Worth Saving

by W. S. Greer

  “I know, and thank you, Jason. I appreciate that. But, I don’t wanna talk about all that. I wanna talk about you. So, what’s this case you got pulled down here to handle?”

  Jason takes another bite of his burger and sips his drink. He waits until he’s swallowed his food, then he leans in and starts to whisper to me, obviously trying to keep the details of the case private.

  “Guy I went to college with, Larry Miller, shot and killed a guy who he claims was trying to break into his house. He’s claiming self-defense, and since we know each other and were kind of tight in college, he called on me to represent him. That’s been happening a lot since I won the Roberts case. Been getting calls left and right from people all over the west coast.”

  “Well, good. That’s good, right?”

  “Yes and no. It’s great to have business flowing like this, obviously,” Jason answers as he swallows the last of his first burger and eyeballs the second. “But it’s shitty when I have to go through all kinds of shit to get my bar card in a new state. I had to get licensed before I could come here and represent the guy.”

  “I see. Yeah, I bet that’s annoying.”

  “You have no idea. It’s flat out shitty! It took me . . .”

  My cell phone chimes and vibrates in my pocket, cutting Jason off mid-sentence. I pull out the phone and stare at the screen. I can feel my eyes starting to squint as I read it and become confused by the message.

  “You okay, man? Can you read it?” Jason asks, chuckling.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I just don’t know who this message is from.”

  “Oh,” he replies, sounding relieved. “Well, what does it say?”

  I read the message to myself again before reading it aloud to Jason.

  “It says, ‘Hi. How have you been?’ I don’t recognize the . . .”

  All of a sudden, it suddenly dons on me who the text is from.

  “Oh shit.” I exclaim, grabbing the attention of the mother who’s sitting next to us with her two young kids.

  “What?”

  “I think this is from Layla.”

  “And who is Layla?”

  “Layla’s a girl I met not too long ago. We’ve been kicking it a little lately.”

  I type up a response to the message, just to make sure.

  Me: I’m great. Is this who I think it is?

  “A girl, huh? Oh shit. You got yourself a new girl, Austin?” Jason asks with a wide smile. What is it about the idea of me meeting a girl that makes people act like it’s some kind of big deal?

  “I said I met a girl, I didn’t say I had a girl. We’re not dating or anything like that. We’re just getting to know each other, but she’s cool though, man. I like talking to her,” I answer, just as the phone chimes again.

  “Okay. Well, I can tell from that dumb look on your face that you like her. I know how you are about relationships.”

  I read the message that says that the sender is Layla, and I barely hear what Jason said. I’m too excited to listen. I quickly program her name and number into my phone, and as soon as I do, she texts again.

  Layla: Sorry I called you so late last night. At least it’s not four in the morning this time.

  I smile at the message and I can hear Jason chuckle in front of me.

  “Look at you,” he jokes. “Looking like a little girl reading love notes in class.”

  The next thing I know, Jason gets up and comes to sit down next to me so he can see the messages.

  “Are you gonna smile like that the whole time?” he says, trying to distract me.

  “Yeah,” is all I say in response, because I’m too busy typing away.

  Me: It’s okay. I told you I don’t mind. I’m just glad we could hang out again.

  “Aww, aren’t you a little ball of sweetness,” Jason jokes as I continue to type.

  Me: So, what’s been up? What made you decide to hit me up now?

  “Ooh, good question. She probably just broke up with her boyfriend or some shit and now she’s hitting you up as the rebound guy,” Jason says, taking another jab at me as if I can’t hear him.

  “Fuck you,” I reply with a chuckle, but I’m still staring at the phone, because those little bubbles have shown up on the screen as Layla types.

  Layla: Had some time to think. It’s my day off. Was wondering if maybe you’d like to hang out again.

