Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Leach,” I blurt.

  “How am I a leach?” he questions with a chuckle as we arrive to the top of the marble walkway that lead down to the lobby.

  “You get paid regardless if you try or not,” I explain. “You’re not defending the public. You’re taking their taxes for your own personal gain and not doing your job.”

  “I did do my job,” Mr. Barons retorts.

  I snort. “I’ve seen murders and pedophiles get off with nothing.”

  “They paid for their lawyers,” Mr. Baron remarks.

  “My tax dollars are paying for you,” I challenge.

  “Now, like I said, I’ll be in touch with some options for you to fulfill your community service hours. Remember, they’re to be met within nine weeks. Have a nice day, Ms. Powell,” Mr. Barons says, ignoring my statement.

  “Off to ruin another person’s life?” I reply with a snippy tone and my hands on my hips.

  Mr. Baron smiles, nods, and then heads toward the lobby as if we don’t know each other.

  I remain standing at the top of the stairs, not sure what to think, how to feel, or what to do. Community service is a waste of my time. I have so many better things to be doing than helping out a community that hasn’t bother to help me out here in court or ever.

  I leave the courthouse and pace the steps, pulling out a cigarette to help calm myself. Right as I take my first drag, an image of Judge Vaughn pops into my head. I scream and flick the stick from my body as if it’s a bee. I guess the ability to stop smoking is going to be easier than I thought. As frustration courses through my veins, I grab my phone out of my large, imitation-Coach purse and text my best friend and roommate, Jolene.

  Me: Dude, you’re not gonna believe what the fuck just happened!!

  It takes only ten seconds for Jolene to respond.

  Jolene: ???

  Me: They took my license!!!!!

  Jolene sends a shocked emoji.

  Me: And 60 hours of freaking community service!

  Jolene: Seriously?

  Me: Yep!

  Jolene: Damn … you shoulda killed that cat

  Me: I will next time … this blows!!

  Jolene: definitely!

  Me: I need to figure out how to get the car back to the apartment.

  Jolene: we could suade the hot guys from apt 156

  Me: with what? food?

  Jolene: you could put out

  Me: no

  Jolene: but if yaz desperate

  Me: I am … but not THAT desperate … yet

  Delilah

  Over the next few weeks, I’m in a funk. I’ve got to take two buses to get to work, which includes walking several blocks, figure out how I’m going to pay for the damage to my jeep, pay for my auto insurance that has now doubled, and still pay the rest of my bills all while trying to eat. My brain is running through all of the possibilities as I get my next client situated on the massage table.

  “I love your tats,” she states, laying down.

  “Thanks,” I reply as I start lighting the candles.

  “I’m surprised they let you have them here,” she comments.

  “Tess is cool, plus they’re mostly covered,” I return.

  “True,” she says with a smile. “I don’t mind … I know that many businesses don’t let people have them show at all. Yours … it’s like they add to your beauty.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, honestly appreciative of the compliment.

  “You’re welcome,” she returns.

  My client, who is old enough to be my mom, lays back and lets me get to work. She offers a nice size tip, bigger than I had anticipated. I end up working a full day thanks to several walk-in clients—weekdays are hit or miss with having enough clients. My last appointment is chatty the entire time and much younger than the women I’ve had all day.

  I make it to the bus stop about a minute before it pulls up. Taking a seat, I take out my cell to text Jolene.

  Me: on my way home

  It takes Jolene a few seconds to reply.

  Jolene: I just got in. Want me to cook?

  Me: Please. I have at least 45 min til I’m back

  Jolene: Cool. U owe me

  Me: I have since I lost the car

  Jolene: What do yah want?

  Me: Anything queen chef

  Jolene: buttering me up huh? Hoping to get laid?

  Me: LOL always, but not by u

  Jolene: I’ll get you drunk enough to where ur curious

  Me: Hasn’t happened yet

  Jolene: Doesn’t mean it won’t

  Me: Met your future wife today

  Jolene: Really?

  Me: Yep! She’s as plain as they come … she’s perfect for you

  Jolene: plain?

  Me: I bet she wears granny panties

  Jolene: that’s harsh!

  Me: I thought you were into that type

  Jolene: It only happened that one time

  Me: that’s all it takes LOL

  Jolene: Careful bitch, I’m in charge of food

  Me: haha ok sorry i luvs you

  Jolene: u have to do better than that

  I look up from my phone to make sure I’m not laughing out loud or have a bunch of people staring at me. My eyes catch a glimpse of two hotties walking on the sidewalk into a high-end restaurant.

  Me: Do you need me to pick anything up on my way back?

  Jolene: nope

  My phone starts buzzing and I huff when I see who’s calling.

  Me: that stupid public pretender is callin

  Jolene: talk about creeper

  Me: let me see what he wants

  Jolene: see you in a few

  Me: luvs ya

  Jolene: luvs ya too bitch

  “Hi, Mr. Baron,” I greet with a sigh.

  “Where were you today?” he asks curtly as if he’s an annoyed parent.

  “At work,” I inform.

  “Why weren’t you at your community service?” he inspects with irritation in his tone.

