Lingerie For Felons

by Ros Baxter

  Clark sighed. ‘And?’

  ‘And he’s not even Muslim.’

  Clark sighed again. I knew he wanted to rescue me, but I also knew he needed me to appreciate it. Which is understandable, I guess. After all, what use is it being Superman if no one notices the suit?

  ‘Look,’ he continued. ‘Is this about last night? I hope not. This is real, you know. They are actually pressing charges against some of the protestors.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, studiously avoiding his question. ‘Who?’

  ‘Well, Bomber Bryan, for a start. And some guy who mooned.’

  ‘That is so crazy. Since when is mooning an offence?’

  ‘Jesus, Lola, of course it’s an offence. Indecent exposure. Apparently one of the faculty officials was deeply offended.’

  I snorted. ‘Huh. The Shrimp. His existence offends me.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Clark continued as though I hadn’t spoken, ‘I think I can get you a formal caution. It’s a bit complicated though. Even though there’s no formal record of last time, one of the officers remembers you from that other incident, and they might think they need to make an example. A…’ He consulted his notes, ‘Constable Linus McNally.’

  ‘Wow, Baby Cop’s moved up in the world,’ I muttered. I looked at Clark’s face and he was doing the pained thing. I tried hard to find the right lines. ‘Look, Clark, thanks. I’m glad you can…fix it. Do you think that’ll mean my job will be okay?’

  He leaned over and squeezed my arm. ‘Of course, Lola. I’ll make it okay.’

  I breathed out. That’s how it had been since the beginning. Clark to the rescue.

  From Transition Man to Superman — April, 1998

  In the beginning, three years ago, Wayne was like tinnitus. Ringing in the ears. The low gush of my haemorrhaging heart was the backdrop to everything, no matter how hard I tried not to think about him. I’d only been with Wayne for a year, but without him I felt like I was a stranger to my life. I was conscious of everything I did, like I was watching myself in some documentary about heartache. I just wanted life to be unselfconscious again.

  Heidi suggested meditation. It was a sign of how desperate I was that I agreed.

  You know, I always cringe when white people ‘find’ India. And never lose it again, no matter how hard other people try to hide it from them. ‘Raj’, the New Jersey redhead who ran the yoga class, sported a Bindi and those hideous drawstring pants in which the genitalia roam free, making it look like he had this monstrous penis because its outline kept popping up in the most unexpected places, like a shadow puppet. Up at the hip. Down near the knee. I kept thinking just put some briefs on and reign the thing in, for Pete’s sake.

  A nose ring does not a Buddhist make.

  Anyway, every time ‘Raj’ breathed ‘just relaaax’, I got more and uptight. My internal dialogue went something like this:

  Okay so just relax. Relax. Relaaax.

  Momentary pause in thoughts.

  Why can’t I relax? What’s wrong with me? Everyone else looks relaxed. I’m a freak. I’m the only human being biologically unable to relax. Okay, so enough. Just listen to what he’s saying. Maybe he’s giving out some hints about how to do it effectively. Pause to listen. Okay, so I need to concentrate on my breathing — in and out. In and out. Hang on… My God, is that a rattle I can hear in my breathing? Don’t tell me I’m getting bronchitis. Great. Now I can have a broken heart and broken lungs.

  And of course, all that quiet headspace simply left a great, big black hole through which Wayne strolled contentedly for the entire ninety minutes of the class. By the end of it, I was ready to jump the next plane to Sierra Leone.

  When I got back to the apartment, Steve, unhelpfully and belatedly, declared himself unsurprised.

  ‘It’s bullshit, Loll,’ he declared. ‘Emptying your head, what a load of crap. Okay guys, I challenge you, try this. Try, as hard as you can, not to think about an elephant.’ He paused for about a minute. ‘Okay, what are you both thinking about?’

  ‘Elephant,’ Heidi and I both agreed in unison.

  ‘Mine’s worse,’ I added. ‘I’m thinking about a whole herd of them. Different colors, the whole thing.’

  Heidi looked at me in disgust. ‘You are so competitive,’ she breathed.

  ‘Ladies, please.’ Steve was in full swing and not to be diverted by our bickering. ‘My point is, the only possible way not to think about an elephant is…’

  Heidi and I both leaned forward. ‘Yeah?’

