Artistic License

by Julie Hyzy

  Abruptly he stopped, tipping his head slightly as if he’d only just noticed something. Still with his back to her, he turned his head, offering a profile. His nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly. His question was smooth, direct, “Do you smoke, Ms. Callaghan?”

  “No.” The word came out short, surprised.

  “Hmm. Then I must speak to the maid.”

  He returned to his musings, and turned to her when he finished walking the length of the wall.

  “You have a gift, Ms. Callaghan. You’re very fortunate to have found your niche in life. May I call you by your first name? Anne?”

  “Of course, but most people call me Annie.”

  “Annie . . .” he looked upward as though considering it, then back down to her. “No. You are an intelligent woman. I know these things,” he tapped at his temple with his index finger. “Annie is a girl’s name. A woman of your talents deserves something stronger. I will call you Anne. Unless, of course, you object?” His manner was gentle, inquisitive.

  “No, that’s . . . uh . . . fine, I guess.”

  “Good.” He turned away to face the wall again. “Anne. What do you know about attorney-client privilege?”

  Taken aback, Annie said the only thing she could think of in answer, “I know what it is.”

  “I was certain you did. An individual who has such cleverness to create something like this would certainly be aware of many of those mundane things that we lawyers have to deal with on a daily basis.”

  Annie had no idea how to respond to that.

  Continuing, still with his back to her, he said, “And you realize that whatever you tell me with regard to your divorce will be kept confidential.”

  “Yes . . .”

  He turned and faced her. His dark eyes met hers and she felt as though she didn’t dare look away. “I consider that privilege sacred.”

  “Of course.” Annie flipped her hands in front of herself, trying to lighten the moment.

  “Sacred.” Tracing his finger along a brachiosaurus’ neck, he said, “But I like it to go both ways. I like to feel confident that my clients can keep things to themselves, you understand what I mean?” He wagged his fingers in the air, like a Mafioso don granting dispensation.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said.

  “What do you usually charge for a project this size?” he asked, and she wondered about the abrupt change in subject.

  Having had a chance to think about it, Annie told him.

  Mr. DeChristopher shook his head and the rasp in his voice became more evident as he spoke in quiet tones. “You’re selling yourself short, Anne. That figure is far too low for what I’m getting from you. Why don’t I come up with an amount that’s more realistic? And you realize of course, that your legal fees will be taken care of as well.”

  “But Mr. DeChristopher . . .”

  “Please,” he said, “call me Richard. After all, I am going to be your lawyer, am I not?”

  Annie’s mind raced. To be paid for her services and to get free legal representation was an offer she couldn’t afford to refuse. She nodded.

  “As long as we trust each other, Anne, our mutual benefit is assured.” He turned with almost military crispness, and walked out the door. “Carry on.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sam started to hand the shake over the tall fountain counter to Annie, then pulled it back with a grin as she reached for it. “Hang on,” he said, “almost forgot the best part.”

  Standing on tiptoes, Annie leaned both elbows on the counter and looked over, watching Sam as he shot whipped cream, sputtering, onto the top of her shake. His eyes glanced up in question.

  “A little more,” she said. “I’m eating for two, you know.”

  Shaking the container, Sam piled the cream high, until the white fluff threatened to topple over. He grabbed two maraschino cherries and placed them gently on top. With a wink, he handed the glass back over the counter. “Now that,” he said, “is a shake.”

  Annie took it with both hands, and a smile of thanks. “You going to sit down for a while?” she asked.

  He lifted one shoulder. “Sure.”

  Annie carried it over to their regular booth and stretched her legs as she sat down, unwrapping the straw, and pushing it into the thick confection. She almost enjoyed feeling the aches and pains that followed a period of intense work. Made her feel like she was accomplishing something. Fatigue was another matter entirely, but she’d been able to combat that impediment most days, by napping in the afternoon in anticipation of long nights at the ice cream shop.

  All weekend she’d been looked forward to being back here. Itched to get back to her fairy tale wall, to leave thoughts of dinosaurs, planets, and angry men behind her. When she’d pulled up tonight, after ten, the teenagers who worked there were just leaving, spilling noisily out the door. It was a Monday night after an unseasonably cool and misty day and they seemed eager to take advantage of getting out early.

  By the time she made it to the front door, however, it had slammed behind them. No matter, she thought, and pulled out her key.

  To her surprise, it didn’t work.

  She tried again, twice, before realization dawned. The key was almost indistinguishable from the one Gina DeChristopher had given her. While Mr. DeChristopher had acquiesced to his wife’s one-key request, he’d obviously made up for any safety concerns by providing the house with an industrial strength lock. In her hurry from the car, Annie must have grabbed their key by mistake.

  With a murmur of annoyance, Annie returned to the Escort to retrieve the right one. Sitting in the passenger seat, she dug her hand into the glove compartment and fished around through the papers and junk she kept in there till her fingers reached the small piece of metal. Making a mental note to buy a couple of big, hard-to-lose chains to prevent this from becoming bothersome, she pulled it forward and examined both keys in the pale moonlight. Unless she would be able to memorize the peaks and valleys of their cuts, she’d never be able to tell them apart. Their color and brand were identical.

