Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) (13 page)

The Band-Aid in my sneaker pokes out. Figures I
would lose my blister barrier on the day I need to be able to walk. I press the
unsticky Band-Aid back in place as two pre-teen girls sashay into the park,
swaying their childish hips like flags in a gale. Their blush was applied like racing
stripes on their cheeks, and silver earrings dangle near, accentuating the
metal in their mouths. They look ridiculous in makeup, with their lips puffed
out by braces. The girls scan the park…either looking or waiting.

One of the guys from the truck whistles. They
giggle and I feel sorry for them. Their minds have not budded in time with
their breasts and they think they know what they are doing—that they can handle
matches in the dry brush.

The girls continue over to a cement picnic table
near the El Camino. One sits on top and leans back in a suntan pose. The other
stands over her and casts a shadow. The girls’ laughter works like chum,
drawing attention from the sharks with thirty-year-old eyes. Without comment or
gesture, the reclining El Camino guy sits up. He scratches stubble on a face
that has seen another generation. They start to banter, but I can’t hear the
exact words because Hayden drives by again. I pull my sweatshirt hood over my
head and scrunch into the bench. His truck leaves the subdivision.

I had better not wait here all day. Thom is not
the one to call. Likely, Lorna would answer and refuse to get him for me. The
men start to approach the girls. Even though there is a risk that Hayden will
drive back through and see me, I cinch both straps of my backpack and hoist
Leah’s luggage. The men seem startled at my direct approach.

“Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?” I ask the
girls.

“Uhh…”

“It’s a local call, you can dial.”

“Sure.” The leader’s lipstick is a hideous rust-red.
They must have pilfered their grandma’s collection.

She flips open her phone and opens doe-like, hazel
eyes to me. The distracting, electric-blue eyeliner hides her beauty.

“So what grade are you girls in?”

 “Almost eighth.” The darker one, who hasn’t
spoken yet, answers. At the same time, the one with the phone blurts, “Tenth.”
The girls glare at each other.

Almost? It’s May. “So you’re in seventh this
year?” I make a point of meeting the eyes of the men. They casually look around
like they weren’t approaching the girls. At least now they won’t be able to say
they didn’t know.

I give them Cori’s number. She doesn’t answer, so
I set down the paisley bag and ask to try another. The girl nods. It seems the
men have lost determination and they meander back toward their car.

The number to the TorchLight is easy to remember.
The hard part is believing someone will be there mid-morning on a Sunday.

A man’s voice. “TorchLight Gentleman’s Club.”

“Uh, um, Brody?”

“Speaking.”

“It’s Baby.”

“Well, hello there. Calling to check your
schedule?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He rustles a few papers while I wait and then Brody
tells me the days I work. “What are you doing for your day off?”

“Actually, I’m stranded. I could use a ride.” I
have to just come out and ask, because the girls are looking a little antsy to
get their phone back.

“Where are you?”

I confer back and forth a few times to get
location and crossroads from the girls.

“You have your birth certificate and social
security card with you?”

“The certificate.”

 “I’ll be right there.” He’ll come. Just because I
need a ride.

It isn’t long before Brody’s red Dodge Ram pulls
into the parking lot. He doesn’t get out of the truck, just waits for me to
figure out how the extended cab door works and stick my suitcase inside. I place
my backpack between my feet on the floor of the cab, with my fingers looped
through a strap.

“You have a nice truck.” I leave out how
ostentatious it feels. Seriously, what is he trying to prove?

“So where do you need to go?”

“I got kicked out of my house.”

“Bummer, girl.” I appreciate the softness in his
eyes.

“I need to find an apartment.” And with it,
freedom, independence.

“What part of town?” He answers as though it’s a
common occurrence to pick up a homeless dancer from a random suburb park.

“Something close to work?” I hate how often I mean
for something to come out as a statement, but I accidentally ask a question.

“I’ve got an idea.” He pulls out a manila envelope
that feels like it has cardboard in it and hands it to me. “Want to see your
pictures?”

“I only took them yesterday.”

“Digital media is fast. Rodrigo printed them on
his computer and dropped them off this morning.”

A CD slides out first when I try to dump the
contents. I drop it back in and lift several stiff sheets of photo paper. Every
sensation, from the vanilla coffee smell to the hot lights, pulls me like a
kite. If not for these pictures, I would have nowhere to sleep tonight; because
of them, I have a thousand dollar check. They are ‘fab-u-lous.’ I slide them
back in the envelope, wishing I could slide under an envelope as easily.

“I’m taking the disk to our designer today. Care
if we stop on the way?”

“Sure. Whatever.” It isn’t like I have an option.
In all my haste to not be at someone else’s mercy, I’ve done just that.

“Whatever?” He pats my knee and laughs.

I must be making a face because he clarifies.
“Just kidding, Baby.”

So it’s the fun Brody I’m with today, the Brody
who took me to a benefit for kids. Not the Business Brody, the one who “takes
care of his girls” and watches Clint out of the corner of his eye.

