“What are we going to do now?” were the only words I could utter.
He didn’t try to deny anything or justify himself; he defied me with a steely stare, ready to defend his love in any way necessary, even if he had to kill me. Then the dam of pride, good breeding, and politeness that had held me back during months of frustration collapsed, and silent reproaches were converted into a flood of recriminations that I couldn’t contain, that he listened to quietly and without emotion, attentive to every word. I accused him of everything that had gone through my mind and then begged him to reconsider; I told him that I was willing to forgive and forget, that we could go far away somewhere no one knew us, and start over.
By the time my words and tears were exhausted, it was broad daylight. Diego crossed the distance that separated our beds, sat beside me, took my hands, and calmly and seriously explained that he had loved Susana for many years, and that their love was the most important thing in his life, more compelling than honor, than the other members of his family, than the salvation of his very soul. To make me feel better, he said, he could promise that he would give her up, but it would be an empty promise. He added that he had tried to do that when he went to Europe, leaving her behind for six months, but it hadn’t worked. Then he had gone so far as to marry me, to see whether in that way he might break that terrible tie to his sister-in-law, but far from helping him in the decision to leave her, marriage had made it easier because it diluted the suspicions of Eduardo and the rest of the family. He was, however, happy that finally I had discovered the truth because it was painful to him to deceive me. He had nothing to say against me, he assured me. I was a good wife, and he deeply regretted that he couldn’t give me the love I deserved. He felt miserable every time he slipped away from me to be with Susana; it would be a relief not to lie to me anymore. Everything was in the open now.
“And Eduardo doesn’t count?” I asked.
“What happens between him and Susana is up to them. It’s the relation between you and me that we must decide now.”
“You have already decided, Diego. I don’t have anything to do here, I will go back home,” I told him.
“This is your house now, we are husband and wife, Aurora. What God has joined together you cannot put asunder.”
“You are the one who has violated holy commandments,” I pointed out.
“We can live together like brother and sister. You won’t want for anything. I will always respect you, you will be protected and free to devote yourself to your photographs, or whatever you want. The only thing I ask is, please do not create a scandal.”
“You can’t ask anything of me, Diego.”
“I’m not asking for myself. I have thick skin, and I can face it like a man. I’m asking for my mother’s sake. She couldn’t bear it.”
So for Doña Elvira’s sake, I stayed…
I was willing to stay at Caleufu, hiding my humiliation as a rejected wife, because if I left and she discovered the truth she would die of grief and shame. Her life turned around that family, around the needs of each of the persons who lived within the walls of their compound: that was her entire universe. My agreement with Diego was that I would play my part as long as Doña Elvira lived, and after that I would be free; he would let me leave and would never contact me again. I would have to live with the stigma—calamitous for many—of being “separated,” and would not be able to marry again, but at least I wouldn’t have to live with a man who didn’t love me.
Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden
WHAT YOU’RE IN FOR
Zonna
DEN FELT ALL THE HAIRS STAND UP ON THE back of her neck, the way it is when you get a chill or when you know somebody’s watching you. Seeing as it was the middle of July, she figured someone was checking her out. She didn’t turn around right away, though. Had to be cool, make it seem casual, like she was bored. She waited a few minutes, working a rock loose with the toe of her sneaker and kicking it aimlessly along the fence.
This was one of the few institutions she’d been in where they still had dirt. Most seemed to cover it up with concrete as soon as they could, denying you even that small amount of nature. It was like they didn’t want you to come in contact with any living thing in these places, like that might give you hope or something. Hope was a dangerous thing in a prison. Hope makes a woman careless. Makes her forget. She might not take what they give so easy, thinking maybe she could change things. There’d be an end to look toward, instead of just doing what you have to, trying to make it through each day like it’s all you’re gonna get. Hope is words like more, or better. There ain’t no room in lockup for words like that. Sometimes, though, when no one was looking, Den would pretend to bend down to tie her shoe, and instead she’d run her fingers through that dirt and maybe put a little in her shirt pocket. That night in her cell, she’d lie there in the dark and smell it. It smelled like tomorrow; like could be. It smelled like hope.
When she did finally turn around, it was slow and easy like she didn’t care, running a hand through her short blonde hair and squinting into the sun hanging over the prison wall. She took in the whole yard with one glance. Sure enough, that crazy bitch, Cole, was staring at her. Some girls called her Ice Cole ’cause her eyes were ice blue and she never showed no emotion on that stone-cold face of hers.
Den continued her stroll along the fence, away from Cole’s scrutinizing gaze, ignoring the sweat that had started to trickle down her back. Cole was a menace. If Cole wanted to make things bad for Den, then they’d be bad.
Den was trying to do good time. She’d had more than enough hard time, in and out of institutions for one thing or another since she was fourteen. Twenty-seven was too old to have to be proving herself all over again. She didn’t want any trouble. But if Cole started sniffing around, Den wasn’t about to just roll over, belly-up. She’d have to be on alert; use those eyes she’d grown in the back of her head.
The whistle blew and they lined up. Den was careful to put a healthy number of bodies between Cole’s and her own, but the other woman pushed through the line until she stood directly behind Den.
