Among Women

by J. M. Cornwell

  She stepped into the jeans and swung back around. “You know what I am. I never lied to you.”

  “I didn't have to watch it before.”

  "You told me you were working double shifts and then you come here and pretend to be police."

  "I am police, cher."

  Elke moved closer to Franco, hesitantly at first and then bolder when he did not push her away. "You have always been police, Franco, so why treat me this way?"

  Franco grabbed her by the hair and tilted her head back, yanking harder and harder until she whimpered. "Please, Franco, you are hurting me."

  "I thought you liked it like that."

  Some sense of self-preservation kept her from hitting him, beating his face and chest with her fists. "I do," she managed through a tight smile. "Whatever you want, you can have." He kissed her hard. She forced the moan of pain into a moan of desire, holding back the tears and biting her lip. He mashed her lips again with his own, biting her bottom lip until she tasted blood. Franco suddenly shoved her onto her back on the bed. She spread her legs and tried to smolder up at him, praying her pain and fear did not show.

  "Is that what you want, cher?"

  "I want whatever you want."

  "Like that pig." His lips curled into a snarl. "You're nothing but a cheap whore."

  “I thought you liked to hear about my clients when we are together. You get so excited.”

  He threw her shoes and she ducked. “Who’s excited now, cher?” Franco held her passport.

  He knew.

  “Time to go home, Gretel.”

  “I will need my money.” She took her time stepping into her shoes and brushing her hair. “And I wish to call an attorney.”

  “Right.” Franco opened the center drawer and reached underneath. A money belt dropped to the floor. The money spilled onto the floor. He picked it up, stuffed all but a few bills back into the belt, folded up a couple of twenties and stuffed them in her bra. “Evidence.” Twisting her nipple until she whimpered, Franco leaned close, his lips and breath warm against her ear. “This hole is closed until further notice.”

  Twenty-Three

  “If he knew…” Pearl squeezed the girl’s hand. Elke leaned against her. “Why?”

  “He knew about the men. He did not know about being illegal. I did not lie. I did not tell him. I had not felt so strong with anyone and I could not risk it. Not Duncan. Not Hans before he die. Never. Franco felt so good.”

  “Boo, ain’t none of ‘em worth nothin’. That for true. He set you up and you fall just like he plan. He want yore money, not you.”

  “I was surprised he knew where I keep it. I want to tell him, but he say he did not want to know. It was my money and he protect me.”

  “He protec’ you all right, boo. He protec’ you right outta bidness. What you need is someone to school you, teach you the ropes.”

  “It do not matter now. I go to Germany tomorrow.” Elke hugged Pearl. “Thank you for letting me say what happened.”

  “You’re very welcome, Elke.”

  Elke went up the stars, the women parting to let her pass and closing the gap behind as if she had never been there.

  The brunette took Elke’s place. “Now you, Boo, you got potential. You hook up with me and I get you some good jobs. Girl look like you, all smart and talk good, you make lots. You won’t never hafta work on yore back ‘less you wanna.”

  “Naw, don’ listen to her. That’s how she get in here. I got the dope on the good stuff.” Joy insinuated herself between the brunette and Pearl.

  “Git yore nasty ass offa her.”

  Joy slithered back up the stairs, anger and hate quickly moving shadows in her yellow eyes. She mumbled something, but Pearl didn’t hear what she said. She was not about to ask either. The less she said to Joy or about her the better off she’d be.

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me how you got in here?” Pearl asked the brunette.

  As one, the women nodded and crowded closer chattering like magpies.

  “Please, one at a time.” Pearl laughed with them. They were eager children anxious to be first to show and tell. They told her about walking the streets and turning tricks. Some of what they told her was more than she wanted to know and she felt a full body blush as she changed the subject. They offered to set Pearl up with their bosses or partners and introduce her to the right people. Pearl wasn’t sure she wanted to know those right people, so she thanked them and declined.

  “Girl, you’d be a hot property. Listen to me and I’ll hook you up,” said the girl doing her hair.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” she said.

