Unbroken

by Anne Schraff

  “Why don’t you take her to lunch tomorrow?” Paul suggested. “You work there tomorrow, right? Just tell her the truth, and see what happens. It’ll be fine, man.”

  “I can’t, man,” David groaned. “I can’t frame the words. It’s too ugly. I can’t stand to see the look of shock on her face,”

  “Would you like to go out with her, David?” Paul asked.

  “Yeah, sure. Who wouldn’t? She’s really nice and I like her a lot,” David responded.

  “Okay,” Paul ordered. “Take her to lunch. The right words’ll come to you, man. It’s a confession, bro. Even if she ices you out, you’ll feel better. Now get some sleep.” Paul turned over on his side and went to sleep.

  “Yeah,” David thought. “A confession. That’ll take a load off my shoulders.” He fell asleep shortly afterward.

  On Saturday morning, David was at the office early. Because of the budget crisis in the city, Mr. Ibarra had asked his staff to come in for an unusual Saturday working day.

  David had rehearsed how he would ask Livy to join him for lunch. He’d find a way to gently break the news to her that he wasn’t who she thought he was. David resolved that he wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth. He’d admit that he burglarized a lot of stores at night. He’d tell her he probably would have continued if he hadn’t been caught on a surveillance tape at one of the stores, leading the police to his apartment. David would admit to Livy that he didn’t steal because he was hungry or lacked shelter. He stole out of greed. He just couldn’t afford the good stuff that he and his high-maintenance chick wanted. His salary as a counterman at the fried chicken house just didn’t cut it. He wouldn’t blame Augie Rojas, although Augie did teach him the ropes and get him started on his short career of crime. He could have told Augie to take a hike, but he didn’t.

  Just thinking about telling Livy all this made David break out in a cold sweat, but he planned to do it anyway. He’d begun to like her a lot. If he had even a remote chance that she would accept him in spite of his past, he wanted that chance.

  Jeff Caudillo came in, followed by Mr. Ibarra. The phones started ringing right away. A TV talk show host the night before had sounded the alarm about the “dark plans” of the city council.

  David answered a few calls. Livy Majors came in. “I guess I’m late. I’m just not used to coming in on Saturday,” she explained.

  “No,” Jeff responded, “you’re not late. David and I are early. The talk show dudes are stirring up the mob, and we’ve got to be ready for the calls.”

  David glanced at Livy. She was wearing a pale green pullover and a dark skirt. She turned her head as if she felt his gaze and smiled.

  “David, they just added a new jazz sensation to tomorrow’s program. They said he sounds like Art Blakey. You know, that jazz icon who played with Blue Mitchell a long time ago. My father introduced me to his music. I have Out of the Blue. This guy Blakey was like a mentor to young kids coming up in jazz. The guy playing Sunday—Mike Corral—he’s one of Blakey’s discoveries.”

  “Sounds great,” David responded, although he didn’t recognize the people she was talking about. He wasn’t into jazz as much as she was. David liked guys like Eric Clapton.

  “You’re coming, right?” Livy asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” David replied. His mind was spinning. Maybe he thought he should sugarcoat his past a little. Maybe he should say he just got into a little trouble and had to spend a few months in jail.

  Two more phone calls came in.

  “The condition of the Washington Street Park is an abomination,” a man yelled. “Have you been in those restrooms lately?”

  “No, sir, but—” David started to say.

  “Well, stop sitting in your nice office collecting your huge salary,” the irate man went on. “You tell Mr. Ibarra to bring his children to the restrooms at the Washington Street Park and see the filth for himself. I have two little ones who needed a restroom. I’m telling you, it’s a menace to health! You’re gonna cut budgets, and you can’t even supply decent services now!”

  “Thank you, sir, for telling us,” David told the man. “I’ll get right on park maintenance and see that the condition is remedied. I agree with you that our citizens who use the park have a right to sanitary restrooms.”

  “There’s no excuse to explain this indifference to public welfare,” the man raved on. Then he said, “Whaddya say?”

  “I said I agree with you, sir,” David repeated. “We’re gonna to take care of it. Thank you for giving us a heads-up.”

  “Well,” the man said in a more peaceful voice, “I think it’s our duty to speak up when we see something wrong.”

  “Yes, sir,” David agreed.

  When he put down the phone, he noticed it was a half hour to lunch. His knees got weak. Maybe, David thought, he should tell Livy about his bad childhood. He didn’t like to talk about that, though. He thought it was a cop-out. A lot of kids came up through the foster care program, and they didn’t end up as burglars.

  Sure, some of David’s foster parents were pretty bad, but most were okay. Usually, they were adequate and just indifferent. They weren’t his parents. He couldn’t expect them to act as if they were. Anyway, maybe if David had grown up in a nice home with loving parents, he would have done the same things. He met some guys in prison who had come from good homes and committed worse crimes than he did. Telling Livy about his miserable childhood would just make him sound like a whiney wimp.

  David took a deep breath. Maybe, he thought, he should just skip the lunch and the jazz festival and crawl back under a rock.

