“Go on, go on,” Jet said, and switched the car into cruise control.
“So, finally, he walked up to me, and we started talking. His name is Brett. He’s in law school. We went out for sushi the next night, then back to his apartment, where we just talked. We didn’t even do anything. Just held hands,” he said, and took a big swig of his beer.
“You’re lying,” Jet said.
“About what?”
“You didn’t even kiss?”
“Believe me, I wanted to.”
“So, then what?”
“Well, we’ve either seen each other or talked on the phone every day since then. And yes, we have kissed, but that is it. He is not a tail chaser. I think he wants to go slow.”
“You’ve only kissed?” she said. “Well, aren’t you just the poster child for abstinence.”
He laughed. “Where are your dreary duds, Morticia?”
“I’m not sure they’re right for the Panic crowd. Now, hand me a beer. We’re past Montgomery.”
Once they were on 331, they settled in. Like only close friends can, they were silent at times, then deep in conversation. They listened to music and occasionally rolled their windows down to smell the rich farmland. They passed through the tiny towns of Snowdoun, Ada, and Highland Home before reaching Luverne, which called itself “the Friendliest City in the South” and was home to “the World’s Largest Peanut Boil.” They passed Brantley, “Front Porch Capital of the South.” The old plantation homes were white with big wraparound porches and gingerbread latticework. Muscadine vines grew in the yards. The next stop was Opp, “the City of Opportunity.”
Jet glanced over at Lenny. “Thinking about Brett?”
“Yep.”
“How sweet,” she said. “And now, I think it’s time for me to get high. Can you get the one-hitter out of my purse? It’s already loaded.”
They reached Florala and crossed the state line.
And that’s when it happened.
Looking back on it, Jet would see that it was inevitable, or at least probable. She wasn’t careful enough.
The patrol car’s blue light flashed. It was county. She immediately threw the one-hitter in the console and put the tiny Ziploc in her jeans, right below the belt line. It was a quick decision, but she figured—without having time to think it out—that the officer wouldn’t search her.
Her heart was racing, but she tried to stay calm for Lenny’s sake. “It’s just a checkpoint,” she told him. “I can handle this.”
“You don’t want to have anything on you, do you?” Lenny asked, sounding frantic.
“They can’t frisk me if there isn’t a female to do it,” she explained. Inside, she was also frantic. In the past, she had been pulled over for speeding and running a stop sign, but not with pot in the car, and not with stuff that smelled so strong. If she had just waited to get high. Or done it in Opp in the little forested area right in back of the Dairy Queen. But not in the car.
She pulled over. The deputy was already walking in the direction of her car.
“Hi, ma’am. I’m Deputy Franks. Can I see your driver’s license, proof of insurance, and car registration?”
Jet already had these ready to show him.
He leaned in closer and put his nose in the air. “What’s that smell?”
Jet smiled at him and shrugged, but she could tell he wasn’t going to be easy. In general, she could talk her way out of anything. But this Deputy Franks wasn’t even making eye contact with her.
He went back to his car.
“Just don’t freak out,” she said to Lenny. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. And if it happens to me, it’s my problem, not yours, okay?”
The deputy came back and asked, “Y’all been drinking?”
“Just my passenger,” she replied. “Not me until we get there.”
He was sniffing again. Jet knew that he knew she’d been smoking. But she waited. She was trying to remember what cops were allowed to do during a stop.
“Okay, so let me see you get out of the car.”
She did as she was told. For a moment, he turned his attention to Lenny to ask where they were going. In that instant, Jet got the tiny Ziploc of buds out of her pant waist, flipped it to the ground, and stood on it, trying to make it look like just a part of the dirt. The sun was going down, and the road was getting dark. She hoped this might save her.
Deputy Franks took his time. His blue lights were still flashing. A few cars slowed down. Jet imagined she was in one of them, curious, happy she wasn’t the one pulled over.
“Come stand over here, fella,” Franks said to Lenny.
Jet kept quiet and still.
The deputy scratched his head and looked back down the road. “Can I look around in your car?” he asked.
Jet didn’t know he had called the department, but sure enough, another car arrived and a female deputy got out.
Franks said to her, “I’m asking them if I can search the car.”
“I don’t think you can do that,” Jet stated.
“Who was driving?” the female asked.
“She was,” Franks said, gesturing to Jet. “Put your hands up against your car, facing away from us.” Then, to the woman, he said, “Search her for me, would you?”
“I’m Deputy Mason,” the woman said to Jet. “I have to put you in cuffs for now, so just put your arms behind your back. You’ve never been in any trouble, have you?”
“No,” Jet said, starting to panic.
Mason leaned close to Jet’s ear. “I know the cuffs are uncomfortable. I’ll get you out of them as soon as I can. Don’t give Deputy Franks any trouble. This will be over, one way or the other, as quickly as possible.”
Jet nodded. She tried to glance to the place where she had tossed the pot. When she did, Franks leaned down and picked it up. Jet’s heart sank.
