by Iris Kincaid
“Which made me very sad. So sad that I would cry every day that first year. A lot of the other women there were also mothers who missed being with their babies. And they understood what I was going through. And they tried to make me feel better.”
“I wish that that Daddy had known that you were alive. I would have come to visit you.”
“I know you would have. I knew exactly what kind of a kind, thoughtful person you would be. I even knew what you would look like.”
Zoey reached into her purse and pulled out an old photo of a two-year-old girl that could very well have been Camille.
“Was that me? Was that me when I was a baby?”
“No. This is me, when I was a baby. But since I didn’t have a photo of you to look at, I got one of my own baby pictures and imagined that you would look very much like this baby. And I think you probably did. Would you . . . would you like to keep it?”
Camille nodded and accepted the photo reverently.
“Now, do you mind giving me something in return?”
“Like what?”
Zoey gently pulled the girl close to her and enfolded her in a big, warm hug. “Like this.”
Camille let her head fall on Zoey’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Zoey wasn’t the only one who had spent the past eight years dreaming of this embrace.
*****
With this encounter behind her, Zoey felt strong enough to take on a much larger and undoubtedly more skeptical group—her new Hollywood friends. Not only had she committed a huge sin of omission in not telling them about her background, but she may have done terrible damage to Susan’s career by this very public association with a despicable felon.
The entire crew was gathered in Susan’s suite, and Zoey entered timidly.
“We were wondering when you’d show up,” Boris the bodyguard said, annoyed.
“Boris. Cut it out. I think we all understand how the tabloids work. Zoey is here to explain, but I’ll bet I know what you’re going to say before you even open your mouth. It was a crazy, ridiculous lie, every word of it,” Susan said with confidence. “Especially that particular rag. They’ve written ridiculous things about me over the years. How do they even dream up such a story?”
“Because it wasn’t all lies. I was in prison for over eight years. That part is true. I am an ex-con.”
“But . . . but . . . it couldn’t have been for drug dealing,” Susan said.
“The conviction was for drug dealing,” Zoey replied. “But here’s the part that you may or may not believe, but it’s completely true. It is painfully, horrifically, infuriatingly true.”
Zoey proceeded to tell them about Dalton’s drug dealing, the circumstances of her arrest, and the tragedy of being separated from her baby. She didn’t go into details about the leukemia, simply mentioned that illness resulted in her early release. As she looked around the room, Zoey tried to gauge their responses. It would be perfectly understandable if they didn’t believe her. Doesn’t every other felon say that they are innocent? Why should they believe her?
“So, you never sold any drugs?” Susan asked.
“Never.”
“How about taking drugs? Did you ever take any drugs?” Boris challenged.
“Not in the way that you probably mean. In my second year of college, I did have a friend who made those special ‘brownies’, and the first time I ate them, I had no idea that there was anything special about them—besides the pecans and amaretto chips.
“Then I found out what was really in them. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but I did have them about four or five more times. But then I decided to stop, even though they were pretty yummy. I just saw my friends get involved with so much harder stuff, and I didn’t want to go down that path. Because one day, it’s brownies, and the next day it’s . . . ”
“Crème brûlée?” Ajax offered helpfully.
“I was thinking more peach cobbler. But I guess there’s more than one gateway dessert,” Zoey said, thankful that he appeared to be on her side.
“This eight-year thing is blowing my mind,” Gabrielle said. “Is it even possible that they put people away for that long? It was just a drug offense. Which is really bad. I get it. But that’s a crazy long sentence. And it was meant to be fifteen years? What’s up with that? The Orange is The New Black gal only got about a year, didn’t she?”
Zoey bristled. “Thirteen months. And she was guilty. She pled guilty, and she was guilty. And all she got was thirteen months. I was innocent, just stupid and unlucky. And I got sentenced to fifteen years.”
“Why so long?” Gabriel asked.
“Because of the type of drug—Fentanyl. Nasty opiate that has been killing people by the thousands. And the quantity of it that they found and the amount of money that they found were indicators to them that I was a big-time menace to society and deserved the maximum penalty. It was over 1 million dollars’ worth of product!
“I can’t believe that I had no idea who Dalton was. This wasn’t like selling brownies. This was selling death, with no regard for the suffering he was going to cause. I would have turned him in so fast if I knew what he was up to. I don’t have a problem with Fentanyl dealers getting the maximum sentence. They should. I just wasn’t one of them. I was just . . . unlucky. Very unlucky.”
“Not unlucky,” Ajax said sternly. “You just picked the wrong person. You were too young to know better. There’s nothing about that that can’t be turned around. You’re going to get through this stronger than ever. Or have I been watching too many movies? You’re going to get your daughter back. And you’re going to get the guy. The nice guy.”
Such a gloriously inappropriate time to be flirting. But against all odds, Ajax believed that she was innocent. In looking around her, it seemed that he was not alone in that.
“But Susan, my having to deal with this horrible story is one thing, but you never should have had to. I’m so sorry about how it may affect your career,” Zoey said sadly.
