Artistic License

by Julie Hyzy

  In the short amount of time that Annie spent in the washroom, the restaurant had begun to fill up. It wasn’t crowded, yet, but two soccer teams and three moms with kids in tow were settling into the booths and tables. A white-bloused, black-skirted teenage waitress greeted them as they sat, introducing herself to each of the groups with a little tilt of her head and cheerful “hi.” Her nametag read: Milissa, and Annie watched as she helped the moms get the babies into the wooden high chairs, and pass out crayons and coloring book menus to toddlers. Smiling, unruffled, unrushed, she talked to each of the little ones as though they were her best friends.

  Annie wondered if she’d ever feel that kind of ease around small children. Her hand absently grazed her abdomen. She’d think about that later. Right now, back to work.

  So deep in the project, Annie didn’t notice the time.

  “You’ve gotten pretty far,” Sam said, startling her.

  The windows had gone dark and there were few customers left, stragglers, sitting in the high-backed booths, laughing quietly.

  Annie stepped back to get a better look at the overall picture. “Yeah,” she said, pleased with herself; trying to sound casual, “it’s starting to shape up a little. I think I might even be able to start painting a couple of areas tomorrow.”

  “Before the drawing’s finished?”

  “Now that I’ve found the plan,” she said with a wry look, gesturing to the sketch on the floor by her feet, “I know where it’s going. And I think it’s more exciting for the customers to watch me paint than to do all this pencil work.”

  “Lots of kids bothering you today, I noticed.”

  “Didn’t bother me at all,” Annie said, “And they seemed to be comfortable asking questions.” She shrugged. “I kind of enjoyed that part.”

  They were silent for a moment. Annie looked at her watch and started to gather her things.

  “Early tomorrow?” Sam asked.

  Annie started to answer, but then remembered Gary’s message about court in the morning. “No. It’ll be late. I’m not really sure what time. Is that okay?”

  “Any time is fine.”

  * * * * *

  Surprised to find a parking spot in front of her house, Annie pulled in and shut off the Escort. She’d have to get Gary to clear his stuff out of the garage one of these days so she could start parking there again. Gary. Her heart dropped when she thought of him. Court tomorrow.

  She rested her head back for a moment and shut her eyes. The exhaustion was overwhelming, although she hadn’t noticed it till she’d sat down. Now all she wanted to do was go to bed and hope to wake up to find out that today had all been a bad dream.

  To be honest though, there were parts she’d liked. Working had felt good. She had been able to push all the unpleasantness out of her head while she drew. It was as if while she worked, she was not only creating art, but also creating a little bubble of happiness—a place where she couldn’t get hurt.

  Her steps made taps on the sidewalk as she made her way to the house. Seven wooden steps led from the irregular, moss-framed sidewalk to the whitewashed planking of the cottage’s front porch. In the city of Chicago, famous for its sturdy bungalows, the cottage could be considered a poor cousin. After their mother died and Karla moved to Boston, Annie had bought out her sister’s share. It was small, but it had lots of charm.

  When Annie and Gary first married, they viewed the home as an opportunity to own real estate and watch the investment grow. They knew that when babies came they’d have to move to something bigger. But that was five years ago when he had eyes only for her, and babies seemed liked the natural course of things.

  Annie sighed as she fitted the key into the lock. An expensive addition to the antique door, she’d ordered this retro-designed deadbolt from a catalog that specialized in period hardware. When Gary moved out, she considered changing the lock, but hadn’t gotten around to it, yet.

  Annie kicked off her shoes inside the front door and slid them out of the way with her stockinged foot. The living room was dark, with just the cool glow from the streetlights in lines across the sidewall from their shadows through the blinds. She walked across the room, her silhouette breaking into the neat patterns of light and she reached down to turn on a lamp. The warmth of the yellow room chased away the shadows and she dropped her drawing supplies on the coffee table by the couch.

