"Girrrrl, you so stupid!" said the sweet natured, barefoot, African American prostitute clad only in her "one-size- does- not- truly- fit-all-silver, spandex, mini dress; shackled in the seat next to me in the Clark County Detention Center. She had given me the once over so many times it was more like the skillionth over and when curiosity had finally killed her cat, had to ask what crime I had committed that brought me to jail.
I had been strongly warned by the truly amazing bicycle officer at family court who had (against the rules) snuck me a fruit cup and some white milk a few hours into my incarceration; to keep my eyes down, not to talk to anyone and most of all, no matter how scared I was...NOT TO APPEAR AFRAID.
So, when she asked me what my crime was, I sat upright, pushed back my shoulders and throwing caution to the wind I looked the barefoot lady of the night straight in the eye and replied with all the conviction I could muster, "I killed someone."
She snickered at me...hard. So hard that a boogey bubble popped out of her left nostril. "Soccer Mom," she said, rolling her eyes, "they don't put yo ass in County if you ice some body...come on....what'd you do? Steal from the P.T.A? Or was you sellin' ass too?"
I thought I understood the question and was actually a bit flattered that she thought me a prostitute, but even more so that she thought me a P.T.A mom. My ego getting the best of me I fantasized that perhaps she had me pegged as one of those high priced hookers like the ones I'd seen on Cleopatra's Barge at Caesar's Palace.
"Um. Well. No. It's a crazy, long story...." I started.
"Where I gotta be girl?" she asked.
"Yes. True that...as it were..." I said lamely, reminiscent of the scene in the movie "Airplane" when the uptight old white woman declares, "I speak jive."
"Well," I inhaled deeply and started to share my story, "my ex-husband was one of the biggest, most well-known land developers in Las Vegas. Everybody loved Andy Flaherty....especially me. We never went to divorce court, just hired an attorney we found in the Yellow Pages to file our paperwork. We went over the details in the attorney's lobby and after about 20 minutes of splitting assets, went to lunch. You see, even though we had decided that we didn't want to be married any longer, we respected the fact that we were once very much in love and had created two children in the course of our marriage. In the nine years of our divorce, we never, ever stepped foot inside a courtroom. We always agreed that anything that had to do with our children could be settled at Starbucks and we pinky swore we would never take one another to court, as it could damage the kids. Unfortunately, he was diagnosed with MS," it was then that she cut me off.
"MS...? Is that a venereal disorder?" she queried.
"NO!" I answered quickly wanting to put her fears to rest, "MS is caused by damage to the myelin sheath, the protective covering that surrounds nerve cells. When this nerve covering is damaged, nerve impulses are slowed down or stopped.The nerve damage is caused by inflammation. Inflammation occurs when the body's own immune cells attack the nervous system. Repeated episodes of inflammation can occur along any area of the brain, optic nerve, and spinal cord."
"Oh....aright then," she said. "So...hoe's don't give it to ya? Can we git it from a John?" She asked me seriously.
"No dear," I said, "although researchers are not sure what triggers the inflammation. The most common theories point to a virus or genetic defect, or a combination of both. Geographic studies indicate there may be an environmental factor involved."
"Awe...aright....that's cool...go on then...." she prodded, a look of relief in her eyes.
"So you see, after contracting MS, my ex, who was already being treated for a bi-polar manic depression...."
"OOOOOOH! I know I heard about that shit...it's SEE-REE-US..." she said counting off syllables as though it were three separate words.
"Yes...that shit IS serious," I said, truly appreciating her participation in the conversation. "He...well..he..." I choked back the lump that still arose in my throat whenever I said the next words, "He jumped off the 39th floor balcony of a high-rise."
"Shut the f**k up girl! No he didn't! For real?" She said, her compassion shining through.
"For real," I said, my eyes starting to water.
"You betta stop that shit right now girl...." she cautioned in a hushed voice, eyes darting around the room of criminal types. "You don't never let these bitches in County see you cry, ya hear?"
I batted my lids quickly hoping to dry my eyes before the tears slipped onto my cheeks.
"GRAFF...SONJA!" yelled the female officer in booking. It startled me.
"Is that you?" asked my new friend. I nodded numbly.
"Go head on then, but hurry back girl, don't leave me hangin'!"