“How it’s affecting my career? I’ll tell you how. You know that bestseller about life in prison, Twenty Years to Life? It’s the hottest-optioned property in LA right this moment, and it hasn’t been cast yet. Every actress over the age of thirty-five would kill for the role. It’s serious Oscar bait. And it’s the kind of thing I could never get considered for.
“But you know what? Ajax just got a call this morning. I’ve got a Skype meeting scheduled with the director. He and the producers think I might be right for this amazing role! All because they think I have some special insight into the world of felons. Because of you. So, if it’s not too hard or too painful for you, I need you to give me the inside scoop so that I have half a chance of getting this role. Tell me what it was like. Tell me everything.”
What a miraculous turn of events. Zoey had thought that having her secrets out would ruin everything. Instead, the strength of these newfound bonds had been made even stronger. And she was now in a unique and wonderful position to assist a supportive new friend. What do you give the woman who has everything? Apparently, prison stories.
Everyone gathered around Zoey as if she were a campfire. They listened in rapt attention as she recounted the details of her life.
“What was the worst part of your day?”
“The thing that I hated most was the count. They were five counts every day. Three of them were at night, 11 PM, 2 AM, and 5 AM.”
“That’s three hours apart. That’s insane. Why would they do that?” Ajax asked.
“So nobody escapes,” Boris offered.
“That’s the reason they give. But they also think that everyone’s a lot easier to handle if we’re all exhausted. They thought that they could just suck the wind out of all the arguments and fights and turf disputes if we were all sleep deprived. But it may have backfired. I think it made a lot of the women cranky, irrational, and mean.”
“I can see that,” Nikki said. “I get really cranky when I don’t get enough sleep.”
“There w
as no getting used to it. I would fall asleep every afternoon in the TV room. I completely forgot what it felt like not to be tired.”
“It must be such a relief now to be able to get a good night’s sleep,” Susan said.
“The problem is that I still wake up every night at 2 AM and 5 AM, like clockwork. My body is still serving out its sentence, I guess. But it can’t last forever. At least, I hope not.”
“Did that happen with everyone?” Susan wondered.
“Long-timers, yes.”
“Who were the short-timers?”
“Mostly working girls. But I remember one woman who was only in for a week. She and her husband owned a restaurant together. But he was a gambler, and one day, he took the payroll for close to a dozen employees and blew it all at the casino. So, it was a Thursday night, and the employees needed to be paid the next day. And the money to pay them was gone. He told her this on the phone, and she went straight down to the casino and beat him to the ground. And she only spent a week in prison. We all felt badly for the employees so she was our hero. I know that must sound awful.”
Boris shrugged. “Workers can’t pay their rent. The man had it coming.”
Susan looked at Boris sideways. “Remind me never to get your check out late.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Sounds like kind of a rough place,” Gabrielle said.
“It . . . uh . . . it definitely hardens you. You get tougher. Which is just as well, because I need to be a little tougher right now.”
“I could tell that about you right away. Do you . . . do you think I could play tough?” Susan asked.
“I do. But before your phone meeting, lose the makeup. You look too good right now.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“Try to look like a mug shot,” Zoey added.
“You know what . . . you should put together like a really scowling, unflattering, poorly-lit mug shot and send it to them before the meeting,” Ajax suggested.
“That’s genius,” Gabriel said.
“And that’s why he gets the big bucks,” Susan teased. “Although, he ought to give Zoey a little kickback.”
Zoey could hardly believe it. All those years behind bars had qualified her to be a misery consultant!
Half an hour later, she had just left the suite and was headed down the hallway when Ajax came running after her. They exchanged a bemused look of understanding.
“Do you play pool?” he asked abruptly.
“I used to play a little. But I haven’t played in—”
“Eight and a half years. See how brilliantly I figured that out?”
Zoey smiled. “You had no way of knowing. I’m glad you didn’t know. Not until we had a chance to get to know each other a little.”
“I would like to continue that, if it’s all right with you. There’s a pool hall in town called Corner Pocket.”
“Yeah, I pass it all the time. It looks like a really nice place.”
“Eight o’clock? Tonight?”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Are you any good?”
“I can’t remember.”
Zoey wasn’t simply being evasive. In a flash, she had realized that at a pool table, the balls would probably go in wherever and however she wanted. Forget magician—she could clean up as a pool hustler!
CHAPTER TEN
The pool hall had upscale, homey décor, with polished wood and comfy leather seats all around. The mouth-watering smell of French fries and gourmet pizza wafted from a side café. The clientele was all casually dressed. Some of them looked as if they had just come straight from the beach.
It was a very laid-back, sociable environment in which to finally find out a bit more about Ajax’s background. At this point, Zoey welcomed a break from talking about herself.
“I was a typical Hollywood story. I started in the mail room at CAA. I know it doesn’t sound very impressive, especially to folks outside the industry. But it opened a lot of doors. I met Suzie when we were both twenty-three years old. She’s two months older, which I never let her forget. Yeah, I have a mean streak. You should know that about me.
