Page 32 of Jar of Hearts
Three minutes later, Bukowski is smiling and pulling up his polyester-blend pants. Hazelwood changed the COs’ uniforms from gray to navy blue a few months ago, and the dark color looks good on him. She supposes he’s handsome, not that it matters. He hands her a bottle of water, and she takes a long sip. Bukowski watches as she smooths her hair and attempts to make it look like she hasn’t just had sex.
“You’re out tomorrow,” he says. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
Everybody’s been asking her this. It’s a stupid question. Geo’s answered it a number of different ways so far, depending on what she thinks the other person expects to hear. “A bath,” she says. “A long, hot, bubble bath and a glass of red wine.”
“Can’t wait to join you.”
Only a lovesick prison guard could say something like that to an inmate and think it was somehow romantic. Geo’s been at Hazelwood for five fucking years. The absolute last thing she wants to do is hang out with a CO once she’s free. She forces a smile and sips more water, swishing it around it her mouth before swallowing. Bukowski’s taste is strong, and it’s lingering. “Don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that, Chris.”
“I’m thinking of ending it with her.”
Geo pauses. “Why?”
“You know why.” He tucks in his shirt and buckles his belt. “You’re a free woman tomorrow. We can start seeing each other openly. We can have actual sex. Have you thought about going on the pill? We—”
“You’re ten years younger than me,” Geo says. “And I’m going to be an ex-con. Not exactly a winning combination.”
“So? I know what we have is special.”
I know what we have is sexual assault, Geo thinks, but doesn’t say. By law, inmates can’t consent to having sex with a corrections officer. It’s legally the same thing as rape. He seems anxious, so she smilesat him. “We’ll figure it out. Give me a few days to get settled. You know I’m staying with my dad until I get a place of my own.”
It’s the right thing to say, and he relaxes. Keeping Bukowski happy for the twenty-four hours until her release is important. Geo never intended for things to get so serious between them (on his end, anyway), and now she has to be careful she doesn’t hurt him. She’s seen firsthand what can happen if an inmate crosses a guard. Two years ago, a young inmate tried to end her intimate relationship with a CO five days before her two-year sentence was up. The CO, an older, married man with five kids, didn’t take the rejection well. The next day, a bag of heroin and a shank were found in the inmate’s cell. She got an additional five years on her sentence. It was that simple.
Before they exit the library, Bukowski sneaks in a quick kiss. It’s all Geo can do not to flinch. Sex is one thing; kissing is another. They say good-bye, and with any luck, it will be the last time Geo ever has sex in prison.
She heads down the hallway and is soon approached by a tall, extremely skinny woman named Yolanda Carter. Geo doesn’t break stride, but eventually she has to, since the woman is in her way. She stops, already aware that the conversation won’t be a good one. They’ve spoken before. It’s never gone particularly well.
“What do you want, Boney?” she asks.
The woman’s short Afro is shaved at the sides, and both of her long, veiny arms are covered in tattoos. Sharply defined collarbones match equally sharp elbows, which jut out from the sleeves of her prison scrubs. It’s easy to see where she got her nickname, but there’s no dieting involved—Geo’s seen in her in chow hall, and the womaneats. She speaks almost as fast as her metabolism digests food, and she gets right in Geo’s face.
“Where’s your black bitch?” Boney says with only a trace of an accent. Her voice is almost as deep as a man’s. Rumor has it she used to be a princess in Nigeria, but Boney probably started that rumor herself.
“She’s not my bitch, and I’m not her keeper.”
Boney puts a hand on Geo’s arm. “You tell her—”
“Don’t touch me,” Geo says softly, staring right into the woman’s eyes.
The woman removes her hand and takes a half step back. “You tell your friend that if she sells to another one of my customers, I will come for her. And not just in here. I got friends on the outside. I’ll come for her kids.”
“They’re her customers, and I’m not telling her shit.” Geo turns and walks away.
“Oh, so you’re only the banker, huh?” Boney calls, her baritone carrying down the hallway. “You think you’re not involved in this? You’re involved, bitch. You got involved the first day you met her, bitch.”
Geo continues down the hallway without glancing back. When she turns the corner, she stops for a second to catch her breath and allow her heart rate to slow down. There’s no room for weakness in here. It’s all good and fine to be a nice person, to be pleasant and cooperative and do whatever you’re told with no attitude, but the moment someone gets in your face—the moment someone gets in yourspace—you can’t back down or show fear. Ever. You’ll get eaten alive.
And if someone hurts you, you have to retaliate. Every time. Because if you don’t, they’ll keep coming.
Right, Bernie?
She buzzes into the medium-security wing and sees Cat being escorted down the hallway toward their cells, which are next to each other. They both got transferred out of maximum three years ago—Geo for good behavior, and Cat because she got sick. Geo is dismayed to notice that Cat’s prison scrubs look even bigger on her rapidly shrinking frame than they seemed a week ago. It’s hard to get her friend to eat, and when she does, it’s even harder to get the food to stay down.
Kellerman, the corrections officer assigned to drive Cat to and from the hospital, looks put out. Cat needs help walking, but he isn’t helping her. His hand is barely touching her elbow, as if he’s disgusted to be near her.
As if stage four cancer is contagious.
“How’d it go?” Geo asks when she catches up to them.