  Reaching around to the backseat, she pulled at the small bag of emergency items she kept there in yet another backpack. Somewhere in here were two bottles of nail polish, one clear to handle pantyhose runs, and the other . . . Yes. There it was. Black nail polish, leftover from Halloween several years ago, when she’d been the Wicked Witch of the West. Perfect. She opened the top, wrinkling her nose at the chemical smell, and placed a large dot of polish on the shank of the DeChristophers’ key. Waiting, blowing on it to help it dry, she congratulated herself on her improvisation and efficiency.

  Still, she’d pick up those keychains as soon as she could.

  * * * * *

  “Quiet night?” she asked Sam as he came to join her. He leaned forward to slide into the booth’s opposite bench.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, “how’s the shake?”

  “Great, as always, but how come you’re still here? You have to be exhausted.”

  “I came in late today. I’ve got Jeff opening for me now, four days a week. It doesn’t get really busy here till late afternoon, so I’ve only been here since five.” He shrugged, shook his head. “Gives him some responsibility. And I don’t mind staying here late.”

  “Four days a week?”

  Sam nodded, but he didn’t look away. Annie noticed wisps of redness creeping up from his collar.

  She lowered her head to take a sip of her shake and ask, in as offhand a tone as she could muster, “Really? Which days?”

  “Monday through Thursday,” he said, a bit too casually.

  Annie nodded, then looked up at him. “Well, I’m glad,” she said in a quiet voice, “I enjoy the company.”

  Sam smiled. “Me too.”

  * * * * *

  Something had been different about Sam tonight, Annie thought, as she glanced up and down the street, finally pulling her car up to the curb. The closest she could get to the front of her house was halfway down the block. Life would be so much bette
r if she could use her own garage. This Saturday, she vowed, as she slammed the car door, come hell or high water, she’d load Gary’s stuff into the back of her little car and haul it over to that scummy apartment. She didn’t care if it took four trips, she was going to get that garage clear again.

  But tonight. She sighed. What a gorgeous night. Even though it was technically morning, and the sky at one o’clock was about as dark as it could get, Annie breathed in the damp cool air and listened to the soft rhythmic scratches of her own footsteps. Tonight something had been very different.

  The street was deserted. And for the first time in a very long time, the night seemed to hold promise rather than dread. Moved by a sudden burst of ebullience, Annie spread her arms out and flung her head back to face the heavens. “Star Light, Star Bright, First star I see tonight.” Whispering, she felt a rising tide of emotion work its way up to her chest. She closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze lift the ends of her hair, taking pleasure as the silken current swept against her skin. “I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”

  Standing utterly still, listening to the night sounds of crickets and far-off traffic, she made her wish. Opening her eyes, she lowered her arms to stare at the distant star for a long moment.

  I wonder, she thought. Is he wishing on a star right now?

  There was a song about that, an old one. Yeah. Annie started to hum it, then started singing softly as she took light, cheerful steps to her front porch. She didn’t remember all the words, but as she reached the top stair, she turned and stared at the sky again, her voice reaching a quiet crescendo, her arms reaching out again, singing, making it up as she went along.

  She couldn’t come up with the real words, but it didn’t matter. With a sigh and a smile, she dropped her arms and turned to open her front door.

  To her surprise, the big oak door was being opened for her.

  It took a moment for it to register, to pull herself back into the reality that stared at her through the glass of the outer door.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I heard a car door slam.” Gary said. “Figured it was you. Come on in.” As though there was nothing unusual about it, he pushed the metal door open and held it with his left arm.

  Annie’s hands made two fists at her side. They shook with the fury she held, knowing that if she let go, she would lose control completely. She felt her eyes blaze beneath outward calm. Gary pushed the storm door open further and invited her in. Invited her. To her own home. Without budging, almost afraid to move, she repeated herself in tight words. “I asked you what you were doing here.”

  Gary shrugged. His brown hair was flattened on one side, messed on the other, as though he’d been sleeping. Moths danced around the porch light. One of Gary’s bloodshot eyes squinted against its bright beam as he turned his face from it. “Just come on in, okay? The humidity is giving me a headache.”

  Annie grabbed the silver handle of the screen door and whipped it wide, crossing the threshold past Gary as it swung shut, hitting him with a high-pitched, metallic thwack. God, she wished the glass would have broken on him. Then she could call an ambulance and be rid of the idiot.

  He winced and swore. Shuffling backwards, rubbing his head, he closed the big oak front door with quiet deliberation. She heard the solid click of the bolt. He was wearing his old beat-up brown house slippers and the ratty green corduroy robe that he’d had since before they were married. She’d packed both of those things in the boxes that were stored in the garage.

  The stuff in the garage!

  Just then she noticed the open boxes, all of them, strewn down the hall into the kitchen. He’d emptied every one of them. Still in fists, her hands raised to her head.

  “Agh!” she said in frustration.

  “Listen, I know it’s late . . .” Gary yawned, rubbed his hand down the front of his face in a gesture Annie hadn’t seen for a long time. It made her cringe.