He held it up for Mason and Jet to see. “This was right beside the car door,” Franks said to Mason, then turned to Jet. “So, this is how the thing will work. We’re going to take you in. This fella here, well, let me see your driver’s license, too.”
Jet caught a glimpse of Lenny’s shaking hand as he pulled the wallet from his jeans pocket.
An eternity passed before the deputy returned and gave Lenny his ID back. “Okay, you’re good,” he said to Lenny. Then he turned to Jet. “This car is yours. Do you give this gentleman permission to drive it home or wherever you were going?”
“Yes, I do.”
Franks gave Lenny the keys.
“May I say something to him?” Jet asked.
Franks gestured for her to go ahead and speak.
“Don’t try to go to the concert,” she told Lenny. “Just drive it back to Birmingham and park it at your place. I will call you.”
Lenny’s blue eyes were wild in the headlights. “Can I say something to her?” he asked Franks.
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t I need to stay nearby?”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said firmly. “I can manage. Trust me, Lenny.”
Lenny took Jet’s keys in his hand. Jet could tell he was a wreck. Lenny didn’t have a stomach for things like this. But she wasn’t about to let him get involved or try to help at this point.
When Lenny left, Deputy Mason helped Jet get into her car, rather than Deputy Franks’s. She turned the ignition and pulled into the road.
“We’re taking you to the county jail in DeFuniak Springs,” she said. “You had just crossed the state line, though. So, as we speak, we are officially in Florida. DeFuniak Springs is the county seat of Walton County. Are you confused about any of that?”
Jet could see her dark, braided hair through the grate.
“You understand what I’m saying, hon?” she asked, looking in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jet replied.
“Are your hands hurting from the cuffs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, I’m pulling over, and I’ll take
them off. I don’t think you’re a flight risk.”
“Hardly,” Jet replied. “My car’s on the way back to Birmingham.”
“Birmingham,” Mason said. “That where you’re from?”
“That’s where I live, yes, ma’am.”
“The big city . . . ,” Mason said, trailing off.
DeFuniak Springs.
When Jet was growing up, she knew DeFuniak Springs meant she was getting close to the beach. Her family went every year, first week of June.
Now, here she was in a cop car.
For the rest of the drive, they were silent. Jet was pissed at herself for trying to toss the weed. They hadn’t even searched the console or her purse. And if she had just left it tucked into her jeans, she wasn’t sure Deputy Mason would have found it.
The police car pulled up at what felt like a garage entrance or the drop-off of an emergency room. Deputy Franks was waiting for them under an awning that stretched from the building to the grass on the other side. Jet stayed in the car and watched Deputy Mason get out, walk inside the big glass doors, and stand at a counter. Deputy Franks followed her. They stood casually, leaning their elbows on the counter, as if placing an order for burgers. They even laughed at one point. Jet couldn’t hear the conversation, but her eyes were glued to them.
They came to Deputy Mason’s car and opened the back door.
Deputy Franks said to Jet, “I’m arresting you for possession of marijuana. You have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish. If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”
Jet glanced over at Deputy Mason, who nodded slightly and kind of smiled, as if to say, or so Jet hoped, This will be resolved.
But when they took her inside, Deputy Mason disappeared. The night shift was sparse. A piece of paper taped to the wall read, “Intake and Booking.” There was a coffee machine and a candy machine. Jet saw only two other people, both of whom were working behind the counter. One appeared to be a guard. The other, a woman, wasn’t uniformed, so Jet figured maybe she was clerical. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in trouble. When she was tricking, she was held once. But it never got this far. They’d let her go with a lecture and some numbers for counselors because of her young age.
Deputy Franks went behind the counter. “Empty your pockets,” he said.
He put her purse and wallet in a box. Jet felt like she was having a bad dream: the mug shot, the fingerprinting, the danger in his voice when he said, “Come with me.” He directed her to a small room. There was nothing inside except a bench and a metal sink and toilet. The fluorescent lights cast a green glow over everything, adding to the nightmare she was in. The door had a small window, which Jet noticed only when Deputy Franks closed the door behind her.
First, she sat on the bench. Then she got up and tried to see what, if anything, was happening on the other side of the window.
After an hour or so, another girl was brought into the room. She was fucked up for sure. Jet guessed it was a DUI. She could smell the liquor.
“This is the pits, isn’t it?” Jet said, hoping to establish herself as friendly.
“Not my first rodeo,” the girl replied.
“I was on my way to the Panic show,” Jet told her. “You, too?”
“Well, I’m as drunk as a rat,” the girl said, and started moving toward Jet. She had a menacing look on her face. Jet backed up, but the girl got closer. She reached out like she was going to either touch or hit Jet. Then she laughed. “Scared the shit out of you, didn’t I? Are you a debutante or something?”
“No. I work at a bookstore.”
“Oh, so you’re a smart bitch, right? Not so smart, though. You still got arrested.”
Jet sat back down on the bench. She had no use for drunks. Back when she was hooking, she hated it when her johns were plastered. They tasted bad. They were sloppy. Sometimes, they couldn’t get it up and blamed it on her.
