by Ashley Love
I try not to think about what I’m going to see before I can get to that safe.
I look forward again, toward his house. I shiver hard before I steel myself and keep walking.
When that Robson guy called me earlier and told me Lex’s bail was $125,000 I couldn’t believe that shit! Thank God he got bond option or he’d be fucked. I love the kid, but gathering up 125 grand would’ve been a pain in the ass. Ten percent is still a pretty penny though. And of course I have to be the one to do this shit. As if the fucking arrest wasn’t bad enough, not to mention embarrassing, now he sends me into the drug dungeon to get bail money out of his safe. Doesn’t he know what recovery means? Great idea Lex, send me into the downsized crackhouse room. It's like giving a five year old a Christmas present wrapped in clear wrapping and telling them they can never open it. What an asshole.
I just hope he doesn’t go to prison. I just…I don’t know what I’d do. Four year minimum sentence? God. Robson said it was still an option, even though he had some plan that he wouldn’t really explain to me because he was trying to get off the phone, I could tell. But basically he was in the process of trying to get Lex’s sentence reduced, which would be awesome. I’d buy him dinner or something.
Mostly, I just want Lex clean. I want him clean and out of this house and out of this business, because it’s too much trouble. I don’t know how much fucked up shit has to happen to him for him to realize that. If today was the last day I came here, I’d be perfectly happy, I think to myself as I stop in front of his house, looking around to make sure no one is parked down the streets watching it or something. I only think this because Lex and I have done it, a stake-out, watching some of Tony’s operations because we thought he was doing under the table deals with some of Lex’s biggest buyers. This business really is fucking ridiculous among other things. The last thing I need is someone spying on me going in here, and coming up wanting some shit. God, what the fuck am I doing here? Always cleaning up his fucking messes, even if it means trouble for me. It never fails.
Once I see the coast is clear, I hurry to the front door and my heart is beating out of my chest as I let myself inside, using the spare key inside the mailbox hanging on the side of the house, which you’d think is the most obvious place to put the fucking thing, but no one has ever touched it except me, and Lex one time when his dumbass locked the door and shut it before he realized he had my keys in his hand and not his. I never had a spare key to the house. I didn’t think things were like that with me and him. Funny, we’ve done a lot of shit that married people never even do in their entire lifetime together, but we never call ourselves together and I don’t have a key to a house that I practically lived in. We’re fucking weirdos.
“Honey, I’m home,” I mutter sarcastically under my breath as I shut the door and lock it quickly.
Here goes nothing.
The warmth of the late afternoon sun gives way to cool damp air as I pull open the large white metal door with a small viewing window in the upper center, and a chill runs through me as I step up to another door which opens to a small desk. I hand my keys, cellphone, Lex’s clothes, and the envelope with his bond to a short, stocky security guard before I pass through the metal detector just inside the entrance. He takes a peek inside the envelope and hands it to me, along with my other belongings, on the other side of the security gadget, and asks for some form of identification. I reach into my back pocket and pluck out my driver’s license, and he takes a look at it before glancing up at me and back down at my ID again. I feel like I’m 21 and trying to get into a bar. I used to get carded all the fucking time; it annoyed the shit out of me. Bartenders told me I didn’t look a day over 18. Whatever.
“Inmate reception is gonna be on the second floor. Make sure you go to the window to your left. There’s elevators right over there.” He hands me back my ID and gestures emptily toward a small alcove just a few feet ahead with a narrow recessed elevator, doors shiny and metallic. I glance just to the left and see a short set of stairs leading up.
“Can I take those stairs?”
“Sure, but there’s an elevator…”
It’s one flight of fucking stairs, how lazy does he think I am?
“Thanks.”