“What does Clint do at the TorchLight?” I turn and
watch Brody’s face to see if there is any change to indicate he is upset that I
asked this. There isn’t anything.

“Who’s Clint?”

“I thought he was an employee, a partner or
something.”

“Did he tell you that?” His chuckle is
patronizing. “Baby, don’t believe a guy just because he tells you he’s a movie
producer or a talent scout.”

I don’t like being the butt of his joke, but I
don’t want to mention the first night I met Clint, because when I think of it,
I suddenly regret asking Brody to help me. If Clint hadn’t opened the door at
the bottom of the stairs, I’d have been trapped. Who cares what their
relationship is?

“Cori and I went out the other night, clubbing.” I
wait, wondering if clubbing is the right word or just something Cori made up.
“And we hooked up.”

Now Brody’s face shows emotion. Under arched
brows, he’s exchanged his puppy dog eyes for the junkyard dog variety. “You did
hook up?”

“Yeah, he showed up at the same bar as us.”

“So you went home with him or what?”

“No.” Is that what Clint told him?

“You do know that’s what ‘hooked up’ means?”

I just sit in silence, trying to replay our
conversation. “Well, we didn’t hook up that way.” Duh, I have heard that
expression before—in high school. I just used a book as blinders most of the
time, instead of caring about who was hooking up.

Brody laughs and enjoys it a little too much.

“So you and Clint haven’t…” I know he uses a cuss
word to describe the action, but all I hear is Hayden’s voice, “private,
between two people.” And that other word he used: “holy.”

“Did you?”

“Um.” Private. “Clint and me?” Between two people.
“No.” Holy.

I’m a little disoriented, but I force myself to
look up and make eye contact. It isn’t exactly relief on his face, maybe
satisfaction.

“I really appreciate the ride.” And I do. Who else
would have come just because I needed a ride? I ignore the name shouted in my
head. I can’t be responsible for Hayden losing everything. I cannot share this
curse with him.

“Not a problem, Baby.” Brody turns on the radio
and the song “Rude Boy” plays on the radio. “Do you like Rihanna?” I give him a
non-committal shrug. He turns the dial and I’m sure the car next to us can hear
the lyrics as well as me. Brody bobs his head with an arrogant grin, like the
singer’s invitation is for him. His hand drops onto the headrest behind my
neck. At the stoplight, I can tell he is fingering my hair. I pretend not to
notice.

Maybe he didn’t come just because I needed a ride.

Brody tailgates every vehicle, cuts corners and
runs through yellow lights until we pull into a strip mall, and he parks in
front of a New York style deli. My mouth waters at the enlarged pictures of
fresh bread and sandwich fixings.

“Want to come into Lucky Signs with me?” Brody
points to the store to our left.

Anything would be better than sitting here staring
at that food, afraid to spare a couple of dollars on it. I slide down from the
seat and close the door. Brody walks away and holds his keyless entry over his
shoulder; the truck beeps and he doesn’t even glance back.

I take a few quick steps to catch up and arrive at
the door first. Brody steps back to let me stay in front of him. At one time, I
might have thought that was nice—before I had every door held for me. I pull on
the heavy door and have to shuffle my steps around Brody to get it open. He
walks in first.

“You’ll be something of a celebrity in here.”

If I had known that, I might have waited in the
car.

“Travis, right?” Brody has on his business face.

The guy behind the counter furiously clicks a
mouse and stares at the computer monitor. He looks up. “Mr. Penn.” Travis wears
a hooded sweatshirt with slashing letters I can’t read and a picture of a
skateboard across the chest. His jeans look like tights. He doesn’t make eye
contact with me; he only looks at Brody, so I look away and browse the racks of
clothing.

I don’t even know what part of town I’m in. I’m
still flitting around, carried by those who have a car, a phone, or a watch.
Letting others direct me. I have to focus on the distinguishing characteristics
of people and my surroundings.

I turn back and cross my arms. That feels
insecure, like I’m hiding my chest—so I put my hands on my hips and stand up
straight.

Travis is probably twenty-five years old. He has
curly, white-blond hair tucked under a sky blue, backwards baseball cap. A
faint scar meanders along his right eyebrow. His patchy, stubbly face makes me
question if he can even grow a beard. He has an athletic build and chews his
fingernails. If he stands, I’ll try to guess his weight and height compared to
Brody’s.

“So you’re the model.”

It catches me off guard, but I quickly smile a
stage smile. “That’s me.” Brody looks pleased.

“Let me get my brother.” Travis slides off the bar
stool, and I guess his height to be just over Brody’s six feet. “John, get out
here.”

I laugh that Travis didn’t go get his brother,
just hollered for him. Two other men come in the room, one that shares an
obvious resemblance to tall, skinny Travis and another older man who is so very
short he looks up at me.

“The TorchLight billboard.” Travis explains. “She’s
the model.” They all “ooo” and “ahh” and say how excited they are to have our
business.

