Swinging On A Star

by Janice Thompson

  Why did all of this feel like it was moving in slow motion? Who had tampered with my internal clock?

  In the midst of the chaos, I suddenly heard barking. Oh no, Precious! She’d taken hold of the female officer’s pants leg and was pulling her this way and that. Turned out that little Yorkie-Poo was stronger than she looked. Would she end up in jail too? Did they have a holding cell for disobedient dogs? My heart broke just thinking about it.

  Pop took a few tentative steps toward the patrol car—likely to offer words of reassurance and comfort. Or maybe to tell me he’d find someone else to run the family business. However, my arresting officer stopped him in his tracks. Through the window I could see the two men arguing.

  I could see something else too. Sophia had pasted her body to the patrol car holding Brock. Even with my car door closed, I could hear her wails.

  This, of course, was all being filmed by the cameraman from the Food Network. Well, by him and about three other paparazzi types who’d appeared from out of the bushes. Suddenly our lawn was an ocean of cameras.

  Squinting, I tried to make out D.J.’s face. He looked shell-shocked. And what about Rob and the other guys? How would they react to the news that the wedding coordinator and the best man had both been arrested?

  A shiver ran down my spine as I thought this through. Poor Marian! What would she do when this story broke? Would it destroy her big day?

  The crocodile tears that followed were probably as much from the stress of the past few weeks as anything. But once they got to flowing, I couldn’t get them stopped. For a few minutes there, I thought I might flood the backseat of the patrol car.

  Only one saving grace in all of this—Earline wasn’t here to watch it go down. I shuddered, thinking about how she might’ve responded to all of this. Any hopes I’d ever had of becoming her daughter-in-law were washed out to sea with my tears.

  The officer climbed into the patrol car and got on the radio, telling the folks on the other end of the line that he had a 2862, whatever that was. I shrugged and wiggled my shoulders, trying to get comfortable. Seemed that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

  “I … I’m s-sorry, O-Officer,” I managed through the sobs. “I didn’t mean to give you such a hard time. I really, really th-thought you were a r-reporter. Besides, I don’t know why I’m being arrested. I barely touched you.”

  “You shoved me.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror, likely wondering if he’d arrested some sort of nutcase. Maybe he would skip the jail and just take me to the insane asylum. “Where I come from, that’s called assault.”

  Assault with a deadly finger? My mind reeled. “I weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds dripping wet. You barely moved when I shoved you.” Yikes. Had I just admitted to shoving the man?

  “Look at the trouble you stirred up. If you’d just left well enough alone, Brock wouldn’t have attacked me. Now I have to arrest both of you.”

  “P-please, officer!” I tried. “He was just protecting me.” I tried to wipe my eyes with my shoulder—my hands being incapacitated and all—but didn’t do a very good job. “Besides, I was trying to explain … I thought you were a reporter. We’ve been dealing with them for days now, ever since they got word Brock Benson was staying here. One of them was hiding in the bushes and almost gave me a heart attack, and another one”—I shivered as I remembered this one—“well, he was up on the roof, looking down at us. He tried to tell us he was a lighting guy for the Food Network, but they’d never seen him before.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Look at our lawn. You’ll have all the proof you need. They’re everywhere. Oh! Look at that one! He’s a big strapping guy, just like yourself.” I gave him a smile, which he ignored.

  “Good try.”

  “Please, sir. You have to let me go.”

  “Why do I have to let you go?”

  “Because I’m coordinating a wedding tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Oh, but I am. And it’s the most important wedding of my career. You wouldn’t believe the amount of money the father of the bride has invested already.” I thought about the envelope I’d just shoved in my pocket. The tip from Marian’s father. Likely it was a pretty big chunk of change. What would happen to it now? Would I ever see it again? Worse yet, would the officers think it was dirty money? That I was a drug dealer or something to that effect? I shuddered just thinking about it.

