“What about the novel I wrote or my non-profit idea?”
“Sweetheart, everyone has written a book these days. You have to be a celebrity or a known product to make money writing.”
“Laura, my novel is suspense fiction in the criminal genre from an un-tapped perspective from the inside of the justice system looking out. I toggle the angle from multiple perspectives movie style in a modern pulp thriller with philosophic tomes.”
CHAPTER—8
The next morning at breakfast I sat across from Annette and counted the days since we met again at the shelter. 33 days. I felt someone behind me staring and assumed it was Max. I looked and it was. He was done eating his pancakes and was probably thinking about how to instruct me on how to live. I knew he meant well but why couldn’t he just mind his own business and stay in his own hula hoop? He was 10 years older than me and it didn’t look like he’d done 15 years of California prison time, but since he had, he felt qualified to tell me how to live. He’d told me, “You shouldn’t get involved in a relationship for a year after being released from prison. Consider that you both are fighting the disease of addiction. You will both fail. I guarantee it. If you are stronger than she you will carry her until your strength weakens and you are both on your knees. Imagine your strength like a well full of water. Eventually if it’s all of your water you will both run out.”
Max had been parroting self-help group theories and I’d told him, “My water comes from God so I never run out.”
Max had retorted with another self-help group theory, “Two sickies don’t make a well.” At that point I used one of his self-help group theories on him. “Max, have you heard about the person walking down the street who fell in the ten foot hole-like-ditch. He couldn’t get out, it was too steep and he was hopelessly stuck. Someone walked by and the guy trapped in the hole yelled for help but the guy walking looked down at him and shook his head in pity with judgment and kept walking. Hours later, another guy walked by and the same thing happened. The guy in the hole grew more distraught as the sun went down. By morning as the sun broke through the sky he was panicking with terror. Right then a man walked by with a stethoscope around his neck. The guy in the hole yelled out, ‘Doctor can you help me?’ The doctor looked in and shook his head no and said, ‘I can’t help your type. I’m trained in medicine.’ The guy in the hole started crying again. A few minutes later a man walked by and looked in the hole and jumped in. The crying man asked, ‘Why did you jump in? Now we are both stuck!’ The man replied, ‘I jumped in because I have been in this hole many times. I know the way out.’
I stared at Max remembering this earlier conversation and a thought of inspiration hit me. I should approach a church where God’s water runs everlasting. As this revelation washed over me I remembered being in prison near the end of my sentence where my subconscious and spiritual conscious met and I knew in my soul I needed to dig roots with a church foundation. It was something I’d felt stirring inside me before, but had only taken action and gone to church to establish a family one other time, a time that had turned into my first legal business, and I had prospered.
Annette and I left the shelter at 8 A.M, the mandatory time to leave the nest and find a job. We walked on the Coast Highway hand in hand and stopped in every shop to inquire. The first stop was an art gallery. A sophisticated sensuous brunette stood in black strappy Milano Blanick stiletto heels with crème thigh highs extending up a frame that looked almost as flexible as Annette’s. She kicked a leg out and shook Annette’s extended hand and said, “I’m Sabrina. Can I guide you to anything in particular?”
I couldn’t stop my impulsive mind. “You can guide me exactly where to buy your entire wardrobe for my future wife, hire her to work here and help me pump my novel-movie script until I have the keys to Hollywood.”
Sabrina laughed and blushed and I tore my eyes from her outfit right as Annette caught me. I told her the truth. “I was staring but I’m only thinking of what we’ve been doing and where I want to take us.”
Annette pinched my ass out of view and said, “My boyfriend is a creative genius who is going to take Hollywood by storm. The material in his gorgeous head is raw reality and even though he writes suspense fiction with a philosophic spiritual twist, its indicative of this areas drug and prison culture to the point its like he’s explaining the flaws in our criminal justice system, the politics that created it and the answer to it all. He’s calling the shot from south Orange County and the whole world will feel it.”
I kissed Annette and flicked my tongue against her lips for a second and looked into her eyes and said, “Will you marry me after putting what you just said in a press release?”
Annette’s eyes got bigger and sparkled like diamonds until her whole face was shining. “Yes I will marry you!”
Sabrina wiggled her hips and kicked her leg out the other way and I understood she was always the center of attention, until now. Annette stood at the same height with an even more delicious frame in beachy sandals on heels just as steep in a slinky dress that rode up the tightest thighs ever seen heading to a tantalizing-shaped gap that pretty much owned most of my brain. Salacious.
Sabrina interrupted. “I love the way you both talk. I want to read your book and Annette I want you to give me your phone number. As for employment, the truth is, Laguna Beach shuts down with the end of summer. People are losing jobs left and right. The restaurants, galleries and every other shop tightens up to the bare minimum to get lean enough to survive the high cost of this real estate and all of the California fuck you fees to keep the lights on. I can promise you that the only places hiring are the 5 star resorts. The Montague is the most decadent.”
