In the Slammer Ch. 06

So one of the things you can do with the twenty dollar bill they give you when they let you out is buy a bus ride back into town. But the bus driver can't make change. He'll take your twenty and give you a receipt that you have to take to some office downtown somewhere to get reimbursed.

Fuck that shit. I walked down the road a ways until the sign for the Correctional Facility was at least out of sight. I stuck out my thumb. I figured that since it was the Woman's Facility nobody would be too concerned that I'd just broken out.

Not that it made that much difference. There just wasn't any traffic. Two buses went by, and I was just about ready to flag down the third one when an old guy in a pickup pulled over. It was a perfect ride. He didn't say a damn thing and neither did I.

We passed by some of the places they used to take us to pick up litter along the roadway. Before they let Dolores out, I'd sent a letter to my ex-girlfriend, asking her if Dolores could stay with her for a while. I never heard back. I never heard from Dolores either, even though she told me she'd write me every single day.

The old guy dropped me on the south side, not far from the place where I'd been staying. The first thing on my agenda was to get my wheels. But when I got there, there was my car sitting up on the lawn, the front end all crumpled in, the axle all bent out of shape.

I banged on the door.

"Hector. You're out. How ya doing?"

"So what's up with my car?"

"Oh yeah. An accident. Nothing serious. Nobody got killed or anything. My cousin thinks he can fix it up. It's going to take some money, though."

"Can I get my stuff?"

"It's in the garage. I had to get another roommate. You know, to make the rent. So where are you staying?"

"Good question."

"You can crash here I guess. If you want. On the couch. Until you get yourself squared away."

"Yeah, well, can I get my stuff?"

There wasn't that much anyway, some clothes in a trash bag. I took a couple shirts and a pair of pants. No sign of my cash jar.

"I had to take out a rent payment. There wasn't much left."

—

It was about twelve blocks over to the Diner where Sophie worked. My ex-girlfriend, the one I'd written to about Dolores. I thought she might be working, but Sharon was there instead.

"Hi, Hector," she smiled. "Long time." She sat me in a booth.

"Sophie coming in today?"

She gave me a questioning look. "Sophie isn't here anymore. She moved to Hawaii about a month ago."

"Hawaii?"

"You remember her friend Tessa? She's going to school over there. Sophie went over to check it out. I guess she found a place to stay."

So Sophie wasn't here. That meant she hadn't gotten my letter. And she hadn't been here when Dolores came looking for her.

Sharon noticed the look on my face and winced in commiseration. "Can I get you something?"

I ordered a hamburger and a cup of coffee. My twenty bucks would cover that. So if Dolores wasn't with Sophie, I wasn't exactly sure where she might be.

Sharon brought the hamburger, and a little slice of pie on the house. She sat down for a second. She was a couple years older than Sophie and me. She was sweet, and pretty enough, but her insecurity was just a little too apparent. She'd never had much luck in the boyfriend department. She sort of lived vicariously through her girlfriends' exploits. My position as Sophie's ex-boyfriend made us sort of honorary cousins.

"So I take it you're out," she said, speaking low so that no one would overhear. "Is everything all right?"

"Trying to figure that out."

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"I'm working on it."

—

Annie had given me the address of the shop where her boyfriend worked. It was way over on the east side. It was kinda strange to be walking around in regular clothes, passing by people who had no idea where I'd just come from.

Otis was big and strong, the kind of guy you'd picture Annie being with.

"Dolores stopped by just after she got out. Annie told me you'd be coming by too. How's she doing?"

"She gets a little down sometimes. She and Dolores were pretty tight, and she misses her. It means a lot to her that you come to see her, though."

"I guess you know she didn't even do what they put her in for. But she'll be getting out before too long."

"So do you know where Dolores is staying?"

"With a girlfriend of hers, I think. At least she was. She was supposed to go up with me to visit you guys a couple of weeks ago, but she never showed. I haven't heard from her since then."

"I can't seem to locate her. We made a plan, but it looks like it fell through."

"She'll get back in touch, I'm sure. You need anything? You got money?"

"I'm OK."

He took out his wallet. "Here's forty bucks. It's all I got on me now."

"No, really . . ."

"Come on, man. Annie finds out I didn't even give you this much, I'll be in the dog house for sure. You can pay me back when you get back on your feet."

