by Susanne Beck
Lassoing my hormones, I pulled slightly back from temptation. "Alright, I’ll be good. For now. More story, please?"
Leaning in, she gave me a kiss, then pulled away, resting her head against the wall. "Unlike me, my father loved the opera, as did his fiancée at the time. My mother’s company was putting on their rendition of Massenet’s ‘Werther’, and she was singing Charlotte. To hear him tell it, from the moment my mother walked on till the time she left the stage before the final curtain, he didn’t have eyes for another living being."
"God, that is so romantic!"
"Yeah, well my father’s fiancée didn’t think so. After the show was over, he dragged her backstage to meet my mother. She might have been a piece of lint on the carpet for all the attention he paid to her after that point."
"Did your mother feel the same way when she met him? Smitten, I mean?"
"Oh yeah. She said that when she looked into my father’s eyes, someone she knew was looking back, even though she’d never met him before." Ice laughed. It sounded almost frightened. "All my life, I never knew what that meant. Until now."
When this kiss connected, it was almost a carbon copy of the first we’d ever shared. Images flitted though my mind too quick for me to follow, but I knew, down deep in my soul, that we were connected on a level far deeper than mere surface attraction. There was something elemental and bedrock in what we shared, something both primitive and new and ageless at its very foundations.
It was not a kiss of passion, though it was indeed passionate. It was a kiss of healing and of home. If the ancient sages were right and we did spend our lives searching for the other half of our souls, I had found mine in almost as deep a pit of hell as it was possible to go and still be able to struggle to the surface intact and alive.
When it ended, I collapsed against her, weak and spent, yet filled with strength and energy, as if I had connected with some elemental force that nourishes the soul and relieves the heart of its heavy burdens.
My voice was very definitely plaintive as I asked my next question. "More?"
Ice chuckled. "Of what? The kiss or the story?"
"Mmmm. How about both?"
"Nope," she teased, "one or the other."
"Oh alright. The story then. I’ll always be able to get kisses out of you."
"Ya think so, huh?"
"I know so."
"Hmm. I’ll remember that." She tightened her grip around my waist once again. "Let’s see, where were we? Ah yes, the meeting. Well, after the girlfriend left in a huff, they sat and talked until the opera house closed for the evening. After that, they had what my mother called a ‘scandalously short’ courtship. Two months. The scandal came in because of the fact that the ex-fiancé’s father was a noted patron of the arts and wasn’t very happy to hear that his daughter had been dumped like yesterday’s trash by the side of the road while someone who’s career he funded made off with the goods."
"You have such a way with words, Ice," I snickered.
"Yeah, well in many ways, I’m my father’s daughter. Anyway, after two months of dating, they got married, bought a new house, and a year afterwards, had me."
"It sounds like they loved one another very much."
"They did. Even though they’d have a fight every now and then, even as a kid I knew they’d always be together. I know most kids don’t think their parents will ever split up, but there was just something about them that even I could notice, young as I was. It was almost like they were two halves of the same whole or something." She shrugged. "I can’t explain it any better than that."
"I think you did a great job. That describes the feeling perfectly, don’t you think?"
She smiled. "Yeah. It does."
I spent the next several silent moments trying to gather up the courage needed to take the next, obvious step. I was torn with indecision. Torn between needing to know and needing not to open up what was obviously a wound that still festered deep inside Ice’s heart.
As if reading my thoughts, her body stiffened once again and she took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "They got hit by a bus."
"What?"
"My parents. You were wondering how to ask me how they died. They were hit by a bus. They had driven in to DC for their anniversary to see ‘Werther’. They never made it. My mother was killed instantly. My father managed to hang on for a few days, but he never woke up. They finally decided to pull the plug."
"Oh, Ice. I’m so sorry."
"Yeah," she said quietly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "So am I."
* * *
Later that night, in the solitary darkness of my own cell, I lay on my back as tears wended their slow course down my cheeks, dampening my pillow. As I replayed our conversation in my mind, part of me wondered whose life had the more tragedy. Ice’s, whose family loved and doted on her and were taken away? Or mine, whose family had, at best, only tolerated me and now considered me, though still very much alive, dead in their eyes?
I cried for us both that night. For the young girls we had been and for the women we had become. For our families. For ourselves.
But within the tears of sadness there also mixed tears of joy. If new life can spring from the ashes of the old, then a new life had sprung up between us from the barren soil of our individual tragedies.
A snatch of an old lullaby I had heard in some movie or other sprung to my lips and I hummed it to myself as I fell asleep, tears slowly drying on my cheeks.
PART 10
AS DAYS TURNED into weeks, I felt my frustration level reaching new heights. Every new clue regarding the whereabouts of Ice’s transcripts led to a blind alley with no answers and little hope of finding them.
When dead end after dead end spurred fantasies of homicide, I would take a walk outside into the crisp fall air and take out my frustrations on the ever-ready punching bag. I often found myself having to share it with a disappointed Critter who had failed her first parole hearing. She had found out during the hearing that while surgery had saved the store-owner’s life, his health had never fully recovered. As months turned into years, he continued to become more and more frail. If he died as a direct result of the previous heart attack, Critter was afraid they’d add a manslaughter charge to the ones she was already serving time for. In any event, it looked as if she would have to wait yet another year for her next chance at freedom.