The Montague Resort was a mile south on P.C.H. and I held Annette’s hand and timed my stride until it mirrored hers. We stopped in every clothing store, boutique and art gallery and learned more of the same about the shrinking job market and rising unemployment. The owner of a surf shop painted a grim picture. “As soon as a business prints an ad for a job opening within 24 hours they have a stack of 50 resumes. Most of them over-qualified with Masters Degrees and experience in high level positions fighting for a minimum wage job.” It didn’t seem like a good time to see if any of them would consider 15 felonies during a background check.
The Montague Resort was decadent. It felt like we were walking into a dream world where money wasn’t an issue. The valet parking attendants were dressed impeccably and looked like models, everywhere we looked there was Gold, opulent Italian tile, high sweeping arches, statues of Saints and Angels, squirting waterfalls and we were inside. I held Annette’s hand and slowed our pace realizing we weren’t prepared. The hotel’s guests were scattered around art in the lobby and all dressed in wardrobes worth the price of automobiles. The front desk was empty. There was a man standing at a polished mahogany desk without a blemish. “Can I help you?”
Time seemed to slow down and I noticed the name, Pierre, on a gold plate next to his position, General Manager. He asked again in irritation. “Can I help you?” This time he looked around to see if our intrusion was being witnessed.
“Sir… We were told you were hiring. We will work harder than anyone else, get here early and work any shift day or night Monday through Sunday.”
“Give me your resumes. Do either of you have any felonies? Our background checks are very stringent.”
“I spent 10 years in prison for drug dealing.”
“Don’t bother with your resume. How about the lady?”
Annette stood like royalty and said, “You need a more stringent colon cleaner. Have a beautiful day.”
Outside the Montague on the Coast Hwy I stopped Annette and looked into her beautiful green eyes. “If we don’t have a job this week the shelter is going to kick us out.”
Annette looked into my eyes and I realized how calm she was. She looked so beautiful and like she had faith in me, in us. She said, “Don’t worry baby. God will provide.”
“We better go
to the church then!”
I chose a Christian church south of Laguna Beach. It was beautiful in its bareness, felt unpretentious, non judgmental and open and caring. We walked in and I noticed the paintings on the walls. They all looked like they were done by the same artist, probably a local, probably not that well known. I thought about all the amazing art I’d seen in prison. I wondered, would this church allow pieces from prisons if they represented God over evil? I followed the art on the wall toward the sanctuary and Annette stopped me by pulling on my hand.
“This way honey, they have a care department.”
I opened the door to the care department and stepped in realizing I wasn’t prepared. I stared at a receptionist staring back at me like I was a surprise to her also.
She was in her fifties with a pleasant nondescript face, brown hair and glasses. “Can I help you, do you have an appointment?”
I said, “No. We are staying in a shelter in Laguna and if we don’t have jobs soon we are going to get kicked out and be on the streets.”
The lady stood up with an even more confused look and said, “Sit down, I’ll go talk to the pastors.”
I picked up a couple brochures that represented the church and handed one to Annette. My brochure had page after page of the millions of dollars spent in aid to Africa. Annette’s had the same thing for another far away land to a lesser degree. I wondered, is this church only worried about the outside of their cup and how they look?
A few minutes later a pastor came out and escorted us into another room. I sat next to Annette and studied the preacher. He was over six feet tall, had thinning brownish-silver hair and had the same colored facial hair in a clean looking beard. He had nice brown caring eyes. He introduced himself as Pastor Angelo and shook both of our hands and sat behind a desk that looked like it was in disarray. He said, “Is that the only reason you came to us, to find a job?”
I explained our situation and finished with, “But that is not the only reason I’m here. If I don’t get connected to a church family I’m scared I’ll get caught up in this fast paced world and my past and lose the connection I have with God.”
Pastor Angelo nodded his head and said, “Show up here tomorrow at one.”
The next morning Annette and I left the shelter and sat at the bus stop. Annette said, “I have eight hundred dollars, how much do you have?”
“I’ve got seven hundred and fifty, why?”
“Today is Monday, we have until Friday to find a job or the shelter is going to kick us out. We either have to use this money to rent a place together or buy a car. What do you think?”
“How is your credit?”
“Bad, I have an eviction. How is yours?”
“I don’t know. I paid off a condo and a Town Car for my limo business Prestigious Transport but when I went to prison I left three credit cards open and a big screen TV I never paid a dime on. I probably owe around ten grand.”
The bus pulled over and we got in and ten minutes later we got off near the church. It was only nine thirty so we went to the public library. Annette researched one-bedroom studio rentals and I checked on the sales of my novel “Roll Call” with Amazon. I hadn’t sold a book. I called Amazon and asked them when they were going to send my press release to the 40 thousand media entities they told me was coming. Britney with the marketing team told me the release was in que and would be sent in the next 7 to 10 days. I got off the phone and Annette showed me a studio in Laguna that was a $1000 a month. It was only 500 square feet and didn’t include utilities but the deposit was only $800. We were only $100 short. Annette said, “I can get them to come down on the deposit or take it in payments. Do you want me to arrange a meeting to see it?”
“Its tiny baby.” I was already worried about the second month payment.
“It will get us off the streets if the shelter kicks us out love.”
“Make the arrangements beautiful.”
