Chapter Twenty-Three

“Are we ever going to talk about him?” Keller peered at me from behind his kitchen wall, munching on a green nacho chip. Kale, probably.

“Who?” I didn’t look up from where I was sketching on the couch. Also known as my new bed for the past month, ever since I’d moved in after I kicked Ransom out, and never bothered to open any of the envelopes my parents sent containing new credit cards.

“Voldemort.”

“We do not speak his name.” I shuddered.

“Ransom, then.”

“Not talking about him, either.”

I was drawing a wounded heart strung together like a corset. The heart was melting, leaking from between the threads. I bit down my lower lip to suppress a moan of pain. His name alone made me want to cry.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay to not be okay.” Keller sat on the arm of the couch, stroking my hair.

“No, it’s not.” I stood up, waltzing over to my suitcase at the corner of his living room, flipping it open. In it, I’d stowed an envelope full of cash. Cash I’d saved from years ago. Dad always said it was good to have cash handy, and he wasn’t wrong. I needed it for when I paid for my occupational therapy as well as tutoring to help me manage my learning disabilities and dyslexia. Then there was Ilona. She didn’t come cheap, either.

I slipped the money out of the envelope, counting silently. Only a grand left there. Nothing more. Shit.

“I can lend you some money,” Keller’s voice offered from his spot on the couch.

“I don’t want your money; I want you to give me a job.”

I flipped the suitcase shut, stood up, and walked over to the kitchen to get a glass of water. We’d had this conversation countless times before. I was desperate to get a job at Main Squeeze. But Keller kept suggesting he should just give me money until I got back on my feet again. I couldn’t accept his offer. I didn’t want to be indebted to him—to anyone—and I didn’t know when my financial situation would improve.

Keller followed me to his kitchen. He had a one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood. It was tiny, but impeccably designed. Gray upholstered sectionals and recliners made out of fine leather, Persian-style tufted rugs, faux fur throws, and abstract paintings he’d gotten for dirt cheap in Downtown L.A. on the Art Walk.

I filled myself a glass of tap water before turning around and leaning against his all-white kitchen counter.

“Honey, you know I would. In a heartbeat.” Keller squeezed my arms, his face full of remorse.

“What’s stopping you, then?” I demanded. “Why wouldn’t you give me a chance?”

“Well, it’s not a game, working for Main Squeeze.” He pretzeled uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ll have to wake up early for shifts, cut all the fruit and veggies at five in the morning…deal with impossible customers.”

“And you don’t trust me to do a good job?” I arched an eyebrow, feeling my eyelid twitch in annoyance.

He squirmed. “You’ve never held a job in your life, Hal.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“True.” He sighed, looking tortured. “But Main Squeeze is a really huge deal to me. It’s my bread and butter, and I cannot afford any hiccups. I don’t think you understand.” He closed his mouth, shaking his head. “Honey, I really don’t take a dime from my father. If this goes to hell, I won’t be able to pay my mortgage on this place. I won’t be able to pay the lease on my car. I don’t have a plan B. Or a plan C. It’s all I have. This small juicery. My dad is a deadbeat rock star who is in love with himself, his cocaine, and whatever girl is currently sucking his dick—not sure who it is this month, but she’s bound to be younger than me. I don’t have anything to fall back on. Mommy and Daddy Thorne won’t bail me out. And I love you!” he exclaimed passionately. “But…”

“But you can’t count on me,” I finished softly.

I got it. I truly did. Keller knew me before I’d made the change. Before I realized life wasn’t a rollercoaster of designer bags and mistakes. He knew me as the girl with the driver, with the credit cards, with the house that didn’t match her nonexistent salary. He loved me for who I was. A hang-out buddy. A girl who was quick-witted and always fun to be around. But he wouldn’t necessarily trust me with his livelihood.

And…I couldn’t fault him for it.

I’d given him no reason whatsoever to believe I understood and could participate in the real world. So far.

Nodding weakly, I turned around and rinsed the glass I’d used, putting it on the dish rack. “I gotta go.”

“Oh, honey, don’t be like that! I don’t have anything until two o’clock. We can binge-watch Selling Sunset and eat those organic coconut-date thingies from Whole Foods that look healthy but are actually hella calorie-dense.”

Giving him a tight smile, I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him into a squeeze.

“You’re fine, Keller. I’m not mad. You’re letting me stay here rent-free until I figure my shit out. You owe me nothing. Please don’t feel like you do.”