I mustered a smile as I slid off the hard plastic chair and shuffled my way over for what turned out to be finger printing and a pat down (which it must be said included a rubber gloved hand underneath my skirt which brushed across my lady parts...in the same room as a mixed bag of less than savory male and female characters.) Humiliation knows no boundaries in County jail.
Now it is important to mention, in an effort to make a good impression on Judge Mathew Harter, I had dressed up for court and spared no expense. Christian Louboutin shoes, silk blouse from Ted Baker and a black, satin pencil skirt from Bebe. Couple that with my brand spankin' new Great Lengths hair extensions by Tonja Monroe and I suppose it was easy to see why my new friend mistook me for a high dollar prostitute. Of course, at the time of the actual booking, my fancy, pumped up skips had been swapped out for orange, rubber shower shoes...at least two sizes too big.
When sentencing me, Judge Harter accused me of having winked at him; as in a flirt. I wonder how he would feel knowing that for nearly 4 years I wrote the relationship column in The Las Vegas Weekly entitled: WINK, named after of a subconscious, nervous wink that that my editor picked up on which occurs whenever I am uncomfortable. Yeah...like I'd flirt with a creep like him before being sentenced to jail?
When I returned to my seat next to my African American angel, as I'd come to think of her, I was close to my breaking point. She must have sensed my humiliation because instead of prodding me for more information, she decided to tell me a little about her.
Turns out, she too was a mother. She had just dropped her "fat, little baby girl" as she referred to her, at pre-school and had decided after a long, hard week to stop at 7-11 for an ice cold 40, some beef jerkey and some incense. She was thrilled to let me in on the secret that you can get THREE different scents of incense for only $1.00. She had chosen cotton candy, pina colada and some punkin' pie shit, she animatedly informed me. Upon her departure from the mini-mart, she was stopped by a man in a pick-up truck who was inquiring how much she might charge for....a hand release. She said she didn't need the money as she had at least $22 in her purse back at her apartment. She said she "just got all greedy" and figured she could use a few extra bucks, that way she could buy a pizza for the kids...her fat, little baby girl loved her some pizza. "Shit, I was picturin' eatin' pizza and enjoyin' a Red Box movie...." she said dreamily.
Needless to say, the dude was five-oh and she got stone, cold busted.
I shook my head in disgust. She was just a woman mindin' her own business, eager to get back home to a hot bath, a cold 40 and some cotton candy incense to take her mind off of her stressful life. Sounded like entrapment to me, but she was quick to inform me that once she named her price, she had broken the law. Humph...ya learn something new everyday.
"Now. You go on with yo story girl...and don't leave nothin' out, ya hear?" she said.
"Um...I forgot...."
"Yo baby daddy jumped off the damn balcony girl!" she whispered...loudly.
"Oh. Of course," I continued. "It was a terrible, terrible loss to everyone. Andy Flaherty was an angel among men and as I mentioned, everyone loved him...especially me. Suffice it to say that once he was gone, his brother, Michael became the trustee of his estate, as per his last will and testament. Andy was a self made millionaire and knew he needed to have someone he trusted take care of his affairs after his death. His brother promptly took me to court, initially hoping to win custody of my two children!"
"WHAT?" she yelled in complete shock."That there is some bullshit!"
"I know, right?" I continued. "When he realized he couldn't win a custody battle he sued me for visitation. He said I had alienated my children from their paternal side of the family in some evil scheme to get money. Mind you, I didn't take any of Andy's money in our divorce...when I was entitled to it so I certainly wasn't looking to score after his suicide. We fought for months, until I was near bankrupt. Exasperated, I did agree to the visitation, but after being court ordered to spend time with the grandparents and their evil uncle Michael, who had moved his wife and kids into Andy's and my children's mansion and started driving his cars and paying himself hundreds of thousands of dollars to "manage the estate for the children", the kids begged and pleaded with me not to force the visits. They said the grandparents were so sad that all they did was make the kids look at videos of their dad and pictures of their dad and that they would cry and pray and it made the kids very unhappy. Oh, for the record, my son was 16 and my daughter was 11 when their dad killed himself. They were not babies, but old enough to know what they wanted and what they didn't want. They did not want to be forced to visit their dad's side of the family.
