Reckless

by Devon Hartford

  “It’s okay, agápi mou. We’ll figure it out.”

  “I need to look for a job. Right now.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear.

  It was the saddest thing I’d ever seen, like her whole world was gone. My heart was breaking as her fear escalated. I don’t think I’d seen this much fear on her face even on the day we’d met, the day I’d punched out that fat dude screaming at her.

  Right now, she looked scared to death.

  Samantha pulled free from my arms, like I wasn’t able to protect her or comfort her. She rushed over to her book bag and yanked on her laptop. The computer was caught inside the bag. She panicked and pulled harder, but what she needed to do was relax. The laptop didn’t budge. “I can’t get it out!”

  I kneeled down and put a hand on hers. “Relax, agápi mou.”

  She looked at me, a mixture of hope and doubt in her eyes.

  “You know that saying ‘easy does it’? It applies in situations like this most of all.”

  “Huh?”

  “Stop pulling so hard.”

  She relaxed her grip on the computer.

  I peeled back the corner of the book bag gently. “Now try it.”

  She slid the laptop free. Her hands shook. She sat down on the couch, flipped the computer open, and fired it up. “I have to look for a job. Right now. I’ve only got enough money to last till the end of the month. Then I’m out.” Her hands clenched into fists over and over. You’d think she’d just been told her world was ending.

  Maybe she had.

  My guts twisted as I watched the growing horror on her face. She was freaking out. I couldn’t deal with it. “Samantha, you don’t need to worry about this. I’ve got money. How much do you need?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t take your money, Christos.”

  “Why not?”

  “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “You took your parents money, why can’t you take mine?”

  She paused, eyes darting around the room uncertainly. “That’s different. They’re my parents.”

  “And I’m your boyfriend. I’ve got more than enough money to help you out.”

  “No, Christos, I just couldn’t.”

  “Samantha, please try to understand my side of things. I’m sitting here watching you freak out because your parents suddenly fucked you over. You’re feeling betrayed. Right?”

  “I don’t know what the word is for what I’m feeling right now, Christos. But it’s terrible. It’s like they’re trying to control me. They’re not listening to me, to what I want. They never ask, they just issue orders.”

  I had to clamp down because I really wanted to go off on her parents right now. I wanted to snag her phone, dial her parents, and tell them they were fucked up bungholes. But I didn’t think that would help the situation any.

  “Samantha, I’m listening to you. I can bail you out of this situation.” I winced when I said the word bail. That was my problem, not hers. Samantha’s seemed manageable. All she needed was some extra cash. That, I had.

  What I didn’t have was a bottle with a genie waiting to grant me three wishes, one of which would be to make my trial go away. Not gonna happen. But I could fix Samantha’s money situation. I could be her genie, even if I didn’t have one of my own. I smiled at her. “Samantha, my money is your money. Just say the word, and poof! Your problems are solved.”

  “Oh, Christos. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. But I feel like I need to do this myself. Otherwise, I’ll feel beholden to you. I can’t take your money.”

  “What do you mean, beholden?”

  “I don’t know. I just have to do this myself.” Her eyes glazed over.

  She wasn’t getting it. You could lead a horse to water, but you couldn’t make it drink. And you weren’t supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, either. Sam was doing both. I couldn’t blame her. She had too many horses and too many problems all at once.

  All because Samantha wasn’t thinking rationally. Her fear was driving all her thoughts like wild horses. See? Too many fucking horses.

  I shook my head and sighed while she searched online job websites.

  “My parents didn’t say they’d stop helping with tuition,” she said to herself. “Just rent. I can figure that out. There’s jobs. I’ll go to career services tomorrow and see what I can find. I’m sure I can figure this out.”

  Yeah, she wasn’t talking to me. She was just thinking out loud.

  I tried to catch her gaze, but her eyes were wild, like those god damn horses again. She didn’t even realize I was in the room with her, willing and able to help her through this.

  She was oblivious to my presence.

  There was nothing more I could do but give her time, enough space, and be there if she fell.

