I'm an unknown, self-taught, small time tattooist; working out of my home; inking friends and kin; occasionally helping out other tattooist at biker rallies.
I started doing tattoos because my full time job sucks; I want to retire in five years; but still need something to pay the freight.
I was determined that it would be something I enjoyed.
My niece, in her late twenties, thought it would be cool to have a tattoo party. She had it all lined out and pitched it to me; she would invite all her friends, provide me a good space to work in; she would be the sacrificial lamb and could guarantee that I would be busy all night. I got to keep all money, and she would get the rep of throwing killer parties.
I like to think that I can recognize a baited hook when I see one…. but once a fish, always a fish…not only did I bite…I bit big.
I took my time; hell; I went out of my way preparing.
The party happened with the official results coming in something like: one free tattoo of a dolphin on my niece's ankle accompanied by the cheers and jeers of an audience of twenty or so people; my flash scattered around the room; five less business cards; standing in my skivvies to show the work I've done on myself; packing it in early before I got roped in to being designated driver for one of them drunk puppies.
The unofficial results were much better.
Close to two weeks later I took a call from a woman named Kath, who had been at the infamous party. She tells me she wants a tattoo but was too embarrassed in front of those people; she liked my work but has her own design; would feel most comfortable in her own setting; and wants an estimate and maybe start on Saturday.
I tell her it sounds good to me, and get directions. Hanging up I'm thinking, "estimate"? Probably just another set piece, but if she offers me coffee I'll cut some slack.
Saturday came, clear and mild; figured I'd kill two birds; packed what I thought was needed in my saddlebags and headed out of the city thirty or so miles to her place.
As I pulled down her drive, I saw a woman and the biggest shaggy Airedale I'd ever seen, sitting on the porch. The woman smiled and waved, the dog started and then halted midway down the steps. I got off the bike, squatted down with my arms resting on my knees, looked at the dog and said, "Well look at you! What's your name big dog?" The next thing I know, that stub of a tail is going, and I'm getting my face washed. I heard some laughter and looked up to see the woman coming down the steps. She stopped six feet away, said, "that's Sally. She sure took to you in a hurry."
I smiled and rubbing the dog and my beard, said, "We've got something in common."
That got me a smile an outstretched hand and a "hi, I'm Kath,
I'm glad you found the place. Come on in, Nick, I've got coffee going if you're interested."
If I had to give my first impression of Kath in one word, it would have to be, wounded. I'd know that look anywhere, having seen it in mirrors for the past 10 years.
Kath and I made small talk over coffee in her kitchen. She volunteered her age, 46, that she was long divorced, never any kids, worked from home, was invited to the party by a friend of a friend, and pretty much did as she pleased most of the time.
I gave up, 53, widowed, two sons grown and gone, three grandkids that can do no wrong, I liked her home, and that if she wasn't careful I would steal her dog.
With a smile in her eyes she said, "If you're ready, let me show you what I want done."
She led me through a set of double doors into a room that must've been 30 feet square, open ceiling with four large skylights, the only windows being wrapped around the two far corners. Those corners were occupied by a large computer set up, the other by a large drafting table. The remainder of the room was furnished with futon couches set in a U shape around a wood stove in the center of the room. In the corners by the doors were a small loom with work in progress, and a platform that was raised a foot or so above the floor. Large bookcases, plants, wall hangings, a mirror, and sculptures were placed along the walls.
I turned around in a circle to take in the space and a long, descending whistle escaped from my mouth.
"You like it?" I heard.
Nodding my head, I said, "Oh yeah."
Kath said, "I can't remember the last time someone else has been in here."
"Thanks for sharing," I said.
Kath was standing by the drafting table, and as I joined her there, she pointed at the table. On a large sheet of paper was a drawing of a chain; woven between the links was a leafless vine with thorns. In the center, an old fashioned lock joined two links of the chain with the keyhole and manufacturers name on the face.
"You drew this?" I said.
Kath pointed at her computer, and said, "With a lot of help from, Donna."
I couldn't help but smile. Looking back to the drawing, I placed my hands as I would to work and began to trace across the design. "Where did you want this," I asked, "Around your waist?"
It got real quiet for a moment, and then Kath whispered, "Yes."
"OK. You two do real nice work," I said, "But there's one small problem. I can't do this the way it's laid out."
"Where, what!" Kath exclaimed, "I've been over and over it countless times, there's nothing wrong with it, you don't know what you're talking about, Donna is never wrong!"
"Calm down, Kath. The design is perfect." I said, looking up at her. "I guess I used the wrong words. Let me try this again, OK?"
She looked relieved, and nodded.
I looked her in the eye, and started with, "What you want is going to last a lifetime, yours as well as mine. I won't do work of this size that doesn't fit you." I paused for a moment and said, "Do you trust me?"