  During a lull, Livy said, “It’s very informal at the jazz festival. We just pack lunches and sit on the grass. It’s a lovely way to listen to music. I’m packing a nice lunch for us, David. I’m not a great cook, but I think you’ll like it.

  Before David knew it, he was riding down in the elevator with Livy. They were going to the coffee shop for lunch. Ordinarily, spending a lunch hour with Livy would have delighted him. He was liking her more every day. But thinking about his big confession gave him heartburn.

  Even as they entered the shop, he didn’t know exactly what to say. How could he tell her? “I don’t know quite how to tell you this, Livy, but I’m a criminal—no, an ex-criminal. I’m on parole . . ..” The words tasted like acid in his mouth.

  “I always like plenty of mayo on my BLT,” Livy remarked as they sat at the table. “It’s not supposed to be good for you, but my Grandma loves it. She’s eighty-five and going strong.”

  “That’s wonderful,” David responded, wondering if even lots of mayo would get his BLT down his dry throat. He began imagining her responses to his horror story.

  He imagined how the conversation would go. “Oh no! How dreadful!” she would say. “I’ve never met an ex-convict before!”

  “Yes, yes,” he would say in response to her distress. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was terrified of how you would react. Besides being a burglar, I’m also a coward.”

  “Were you in cells with murderers and all sorts of monsters?” she would ask.

  “Well, actually I had a murderer in my cell at one time, but he was one of my better cell mates.”

  Livy smiled at David. She was trying to get a conversation going. “This is a really good sandwich, isn’t it? I love it when they put on cucumber slices. The lettuce doesn’t add much, but the cucumber is so nice and crunchy. You know, I’m packing liverwurst sandwiches for us tomorrow. When I was a little girl, my grandma always packed those when we went on picnics. And she put plenty of gherkins on the sandwiches. Just thinking about the gherkins makes my mouth water.”

  “Yes,” David murmured, “I like gherkins too.”

  “You know what they are, don’t you?” Livy asked, grinning.

  “Uh, no,” David admitted.

  Livy giggled. “They’re sweet little pickles. You’ll love them on the liverwurst sandwiches,” she explained.

  David worked his way throu
gh the BLT, somehow getting it down by gulping soda. He thought he would tell Livy the ugly truth at the very end of their meal. Maybe the best time would be as they were walking toward the elevator. Yes, he thought, that would be best. He’d just blurt it out.

  “Livy,” he planned to say, “I should have told you this before. I’m an ex-convict who’s been in prison for two years. I know you don’t want to go to the jazz festival with someone like that.”

  Then, David thought, he would flee from the elevator and run to his desk on the upper floor.

  But just then, as they were finishing lunch, a heavyset man appeared at David’s elbow. “Are you one of Emilio Ibarra’s henchmen?” he asked in a belligerent voice. He smelled strongly of liquor.

  David tried to smile at the man in a friendly way. “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.

  Livy looked very nervous.

  “You tell that blowhard somethin’ for me,” he growled. “We ain’t givin’ him and the other crooks in City Hall that pay raise they been wantin’. Not while they close down the fire stations and pull cops off the street.”

  “Sir, Mr. Ibarra is opposed to the pay raise for the council members,” David responded. He stood up and put his own body between Livy and the angry man.

  “You’re friggin’ lying,” the red face man snarled. “I just heard it on the radio—Winky Potts. Thank God we got a guy who tells it like it is. A man of the people. He said Ibarra’s leadin’ the fight to raise the council people’s salaries. And he wants to take it out of the hides of the firefighters and cops. That’s what Winky Potts said.”

  “Well, sir,” David answered, moving even more between the angry man and Livy. “I believe you that Winky Potts said that, but it isn’t true. Mr. Ibarra is dead set against any pay raises for the city council. He went further than that. He said he would refuse to accept a pay raise. You’re right. A pay raise for the city council would be an outrage given the budget crisis.”

  The big man stared at David. “You ain’t foolin’ me, are ya?” he slurred the question. “Winky Potts’s the best man on the radio, and I never knew him to lie. I listen to him religiously. I’d like to see Winky Potts governor of this state or president of the United States.”

  “Sounds good,” David responded. “Thanks for giving me a chance to clear things up, sir. I’ll watch for Winky Potts on the ballot.”

  The big man winked, gave David a thumbs-up, and lumbered away, very unsteadily. The manager of the coffee shop came over to David and Livy.

  “Sorry about that,” she apologized. “He’s in here all the time. And loaded all the time. He hasn’t ever caused trouble, so I can’t do much about him.

  “He’s in no condition to drive,” David remarked.

  “No, you’re right,” the manager agreed. “But he’s not driving. Lost his license about a year ago. Too many DUIs.” The manager left them.

  In the meantime, Livy Majors was doubled over laughing. “Oh my gosh, David, you were magnificent!” she told him. “I’ve never seen anything like it! Where do you get that?”

  David shrugged. “Do you know Winky Potts? He’s a liar and a jerk,” he remarked. “He lies just to work people up so his ratings shoot up. He doesn’t know the meaning of truth. Besides, could you really vote for someone called Winky Potts?”

