“What’s your advertising budget? Do you run specials or do anything to entice customers?”
“I’ve never had to.” The thought made my stomach hurt. “Do you think it can help?”
“Sometimes, but it’s not a cure-all. The economy ebbs and flows, and the ones who play it smart are the ones able to rideit out and stay successful. We have to learn to roll with it or go under. The city is a jungle, eat or be eaten.”
“That’s for damn sure,” I muttered.
“Here’s what I’d do. Run a new-client special to start. Get friendly with the local merchants, especially the ones you frequent, like the neighborhood coffee shop and sushi restaurant, and ask if they’d be willing to have your cards in their places in exchange for you having their menus in yours.”
“Do you think that can help?” I was willing to try anything to keep us running. “People have been coming to me for years, but now I’m only getting a trickle of new clients.”
Bailey thought for a moment. “You know, sometimes you’re around for so long, you become part of the landscape and people almost forget you’re there. They pass by your shop but don’t see you.”
Unfortunately, that made sense.
He gave my hand a comforting squeeze. “Don’t be so worried. We can work on it. Today the world is driven by social media, especially businesses concentrating on artistic expression. Do you know anyone who could do it for you?”
“Between Jodi, Ambrose, and me, we can figure it out, I bet.”
“I’m surprised you don’t already have an Instagram or some online presence. It’s made for creatives like yourself. But you’re definitely not too late. Set up an Instagram account and put your best designs on there. Mention the new-client special—I have no idea how much a tattoo costs. What is it, twenty or thirty bucks on average for a small one?”
Instead of being insulted, I busted out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”
Seeming a little lost, Bailey lifted a shoulder. “What? Too little? What the hell do I know?” He pulled up his jacket and sweater sleeve. “Remember? Virgin skin.”
I eyed the swirls of hair on his forearm and the thin, blue-green lines of his veins. My mouth dried, and I forced my gaze away, looking anywhere but at him.
“A basic tattoo, the smallest, is a hundred. A full sleeve can run into the thousands for the work, plus I charge for my time.” As I spoke, Bailey’s eyes grew wide.
“Jesus. I’m in the wrong profession,” he joked. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, there’s the drawing of the piece, the transfer to the skin, then the needlework and filling in the color. It’s intense, precise work that can’t be rushed.” Maybe I sounded defensive, but I wanted him to understand that although I might not’ve gone to college, I was still smart and capable.
“I know.” His eyes—filled with questions—met mine. “If you think I’m doubting you, you’re wrong. I have complete faith in your abilities. I saw the photos of your art in the shop. You’re extremely talented and smart as hell.” A smile tugged up the corners of his lips. “After all, you’re here with me. And I’m a catch.”
I had no response, and despite the coolness of the air, we sat for a while, the sky darkening above us. On occasion, other people would walk by, their conversations muted, but they left us alone and found their own spots.
Still holding my hand, Bailey turned it to expose my wrist and the small heart. “I noticed this the first time we were together. What does it say inside? The writing’s so tiny, I can’t make it out.”
No one had ever asked me. I tried to keep it hidden, and it was small enough to be barely noticeable. But Bailey had, and now he waited, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes.
“It says ‘Me.’ Carlos did it on my eighteenth birthday.”
Bailey’s fingers slid upward to trace the outline. “You finally loved yourself,” he murmured, shocking me with his insight.
We sat staring at each other until the scream of fire-engine sirens broke the peace of the night.
“You’ve never been here?”
Bailey shook his head.
“No. The farthest I’ve been uptown is Columbia for something law-related. And of course, the Bronx Zoo, but I haven’t been there in years.”
“Carlos was from here.” I had no idea why I shared that with Bailey. “He taught me everything about tattooing and the business. He was murdered by some punks while walking to the bank to deposit cash. I told him to wait and we’d do it together, that it wasn’t safe to walk alone with that much money, but he laughed at me and said I was acting like an old lady.”
Bailey pressed his leg to mine, the warmth from his skin a balm to my frozen heart. “I’m so sorry. Did they ever catch them?”
I nodded, lost in the past. “The next day. Dumbasses used his credit cards.” Bailey’s hand on my knee hurt because for the first time, my heart wasn’t bleeding with pain but pounding with the need to be held and comforted, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “What I am today is because of him. He left me the shop, his apartment…everything. His family kicked him out years earlier when he told them he was gay. He said I was his family.”
