re being fuckin’ weird. Even for you. Why are you sleeping on our couch and buying us baked goods and why the fuck are you trying to contain what is a classic Nix reaction to uncontrollable circumstances? Do you want to bone my sister?”

  Noah scowled. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want to lay my twin sister down in a field of daisies and read her Keats or some shit? Why are you acting like this? You know she’s engaged, yeah?”

  Noah grunted and turned away.

  “So, now you run out of words,” Sam told his back. “Sweet. Great. You need to drop this, Noah. You need to drop this, yesterday.”

  Sam was unable to force a response out of Noah as just then, a woman with rose-gold hair walked up, beaming from ear to ear. “Hey, I’m Edith, I’ll be hosting your area today!”

  Sam noticed the silver microphone in her hand and the multiple cameramen behind her and forced her mouth into a wide grin. “Hey, I’m Sam.”

  They shook hands. Edith had a firm grip and two armfuls of excellent watercolor tattoos. “Nervous?”

  “Not really,” Sam lied. “All in a day’s work, and I’m excited to show the judges and the viewers what I can do.”

  Edith smiled approvingly. “What are you hoping the theme will be? Any ideas?”

&n
bsp; Sam was trying to think of an endearing yet witty response when Nicole returned to the table, her face ashen. “Nix? What’s up?”

  “It’s bad,” Nicole muttered, her lips barely moving. “Oh God, this is bad.”

  “Oooh you’re twins,” Edith chirruped, in that self-congratulatory way people did—like they’d gotten a magic eye to work. Sam was about to roll her eyes at Nix when she realised genetic witchery was a unique selling point—one she’d need to do fuck all to maintain. “That’s right! We’re twins. Identical twins. We’re very close.”

  “Awesome!” Edith turned to Nicole. “Are you in the tattoo industry, too?”

  “Um no, I’m in finance and look, I need a moment with my sister.” Nicole grabbed Sam’s arm and turned her away from the cameras. “We have a serious problem.”

  Sam, knowing Edith was right there, fought to keep herself calm. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Kelly,” Nicole hissed. “She can’t make it. Tabby went around to her place and she’s sick as a dog. She can barely get out of bed, it’s not serious, it’s just gastro or something but there’s no way she can model.”

  Still high on the discovery of her USP, it took a few seconds for the news to sink in, but when it did, her knees turned to water. She gripped her twin’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ…”

  “I know,” Nicole squeaked. “Straight away, Tabby put out a post asking for a replacement but there’s less than twenty minutes until the start time. Who’s going to be that ready to get a big tattoo by then?”

  “Oh my God, this is a nightmare.” Sam whirled around and found Edith beaming up at them. “Is there a problem, ladies?”

  Sam wanted to tell her to sod off, but remembered what the short man said about on-screen interactions and forced her face to stay smooth. “My model’s sick. She won’t be able to get tattooed in time.”

  Edith raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh no! Do you have a replacement?”