Travis holds up the disk like he paid the thousand
dollars it’s worth. “I’m going to have a lot of fun on this project.” All the
guys laugh and joke about how they would love to have me on their computers.

Brody hands each one of them a business card. “If
you can get this up in the time frame we discussed, come on in and I’ll hook
you up.” He grins at me during the words “hook you up,” like I should enjoy the
private joke. “You can have her on more than your computer.”

Heat crawls up my shoulders with eight legs as
Brody heads for the door. I follow. The only thing worse than having those men
joke about my picture on their computers, not even caring to be introduced, is
that I’m pretty sure Brody just promised them all private dances.

The apartment complex where Brody takes me is
nicer than what I would have chosen. It isn’t gated, like Cori’s, but it does
seem to have a pool and plenty of chic, desert-style landscaping. The entire
complex has a beige stucco façade and rose tiles.

“I don’t know if I can afford this.” I hoist my
backpack and drag Leah’s—my suitcase.

“Sure you can afford this. And if you want to get
a car too, just pick up a couple extra shifts.”

“How far is it from the TorchLight?”

Brody points north. “Maybe a mile.” He lets me
hold the door for him again, even though I carry both of my bags.

A woman sits at a light oak desk. Her stomach
presses over the tray reaching the keyboard where she types. Blonde streaks
start about two inches from her brownish roots.

Even though I’m as tired as she looks, my heart
races. How will I be able to get an apartment? Nothing this good happens to me.
Who are we kidding? Brody does most of the talking. I hear words like security
deposit, co-signer, six-month minimum, prorated, and references. It doesn’t
matter, it won’t happen.

She takes a photocopy of Brody’s license and grabs
a loop of keys. “First, I’ll show you the one bedroom. Then I’ll show you the
studio.”

I start to follow. “Honey, you can leave those
bags in the office here.”

“Uh,” I look to Brody.

“She never goes anywhere without her backpack.” He
scrunches up his nose like he’s trying not to laugh. If I didn’t know him, it
would look flirtatious.

“Well, you don’t have to drag that suitcase
around. You can set it over there.” She points to the area behind her desk.
There’s a palm-like tree with skinny, twisty arms in a large pot.

“Thanks.”

She holds the door for both of us and then leads
us down a walkway edged with pink rocks to a door with a gold 3A on it.

When she opens the door, a chemical aroma greets
us. She points out the kitchen area as though I couldn’t see the fridge and
sink. I smile at her, but I don’t listen. I know I could never have something
like this. She points to the bathroom, but I step around her into the bedroom
and glance out the window. Someone walks by the window with a small poodle on a
leash.

“How does it look?” It’s just the overweight
office manager and me in the freshly painted, white-walled bedroom.

“I actually would prefer something upstairs.” I
glance out the window again. I never felt this exposed in the trailer. The
thought of sleeping alone in here makes me feel cold, naked. “And actually, I
would rather see the studio.” I like the thought of seeing every corner of my
apartment at once, instead of wondering if someone is waiting behind a door.

She smiles but I don’t believe it. “No problem.”

When we walk into the studio, I see my new home.
At least I want it to be. My hands shake a little and I grasp my backpack
straps. This is perfect. The carpet looks a little worn, but it’s the same dark
brown as Thom and Lorna’s. There is only one door, which is ajar. From my
vantage at the entry, I can see every corner. Linoleum separates the
kitchenette area, and there is room for a little two-person table by the
east-facing window.

“I could sit in the morning sun.”

The lady’s smile is genuine. “And the good thing
about an east window is you won’t get the hot afternoon sun.”

Brody waits by the front door. He is so good to
help me with this. “Will this work for ya?” He crosses his arms and stands feet
planted apart like a guard.

Brody. My feelings for him swing like a child at
the playground. One minute I’m high, only the sky above me—the next I’m falling
back, with my heart in my throat. But really, I should thank him. He gave me a
job, twice in fact. He’s helping me find a place to live. I should stop relying
on sensations and look at what he has actually done for me. My freedom may have
come through him, but it’s coming. I nod, giving him an expression that shows
how badly I want it.

“Let’s sign papers.” He steps outside.

When I reenter the studio, it’s my apartment. Thankfully,
Brody had to get back to work. After I lock the door, I inspect the bathroom to
make sure I’m completely alone. Brody took back the check he’d given me yesterday,
as well as six-hundred of my cash. Then he wrote a new check to the Manzanita Heights
apartment complex. I owe him about a week’s wages which includes the
thirty-five dollar credit check fee, but I have a key in my hand. A-key-in-my-hand,
sparkling bright silver against my skin.

Like Kino’s pearl.

I set down my bags and sit cross-legged in the
center of my new world. I’ll put a bookshelf there, a table in the kitchenette,
a bed there, a dresser maybe…

I know I only have thirty-three dollars left, and I’ll
need a blanket more than food, dishes or furniture. But those are concerns for
later. Right now, I celebrate. My flute joins me in the middle of my home and
we sing together.