The judge lowered her head and glared at Russell from beneath her brows. “I can set bail at $175,000 if you would prefer, counselor.”
“No thank you, your honor,” Russell said confidently, showing no sign of reproach.
“$150,000 it is,” Judge Moody said flatly. “The defendant is not to have any contact with the victim and shall be restricted to the state of California until trial.” She consulted her calendar. “At this time, I will set a trial date of February 14th, 2014, at 10:00 a.m., and a pre-trial date of February 12th, 2014.”
A trial on Valentine’s Day? The universe was having a laugh at my expense on that one.
“Anything further from the State, Mr. Schlosser?” Judge Moody asked.
“No, your honor,” the Deputy Distract Attorney answered.
“Anything further from the defendant, Mr. Merriweather?”
“No, thank you, your honor,” Russell smiled curtly.
The deputies led me out of the courtroom. Russell followed.
In the carpeted hallway, Russell asked one of the deputies, “May I speak with my client in private for a moment, gentlemen?”
“I’ll give you two minutes,” the guy with the buzz-cut replied.
“Thank you, deputy.” Turning our backs to the officers, Russell walked me several paces away. “You need me to call your grandfather for bail money?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I don’t have any choice.”
“You could call your dad.”
“No way.”
“Thought I’d ask,” Russell smiled. “You really oughta cut the man some slack, Christos. He is your father.”
I ground my jaw.
“Anyway, I’ll call Spiridon and have you out by this afternoon. You heard what the judge said. Keep your ass in town. And don’t get in any trouble. In other words, keep it under the speed limit and keep your hands to yourself. I advise you to garage that crotch rocket of yours and take the bus. If I find out you get in any more fights? I’ll bust your ass myself. Feel me?”
“Like a sandpaper massage,” I said.
“Don’t get smart with me, young man.” Russell squeezed my neck with one large hand and shook me affectionately. “This is the last time I save your ass. Hear me? I don’t want to do this again. You’re better than this, Christos.”
“I promise you, Russell, this was self-defense.”
“You got any witnesses?”
I thought about Samantha. She’d seen the whole thing up close and personal. Maybe too personal. That scumbag Horst Grossman had put her through enough already. Did I want to drag her into my mess too? Make her take the stand while Horst fucking Grossman gave her dirty looks and the whole courtroom stared her down? Hell no. I’d known her for all of one day. She deserved better. Besides, I didn’t want her to see how much of a fuck up I really was underneath my carefully constructed yet fragile facade. I wanted her to believe I was the man I wanted to become, not the punk I’d been for most of the last six years.
“No witnesses,” I said.
“None?”
I shook my head.
Russell’s lips pursed in a flat smirk. He slapped my shoulder vigorously. “Don’t worry. I’m glue. I’ll make the self-defense claim stick. They’ll have that guy brought up on battery charges for hitting your fist with his face by the time I’m through.” He grinned wide.
“I hope so.”
Agápi mou…
What have I done?
Chapter 10
SAMANTHA
PRESENT DAY
In the morning, I awoke feeling rejuvenated and excited for the first day of Winter Quarter classes, and with the pleasantly certain conviction that my year was off to a great start. Losing my virginity to Christos the night before had swept away any remaining ill feelings I’d had after Tiffany’s bitchery on her yacht.
With any luck, my entire 2014 would be as fabulous as the last twelve hours.
Christos and I had a quick breakfast of toast, eggs, and orange juice at my apartment, before heading out the door.
Christos drove his Camaro home. He said he had some work to do in his studio, but he might drop by campus later.
I imagined us carpooling to SDU together, like a happy and contented married couple. I was so looking forward to that day when our matching cups of coffee sat in the cup-holders as we held hands the entire drive. My mental image was so sweet, I wondered if I might induce my own diabetic coma thinking about it.
I snickered to myself as I drove along the Pacific Coast Highway and gazed out at the Pacific Ocean.
My commute this morning was a brilliant contrast compared to my first day of classes three months prior. I knew to get an early start to avoid traffic. No spilling my coffee causing the screaming fat guy to chew me out afterward. Parking was a snap, no shoehorn necessary, and I made it to class with time to spare.
My first class was Sociology 2, another one of my General Ed classes. The professor was ancient and looked ready for the grave, or else she was back from the grave. Either way, she had a distinctly mummified appearance that matched the tone of her lecture delivery.
I think every sentence she uttered slowly suffocated my will to live. I pictured each one of her drowsy utterances fluttering out of her mouth like mummy bandaging that wrapped me up from toe to top, slowly mummifying me as she droned on and on and on. And on.
And on.
Groan.
I imagined by the end of class, I too would be completely mummified. Perhaps the entire class would be similarly swaddled. And you wouldn’t even hear crickets chirping in the tomb-silent room because the crickets would be mummified as well, laid to rest for eternity inside their little cricket sarcophagi.
Sigh.
Last quarter, I’d sort of enjoyed Sociology 1. I don’t know what had changed. This time around I could barely keep my eyes open for the entire hour, and I’d gotten plenty of sleep, and other wonderful things, the night before.
Maybe I couldn’t focus because images from last night with Christos kept flashing through my mind. The tingling between my legs wasn’t helping either.
I willed my memories to take a breather while I tried to concentrate. But Professor Tutan-yawn-yawn’s droning delivery was putting me to sleep.
I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out my sketchbook and started doodling. The next thing I knew, I had drawn a picture of Christos in a sexy pose, wearing a Pharaoh hat and mummy bandages for pants, showing off his awesome eight-pack. That wasn’t helping any.
Determined to pay attention to the lecture, I closed my sketchbook and put it away like a good girl…and realized class was over. Not only that, the text document on my laptop intended for note-taking was blank. Great. But I did have a great drawing of Christos the Pharaoh in my sketchbook. Why did I feel like I was in the wrong class?
Groan!
I swear, I’d tried hard to listen to the lecture about the structure of society and how it impacts the people who are a part of it, but it wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I scooped up my laptop and my bag and headed to my next class.
Hopefully, Managerial Accounting would be better.
I cringed at the thought.
Oh, joy.
At least Madison was in accounting with me.
SAMANTHA
The lecture hall for Accounting was on the other side of campus from my Sociology 2. I had to hoof it not to be late, but I knew exactly where I was going. The perks of experience! I would be on time to class so I wouldn’t have to miss a single riveting Accounting fact!