by Susanne Beck
"A Thousand and One String-Bead Art Patterns," Corinne muttered from her darkened desk.
"What?" I asked, inwardly grinning at finally having the chance to turn the tables on my oh-so-in-the-know friend.
"The name of the book you’re holding like some kid who got into her parents’ Penthouse collection."
"What makes you think it’s a book?"
"Oh please, Angel. Give me some credit, at least. I’m a librarian, for Moses’ sweet sea-parting sake. Or didja think all these square things with pages in between them were decorations." Her hand flicked out from it’s shadowed corner, its gesture encompassing the entire library.
Oh, I’d definitely gotten her dander up, alright. And I was enjoying every moment of my innocent little torture session. "It could be a box, you know. A flat one, filled with all sorts of interesting little goodies."
"Those little goodies are called ‘words’, Angel." She leveled her best ‘no-nonsense’ glare at me. "They form sentences, which in turn form paragraphs. Unless, of course, it’s a book of poetry, in which case, they form nothing at all."
"You’re such a romantic, Corinne."
"I have better uses for this mouth of mine than spouting poetry, my dear Angel." Her tone was absolutely dripping with seduction and, considering her age, she did a good job at it. To my credit, though, I stopped the threatened blush cold. When she saw her ruse wasn’t going to work, she frowned, eyeing me once again over the tops of her half-glasses.
Giving in just a little, I leveled my own parental expression right back at her. "You know, the word ‘please’ has been known to work on occasion."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," came her prim reply.
"Then I suppose your curiosity is going to have to suffer." I turned the package around in my hands, making sure the indirect lighting caught the foil wrapping at just the right angle. I’d grown up in a house full of cats as a child and well knew how to entice them.
Minutes ticked by, measured by the under-her-breath grumbling Corinne was turning into an art form. Finally, she huffed out a sigh that would have done Paul Bunyan proud, almost toppling a stack of papers as it did. "Alright. Angel, dear, may I please know what’s in that wrapped little package of yours?" Her voice was positively overflowing with sugared sweetness. "I’m afraid my poor old heart will simply explode out of my chest if you don’t tell me right this very moment."
As heartfelt pleas went, that was about the poorest example I’d ever heard, but, knowing Corinne, it was probably the best I could hope for. I allowed myself a small victory smirk as I turned my attention her way. "This little ol’ thing?" I asked, hefting my prize.
"Angel . . . ."
I burst out laughing, unable to help myself. After a moment, she joined me and the quiet air was soon filled with boisterous laughter. After a long moment, I looked back at her, flipping the package in my hands. "You’re right, of course. It is a book. A rare one, actually."
"And?"
"It’s an original printing of ‘One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich’, signed by the author himself, and you know he didn’t do autographs. It’s in Russian."
Corinne’s eyes widened in awe. "Amazing. How’d you manage to come on to such a prize?"
"An estate sale, if you can believe that one. One of my outside contacts dabbles in literature. He saw it and asked if I wanted to bid on it."
"And, of course, you said yes."
"But of course. It came in well under my budget too. Apparently, there just wasn’t any interest."
"Philistines."
"Hey, I’m not gonna look a gift barbarian in the horns."
"Good analogy."
"Glad you liked it." I grinned, shifting on my chair. "Anyway, like I said, it’s in Russian. Problem is, I don’t know whether Ice reads Russian. And before you ask, yes, it’s for her."
Her eyes twinkled. "Had that one figured out already. And don’t worry, I think she reads it. In fact, I’m almost sure of it."
"I don’t get it," I replied, shaking my head. "She became a street kid right out of elementary school. Yet I saw the Tao, written in Chinese, mind you, sitting on the floor of her cell. And it looked like she had read it quite a bit. How could she have learned so much living on the streets?"
"That part of her schooling took place before she went to live on the streets, Angel. Her mother, as an opera singer I think, was an absolute fanatic about other cultures. Ice told me that she was taught to read other languages at the same time she was taught to read English. It was just something that her parents believed in."
