promise I made to God in my youth group. No sex before marriage. I managed to make it through my wild years untouched, still pure. Well, not pure, but I kept my virginity intact and I definitely didn’t fuck anything that moved. The media made it seem like I was the guest of honor at celebrity-filled orgies, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Even though I was toxic to myself, I still wanted to help others. I started a charity, Vic’s Babes. I helped sick kids whose families needed financial assistance. I held fundraisers, galas, dinners you name it all seeking money to help these kids. When it got too big for me to handle using Excel spreadsheets and the First Bank of Hoschton, which was pretty quickly, I hired David Gest to be the CFO and I just became the face of the company. Everything was smooth sailing for two years, then suddenly he had me sign several documents and then he stole all the money and disappeared, leaving me to take the blame. Honestly, I feel like I deserve this. What kind of idiot blindly signs things shoved in front of them? A fucking chump that’s who.
“Let’s go,” a young and very pretty female corrections officer says, coming into the small cell. I stand up to follow her. “Tell me now if you have anything on you that you shouldn’t have.”
“Like what, Officer Jenkins?” I ask, reading her badge.
“Commander Jenkins,” she says rudely. “Anything tobacco or drug-related, nail clippers, a cell phone, books, magazines, contacts, glasses. The only thing going in there is you. Understand? If you have any of these items, give them to me now.”
“I have contacts,” I answer.
“That had better all. Anything else will catch you a new charge. You can leave the contacts in for now. You’ll probably be issued glasses as soon as we get there.”
“Okay. I have nothing but my clothes and contacts.”
“Very well. Hands behind your back.” I do as I am told, and she handcuffs me. At least I don’t have to wear shackles.
I get put into a van and driven the hundred or so miles to a large prison. On the ride, no one in the van talks to me, even though I am the only inmate, and I am not used to silence. Even when I was lonely, I was never alone. I am immediately intimidated; I don’t think I have the strength to do this. As soon as I am inside of the big metal doors, they slam shut behind me. With the lock still echoing in my mind, I am ushered into what I can only describe as a large shower. Three old women are in the space with me.
“Honey, you’ve got to strip so we can search you,” the oldest woman says. She kind of reminds me of my grandmother.
I do so quietly. This is the first time I’ve been completely naked in front of others, even if they are old ladies. Twenty minutes later, I am showered and dressed in black scrubs and crocs. No orange or black and white strips, thank God. My long blonde hair was cut to my shoulders and put into a ponytail, to prevent lice they said, but that lady took sick delight in cutting my soft tresses like that. The glasses they gave me are too big but at least I can see. I can have them adjusted after I'm settled. I’m freezing and I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life.
How the hell am I going to get through the next one to three years?
Chapter Two
Earl Sinclair
As warden of the Santa Rosita Minimum Security Prison, a co-ed prison, I’ve seen it all. Pregnancies, murders, though I will say I haven’t had a murder under my watch, gangs, sewing circles, and Fifty Shades Of Grey book clubs. You just never know what you're going to find in here on a daily basis. I'm good to the prisoners, unless they murder someone, I'm pretty lenient. In my opinion prison is for rehabilitation, not kicking someone why they are down. For the most part we have white collar criminals here who are rarely violent. We get the occasional fight but nothing we can't handle. What I was not prepared for was the drop-dead gorgeous blonde sitting alone in the mess hall. I know I've seen her before, but I can't put my finger on where exactly I’ve seen her. Then it hits me. She’s the supermodel actress who embezzled from her charity. I wasn’t informed she’d be coming here. Club Fed’s occasionally get celebrities but honestly, white collar is so cushy no one gets treated any differently. It reminds of college except I get to go home at the end of the day. I pretend to make my rounds talking to both inmates and guards alike, but really, I am just staring at her. She’s gorgeous, sure, but something else is drawing me to her. She hasn't touched her food, but she drinks her water occasionally. She never looks around the room, just straight ahead at the wall. God, why can’t I tear my eyes away from her?