I take the stairs. They’re an awkward pace, sticking out more forward than they are tall, and I find myself taking short rapid steps and my legs are tired and I’m rethinking the elevator as I reach the second floor finally. Chairs are lining the small hallway that leads to a large open room with two windows like bank teller stations. More chairs are set up in rows in square blocks around the room and it’s like a cross between a doctor’s waiting room and the DMV. The floors are laminate and the walls are white and it’s still damp and cold and there’s something disturbingly clinical about this place. I don’t like it. I shake my fear as I sidle up to the window…to the left? Yes, to the left.
“Hi, I’m here to pick up—”
“Can I see your ID please?” The lady behind the half-glass covering the top of the window has a double chin and jet black hair. Her accent is thick and northern, somewhere in New York, and she barks more than talks. I slide my license to her.
“Um, I’m here to pick up an inmate…I, uh, I brought these…” I set the clothes on the flat desktop of the window. Clean boxers, socks, two white T-shirts and a pair of faded jeans all folded neatly into a stack. “I know you have his other clothes, but I figured he’d want something clean…”
“Do you know which pod your husband is in, ma’am?” She sounds like she’s been smoking for 45 years. She eyes the clothes but doesn’t touch them. She doesn’t even look at me.
“Oh…oh, he’s not my…my husband.” Is that what bringing clean clothes implies? She’s clicking the computer mouse, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Brother?”
“Um…no.” For all I know she could be playing fucking Solitaire.
“What’s the last name?”
“Taylor.” She types something.
“Alex?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in A-261…what’s your name?”
“Leala. L-e-a-l-a…Kearsten. K-e-a-r-s-t-e-n.” She types as I speak.
“We’ll have someone call for him. You can have a seat.” She grabs the clothes suddenly and tears a marked strip of paper from what looks like a receipt printer and puts a rubber band around the stack, tucking the paper underneath before tossing it somewhere in the room. I scowl and try to look in but the desk impairs my view.
She finally looks at me with a questioning gaze, raising one overly-plucked eyebrow. I swallow hard. “Will you make sure he gets the clothes?” God, I am my mother sometimes.
“Yes, ma’am. Please have a seat.” She’s annoyed. I sigh, feeling foolish for a moment before looking over my shoulder to find a place to sit. I turn and tuck myself back into the corner of the room, making sure my back is to the wall. At least I can people-watch my way through this whole waiting thing.
I cross my feet at the ankles and fold my hands in my lap on top of my keys and the envelope. A row of chairs faces toward me and they are all occupied but for the one directly across from mine. I stare at it until suddenly someone is in it. My eyes fall on dark, naked thighs before my gaze snaps up to the woman’s face, lips rouged bright red and eyes lined with blue, flecks of glitter flickering around her lashes. Her eyes are hard and tired, as tired as I’m sure her feet are in those five-inch heels.
“You here to bail ya old man out?” she speaks and I realize I’m staring. I fidget nervously, eyes breaking away from hers and flitting back again, back to the heavy makeup and barely-there dress, the heels. I take it all in. “What’s his name?”
I realize she’s speaking again because I still haven’t said a word.
“Lex.” I clear my throat. She nods.
“Same story. Guys fuck up and look at us women, comin’ to save they asses.”
When she says this I look around the room and i
ts inhabitants are indeed female for the large majority. Women sitting close nod as they overhear her comment.
“I’m Cherry.”
I blink once and I know that’s not her real name, but she’s probably well-known by it regardless. I shake her hand anyway, her long neon-lacquered nails reaching around to touch the back of my hand. Rings filled with brightly colored jewels glitter on her skeletal fingers. I know her kind; I’ve probably even seen her around before. She’s probably here to bail her pimp out. Or her dealer. I take a curious moment looking into her eyes to imagine what my life would be like if I’d went as far as her. I release her hand abruptly. I want to vomit.
“Miss Kearsten?” I’m being summoned to the window on the right now by a dark-haired man. I fidget awkwardly to get up, scooting sideways between a few narrow rows of chairs before approaching the window.
“Mr. Taylor has just arrived and been placed into a holding cell in this facility. If you have his bond payment we can go ahead and post that and we’ll send someone back to release him as we process his paperwork.”