I don't usually go looking for charity, but I'm not too proud to accept it when it comes looking for me. "OK, man. I appreciate it."

—

The place Dolores had been living with her stepfather was on the east side too, a dozen dingy blocks from Otis's shop. It was a nondescript single level house in a yard full of dried out weeds. I knocked on the screen door.

An unkempt guy in a sleeveless undershirt came to the door and looked out.

"Fuck you want?"

"Looking for Dolores."

"She's in jail."

"Heard she got out."

That was apparently news to him. The gears in his weasley brain started to creak.

"Well, she ain't come by here yet. You see her, you tell her I got her room all fixed up, just like she left it. OK?"

Gave me the fucking creeps.

—

One thing about being in, at least they give you a mattress to sleep on, even if you do have to share it with someone. On the outside you've got to fend for yourself. I could go sleep on Brian's couch. I'd probably end up there eventually. But Sharon had implied that her couch might be available too. That seemed more appealing.

It was a long hike back to the west side. I got to the Diner well after the supper rush. Sharon was getting ready to close up. I had a grilled cheese sandwich and left her a big tip. Which she didn't pick up.

She lived in a little second-story apartment over a travel agency.

"Just let me get out of this uniform," she said. She went into her bedroom and came out a couple minutes later in a bathrobe. "It's all that grease from the kitchen. I'll just be a minute." She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I sat down on the couch.

She came back out in her bathrobe with a towel around her hair. She sat down at the other end of the couch. She'd always been a good friend to me as well as to Sophie. She hadn't taken sides when we broke up, she'd stayed loyal and supportive to both of us.

"So, how are you doing?" I asked her.

"Oh," she said, giving a little shrug. "You know." But then she looked at me in her admiring-cousin way. "Was it . . . rough in there?"

I could have made something up, but there really wasn't any reason to. "There was a mixup in the paperwork. They ended up sending me to the Women's Facility by mistake."

Her eyes got bigger as she tried to comprehend the situation.

"It wasn't so bad, really. They make you do busy work and stuff. Those people you see out on the highway picking up trash? The ones in the orange vests? That was us. It wasn't so bad."

"Do they keep you behind actual bars?"

"There were bars on the windows. I mean, they locked us in our cells at night. They always had guards watching us."

Her eyes were still awful big, trying to imagine what it must have been like. "So what are you going to do now?"

"First thing, I'm trying to hook up with my cellmate. She got out a couple weeks ago. That's why I wanted to see Sophie, I thought she might be staying with her."

"Was she a friend of hers?"

"No, but she needed a place to stay. I wrote Sophie a letter, asking if she could stay with her for a bit. But I guess she never got it."

Sharon wrinkled her brow, trying to sort it all out. "Well, she must be staying somewhere else then."

"Yeah. I tried a couple places today, but she wasn't there either. She must be someplace, though."

"So you and her are like . . ."

"Yeah. I guess you'd say so."

She nodded. The situation was becoming a little clearer. I noticed, though, that her eyes were getting droopy. She must have had a long day.

"You must be tired," I said.

She didn't deny it.

"Why don't you just go to bed then. Don't mind me. I'll be all right."

"I'll make up the couch for you." She went and got some sheets. That's what people do, I guess, when someone stays over. But it just seemed so . . . lonely. Her little apartment, her little couch . . .

"No need to go to all that trouble," I said. I took the sheets from her. "At the Facility you get kind of used to sharing a bed."

She wasn't exactly sure what to make of that. I put the sheets down and went into her bedroom. The dresser was all cluttered with stuff, the bed unmade, her work clothes scattered on top. She snatched them up and put them on the hamper.

"It'll be cozier this way," I said. "OK?" I swear to God that all I was thinking was that it would be like it had been with Dolores, the two of us just sleeping together in the same bed.

She still wasn't exactly sure, though. I started to undress. I'd sort of gotten used to not wearing underwear, so it didn't take me very long. She cautiously undid the sash of her robe. She wasn't wearing anything underneath either. She was a little embarrassed. We'd never seen each other naked before.