  Steve beamed. ‘To think about a zebra.’

  I saw big red spots in front of my eyes. ‘What the hell is your point?’

  Steve held up his hands in front of him. ‘The point is, Lola, you have to distract yourself, not with nothing. With something. Or even better, someone.’

  And I knew he was right.

  And so, as awful as it is to admit, Clark was my zebra; the only thing standing between me and my great, big, trumpeting elephant. It had to be him — I couldn’t use Heidi, Steve or any of the others; they were all too close to it. Being with them only reminded me.

  So I started calling Clark every time my fingers itched to pick up the phone to call Wayne. It was like I was metaphorically putting my fingers in my ears and yelling ‘la la la la’ so I couldn’t hear the internal monologue that kept saying call him, call him, call him, go to him, go to him, go to him.

  At first, it was platonic things. A movie. A pizza. Then drinks. Then dinner. I wondered if he knew what I was doing, but, in typical Clark fashion, he said nothing. Then, one night, after about three weeks, he mentioned the elephant in the room, so to speak.

  ‘Lola, it’s alright, you know.’

  ‘What?’ I was suspicious. He was using the voice I’d heard him use back at the precinct. I had taken to thinking of it as the horse whisperer voice.

  ‘You can talk about Wayne if you want. I know what you’re doing. I know you’re frantically trying to keep busy so you don’t think about him. And I know that’s why you’re calling me…like…every second day. I don’t mind, you know. I just really like being with you. But maybe you should talk about it? With me. I’m a good listener.’

  ‘No thanks,’ I responded. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  And so we didn’t talk about it, but somehow the fact that he’d mentioned it changed things. I relaxed, in a way that ‘Raj’ had been unable to achieve. I didn’t have to pretend with Clark. And I actually started looking at him in a real way, not as a vital source of distraction and entertainment. I noticed how tall he was, and what nice, long hands he had. And how he had such a clever, multi-layered voice, that he used to great effect.

  Within the week, the inevitable happened.

  And it was really nice. Wayne hadn’t been a selfish lover, but we’d both been so caught up in taking. Like vampires, sucking the very marrow from each other because we needed it to survive. With Clark, I could tell he was working hard to make sure I was happy. Sex was something he did for me. Out of politeness, in a way. And I liked it. Maybe not enough to stop the thoughts of Wayne, but enough so that they didn’t interrupt all the time. Enough that they didn’t hurt quite so much. Enough so I didn’t jump on a plane to Sierra Leone.

  But, still, there was no way I was letting Clark sleep over. As far as I was concerned, the whole gig was diversion only. Transition Man.

  Until my birthday.

  Heidi, Steve and Monica had gone out for groceries, and Clark and I were getting organized for an expedition to the Met. My brain-ache — or Wayne-ache — was back, and I was hoping the museum would send it packing. I crouched on the floor in my pyjamas, looking for clean clothes. My hands felt the back part of the closet and pulled something out with it.

  ‘Oooh, look at these,’ I said, waving a pair of black fur-lined handcuffs at Clark.

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, making my bed for me as I sat on the floor.

  I stood up and moved closer to him, and waggled them some more. ‘Leftover from a fancy dress party,
’ I said, watching him turn perfect hospital corners. ‘Never been used.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you?’ He smoothed my bedspread. ‘You’re not a cop.’

  ‘Some people use them for other things,’ I said softly, moving a lot closer.

  He finally turned around to face me, his eyes unreadable. ‘Are you serious?’

  I nodded, slowly.

  He made a strangled noise. ‘I dunno, Lola, it just seems… I dunno. Wrong. Seedy.’ He was right, of course. I shook my head, feeling my face flush. He breathed out noisily, trying to smile at me but looking kind of green. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  Neither of us heard the key in the door until it was too late. But I knew something was seriously up when Clark, who was facing the door, naked bar a cap and holster, midway through reading me my rights, went as white as a sheet and whispered:

  ‘Jesus Christ, please tell me that’s not your parents.’

  It was, of course. And Heidi. And Steve. Like some pantomime of the foiled surprise party, they stood there like statues, all holding bags that appeared to be filled to the brim with food, balloons, streamers, champagne and assorted party paraphernalia. And Clark and I stood there too, jammed against each other in a futile effort to hide our nudity.

