The Big Ugly (2 page)

"We're moving the baby in with us. You can have his room."

"I can sleep on the couch."

His waved that away. "We already got you set up. Bethany took some of your clothes out of the storage unit and washed them and hung them up in your room."

"I'd like to take a shower."

"Of course," he said. "You know where everything is up there."

The room was painted yellow and filled with baby books and stuffed animals. My clothes were hanging in the closet and folded neatly in a shabby chest-of-drawers. On a small bedside table, my cell phone was plugged into a charger. Beside it, a small jewelry box held some of my rings, earrings and necklaces. The bed appeared freshly made, and Bethany had left a towel and washcloth on it along with some toiletries.

I took that stuff into the bathroom and locked the door, and for the first time in a year I was alone.

I sat down on the edge of the tub, facing myself in the big mirror over the sink. There I was.

"Beat up," I said, "but not yet beaten."

I stood and peeled off my clothes and turned up the shower as high as it would go and climbed in and tried to burn off the stink of prison.

Bethany came home a few hours later. She wore cut-off jeans and an old Alan Jackson tour T-shirt. With her long red hair pulled back in a messy little bun, lugging a surly two-year-old on her hip, she should have looked haggard, but her face brightened when she saw me. She handed off the baby to Nate and wrapped me in a hug. "Praise the lord, we have you back!"

Felicia came in behind her stinking of sweat and ice cream. She hovered behind her mother, not quite making eye-contact with me.

"Hey, kid," I said.

"Hey, Aunt Ellie."

Her mother prompted, "Gonna give her a hug?"

I wished for the sake of me and the kid both Bethany hadn't said it.

Felicia said, "I stink. I need to wash."

Nate said, "Oh, give your aunt a hug."

"It's okay," I said.

I extended my fist.

Felicia bumped me.

I told her, "You do stink. You weren't lying."

She smiled, still avoiding the eyes of the three adults who unreasonably expected her to say or do something to ease their own awkwardness. "I'm going to go get washed up."

As Felicia left and Nate took the two year old into the den, Bethany asked me, "Hungry? I know Nate hasn't fixed you anything, and it's about dinner time."

"I could eat."

She put me to work cutting up carrots and cucumbers for a salad while she set up a rice cooker. "Have you thought about what you want to do now that you're out?"

"Sure," I said.

"I didn't mean to imply that you hadn't—"

"No, I know what you mean."

"Nate and I just thought that maybe you could work with him."

"We talked about it."

"Oh good."

"Outside of that … I don't know. I've thought about it, but I don't know what's available out there for me. I mean, working in corrections is all I've ever done. I could be a security guard, but who's going to hire an ex-con as a security guard?"

"You've got management skills."

"That I got as a CO. Not much of a selling point."

"We'll figure out something," she assured me. She glanced down at the crap I was cutting. "Cut those pieces a little smaller."

That night, I couldn't sleep. For thirteen months, I'd been in a dormitory with fifteen other broads. Now I couldn't go to sleep without the sound of coughing and farting and masturbating.

On the bedside table, Bethany had left me a Bible. I stuck it in a drawer.

I got out of bed and did push-ups until I collapsed. Then I did sit-ups until my abdominal muscles hurt. It didn't help. I needed to get drunk or fuck somebody. Maybe both. Not on the first night, though. Tomorrow maybe.

I climbed back in bed and tried to sleep, but I kept thinking about her up on that guard tower smirking down at me.

Kitty Morley.

It's hard to get to sleep with hate keeping you up all night.

First thing the next morning, I put on a skirt and blouse, dabbed on some lipstick, put in some earrings, borrowed Nate's Escort and drove over to see my parole officer.

PO Romandetto had little black slits for eyes over a wide flat nose and a lipless mouth. Even though he was probably pushing sixty, his hair was as black as licorice. Although we'd been acquainted for years through Eastgate, since he'd become my PO he acted like we'd never met. He was sitting at his desk, cigarette dangling from his mouth, playing some game on his iPhone when I walked in.

Without looking at me, he said, "Sit down."