She had a little extra padding about her hips and tummy. Waitressing must not give you the best type of exercise. Her breasts were nice, though, full without being droopy, with perky nipples, the kind that just naturally call attention to themselves. Her pussy wasn't shaved. I was a little surprised. I'd seen my share of unshaven pussies at the Facility, but somehow I had it in my mind that women on the outside mostly all shaved down there these days.

We got into bed. She looked at me, timidly, but not shrinkingly. My heart went out to her. I thought again about what a good friend she'd always been. She deserved better than this loneliness. I put my arm around her and pulled her into a little good-night hug. Her skin was soft and fresh from her shower. Even though we were just going to be sleeping together, my cock perked up and pressed itself against her thigh.

OK. I guess it was pretty naive of me to think that the only thing on her mind after I'd gotten her to take her clothes off and get into bed with me would be sleeping. It was just that that was the way it had been at the Facility, and I'd gotten kind of used to it.

Up until now our relationship had always been platonic and cousinly. But now it must have seemed to her that something had changed on my part; that somehow I now had needs that had to be met, and that I'd come to her to get them taken care of.

That wasn't it at all, of course, but, nevertheless, there I was, holding her in my arms, my cock pressing ever more firmly against her thigh. It wasn't like she was doing anything to move things along. Well, except for being there, for letting her soft, fresh skin lie against mine, for giving my cock a thigh to press ever more firmly against.

It had gotten to the point that it would have been pretty rude of me to pull away. What was I going to tell her? My bad? I thought you were somebody else?

Fuck it. Why couldn't I just cherish her, the way she deserved to be cherished. Why couldn't two people just shut out the loneliness, for this one night at least.

I kissed her forehead. She looked up, slowly, still timidly, but letting me see that she was there for me in whatever way I wanted. I stroked her cheek with my thumb. I kissed her gently on the lips.

I ran my hand over her shoulder, down her arm, over her hip. I cupped her breast, petting it gently with my fingers, touching her nipple gently with my palm. I kissed her again, and this time she kissed me back.

OK. So there's certain rules that cannot be overlooked. I disentangled myself enough to reach over and fish out a condom from my pants on the floor. "Courtesy of the County," I told her.

She blushed. "You don't really need it," she said, shyly.

"Probably better if we do, though. Just to be on the safe side."

I put the thing on and stretched back alongside her. I ran my hand along her arm and hip. I wove my fingers into her curly patch of pubic hair. I let them slip down along her slit, reaching gently in to touch her wetness. I knew what Rachel Ramirez liked—up and down, firmly at the bottom, wispily at the top, teasingly, encouragingly. Sharon wasn't as easy to read as Rachel, so I just had to hope for the best.

Finally I moved on top of her and she helped me in. I kissed her again, and started stroking, slowly, fully, trying to make sure that every stroke brushed against every part of her, trying to make sure she knew that this was for the two of us, not just for me. Rachel had taught me a few things, I guess.

She came, cozily, beneath me, a bit surprised, I think, to find herself so swept up, holding on tight to bring me along, to share the deliciousness. And that's exactly what she managed to do.

—

In the morning I went back over to the east side and strolled around a bit to show myself off in case Dolores was there somewhere. I went in a couple shops where I thought someone might know her, but no luck. I waited until her old high school let out, but had even worse luck there. I don't know if it was because I was older than most of the kids or because I still had a whiff of the Facility about me, but they were pretty suspicious and didn't want to have anything to do with me,

I trudged back to Sharon's apartment, and then I had an idea.

There were three Carlsens in the phone book. I recognized Mrs. Carlen's voice on the second number.

"Mrs. Carlsen! It's Hector. From Logan."

"Hector? Are you in trouble?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm out, but I guess you know that. I was just wondering if you might know where I could find Dolores. The place I thought she might be staying, well, she's not there. Her stepfather hasn't seen her. Annie's boyfriend doesn't know where she is. I was hoping that you might be able to help me track her down."

"Well, I haven't heard from her . . ."

"But won't they have her new address at the Facility?"

"No . . . Once she's out she's out. The Facility doesn't really have anything to do with her any more."

"The thing is, she said she would write me every day, and I never got a single letter. I think the warden lady must have been keeping them from me."

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't have done that."

"Then how come I didn't get them?"

"Well, I don't know. Do you know anybody else who might know her whereabouts?"