  Once she was out of there—if that ever happens—she was determined to keep her distance from cops and Central Booking and anything that would end with her back inside. No littering. No loitering. She vowed to wear her seat belt and drive the speed limit—when she could afford to buy another car. The thrill from speed along the highway or down back roads at night, headlights , a path through the darkness, was not worth it. No more, she promised herself.

  In the beginning, she had half expected the inmates to start knife fights over territory or, at the very least, pull each other’s hair or call each other names. That was what real criminals did. There was no way for any of that to happen with the keeping an eye on things all the time. Although there had been a couple threats of solitary confinement, it was doubtful anyone on the quad would do anything to warrant that kind of punishment.

  The thought occurred to her that the quad was a minimum security area. Naturally, that meant there was a maximum security section for hard core types. She wondered where it was, but she wasn’t so curious she would go looking for it. There were some stones best left unturned.

  None of the inmates were really bad in her estimation. They had made mistakes and had taken chances she never would, but she’d never been in their position before. Not one of them came across as truly evil or downright mean. Joy was their version of evil; even she was not lethal—so far. The inmates seemed more akin to thrill seekers, adrenaline junkies looking for a good time, and people willing to flout authority or take an less traveled path. Some took short cuts that turned out to be bad choices, and there were plenty of ways to makes things easier. Pearl wondered how long it would take before she took a short cut or agreed to an easier path. Not while I have blood and jewelry to sell, or as long as I can work, she told herself. That was an option on the outside; inside was a different story.

  With no talent for theft, easy was a relative term. The idea of sex for money made her feel dirty and ashamed. The check scams would be less dangerous, but she would be too nervous. Play acting she understood; she had been quite good at it. She loved dressing up and wearing costumes. Pulling off what amounted in her mind to a heist was something else again. The very thought of it put her stomach on a whirligig. Crime was not for her. If her conscience didn’t get her, then the fear would. Acting was one thing and using acting to steal money was not on the agenda, and besides, it was wrong. She did know the difference.

  Back in high school and working summer stock, her performances were a cut above the rest. How many times had her drama teacher and directors she had worked with told her she could be a star? That was make-believe. Those women were talking about a whole different level of acting, the kind of thing that ended in federal pens. She didn’t care how nice Martha said the federal pens were, defrauding banks was never a good idea.

  As much as she had come to like and admire these women, she did not want to be one of them. She had led a bland life, but a safe one, until recently. There were limits to what she was prepared to do—and risk. What they offered was far beyond those limits.

  She had had her share of bad luck and had made lots of mistakes, but none so bad that she had landed in jail—until now. Then again, she very well could have ended up here if fate or luck or something had not intervened on her behalf. Whatever had kept her safe and free until now, she silently thanked, and wished the same for each of the
women chattering and laughing around her.

  All the talk about crimes brought her right back to Lorenzo. None of what happened made sense. Why didn’t the police question me about his murder? Someone must have known about our project or had seen us together. Lorenzo had been certain he was being followed, but she never felt it. Was he paranoid? No, he was dead. Still

  Lainie touched her arm. “You busy?”

  Pearl looked around at the other women. “Would you excuse me?” They all nodded.

  One woman behind her, a petite elfin girl not much more than eighteen, leaned down and whispered in Pearl’s ear. “You have such pretty hair. Let me fix it for you.” The girl sounded plaintive and a little lost.

  Pearl had enjoyed having her hair brushed, but she was not sure what else the girl was offering when she stroked Pearl’s hair with her fingers and kissed her cheek while she whispered provocative suggestions. Pearl blushed. She felt her ears get hot and her cheeks go up in flames. “Thank you,” she said. “Maybe some other time.”

  The girl’s fingers lingered in her hair as Pearl got up and walked down the stairs. Strange as Lainie seemed to her, at least what she wanted was easier to understand. What else could a junkie want but strong veins to carry her away on a soft pink cloud that numbed the too bright and too loud surroundings? She didn’t like Lainie staring at her arms but, other than touching her shoulder or arm to get her attention, Lainie had not gotten too close. She seemed to know where Pearl’s personal boundaries lay.