Pony and Sonny were on the outs over some failed love triangle and Ice was working long, enforced hours in the auto shop, breaking down and fixing up a whole slew of stolen cars designed to line the pockets of our corrupt warden.
All in all, it was not a good season for any of us, and it was about to get worse.
Frustration is a dangerous emotion in that it often leads us to make stupid mistakes in trying to relieve it. I made one such mistake and it cost me dearly.
About at the point of tearing my hair out in frustration, I finally gave in to Corinne’s oft-repeated suggestion of allowing an investigative reporter friend snoop around a little to see what he could find. All previous suggestions of this sort had been rebuffed by me with the knowledge that many reporters of this type are greedy bastards who will stop at nothing to blow the lid off a big story if they can find one. This was one story I didn’t want to be taken public.
Corinne promised me that she had so much dirt on this man that he wouldn’t dare act against her wishes or he’d find himself ruined both personally and professionally. After what seemed the hundredth time of hearing the same suggestions and the same arguments, I was finally at the point where I’d either tell her to stuff it or to go with it. I chose the second option.
The next two weeks crawled by with semi-regular reports from the man who called himself ‘Slim Jim’ for reasons I’m sure I don’t want to know. And those reports didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know already; that there appeared to be a cover-up of some kind regarding Ice’s court transcripts. His contacts within the justice system were rebuffing his overtures with unc
haracteristic stoniness and he sensed something big was going on behind the scenes. Something he couldn’t possibly be expected to uncover given the strict ground-rules I’d laid out for him. Though I understood the hint, I didn’t rise to the bait and left the man grumbling but determined to crack what could well be the case of a lifetime.
I was beginning to become seriously concerned that this man’s innate greed for a big story would outweigh whatever dirty little secrets Corinne had on him and had finally come to the decision to tell her to call off her dog.
I sat in the library, rehearsing my arguments in my mind, knowing Corinne would use all the verbal charm at her disposal to talk me out of this decision. Against my better judgement, I had bowed to her formidable will once already and didn’t want to do so again. This was too important to me.
As I opened my mouth to speak, another voice interrupted before the first sound exited my lips. "Angel, may I speak with you for a moment?"
I turned to see Ice filling the doorway, her face an expressionless mask that usually denoted anger and her eyes cold as her prison name. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. I looked over to Corinne for support, but found her staring at Ice as well, her own face showing trepidation, an expression I’d never before seen on her. Turning back to my lover, I nodded. "Yeah, sure."
Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself away from the table and out of my chair, trying to control the shakiness in my muscles as I made my way across the library and out into the hallway. Ice led me halfway down the dimly lit hall before stopping and turning so that my back was against the wall, her presence looming over me. "This stops now."
"Um . . .excuse me?"
Her hand flung out, palm up. "This . . .investigation . . .of my missing files. You’re in way over your head on this one and everything is about one step from tumbling down all around you. I must have been out of my mind for agreeing to this in the first place."
"But, Ice . . . ."
"No, Angel. No, you listen to me. Call off whatever dogs you’ve got riding on this and close it down. Now."
"Ice . . . ."
Her hands came down and clamped painfully on my shoulders. "Now, Angel. Do us both a favor and back off." Releasing my shoulders, she glared at me for a moment more before turning on her heel and stalking off, leaving me to stand and stare after her retreating form, totally stunned.
A sound coming from the other direction caused me to whirl around. Corinne stood a few steps from the library door, looking down the long hallway. Her eyes slowly moved to meet mine. "I heard," she said in a soft voice. "And I’m sorry. I should have listened to you and not tried to bully you into something you didn’t want in the first place."
"That’s alright, Corinne. You were only trying to help."
"Regardless, this is more my fault than yours. I’ll try to explain that to her."
I snagged her arm as she walked up to me. "No. I don’t think that’s a very good idea right now. I don’t think she’s in a listening mood."
My friend dragged a hand through her gray hair. "I suppose you’re right. What should I do?"
"Get your friend on the phone and threaten him with every piece of dirt you’ve got. If that isn’t enough, make something up, but get him off that case. Please."
Corinne nodded. "That I can do." She looked at me, her gaze both apologetic and compassionate. "Will you be alright?"
"I’ll have to be, won’t I." That came out more harshly than I intended and I clasped her wrist. "I’m sorry, Corinne. That was uncalled for." I sighed. "I’ll give her a while to calm down and then go up to her cell. Maybe by then she’ll be willing to tell me what’s going on, huh?"
"Good luck," she snorted, returning my clasp before disengaging and walking back into the library to carry out her instructions.
"Thanks," I whispered after she was gone. "I think I’ll need it."
As it was almost time for my assigned exercise period, I headed down the hall, intent on taking in some fresh air to soothe my troubled emotions. As I stepped out into the prison proper, Digger spotted me and loped over, excitement broadly painted on her face. "Angel, I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you."
