Saving Moxie

Tattoo

The ride into town was quiet and a little uncomfortable. I couldn't tell if Jamie had something on his mind or if he was pissed off at me, but he kept looking over at me like I was going to disappear any second. I rode with my forehead pressed against the cool window most of the ride, enjoying the difference in temperature from the hot outside. Jamie's car was nice, with temperature controlled seats and a nice stereo - definitely not something I would have been able to afford. I wondered what he did for a living to afford something as nice as this, if he could only afford to live in the studio above my garage. Something about Jamie didn't add up, but I knew better than to poke my nose into business that had nothing to do with me. Every time a new song came on the radio, Jamie changed the station before it came to the end. It was something he had always done - jump from song to song without ever hearing the ending. It surprised me how much and how little Jamie had changed since I'd left.

As we came to a stop, a wide bunch of shops lined the nearby streets: antique shops and overpriced jewelry stores. The boutiques probably meant to look expensive and luxurious, but they just looked over priced and cheaply made. To my right was a coffee shop that actually smelled heavenly and inviting, to my left was a little yellow building flashed an open sign and the word "tattoo" hung crookedly above the door. There was a weird ally that ran between the tattoo shop and the jewelry next door, but I assumed it was probably for deliveries to the businesses. When I was younger, I remember this building as a locally owned pharmacy. The old lady and her husband had probably either died or retired and sold off their assets. I sighed at how different the town looked since I was a child, yet new and exciting. Did people still know me? Did the town forget about me in ten years?

"Here's your stop." His voice was gruff and sharp. It actually made me jump a little in my seat.

"Sure. Thanks for the lift."

"No problem. I'll be back in an hour or two. I have some stuff to take care of."

"Stuff? That sounds like something a drug dealer would say."

"Well, I don't sell drugs, if that's what you're implying." His normally pretty eyes narrowed at me before farting away, as if he couldn't handle looking at me for too long.

"What do you do, anyway?" I asked, though I wished I could suck the words back into my mouth. Word vomit. I knew I couldn't afford to know the personal details of anyone's life, especially not Jamie.

"If you guess correctly, I'll tell you. If not, you're just going to have to be in suspense." It was like a joke with no punchline.

"Mysterious. I like it."

I climbed out of the car with my frayed portfolio and gave Jamie a salute before turning and looking at the yellow building. A rock-like heaviness settled in my stomach as the car behind me pulled away, leaving me alone. I knew I had to do this on my own, but that didn't mean I liked it. I refused to be the girl that begged a friend to come along because of being afraid to be alone. I was afraid to be alone, but I didn't need anyone knowing it.

The shop was beautiful and funky inside, but it had the sterile, over air-conditioned feeling that made me feel under dressed and completely out of place in my tank top and ripped shorts. Even though I had taken a long hot shower and tamed my curls today more than I had in the past month, I felt like I would leave a dirty film on anything I touched in this shop. It had a gothic feeling to it, from the dark graffitied walls to the buzz of artists imprinting their talent into someone's skin. It was a place a person could add to themselves, express some rebellious need that they couldn't get out otherwise. I knew the smell of ink well and the satisfying pain that came with a fresh tattoo. Some customers were probably getting some kind of memorial tattoo, others were getting something of 'meaning' while I just enjoyed being under the needle. Details of a tattoo didn't matter, so long as it was pretty and covered up the scars of my childhood.

"How can I help you?" A woman with a slick bob and tattoos snapped from behind the counter. She looked pretty enough, like one of those trust fund kids that spent a little too much time throwing mommy and daddy's money down the drain trying to be 'different'. Not like Jamie. No, she looked spoiled - like this was her way of rebelling against the man, but had never spent a single night in a jail cell. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed my portfolio. I smirked.

"I heard you guys may need an extra set of hands."

"Nope." She said simply, turning back to the computer in front of her. I highly doubted she was looking up anything having to do with her job, but I didn't bother to ask.

"That's it? Can I at least talk to someone who does the hiring?"

"That would be me, sweetheart. And like I said, we don't need help. So f**k off."