  “Doesn’t matter to me what you had planned this weekend,” the officer said. “You’re headed to the Galveston County jail, so you’ll have to clear your schedule.”

  Clear my schedule? Was he kidding?

  I tried a different tactic. “Do you have daughters, Officer?”

  “Two of them. One in junior high, the other in elementary school.”

  “Imagine if one of them was getting married tomorrow night and the whole thing fell apart due to a simple misunderstanding. Please, I beg of you, let me get back to work, doing what I need to do. Otherwise …” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t want to think of the otherwises.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s too late. We can sort all of this out at the station.” He paused a moment, then looked my way, his brow knotted. “Let me just ask you a question.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s the deal with the Food Network trucks and all the lights? That’s all I really wanted to know in the first place.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. “My Aunt Rosa’s going to be on national television.” I looked out of the window as a news truck pulled up. Instantly a man with a camera ran toward the patrol car, shining his light in my face. I groaned, then turned back to the officer. “Looks like Aunt Rosa’s not the only one who’s going to end up on national TV.” Though somehow I had a feeling she’d come across looking a lot better than I would.

  Not that I had time to think about it. Within seconds, the officer radioed the jail that we were on our way, then he started the engine.

  “We’re off to see the judge,” he said, peering at me in the rearview mirror. “This is sure to liven up his day. Can’t wait to tell the wife and kids about all of this.” He laughed. “They’re never going to believe it.”

  Very funny.

  I did my best to get comfortable, but the cuffs were cutting into my wrists. Glancing out of the window, I noticed that Brock’s patrol car had pulled out onto Broadway behind mine. The paparazzi were chasing his car down the street, cameras still rolling. Well, the paparazzi and Sophia, who turned out to be a pretty good runner.

  Within minutes it all faded away. I closed my eyes and prayed—not just for mercy but for the bride-to-be. What would happen if they didn’t release me in time for the wedding? Surely things would move forward without me. Mama would likely take over as wedding coordinator. She could do it. I’d watched her coordinate hundreds of weddings through the years. Pop would help, of course. And the others would all do their part. Yes, this wedding would move forward, with or without me.

  Of course, this wasn’t the greatest disaster. No, Brock Benson’s potential absence from the festivities was a far bigger issue. Rob and Marian would be without their first knight, and this would surely devastate them. I groaned as I thought about Brock and his arrest on my front lawn. This would not bode well for him—or his career. How would he ever explain this to his agent? And his fans—what would they think when they learned their heartiest pirate had been taken into custody by a female officer barely five feet tall? Likely they would laugh him out of Hollywood.

  We arrived at the sheriff’s office minutes later. I saw Brock come through the door, but that’s where our time together ended. The next hour was spent booking me. I’d always wondered about those people who got their mug shots taken. Most of the time they looked just plain awful. Like they weren’t even trying. Then there was the occasional smart aleck, who tried to make their mug shot look like a photo op.

  Hmm. I’d be that one.

  The police officer had just instructed me to
stand with my toes touching the little yellow line when I snapped, “Hold it!”

  He looked up, a surprised look on his face. “Yeah? You need something?”

  “Mascara. And lip gloss.”

  He laughed, then snapped the photo with my mouth half open and my eyes half closed. Well, great. That would make a pretty picture for the national news. And the national news was just where I was bound to end up, what with my ties to Brock Benson.

  That took my thoughts in several different directions at once. Would people assume I was Brock’s girlfriend? Likely Dakota Burton would be willing to offer proof with the photographs he’d taken. Lovely. I could only guess what those headlines would do to poor D.J.

  As I thought about D.J.’s reaction to all of this, my heart twisted. This past week had been tough enough on him already. I’d sensed his discomfort about Brock all along, of course, but what would happen now?

  Finally the moment arrived. I was placed in a holding cell with three other women. Well, if one could call them women. One of them—a girl named Kate—looked like she’d barely passed her thirteenth birthday. Turned out she was eighteen. And a drug dealer. Go figure. Bridget was more of a mystery. The fortysomething sat curled up in a corner, staring at me. Every time I’d start to say something, she’d holler out, “The end is near! The end is near!”