  I heaved another sigh.

  It hurt that she didn’t want my help, like I was somehow a bad person waiting to take advantage of her. But I couldn’t force my help on her, no matter how easily I could solve her money problems.

  Man, that sucked.

  “Samantha, if it gets to be too much,” I reassured, “let me know. I’m here for you, agápi mou. No matter what.”

  I don’t think she’d heard me.

  I needed a drink.

  Chapter 12

  SAMANTHA

  Needless to say, I slept like crap that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about finding a job. Christos had left after an hour. I only had the one computer, so there wasn’t much he could do in the way of helping me job hunt.

  I had searched around the internet for hours, trying to find something, but had no luck. I would look on campus for a work-study job today between classes, but feared there’d be none left this late in the academic year. If that happened, I’d try looking in my neighborhood for a restaurant job, a coffee shop, anything.

  I did my best not to think about it.

  My only class that morning was Oil Painting with Romeo and Kamiko. I had to buy supplies at the campus bookstore before class. I picked out the paints, brushes, palette, canvases, and other supplies and took them to the register.

  The total was $147.38.

  My money was going to be gone in two weeks at this rate.

  I walked toward the Visual Arts building with my bag of supplies. When I’d walked this route to Life Drawing for the first time three months ago, I’d been full of hope. Now I was full of dread. I had to find a job. That was all I could think about. My lack of money.

  How was I going to concentrate on painting? Or my other classes?

  “There goes Poor House,” Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse giggled.

  Great. That was all I needed.

  Two hobots stood next to her on the pathway. All three of them held cups of designer coffee from Toasted Roast. I’d already cut daily coffee from my budget.

  I ignored her and kept walking.

  “She lowers thrift-store chic to a whole new low, don’t you guys think?” Tiffany asked her minions.

  “Totally,” they chorused.

  “She makes bargain-basement look bad,” one said.

  I had a moment to think about how Tiffany’s yacht probably cost more than four years of college tuition for fifty kids. Whatever. Envying her wealth wouldn’t help me find a job. I didn’t have time for her childish insults anymore.

  “Grow up, Tiffany,” I said, never looking back.

  I made it to the painting studio shortly after.

  People were already setting up at the easels. I found a space next to Romeo and Kamiko.

  “Hey guys,” I said. I was so happy to see them. “What are we going to paint this quarter to top all the nude models in Life Drawing last term? A live sex show?” I joked, trying to force myself into a better mood.

  “I wish,” Romeo said. He gestured toward the center of the room. A waist-high pedestal had a square of black cloth draped diagonally over it. A wooden bowl of fruit sat on top.

  “A still life,” Kamiko said. “Fruit is way easier than people.”
<
br />   “But not nearly as interesting,” I said.

  “Wait and see. Dealing with mixing paint and working with brushes will offer a bunch of new challenges. You’ll be glad you’re just painting apples and grapes.”

  “I agree with Sam,” Romeo said thoughtfully. “I preferred painting people. Especially fully-nude Christos. But there is a huge banana in the fruit bowl. It’s about the right size, wouldn’t you say, Sam?”

  My cheeks glowed red. “Romeo!”

  “Relax, Sam,” Romeo said dismissively. “We’ve all seen what’s in Christos’ fruit basket more than once. But we have no expertise in the fully erect department. For that, I turn to you for corroborative evidence. Can you describe his manana to us?” He arched an eyebrow while pretending to hold a microphone in front of me like he was a news reporter.

  Kamiko gawked at both of us.

  “No!” I blurted.

  “No, you won’t describe it,” Romeo said, “or no, you haven’t peeled it?”

  “Uhhhh…” Why did I feel guilty all of a sudden?

  Kamiko snorted laughter. “Romeo, even I know you don’t peel them.”

  “If they have a foreskin, you do,” Romeo said plainly.

  “It’s not the same kind of peeling,” Kamiko corrected. “It’s more like pulling down the wrapper on a freezer pop.