A finger traced a bead of sweat as it traveled from Den’s hairline down her spine.
“You’re mine.” Cole’s breath blew in Den’s ear, making her shudder.
“Keep your fuckin’ hands off me.”
“We’ll see,” Cole chuckled under her breath.
“No talking.” The guard tapped them both on the shoulders as she passed.
Cole took advantage of the moment to sneak her hand around and quickly pinch Den’s nipple. She knew Den wouldn’t protest with the guard so near.
Without thinking, Den stepped back, putting her heel down hard on Cole’s foot. Immediately, the intruder’s hand was gone.
“You’re gonna be real sorry you did that,” Cole hissed between clenched teeth.
Den stood up straighter as the line started moving forward.
“Real sorry,” Cole promised.
“Someone’s been aksin’ ’bout you.”
Den waited to hear if Beth was going to finish that thought or leave it dangling in the air. She’d learned not to appear too curious.
“Don’t ya wanna know who?”
“Not particularly.” Den figured she already knew.
“I bet if you knew who it was, you’d wanna know.”
Den didn’t even laugh anymore when her dumb-ass cell mate said stupid shit like that. She watched a hairy little spider finish spinning a web by the foot of her bed. Waited till it was almost finished, then destroyed the whole thing with one sweep of her hand. Almost immediately, the spider started over.
“It’s Cole.”
Den pretended she didn’t care.
“She’s sure been aksin’ a lotta questions.” Beth was dying to tell.
“Like?”
“Like, how long you in for, what you done to get here, where you was before, and like that.”
“Who she been asking?”
; “Just everyone,” Beth rolled her eyes.
“Like you?”
“Maybe me.”
Den rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She busied herself with a loose thread on the pocket of her shirt. She’d made a promise to herself that when she got out she’d never wear nothing blue again. Why’d they pick the color of sky, the color of freedom, to remind you that you weren’t free? Some sick joke.
“I’ll tell you what-all for a smoke,” Beth said.
“Got none.”
Den knew Beth would give it up sooner or later; she wasn’t about to buy information she could get for free. Cigarettes were money; but time in a prison wasn’t worth a damn. She could wait.
By lights out, Beth had told everything she knew, which wasn’t really much.
Den lay awake for hours, her mind racing. Cole was definitely looking for trouble. And a woman like Cole usually found what she was looking for. In all the years she’d been behind bars, Den had never been nobody’s property. Not like some hadn’t tried to own her, big as she was. Seemed sometimes the bigger ones had more to worry about on the inside—so many wanted to cut you down. Bigger size, bigger prize. She’d managed to talk her way out of a lot of bad situations, but she’d learned way back in juvie that a quick right cross was just as valuable as a quick mind on this side of the wall. Her rep was pretty solid, just like she was. Even so, Den made a mental note to up her workout, just in case. A few more ounces of muscle behind her wouldn’t hurt none.
“Go, girl… One more… That’s it.”
Den grunted as she lifted the barbell up and over, Tracy’s hands guiding but not touching, till the weight clicked back into place.
“Yeah! That was good.” Tracy smiled in admiration. “You working toward something, or just working?”
Den sat up and rubbed the sweat into her muscles, kneading her sore arms, secretly enjoying the pain. Pain was a marker. If you could feel something, that meant you were still alive.
Tracy let her hands down easy onto Den’s shoulders and started a slow massage, careful to keep it all business, even though she wished it was more. Den was hot—pumped, her muscles tight like she was carved out of solid rock. Tracy liked to be around her; to watch her lift, or run, or shoot hoops. Den was smooth, like water running down a hill. She had that certain grace you find in tall things, like giraffes or palm trees. When she moved, it was almost in slow motion. Tracy wished she could get closer to Den somehow. Wished she could move with her, feel Den’s body rise and fall; wrap herself up in those strong arms.
“Den?”
“Mmm?”
“Why you working so hard today?”
“No reason,” Den lied easily.
“Okay, if you say so. Seems to me you don’t need to work so hard, though.”
“No reason to get lazy.”
Tracy tried to swallow the words in her throat before they fell out, but her mouth was too dry. “Den, I got something to say.”
“So, say it.”
“I’m scared you might get pissed off.”
Den turned around to face Tracy, whose hands had dropped uselessly to her sides.
“I’ll try not to get pissed. What is it?”
“I…I was wondering…I got feelings—”
“No fucking on the benches.”
Cole’s voice cut Tracy’s sentence right in half.
Den stood up slowly, flexing her muscles, ready for trouble. Tracy all but disappeared in her shadow.
“You’re looking real good, Denny.” Cole flashed a greasy smile and reached out a hand to stroke Den’s biceps.
Den shook her off.
“I told you before, don’t be touching me, Cole.”
“Why not?” Cole peered around Den’s shoulder. Her frosty eyes zeroed in on Tracy. “Is this what you’re turning me down for?”
Den ignored the question and started to walk away, bumping Cole’s shoulder as she passed. A dangerous move, but a necessary one, Den decided.
