The Muse (10 page)

            “She's someone I just met,” he explained.  “Only that isn't entirely true.  I've known her for a while, but I've only just begun to understand her.  She and I never connected like this before.  It was only when I came home and found her crying after her date beat her up that something inside me changed where she was concerned.  Before, I didn't want to hear anything she had to say.  I was cold toward her.  Probably rude too.  Then, when I saw her crying, my heart softened, and I couldn't bear to see her that way.”

            “Why do you think that was?” Willie said.

            Gibson sat down on a cot and looked at the floor.  “I think I've been focused on myself for so long that I had forgotten what it was like to think of someone else.”

            “Seeing her hurt made you forget about yourself for a little while,” Willie reasoned, crossing his arms and touching his chin in a classic thinker's pose. 

            “I believe so,” Gibson said.  “Now, I can't stop thinking about her.  I need to get out of here so I can make sure she's ok, so I can make sure that Calvin doesn't hurt her again.”

            “I've been around the block more than a time or two,” Willie said.  “So let me give you a word of advice when it comes to things like this.  If she's worth it and you believe with all your heart that she is, you move mountains to get to her and you move mountains to keep her.  If she's the treasure you believe her to be, you must take care of her at all costs and never leave her side.  If you aren't there to do those things someone else will be.  Someone like that only comes along once in a lifetime, and for some, not even then.  Don't waste this opportunity.”

            Gibson considered Willie's advice for a moment.  “I think you've been reading too many greeting cards, but what you're saying is true.”

            “Greeting cards are popular for a reason,” Willie added with a wink.  “In fact, you may not believe this but I used to write for a greeting card company.”

            “Really?” Gibson asked, eyebrows raised.

            “Naw, I'm just messing with ya,” the long-haired man said, laughing.  “But it makes for a good story.”

            For the next couple of hours, Gibson got to know Willie better.  Although homeless, Willie was actually a decent guy.  Better than a lot of employed people that he knew. 

            “You ever been married,” Gibson asked him.  “You sure seem to believe in love.”

            “My answer is going to surprise you,” Willie said.  “I was married at one point.  I thought I was in love, but I wasn't.  The divorce was nasty, and I was left penniless.  That's how I ended up in the shape I'm in now.”

            “And you're encouraging me to go after Faith and not let her go?  Why aren't you cynical?”

            Willie stroked his beard and thought about that for a moment.  “I guess I'm not cynical because I've seen it work for some people.  It worked for my parents.  They were married for nearly 60 years.  You don't stay together that long if it doesn't work.  They loved each other.  You could see it.  Sure, they had hard times like everyone else.  But they were genuinely dedicated to each other, and they didn't let go.  No matter what happened in their lives and how much they had or didn't have, they always had each other.  That was enough.  Marriage these days seems more of a disposable commodity than it was back then.  And look how messed up the world is as a result.”

            Gibson nodded.  For a homeless guy who was locked up in a jail cell, Willie made a surprising amount of sense with what he was saying.

            “So you think I need to fight for her?”

            “You beat a guy up for her while protecting her honor.  Seems like you’ve already started fighting for her.  That says a lot.” 

            “I at least have to try,” Gibson said.  “For the first time in a long time, I have hope that things could be different, that my life might take a different turn.”

            “That is all up to you, my man!  Now, we've just got to figure out how to get you out of here.  Do you want to stage a jailbreak?  Maybe we should lure the guard over here.  I’ll distract him so you can grab his gun.”

            “I think we need a better plan than that,” Gibson said laughing.  If nothing else, being around Willie made his problems not seem quite so serious.  Willie joked about everything.  Or at least Gibson thought Willie was kidding.     

            As it turned out, however, they didn't have to figure anything out or stage a revolt.  An officer rapped his baton on the bars of the cell and looked at Gibson.  “Your bond has been posted.  Let's go.”

            Confused but not about to waste another second in the cell, Gibson moved toward the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he was on the right side of the bars.  Willie gave him two thumbs up as he followed the officer.  “Go get her, boy!” he called out.  “Don't screw this up!”

            Gibson nodded solemnly.  “Once you get out of here, look me up.  I hang out in The Square.”

            “I’ll see you around then,” Willie said. 

            Gibson expected to walk out of the holding area and find Faith waiting for him.  He looked around, searching for her, but she was nowhere to be found.  He was confused.  “Who bailed me out?” he asked the officer.

            “A lady named Faith,” the officer replied.  “She left you a note but said she wasn’t going to wait around.  I told her I would make sure you got it.”  He fished around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a folded sheet of paper.

            Gibson took it reluctantly.  He opened it and saw the letter written in Faith's own handwriting. 