My eyes widened a little bit at the idea that she could be management, but I also factored in the idea that she probably recognized me from somewhere and didn't like me. Maybe I had slept with her boyfriend or puked on her couch at some point. I tried to recall the names of the girls I went to school with that probably still held a grudge against me, but couldn't think of any specifics. I shrugged, tucking the portfolio more securely under my arm and turning to walk away. The coffee shop next door smelled delicious and Jamie had just given me rent money this morning, so I figured I could splurge a little while I waited for him to come back. I wouldn't have to tell him I didn't get the job - I could just work on my art in peace until it was time to leave. I knew I should be saving all the money possible to take with me when I had to ditch this place, but what was five dollars in the grand scheme of things?

"Moxie?" I heard echo from the area I was just standing before I had turned and walked back toward the front door. I nearly missed it as thoughts of delicious coffee danced through my head. "Hey, where are you going?"

I turned slowly, taking in the sight of my old friend, Jen. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and her clothes looked wrinkled and slept in, but she was flawlessly beautiful regardless. I had always been so jealous of her clear olive skin and naturally straight dark hair.

"Jen? What the hell have you been up to?" I called, flipping my own curly blonde hair over my shoulder. "The last time I saw you, you were passed out on some old dude's sofa!"

"False. Last time you saw me, it was at my friend Stacy's wedding where you hooked up with the groom." She c****d her head, her eyes raking over me quickly before shaking her head. I nodded, vaguely remembering the event she was speaking of. I actually didn't sleep with the groom, but I didn't feel like correcting her and the story was so much more exciting with me as the bad guy. "I didn't know you were back in town."

"Well, you know, I don't really send out newsletters about my travels." She knew the majority of the bullshit I had been through, even though she didn't understand it. In fact, her mother was actually more well known around these parts for partying than even I was. "I was looking for a temporary job, but your coworker let me know that you're not looking for help."

There was an instant fire in her eyes at my words. The employee who turned me away seemed to have suddenly lost all the blood in her face.

"I'm assuming that's false," I chuckled, tipping my head to look the females over. "So who is actually in charge and when can I start?"

One thing would always ring true about being the well known party girl - everyone knows your talents. If you were smart, you milked them for all they could give you. In this rough and tough world, I needed to use any advantage available for me.

It didn't take long to catch Jen up on my life - it's easy to update someone on your life when you don't have much going for you. Honestly, there wasn't much to tell. My life was one of those 'you have to see it to believe it' situations and Jen knew that more than anyone - even Jamie. It had been years since I saw her last, but we picked up right where we left off. Working for someone like Jen made the situation that was my life so much easier. She knew I would strictly work under the table to make it harder to find me and, while working under her was a risk for both of us, we agreed that I would be her design expert and not do any actual tattooing of clients. It suited me fine, since I was only here for the art process anyway and had no experience with tattooing people anyway.

She took the time to look at my portfolio, asking to use a few of my designs for her example book and I agreed to give her the royalties to some of my art under the stipulation that my name would have no affiliation to the art itself. One can never be too careful when on the run.

"So you're living back in the big yellow house?" Jen asked finally, closing my book up after taking a few photocopies and settling my schedule for the following week. We had agreed to take our partnership on a week to week basis for the time being, which was perfect.

"Yup. Back to the monster house." I mused, picking an invisible piece of lint off of my shoulder.

"That's got to be rough, man."

"Not really. It's a place to sleep and eat without worrying about who is coming and going." I frowned. "Except Jamie. He's kind of an unfortunate package deal."

"Ooh, spill! Are you guys living the domestic life yet?"

I scoffed at her words. The idea of a normal life with Jamie was completely unthinkable, impossible. "Jamie and I are never going to happen." Whether I like it or not. I added mentally.

"Right. I get it. Too much baggage."

I wanted to hug her for understanding me so much better than anyone ever had. While she had clearly put down roots, judging from her business and the glistening ring on her finger, we both knew it wasn't in the cards for me.

"It would just be too hard."

"When have you ever been one to run away from a challenge?"

"You know, I always thought you two would end up together when I left." I said with a small smirk, watching as a small blush crossed her cheeks. "What happened with that?"

"Mox, you know no one can compare to you to Jamie."

"Oh whatever, he's a big boy. It's not like he's waiting for me. He doesn't even show an interest. We're friends." I supplied noncommittally, waving her off. "Barely friends, even. We just happen to share a stove." Something about the way she looked at me told me she knew better than to trust my facade, but she didn't push me any further on the issue.

"Speak of the handsome devil." She whispered, nodding toward the front of the store where Jamie's car sat, waiting for me as he talked animatedly on the phone.