"That’s interesting," I replied, hoping that my voice didn’t sound as envious as my thoughts were.
Apparently, it did. Corinne took off her glasses and looked at me, smiling slightly. "Ice was quite young when she shared this with me. I suppose she looked upon me as somewhat of a grandmotherly figure." She moued her lips in self-deprecation.
I instantly felt the sting of embarrassment. "I’m sorry, Corinne. I’m just glad that you were there for her. It must have been hard, especially in the beginning. I’m glad she could turn to you when she needed to."
"She didn’t do it all that often. But yes, there were times even the famed Ice needed comfort." She smiled knowingly at me. "I suspect that’s true even to this day."
I made sure my answering smile gave away little and she nodded in acknowledgement.
"So, is there a special occasion for this lovely little gift?" she finally asked, tone rich with innocence.
I couldn’t stop my blush from rising this time. This day was an anniversary of sorts for me, as well as for Ice, though she probably didn’t think the date significant. It was a year ago to this very date that I had helped the inmate team beat the guards in softball, and a year ago this very date that Ice and I made love for the first time. It was something that was very important and special to me, but damned if I was going to give Corinne the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, I simply looked at her and silently pleaded the Fifth.
She smirked at me, but decided against pursuing the issue. Instead, she went back to the work her curiosity over my package had interrupted. Silence descended over the library once again.
Several hours later, the time for dinner had finally arrived and, like a schoolchild on the last moment of the last day of school, I shot out of my seat the second the clock struck 5pm. Corinne laughed knowingly as, in my excitement, I almost batted my prize off the table, just managing with quick reflexes, to save it from falling to the floor.
I shot her a glare, but my heart wasn’t really in it. It was with a certain tall, dark woman who, that very moment, should have been closing up shop and on her way to a rendezvous with me in the cafeteria.
After waving quickly to Corinne, I grabbed my package and slipped out of the library, striding as quickly as I could down the hallway while still trying to look like I wasn’t striding quickly down the hallway. Not an easy task, let me tell you.
The prison square was filled with a sea of orange as inmates fresh from their daily labors bustled to and fro, some on their way, like I was, to the cafeteria, others congregating in small groups near the walls, and still others headed for points unknown. The incoherent babble of voices was loud to my ears as my eyes sought out a dark head that towered over the rest.
Not seeing her with the first visual sweep, I swallowed a pang of minor disappointment and headed toward the cafeteria, figuring to meet her there. As I was almost to the doors, a large hand clasped my elbow and I whirled. My pleased, welcoming grin faded as I looked up into Sandra’s hazel eyes.
"Hi, Angel," she said, "I’m glad I caught up with you. Can you come with me for a second, please?"
I opened my mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. Regardless of our seeming friendship, she was a guard and I was a prisoner under her control. So instead I nodded as she released her grip on my arm.
"It’ll just take a moment," she assured me.
I looked around vainly one last ti
me before turning to follow her back the way I’d come, my bright hopes for the evening starting to dim just the slightest bit.
She led me through the crowded square, past the guard room, and down toward the visitors’ room, which was closed for the evening. Turning left just before the visitors’ room, she led me down a shorter hallway toward a guarded exit door. Though this was another area of the prison where I’d never been before, I knew where that particular door led and my steps slowed almost to stopping.
Not noticing my hesitancy, Sandra continued down the hallway and spoke in low tones to the guard stationed there before turning to me. Her look of expectancy turned to one of puzzlement when she saw me still standing at the end of the hall. She beckoned me closer.
"Um . . .if it’s all the same to you, Sandra, I’d kinda like to know what it is you need from me out there?" All sorts of warnings were jangling through my head. Sandra might have been the head guard, but even she had to report to Morrison, who most likely wasn’t too happy about my successes in the possible appeal department. If I were to be released some time down the road, a very large card the warden was holding against Ice would disappear right along with me.