  “I need the extra hours,” I explain sarcastically. “I’ve got to pay the bills … even the bills for a car I … can’t … use.”

  “Do you know what happens if you fail to attend your court appointed community service let alone fulfill them by the time you’re supposed to?” he inquires.

  “I have off in two days,” I state. “I’ll go then.”

  “You can’t just go when you feel like it,” Mr. Baron insists.

  “Well, I need to go when I’m not working,” I comment, trying to stay calm.

  “You better be there tomorrow,” Mr. Baron directs. “If you’re not, you could have a warrant issued for your arrest.”

  “What? Why?” I snap.

  “There are time constraints on when you need to get your services done,” he shares. “Plus, since you never picked what kind of community service you wanted to do, I had to choose for you.”

  “You never told me any of this,” I challenge.

  “I told you this plenty of times, Ms. Powell,” Mr. Baron claims. “Do you want to go to jail?”

  “Are you threatening me?” I press heatedly.

  “No,” he laughs. “But, the courts will put you in jail for failure to comply with your court ordered community service.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to make a living if I’ve got so much community service to do?” I push back.

  “That’s something you should have thought about before driving under the influence and swerving,” he claims.

  “I wasn’t intoxicated,” I bark. I look up to see if anyone may have heard me. A small sigh slips past my lips when I notice that the bus is practically empty.

  “The only facts that matter right now is you attending your community service and fulfilling those hours by the time they’re supposed to be completed or else there are repercussions,” he lectures.

  “Fine,” I huff. “I’ll be there.”

  Delilah

  “You were supposed to be here the pa
st two days,” the man sitting behind the desk says as I knock on the frame of his door. He doesn’t bother to look up at me.

  I continue into the room, not waiting for an invitation. I take a seat on the old, beat-up chair across from him and notice the name plate: Mr. Robert Hobbs.

  “I didn’t say you could come in,” he states, continuing to scribble on the notepad in front of him. “And, I definitely didn’t offer you a seat.”

  “The seat was open,” I mention passive aggressively.

  He looks up at stares at me for several long moments.

  I study his appearance, noting how he looks like the typical, middle-aged, poorly dressed teacher that was common in my high school.

  “You’ve already wasted enough of my time,” he says snidely. “Get out of my office.”

  “I had to work,” I rebut.

  “That’s what they all say,” he counters, unconvinced by my honesty.

  “It’s the truth,” I reply.

  He regards me. “You’ve got sixty hours that you need to complete in six weeks.”

  “Seven weeks,” I correct.

  “Six now since you’ve already wasted my time as I stated before,” he challenges.

  “Fine … six,” I huff.

  “Don’t do that,” he chides.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “You know what,” he returns.

  I stare at him blankly.

  He snickers. “You think you’re the only one who shouldn’t be here … that this is a waste of your time … that this is such a huge inconvenience to you and your life… .”

  “You’re the one who’s saying it,” I comment.

  “You’re an inconvenience for me,” he claims. “You’re all the same. You come in here with a chip on your shoulder, thinking you’re better than everyone else. These kids have better things to do than deal with adults who have just as many, if not more, issues than they do,” he shares.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “If you so much as miss one more day … I will report you,” he pushes.

  My mouth opens to argue, but he cuts me off.

  “I don’t want any of your bullshit,” he adds. “This is my turf and we play by my rules. If you don’t like them, then there’s the door. Jail might do you good to get that proverbial stick out of your ass that makes you think the world revolves around your every whim.”

  I don’t know what comes over me. Usually, I’d chew a guy like this a new asshole. I don’t want to spend a year in jail, so being here seems to be a lot better—for now. I’m still not sure what kind of a job they’re going to give me. I just hope that I’m not scrubbing toilets.

  “Where’s your sheet?” he inquires.

  “Sheet?” I question.

  “Yeah,” he chuckles. “Your time sheet … you know, the one I’m supposed to sign off on every time you’re here?”

  “I don’t have a sheet,” I answer. I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or not.

  “Of course you don’t,” he muses. “Fine. Then, today is a free day for me.”

  “What?” I ask, still confused.

  “You’re going to work today … two hours,” he explains. “Then, you’re going to go home and look for your hours sheet that you’re supposed to bring with you each time you come in. You hand it to me when you get here and I sign off on the date and times, giving it back to you when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Okay,” I reply, starting to comprehend the process. “So, you can sign off on today’s hours tomorrow.”

  “Nope,” he chuckles. “Like I said, today is free.”

  “How? Why?” I gasp.

  “Because, one … you’ve missed the last two days you were supposed to be here. Two, you were stupid enough to not know to bring your sheet with you. And three, because I don’t care,” he admits.

  I sit, astonished at what’s happening, unsure of how to respond.

  “Now go,” he instructs. “Turn right on your way out of my office, and take the fifth door on your left. Then, the third door on your right. You’ll receive instructions from there.”

  “But… .”

  “Unless you want me to call the court to tell them you didn’t show again and have a warrant out for your arrest … get the hell out of my office,” he directs.

  I let out a loud huff as I rise to leave. I take a second to look back at him for some odd reason.

  “Go,” he says, dismissively shooing me out with his hand.

