Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jules looks across the small table at Lucy.
Her friend wears an orange jumpsuit and no makeup.
The visiting area of the county jail is a bit like in the movies, but sadder.
Little kids and husbands and boyfriends visiting women who’ve been deprived of hair maintenance and makeup, fed crappy food that makes their skin dull and faces puffy.
Lucy appears to be holding up okay, though. She actually looks pretty without the goth getup and eyeliner.
“I’d give you a hug,” Lucy says, “but you know I’m not a hugger. And besides…” She points to a sign that says: PHYSICAL CONTACT BETWEEN INMATES AND VISITORS IS PROHIBITED.
“How are you?” Jules asks.
“Peachy.”
“Any chance at bail? I have money, I could—”
“Nope. Apparently I’m a threat to the community.” She grins.
They arrested Lucy last month after she attacked another convicted sex offender. His wife called the police and they caught Lucy in the act. The incident made the national news, and since then, other men she’s attacked have come forward.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not so bad. I’m actually a rock star in here.
They hate child molesters and rapists, so they love ‘Lucy Lawless,’” she says, referencing the name the newspapers have given her, a play on the name of the actress who plays the title character in Xena: Warrior Princess.
“I’m no Stadium Girl, but infamy has its perks. ”
Jules smiles. “I want to thank you for not”—she lowers her voice—“for not, you know…” Ever since Lucy’s arrest, Jules has been waiting for a visit from the police about the two men they attacked last year.
Waiting for G-man Jack to put two and two together from that night and confront Jules about it.
But if Jack knows—and how could he not after finding them bloodied that night and then Lucy’s arrest? —he’s kept it to himself.
“Don’t be fucking stupid. Of course I wouldn’t say anything,” Lucy says. “What’s the latest on Clare?”
Jules exhales. “No new leads.” Jules feels that familiar emptiness, the hopelessness that keeps her awake at night. But she swallows it down, like she always does. It’s how she gets through the day.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” Lucy says.
A heavy silence follows. Jules wishes she wouldn’t have brought up that night with Lucy, the night they beat a sexual predator, the night Clare was taken after sneaking out of the house to go to a party.
Jules suppresses the urge to cry at the memory, though much of it is a haze, fragments of despair.
Jack driving her to her childhood home. The agents crowding the living room.
Dad excusing himself, Jules checking on him and finding him curled up in a ball in the master bathroom.
Mom in denial, in a Xanax haze, refusing to believe Clare wasn’t going to walk through the door at any moment.
But Clare’s boyfriend had called, worried when she didn’t show up at the May Day party.
When none of her friends knew where she was.
“When did you get in town?” Lucy says finally.
“I just got in, came here right from the airport. I already miss New York.” Jules scolds herself for complaining given that Lucy’s stuck in this hellhole.
“How long you staying?”
“A few days. Jack asked for me to come back. I’m staying with my parents, which will be torture.”
“Jack’s not making you and Carrie go to a hotel tonight?”
“No.” Jules considers telling her why Jack asked her to return home.
That instead of hiding out in a hotel, she’ll be active bait for May Day.
It’s a desperate move, one Jack opposes, but he said the politicos at FBI headquarters are feeling the heat from the lack of leads.
She decides to keep the plan to herself. Lucy has enough to worry about.
“At least I’m safe in here,” Lucy says.
Jules wonders if the three of them will ever not fear May 1st.
“He’s not getting any of us,” Jules says.
She doesn’t mention that she’s taken shooting lessons, has a concealed carry permit for a handgun.
That she wears an ankle holster of pepper spray.
She’s left the gun and spray in the rental car, since she doubted the jail would take kindly to concealed weapons.
“How is the church mouse?” Lucy asks.
“Good, I think. I’m actually going to the megachurch with Carrie tonight, if you can believe that.”
Lucy coughs a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“I wanted to thank you,” Jules says.
“I said, don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything about—”
“No, not for that,” Jules cuts her off. “For making me realize I needed to face what happened.”
Lucy says nothing, only looks Jules deep in the eyes.
After another silence, Jules says, “So what’s next—with your case, I mean?”
“The lawyer says they’ll likely plea me out without significant time. He thinks the prosecutor is worried a jury will find that I’ve committed a community service, not a crime. And Jack has put in a good word. I should know more soon.”
“Can I get you anything, help with anything?”
“Yeah,” Lucy says. “Stay safe today.”