by Nikki Ash
Obviously, I was wrong. I told the guy the site needed to be renewed before the end of September and he assured me it wouldn’t be a problem. Well, it seems like it was a damn problem as my site has been taken down due to nonpayment. I had no clue until a member went to check the schedule and couldn’t find the site and called me.
There’s a quick knock on my open door and a “Hey Tristan” that follows. I look up to see Brent standing in the doorway. Not only is he a good friend of mine and Mason’s, but he’s also the gym manager.
“What’s up?”
“Lexi’s coloring all over the gym equipment again. Just thought you’d like to know.” I glance at the clock and see it’s already noon. Four hours have flown by since we got here.
“Thanks,” I say, standing up. “I’m going to head out. The site is down. Do me a favor and print out the schedules of the classes and put them on the front desk until I get it back up and running.”
Locking my office door behind me, I head out to the main floor to find my daughter. I spot her sitting on a mat in one of the octagons, coloring with markers. “Hey, Picasso!” She turns to me, her eyes going wide. She knows better than to do this shit.
“Get the cleaner and clean your picture up. You know there’s no coloring on the equipment.” I point to where the cleaner and rags are.
She pouts, her bottom lip jutting out.
“Don’t give me that. You know better. Want to have your coloring stuff taken away?”
She glares as she stands up and stomps over to grab the spray and rag. “It’s not my fault. I need to get ready for the painting contest at the library, and the poster board is going to be so, so big! I don’t have any paper that big, and this place is boring!”
I hold back my smile. Lexi’s entire world revolves around art and she hates the gym. Because of her birthday being in October, she doesn’t start kindergarten until next August. I’ve considered putting her in preschool a few days a week, but because I own the gym and can work my own hours, I’ve never had to depend on anyone but family to occasionally watch my daughter. Between Mason, my sister Morgan, and me, we’ve been able to take care of Lexi. She’s so close to starting school, I had planned to spend these next ten months with her. Once she’s in school, I’ll have no choice but to let her go. I know she would love going to preschool but selfishly, I’m not ready to let my little girl go just yet.
As she gets older, we spend a lot of time at the library. She loves reading the big books of art and they do a lot of arts and crafts there, which she enjoys. Currently, she is excited about the upcoming painting contest. It’s supposed to be for only school-age kids but the librarian is letting Lexi join in since she knows how much she loves art. She’s five years old, which meets the age requirement, but she’s not in school.
“I don’t care how bored you are,” I say in my dad voice that tells her I’m serious. “You don’t color on anything besides paper. You aren’t a baby anymore, Lex. Finish cleaning up the drawing and then we’ll go to Jumpin’ Java to get lunch.”
“But—”
“Lex,” I say, stopping her from arguing. I swear this child is five going on fifteen.
“Okay.” She drags the word out in defeat then starts cleaning up the massive size rainbow on the mat.
When we get to Jumpin’ Java, the local coffee shop and bakery Lexi loves, she runs right up to the counter to place her order. Shawna, the owner, is standing in front of the register and spots Lexi immediately. Since Jumpin’ Java is only around the corner from the gym, we’ve been coming here since it opened two years ago.
“Miss Shawna!” Lexi yells way too loud in the quiet shop, practically bouncing in place. Shawna smiles, not caring how loud my daughter is, and bends over the counter to speak to her.
“Lexi, what would you like today?”
Lexi puts her finger to her chin like she’s thinking, which has us both laughing. She always wants the same thing. “Chocolate chip muffin and chocolate milk, please.”
“Lex,” I say, not having to explain myself because she knows the rules.
“Fine,” she huffs. “Fruit and yogurt, please…with a chocolate chip muffin and chocolate milk.” Not exactly what I had in mind but I’ll take it. At least she’s attempting something healthy. You would think being raised in a home where both adults eat healthy, she would accept it. But no, Lexi is one hundred percent a sweet eater. Getting her to eat fruit and vegetables is an everyday battle.