I sat down in a chair opposite him. His office was small and stained yellow with cigarettes. A carton of Pall Malls sat opened on the window pane behind him. An ashtray overflowed on the desk.

He kept playing his game. I watched him play. For a while.

Eventually, he lost.

"Shit." He tossed the phone on the table. "You play these games?" he asked, crushing out his cigarette.

I shook my head.

"Damn things are worse than butts," he said. "Throwing birds at pigs ain't no way to spend a morning."

"That my first piece of instruction for the outside world?"

He leaned back in the creaking seat and lit another smoke. "You a smartass?"

"No, I'm a dumbass, that's why I'm here talking to you."

His cheeks jerked up and exposed a jumble of teeth. I guess it was what passed for a smile in the Romandetto family. He chortled. "You get home yesterday okay?"

"I was wondering if you remembered who I was."

"Sure, I remember you, Bennett. You're nobody. You're an ex-con. Which, in this country, puts you one rung under a stray dog. I'm here to make sure you don't shit on the carpet or bite any decent people for the next sixty months. So, we clear on who you are and who I am?"

I didn't say anything to that. Basically, it was true.

"Good," he said. "Glad we got that out of the way early. You got a place to live?"

"With my brother and sister-in-law."

"What's their deal?"

"He has an upholstery business. She works at a daycare."

"You got a job yet?"

"Going to work for my brother."

"You know anything about fixing couches and shit like that?"

"Our uncle did it. It was his business. My brother and I both worked there when we were in high school."

He pulled a form out of a wire basket on his desk and passed it over to me. "Fill this out. Everything you just told me with names and addresses and phone numbers. I'll be around this week to check up on you. Be there."

As I was filling it out, his phone rang.

He picked it up. "Romandetto. Oh, hello. Yes. As a matter of fact, she's here now. Yes." He held out the phone to me. "For you."

I arched an eyebrow, but I took the phone.

"Hello?"

A smooth male voice asked, "Ms. Ellie Bennett?"

"Yes."

"My name is Charles Hamill. I was wondering if you could come see me. Mr. Romandetto has told me that you might be the person I need for a small job."

"Oh. Sure. What is the, uh … Can you tell me about the job?"

"Well, how about we meet? I can tell you about it in person. Could you come see me about noon?"

"Sure."

He gave me the address, and I wrote it down on a pad of Post-it Notes on Romandetto's desk. The man on the phone said goodbye and hung up.

I asked Romandetto, "What's the deal with this guy?"

"Don't know. He called yesterday asking about you."

"Well, who is he?"

"Used to be an assistant DA. Now he works for one of these, whatchamacallit, legal advocacy groups."

"What the hell's he want with me?"

"Don't know. But at least it'll be legitimate work. Give it a chance. Be good for you."

After I left Romandetto, I went to breakfast. All things considered, it hadn't been a bad morning. I'd known some broads in Eastgate who'd had Romandetto for their PO and no one liked him much, but everyone said he was on the up and up. Most of the female parolees in our district got either Belton, Groggins, or Romandetto. Belton was a crook; he wanted cash. Groggins was a perv; he wanted sex, or at least groping rights. Romandetto, on the other hand, was a hardass who smoked like it was 1950 and treated you like a child, but if you didn't shoot anybody or develop a meth habit, he'd probably stay out of your way.

I had about forty dollars to my name. I figured at least twenty of that should go toward a decent breakfast, so I drove down to the river district and parked by the water and walked up to the Sunlight Grill.

The place was airy and open to the water. I sat there in the sun and ate a spinach and feta omelet made with real eggs. I had a side of thick cut bacon. I had a fruit cup with red grapes and big chunks of honeydew and pineapples. Then I washed it all down with freshly squeezed orange juice and two cups of coffee. It would take a few more genuine meals to flush the prison food out of my system, but that breakfast was a good start.

Then the waiter brought me the check and I looked down at the date and remembered that it was my fortieth birthday.

So much for breakfast.

Charles Hamill's office was located on the tenth floor of the Milner Building downtown. At forty stories, the Milner was the tallest building in Osotouy City. While various financial service companies occupied most of the floors, the tenth floor was leased to the Faith and Liberty Legal Initiative. Whatever the fuck that was. Riding up the glass elevator, I felt a little dizzy. The day before, I'd been in jail staring at the same nasty broads I'd been staring at for thirteen months. Now I could see the town drop away beneath me.