  As they sat down at the picnic tables, Lainie moved closer. Maybe Pearl was wrong and Lainie did have the same thing on her mind as the young girl who had whispered in her ear. Pearl slid as close to the edge of the bench as she could without falling off. Lainie moved closer. Pearl had nowhere to go. She leaned back and Lainie sat still, waving her good arm at Pearl. “No, it’s not like that. I don’t want everyone to hear.”

  “Then why do you want me to write about you?”

  Lainie cocked her head to the side, a furrow deepening between her thick unruly eyebrows. “Didn’t think of it like that.” She giggled, then laughed, throwing her head back and putting her hand in front of her mouth to hide the gaps and blackened stumps of some of her teeth. “Guess it don’t matter.” She shrugged her shoulders and then lifted her limp right arm onto the picnic table. “I told you about the chase, but I didn’t tell you why I ran.”

  Pearl shook her head. “No, you didn’t. What was in the trunk?”

  The other women at the table leaned forward, listening.

  Over their lowered heads, Pearl glimpsed the beautiful woman the guards brought in at lunch. She sat straight and serene like statue of some ancient queen carved from a pale, fine-grained wood. The woman looked over at Pearl and tilted her head in acknowledgment. Her eyes were welcoming, firing the emerald-flecked depths of dark amber eyes. Her eyes caught and held Pearl’s. Something passed between them, an understanding, a sort of kinship. She did not belong in here anymore than Pearl did.

  Lainie nudged her. “The trunk.”

  “Oh, yes. Uh huh. Okay.” She turned her attention to Lainie. “Everyone was talking about it when they brought us in. You were on the news.”

  Lainie nodded. “Yep. They were eating my dust until I ran out of gas, just like I told you.”

  The women around the table laughed. “Shoulda checked your tank before you ran, boo.”

  “Didn’t have time,” Lainie said.

  The women spoke again. “Would you really have driven into Lake Pontchartrain?”

  “That was the plan.”

  “And what was in the trunk?”

  “Let’s put it this way. If I ever get out of here, my old man’s going to be mad as hell.”

  “Lainie Lachine, you got a visitor,” a guard announced over the loud speaker.

  Lainie grabbed her right leg and swung it slowly over the bench as she got up. “Be right back. That’ll be my lawyer. Go to court next week.”

  “Right. Good luck, Lainie,” she said, eyes locked on the new woman’s approach.

  “Be right back.”

  “Sure,” she said, turning to acknowledge Lainie, but she was long gone.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she looked for the woman. She stood at the edge of the group still and silent, her eyes fastened like a spotlight on Pearl. In the heat of the woman’s single-minded regard, Pearl stood frozen. The soft clamor of voices faded until the only sound remaining was the woman’s measured breathing coming closer, and closer.

  No longer able to ignore her presence, Pearl looked up and into her eyes. So this is how the fly feels when the sap becomes amber.

  Twenty-Four

  An aura of strength and self-possession surrounded the new woman and yet something profoundly sad showed deeply in the depths of her eyes. Pearl wanted to ask her what she did to end up in jail, yet did not want to breach the silence. There was something other worldly about her.

  Sounds trickled through her private reverie. Everyone at the table was talking about her writing. Someone took her hand.

  “Can I read it?”

  “Uh huh.” Pearl handed over the pages and found she was swimming in the depths of a secluded mossy pool.

  Her face was obscured by an acrid haze of smoke that made Pearl’s eyes water. It was enough to break away. She coughed, her throat and chest burning from the smoke. I wish they wouldn’t smoke those nasty things. The smell of cigarette smoke was bad enough, but the cheap tobacco made Pearl nauseous.

  The barefoot wanderer muttered about running out of cigarette papers while she sprinkled tobacco into the fold square of toilet paper. Every week, the wandered ended up with more tobacco than papers. Others who bought Buglers, the roll-your-own jailhouse cigarettes, threw the remainder away, but not the wanderer.