“Coming right up,” Shawna says to Lexi then looks up at me. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.” I pay Shawna then have a seat in a corner booth. Lexi has already grabbed the paper and crayons Shawna keeps here for the kids and is coloring her little heart out.
“I’m so excited for the contest,” Lexi says while drawing. “I can’t wait to paint on that big poster,” she adds, and I smile. It won’t even matter if she wins or loses—Lexi is simply happy when she’s creating.
Shawna sets our food and drinks down, and I pull my laptop out of my bag and open it up so I can try to get some work done while Lexi is busy. I call Stacy and let her know her recommendation completely flaked and I won’t be using him in the future. Good thing I didn’t pay him yet. Then I look up web designers in the area, emailing each one, asking about pricing and timeline.
I find out because my domain lapsed, I’ll have to have a new site created, which is fine since the old one was looking outdated. When I bought the gym after I graduated from college, I made a lot of renovations. I’ve added a variety of classes for adults as well as teens and kids. In addition, I added a new weightlifting room and redid the three octagons. The old website didn’t feature any of that.
I’m about to email another web designer when my phone rings. The name Bella flashes across my screen and I smile. There’s only one reason she would be calling.
“Did she tell him yet?”
“Ha ha! No, not yet,” she says in response. It’s a running joke when her daughter, Micaela, will spill the beans to her dad the sex of the baby Bella’s carrying.
“Who is that,” Lexi asks, looking up from her picture.
“Your Aunt Bella.”
“Hi, Aunt Bella!” Lexi yells then goes back to coloring.
“Tell her I said hello,” Bella says.
“Aunt Bella says hello,” I repeat to Lexi then to Bella I say, “And to what do I owe this call? Are you already missing LA? It’s only been a couple days since you left.”
“Very funny, Scott. No, we just got home. I was calling to find out if you guys are coming home for the holidays. With me due in January, we won’t be able to go to the cabin for Christmas, so we’re thinking about doing Thanksgiving in Breckenridge.” Breckenridge is where our families have been traveling for vacation since we were little. My parents own a cabin there and we try to visit at least once a year.
“I haven’t thought about it, but the gym will be closed for the holiday so that could be fun.” Bella and I continue talking. The talk of the holidays and closing the gym leads to the website debacle.
“I need to find someone who knows what they’re doing. I need fresh pictures of the gym and a new site.”
“Well if you were here, you could use Sheila, who manages our site.”
“But I’m not there nor will I be.” We discuss the gym, Marco, her parents, and when she plans to go back to fighting after she has the baby. She sends over a couple web designers she found online in my area while we were talking and I pull them up on my computer. The table shakes a little so I look up and see Lexi getting off her chair and walking over to the table next to me. It’s occupied by a woman who appears to be close to my age, and when Lexi hands her the picture, she smiles but it looks forced. Where have I seen this woman before?
She takes the picture from my daughter and Lexi begins to point out all the parts of her drawing, and then I remember! It’s the woman from the club—Charlie. I watch the interaction between them while talking with Bella for a few more minutes but m
y attention is no longer with Bella and whatever it is we’re discussing, instead on Lexi and Charlie.
When Lexi puts her hand out to introduce herself, Charlie almost looks like she’s going to cry.
“Bella, let me call you back. Lexi is sharing her drawings with the customers at Jumpin’ Java.”
Bella laughs. “A true artist must share their masterpieces. Call me later.” We hang up and I watch Lexi and Charlie continue to discuss her drawing. I don’t know what it is about this woman but she looks so disheartened. Even when she laughs at something Lexi says, her laugh is all wrong, like she’s trying too hard.
She makes eye contact with me for a second and my stomach knots. She’s just as beautiful as she was the other night but so damn sad. Her bright green eyes now look glossy like she’s a step away from losing her cool. Unlike the other night, her face is free of makeup except for what I think is lip gloss, making her slightly pouty lips look shiny. She breaks the contact, her eyes going back to my daughter, and something in me wants to know what has happened to her to make her so unhappy.
