Nothing Good Gets Away

Chapter 4

HARRY STYLES

From the outside, Shamrock Social Club holds a relatively old aesthetic compared to its neighbors. The white stucco building resides on a street corner on Sunset Boulevard, with a bold sign that reads, MARK MAHONEY'S SHAMROCK TATTOO across the top of the storefront.

Stepping inside with my tattoo gun in its box feels different now that I'm officially an employee at the parlor that dubs itself "the place where the elite and the underworld meet". I'll admit I have imposter syndrome to a certain extent, knowing that many celebrities are regular clients of Mark Mahoney himself.

I first got to see the place when I touched down in Los Angeles two weeks ago, back when I was staying with Zayn while waiting for all my shit to arrive from overseas, and although it's nothing like the shop we used to work in together back in London, it's nothing to be upset about either.

"You look familiar," the girl covered in ink and piercings at the reception desk narrows her brown eyes at me.

"I'm Harry," I nod, "we met a couple of weeks back when I was checking out the place. I work here now."

"Harry! Yes!" She points at me with long acrylic nails. "You're Zayn's British friend."

"The one and only," I joke, and she laughs as she tightens her lime green hair in a ponytail.

"So I do have a client list for you," she blots her lips together as she bends over in her chair to open a black, slightly rusted filing cabinet. "You'll be taking over Colin's clients since you're also taking his spot. He specialized in American traditional work as well."

"Oh, okay," I accept the piece of paper, recalling an email from Mark vaguely explaining the same thing.

"And I'll show you to your station," she smiles with pierced dimples and rises from her chair to lead me past the front entrance. There's a worn-down pool table there for those who are waiting for their appointments, and an overwhelming amount of framed flash sheets taking up both sides of the wall on either side of us.

"So this is where you'll be working, and Zayn will be right next to you, so that's adorable," she laughs at herself. "You'll just be doing walk-ins this week, but starting next Monday I believe you already have three appointments booked for larger-scale pieces. I can email you the details on all of that, and now that you're officially in the system and your contact info is listed on our website, the inquiries for future appointments should be coming straight to you."

"Okay, great," I set the client list on my workstation with my sketch pad, and she takes the time to give me a tour around the shop while we're still slow.

She shows me where the printer and copy machine are toward the back of the first floor and proceeds to take me upstairs where Mark's office and tattoo space is. The hardwood creaks under both of our feet, which reminds her to tell me that she's convinced the place is haunted. I laugh, but I'm not able to respond when she moves on to say that Mr. Mahoney only works at night and that he's excited to meet me.

"What's your name, by the way?" I ask as we head back down the uneven steps.

"Oh! I'm McKenzie, but you can call me Ken, Kenny, Kenzie, whatever."

"Alright, well it's nice to meet you, thanks for showing me around," I use my shoe to pull out my rolling leather stool from under my bench.

"Man, you and Zayn with the accents and the cute faces," she tsk's. "It's a good thing I'm gay, or I'd be in a lot of trouble."

"Oh," I laugh and nod, unsure of how to respond to that exactly. She's blunt, but I think I appreciate that more than if she were to be quiet and formal.