Three steps later, a sound like “woof” made Den spin around. Tracy was doubled up on the ground. Two of Cole’s girls stood nearby. Cole herself sat on the bench, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head.
“Prison yard’s a dangerous place. Never know what might happen. Best not to get too close to anybody.” Cole checked the weights and started to lift where Den had left off.
Den hurried over to her friend. “You all right?” She helped Tracy to her feet.
“Yeah. I think so.” Tracy brushed the dirt off her clothes.
“I’m sorry. That was about me, not you.”
They started walking back toward the cells.
“You Cole’s girl?” Tracy asked right out.
“Hell, no.”
“But she wants you, right?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t care much what she wants.”
Tracy’s knees got a little weak; she felt Den’s arms holding her up.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m scared, Den.”
“Don’t be scared. I’ll watch out for you. I promise. From now on, you just stick by me.”
Tracy weighed the pain in her stomach against the words in her ear. She considered the scales even enough.
Den closed her eyes and turned her face up to the nozzle, felt the cool water splash over her, washing away the prison smell, if only for a few hours. It always returned, though: a strange mix of perspiration, desperation, and resignation. It got in your hair and under your skin. You could smell it on your own breath, and everyone else’s. It was a part of the place, issued on the first day, along with your toothbrush and uniform. It was woven into the light blue fabric, tucked under the corner of every worn bed sheet. It was in the gravy, in the soap, pumped in through the air vents. There was no escaping it.
Suddenly, she felt rough hands pinning her arms behind her back and a bar of soap being shoved into her mouth. Her legs were pulled open by more hands. Her eyes snapped open.
“You sure are one hot-looking bitch.”
Cole stood directly in front of her, wearing only her tattoos. She reached out a hand and ran it over Den’s stomach.
“What’s the matter? Nothing to say this time? Don’t want me to stop?”
Den tried not to swallow and choke on the bitter soapsuds. She stood perfectly still. She knew she couldn’t move and didn’t want Cole to see her struggle.
“I see you’re a natural blonde, Denny.” Cole tangled her fingers in Den’s pubic hair and gave it a yank. The four girls restraining her tightened their grip.
“Tell you what. We’ll make it a fair game. Since you don’t seem able to voice your opinions at the moment, I’ll read your body language instead. If your nipples don’t get hard, then I won’t fuck you. Sounds fair, don’t it?”
Cole moved in closer and began licking the water from Den’s breasts. Her tongue circled each nipple again and again; they rose like mountains from the sea.
“Well, well—looks like you been lying. Seems you want me to fuck you after all.” Cole reached down between her captive’s legs and—
Den woke up so hard she sat straight up. Her heart was pounding loud and fast, like the way the cops bang on your door in the middle of the night. She could still hear the shower running, still see the tiles all around her; still feel Cole’s hands on her. She couldn’t catch her breath. Sweat ran in her eyes and burned. She put her head between her knees and tried not to panic. Slowly, things started to wind back down to normal.
“What you doin’?” Beth’s sleepy voice called from the lower bunk.
“Nothing.”
“You sick or somethin’?”
“No. Go back to sleep.”
“Don’t puke in here. I hate that smell.”
“I won’t. Go to sleep.”
Beth drifted off again, snoring softly.
Den stood up and tried to walk the dream off like a leg cramp. What was this about? A premonition? Some kind of warning? She didn’t believe much in om
ens and such; didn’t believe much in anything. Didn’t make no sense to her that any kind of higher power would be bothering with someone in here. She knew Cole was after her ass. She didn’t need a stupid dream to remind her.
So, what then? If it wasn’t something she was supposed to watch out for, then what was it? Some people thought dreams were about things you wanted but couldn’t say out loud, even to yourself. Well, she was damn sure she didn’t want Cole raping her in no shower. Damn sure of that.
Maybe it was just about sex. Been years since she’d had any. Couldn’t be healthy. Certainly not if it was giving her nightmares like this. Maybe it was time to get herself someone. Plenty to choose from—Tracy, for one. Den could see herself with Tracy. And she knew Tracy was interested. She wouldn’t suggest nothing serious or long-term; just for here and now. Maybe they could soften the time a little by sharing it. No harm in that.
Den chased her food around the plate but didn’t swallow much. She was convinced most of it wasn’t really made for swallowing. The bread was all right, if you liked stale bread. The vegetables were usually overcooked, though; boiled till the flavor evaporated along with any nutritional value they might have once had. And the meat seemed to be boiled, as well. You couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be turkey, or beef, or ham. It was always sliced into the same thin, tasteless, pale gray strips. You could try to eat it like that, or you could hide it under a spoonful of lukewarm brown gravy. The choice was yours. The only time you knew for sure what you were eating was when they served hot dogs. Den thought that was pretty ironic.
She felt Tracy’s leg rub against hers. It reminded her of what she’d decided.
“Sorry.” Tracy shifted in her seat.
“You about finished?” Den stood up.
Tracy pushed her tray away. “Yeah. I can’t eat any more of this.”
“Come with me, then.”
Tracy followed, thinking they were headed for the yard, until they walked right past the exit and kept on walking.
Best of Best Women's Erotica Page 27