Lingerie For Felons (28 page)

‘Hi,' she said warmly. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Ah, okay,' I offered, not really sure what she was doing here.

‘I told your lovely mother I'd stop by,' she explained.

Lovely?

‘Look, I'm sure this is all going to be fine. When your Mom explained everything to me, I felt so bad for you. I can't believe you'd been tortured yourself. No wonder you felt strongly enough to picket that company. You're so brave.' She was looking at me with shiny, admiring eyes and I felt like the biggest fraud on the planet.

‘Uh, yeah, thanks,' I contributed lamely.

Come on, girl
, an inner voice whispered.
Do better than that. She's on your side.

I tried again. ‘Look, thank you,' I started. ‘You're very sweet to come.'

‘You know,' she went on. ‘I know your Mom said you don't like to talk about it, but I can't help feeling that you should mention your time in captivity to the judge. I am sure it could be taken into account as a mitigating factor. You don't need to feel ashamed. Lots of students don't realize how dangerous Colombia is.'

Oh man.

I was thinking fast as she patted my arm and added, ‘It's not your fault.'

‘You're so helpful,' I stammered, channelling my mother and squeezing her arm like she was a long lost sister. ‘But really,' I feigned a sob while I hid my face behind my hand. ‘It's too painful. I couldn't. It's taken years of therapy just to get where I am.'

‘I understand,' she finished. ‘Anyway, I'll be up back, rooting for you. We need more brave souls like you.'

Jesus Christ. Please God don't let this faux hostage crap come out. They'll lock me up forever and throw away the key. I'm gonna kill you, Mom.

Even before my turn came, I discovered Frank hadn't been wrong about the judge.

He really was nasty.

The poor guy before me got savaged, and all he'd done was urinate in some alleyway behind the courthouse. I'm not a great fan of public urination myself — I once stepped in a puddle of it in my favorite shoes and they've never been the same — but really, I thought ‘antisocial vermin' was a kind of harsh way to describe the guy.

He was only 22 and he'd only been taking a leak.

What was the judge going to think of me?

When my turn was up, my heart sank even further. Even with Frank valiantly detailing the extenuating circumstances — the greater crime of the company, the good work I did at the university, et cetera — I could tell the judge had a set against me. Through the massive bags of skin in which his tiny eyes were buried, he was considering me as though, despite the fact that I was a rather distasteful morsel, he may eat me regardless.

I had one pitch left to play, so when Frank requested permission for me to read a statement, and it was granted, I got to my feet with my knees shaking and my heart pounding. I felt like I was literally begging for my life. I'd constructed the statement around the four key facts Clark and Frank had been able to share about Judge Renquest.

One: he likes his supplicants contrite and humble. Don't try to make excuses, leave that to the lawyer. Just beg for mercy.

‘Your Grace,' I began breathily, trying to sound as shakily impressed as I could — it wasn't hard, I felt really intimidated.

I knew ‘Your Grace' wasn't the right title, but I was hoping I might gain a few points by elevating his status this way. He looked like he thought he had a kind of papal thing going on. And I'd done some searching on the Internet and found out he was Roman Catholic.

‘Your Honor,' he corrected me, but I thought I could detect a slight tremor of pleasure in his voice.

‘I'm sorry, Your Grace, I mean Your Honor,' I went on. ‘Your Honor, I am deeply contrite about the actions of two days ago. I am wracked with guilt about the damage I inadvertently caused.'

I sneaked a look at his astonishing profile.

He seemed to be listening, at least.

Two: he's a lecherous old bastard, so play up the sex angle. Carefully.

After my initial pitch, I took a moment to catch my breath, feigning some nervous deep breathing in order to stick my breasts out as far as I could, and push them against the sheer creamy fabric of Heidi's blouse. I pulled out a tissue and pretended to blow my nose so I could check again whether the judge was taking note. It was hard to tell under all that flesh, but his tiny little eyes did seem to be concentrating on my neckline. Hoping I wasn't overplaying it, I ran my hands down the outside of the dress, hoping to convey that my hands were clammy with sweat and nerves, and to serve the dual purposes of emphasizing both my nervous contrition and my hourglass curves.