  “Damn, she’s asking you out,” Jason says right in my ear. “Never had a girl ask me out. Damn, I need to step up my game. What are you gonna say? You should tell her you’ll only go out with her if she makes up for calling you at four in the morning. Tell her she owes you, and when she asks what she owes you, you should be all, ‘That pussy.’”

  A laugh jumps out of my mouth, and the mother of two looks over at us again, this time making sure we can see that she looks pissed about our language. I keep on laughing anyway.

  “I’m not saying that shit. I’m actually interested in this girl,” I reply, still smiling.

  Me: I thought you’d never ask. What’d you have in mind?

  “I see, and it’s honestly a little weird to see you actually interested in a girl. If I remember correctly, you’re quite the ladies’ man yourself. You know you deploy a lot, so what’s so special about this girl?” Jason asks, finally being serious.

  “I never said she was special. I just like the chick.”

  “Oh my god! Are you in love already?”

  “What? Of course not. I can’t be interested in a woman?”

  “Of course you can, bro, it’s just out of character for you, that’s all. But it’s all good.”

  The phone chimes again.

  Layla: Anything you want to do is fine with me.

  “Ooh, perfect opportunity,” Jason says before I can even finish reading the message. “Let me help you seal the deal on this. Just say, ‘All I wanna do is make you feel good, baby . . . with this big ole dick.’ She’ll be all over you, man. I’m telling you.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Is that how you talk to women?” I say, trying to keep from laughing as I watch the mother of two get up and lead her children out of the restaurant.

  Me: Okay. I can come up with something. When?

  “Actually, it is now,” Jason answers. “I told you I’ve learned from my last case. The last time I tried to get serious with a girl, she turned out to be married and accused of murder. So, I’m pretty up front with women about my intentions. I don’t do serious, and if I remember correctly, neither do you.”

  Layla: Is tonight okay? Or is that too short of a notice?

  “Well, times change, I guess,” I reply. “You know I’ve hooked up with a lot of girls on TDY’s and deployments, but I’m home now, and I just want to see where it goes.”

  Me: Tonight’s perfect. Can I come get you at 7 o’clock?

  “Wow. That’s deep, man,” Jason says with a look of surprise on his face. “And what happens when you have to deploy again?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get there. For all I know, it might not even last that long. I just want to see.”

  Layla: Tell me where to meet you.

  “Damn, she doesn’t want you to pick her up!” Jason bellows with a laugh. “That’s cold.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I retort. “She’s guarded, man. It’s hard to get her to open up, so I’m not surprised she doesn’t want me to come get her.”

  “Okay, so where are you gonna take her?”

  I take a minute to think about it. Layla is a tough egg to crack, so I want to take her to a place where she can relax and let her guard down a little. Something like a bar or a club just won’t cut it. I don’t want to do something as simple as dinner either. I want this date to be memorable. So, I think long and hard before I finally settle on a place.

  Me: Danielle Saxton Studio. It’s on Vista Avenue.

  “Danielle Saxton Studio? What the hell is that?” Jason asks, his forehead riddled with tiny, confused wrinkles.

&
nbsp; I don’t answer, I just smile at him.

  “What are you smiling for? Why would you take her to a studio? What are you guys gonna do at a studio, record an album together? What, are you Jay-Z and Beyoncé now?” Jason asks as I get up from my seat and throw my trash away.

  “Don’t worry about it, bro,” I finally reply. “You just go pick up Jordan, and I’ll get up with you guys later.”

  “Alright, but you better tell me all about this when you get back.”

  Again, I don’t answer as we leave the restaurant. Once we’re in the parking lot, we shake hands and head towards our separate cars.

  “Hey,” I yell before Jason reaches his rented Chevy Impala. “I’m glad you’re here, bro. It’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to be here,” he replies with a smile. “I know I’m here working on a case, but we’re gonna kick it, I promise. Let me get stuff squared away with Jordan, and I’ll give you a call later on. Now, go have fun with your new special girl.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got this, bro. I have an idea,” I say, just as my phone chimes in my pocket.