"I've tried everybody I can think of. That's why I'm asking you."

"Well, I can ask around at the Facility and see what I can find out."

"Oh, Mrs. Carlsen, you don't know how much I'd appreciate it."

—

That night, Sharon and I were cuddling in bed. I told her about the call.

"Do you think that you and Dolores will do better than you and Sophie did?" she asked.

It was a question I really had to think about.

"This one time they had us picking up litter over on County Line Road. My team had already gotten picked up and we were pulling into a little strip mall where Dolores's team was waiting. Some guy's motorcycle had tipped over in the parking lot. He was like a bank teller or something, and it was a pretty big bike, and he couldn't get it up again by himself. People were standing there watching, the girls on one side, some people on the other. The guy was doing his best, but it was too heavy. A couple of the girls were starting to make fun of him.

"Dolores went over to give the guy a hand. She's not that big, you know, and she was wearing her orange vest and everything. The guard lady started yelling at her. But she just went over and helped the guy get his motorcycle back up again."

It was kind of a lame answer, I guess, but it seemed enough for Sharon. She didn't say anything more, just cuddled thoughtfully in my arms.

This was the second night we'd slept together and the second time we'd made love. The second time she'd cuddled after in my arms. Dolores and I had had to share a bed together for months, but we hadn't made love once. She was still a virgin. I knew that Sharon knew that a fuck was just a fuck. But Dolores liked to do things her way. That was fine by me.

—

Mrs. Carlsen called back the next day.

"OK, Hector. So I'm afraid you were right about your letters. It turns out that all incoming mail gets sent downtown to be checked for contraband. Then it gets sent out again to the appropriate Facility. But the computer somehow sent all your mail to Potter instead of to Logan."

"So maybe Dolores did write me after all."

"I saw a letter for you from her today. It was in the pile being sent downtown."

"God. What must she think that I never answered a single one."

"You should be able to retrieve them, but you'll have to go to Potter yourself to do it. But listen, Hector, I copied down her return address. Have you got a pen?"

It was an address in Alderville, one of those little towns you hear about on the news sometimes. I wasn't sure exactly where it was, but I knew it wasn't too far away.

"Oh Mrs. Carlsen! You don't know what this means to me!"

"I'm so sorry about the mixup. That blasted computer."

"Well, yeah, but it was because of the computer that I got to meet Dolores in the first place. And you too, for that matter. But you've fixed everything now. You're terrific! I'm sorry I can't be in your class any more. But listen, if there's ever anything I can do for you, anything at all, all you have to do is ask. OK?"

"Well, give Dolores my best. And, Hector, there is one thing you can do for me. I want you to keep on being the kind, responsible young man that I know you to be. Will you do that for me?"

"Oh sure, Mrs. Carlsen. You kind of taught us that in class. But, I mean, you know, if there's ever anything I can do to help you . . ."

"Well, I've got your number, Hector. I won't forget your offer."

—

That night in bed I told Sharon about the call.

"So you found her," she said, in her cousinly, I'm-so-happy-for-you voice.

I felt bad that things were going right for me, but still not yet for her. I wanted to say something that would make everything better. But I'm not much good at that. "You've been such a good friend," I told her. "I can't tell you what these last couple days have meant to me. I wish I didn't have to go."

"Oh don't say that," she said. "I'm glad you stopped by. The last couple days have been really nice for me too. I was always so jealous of Sophie. So don't feel bad. I'm just glad your heart is big enough to share."

—

The next morning I took an early bus out to Potter. Or Bizarro Logan you might as well call it—the same institutional linoleum, the same metal desks, the same bureaucratic runaround. The same forgotten traffic cones and toner cartridges in the storage room, I wouldn't be surprised. The same warehouses and work crews on the other side of the fence, the only difference being that they were all guys, instead of one guy and all the rest girls.

I explained the situation. They told me it was impossible. I showed them my discharge paper. They said it must have been a mistake. I asked if they had any mail with my name on it. They said they couldn't disclose that information. I showed them my damn photo ID. They looked me up in the computer and said I was no longer an inmate. I asked them what I was supposed to do, go out and rob a bank? They said the matter would have to go before a judge. I told them it was a judge who'd sent me to the wrong facility in the first place. They gave me a form to fill out.