  Time to call Karla. Annie had been both anticipating and dreading this phone call all day. In the kitchen now, she flicked on the overhead light that always reminded her of an upside-down cake on the ceiling, and reached for the phone. It was nine o’clock in Chicago, which meant it would be ten in Boston.

  Annie took a deep breath. The important thing was to sound strong. She had to tell Karla, but she didn’t want to worry her. Especially since Karla was pregnant herself, due in four weeks with child number three. Pursing her lips, she blew out the breath, and dialed.

  The phone rang, then rang again. Annie swallowed, finding it difficult to do so. This was going to be tough. And what if Chip answered? She wasn’t in the mood for their usual cheerful banter. She took a deep breath.

  As the third series of rings started, Karla picked up. “Hello?”

  Annie opened her mouth, but no words came out. She held the phone and tried to fight the wave of emotion that overpowered her. But her sister’s voice, and the comfort and safety it represented, was too much. “Kar . . .” she began, then stopped as she sucked in a breath.

  “Annie?” Karla’s voice held alarm, “What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes squeezed shut, Annie cried silently into the phone, forming words in her mind, unable to get them out. She made quiet noises that she knew had to be frightening to hear. Karla’s words of encouragement, quiet and nonjudgmental, whispered through the phone line. Despite the fact that Karla couldn’t know what was wrong, Annie knew she could count on her sister for support.

  “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Whatever it is. It’ll be okay.”

  After a little while, Annie quieted, and she felt her breathing become more regular, punctuated here and there with little hiccups.

  The sisters were wordless for several minutes.

  “Tell me about it,” Karla said.

  It came out in fits and starts, as Annie tried to explain, and rationalize and justify, knowing all the while that the attempts were for her own benefit. In trying to make this ridiculous situation sound sensible, she was trying to bring clarity to her own thinking.

  Finally, when Annie started repeating things, Karla asked, “First things first. Did you make a doctor’s appointment yet?”

  Annie hadn’t thought of that. “No. I just found out today.”

  “Listen, I want you to call your OBGN and do that first thing tomorrow. Okay? Whatever else is going on, you need to take care of yourself. Especially now. You still go to Dr. Appleton?”

  “Yeah.” Annie wrapped the curlicued phone cord around her finger, unwound it, and wrapped it again.

  “Good. I like him. And I think he’ll be understanding.”

  “But . . .”

  “I know. Now about Gary . . .”

  As they talked, Annie could feel the tension slipping away like waves on a beach as the tide moves out. Less and less and smaller and smaller until she felt her entire body quiet like the sea when it’s as still as glass.

  “You sound tired,” Karla said.

  “I am. It’s been an exhausting day.”

  “Get used to it. Fatigue is part of the package. At least till the baby’s born—then you move into bone-tired!” Karla laughed for a moment, then stopped abruptly. “I mean—I’m sure everything’s been really rough. You need a good night’s sleep.”

  Annie started to say something, but Karla interrupted. “Hey, how’s Uncle Lou? Have you seen him lately?”

  “Oh my God!” Annie stood up and looked at the clock. It was late. Too late. “I was supposed to stop by there today. He knew about my first day on the mural job and wanted t
o hear all about it. Geez.”

  “Annie, don’t worry. You know him; he probably got wrapped up in some National Geographic article and forgot all about it. How’s he handling retirement, anyway?”

  “Hates it. Can’t stand the fact that he isn’t following every big news story anymore. Spends half his day rewording the feature stories in the Tribune. Then he hands them to me with this chicken scrawl all over it and says, ‘Isn’t this much better?’”

  Karla laughed. “Is his better?”

  “I have no idea. I can’t read it with all the cross-outs and arrows. It’s a mess. But I tell him it is, and assure him that the newspaper just isn’t as good anymore without his contemplations on page three.”

  “I miss him. Even if we can’t ever get him to stop talking about newspapers. Does he still go into the whole process of how newspapers used to get printed?”

  “Every time he finds a new audience,” Annie sighed, smiling, “but I think he’s getting desperate and he started in on me again the other day about the magazine sections. I swear I can recite the steps to four-color press in my sleep.”

