Ink Flamingos

Chapter 37

I didn’t think I heard him right. “What?”

Ace sighed. “I’m quitting.”

I hadn’t meant for this to happen. “Why?” I managed to sputter, totally thrown off. “Not because of this?”

“I need more time to devote to my painting,” he said. “And I can make a lot of money at those tattoo parties.”

A lot? How much? I wanted to ask, wondering if this wasn’t a ploy. “Do you want a raise?” I asked, worried about what he’d demand. He made less than Joel, which was only right, because he hadn’t been with the shop as long, starting only a year before I bought Flip out, whereas Joel had been with Flip from the start, about ten years. I couldn’t possibly give Ace more and have it all be fair. And while business was still good, the recession had hit us a little, and I didn’t want to overextend and have to give everyone raises.

Ace shook his head. “No. I just want to leave. This isn’t my thing anyway; you know that. I really need to concentrate on my art.”

I thought about his comic book renditions of famous paintings. We’d sold a few, but not enough to warrant a full-time gig.

“I’m going to try to set up an exhibit,” he continued. “I need to establish myself, and I can’t do it here. Harry says-”

Little red lights went off in my head. “Harry? What does Harry have to say about this?”

“He says he knows someone who owns a gallery, who might want to set up something for me.”

Harry certainly knew a lot of people, didn’t he? First, it was Sherman Potter. Now it was some gallery owner. He’d infiltrated himself into our lives here at The Painted Lady in more ways than one. Maybe it was time to tell him to stop coming around. We were doing better before he showed up on our doorstep.

Bitsy popped into the staff room door. She cocked her head at Ace. “Your client’s here.”

He gave me an apologetic look and sidled past her toward his room and his client. Bitsy frowned at me.

“What’s going on?”

I told her.

She didn’t believe it, either. “What does he mean, he’s going to concentrate on his art? The man will starve.” Bitsy, always the realist, had never been one to mince words.

I nodded. “You’re right. But there’s something else at play here.” I told her about how Harry was encouraging it. “Maybe we need to discourage his presence here,” I finished.

“You can tell him now,” she said. When she saw my expression, she added, “He came in while you were in here talking to Ace. But I’ll warn you, he’s got a surprise for you.”

A surprise? For me? I didn’t need any more surprises, thank you very much. I followed Bitsy out to the front of the shop, where Harry was draped over the front desk as if he owned the joint. A huge vase of red roses sat on the desk. When Harry saw me, he straightened up and grinned.

“For you, milady,” he said in a mock English accent, waving his hand in front of the roses as if he were a game-show hostess showing off the latest model of refrigerator for a lucky winner.

I didn’t feel so lucky.

“You didn’t have to,” I said, stumbling over my words, since they were not the ones I wanted to utter. I wanted to tell him he was crazy, that he needed to go away. Now. But somehow, in the presence of those flowers and his lopsided, charming smile, I lost my resolve. Why did he have to be so affable that it was difficult to kick him out?

I glanced around for a little support, but Bitsy had disappeared. She probably didn’t want to see the bloodletting. If there was, in fact, any bloodletting at all.

Harry was talking. “Ace told me you’re having a tough time of it. That blog, those pictures…” His voice trailed off as a flush crept up his neck. He was embarrassed about it, too.

I finally found my voice. “Harry, this was really nice of you. Thank you.”

“And then your boyfriend broke up with you. All because of it,” he continued.

I didn’t want to be reminded of Colin Bixby. Another failed relationship. It was a good thing I’d never mentioned him to my mother. She would’ve been so excited about the prospects of a son-in-law who was a doctor, and then so disappointed-again-that it didn’t work out.

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about me,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s not your fault; you didn’t need to do this.”

Jeff Coleman had been convinced Harry Desmond was the devil incarnate, but I wasn’t so sure. Except for one thing…

“Ace tells me you’ve been encouraging him to give up his job here and have a gallery show with his paintings.”

Harry cast his eyes to the floor for a second; then he looked back up at me. “He’s really talented, but I didn’t think he’d leave the shop. I’m sorry. It’s just that I know this guy-”

I put up my hand to stop him. “You know a lot of guys, Harry,” I said. “Do you really think it’s someone who can help Ace, or is it a scam?”

Something crossed his face, but I couldn’t read it.

“No scam, Brett,” he said, putting up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

The door opened, and my first client of the day walked in. She grinned at me, and I turned away from Harry for a second to tell her to go to my room and I’d be there in a second.

“Harry, I’ve got to go,” I said.

His face broke out in a wide grin as he reached into the vase and pulled out a single rose and handed it to me. I had no choice but to take it.

Harry walked out through the glass doors.

“Why is it when I want to dislike him, he’s just so nice?” I asked when Bitsy appeared by my side. Being a little person, she tends to surprise me that way sometimes.

“You should have laid into him. Told him not to steal your employees for his own purposes,” Bitsy admonished.

“He bought me roses.”

“You don’t have any backbone. You should’ve left it to me. At least I didn’t make out with the guy, giving him the wrong impression.”

She was totally serious.

“He got me drunk on absinthe. It wasn’t my fault,” I said, although not too convincingly. Sister Mary Eucharista was rapping me on the knuckles and reminding me that I could’ve said no to that absinthe. No kidding.

I needed to get to my client, who was sitting in my chair, bopping her head to her iPod tunes. So much for providing magazines to pass the time. I sat in my swivel chair on wheels and slipped a new needle into the tattoo machine. I set out the little pots of ink. As I did so, I realized I’d left her stencil in the staff room. I got up, taking off the one glove I’d managed to pull on.

“Just a sec,” I said. “Have to get your stencil.”

She gave me a short nod, the wires from the iPod dancing as she moved.

My cell phone started ringing as I grabbed the manila folder with the stencil in it. I pulled it out of my bag and saw it was Tim.

“You didn’t leave your phone,” he said without saying hello.

“I didn’t want to leave it with just anyone. I asked for Flanigan, too,” I said.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. We found Daisy Carmichael’s phone. And the text she supposedly sent you was on it.”

Butterflies started crashing into the sides of my stomach. “Really? Where did you find it?” I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I really wanted to know.

“In Ainsley Wainwright’s apartment.”