  I grimaced. “This conversation has officially become uber disgusting.”

  Romeo frowned. “Wait a second, Kamiko, how do you know so much about mansicle wrappers?”

  “I am pre-med, in case you forgot. I know what a foreskin is.”

  “Yes, but you seem to have intimate knowledge of their function. First-hand experience, perhaps? Are you hiding a boyfriend, Kamiko? I mean, other than Finn the Human? Like, a real live boy, boyfriend?”

  “No, Romeo,” Kamiko insisted.

  “Whoa!” Romeo chided. “Down, girl! Strident denial is a sure sign you’re hiding something!”

  “Do you think she’s secretly dating Brandsome?” I suggested coyly, happy to have the heat off of me.

  Kamiko’s cheeks flushed red. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about!”

  “Hmmm,” Romeo considered shrewdly. “This bears further investigation. I do believe the plot has thickened. Unless that’s just me thinking about Christos’ manana again.” He shifted his belt around and wiggled his pants while jiggling his hips. “Yes, my plot has definitely thickened.”

  “Oh, gross,” Kamiko grimaced.

  “Anyway,” Romeo dismissed her, “back on topic. Sam, is Christos’ peeled manana curved or straight? I need to know.” He held the imaginary microphone up to my face again.

  “Romeo!” I pleaded, pushing his hand away.

  “I hear the curved ones hit a lady’s G-spot the best. Although, I think when it comes to my B-spot, straight is my preference.”

  “What’s a B-spot?” Kamiko asked, confused.

  “It’s in your bu—”

  “Okay, class,” the professor said, clapping loudly several times right behind Romeo’s head, “enough chatter. We have a lot to cover today. Shall we begin?” The professor was a middle-aged guy with unruly hair and a permanent frown which reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Ludwig van Beethoven.

  Romeo’s lips curled into a sneer and he frowned at the professor’s back.

  Me and Kamiko both choked down our respective giggle fits.

  The professor wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and jeans. Despite his casual appearance, he seemed a bit too serious for my taste. “My name is Professor Cogdill,” he said. “I will be your Oil Painting professor this term. Today we’ll be painting a simple still life. I’ll do a brief demonstration before you begin your paintings. I will show you how to prepare your palette. I will show you how to block in the basic composition. I will show you how to contrast warm colors against cool. I will show you how to…”

  I glanced over at Romeo, who was frowning at the professor like they were lifelong enemies.

  “Professor Cogdildo needs someone to peel his manana immediately,” Romeo whispered while rolling his eyes. “Maybe then he wouldn’t be such a stick in the butt. Because I’m telling you, he’s so not my type. I’m going to be stuck squeezing my butt cheeks together all term long.”

  I stifled another giggle while the professor droned on.

  Despite the professor’s stiff demeanor, no pun intended, he was extremely knowledgable and logical in the way he explained everything. I was amazed that he was able to paint an awesome picture of the fruit bowl in about twenty minutes. I’d never seen someone paint so fast before. It was amazing to watch him work. Afterward, while he rinsed his brush in a can of Turpenoid, he said, “All right, everyone, please take your places and go to work.”

  At my easel, I squeezed out paint like the professor had shown. He had used some burnt sienna paint to lay in sketchy lines on his canvas. I did the same, blocking in the basic shapes with a medium-sized brush.

  “Remember, class,” the professor intoned, “your block-in can be loose. You will correct things as you go.”

  I glanced over at Romeo, who was already laying in the shapes with his brush. He was focused on getting the shape of the banana just right, by Romeo standards.

  “Um, Romeo?” I whispered. “Why does your banana look like it’s going to have a mushroom tip?”

  “I’m just painting what I see, Sam,” he said, somewhat offended.

  Kamiko leaned over to look at Romeo’s painting. She grimaced, then looked at the fruit bowl. “I don’t see a mushroom tip on that banana, Romeo,” she jabbed.

  “I see dicks everywhere I look, darling,” Romeo said dismissively.

  “You are such a Peen Queen, Romeo,” Kamiko smirked.