Three
Charlie
As I’m taking a sip of my Pumpkin Spice latte, a loud noise rings through the coffee shop. Realizing it’s my phone, I grab it and see it’s an amber alert. Seven-year-old female last seen in Los Angeles in a silver Ford Focus. The license plate number is given along with her height, weight, hair and eye color. She’s missing. I would imagine a missing child is almost as bad as one that’s dead. Or is it worse? Death is so absolute. Final. Whereas a child missing leaves the parents in limbo, constantly wondering. Where is she? Is she being harmed? Will they ever see her again? A child who is dead, well, there’s no wondering about the unknown. She’s gone and never coming back.
I click to acknowledge I’ve seen the alert, the buzzing noise immediately stopping. That’s when I notice the date. October 5th. A lump forms in my throat. Five days. My heart clenches, and I bring my hand up to my chest to soothe the pain only to stop myself. I don’t deserve any reprieve from the pain I feel. It’s a much-needed reminder of what I did and what I will have to live with for the rest of my life.
Picking up my book from the table, I open it up to where the bookmark is. It’s my day off from Plush, and I’m enjoying doing nothing. Because Veronica, an acquaintance of mine from Plush, needed to leave for San Francisco to visit her sick mom suddenly, I agreed to take on a couple of her shifts. Not only did that mean more hours, but it meant waitressing instead of my usual job of bartending. Luckily, the women I work with were okay with me only waitressing and not entertaining. “More money for us,” they insisted since the lap dances and private shows earn good money in tips.
I take another sip of my coffee as I turn the page of my book. I found this coffee shop a few months back when I finally got enough guts to venture out of my loft and do some exploring. It’s walking distance from the apartment I moved into eight months ago. The owner of my loft, Mr. Hinton, is an older gentleman who has retired to Florida to be closer to his children. At first, he was hesitant to accept cash, but he gave in when I agreed to pay the one year lease up front. He also agreed once the lease is up, to continue our arrangement on a month-to-month basis. I’m not sure if I will be forced to move…or run, so I don’t want to commit to another year. I never planned on staying here this long.
Up until a few months ago, I’d been nervous about leaving, only venturing out for the necessities such as getting groceries and going to the book store around the corner to pick up some reading material. Because I can’t use any credit cards that can be traced back to me, I need to stick to paperbacks I can pay for with cash. It has been eight months of finding myself. The problem is, it’s hard to find yourself when you’re still locked in the dark, so I finally gave in and started exploring the area, and that’s when I met Bianca. She was having coffee here at the shop and mentioned they were hiring at Plush when she saw I was looking in the newspaper for a job. Luckily, Tyler—the owner of the club—is Bianca’s brother, which meant at her recommendation, he hired me on the spot.
After speaking with Tyler, and explaining I need to work under the table because of my need to remain hidden, he made an exception for me. I think he could see it in my eyes how desperate I was. I couldn’t explain why and he didn’t ask, and for that I’m thankful. While I might have enough money for the time being, I know it will eventually run out. Bringing in a steady income makes me feel better.
I look out the window of the coffee shop. Growing up in a small town in Georgia, Los Angeles can be quite overwhelming. Even where I lived in Texas, it wasn’t as fast paced and chaotic as it is here. I was lucky to find a small community in Los Angeles, which seems to be a bit slower. More mom and pop stores and restaurants. Less glam and more down to earth. The only time I leave my little area of comfort is to go to work. The club is located downtown, so it’s a quick cab ride there and back. On my days off, I spend most of my time at this coffee shop. It reminds me of one I used to frequent when I lived in Georgia.
When I think about my hometown, my heart aches. Growing up, my parents didn’t have much money, but what they couldn’t give me in materialistic possessions, they gave me in love. When I was offered a full scholarship to study art at A&M, they insisted I take it. We didn’t have the money for me to visit often, but I did get to visit them during spring break my freshman year, which I’ll always be grateful for since it was the last time I saw them.