  “Well, give him a kiss for me,” Karla said.

  “I’ll do that. Hey, Karla?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s what big sisters are for.”

  Annie hung up the phone. She stood there with her hand on the receiver for a couple of extra seconds, before turning toward her bedroom to decide on the right kind of clothes to wear for bailing your soon-to-be-ex-husband out of jail.

  Chapter Three

  Two lines of people waited to walk through metal detectors. Annie stood immediately inside the doors of the Twenty-sixth and California courthouse, trying to get her bearings. Those coming in after her elbowed their way past, mindlessly brushing her out of the way. Annie looked around before choosing the right-hand line, grasping her purse just little tighter to her side when a teenager dressed all in black came up behind her. He was wiry and unkempt, wearing a collar-type necklace boasting little silver triangles that you’d expect to see on a dog named Spike. Every couple of seconds his arms gave a jerky wiggle, and his chin lifted. His eyebrows, nose, and ears were pierced and he played with a stud on his tongue, running it around his teeth, making little clacking noises.

  Annie looked around the entryway, trying to take it in at once, feeling out of place among all these other people who seemed to move along as though they did it every day. What bothered her most about the boy behind her, and he couldn’t be more than seventeen, was the look in his brown eyes. Vacant, dull. As though any hint of life had been snuffed out over his short years.

  One of the officers just beyond the metal detector yelled something. Annie was surprised to see him motioning to her.

  “What?” she asked.

  He pointed. “Females over there.”

  Despite light coming in from the glass wall across from them and from the skylights above, the whole area felt dreary and dark. Even the guards standing watch by the detectors, crisply dressed and armed, seemed drained of life as they waved the lines forward, said “Next,” and nodded. Annie made her way around a temporary wall—no wonder she’d missed this—and took her place behind the last woman standing there.

  Like cogs on an assembly line, each person stepped up, each piece needing to be checked, but each piece no more important than the one before, and certainly not worth breaking into a reverie over. The guards’ eyes were dead, nearly unseeing, giving those who walked by a cursory glance and then returning to the deep stare that hid personality and thought from the outside world.

  The alarm went off as Annie walked through. The bright red light above the plastic doorway blinked while chimes rang.

  She turned to the nearest guard. “Why did that happen?”

  “Step back, please.” The black deputy gestured her backwards. She didn’t meet Annie’s eyes, but seemed to focus on the ground as she spoke without inflection. Her navy blue shirt was adorned with Cook County patches. Both her shirt and her matching pants were too small for her stocky build. She had what Annie had heard referred to as a coffee-table butt, protruding so far out the back that it almost formed a ledge behind her. Surrounding it were the tools of her trade, which did nothing to enhance her shape. She looked strong, yet seemed passive. Annie stepped back as indicated, and the woman waited till she’d cleared the barrier, then wiggled the fingers of her right hand when it was time for Annie to try again.

  “I’m so sorry,” Annie said as the alarm bells rang once more. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “Step to the side, ma’am,” the woman said, flicking her hand. A white woman with dyed red hair, dressed identically to the other guard, waved Annie over. She carried a large metal-detecting baton and Annie felt like a criminal holding her arms out to the side as it was waved slow motion all around her body. She glanced over to the line of people waiting to walk through. With her out of the way, the line was moving again. How embarrassing. And yet, not one of them even looked at her. Their eyes were focused ahead, as they took tiny forward steps, to take their turn.

  After two passes with the wand, the guard sighed. “Sorry, but I have to do a search.”

  The deputy’s hands patted down her sides, and even while Annie gritted her teeth as she endured it, she could tell that the woman wasn’t paying strict attention. The search was cursory at best. Fortunately, it was also quick.

  “Okay,” she said, looking for her next subject.

  “What set off the alarm?” Annie asked

  “Dunno,” she shrugged. “Happens sometimes.”