  “How did you get in?”

  “Key.” He dug into his pants pocket and produced the item.

  Annie silently berated herself for not changing the locks.

  He spoke again. “But I didn’t know you’d be out till all hours, now, did I? I was worried, Annie.”

  “Worried?” Her hands shook in rage. “Get out of here. Now.” She pointed at the door.

  His hands came up in a placating gesture and he swayed a bit, blinking his eyes as though he still wasn’t used to the light. “I understand you bein’ surprised to see me. Listen, I just wanna make things easier for you.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “That you’re hoping I’ll ‘put out’ again? Well, forget it.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself with a frustrated sigh, causing a waft of his breath to assail Annie’s nose.

  She pointed at him, then pulled her curled index finger to her lips to hold herself back. “Have you been drinking?”

  “We’re not starting out so good here, are we?” Attempting a smile, he looked around the room, then gestured for Annie to sit down. Not knowing what else to do, she sat, taking the middle cushion of the couch and she glared at Gary when he looked as though he was going to sit next to her. “Okay,” he said, his hands coming up again, as if to ward her off. “I’ll sit in the chair if it makes you feel better.” His brown eyes strove for sincerity, but there was a cloudiness to them, as if focusing was difficult.

  “You have been drinking.”

  “Just a couple of beers. I told you I was worried about you. And, come on, we talked about this. Don’t you want to give our baby every chance in the world? I mean, hey, two of us working are gonna be way better than one. You need to take it easy. Working till one o’clock in the morning ain’t healthy.”

  Nearly forgotten, thoughts of Sam popped into her mind. She wildly wished she would have stayed there with him instead of coming home to this. Gary stared at her, blinking occasionally, an insipid grin on his face. He really believed that he was here to do her a favor. She gave a short angry laugh. Gary smiled.

  Did he really believe she’d be happy to see him here? He always did what was best for himself, but camouflaged it to make it seem as though he’d been looking out for her. She’d fallen for that before, but no longer. Never again.

  “Gary?” she said, in a calm voice, giving a lips-only smile.

  “Yeah?” The hope on his face was palpable.

  “Get out. Or I’ll call the police.”

  He scratched the top of his head. “Well,” he said, “I don’t think you wanna do that. If I get taken in, we’ll lose all that bail money you put up.”

  “I don’t want you here. I’m asking you now, please.” Her teeth were clenched behind tight lips. “Go home.”

  He had the decency to look abashed. “I . . . can’t. I can’t go back tonight anyway, not unless you drive me and, hell, you gotta be tired.” He shrugged one shoulder. “No car. Can’t I just sleep in here on the couch? I won’t bother you, I promise.”

  Annie ran both hands up her face and grabbed at her hair, holding it in a tight grip over the top of her head. She stared at the floor and whispered. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Did you just call me what I think you called me?”

  Sudden exhaustion washed over her like a wave, leaving her feeling battered and bruised. The thought of trying to marshal her strength for some protracted domestic squabble wrenched her stomach.

  Annie looked up. “I’m going to bed. Don’t,” she said, standing, wagging a finger at him, “don’t come anywhere near my bedroom or I’ll rip your stinking eyes out. Understand?”

  “You never called me an asshole before.”

  She turned. Fatigue was taking its toll. It hurt just to look at him. “Well then maybe you should quit behaving like one.”

  * * * * *

  “Please let it have been a bad dream,” she said aloud, as the sun spilled in through her bedroom window coaxing her eyes open. “Please.”

/>   She sat up in bed. The smell of fried bacon and fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen put an end to her hopes. A glance at the clock told her it was after ten in the morning. She reached over to her nightstand and grabbed a handful of the saltines she kept there. Better safe than sorry, Karla had told her. “Eat just a few before your feet hit the floor and you’ll ward off hours of morning sickness.”

  So far, it had worked like a charm.

  Annie padded out the door, turning to see Gary setting the table. “What?” she said, the exasperation she felt coming out in a whine.

  He was grinning. “I forgot how beautiful you look in the morning.”

  She glared at him.

  “Here,” he said, pulling out her chair. “I went shopping after you went to bed. One of those all night places—I couldn’t sleep. Hope you don’t mind I took your car.”

  Annie sat. This was surreal.

  “And I had to borrow some money too. I found some in your wallet.” He backed up a little at the look she gave him. “Just took enough to buy groceries, that’s all. I didn’t touch your emergency stash. I remember where you keep it though. Bet you don’t remember where I always kept my safe stuff?”

  He was pouring coffee into her favorite mug and he pulled out a jug of half-and-half. He’d bought that too. She was out of it and she hated using milk instead of cream. Feeling like a fly getting trapped in a spider’s web, she shook herself awake.

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “Do I what?” Annie couldn’t keep the snappiness from her voice. Nor did she want to.

  “Do you remember where I keep my safe stuff?”

  A platter of steaming scrambled eggs and bacon appeared before her with a little clunk. The heat from the plate drifted up, bringing gentle waves of hickory past her nose. It smelled heavenly. As his green corduroy sleeve pulled from her line of vision, she answered, just to shut him up.