Jet waited, keeping an eye on the girl, who eventually passed out.
Finally, a guard came in and led her out of the room. “Okay,” he said. “One call. And I mean only one.”
There was a sign with a list of bondsmen and their prices. It was like a menu where nothing looked good. She asked for her wallet. She knew what she had to do.
When the guard brought it to her, Jet fished out the scrap of paper with Aunt Stephanie’s cell number. Steph and her other daughter, Caroline, lived in Seagrove Beach, which was close.
Jet dialed the number and held her breath.
“Hello?”
“Aunt Steph? This is Jenette.”
“Jet!” Stephanie sounded surprised. “How are you? Where are you?” The guard was standing close to her. He jingled some coins in his pockets. Then he yawned and looked down the hallway. “Long night,” he said to the woman behind the counter.
Jet tried to sound calm. “Actually, Aunt Steph, I’m in the Walton County Jail.”
“Oh,” Stephanie said. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve been arrested for possession. Some pot. You’re my one phone call.”
“Listen,” Stephanie said, “I’m thirty miles away, maybe a forty-five- minute drive. Caroline is here. We’ll get in the car as soon as we hang up. Can you make it another hour?” She didn’t wait for Jet to answer. “Don’t worry, I have enough money. I’m glad you didn’t call a bondsman. That was smart. And listen, I know lawyers. We’ll take care of this, one way or another. Just sit tight and know that you will be out of there soon.”
Somewhere along the way, Jet had started crying. She couldn’t speak, and instead made a choking noise as she swallowed a mouthful of air.
“Oh, angel. You don’t need to say anything else now. Just wait on us.”
Jet hung up the phone and handed her wallet back to the guard. She was overcome by Stephanie’s reaction. She seemed like she had been down this road before.
Back in the cell, Jet wished like hell that she had a watch or a clock to look at. She tried counting seconds: “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.” But by the time she got to sixty, she was weary of her attempt to make time speed up. It seemed to have the opposite effect.
The other girl in the cell was lying on the floor. The guard came by to offer her a phone call, and she raised a sweaty palm and waved him away. Jet wondered how she was going to get out, then quickly dismissed the thought. It wasn’t her problem. She sat on the bench and waited.
An eternity went by. Finally, a guard appeared at the door.
“Jenette,” the guard said. “Time to go.”
“Does that mean I can come out?”
“That’s what it means,” he replied, and she thought she saw an affectionate smile cross his face. She had, after all, been a good inmate for this brief time. She guessed he probably had seen and heard a lot.
He led her down the hallway. She saw Stephanie and Caroline before they saw her. They were on the other side of the counter. Jet walked faster and was about to fall into Steph’s arms when the guard held his hand up, blocking her from moving farther.
“You will need to sign some papers,” he said.
Jet signed without reading them. She just wanted out of this place. Stephanie still wore her hair long, just like Jet. For a brief instant, Jet felt she was seeing Stephanie for the first time. Her mother. How could she have missed it?
Caroline’s smile was big. She and her mother seemed so glad to see Jet. Stephanie paid the bail money with a stack of twenty-dollar bills. After counting the mone
y, the woman behind the counter gave Stephanie a piece of paper, the date of Jet’s court appearance.
Once they were in the parking lot under the streetlights, both Stephanie and Caroline hugged her.
“If it wasn’t you, it would have been me,” Caroline joked.
Jet was relieved. She felt safe with these two women, her family.
They got into Stephanie’s car and headed to Seagrove.
“There is no way I can ever, ever—”
Stephanie interrupted. “Ever thank us for this, right? Not to worry.”
“Mom’s been down some back roads,” Caroline said.
Then Jet said what had been on her mind for the hour of waiting. “Have you called my mother?” She flinched as she said mother.
“Are you kidding me?” Stephanie said. “Judge Judy? Of course not.”
Jet knew the secret was out. She knew that Stephanie was her mother, Caroline her sister. And she knew that they must know she knew. She longed to talk about this with both of them, but it was a conversation for the next day. For tonight, the mood was unexpectedly pleasant—goofy, almost celebratory, without a hint of judgment. Jet thought of how long ago her mother had given her Steph’s number, and how glad she was to have waited until this night to call.
Stephanie’s house was a few blocks from the beach. Jet took it all in, looking for clues as to the life she could have led.
The kitchen was sleek and modern—nothing like her mother’s, which was ordinary. In the living room, the furniture had a raised leaf pattern. It was simple but elegant.
“This is called Cabana Banana,” Stephanie told her, “which sounds absurd for how pretty it is.”
“I like it,” Jet said, running her hands across the material.
“In there is a Florida room.”
Jet turned her head to see.
“Some people call it a sunroom, but I think Florida room sounds much more interesting.”
Jet saw that the furniture was white wicker—a wingback, rocker, and sofa. Everything was perfect. It all felt friendly and comforting.
Once in a Blue Moon Page 12