Bad Friend

20- Where He's Been

Having an apprentice wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Lena came into work this morning with her cousin Anisha in tow, both of them eager and ready to work. I greeted Lena's cousin with a small smile and a quick tour of the studio, introducing her to the other artists that worked behind the various closed doors. Anisha took notes in a little notebook as I explained to her how certain things worked, where certain things were, and eventually when I started seeing clients. I made sure to make comments about what I was doing and how I was doing it so that Anisha could actually learn something from me. It was difficult getting used to having someone following me around and having someone other than my clients in my workroom with me, but after the first couple hours, I didn't mind it as much. It helped that Anisha was quiet like me, not asking very many questions and doing everything I asked her to, which wasn't a lot either. I worried that she was a little too quiet, but that quickly changed when she, Lena, and I were sitting at the front of the shop eating lunch together and a young girl came in.

I recognized this girl. She came in almost every day around the same time trying to meet Harry; I always had the same conversation with her when she came in asking where he was, but even though I insisted that I had never even heard of Harry Styles before, she always came back, the same look of determination on her face. It was quite comical, really, and despite my initial exasperation and annoyance with her, I began to look forward to our encounters. Perhaps it was a little mean of me to mess with her the way I did, but she was the one stalking a celebrity, so I thought it was fair.

Lena saw the teenagerl walk in too and quickly leaned over and stage whispered to Anisha. "Oh this is a great lesson to learn. Dealing with Amanda."

"What?" she asked, but Lena hit her on the shoulder and pointed at the front door as Amanda walked in.

"Shh. Just watch."

Rolling my eyes at the pair, I set my sandwich down and turned to face the girl at the counter. "Hello, Amanda. Skipping school again today?"

Amanda was a seventeen year old spitfire who clearly had too much time on her hands. No matter how many times I tried to convince her that I didn't know Harry Styles or that he'd never been to my tattoo studio before, she never believed me, opting to show up with a One Direction CD and marker clutched in her hands and her school bag on her shoulders. She was admirably consistent, if not a little stalkerish.

Narrowing her eyes at me, Amanda leaned her elbows on the front counter where I was sitting. "Where is he?"

"Where is who?"

"Why can't you just admit that you know Harry Styles?" Amanda fired back.

We'd had this conversation so many times, I felt like an actor in a sitcom with how well I knew what the two of us were meant to say and when. This question was new, though. I usually asked who Amanda was talking about, then she would say Harry, and then we would go from there. "There" typically being in circles. It wasn't an unreasonable question, but because it wasn't in our usual script, it took me a second to respond. I could of course admit to at least meeting Harry Styles once, but it ruined the fun of our little interactions. And while Harry and I agreed to being friends in front of the general public, denying that I knew him at all saved me from answering complicated questions.

"I don't. That's why I have the sign," I said, gesturing to the piece of cardboard that had sat at the front desk since Harry first started staying with me.

Amanda rolled her eyes. "I know he's been here before. There are pictures."

Now we were getting back on track. Amanda was the first person to tell me about the pictures of Harry coming in and out of the shop and even showed them to me when I gave her a confused look. As I looked at the grainy images on the young girl's phone, a small pang went through my heart. They were from a few years ago, back when Harry used to come in to get a tattoo from my dad, some of them even showed Harry leaving the shop with a bandage around his arm. It made sense that Harry would've been photographed outside the shop, but I was so used to just living in a bubble that was free of the rest of the world with him, that I hardly ever paid attention to any buzz surrounding him or what he was doing. And the fact that we had yet to be papped together helped me live in blissful ignorance of his celebrity status. Still, Amanda didn't need to know any of that, so I steeled my nerves, ignoring the ache in my chest I felt whenever I thought about my dad.