           
Dear Gibson,

            First of all, I'm so sorry this happened to you.  This is all my fault.  You wouldn't be in this situation if it wasn't for me.  I can never say thank you enough for what you did.  You made me forget what happened to me for a little while.  You took care of Calvin.  You showed me what it was like to feel special.  I would love for these feelings to continue, but I can't ask you to ruin your life for me.  I've gotten you in enough trouble, and I would never do anything to make things harder for you.  So, this is goodbye.  I won't be living in the building anymore.  Please understand that it has nothing to do with you.  I'm afraid Calvin will seek revenge against you for what you did to him tonight, and I don't want to invite more trouble to your doorstep.  I doubt that you and I will see each other again.  So for what it's worth, you have a true gift and are extremely talented.  You deserved to do much bigger things than paint portraits in The Square.  I will always treasure the painting you did for me.  Thank you for everything.  You have given me more in one night than anyone else ever has.  I hope you can forgive me.  I won’t ever forget you.  Faith.

           
Gibson felt like someone had punched him in the gut, stealing his breath.  He felt sick, panicked, worried.  He knew that trouble had found him, but that didn’t scare him away.  For the first time in his life, he was ready to face his problems head on, no matter what it involved. 

           
The moment all of his paperwork was signed and processed and he was free to leave the jail he sprinted home.  He ran as fast as he could, hoping to catch Faith before she left.  He was winded, had a stitch in his side, and had aching calves halfway there, forcing him to stop.  This wasn't fair.  Not after he had just found her.  He didn't want to lose Faith.  He couldn't lose her. 

            He didn't care about what Calvin might do to him in retaliation.  He didn't care what kind of odds were involved.  He didn't care about any trouble Faith might have brought to his doorstep.  All he cared about was finding her again.  He had been locked up for several hours.  Gibson prayed that she would be at home when she got there.

            Yet, the steps were empty. 

            So was Faith's apartment.

            She was gone.  He was too late.   

            Gibson was shocked to find her door open and her apartment devoid of furnishings.  She really hadn't wasted any time.  No doubt, her father had spared no expense to get her out of there as quickly as possible once he discovered she was moving out.  He had been against her living here from the start.  Gibson ran his hands through his dark hair.  He hadn't known enough about her to know where her family lived, how to contact her.  He didn't even know her phone number or her last name.   

            What was he going to do?

            Gibson went through her apartment, scouring the place from top to bottom, looking for any clue that might tell him where she had gone.  The place was completely and totally empty.  Even the trash had been taken out, leaving him no clue as to her whereabouts, where she might have gone, where she might be hiding. 

Not knowing what else to do, he ran to Mrs. Baxter's office to see if Faith had left a forwarding address.  Mrs. Baxter was in her early sixties, although at times she seemed both younger and older.  With a pixie-styled hair cut, tortoiseshell glasses, and an unwavering curiosity about her tenants that made her seem both nosy and matronly at the same time, Mrs. Baxter was the mother figure around the complex.  She had eyes and ears everywhere, and like most mothers, never missed a trick.    Sometimes, she seemed like a busybody.  Other times, she was endearing.  It was a fine line that she walked.  Gibson prayed that she was in busybody mode today. 

            Gibson took a deep breath and rapped on her door.  His knuckles still ached from the beating he had given Calvin.   

            “Hang on, I'm coming,” a voice said from inside.  After waiting nearly a minute, Mrs. Baxter opened the door.  She was wearing a cheetah-print house robe and had curlers in her hair.  A smoldering cigarette dangled from her lips.  For the first time, Gibson regretted not making more of an effort to get to know her during the course of his stay in the building.  Having her as an ally would be very helpful at this point.   

            “I'm sorry to bother you,” Gibson began. 

“No you’re not or you wouldn’t be here,” Mrs. Baxter said.  She was slightly grouchy.  It was obvious he had caught her in the middle of something.  “If you’re here to ask for an extension on the rent, I can’t help you.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he said.

“If you’re having plumbing problems, we already know about the boiler.  Somebody’s coming to fix it this week.”

“That’s not it either,” Gibson said.

“So what then?”

“I was wondering if you knew anything about where Faith went.”

            “Faith?  You mean the pretty rich girl on the floor beneath you?”

            “Yeah.  She moved out today, and I thought she might have told you what her plans were.”   

            “What do you mean she's moved out?” Mrs. Baxter asked, shocked.  Ash fell copiously from the end of the cigarette.  Mrs. Baxter hardly seemed to notice.  She was too surprised by what she had been told.  

            “She didn't tell you she was leaving,” Gibson said.  It wasn’t a question.  

            “No, she didn't.  I had absolutely no idea.”

            “It was sort of a last minute decision,” Gibson said.  “She's been having some problems.”

            “Uh huh,” Mrs. Baxter said, looking at him in a new light all of a sudden.  “Man problems I would assume.”

            “Not from me,” Gibson was quick to point out.  “I've been trying to help her.  I just wanted to know where she went.  I need to talk to her.  Do you know anything about her?  Her family?  Her cell phone number?  Her last name?”