Smoke

by Meili Cady

  THE DEA ESTIMATED THAT LISETTE’S operation moved seven thousand pounds of marijuana from California to Ohio, garnering $3 million in profits in just eight months. Everyone on Team LL was arrested, and everyone went to federal prison. Those who weren’t on the plane on June 14, 2010, were served federal indictments from the government. Each of us pled guilty to at least one felony count of conspiracy and possession of marijuana with intent to distribute. We will all be convicted felons for the rest of our lives, short of presidential pardons. Frankie and Chris Cash were sentenced to one and four years, respectively. Jose, David’s weed supplier and connection to a Mexican cartel, got seven years.

  After spending more than a year in the grimy confines of a county jail in Ohio, Lisette took her turn to face Judge Marbley in federal court. “I believe, Ms. Lee, that you were naive,” he told her. He noted that in her psychological evaluation, she was described as having a substantial “narcissistic dimension,” which had influenced her crimes. “You knew it was wrong, but you had a certain fascination . . . It almost appears that you believed you were playing a role.” Lisette was sentenced to six years in prison. I read the judge’s decision in an article from the Columbus Dispatch, a local publication in Ohio that had been following every step of our case.

  Hours after reading the article, I was driving in afternoon traffic when I got a call from a restricted number. I answered my phone and heard a familiar voice say, “Meili. Hi, kiddo.” It was Daniel, the man who had introduced me to Lisette five years earlier. When I instantly recognized his voice, I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me.

  “Hi . . .” I said.

  “How are you doin’?” he asked.

  I’d once considered Daniel a close friend, but the trust I’d had in him was long gone. After he introduced me to Lisette, she’d told me he was saying cruel things about me behind my back. I was hurt, and Daniel and I were never friends again. A few months before our arrest I saw him at Lisette’s condo. It was awkward at first, but as we tried to make polite conversation we fell into the same friendly rapport we’d always had. I later learned that Lisette had told him I’d been saying equally cruel things about him, though I’d never spoken an ill word. I suspect that Lisette wanted to sever the friendship I’d had with Daniel to ensure that we would never compare stories about her. She poisoned the friendship. I wished that I could still speak to him as a friend and believe that he genuinely cared about me, but I had no reliable reason to believe such things.

  “I’m . . .” I said, not wanting to make conversation with him. “Well, I’d say things have been better, but I’m hanging in there.”

  “I know,” he said. “This has been pretty crazy for everyone.”

  “Yeah,” I responded.

  “Listen,” he said, “I’ve got Lisette on the other line . . . She wants to talk to you.” A jolt of stress and mixed emotions surged through every part of my body. I felt my foot begin to shake as it rested on the gas pedal.

  I didn’t know how to answer him. My voice wavered slightly as I made a decision. “Why would I want to talk to her?”

  Before he spoke, I could almost hear him shaking his head like he couldn’t think of a good reason either. He sighed, lost for words. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I told him.

  After a quiet moment, he said, “Okay. Okay, I’ll just . . . tell her that it went to voice mail. Hang in there, kiddo.”

  “Thanks,” I said. When I hung up and set my phone in the passenger seat, I considered pulling off the road to get out of my car and try to calm down. I had a feeling that Lisette was hoping she’d find me in a forgiving mood after learning of her sentence. Before our arrest, I would’ve been shattered by the thought of her spending years behind bars. I cared deeply about Lisette for a long time, and I wanted to think that, on some level, she had cared about me too. I would never know if that was the case, and it really didn’t make a difference now. Some damaged part of me missed her. I didn’t take any pleasure in imagining her in bad times. Her sentence sounded horrifying to me, but I was numb. By now, she must have known I’d caught on to the fact that she’d lied to me since the day I met her. I suspected that she was waiting with a lie of apology on the other end of that phone call. But I didn’t want to hear any more of her lies. I’d already heard enough to last me a lifetime.

  It was still difficult for me to believe that Lisette was in jail and she was about to be moved into a federal prison, and that I too would soon spend a month in prison, followed by a year of house arrest. But I’d been through worse. The best friend I’d known was really gone. She would be released one day, just as I would, but she was permanently gone from my world. I could never let her back in. We could never have a reunion. She had to be dead to me, and I would be dead to her. I could never hate her; if I allowed that to happen, I risked the possibility of loving her again.

  My phone rang once more. I took my eyes off the road to glance down at it in my passenger seat. It read: RESTRICTED. I ignored it and kept my eyes on the road as I continued down Sunset Boulevard.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank two of my best friends—my mother and father—for their unconditional love and support. Through my fault, you were forced to make some extremely tough decisions, and you stayed by my side unwaveringly, though many people wouldn’t have done so in the selfless, heroic way that you did. I owe you everything. Anything good that I am, and that I ever will be, comes from you.

  Thank you to my big brother for believing in me, for always rooting for me, and for carrying me through times when I wasn’t strong enough to carry myself.

  Thank you to my agent, Joseph Veltre, at Gersh for taking a chance on me as a new writer and for placing me in the talented hands of my editor, Denise Oswald, at HarperCollins.