  “I admit it,” Romeo said, hand held dramatically over his heart. “I am cock royalty. Although I like to think of myself more as the Princess of Penis.”

  “Am I the only one throwing up in my mouth right now?” I grimaced.

  Kamiko puffed out her cheeks and her eyes went wide. She held two fingers to her lips while she made fake gagging noises.

  I was giggling as I returned my focus to mixing colors on my palette.

  Between Romeo’s antics and the painting itself, I had a blast. By the end of class, I also had a pretty good oil painting of the fruit bowl, banana included, but no mushroom tip.

  “Wow, Sam,” Kamiko said. “You did a great job with your lights and darks. Your lighting and shading is so realistic.”

  I couldn’t believe it either. “Thanks, Kamiko!” I looked at Kamiko and Romeo’s work, and theirs were really good too. “Yours looks great, Kamiko.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled. “I was worried working with the oil paint would screw me up.”

  “Yours is awesome, Kamiko. Even Romeo’s looks great, now that his banana doesn’t look like a manana anymore. I think we all owe Professor Cogdill some thanks.”

  “Because his last name is so phallic?” Romeo asked.

  I had to laugh at that.

  Maybe my life wasn’t about to blow up in my face. Maybe things were looking up.

  CHRISTOS

  When Russell Merriweather had called personally that morning to tell me to meet him at his law offices downtown, I knew it was not going to be good news.

  I parked my Camaro in the downstairs garage and took the elevator up to the twentieth floor of the building. Russell had spared no expense when he’d leased the place.

  “Hey, Rhonda. I’m here to see Russell,” I said to the receptionist. I’d met Rhonda the first time I’d come in six years back. I’d always been impressed with her professional attitude. Russell only hired the best. She was also hot, but she was all business and great at her job.

  “Mr. Merriweather is expecting you, Christos. He will be with you in a minute. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?”

  “I’m good, thanks, Rhonda.” I strolled over to the picture window and gazed out at the stunning view of San Diego bay. An
aircraft carrier was parked at the naval base, covered with F-18s. What I wouldn’t do to hop in one of those jets and Mach 2 the fuck out of here.

  “There he is!” Russell beamed, smiling wide, striding into the waiting room a short time later. Even when he wasn’t in court, Russell wore immaculate, tailored suits that enhanced his already towering silhouette, making him basketball-tall. His exuberant personality added another three inches at least. “Christos Manos, in the flesh!”

  I hadn’t seen him face-to-face in a couple months.

  We clasped fists and slapped a man hug on each other.

  “Did Rhonda offer you a beverage?” he asked.

  I winked at Rhonda. “Twice.”

  She returned a curt smile.

  “Hold my calls, Rhonda. I’ve got Christos Manos up in here.” Russell chuckled heartily. “Come on, son, let’s talk in my office.”

  The offices of six other attorneys and several paralegals opened off the long hallway that led to Russell’s office. He had done quite well for himself.

  “Have a seat,” he said while motioning to a leather chair in front of his desk. The corner view in his office was more impressive than the one in the lobby. You could see up and down the coast of San Diego. The Pacific Ocean seemed to go on forever.

  “Did you come here on that crotch-rocket of yours?” he asked, raising his eyebrows parentally.

  “Nope. Garaged it, like you said. My Camaro’s downstairs.”

  Russell nodded approvingly. “Good boy. There may be hope for you yet.” He smiled reluctantly, but I could tell it was genuine. He patted my shoulder firmly several times. “Very good.”

  He closed his office door and lowered himself into the executive chair behind his desk. His jovial demeanor dimmed about a hundred watts as he laced his fingers together on the blotter in front of him.

  “I’m not going to sugar-coat it, son. My private detectives have failed to turn up a single clue that can be of use. We can keep throwing money at them, but I highly doubt they’ll turn anything up at this point.”

  I’d been doing my best not to think about any of this for the last several months. I trusted Russell, and knew he hired only the best. I’d seen the invoices. “Where does that put us?”