Page 10 of Deadly North
Damn.
The following weekend, I’m at a local art fair. My bus is sandwiched between a vegan food truck and a leather goods stand — much to Mack’s amusement. His bike is a constant presence and parked near my bus, a silent but annoying guardian.
No dangerous bikers appear at the art fair, thankfully. I guess it’s not really their kind of scene. A lot of people stop by my bus to get info about booking me for a party or event. I have one scheduled appointment, and two walk-ins, one of whom is one of the workers at the vegan food truck. I’m just finishing up with him when a guy walks up to watch. I tell him I’ll be right with him. He peruses the photos on my banner display as I go through the aftercare process with my customer, who gives me a generous tip.
When the customer leaves, I turn to the other guy. He’s tall and lanky, with long brown hair down past his shoulders, wearing a graphic T-shirt and cargo shorts. He’s got tattoos on his forearms and calves, of varying degrees of quality. “Hey,” I say. “I’m Gigi. Let me know if you have any questions.”
“This all your work?” he asks, indicating the photos.
“Yeah. Everything there is mine. If you see anything that inspires you, I’m happy to talk about possible designs.”
“You’re pretty good.” He gives me an indulgent grin. “How long have you been doing tats?”
I push down a wave of irritation. I’m not pretty good, I’mverygood. But I’m used to guys damning me with faint praise. “A while.”
“You wanna do one on me?”
“Sure. What would you like?”
He takes a step closer. “How about I choose a body part, and I let you decide?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.This is a thing that happens from time to time, unfortunately. Especially to female tattoo artists. Guys mistake professional cordiality as an opening for sexual interest.
“Sorry, I’m not going to do that,” I reply firmly.
“Oh, come on, lighten up. It was a joke” he says.
It was a joke.The weasel cop-out of every gross guy whose sexual innuendo doesn’t land the way he wants it to.
I play it straight. “I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.”
The guy doesn’t like that at all. “You’re not gonna do any business with an attitude like that.”
My eyes involuntarily dart over to Mack. He has definitely taken notice that something is up. His arms are crossed tight across his chest, brows knitted into a frown. He leans forward and gives me a questioning look. I give him an almost-imperceptible shake of my head.
“I do fine for myself, thanks,” I say. “I don’t need your business.”
“You’re fugly, anyway,” he sneers. “Dyke.”
Aannddd there’s step two of the gross-guy-who-can’t-handle-rejection playbook. God, it’s amazing how predictable they all are. “Okay, well, then if I’m ugly and a lesbian, you shouldn’t want anything from me anyway. So you can move along.”
“Fuck you.” Turning to go, he tosses back, “Dyke!” as he leaves.
“Have a good one!” I call, waving. He doesn’t turn around. I feel my body relax That went about as well as can be expected. Sometimes it gets a lot worse.
Mack stomps up, mad. “The fuck was that?”
“Oh, are you still here?” I ask mildly.
“Was that guy coming on to you?”
I consider lying, but I don’t have the energy. “Yeah. He didn’t like no for an answer.”
He huffs. “I should go fuck that guy up.”
I let out a snort. “Why?”
“‘Cause he fuckin’ deserves it.”