  Layla: Sounds good. See you at 7.

  Layla

  Necklace.

  Earrings.

  Perfume.

  “What the fuck am I doing?” I say to myself as I stare into the mirror.

  My hair falls down my back in loose waves, and my blue dress is tight fitting. I feel like I look pretty good, but I also feel like I’m about to make the biggest mistake ever. What was I thinking texting him like that? This is a horrible idea, but there’s something in me that can’t just call it off. There’s something deep down inside that’s still holding on to hope. That little light in the back of my mind—it’s still there, and there’s something in me that says it’ll burn out if I don’t do this. I need to do something for me. Even though I know it’s a huge risk, I need to take it.

  I spent my day off doing the usual, which is absolutely nothing. I thought about getting in touch with Marlene for lunch or something, but I know she likes to hang out with her girlfriend before she has to go to work all night. So¸ I decided not to go there, which kept me cooped up in the house where my thoughts kept me occupied.

  I’m in need of something I can barely explain. I feel like I’ve gone my whole life with only a handful of smiles and just the smallest dose of happiness. When I’m smiling, it’s usually for a customer, so it’s fake. The same can be said for when I laugh. The sound of my actual laugh is so rare that when it does happen I wonder if it’s really even me. “Is that what my real laugh sounds like?” I think to myself every time Austin says something funny. I’m only a month or so away from my twenty-second birthday, and I have no memory of ever celebrating the first twenty-one. Since I was a kid, my life has been a mess, and I’m just now realizing for the very first time that it’s not fair, and I’ve had enough of being unhappy. I’m tired of just surviving—just existing. I want to live. I have to do something for me, and I don’t expect a date with Austin to magically change my entire world in one night, but going out with him and holding an actual conversation is something I need. I need to smile. I need to laugh. I need to live. At least, for one night.

  Six-thirty rolls around entirely too fast. My nerves are feeling extra sensitive and my stomach feels like an entire family of butterflies has been set free inside of it, but I’m excited too. I decide to take a taxi, since I have no idea where this place is that Austin wants to take me. I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve never heard of Danielle Saxton Studio, so I have no clue what goes on there or why he’d want to have a date there, but my curiosity is piqued, at least.

  When the taxi rolls up, I take a deep breath before I walk away from the mirror. I tell the bald driver the name of the place and he takes off. The entire ride I wonder what this night might have in store for me. Will he continue on this streak of awesomeness he’s been on since we met? Will he be as handsome as he was before—I mean seriously, can he really look that good all the time? Will I be able to have a conversation with him without totally freaking out about how I might end up breaking his heart? What exactly am I hoping will come from this? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions, but they play in my head on repeat the entire ride.

  When the taxi finally stops, I look out the window and see what Danielle Saxton Studio is, but I’m still confused as to why Austin would want to have a date here. It’s a paint studio. Maybe it’s some sort of an art gallery. I squint in confusion as I pay the driver and exit the cab. The place isn’t very well lit, and it doesn’t seem to have a bunch of people inside, so I’m not sure why he decided to come here. The studio is sandwiched between two other inconspicuous buildings and I almost feel a little uneasy—like I need to clutch my purse a little tighter while I stand in front of the place. I don’t see Austin anywhere, so I wonder if I should wait outside for him, or maybe I should go inside. Maybe this is just a bad idea all together. Maybe I should get back in the taxi before the bald guy drives away. My mind’s flying a million miles per hour with words and questions bouncing off the walls of my brain like bumper cars. It’s the sound of Austin’s voice that brings me back down to earth.

  “You look amazing,” I hear him say from behind me. I have to take another deep breath before I can turn around to face him, but when I do, I’m glad I decided to do this.