  Alrighty then.

  The only one I could really connect with was a lady named Linda, who’d been picked up for shoplifting at the local Walmart. She told me her entire life story over a three-hour period—how her husband had taken off and left her to raise their four kids on her own. How she’d lost her job. My heart broke for her. In fact, the more she talked, the more I wanted to do something for her. But what?

  As her story continued, I looked around the jail cell, curiosity getting the better of me.

  So, this is what the inside of a jail cell looks like. Mama would have a fit if she knew I was sitting on this bed even for a minute. No telling who slept on it last night. Or the night before.

  I contemplated all of the people who’d once shared this tiny space. Where were they now? Had they been set free?

  Linda continued on with her story, then turned to Kate, who decided to share a little of her personal testimony as well. That’s what this was, after all. Testimony time.

  Finally they turned to me.

  “So, what are you in here for?” Kate asked, her arms crossed at her chest, as if she dared me to top her story.

  I pondered her question a moment before answering. “You know, I’m not sure. I guess you could say I smarted off to a cop. Is that a crime?”

  “Depends,” Linda said. “Were you carrying a weapon?”

  “Heavens, no! Just a Coach purse and a tube of lip gloss.” And a deadly finger.

  “Hmm. I don’t think that counts.” Kate shrugged. “So, he arrested you for no reason?”

  “Well, I sort of shoved him. I guess, anyway. I don’t really remember it all now. It’s a blur. See, the whole thing was a case of mistaken identity. I thought he was one of the paparazzi. I’m still not clear on who he thought I was.” Then I spilled my guts to these women—my sisters, my jailmates. Told them everything—about Brock, about the wedding, about the Food Network. Everything. And why not? Who could they blab to, anyway?

  By the time I finished, they sat with mouths hanging open.

  “So you’re telling me Brock Benson is here?” Kate whispered. “In this very jail?”

  “Yeah.” I yawned. “But I probably shouldn’t have told you that. And maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the wedding either. I probably invaded the bride’s privacy by doing that.” As I mentioned the wedding, tears sprang to my eyes. I’d ruined a perfectly good wedding by letting my temper get the better of me. And just when things were going so well.

  They were going well, weren’t they? Just a few hours ago I’d walked out of the castle, feeling like a queen. On top of the world. And now, here I sat … the village idiot. In the stockades.

  The perfect ending to the perfect night.

  27

  In the Still of the Night

  As my evening in jail progressed, I thought about so many things. All of the highs and lows of my life. The mistakes. The joys. The problems. The things I’d overcome. The things I had yet to overcome.

  For whatever reason, I was reminded of Twila, Jolene, and Bonnie Sue. I thought about how they said they wanted to take me on a cruise. The idea hadn’t held much appeal at the time, but now it seemed like the most glorious idea in the world. We would sing karaoke together and sit at the captain’s table. I would wear sequins and learn to ice-skate. Then, when we stopped at one of the ports, we’d take an excursion. Go snorkeling. Or scuba diving. Afterward we’d head back to the ship and dive into the all-you-can-eat buffet.

  If I ever got out of here.

  Thinking about food made my stomach growl. Closing my eyes, I dreamed of Rosa’s chicken cacciatore. Oh, I could almost smell it now as it bubbled on the stove. And the garlic bread! If I squeezed my eyes really tight, I could practically taste it. Yes, it would surely soften the heart of even the toughest cop.

  Thinking of Rosa got me thinking about Mama. Thinking about Mama got me thinking about Pop. And thinking about Pop caused a lump to rise in my throat. Surely having a daughter in jail was breaking his heart.

  And D.J… . I couldn’t get him off my mind. What a great guy he was. He was likely worried sick. Suddenly the tears began to fall.

  “Go ahead and let it out,” Linda said, taking a seat next to me on the cot. “It really will make you feel better.” She handed me some toilet paper, and I blew my nose.