The door opened and I stepped into a hallway that had FAITH AND LIBERTY LEGAL INITIATIVE on the wall in raised red letters. From behind a receptionist's outpost, a busty, short-haired blonde with a sharp nose and a pursed mouth looked up at me. Her name plate read: Gennifer. Gennifer was maybe twenty-five years old, and she had the air of a woman who got shit done. "Hello," she said. "Welcome to the Legal Initiative."

"Thanks," I said. "Hi. Uh, I'm here to meet with Charles Hamill."

She nodded, stood up and said, "Ms. Bennett?"

"Yes."

"Awesome. I'll take you to him."

She came around the desk. Gennifer moved with youth and vigor, but she needed a little more practice in heels. As she hurried me down the hall, she threatened to blow out an ankle.

We went, as far as I could tell, all the way to the other side of the tenth floor, to a door with Charles Hamill's name. She opened the door and led me into an outer office.

Sitting at a large desk, with a framed Christian flag hanging on the wall behind her, was an older woman with plum-red hair. Her name plate read VIOLETTA LIPS, and she put aside a Weight Watcher's calorie counter and smiled as brightly as if we'd burst in with balloons.

"Oh, thank you, Gennifer."

"Of course."

Gennifer swept out.

The secretary said, "Ms. Bennett?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "So nice to meet you. Brother Hamill will be expecting you."

She picked up her phone and hit a button. While she did, I glanced around. On the wall behind me hung a painting of Jesus holding the Bible in one hand and the US Constitution in the other. Violetta Lips, or Sister Lips as I hoped people called her, spoke into the phone, "Brother Hamill, your noon appointment is here. … All righty, I surely will."

She hung up. "He'll be out in a sec, hon."

"May I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"What do y'all do here?"

"We're a legal defense fund that works to promote religious liberty. Whenever folks are discriminated against for their Christian beliefs, we're there to help them work through the courts."

"Like the ACLU for fundamentalists."

Sister Lips blinked and then smiled at that. While she was trying to think of a way to respond, a door at the other end of the room opened. As it opened, I noticed a red, white, and blue campaign sign taped to the inside that read: JERRY KINGSTON FOR SENATE.

A man in a dark blue suit and a red tie walked through the door and extended his hand to me. "Charles Hamill," he said.

Trim and clean, with eyes as blue as Easter eggs, Hamill was almost pretty. Though he was a little taller than me, his handshake was weak.

"Ellie Bennett," I said.

He took me back to his office, a giant corner space with a view of downtown all the way to the river. A couple of larger Jerry Kingston signs sat propped against the walls.

"I see you're a big Kingston supporter," I said.

He glanced at the signs. "Yes," he said. "Yes. Brother Kingston will make a fine senator." He nodded and gestured at a chair in front of his aircraft carrier of a desk. "Well, please have a seat."

I sat down. He walked around to the other side of his desk. It took a while.

When he sat down, he said, "I hope you don't mind if I jump right to it, Miss Bennett … do you prefer Miss or Ms. Bennett? Never too sure with all the political correctness these days."

"You can call me Ellie."

"Fine. I hope you don't mind if I jump right to it, Ellie."

"Of course not."

"Fine. I understand that you just got out of jail."

"Yes." When I said it, I felt small.

"And before that you were a guard at Eastgate."

"Yes."

He nodded. "I'm wondering if you knew someone while you were there."

"Who?"

"A woman named Alexis Kravitz."

"Yeah," I said. "I knew Alexis. We were in the same section."

"Know much about her?"

I shrugged. "She's about twenty-five, I guess, but she seems younger."

"In what way?"

As I searched for a nice way to answer the question, Hamill said, "Please feel free to state it bluntly. I'm interested in your unvarnished opinion."

"Oh, I don't know. Some people, they live a hard life and it ages them. Other people live a hard life, but it's like they get stuck being thirteen somehow. Alexis isn't stupid, but she's sort of … permanently innocent."