Again, he seemed to take it in.

Three: discuss the actual incident only to emphasise the non-violent aspect of the action. The judge had studied under Dr King for a short time in his youth.

‘Your Grace…Honor,' I quickly corrected myself. ‘While utterly misguided, I want you to know that the action was at all times peaceful and non-violent. We were trying to…' I tried to make it look as though I was simply searching for an impromptu phrase but really I had carefully composed and practiced every word of this little speech. ‘Overcome oppression and violence without resorting to oppression and violence.'

Please, Dr King, forgive me my blatant plagiarism.

And please God let the judge recognize the good doctor's words.

The Judge was actually leaning forward now, and seemed involved in every word I was saying. Or my cleavage. Whatever. I didn't care. I swear I'd sleep with the guy if I thought it would keep me with my baby. Speaking of which…

Four: mention Eve. As often and with as much pathos as possible. The judge and his wife had apparently tried unsuccessfully for many years to have children before fostering a series of children over many years. The judge was known to have a soft spot for small children, and was the patron of the local children's hospital charity. A fact I felt no remorse about exploiting to the hilt.

‘I beg your compassion, Your Honor,' I finished up. ‘Not for me, but for my tiny daughter, Eve. She's four years old and I am her sole carer.' Small white lie. All in a good cause. ‘She has been terribly sick, and we are very close. I can't bear to imagine what would happen to her without me.' I broke off, again hiding behind my tissue. This time I didn't need to feign tears, they rose unbidden. I was blatantly exploiting her, but the merest thought of losing my Eve was enough to make me cry.

By the time I finished the little speech the judge was almost in tears himself. He took less then a minute to find me guilty but sentenced me to 150 hours community service. I didn't care if I had to do 1500 hours, cleaning the most evil public toilets in the city. I felt like I'd been released from Auschwitz.

A kiss and a Dick — Back at Emmy's apartment, party night

By the time I finished the tale, the assembled company at the party were looking at me with rapt attention. Ralph, particularly, seemed pretty fixated on my mouth, and I noticed for the first time that his face had a slightly wolfish profile. For the second time that day, I felt like a man wanted to eat me. And for the first time in five years, I seriously considered the prospect of taking one to my bed.

Nothing like open admiration as an aphrodisiac.

I shook my head and quickly reminded myself of my promise to Emmy.

No kissing. No flirting. And nothing else besides.

But three hours later I was in the linen store again, this time with Ralph's tongue buried so deep in my mouth I could hardly breathe. But I didn't care. I was drunk. I was having a great time, with all my favorite people. And Dick. And Ralph had gotten more and more attractive with each passing course — or perhaps each passing drink. And it was that kind of abandoned, teenage kissing that you almost never get anymore after you turn thirty.

I figured it was my party and I could be shallow if I want to. And he smelled great.

And ever since seeing Wayne the day before I felt like my libido had been kicked back into life. It was weird. In between thinking about court, and stressing out about Mom, Wayne had been a constant fixture in the back of my mind, like some kind of talisman. I couldn't shake the image of him, and the things he had said. His words had been replaying in my mind, but the picture of him — so dark, and so huge — had been replaying somewhere much, much lower on my anatomy. It hardly seemed possible. Some reasonably brief relationship, ten years before, and he could still turn my insides to mush.

Some people might think it strange that the erotic shadow cast by Wayne could drive me into the arms — well, mouth really — of another man, but it's not that weird. It felt so great to be really, really kissed. And more. Ralph's expert polo fingers were working their insidious way into my beautiful dress, stroking and groping and I kept thinking:

I'll stop him soon. Soon soon soon soon. But not quite yet.

‘There you are, you little strumpet!' Emmy's outraged screech made me feel like a horny dog being doused with cold water.

Ralph broke away. You know what's weird? How really, tremendously rich people never look embarrassed about anything. They're like kings or something, so born-to-rule that they honestly believe they can do anything they like without needing to feel sheepish when sprung. He didn't look perturbed in the slightest by Emmy's intrusion.

I, on the other hand, felt like some depraved teenager.

‘Why are you hiding in here? I thought you weren't going to do anything with him. Jesus, Lola, where's your self-control?'