"Not now, Digger. I need to get some fresh air for a bit. Maybe later, ok?"
"Please, Angel, it’s really important. I’ll even go outside with you. The guards won’t know if we stick close to the building. Please."
The sense of urgency in her eyes made me acquiesce, though I really wasn’t in the mood for company of any sort, let alone that of my shadow. "Alright, Digger," I said finally. "But just for a few minutes, ok? I’ve got a killer headache."
"Just a few minutes, I promise."
I followed her through the prison and out the door into the yard, feeling the sun on my face start to dissolve the incredible tension tying my body in knots. After taking several deep, cleansing breaths of the autumn air, I turned to Digger, eyebrows raised. "What was it you needed to talk to me about?"
"Alright. I was in the warden’s office today, cleaning up like I usually do, right? I was only there for maybe an hour when the door opens and a guard comes in leading Ice."
I turned to her, my interest fully captured. "What?"
She nodded. "It’s true! Ice looked like she was ready to tear the whole place apart, and twice as bad when she came back out! I almost peed my pants, I swear!"
"Did you hear what was said between them?"
"Some. I couldn’t get it all. People were comin’ in and out of the office and I had to be real careful ‘bout listening in, you know?"
Resisting the urge to throttle the woman for not getting to the point, I simply nodded encouragingly for her to continue.
"Anyway, she goes in and the guard leaves. Which is really surprising, cause the guards usually go in with the prisoners when they’re brought up to see the warden, ya know?"
Her plaintive look seemed to demand some response, so I forced a smile to my face. "I understand, Digger. Please continue."
"Alright. So anyway, being as I was alone for the moment, I picked up my polishing rag and went right up to the door, making like I was polishing the knob and nameplate, you know? And I heard the warden tellin’ Ice that he was on to her about somethin’. And Ice told him that she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then another guard came in, so I pretended to be working and didn’t hear anything until the guard left. When I got back to listenin’, Ice was telling the warden that she was gonna stop everything. I didn’t know what she meant, but the warden sure did, cause he started yellin at her."
"What was he saying?"
"He was yellin’ something about how she wasn’t gonna stop anything if she knew what was good for her. Said if she didn’t shape up and fly right, things were gonna start getting real bad for her. He even said that he’d make it so that her little girlfriend would get transferred to Hell’s Kitchen. I didn’t even know she had a girlfriend. Did you?"
My throat became dry again as my heart skittered in my chest. The reason behind Ice’s warning became frighteningly clear to me. Hell’s Kitchen was the nickname of another Woman’s State Prison in Pennsylvania, and rumored to be one of the most dangerous of its kind in the country. Almost every woman released from the prison either made it out in a pine box, or immeasurably changed from the experience. And not for the better.
My emotions must have shown on my face because Digger grabbed my shoulder and shook me. "Angel? Angel, are you ok? You look like you seen a ghost."
"No. No, I’m fine. Did you hear anything else?"
"No. The warden musta called for his guards, cause one came in right after that and took Ice away. Man, she sure looked like she was ready to rip someone a new asshole. And since I’m kinda partial to mine, I played like a houseplant and kinda shrunk into a corner till she left."
"Did the warden say anything after she left? Make a phone call or anything?"
Digger shrugged. "I don’t know. By that time, all I wanted to do was finish cleaning and come down and te
ll you what I heard. I figured with you and Ice being friends and all, maybe you’d know what was goin’ on." She looked toward the fence, where the guards were looking down from the towers. "I’d better get goin’. Don’t wanna get in trouble for being out here. Talk to ya later?"
"Yeah . . .sure, Digger. See you later."
She grinned and waved. "Bye, Angel."
"Bye, Digger."
Turning from the doorway, I slowly walked across the yard and up to the fence protecting the outside world from me. My thoughts were a clutter racing amok in my mind like a dog chasing its tail. It wasn’t hard to fill in the missing spots in the conversation between Morrison and Ice. The warden had obviously found out about the investigation into Ice’s missing transcript, which was something I had been desperately trying to avoid. He most likely called her out on it and she responded by threatening to pull her contributions from his little automobile laundering scheme, which in turn led to his threats toward her and her friends, myself included.
This was not what I had in mind when I begged Ice to at least look into the possibility of reopening her case. In hindsight, her warnings to me on this very topic were crystal clear. Why I hadn’t heard them at the time I’ll never know, but I didn’t. My mind was on the injustice she’d suffered, sparked by her sadness that we wouldn’t always be together.
I’ve always been somewhat of a crusader. It’s been part of my nature since I was very young and making up plans to free the dogs from the local humane society. I’d thought, however, that I’d gotten over the ‘leap before you look’ philosophy while still a girl. Apparently, I needed to study up a bit more because I’d obviously blown it, big time.
Threading my fingers through the links, I rested my forehead against the cool metal, trying to come up with a way to make things better. Ice had every right to be angry, though she had agreed to my attempting to get her records. Still, I hadn’t told her that I’d given in to Corinne’s suggestion about using her reporter friend to help with the search. And I had no doubt that that was what brought the whole matter to a head.