  Annie followed the groups of people moving down the wide corridor to her right, hoping they were headed the same direction she was. Hoping she didn’t look as lost as she felt. Bond hearings were straight ahead, according to the sign. So she kept walking, looking for the right room.

  A portly female bailiff, wearing a crisp, white long-sleeve shirt and black pants, her blonde hair pulled up in a bun, stood guard outside courtroom 324, preventing entry. Annie looked at her watch: eight twenty-five. She’d gotten here earlier than she’d expected.

  Wooden benches lining the marble walls of the old building were occupied by a diverse group of people: white, black, Hispanic, Asian, some in suits, some in T-shirts, others in ethnic garb. Annie moved farther down the hall to a huge window covered with an art-deco iron lattice. She wondered if it was to prevent anyone from jumping out in an escape attempt.

  She was amazed at how many small children were present, some in no more than a diaper and an undershirt, some in heavily ruffled dresses and patent leather shoes. She wondered if they were destined to come here often over their childhood years, even though most of them were too young to understand what was going on. And if over time they could become desensitized, so comfortable in this environment that it became their way of life.

  A man stood to the right of the window, looking out over the boulevard below. Pale and short, maybe five-six, he had an odd, disturbing look about him, as though his face wasn’t put together quite correctly. His thick glasses, dark hair, and deep-set eyes gave extra prominence to an already sizeable nose and though he was clean-shaven, his face was dirty. Annie smiled politely as he glanced up at her. She figured him to be in his early forties. He nodded an over-eager greeting and said, “Hi,” with a little catch of excitement in his voice. A striped tie, badly skewed to one side, revealed a wrinkled white shirt, and the suit he wore was blue and shiny, as though he’d ironed it. She wished she hadn’t decided to wait here, but the crowded corridor didn’t offer many other options.

  Annie moved to the far left of the window and curved her fingers around the metal latticework, to watch the cars below. The man to her right was staring at her; she could feel his eyes move up and down her body. Damn that Gary for putting her in this situation. But there was safety in numbers and she could be relatively assured that he wasn’t carrying a weapon. Although the fact that the guards downstairs had let her through without
determining what had set off the alarm was disturbing.

  She watched a red car veer left onto one of the side streets below. Back when she was little, she’d taken swimming lessons at the Boys’ and Girls’ Club somewhere down there. Spaulding Street? She couldn’t remember.

  “Hey . . . you Annie Randall?” the guy next to her asked.

  Startled, Annie looked over. How did he know her? She’d taken back her maiden name, Callaghan, some time ago. He waited, his eyes alert, something in them amiss. His voice still had that eager tone to it and she felt herself cringe. “Uh . . .” she said, wondering if she should answer.

  He seemed to take that as an invitation and moved toward her, hand extended. “You gotta be. Gary told me to keep an eye out. You’re some looker. Lucky guy.” He smiled. If it was possible for the man to get less attractive, his smiling did it.

  Annie, unsure, shook his hand.

  “I’m Pete,” he said, “frienda’ Gary’s.”

  “You’re not his attorney?” Annie said, hoping her repugnance didn’t show.

  As if that was a compliment, Pete let out what could only be described as a guffaw and shoved his glasses higher up on his nose. “Naw,” he said, with that little catch to his laugh, “I’m his roommate. I’m lettin’ him stay with me for a while, till he gets everything all fixed up with you.”

  Fixed up with me? Annie bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. She looked at her watch.

  Pete spoke up again. “They ain’t gonna let us in till quarter to nine. Trust me.” He nodded at her, his eyes widening as if to emphasize the point. Then he winked. “I been here a coupla times myself.”

  Annie pulled her lips tight as he moved closer and put his arm up against the metal grid, settling in, it seemed, for a chat. “Um,” she finally said, shifting and looking down the hall. She felt the need to get away. “I . . .”

  Pete gestured, his mouth open, a smirk tugging at one corner in a knowing way, “I know what you’re lookin’ for. Down the hall and to your left a ways,” he said, winking again. “Can’t miss it. Next to the water fountain.”