  Mom, of course, spoke first. ‘Well, darling, surprise! Of course this was supposed to happen later in the day, once the place was decorated, but happy birthday! And it looks like it certainly is. Happy, that is. We were a bit worried you’d be sad and lonely on your birthday, but you seem to be having a lovely time.’

  After that, Steve couldn’t resist. ‘Look, Lolly, I can see you’re tied up right now, but would you mind if I put these bags in the kitchen? They’re quite heavy.’

  Heidi giggled. Traitor. Clark’s mouth kept opening and shutting. No doubt he was trying to find his horse whisperer voice to make this situation better, to put everyone at ease. But he was a lawyer, not a magician. So he tried easing stealthily out of the room, a dishcloth shielding his modesty. But now it was my Dad’s turn.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  Clark, not realizing my Dad was quite possibly the softest man in New York, stopped guiltily in his tracks.

  ‘We haven’t even been introduced,’ Dad said. ‘I’m Cliff, and you’re Sargent…?’

  Eventually they let him go to retrieve his clothes, but I was not let off so easily.

  I was wrapped only in the throw from the sofa when the inquisition began.

  ‘Oh, Lolly,’ Mom started. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit soon? You’ve only been broken up with Wayne two minutes.’

  ‘Two months, Mom,’ I corrected her.

  ‘Where did you get him?’ She continued as though I hadn’t spoken. After I explained about the precinct, Mom was even more disgusted. ‘A lawyer?’ she squeaked. I knew this was bad. My Mom never squeaks. ‘I hate lawyers.’

  ‘Mom.’ I was cranky now. ‘Luke’s a lawyer.’

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ she conceded. ‘Well, obviously I don’t hate him,’ she clarified. But I’m sure I heard her mutter ‘most days.’

  ‘Oh, great, so a stockbroker’s fine,’ I hissed. ‘But God forbid I should be seeing a guy who devotes his life to defending broken people.’

  She lowered her eyes. ‘Look, darling, it’s not that. It’s just, well…we all know how you felt about Wayne. We don’t want you to rush. Look,’ she said, trying in her own peculiar way to make a concession, ‘as long as you’re just using him for sex, it’s fine.’

  Dad nodded and then looked at me wide-eyed. ‘Is he any good with electrics?’

  ‘Sorry, Dad, I doubt it. He blew up my hairdryer the other day.’

  ‘He blow-dries his hair?’ Steve frowned.

  ‘You can hardly talk, Steve,’ I almost yelled at him. ‘You’re hardly gonna make the cover of Man’s Man Monthly. You still watch Sesame Street. And cry in the sad bits.’

  Dad patted my arm. ‘Humph, well, does he want a drink? God knows I need one.’

  A couple of hours later, Clark was intoxicated enough to talk normally. And, of course, everyone liked him, even my sister and brother and Aunty Vera when they arrived. And the assorted others who had been invited. And, somehow, from an event which had started so disastrously, something strange happened.

  Over the course of the eleven hours or so that the party lasted we both relaxed into each other. Maybe it was the shared horror of the earlier events, making us conspirators. Whatever it was, when the last stragglers finally left, he was still there.

  And, for the first time, neither of us thought he was going to leave.

  And that was pretty much how we became an item. Never talking about it, never agreeing to anything, but slowly — oh, so slowly — spending more and more time together. People stopped referring to him as ‘my friend’ and started calling him my boyfriend. At first, I’d kind of gag on whatever I was consuming, but over time I got used to it. Clark stayed over more and more, and slowly more and more of my things made my way to his apartment. And if I didn’t feel ecstatic, I didn’t feel worried either. He was easy to be with.

  Then, suddenly — well, okay, two years later — we were living together. Not that I would ever concede this. I still kept a wardrobe of things at Heidi and Steve’s, but after a while I even stopped paying rent there. Anyway, that seemed logical after Heidi and Steve...but that’s another story.

  By the time I’d been arrested a second time and was officially a repeat offender, we’d been living together for six months. We’d even made plans for Christmas with his hideous family — but more about them later.