He pulled away from me, his whole body jerking. “Who are you and what did you do with my petty, albeit adorable, friend?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I grew up.”

His face eased. “Yeah. I’m starting to suspect maybe you have.”

Armed with my JanSport backpack (admittedly, it was so much more practical than any designer bag I owned), I made my way to Dennis’ first. This past month, I’d made it a point to visit him and his wife once a week. Sometimes I brought snacks and coffee. But this last time, I was short on cash. Maybe after I managed to sell my old designer items to consignment stores.

Ethel opened the door for me, all smiles. “If it isn’t my favorite girl!”

After weeding out their garden and staying for a cup of coffee (“Doing something for others will make your soul feel good,” Ilona told me), I bid them farewell.

“Where are you headed?” Dennis asked.

“Sunset Boulevard.”

“That’s miles away!” he thundered dramatically. “Let me drive you.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No chance in hell.”

“And what about on earth?” he sassed. God, I loved his dad jokes. I was so glad to have him back in my life, even if not as my driver.

“Not here, either.” I paused, frowning as I thought about it. “You know, Dennis, I loved that we were a team for so long. You were my favorite part about Los Angeles. Still are.”

But not for long. He and Ethel were heading back to the East Coast soon, to reunite with their family in Maryland.

“But is it weird that I love taking the bus? There’s something really great about just sitting in front of a window, watching the city zip by, with your headphones and just…disappearing for a little bit.”

Dennis’ mouth widened into a satisfied smile. His eyes shone. “Yes.” He clucked his tongue. “I feel the same way every time I read a book. Goodbye, Hallie.”

I saluted him, winking at Ethel. “Until next week, folks.”

I arrived at Misfits and Shadows, my favorite tattoo shop, half an hour early.

This was a first for me. I was usually in the habit of being late for everything. It made me feel important, sought-after. Not anymore. I was now thriving on being organized, calculated, and always on time.

In one of our bi-weekly sessions, Ilona pointed out that perhaps I was feeling so down about myself because I never gave myself a chance to succeed.

“Always late, never prepared. It’s almost like you want to fail, Hallie, so you can prove to yourself that yes, you are, in fact, all those things you believe people think about you.”

Misfits and Shadows was as wacky and colorful as the rest of Sunset Boulevard. The building itself was all black. Instead of a sign, there was purple and pink graffiti with the joint’s name, decorated with three-dimensional skulls and roses. The artists here were the best. Back in my heyday, when I had very little to do with my time, I would spend hours sitting here, planning my next design with them.

I stared at the name of the tattoo shop, took a deep breath, and turned around promptly, walking in the other direction.

I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t handle failing.

It was horrible, and cowardly, and stupid, but it was the honest truth.

Hearing the word ‘no’ was going to undo me.

My phone rang in my pocket. I tugged it out, punching a placebo button on the light to cross the street.

Mom

It wasn’t the first time she’d called this week.

It wasn’t going to be the last time, either.

I should feel bad, but I didn’t. It was complicated. Ilona assured me that it was okay to take some time, step away from the situation, and examine my feelings before I faced my family.

Weirdly enough, I didn’t feel the dread and embarrassment that usually accompanied a call from my mother. Just a dull ache in my chest—an ache that burned a little hotter, a little deeper at the thought of giving up on the opportunity to try to make something of myself.

Not answering Mom was a choice I could undo.

Not showing up to my first intern interview would be something I’d definitely regret.

I pivoted, stomping my way back to the tattoo shop with purpose. I was still fifteen minutes early. I pushed the glass door, tornadoing to the reception counter before self-doubt weighted down my legs again. The place was packed, as usual. Misfits and Shadows didn’t accept walk-ins, and it wasn’t hard to see why. They were the busiest parlor in Los Angeles.

“Hallie!” Meadow, the receptionist with the Chelsea haircut, three lip rings, and an abundance of green eyeliner greeted me. “You’re here. Want something to drink while I get Grady?”

Grady was the big boss. The owner. The guy who inked all the famous people in town. He hadn’t been accepting new clients in a decade or so. I’d managed to squeeze in with him only twice, when he was in a good mood and had last-minute cancellations.

A ball of anxiety lodged in my throat. I swallowed hard, pushing through it.

“If you don’t advance yourself—who will?”—Ilona.

“Water would be great.” With a side of Xanax.

“Sure. Have a seat.”