I spent the rest of the time on the computer writing a press release and hit send to all of the email addresses I had that included the president of operations, the chief editor and many writers of the Orange County register and the L.A.Times and many smaller and more local prints and magazines until it was time to go to the church.
Pastor Angelo put us in a van and drove to the Ortega Highway. He talked as we drove the mountainous two-lane road toward Lake Elsinore. “Our church helps local orphans by giving them something to smile about. We are connected to a rancher who owns a dozen horses. You two are going to donate your time for a while making sure the kids feel loved riding the horses. One of you walks the horse and the other protects the kid on the horse. Can you do that?”
I said, “Of course we can do that but you said we are donating our time. Do you understand that we are going to get kicked out of the shelter if we don’t have a job by this Friday?”
“I understood you but our church uses volunteers.”
“Pastor, do you have a home to go home to, a bed to sleep in, a refrigerator with food in it, a washer and dryer, a car in the garage?”
Annette cut me off as my frustration spilled into the tone of my voice. “Pastor, what he is trying to say is can you explain our situation to someone within the church to see if there are any options. The shelter will let us stay on a minimum wage salary, or maybe you can call the shelter and tell them we have to start as volunteers until the church finds more work for us.”
The pastor looked at me like I was a questionable individual and looked at Annette like she was a saint. “I can do that but I’m not promising anything.”
Approximately 20 miles into the windy highway we pulled off the road and took a dirt path. Annette and I looked out the window. There was an authentic old style feel to the wooded hillside. I imagined the Juaneno Indians and cowboys using this area in times past. The dirt road got steeper and we saw a giant tree that looked hundreds of years old with half its roots out of the ground like massive fingers clinging to the earth. We turned past the tree and I whispered to Annette, “We have to be like that old tree and cling to the earth and hang on.”
We saw the first ranch.
Annette said, “The horses are beautiful honey! Look at that Mustang.”
I looked at Annette’s face and my heart fluttered. Her smile was so pure and her eyes held so much excitement that I just wanted to keep making those eyes smile. The black Mustang was a built up stud and gave me the opportunity when he approached a beautiful white Mare from behind and lowered his strong neck to the Mare’s hindquarters in what looked like a kiss. I whispered to Annette, ‘He’s doing what I do to you baby. That a boy.”
Annette slapped my leg and whispered, “Good boy keep it up.”
The preacher looked at me like I wasn’t to be trusted and said, “The ranch is enclosed by the fence we are circling and the horses have a quarter mile track we walk the kids around. There they are up ahead getting out of the two white vans.”
The next few hours were pure joy. I watched 11 of the 12 orphan kids smiling and watched Annette’s radiant energy over flowing with their happiness. There was a 7 year old by the name of Danny with brown hair. His bangs hung over his eyes. He wasn’t smiling.
Annette and I gravitated to Danny. Annette leaned down and rubbed his forehead. “Honey don’t you like horses?”
“My mommy died on a horse.”
Danny started crying and his chest heaved and shook. Annette and I started crying and she was the first to respond. “Honey my mommy died when I was five years old and my boyfriend’s mommy died when he was a teenager so we know what you are going through. Can I tell you how we deal with it?”
Now that we were crying I saw something inside of Danny open up to us like we shared a bond, like he wasn’t alone. Annette said, “We believe in God’s Angels and know our Moms are in Heaven in charge of our Guardian Angels to protect us.”
Little Danny looked into Annette’s eyes through his tears and asked, “Why did God take my mommy away from me? I already don’t hav
e a daddy!”
Annette and I looked at each other. How could we answer him? Annette reacted by kissing Danny all over his forehead and cheeks until he stopped crying so hard. Danny looked at me. I picked him up and told him, “I’ll be your horse and you can ride me. Do you want to fly?”
Danny nodded his head and I held him with one of my hands on his chest to steer and the other on his stomach with that arm curled around him for control. I took off running as fast as I could while making noises like we were flying and turning.
I saw Pastor Angelo shaking his head no but acted like I didn’t see him and ran further away. I kept running as fast as I could for another 50 yards until the weight of Danny caught up to me and then I lifted him to sit on my shoulders. I held his hands with mine lifted above my head and jogged at a better pace for distance. At the first turn of the quarter mile track I saw the pastor leaving Annette’s side. He walked toward me but was still around 80 yards away. I knew I was already in trouble for being me but wasn’t ready to let go of Danny. I timed the angle so it didn’t look like I’d noticed the pastor and ran fast enough to avoid him the other way before he could veer at an angle to stay visible enough to cut me off. At the other end of the track I breathed deeply to get another second wind to do the same thing again. This time Pastor Angelo yelled, “B.J! Get over here! I need to talk to you!”
I circled back to the Pastor and swung Danny into a position that allowed me to give him a good tickle on the lower back. I couldn’t hear the Pastor because Danny was laughing hysterically.
After our volunteer job for the church Annette and I got on the bus and met the man renting the studio. It had hardwood floors and was empty, and miniscule. I was again thinking of how we were going to pay the second months rent and Annette was showing me where the bed could fit. “We can put the bed here and I have plastic drawers at a friend’s house with the rest of my stuff we can put here.”
Upon Release From Prison Page 3