  ***

  Back at the precinct, Mom narrowed her eyes at me. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Oh my God. The woman should have been a sniffer dog.

  ‘Are you serious?’ I responded. ‘I’ve been arrested. Surely I have the right to be a little downbeat.’

  ‘Hmm…’ She studied my face. ‘Right. So, what’s Clark saying?’

  Good, keep them focused on the business at hand.

  ‘Looks like I’m going to get a formal caution this time. That means there’ll be a record. Not a criminal record, but, you know, details of what happened. I’ll be photographed, fingerprinted, all that. And then released.’

  ‘Ah, doesn’t sound too bad,’ Dad offered.

  ‘Er…yeah, it’ll be fine, I think. The main thing is that it means if there’s ever a next time, there’ll be a formal record. And it will all get much more complicated.’

  The room was quiet for a moment. Mom kept searching my face. The room was cold and bare. A few metal tables, some uncomfortable folding chairs. And a guard at the door.

  ‘Where’s that Leprechaun these days, I wonder?’

  ‘Apparently he left on stress leave not long after I was arrested last time,’ I offered. ‘I like to think Emmy pushed him over the edge, but hey, maybe just wishful thinking.’

  ‘We’re proud of you, you know, Lolly,’ my Dad suddenly said.

  ‘Yes,’ Mom agreed. ‘You know what I say: “everyone can make a difference”…’

  ‘“And together we can changed the world”,’ I finished for her. ‘I know, Mom.’

  Mom and Dad kept glancing at each other; something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I hadn’t seen them looking so serious since the Bush/Gore election. Not that ‘serious’ was quite the right word for Mom’s mood back then. ‘Murderous’ came closer. Dad took to camping out on the front stoop from about 4am, trying to catch the paperboy so he could edit the paper before Mom had a chance to get to it. There were only so many breakables left in the house and I could tell he was getting worried about his mother’s urn.

  Anyway, something in their mood today was wrong. What was going on?

  ‘Lolly,’ Mom started. Her face was pale.

  Clark chose that moment to come bustling back into the room. I noticed anew how completely he’d mastered the whole Public Defender look. He was working just the right mix of concern, reassurance and
empathy. He should have been in movies.

  ‘Cliff, Millicent, I’m sorry to interrupt. They’re ready for Lola.’

  Mom and Dad looked at Clark gratefully. ‘You’re going too?’ Dad checked.

  ‘Of course,’ he assured them. ‘You don’t need to wait. I can bring her home when they’re finished and give you a call.’

  ‘Oh thanks, Clark,’ Mom said, smiling in a way she didn’t quite pull off. ‘But we might wait around. Want to have a bit of a chat to Lola after anyway.’ She sounded innocent enough but she had a look on her face that said ‘do not mess with me’.

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ Clark sniffed and fiddled fussily with his papers.

  I wanted to tell Mom and Dad that they were blunting Clark’s role as Chief Rescuer, but they were both too quiet and strange. So instead I gave them a hug as Clark ushered me out and into the processing area.

  To my surprise, Baby Cop was waiting for us.

  ‘Lola!’ he greeted me like a long, lost friend. ‘How are ya? Been a long time. Three and a half years. Thought we mighta seen ya back again before this. I kept looking out for ya. And now, here y’are!’

  He looked good and was smiling at me like I was a best friend who had disappeared off on a world trip and only just resurfaced. His acne had cleared up, and a few extra years had added some flesh, depth and character to his face.

  ‘Yeah, great to see you too, Linus,’ I agreed.

  And, weirdly, it was. But I wasn’t sure of protocol. Should I hug him? He was looking at me with such genuine pleasure, and it was so sweet, I felt like I should hug him. No, I couldn’t. It would be too weird. And Clark was giving me that look: oh no, not again, random friend-making.

  And I honestly did understand. Clark had to endure more than most boyfriends.

  You see, I’m that person.

  The one the drooling person with the erection sits next to on the bus, loudly propositions, and then tearfully tells their life story. I’m the person at the benefit dinner that gets asked to cut up the food of the quadriplegic racist no one else will help. I’m the one that always ends up in long conversations with insane cab drivers just before Presidential elections, trying to convert them. Hey, every vote counts.