  Kate shrugged. “I’m not so sure about that. Might just make you feel like a wimp.”

  I didn’t care. When a girl needed to cry, a girl needed to cry. No apologies warranted, none offered. So I sat there in the Galveston County jail, bawling like a baby.

  When the river finally dried up, I found myself thinking about the story of Paul and Silas and their stint in prison. Their voices raised in joyful song had brought them freedom. Maybe it would work for me too. It was worth a try, anyway.

  With a tentative voice, I started to whisper the first worship song that came to mind—“Amazing Grace,” Guido’s favorite. Seemed appropriate, all things considered.

  After just a couple words, I stopped cold. I was struck by something so profound, it startled me. Guido had spent his entire life behind bars. No wonder he sang that little song! Was this what his view was like? I peered through the metal bars and began to sing again, this time allowing my voice to rise in intensity.

  Linda gave me a curious look, then slowly joined me, adding her voice to mine. Before long we were even trying a little harmony. Not too long after that, we were going strong, our voices perfectly blended.

  Then Kate—who turned out to be quite the vocalist— joined in. I could see the tears in her eyes, especially when we hit the “I once was lost, but now am found” part. This wasn’t the first time she’d sung “Amazing Grace,” and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

  And then there was Bridget. She continued to stare at us, occasionally muttering, “The end is coming!” under her breath. Oh well. Maybe she was right. Or maybe she would join us for the second verse. Didn’t really matter right now. Only one thing mattered—a trio of women bonding in the Galveston County jail.

  We wrapped up the song, and a holy hush fell over our little cell. Well, except for Bridget’s occasional mutterings. I thought again of Guido, how he spent his days behind bars. Might work for parrots, but not human beings. Suddenly I could hardly wait to get out of here, not just for the obvious reasons, but so I could tell Guido that I understood his plight.

  Slow down, Bella. Don’t lose it!

  A lump rose up in my throat. Though I tried to swallow it, the crazy thing wouldn’t go away. Fine. I’d just live with a lump in my throat. Who would know, anyway?

  I continued to hum the song as I stretched out on my cot.
Though I wanted to sleep—the hope of still going home in the morning front and center in my brain—I could not. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the look of horror on D.J.’s face. Envisioned the phone conversation with his mother as he shared the news with her. Pondered the things I would say to him the first time we saw each other once I was sprung loose from this place. If I was sprung loose from this place.

  At 6:00 a.m.—according to the clock on the wall, anyway— an officer arrived at my cell with a key in hand. He used it to open the door and gestured for me to rise from my little cot.

  “Ms. Rossi, you’re set to appear before the judge in a few minutes.”

  “O-oh?” I sat up and ran my fingers through my matted hair. I could feel a line of tightness down the edge of my lip, a sure sign I’d been drooling. And my eyes ached. I’d finally slept—less than an hour in all, so I must look a fright. Still, the judge had probably seen worse. I hoped.

  I wished my cellmates well, pausing as I took Linda’s hand in mine. “I want you to contact me when you get out. Promise?” Turning to Kate, I said, “And you—remember what we talked about, okay? I’ve got pretty broad shoulders if you ever need to chat. You know where to find me.”

  “Club Wed.” She spoke the words along with me.

  “Sorry I don’t have a card on me,” I said. “But it’s on Broadway, just a few blocks from the Moody Mansion.”

  “Got it.” Kate shrugged. “And thanks. It was great to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  I wanted to say something to Bridget too, of course, but she’d finally drifted off to sleep. For the sake of the others, I didn’t disturb her.

  The officer led me to the small courtroom—if one could call it that. You’d think the judge wouldn’t get much business, this being a Saturday morning and all, but he had a roomful of criminals to attend to. Chief among them was Brock Benson, who was the first to approach the bench. We were called up together, a fact that surprised me. The judge looked at both of us … and he didn’t look happy. Great. We were off to a wonderful start.