As if she divined my thoughts, Sandra’s look of impatience softened to one of compassion as she smiled and walked back over to where I was standing with what I’m sure was a ‘deer in the headlights’ look on my face. She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Angel, there’s nothing funny about this, I promise you. I just need your advice on something. It won’t take more than a minute."
I looked in her eyes, not finding even a trace of deceit within their depths. Still, I’d learned my lessons the hard way and wasn’t about to easily repeat past mistakes, especially if they could wind up getting me injured or worse. "Can you at least tell me what’s going on?"
"I know this doesn’t sound all that great, but it really is easier if I show you." Then she smiled. "Tell you what. All you have to do is stand next to Barbara right here at the door. I can show you what I need to outside and if it seems safe to you, you can join me, alright?"
I looked over at the other guard, who nodded reassuringly to me. After a long moment, and against my better judgement, I nodded back.
Sandra grinned and squeezed my shoulder before turning back to the guard and getting her to unlock the door. It opened inward slowly and I got a quick glimpse of the fenced in area before Sandra’s large body obscured my view as she stepped outside into the warm summer air.
The sunlight streamed back in as she walked further away from the door and up the short wooden steps to the door of what I knew was the conjugal visit trailer. I watched as she inserted a key into the lock and pulled the door slowly open, peeking her head inside as she did so. After a second, she pulled back and, to my great astonishment, Ice’s head replaced hers in the doorway. Smiling almost sheepishly at me, Ice jerked her head back, beckoning me on.
A thousand scenarios rushed through my mind, none of them good. Keeping with my brutally honest tone here, I must admit that my first thought, given Ice’s unexpected location, was that Donita was also in the trailer with her and that they’d chosen this relatively private place to finally tell me that they had rekindled their romance. A huge part of me denied this thought, but insecurity can be a harsh master and right now, it was controlling my emotions. I froze where I was, trying to decide whether to go forward and have my worst fears confirmed, or run as far and as fast as I could to hide from the truth that my fanciful mind had conjured from thin air.
Sandra turned, smiling and waving. Damn them, I thought. Damn them all to hell. How can they be laughing when my heart’s breaking? When the second guard, Barbara, murmured "Go ahead, Angel," from right next to me, I almost ripped her eyes out.
Then, forcing the more adult side to my personality to the forefront, I squared my shoulders, swallowed painfully, raised my chin, and stepped outside. Walking those few yards from the prison to the trailer was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.
Consciously releasing my clenched fists as I walked up the rickety wooden steps, I brushed by Sandra without looking at her, and stepped, with a firm tread, into the small trailer. As I slipped into the cool interior, my eyes did a quick, accusatory scan, slowly adjusting to the dim lighting within. The trailer was otherwise empty, though I didn’t rule out my erstwhile lawyer hiding out in the bathroom, such were the turbulence of my thoughts at that moment.
When I looked back to Ice, really seeing her for the first time since I’d entered the trailer, my mouth opened wide in shock. Gone was her customary prison jumpsuit. In its place was a deep blue robe that looked like it was made of silk on satin. It had bold golden embroidery on the cuffs and sash, and ended at mid calf. In the ‘V’ of the robe, I could see a lighter blue camisole in a sheer but not quite revealing material that stopped just at the swell of her magnificent breasts. Her hair was glossy clean and loose as it fell across her shoulders. Her legs and feet were bare and one hand cupped a single red rose, which she held out to me, smiling gently.
Taking a step closer, I tried to blink away my tears. "Ice? What . . . ?"
"Happy Anniversary, Angel."
I took the rose and brought it to my nose while cupping my hand over my mouth to stifle the sob that was waiting to come out. As I inhaled the delicate, wonderful fragrance, I damned myself for seventeen kinds of fool for believing that Ice’s feelings for me were somehow shallow and convenient until something better happened along.
Resolving not to ruin the moment with my histrionics, I pushed all negative emotions to the back of my mind and resolved to enjoy the precious gift I’d been given. My self-chastisement was further halted by an embarrassed clearing of the throat and when I turned to the door, I saw Sandra standing half in and half out of the trailer, her face darkened by a blush.
