“Lady, if it were, we’d arrest everybody on the internet!”
I turn to look out the window, trying to dry my tears on my shoulders with my hands cuffed behind me. The cop driving takes pity on me.
“Miss, if I could give you one piece of advice. You need to stop crying and clean yourself up before they put you in a holding cell. If people in there see you crying, they’re going to think you’re weak. You can be in holding for up to seventy-two hours. That’s a long time to spend with criminals who think you’re a soft piece of meat. So I know you’re sad, but you need to buck up.”
“I’m not sad, Officer,” I say, clearly stupid enough to bite any hand that tries to feed me. “I’m angry. These are tears of anger. Haven’t you ever cried when you’re mad?”
“Yes, Miss, I have. So, here’s what you should do. Instead of taking the Kleenex I was going to offer you when we uncuff you at the station, just ask the booking clerk for a sharpie and write, ‘I’m angry’ on your forehead. Because those lunk heads in holding think all tears are the same.”
“I appreciate your kindness, Officer,” I reply submissively. The tone of my voice reminds me instantly of how I feel when I’m giving myself to Mark. What’s he going to do when he finds out about this? How will I ever face him? I just need to cut that cord and move on. He is going to be so angry and there’s nothing he can do to save me now.
The booking process was fast and humiliating. The cops already had my purse from when they hauled me out in handcuffs. They checked me for any other accessories, put everything in a tagged bin, took down my name, birthdate, and address and prepared to walk me to a cell.
“Don’t I get to tell you what happened?” I ask as a female officer approaches to walk me back. She looks at the form the arresting officer submitted.
“Cop says the lawyer is coming to handle that.”
“But what about my side? Don’t I get to tell my side?”
“Honey, this is booking. Nobody cares about your side. You get to court, you can sing your song all day–but for now, get off your ass and follow me to holding or I’ll add a resistance charge so fast your head will spin.”
The words coming out of her mouth, coupled with the sardonic and snide tone set me on edge once more. No one had even listened to my side since the day that Blake Stone signed my termination papers and cheated me out of my own company. That rat better not get near my side now because I’ll do more than slap the smug off his putrid face.
The officer must see the fire ready to spew out of my eyes because her grip tightens but her tone changes to downright consoling. We approach two rows of cells, men on one side and women on the other, divided by open bars. Men are hanging over their side calling to the women, teasing and talking. I stall for just a second going in. Is this really happening? I am being put into a jail cell?
“How am I supposed to notify my lawyer? I haven’t had a phone call.”
“We need the booking statement complete before you can chat on the phone. But I wouldn’t waste your time on your lawyer unless you think you’re lucky. You get two minutes and if you get put on hold, too bad. Most people call family and they get the lawyer.”
The pneumonic door opens with a hiss, and immediately people start shouting all at once.
“Yo, I need some food!”
“I got a cut that needs the nurse!’
“Hey, I need my phone call! My baby needs a sitter!”
“It’s a mistake!”
All the desperate voices shouting make me dizzy and my heart starts pounding, pumping up the adrenaline in my system. The officer pushes me through the opening and a buzzing sound silences everyone as the doors close again.
My jaws clamp shut. My heaving breath, and my hands balled into fists must send out huge red flags. Some of the women give me a wide space to walk through and don’t make eye contact.
I sit down on a bench in the corner, not even looking at my cellmates although they are slowly getting brave enough to check me out. Nods and whispers pass between the others. I don’t care. I am still thinking about who to call.
Paul’s a great lawyer. That means he’s really busy and there’s no chance I’m going to get straight through. I could call the hospital and ask them to tell Dad. But what would he do? He’s on oxygen, has nothing and no way to get here. All it would do is worry him. If he lives—someday we will laugh about this together. But if he passes—I’d rather let him live his last days in peace, without knowing what a crazed loser his daughter turned out to be.
There’s Greg. That would just be par for the course and ensure my humiliation is complete. I could call and say “It’s your ex-fiancé. You know, the woman you cheated out of her heart? Well, I’ve been cheated out of everything now. Could you bail me out?” No. Not Greg.
I could call Janice, and I know she would mortgage her house if she had to, but it wouldn’t be fair. Besides, if Kenneth or Blake found out she helped me, she would definitely lose her job. Plus, if I haven’t ruined every single thing Mark was trying to do, he might still need Janice on the inside.
Dammit. I spent so much time buried in my business; I’m so short of a social life that I don’t have anyone to bail me out. What a success story I’m living. I try to recall some other friend’s phone numbers but they are all in my phone, and it’s locked up. This is pretty typical for my day so far—I throw a fit about a phone call, and then discover I have no one to dial.
“Hey you,” a tattered woman says from the next bench. “I think I know you.”
“I doubt it,” I respond, trying to buff up my voice until I sound roughly like a serial killer.
“Yeah, you’re that magazine woman. My daughter worked there as an intern for a summer. I saw you when I picked her up on days she was too late for the bus. You were always yelling or instructing or shit. She missed the bus a lot.”
“I do edit a magazine,” I lie, figuring I really don’t need to give an accounting of recent history to Debbie-Down-And-Out.
“What’s your name? Oh wait… I remember… Miss Shark. You’re Miss Shark.”
“Sharp.”
“Oh. Well, Miss Shark, you’ll be happy to know my girl has done good. She is writing on the internet and making good money.”
I smile and nod. Good to know something I did in life was worthwhile, before I hang myself in my jail cell.