  My mouth drops a little instinctually to protest, but I quickly think better of it.

  I head to the right down the hallway, following the directions he gave me. When I get to the double doors, I stand slightly off to the side, watching the people inside the gymnasium. There are several older people, my age and up, but the rest of them are teenagers. I count a total of four adults and over twenty teens.

  “You must be the new recruit,” a bubbly voice greets to the right of the doorway, just inside the room I’m avoiding. “I’m Mavis,” she states, sticking her hand in my direction.

  My eyes bounce between her face and hand several times, but I don’t extend my own.

  “Oh, my God!” she exclaims with a squeaky voice. “It’s you.”

  “It’s me?” I repeat, confused by her statement.

  “You gave me a massage the other day,” she shares. “You were amazing! One of the best I’ve ever had. Oh, my God! This is so exciting! Guys,” Mavis shouts over her right shoulder. “She’s here.”

  The idea to flee comes to mind, but when I look up, I find all eyes on me.

  “You’re Delilah, right?” she checks. A second later, her mouth continues to spew words. “I’m Mavis … but I already said that. Come inside so you can meet the kids and the gang … some of them are like you.” She takes my arm and tugs me in. “It’s great to have another female mentor. There’s been way too much testosterone in here. No one wants to do anything other than just sit and gab which is no fun… .”

  “Give her a second to process, Mavis,” a cute, preppy-looking guy says.

  From the way he’s dressed, I’d say he comes from money and is here as part of a college or business outreach program.

  “It’s not that bad, Lance,” Mavis claims, brushing him off.

  “Hi,” Lance greets with a smile.

  Though this guy is sexually enticing, I get the distinct vibe that he’s a virgin for some reason.

  “Like them?” I cough, trying to hide the smile inspired by my devious thoughts while discover who could be like me.

  “Courties, as Tank and Benji call themselves,” Mavis informs.

  “Courties?” I question nervously while I take note of the other two male adults.

  One is tall and muscular, reminding me of an actor I can’t quite place while the other is tall and gangly looking.

  “You know … court appointed,” Mavis says with a smile.

  “You’re a courtie like us,” the tall, muscular one who I now remember reminds me of a younger Mickey Rourke states in a gruff tone.

  “Yeah,” I say with mock enthusiasm.

  “That’s Tank,” Lance shares as the Mickey Rourke impersonator smiles. “You’ve met Mavis. And, this is Benji… .”

  Benji smiles and nods. “Hey,” he says in an overly flirtatious tone.

  They all stand still, smiling at me, not saying a word.

  “Delilah, right?” Tank checks after a few moments of awkward silence, reaching for my hand.

  I take a small step back, wanting them all to know that there will be no touching at any point between any of us. “Right.”

  “Come meet the kids,” Mavis says excitedly, entwining her arm with mine.

  “Sure,” I reply with a shrug, trying to break from her vice-like grip.

  Mavis yanks me in with her hold tightening as she calls the teens over. She rattles off their names and each one raises their hand or lifts a chin to indicate who they are. Most of them seem unimpressed with the ro
le-call and a few of the boys size me up a little.

  Lance and Mavis try to rally the nineteen boys and seven girls together as a group, so I decide to take a seat against the wall that’s away from everyone. I watch from a distance to get an idea of how this program works. From the looks of it, the kids act more like they’re in detention rather than a program. Lance seems to be the leader, but I’m not quite sure. Mr. Hobbs pops in for barely a minute or two until his phone rings, causing him to be gone more than he’s here. Mavis sits near and tries to talk with the girls as if she’s one of them, but they ignore her. Lance, Tank, and Benji toss a few hoops with a couple of the boys, but nothing else happens.

  Delilah

  “You’re late,” Mr. Hobbs says without glancing up at me.

  “The bus was late,” I explain coolly.

  “Don’t care,” he returns, sticking his hand out, shaking it at me. “You got it?”

  “Yes,” I confirm, stepping into his office. I hand my hours sheet to him.

  Taking the sheet from me, he directs, “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

  I don’t reply and leave his office. I figure, the less talking I do the better for us all. Plus, it’ll prevent any unwanted threats or social interactions.

  “You’re here!” Mavis shouts with glee, rushing toward me as I enter the gym. She hugs me like she did yesterday, as if we’re best friends.

  I offer a half smile when she lets go. I stick my headphones in and walk to my previous post from the past two days where I watch in peace and don’t have to do anything.

  For some reason, Lance comes over and sits beside me.

  “Huh?” I ask after he nudges me.

  “If you want your hours to count …” Lance says. “You’re going to have to interact.”

  I lift an uninterested brow.

  “If you want Mr. Hobbs to sign off on your hours, you’ll have to participate with the students,” Lance elaborates.

  “Didn’t seem to be an issue yesterday,” I state.

  “I just don’t want you to miss out on hitting your hours,” he says. “Tank’s lost ten hours doing just that when he started.”

  I regard Lance. “How long has Tank been coming?”

  “A long while,” Lance replies.

  “I’ll consider it,” I return.

  “Unless you want to stay here longer … then that’s cool too,” Lance comments, standing up.