"I think I’ll leave you guys alone now. Have fun." With a smile and a wink, she turned and left the trailer, locking the door carefully behind her.
I looked over Ice, who was still smiling at me, though her eyes were full of questions. "Is this . . .alright?" she asked, a rare note of hesitancy clear in her voice.
"It’s perfect," I babbled, "just . . .god it’s absolutely wonderful."
"Then why are you crying?" she asked softly, not moving from her place beside the small table set into one of the walls.
"God, I’m just . . .it’s . . .I’m happy," I finally ground out. And bewildered. And embarrassed. And so totally in love with you that I think my heart’s about to burst.
Cocking her head, she looked at me. "Are you sure?"
Placing the rose down on the table, I ran into her arms, wrapping myself around her and squeezing tight. "I’m sure. One hundred percent, absolutely, positively, heart swelling sure."
She engulfed me in her embrace, laying a gentle kiss to my hair. "Good. I’m glad." I could feel her sigh against my chest. "I remember once you mentioned that you’d give anything just to be able to spend one night together. I figured that you didn’t really mean spending it in an infirmary with burns and smoke inhalation, so I thought this up."
Stunned, I pulled away. "You mean we have this all night?!"
Smiling, she nodded. "Yup. It’s all ours, so to speak, till noon tomorrow."
"God I love you!" I exclaimed, pressing her to me once again. Her low, rumbling laugh vibrated through my ear and put an answering grin on my own lips. I inhaled again, smelling something beyond the scent of the rose and Ice’s warm, intoxicating presence. Opening my eyes once again, I peered down on the table, which was covered with a variety of instantly recognizable white boxes. I pulled away, astonished. "You got Chinese?"
Ice laughed again. "Best I could do under the circumstances. Hope you don’t mind Kung Pao chicken."
"Are you kidding? I love Chinese food!" Truth be known, after three years of barely recognizable prison fare, Ice could have served dog food on a stick and I probably would have been happy.
"Good." When she pulled away, I detected
a slight blush of color on her cheeks as she looked to the bed. "I thought you might be comfortable in something other than your uniform for the evening, so . . . ."
Following her gaze to the bed, I gasped out loud. There, colors bold against the clean white sheets of the bed, lay a shimmering forest green floor-length robe. Next to it lay a beautiful dressing gown with spaghetti straps and a demure neckline in a lighter shade of green that deepened to aquamarine near the hemline, which was also floor-length.
Walking over to the bed, I reached out a shaking hand to brush against the fabric, feeling the exquisite softness against my fingers. A tear dripped from my face to land, sparkling, on the silken fabric. I brushed it away, then picked up the dressing gown, holding it against my body and watching the highlights shimmer down its length. I turned wide eyes back to her. "This is so beautiful, Ice!"
She gave me a little cockeyed grin. "I’m glad you like it. If . . .you wanna try it on or anything, the bathroom’s right off that little alcove over there."
I tracked her pointing finger, spotting a half-shadowed doorway sitting to the right of the main room. "Yeah, I’d like that a lot. Be back in a minute." Lifting the robe from its place on the bed, I made my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
The bathroom was well appointed for being in such a relatively tiny trailer. It even had a small stand-up shower that looked much cleaner than the shower in the prison. "Oooh," I whispered to my reflection in the small mirror over the sink, "I think I’m gonna take advantage of this situation too!"
Quickly stripping out of my jumpsuit, I reached into the stall and turned on the shower. Surprise of surprises, there was actually hot (well, tepid might be a better adjective here) water coming from the showerhead! Stepping in quickly, I grabbed the new bar of soap and proceeded to take my first warm water shower in over three years. I was in heaven.
After loitering about for a bit, I finally shut off the water and stepped out into the cooler air of the bathroom, grabbing a large, fluffy bath towel and drying myself off with alacrity. One of the good things about having short hair is that drying is a comparative breeze, and so with a thorough toweling and a bit of finger-combing, I was set.