Self control? Had this woman no insight at all?

I could tell Emmy was more miffed that I disappeared in the middle of her absolutely divine party, not that I was kissing Ralph, which we both know had been her intent all along. Once her cognitive function and control-freakery settled down, she started to realize this, and looked much happier.

‘Alright then, Bonnie and Clyde, back to the party. There's still dessert, and a surprise. Out, out, out,' she shooed us both with her hands, but as I swished past her in my gorgeous — if now slightly dishevelled — frock, she grabbed my arm.

‘Actually, hang on for a minute, Loll,' she indicated me into the storeroom with her head. ‘Go Ralph,' she commanded. Ralph, like everyone in Emmy's life, did as he was told.

‘What is it?' I was cross now that my initial embarrassment had worn off a bit and I was thinking again about how much fun I'd been having. ‘Sweet Jesus, my first real kiss in five years and you had to ruin it. Thanks a million.'

‘Oh, don't be so dramatic,' Emmy groaned. ‘He's not going anywhere. He's got the sniff of blood now.'

Ugh. For a writer, Emmy can really use some disgusting analogies.

‘What is it?' I was repeating myself again.

‘Mom.' Emmy began. ‘She told us today. She said she told you last night. My God, what do you think? I can't believe she's sick. It's like…I dunno…finding out that Sylvester Stallone's gay or something. It's messing with my head.'

I looked at Emmy, and I could see her fear through the shiny glaze of good champagne in her eyes. It was a strange sight, somehow even more unnerving than the thought of Mom, scared and small, the night before. Emmy doesn't get scared. Emmy's the strongest and bravest and most bad-tempered. Emmy couldn't get cancer.

But then, I wouldn't have thought Mom could either.

With an almost blinding jolt, I had a sudden sense of the capriciousness of life and luck. I felt unsteady on my feet. It could happen to anyone. It's so democratic. No one is safe.

I looked at Em again. She wanted me to say something. She wanted to be comforted. But I wasn't sure I had the right stuff in me. I drew in a breath and pulled her into me. She resisted, and then melted against me, all red silk and hair that smelled like real vanilla.

‘Babe,' I started. ‘You know it's just life. People get sick and usually they get better. And I think she will. You know, I really do. She's so…brilliant. She'll just outwit the hideous thing. But…' I pulled back and look into her eyes. ‘But even if she doesn't, it'll be okay. Everything will be okay.'

At this, Emmy dissolved, all her front and bravado trickling away with her tears. They were great big, red sobby ones too. I wondered why I couldn't cry about Mom. Why I hadn't cried yet. I wondered when I would, if I would. I wondered if I was all out of tears from the years of pain and worry with Eve. I held my sister again, rocking her like I did with Eve when she was scared at night, saying ‘shhh, shhh' into her hair and patting her back.

‘I don't want to be an orphan,' she spluttered. ‘I can't be an orphan.'

I know it's inappropriate, but this made me giggle. ‘You wouldn't be an orphan, Em,' I berated her gently. ‘Even if she died. There's still Dad. Orphans lose both parents. And I'm not sure, but I think you actually have to be a kid to be an orphan. Technically.' She looked mutinous as I considered this issue for a moment. ‘Or maybe not. I'm not sure. But you definitely need two dead parents. Not just one.'

‘Jesus Christ,' she burst out. ‘Ms Fucking Comforting. Thanks for that.'

I wasn't annoyed with her for being so rude. I was just glad to have her back.

‘It's Dr Fucking Comforting to you, Ms St James,' I corrected her. She smiled, but I noticed she still looked pretty distracted. I sensed there was something else. ‘What is it, honey?' I probed.

Again, Emmy looked uncertain. Then she seemed to resolve something in her mind, and she took my hand.

‘Loll,' she said quietly. ‘Do you think I'm a good person?'

Oh dear. That was a hard one. What do I say, Emmy? I mean, I know you are a good person. You're loyal, and so smart, and you do great things in the world with all your money. And you care for me so well. But you're also pretty heartless, and really tactless, and very, very bad tempered. But I guess that stuff isn't as important as the other stuff.