  Livy got up, and they walked toward the elevator. “I’ve heard him a few times,” Livy replied. “He screams at the top of his lungs like a madman. Oh, David, come on. We’ll be late getting back to the office! Let’s grab that elevator and go.”

  They ran to the elevator just making it in before the doors closed.

  Lunch was over, and David hadn’t told Livy.

  On Sunday, at eleven o’clock, David Morales drove to a nice suburban neighborhood near the community college. That was where Livy Majors lived with her family. They had a two-story stucco house with a Spanish tile roof. The lovely royal palms out front looked much prettier than the gangly Washington palms on the bird streets. The area was light years away from the barrio, away from Bluebird, Nuthatch, and those streets. Livy may have a Hispanic mother, but this was far from the barrio. Around here, you didn’t find graffiti or boys in hoodies and baggy trousers. No homies hung around here.

  David Morales kept asking himself what he was doing. He felt dishonest and selfish. He liked Livy Majors. When he looked at her, he felt warm and happy. But he had no right to her. Wanting her was wrong and stupid. It was rotten and unfair. He was taking her to the jazz festival under false pretenses. She thought he was a nice young man with a fine background. But he was a dirty rotten ex-burglar without the decency to come clean.

  David entered the lovely house to meet Livy’s good, honorable, wonderful parents. And doing that was as bad as telling a lie. When she did eventually find out about him—as surely she would—she would hate him for what he’d done. And she’d have the right to do so.

  “David, this is my father, Andrew Majors,” she said. “This is my mom, Socorro. Mom and Dad, this is David Morales, the young man I’ve been telling you about. He’s transformed Councilman Ibarra’s office. Before him, it was a fairly successful operation. Now it’s a magical place where amazing things happen. We all just love him so much.”

  David shook hands with the parents. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the concert with Livy.”

  He felt sick to his stomach, but he continued to be polite. “Livy helped me so much when we found this lost boy in the barrio,” he told them. “I don’t deserve all the credit for that. We worked together.”

  David managed to smile and nod and somehow get past talking for the rest of his short conversation with the parents. Then he led Livy to his pickup.

  David drove toward the downtown festival.

  On the way, Livy remarked, “This guy, Mike Corral. I’m just so excited to hear him. I’m in love with the guitar. Sadly, I’m no good at it at all. I’ve had lessons. But I think musical talent is something you either have or don’t have.”

  “Yeah, I can’t play anything either,” David responded. He hoped she wouldn’t ask him whether his fine parents had given him lessons on the piano or violin. It occurred to David that Livy didn’t ask him any questions about his parents or his childhood. He thought she might be curious, but she never asked.

  They parked and found a grassy spot near the festival stage. The musicians were set up, making last-minute tune-ups on their instruments. The big drums were already there.

  “Look, David,” Livy noted in a hushed voice. “There’s Mike Corral. That guy in the blue shirt. I’ve seen him on TV. He looks like a nerd with those thick glasses, but he plays like an angel! Oh, wow! I’m so excited. I’m so glad we came.”

  David thought that right now, being here with Livy, he should be the happiest guy in the world. He should feel so lucky, so blessed. But his lie burned in his soul like a fire, destroying everything. Now it was too late to say anything.

  Livy opened the basket and showed him the liverwurst sandwiches. “We’ll eat at the intermission. Okay?” she suggested. “But it looks good, doesn’t it? And it smells good!”

  “Yeah, sure does,” David agreed.

  Livy suddenly looked right at David and spoke. “I know a girl shouldn’t tell a guy she likes him until he tells her. But I’m sort of a weird girl. Ever since you came into Mr. Ibarra’s office, I’ve been attracted to you so much. You just have something about you that’s so endearing. But I don’t know how you feel about me.”

  “I think you’re beautiful and wonderful. I more than like you, Livy,” David responded with a burst of emotion. He felt tears blurring his vision.

  David was so desperately sorry. He hadn’t played fair with this girl. He hadn’t told her the truth right at the beginning. Now was a terrible time to tell her, but he had to. “Livy . . . there’s a problem.”

  Livy Majors touched her finger to David’s lips. “The other night,” she told him softly, “I found out about you. Your br
other, Paul, and his girlfriend, Carmen, invited me to that little place in your neighborhood, Hortencia’s. They told me everything.”

  David stared at the girl. “Everything?” he gasped.

  Livy smiled and reached over and grasped David’s big hand with her small, delicate hand. “Everything. The parents you guys had, the foster homes, the burglaries, the two years in prison, everything. Everything.”

  “And do you . . . ,” David stammered. “Surely . . . I mean . . .”

  She silenced him with a kiss on his lips.

  Livy was holding his hand, and her gaze was on the stage. The emcee was warming up the crowd and getting ready to announce the act. The crowd was cheering and applauding.

  But, to David, all that was a distant background sound. His thoughts were somewhere else. He had survived the foster care system in LA county. He had survived prison life. He had walked away from his old friends, who weren’t friends at all.

  Now, he had a career, not just a job. He had a wonderful girlfriend, not a gold digger. He had new friends—real friends.

  He looked down at Livy’s hand, holding his. He had all this because, through all the hard times, he’d stayed . . .

  “Unbroken!” Paul’s voice resounded in his head.