  Denise Oswald, thank you for giving me one of the greatest opportunities of my life. Thank you for seeing potential in this book and potential in me as a writer. I was so green, but you pushed me to be better at every turn. Your guidance and instincts were always spot-on, and I appreciate your aversion to mincing words. I feel that I learned a great deal from you, and I am so grateful for everything.

  Many thanks to everyone at Dey Street and HarperCollins who collaborated on this book.

  Thom Hinkle, I’m not sure I would have ever written this book if it hadn’t been for you. You took the time to look at the weird blog of the house-arrested waitress who was pouring your Jameson, and then you got her a literary agent. I suppose I should give some credit to the power of Jameson here, too. Cheers, sir. I am forever in your debt.

  Thank you to “The Captain” for making me laugh harder than anyone ever could, even during the worst of times in my life. You believed I could be a writer long before I believed it myself, and you supported me when I most needed it. When we were good, we were great, man. I will miss our friendship for many years to come.

  Michael Proctor, my wonderful attorney—thank God for you. Your honest approach to my case helped me to overcome my fears of facing the mistakes I’d made. By helping me confront my past decisions, you helped me to better understand them, and to begin to build a positive future.

  Michael Schafler—my other, equally wonderful attorney—you are an unsung hero in my case. Your whip-smart legal mind and kind heart helped me immeasurably. You even drove me to and from federal prison in the desert—and you played Johnny Cash: At Folsom Prison en route. You went above and beyond, and my family and I will always consider you, Mike Proctor, and Wendy friends of ours. You are truly a unique and great man, and I’m very lucky to have had you on my team.

  Wendy Eggleston Carpenter—L.A.’s most beautiful and compassionate legal secretary—thank you for all of the well-timed hugs and tissues you offered me when I most needed them. Your bright sincere smile and great sense of humor always helped me cheer up a bit after tough meetings downtown when I was still searching for a light at the end of the tunnel.

  M
any thanks to my incredible family members and friends who offered their time and generosity to be my readers: Kimberly, Minon, Jason Fuchs, Mike Goldbach, Ashlie, Ben Cox, Kristi, Denise Irwin, and Taylor. Your encouraging comments and positivity helped keep me optimistic when I was feeling overwhelmed. A very special thank you to Uncle Steve, Field, Jorie, Tessa, Nikki and Pom, who read the first draft of the manuscript in its entirety throughout my writing process and gave me notes on every chapter. Each of you never failed to amaze me with your thoughtful critiques and willingness to help.

  Minon, thank you for taking me in after my arrest. I don’t know what I would have done without you. You gave me solace during one of darkest times of my life. You will forever have my love, friendship, and gratitude.

  I’d like to thank the first friend I made in the publishing world, Allie Kingsley, for holding my hand and helping see me through this exciting new adventure. Not only are you a hilarious and talented writer, you’re a genuine friend and I adore you.

  I’d also like to thank Nikki, an extremely kind and intelligent friend who helped see me through an entirely different adventure—one that began in the G-Unit South wing of Victorville Women’s Prison Camp in Adelanto.

  Wherever we go in life—whether it’s Beverly Hills or federal prison—we are connected to one another through our shared experiences, and we have the power to lift one another up or try to tear one another down. Thank you to the people who have lifted me up.

  “Brie,” you are proof that it’s possible to make authentic, lifelong friendships in Los Angeles. Your faith in the good of people and your willingness to look for it reminds me to keep an open heart.

  I’d like to acknowledge the people I wrote about. We are all a part of each other’s stories, and we are each the main character in our own—a great equalizer, and my story is no greater than yours for having told it in print.

  Thank you to C.A.T.E., the Orb, and my friends who gave me permission to tell stories that involved them. Here’s to us making even better stories in the future—and preferably ones that don’t end with anyone going to federal prison.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo by Sean Paul Franget Photography

  A native of Bremerton, Washington, MEILI CADY starred as the lead actress in the Showtime comedy film Chick Magnet, and has appeared on Californication and other television shows. After a brief stint in a federal prison camp, Meili began the blog House Arrest Girl while she served a year of home confinement. She lives in Los Angeles, California.

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  CREDITS

  Cover design by Amanda Kain

  Cover photograph © by Lee Pettet/Getty Images (palm trees); © by David Lichtneker/Arcangel Images (smoke)

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of nonfiction. The events and experiences detailed herein are all true and have been faithfully rendered as I have remembered them, to the best of my ability. Some names, identities, and circumstances have been changed in order to protect the integrity and/or anonymity of the various individuals involved. Though conversations come from my keen recollection of them, they are not written to represent word-for-word documentation; rather, I’ve retold them in a way that evokes the real feeling and meaning of what was said, in keeping with the true essence of the mood and spirit of the event. In some cases, events have been compressed to maintain narrative flow.

  SMOKE. Copyright © 2015 by Meili Cady. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN: 978-0-06-228190-6

  EPUB Edition MARCH 2015 ISBN 9780062281913

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