I just nod. I hand him the envelope and my chest tightens. He’s here. He’s in this building just a few walls away.
The man sifts through the envelope and enters things into the computer. A receipt prints out and I sign and who knew this would be so easy.
“If you’ll go through this door to the right and have a seat it’ll be just a few minutes.”
“Can I see him?” Just a few minutes.
“Just have a seat, ma’am. It won’t be too long.”
I nod and turn to the door. I hear it click unlocked and I pull back on the metal handle and glance back at Cherry before I slip inside. I take a few steps down a short hall and this room looks exactly like the last one, but it is about half the size. There’s a window to the left where a man is standing signing papers and a large black woman hands him a plastic bag full of miscellaneous items, which I’m assuming were seized from him upon his entry. He turns and steps into the room and a petite woman with mousy brown hair wraps her arm around his waist and they come toward me down the hall. I step to the side. She has tears in her eyes.
My gaze surveys the room before my feet lead me across to the far wall and I see that there are two long hallways stretching away from this waiting room of sorts, one leading straight back deep into the building and another leading off to my right. Rooms line those halls and doors open and shut all around, muffled shouts echoing and spilling in to the large room. I sit between a young pale-skinned girl with jet-black hair and an older Hispanic woman. The young girl’s hair is parted in the middle and her light brown roots are showing against her pale scalp, the hair dye obviously beginning to grow out. I wonder if she’s here to bail out her older deadbeat boyfriend, or even worse her father. My mind wanders to perverse places sometimes to escape my own situations. I sit and wait.
The longer I sit, the more I can’t believe I’m fucking here, waiting to bail his ass out of jail. What an idiot. He’s an idiot, and I’m an idiot. But I’m sitting here, aren’t I? Seriously, sometimes I wonder if I have a spine.
I hear the clink of metal and the sound of heavy steps echoing down the hall and I look up expectantly, but sigh when I see an officer bringing around a tall skinny Hispanic man, holding him at the elbow. The older woman to my right leaps up and starts mumbling things in Spanish and I look at the floor. The officer takes the shackles from the man’s ankles and wrists and the woman kisses all over his face
“¡Mamá! ¡Pararlo!” he grunts, pushing at her, and I smirk remembering nights in the diner kitchen learning enough basic Spanish to carry on conversations with the cooks, and enough insults to get my ass kicked in the streets.
When I see Lex come around the corner, I remember what a long time ago that was.
I gasp. His nose is swollen and both eyes are bruised underneath and he has cuts on his face and God, he looks exhausted. He’s still in his blue jumpsuit and he gives me a weary look and I start to get up but he looks at the floor again, his hands cuffed behind his back. The officer with him says something into his ear.
“Lex,” I call his name across the room and a few people look at me but I don’t care. He looks at me and then at the officer and shakes his head, and he’s escorted into another room and I hear the door snap shut. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
I count the seconds, the hours, the years he’s in that room before the door swings open and he steps out in the clothes I brought him, his expression more relieved. I gasp again. I really need to remember how to breathe. The officer claps him on the shoulder and they shake hands before parting ways, Lex stepping into the room and the officer disappearing down the hall.
He looks at me and throws his head in a beckoning gesture, and I stand instantly, as if I’m not even in control of my movements. He moves to the window and the woman with a round face asks his name and pod assignment. She clicks a few things on the computer and I cross the room to stand behind him, making sure not to stand too close because I’m tempted to throw my arms around him and squeeze the life out of him, or punch him in the back of the head. I’m sort of torn at the moment.
She hands him a large plastic bag through the window and he sorts through the contents, signing the slip of paper inside and she bids him goodbye and he nods. When he turns to me he looks frightened for a moment, as if he didn’t expect me there, but he shrugs it off, moving to a chair on the end of a row close to him, sitting down to slip his white Nikes back onto his feet. He stands and slides his phone and wallet into his pockets and I’m just staring at him.