  He’s beautiful. Austin stands there with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, and his white and black button up perfectly pressed and buttoned to the top, but he chose to ditch the tie. He’s wearing black and white patent leather shoes that kind of remind of a picture I saw of this mob guy from Chicago named Kelvin Carter Jr. The whole ensemble flows together perfectly and the confidence in his face and posture just put the perfect cherry on top. I guess that answers the question of if he can look good all the time. Yes. Yes he can.

  “Thank you,” I finally manage to reply after much too long of a pause. “You look very handsome.” I hope that didn’t sound too corny.

  “Thanks,” he says with a bright smile that shines light all over this dark street. “So, what made you decide you were ready to go out with me? I was thinking we were about to setup another late night stroll.”

  “Like I said, my day off was today, and I decided I wanted to hang out with you in a place that wasn’t a dark street at four in the morning.” There’s really no perfect answer to that question, so I kind of dance around it. “So anyway, what exactly is this place?”

  Austin looks up at the sign on the window like he’s seeing it for the first time.

  “Oh this place? It’s just a little spot I’ve checked out a couple of times since I got stationed here a few years ago. I’ll explain more once we’re inside. We better get in there. I don’t want them to start without us.”

  “Them? Start without us? What are we doing?” I inquire with a nervous giggle.

  “You’ll see. Come on.” Austin sticks out his hand for me to take and grins at me. That grin sends little tingles all the way down to my feet as I grab his hand and let him lead me inside. I have to shake those little tingles off. I don’t like them. Well, I don’t like that I like them.

  Just after the entrance is a tan curtain that leads into another room. I can see a light shining from under the curtain, and there are voices too. Austin pushes the curtain aside and we step into a bright room. The floor is white tile and the room smells of paint. In the center of the room is a woman wearing a flowing white floral dress, who I’m guessing is Danielle Saxton, and she’s surrounded by people sitting in front big wooden easels. They all have little trays of paint with different colors in them, and they’re all holding paint brushes.

  “Welcome,” the woman in the middle says to Austin and me as we creep in. “Please take your seats and we’ll begin.”

  Austin, still holding onto my hand, leads me over to the only easels that aren’t occupied and we sit on the stools that were waiting for us.

  “A painting class?” I ask. “Well, this is def
initely a first.”

  “Good,” Austin answers with another smile. “I remembered you told me you liked to draw. This isn’t exactly drawing, but it’s pretty close.”

  Austin turns to pay attention to the teacher who’s getting ready to speak, and I’m glad because he doesn’t see me when I smile at the fact that he remembered I said I liked to draw.

  “Alright, everybody. My name is Danielle Saxton, and I’d like to thank you for coming to my studio tonight,” the woman in the middle says. She looks like she’s in her mid-fifties, with straight black hair and a long, sharp nose. On the walls surrounding us, I see beautiful paintings on display that I assume are hers. “Tonight’s class is painting for beginners, and what we’re going to do is paint objects that we see in front of us first, and then we’ll try to paint something that gives us inspiration more towards the end. I’ll be going around to assist those who’d like my help, but by all means, have fun and use this class to express yourself through your paintings. Let’s get started, shall we.”

  Danielle walks over to a table and grabs a plate that has fake fruit on it, and sets it on a table in the middle of the room. There’s little fake grapes, apples and bananas on the plate, and everyone in the class immediately grabs their brushes and gets started. Austin falls in line and grabs a brush as well, so I feel obligated to do the same thing. I decide to start out with the bananas.

  “So, I have a confession to make. We’ve hung out a few times now,” Austin finally says, although he’s not looking at me, “and I don’t even know your last name.”

  “My last name is Davison. Layla Davison. But, now that you mention it, I don’t know yours either.”

  “It’s Sloan,” he replies with a proud grin. I wish I had that much pride when I said my family name. “My name is Captain Austin Sloan, United States Air Force.”

  “You’re so proud when you say it,” I point out. “I take it you like what you do?”

  “I did. I do,” he stammers like he’s unsure all of a sudden. “I like it. I’m proud to serve my country.”