  She lit a match and set it to the limp end of the make-do cigarette. The toilet paper burned for one quick puff before going out. Smoke wouldn’t draw; the paper was too heavy and soft. She set the end alight again. The paper smoked. She sucked hard. The paper smoldered and went out. Another light and another puff of toilet paper, chemicals and a wisp of smoke until she singed her fingers and threw the soggy mess to the floor. Unwilling to give up, the wanderer picked it up and struck another match. The paper went up in a flash of fire, but she puffed and sucked until the last second, grinding it beneath her foot.

  She was probably used to rolling pinners—marijuana cigarettes not much bigger than a sewing needle. Pearl chuckled to herself. Not so long ago she would not have known about pinners or Buglers. She was finally getting an education she could use.

  Several of the women at the picnic table coughed and complained, telling the wanderer to go somewhere else to smoke. She ignored them and kept sucking on the toilet paper, which got soggier and soggier as she inhaled, her cheeks puffed out like balloons about to burst. Maureen grabbed the thing from her mouth and smashed it out in an ashtray.

  Pearl rubbed her eyes.

  The reek of the cheap tobacco made Pearl light-headed. As she looked at the wanderer, she thought there was something odd, something a little off, about her. It took a while before Pearl figured it out: she was talking about herself. Some of the words made sense. Social security checks, bar fights, getting drunk and getting her money from the bar. It intrigued Pearl. She wanted to get closer, see if she could get more of the story.

  “May I read what else you have written?” a soft voice asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your writing. May I read some of it?” Joo-Eun had not spoken much to anyone other than Maureen for days. Her voice was a thin soft melody of sound woven between the harsh and raucous wrangling of the other women at the table, so different from the sadness and pain that choked her words when she first came to the quad. She had begun to blossom a little under Maureen’s care. She was more forward than before.

  “If you like.”

  “Yes. I would like that very much.” She smiled up at Pearl. “I read the other one about the deputies and i
t made me laugh.”

  “Thank you.”

  What Pearl had written, she had written for herself. It never occurred to her that anyone would care to read it. She felt a faint blush color her cheeks and the tips of her ears were warm. Good thing her hair covered most of the telltale red. She knew she must look like a fire plug from all the blushing, but there was so much she encountered that was outside her understanding, and most of it was either bawdy or embarrassing, usually both. She was pleased that Joo-Eun was interested. “I’ll go get it.”

  Joo-Eun took her hand. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  She did not feel uncomfortable when Joo-Eun took her hand. It felt natural and friendly. Pearl pressed the other woman’s hand in return. “Thank you,” she said. Joo-Eun got up and bowed slightly before going back to sit next to Maureen.

  A bond had been formed between the two women. Maureen had not touched Joo-Eun since the day she found her passed out in the bathroom. She kept a respectful distance that narrowed a little each day like an Apache warrior gentling a wild mustang before riding him the first time.

  Maureen’s friendships were obvious and had changed every few days before Joo-Eun came, one or the other of her subjects paying homage, fetching and carrying for her, servants she barely acknowledged. Once in a while, she and the chosen one would disappear into her cell, usually between lunch and supper, where sounds of muffled passion drifted out into the noisy crowd and were ignored. Maureen’s cell was on the second tier, but it was not too difficult to hear the heavy breathing and stifled cries that sounded over the usual daily hum of talk and the click and slap of cards. When Joo-Eun came back from the hospital, the sounds stopped and Maureen devoted all her time and attention to Joo-Eun. Maureen fetched and carried for her, kept the more aggressive women away, and made sure she had as much privacy as possible when Joo-Eun showered or went to the bathroom. Maureen stood guard and shielded her from prying eyes. There were few who were willing to challenge her. Even the guards kept a respectful distance when Joo-Eun needed privacy, not because the Korean woman was formidable or so important, but because Maureen was her guardian.