I swallow hard as he stands over me, and when I reach up a hand to his face he shrinks back instinctively, spooked a little, and by the looks of his face I’m sure anyone who has raised a hand to him in the past two days has smacked him with it. I touch his cheek with my fingertips and run my thumb across his bottom lip, careful not to touch where it’s split and swollen. He swallows hard and I see his features relax.
“Come here.” I cup the back of his neck and pull his face down into my shoulder, wrapping my other arm around his back and he’s resistant at first, but he finally relaxes into me, hands coming up against my back to hug me against him. “You’re okay,” I whisper against his neck, burying my face there and I feel him breathe deep and let it out slow, arms circling me tighter. I say it again and he hugs me hard, so hard it’s a little uncomfortable and I grunt against his shoulder. My back pops and I don’t know if he notices, but he finally lets me go.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He breathes a sigh of relief and I smile, nodding.
We take the stairs because he’s too impatient for the elevator. I would be too. I’d be running out of this fucking place if I were him. People glance at him as we walk past and I know they’re wondering what in the hell happened to his face. I’m wondering myself, but I won’t dare ask. At least not now.
When we step outside through the last set of doors the sun is getting ready to set, and he just stops in front of the building, looking around sort of confused.
“Damn, I was sure it was earlier in the day than this.” He reaches up and scratches the back of his head and lets his hand fall to his side again. I look down at it, brush it gently with the back of mine, seeing if he’ll take it in his but he doesn’t seem to notice. When I look up at him I see it’s because he’s taking a deep breath and letting it out slow, eyes almost closing, and it’s funny how I take things like breathing the outside air for granted. I take a deep breath myself. Sometimes you have to be reminded of things like this, and part of me starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s ready to change now.
We walk to his truck in silence and for just a moment in my head we’re in Santa Monica, and he’s pouting and dragging his feet and I can see my breath in the cold and he wants to kiss me…which is fucking stupid because I just bailed him out of jail and I’m taking him home with his tail between his legs. And I doubt he wants to kiss me right n
ow. I can’t believe that was only a few days ago…
“I need you to do me a favor,” he finally says as we reach the truck and he stops and turns to me but doesn’t look at me.
“What?” I put my hands in my pockets because the sun is disappearing more and more and it’s getting cool out. He mimics me.
“Can I…I need to stay at your place. Just until my hearing, you know, to like…stay out of trouble and shit.” He’s looking at the ground and he kicks the gravel a little and something is weird and it makes my insides clench. Lex and I haven’t lived in the same space since….God, it’s been so long. Maybe too long. I don’t know if this is the best idea, for me or for him. “Is that cool? I won’t make a mess or anything. I’ll sleep on the couch and I—“
“Lex,” I cut him off because he’s rambling, and because he isn’t even…
“What?” He looks off over my shoulder.
“Look at me,” I say, and I realize he hasn’t looked me in the eyes since he glanced at me briefly in the waiting room a while ago, still in his blue jumpsuit, holding my gaze for only a moment before he looked at the floor.
“What?” He blinks once and his eyes finally focus on mine and something strange is there. Something isn’t right.
“You don’t look at me when you talk,” I tell him softly, and he shrugs.
“Oh…sorry. Habit I guess.” He swallows hard and sighs, running a hand over his face. “Fuck, now I don’t even remember what I was saying. I just need to crash at your place. Just until Monday.” That thing in his eyes eases a little, and I shrug it off.
No, my brain says. No. No. No. You’ve done enough.
But part of me just can’t say no to him. Maybe if I do this, he’ll see. Maybe if I help him, if I keep him away from all those things, it’ll get better. That’s what he wants, right? To stay with me and keep himself away from everything else. If he wants to hide out, I’ll be damned if I’m not there for him to turn to. He was there for me when shit got bad. He always has been. I want to tell him no, I need to tell him no, but I just can’t. This could be good for him…for us.