“Anyway, I saw her in a play, and she just blew me away. I mean, she nailed it. But she was a nobody. No representation. When I found that out, you know what I thought? This girl could make me rich. I knew that all I needed to do was hustle her in front of the right people, which I did, and her talent did the rest.
“Fast-forward seventeen years. It was the biggest ride I could have imagined. But . . . things change. Needs change. LA is getting old. I don’t want the same things anymore. I’m really kind of digging this town and I’m trying to get Suzie to buy a summer house here. But . . . I’m ready for a bigger change than just summer breaks. Besides, if all goes well, she should be spending a lot of future summers on location.
“It’s hard to even say out loud, but I’m ready to move on. The thing is, she’s not ready to move on, nor should she be. She’s got great roles ahead of her. And until the studios figure out what a goldmine she still is . . .”
“You have to stay with her,” Zoey filled in.
It was a dilemma that got to the heart of the elephant in the room—could the two of them ever contemplate a future together?
At that moment, Zoey saw an annoyingly familiar face enter the pool hall, accompanied by an adorable curly-haired woman with a beaming, sunny disposition. Why, Officer Cochran, how on earth did you manage to get such a lovely wife? It only took Finn a moment to spot Zoey as well. He shook his head in disbelief and whispered a few words to his wife, and they came over to join Zoey and Ajax.
“What are you doing here?” Zoey asked.
“Date night. This is my wife, Margo Bailey. Of Margo’s Movie House. Very fine business. But it takes up a lot of evening time, so we like to get out when we can. And this is Zoey Proctor. I think our mutual friend, Mayor Wanda, filled you in on her.”
“I’m so happy to meet you, Zoey. It’s always great to meet friends of . . . Wanda’s. You know what? We should play doubles!”
Normally, either Zoey or Finn would have protested, but as it so happened, both of them had news that they needed to pass on. After the game got started, when either of their partners was taking a shot, the two of them would sidle up beside one another and get out a few small soundbites of information.
“Lloyd Bacon thought he had legal grounds to force a buyback with the hotel. His lawyer started looking into the matter even when Franklin Churchill was alive. And now that he’s dead, it’s a little unclear, but I think he’s still to try to pursue the case. Even if it turns out that the hotel belongs to Caitlin Murdoch and Franklin Churchill’s baby,” Finn said.
“That is going to put a serious damper on Caitlin Murdoch’s plans. She’s pretty excited about her child’s inheritance.”
“Which reminds me—we took a look at Churchill’s computer and browsing history. Around about eight weeks into Caitlin’s pregnancy, the man was checking out his options. Would you care to venture a guess at how many times he searched on the word abortion?”
“I would not.”
“Fifty-seven times. As you and I suspected, Churchill was probably not interested in having a child with the hired help.”
“She didn’t want to get rid of the baby,” Zoey said. “So, you’re thinking that maybe she got rid of him instead?”
“She certainly must have had her doubts that Franklin Churchill would do right by the baby. By the way, how was the party?”
Zoey filled him in on the more noteworthy occurrences of the previous evening, including Mr. Frost’s peculiar gathering with Whitney and Autumn Blair outside the hotel.
“That is odd. I’ll look into it. Say, I was sorry to see that tabloid story. When I looked at that kid’s camera to see who was passing through the lobby the night of the murder, I should’ve confiscated it.”
“What did you find in the pictures? Who passed through the lobby that night?”
“Ever
yone. Susan Sidwell and all her people. Susan Sidwell fans. Those were some seriously dull photos. Why on earth did he need pictures of fans from Springfield? Yeah, everyone. He took pictures of everyone. Anyway, I know he made things tougher for you here. And I suppose I’ve done that as well. And I am sorry about that.”
“How sorry?”
“How sorry do you need me to be?”
“Enough to get me a pair of real handcuffs.” Zoey needed them for her act.
After the exchange of the most pressing information was concluded, they were able to relax and play a normal pool game—if by normal, one means that Zoey was pulling off one tricky shot after another and running the table.
“I know what you’re doing,” Finn hissed into her ear. “You cut it out. That’s a very unfair advantage.”
“Just using my natural talents, just like everyone else in this room,” Zoey taunted.
But just as she could nail every shot, she could also get a lot of them to just miss. Thus, even a missed shot became a triumph of mind over matter. Magician or pool hustler? Tough call.
*****
Zoey returned to Susan’s suite the next day, ostensibly to provide more prison stories, but also because of the growing friendship between the two women and the realization that Susan’s days in Oyster Cove were numbered.
“Ajax says that you put on a clinic at the pool hall.”
“We had a good time. A really good time. It was the kind of evening that you dream about when you’re lying in your bunk at night while listening to what sounds like a horse with serious sinus congestion snoring like a tornado in the bunk above you. You dream about those normal, wonderful days, like a night of playing pool. I know it’s ordinary to everyone else, but those are the times that you remember and dream about and long for.”
“What else did you dream about?”
“A barbecue. That was one of my favorite things to think about—a barbecue.”
Susan gestured for Nikki to come over. “I’ll order one for you right now.”
