Day 33—Bailing Theo Out of Jail
At two in the morning, Sara got a call from a police station. “Hello?” she asked groggily, barely able to keep her eyes open in the dim light of the street lamps outside her window.
“Sara? Is that you?” Theo’s voice sounded scared and ashamed. Sara was immediately alert.
“Theo? What’s wrong, babe?” She pushed herself into a sitting position.
“I’m, uh, I’m in trouble,” Theo said meekly.
“What do you mean you’re in trouble?” Sara asked, slipping out of her bed and pulling her plush robe over her shoulders. With difficulty because she was still holding the phone to her ear, she slipped it on and slid her feet into slippers.
“I, uh, may or may not be in a holding cell with two other guys and a police officer glaring daggers into a place in between my shoulder blades?” Theo asked.
“May or may not be going to jail?” Theo repeated.
Sara ran her hand distractedly through her brown streaked black hair, now completely awake. “Oh my God, Theo! What the hell could you possibly have done this time?” she demanded, pacing back and forth in her room.
“I, um, I…may or may not have gotten into a bar fight?” he asked meekly, clearly shrinking from the anger in the Hispanic girl’s voice.
“Theo, babe, I love you, you know that, but did you have to pick now of all times to call me?” Sara asked. “I have half a mind to just leave you there for the night to think about what you’ve done. Do you realize what fucking time it is?”
“It’s, uh, about two in the morning on my end,” Theo said dumbly.
Sara sighed, torn between going down to the police station and shaking some sense into her wayward boyfriend or leaving him there for the night and punching something that was relatively hard, then going down in the morning and shaking some sense into her wayward boyfriend.
“Please? I know for a fact that the guys I got into promised not to press charges,” Theo pleaded.
“Do you understand what this kind of publicity does to the band’s image as a whole?” Sara asked, alternating between running for hands through her hair, sitting down on her bed and pacing a track into her carpet.
“Look, I know for a fact that everyone in the world is well aware of my, uh, previous record with the law, and they know that I’m the problem child of the band, so how much of a ripple could it possibly cause with the image?”
“Theo, darling,” Sara said in a sickly sweet voice. “The paparazzi are all about exaggeration, hyperbole and making as big a splash as possible. The fact that you are the problem child means that they have more ammo to throw at us as a unit. It’s not just your rep, it’s our rep as a couple. It’s our rep as a band.”
“…What’s a hyperbole?”
“Dammit, Theo!” Sara lost her temper with her boyfriend. “You can sleep in that holding cell for the night! I’ll be down there with the rest of them in the morning.” She hung up on him as he protested indistinctly through the phone and fell back in bed, fuming.
The morning couldn’t stay away long enough for Sara, who wished for Theo to stay in there for as long as possible to reflect on what he had done, why he had done it and how he could have avoided it.
What the hell was he doing in a bar in the first place? Shouldn’t he have been in the apartment, sleeping, for God’s sake?
When Leonard woke up in the morning, he could feel that something was distinctly off about the world.
For one thing, there was no cat meowing in his face. Then he remembered that he had closed his door for the night because he felt that it was too cold.
Then, there was no clanging about outside his door, which usually was accompanied by the front door opening and closing, scuffled boot steps and a few moments of silence before it happened again.
The last thing was probably the lack of the loud noise of Theo’s voice and Sara’s more mellow strains of sound.
Leonard got out of bed and got dressed in jeans, an old Beatles print shirt and a flannel button-up. He walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of Burnett actually home in the morning for once and not away at wherever he usually went during the days and nights and sitting with Sara at the kitchen table. Burnett looked more respectable than he had for a while; looking like a regular nineteen-year-old man as opposed to the scruffy hobo/caveman look he seemed to enjoy sporting on more than a regular basis.
“Henna made me,” Burnett explained at Leonard’s confused look.
Henna was busy chopping up fruits and loading them into a blender. She obviously planned on making a fruit smoothie.
“Make me some, too?” Leonard asked.
“Sure.” She turned the blender on and Sara flinched at the loud noise.
“Geez,” Leonard said, taking a seat at the table. “You look like hell warmed over, Sara.”
“Thanks,” Sara said sarcastically. She was wearing her favorite striped sweater and cargo pants, but she looked like she hadn’t slept for days. “Guess what happened at two in the morning.”
“Theo called me.”
“Wait, what?” Leonard was now confused. “Isn’t he asleep?”
Sara snorted. “Ha. That’s unlikely. He called me from a holding cell at the police station.”
Burnett chuckled. “Our little problem child got into a little tussle down at the local bar,” he said. “And the police were called in to subdue them.” He snorted derisively. “What kind of chicken calls the cops to a bar fight? You let these guys fight it out, not call the police on them.”
“So, we have to go bail him out,” Henna said, setting down a tall glass of pink smoothie, already sipping at her own.
“Thanks.” Leonard took a gulp and set it down almost as fast as he swallowed. “Oh, oh, oh, brain freeze!” He cringed. “F-f—gah! Eergh!” He rubbed at a spot at the base of his head. “Oh my God, it hurts, pain, pain, pain.” He whimpered.
“That’s why you don’t gulp smoothies,” Henna said with a cheerful smile.
“Thanks for telling me after I swallow half a cup of liquefied frozen fruit,” Leonard said sourly.
“Come on, finish your breakfasts. We’re going down to bail Theo out,” Sara said impatiently, foot jiggling and fingers tapping the table top, creating complex rhythms that were attempting to calm her down.
In half an hour, they were at the police station. Henna and Leonard were waiting in the lobby. Burnett had since wandered outside, not liking the cramped quarters of the lobby. Sara had gone in to see Theo in the holding cell with a police officer. They could now hear muffled, but obviously vicious yelling seeping through the door.
Henna cringed, tugging at the ends of the strings that tied her peasant blouse shut at the neck. “I would hate to be Theo right about now.”
Leonard nodded in agreement. “I would hate to have to be the one who has to listen to Sara’s yelling. It’s like a mixture of sleep-deprivation, PMS and plain-old, good old-fashioned female wrath.”
Fifteen minutes later, Sara marched out, followed by a meek Theo and the police officer who looked incredibly worn out.
“We’re done,” she said flatly. Henna and Leonard exchanged a look.
What could that possibly mean?