They were killed in a fire when a line ruptured down in the boiler room in their apartment building causing a fire from the ground up. By the time people realized what was happening, many of them couldn’t get out in time. Everything my parents owned burned to the ground, leaving me with nothing more than a small life insurance policy, a few pieces of jewelry, and only the memories to look back on.
Suddenly feeling the need to be creative, I set my book aside, and take my sketchbook out of my bag along with my pencil. I look around for something to sketch, my gaze stopping on a beautiful shade tree on the sidewalk right outside the window. For a few minutes, I get lost in the lines of the thick trunk, the delicacy of the leaves, and the shade the branches and leaves combined create on the sidewalk.
The door opens, the bells chiming, and in walks a little girl who looks like she dressed herself with her pink long sleeve shirt, purple ruffled skirt, and tie-dye colored Chucks. Right behind her is a man who I assume is her father. Even with only seeing a side profile of him, I can tell he’s gorgeous. The side of his face is covered in light scruff, and I imagine what it would feel like to rub my hands up and down it. He’s wearing a simple navy-blue T-shirt with jeans that fit him just right. He’s donning a perfect LA tan, and he’s wearing Chuck Taylors just like the little girl, only his are white.
He laughs at his daughter who’s running toward the counter, clearly excited to be here, and holy moly does his laugh do something to me. It’s a foreign feeling to think about a man in this way but it gives me hope that maybe I’m finally healing. When I took the job at the club, my therapist told me it would be good for me to be in a safe environment with men, to help me remember not all men are violent. But up until the other night, I never felt anything remotely sexual towards a man.
The woman at the counter greets the little girl and the man, and they talk for a few minutes. It’s obvious this isn’t their first time eating here. When the little girl is done ordering, she runs by me toward the corner booth next to me to set her purse and doll down. Then she runs to the counter to grab paper and crayons. She looks to be five maybe six years old with brown curly hair that is up in uneven pigtails only making her look even more adorable. My throat tightens and my eyes burn as I watch her sit down and begin to color. She’s completely focused, concentrating hard on whatever it is she’s coloring.
The man leaves the counter and I’m able to get a better view of him from the front. Holy shit! It’s the man from the club the other night. I believe his name is Tristan. He sits down across from the little girl a
nd I will myself to stop staring. Closing my eyes, I count to ten, and try to shake off my thoughts the best I can. I take another sip of my coffee then attempt to get lost in my drawing once again. It’s afternoon here in LA, which means the streets are crowded, but what’s nice is here in Larchmont Village, the streets are lined with fall decorations, giving the area an autumn feel to it. Fake leaves wrap around the street poles with fake pumpkins placed on top of signs. Orange and white lights cover several awnings. The trees are even a beautiful mixture of green, brown, and red. You almost wouldn’t even know Larchmont Village is a part of Los Angeles, only five miles away from Downtown LA.
I was lucky enough to find a loft here in Larchmont at a decent price because there’s no way I would be able to afford anything in the heart of Los Angeles, and as luck would have it, Jumpin’ Java is walking distance from my loft.
I’m drawing the street pole along with the fall decorations when a voice startles me, causing me to jump.
“Wow! Your picture is so good! Look what I drew.” It’s the little girl from the booth next to me and she’s holding up a picture of a pumpkin, the mouth drawn to appear scary. She pushes the picture toward me, so I take it in my hands, admiring it for a moment. I force myself to keep the memories at bay of the last time I looked at a colored picture.
“This is very cool. Did you make this up or draw it from something you saw?” The little girl grants me a toothy grin at my compliment and points to something in the distance. I turn my head to see a pumpkin on the counter. It’s almost identical to the drawing and it’s obvious, especially for her age, she is artistically advanced.
“You drew and colored this all by yourself?”
“Yep!” She nods in confirmation. “I’m going to enter a painting contest at the library and the paper they give you is way bigger!” Her hands fly up and outward to show me how big, her smile never leaving her face. I look around her and notice that even though her dad is on the phone, his gaze is trained on us—his love and protectiveness for his daughter evident in his eyes.