I did, tucking myself between an excited couple who came to get matching tattoos and a large biker who kept fingering a tattoo on his arm he was obviously re-doing. I hugged my backpack to my chest, reminding myself that this place was like home. I’d been here dozens of times before. Knew who each of the four stations in the studio belonged to. Recognized the red vinyl chairs each artist had—and remembered that Grady’s had a huge rip in it.

If he said no—I would be all right.

If things are not failing, you’re not innovative enough.Elon Musk’s words, not mine.

Meadow returned with a glass of water. A few moments later, Grady appeared—a scrawny, thoroughly-tatted, aging rock star type of a man who enjoyed muscle shirts and collecting pencils from all over the world.

“Hal. Good to see you.” He stopped in front of me.

I stood up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, feeling like a kid. I reached to shake his hand. “Thanks for having me.”

“My pleasure. Let’s talk in my office.”

His office was at the back, and totally isolated, which was a relief, because I didn’t want an audience. The minute I sat down in front of him, he laced his fingers together, sitting back.

“Why do you want to become a tattoo artist?”

“Because it’s my passion. It’s what I think about every morning and every night. Because I want to change lives. I want to help people hide their scars. Enhance their personalities. Their beauty. Who they are. Because the more time I spend on this earth, the more I believe that self-expression is one of the most important gifts we owe to ourselves. And because…” I took a deep breath, bracing myself, preparing to say something positive about myself for the first time. “Because I think I can be damn amazing at it with the right guidance. And I think you’re the best in the business.”

By Grady’s slight smile, I could tell he was satisfied with the answer.

“You’ve been a longtime client,” he pointed out.

I nodded. “As I said, you are my first choice. My only choice right now, to be honest, for an apprenticeship.”

“I’ve never taken a client on as an intern before. It’s a demanding apprenticeship,” Grady warned. He pushed open his desk drawer, pulling a pile of pencils out and beginning to sharpen them. “We’re talking two years of no salary at all. I know your background and know you have means—”

“Actually, I don’t,” I cut him off. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m okay with a long internship. I have a lot of stuff in storage I can sell to pull me through. And I’m getting a part-time job in a few days.”

If someone would give me a chance.

“You’d start from the bottom up if I were to take you on,” he continued. “Taking out the trash, setting up and breaking down stations, going on coffee runs, and covering for Meadow whenever she bails on work, which is every time she breaks up with a boyfriend, which is every other month.”

I had long-suspected Grady was in love with Meadow, just by silently observing the two of them over the years.

I smiled. “I can do that. No problem.”

“The first thing you’ll do, approximately six months after you become the shop’s designated errand girl, is mix ink. I won’t let you touch live skin before the one-year mark.”

“Sounds fair.”

“You’ll do about a hundred and fifty tattoos for free—and you’ll have to find volunteers if you get accepted.”

“I have a large net and larger contact list. I can make it happen,” I said with confidence that—surprisingly—I was beginning to feel.

“And you’ll pay for the ink.”

It sounded like Grady was trying to scare me off the job. Maybe, like Keller, he thought I couldn’t do it.

But I just kept on nodding, keeping my smile intact, even when my hope began crumbling. “It doesn’t matter what you hit me with, Grady, I promise you. I want this more than anything else. I’ll prove myself to you.”

“All right.” He sighed, dropping the pencil he’d sharpened into the drawer and picking another one. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

With trembling fingers, I produced my sketch pad from my backpack, silently handing it to him. An arrow of excuses was at the tip of my tongue, tight-stringed and ready to be fired.

These are just early sketches.

Flip to the end and see how much progress I’ve made.

If it’s not enough, I can take night classes.

But I didn’t say anything. I waited patiently as he flipped through the pages, observing my sketches intently. The shackle-mouthed angel with the broken wings, the devil who laughed menacingly, the hearts in cages, and portraits of animals and dragons and warriors.

He stopped when he got to the sketch of a girl who looked a lot like me, wearing a crown of thorns. He drew a long breath, stealing all the oxygen in the room. My muscles stiffened as I awaited his verdict.

“Is this you?” he asked quietly.

The face of the girl—me—was out of proportion. It was one of my earliest pieces. I think I’d drawn it the first time Ransom and I were in Texas.

“Yeah,” I said, resisting the urge to explain I could now render a human face a lot better.

“It’s full of pain.”

My eyes dragged up to meet his. “Aren’t we all?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “When can you start?”