I remarried and moved out of state for a fresh start when my son went away to college in Florida. The paternal side of the family had retained attorney Edward Kainen, Attorney / Shareholder / Partner / Owner at Ecker & Kainen who basically painted the picture that I was an awful mother and unlawful citizen who should be locked up for not following the court's orders for visitation...long story long...Judge Harter found me in contempt and instead of coming up with a visitation schedule that might work for the grandparents and my daughter now living in California, I was handcuffed and sentenced to a week in this hellhole for not forcing my now 18 year old college bound son and 13 year old daughter to visit their uncle and grandparents."
"I can't believe this shit.! Judge Harter? Name aughtta be Judge HATER," said my black angel, shaking her head. "Girl, it would be easier for me to believe yo first story that you killed some body than to believe that any judge and f***ked up lawyer would throw some body's mama in County for such bullshit! It's like the wild, wild west up in that courtroom." Her disgust was apparent which I gathered strength from. "Did the kids at least tell the stupid ass judge they didn't wanna see those mutha f***kers?"
"The judge refused to ever interview to the children. He said that I disregarded his specific orders to force the visits that I had originally agreed to + failed to force therapy upon my grieving children + antagonizing the paternal side of the family = his ruling to have me thrown in jail. He actually cleared the courtroom and asked the Flaherty's if they would have any problem with him ordering my incarceration, they refused to make eye contact with me and all of them agreed it was the only way they could think of to force me to abide by the visitation order, even though they were all fully aware that when Andy was alive, we had NEVER stepped foot inside of a court room and remained the best of friends. In short, the judge had a choice to make and because he thought I'd winked at him, refused to do what he demanded of me, listened to the half-truths presented by Ed Kainen and obviously didn't like me, he chose to throw a mother in jail for a week, without bail, for protecting her children's wishes. Were my civil rights violated? You decide...."
Bahahaha! She laughed...hard. A belly laugh that was contagious. Before I knew what was happening, I was laughing out loud as well. Although, I had no idea what was so funny, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
"Y'all bitches need to shut the f**k up fore I shut yo asses up fo good!" hollered a filthy African American man seated in the row in front of us.
"I apologize..." I started to say but was promptly cut off by my laughing partner in crime.
"Soccer Mom, you so stupid....ain't no law against laughin'....f**k that crack head!"
My eyes went wide with fear and my initial response was to explain to the angry crack head that I was sorry and that I would hold it down in the future, but I didn't. I had to remember where I was and that in order to survive, I would need to appear bad. Bad to the bone.
"Yeah....what she said!" I added matching her audacity. Oddly he turned around in his seat and minded his own business. Wow. Note to self: bad to the bone works!
After our exchange with the angry crack head I just had to ask, "What was so funny?"
"Girl...you so stupid," it wasn't the first time she had mentioned it and I was starting to feel a little self conscience. Dare I ask why? Nope. Better to just smile and nod my head.
"You don't even know why you smilin', do ya?" she asked. It was as if she was living in my head.
I instinctively shook my head no...tears stinging my eyes.
"Bitch! Stop yo cryin'....you won. Don't you see? You fought for yo babies ... shit... you in jail for yo babies...that's what mamas do. You told me the judge warned you he might throw yo ass in jail if you didn't follow his instructions. You fought fo yo babies.....Girl, be proud. You my mutha f***kin' hero right now. They gonna git theirs, mark my words, those mutha's gonna git theirs and what ends up costin' you a week of your life is gonna cost them the rest of their time on this Earth without them grandbabies. You won."
Oh. My. God. She was right.
I wanted to thank her with a big hug but the chains and handcuffs and guards all kept me from it. At that moment, my name was called again, time for my mugshot. "You go on now baby girl, and you smile for the camera like you takin' a mutha f***kin' glamma shot, ya hear? You ain't got nothin' to be ashamed of...oh, and one more thing...when you get out, make damn sure that Michael dick head Flaherty didn't use yo babies estate money to pay that lyin', theivin' attorney asshole, Ed Kainen neither!" Doggone she was smart, why hadn't I thought of that?? Come to find out, he did exactly that...but that's a story for another day. "Now pick yo self up, do yo time and remember one thang....."
It was that last thing that she said as I was escorted away that struck a chord and resonated deep inside of me. To this day, I continue to draw strength and hope from those words.
This story is about meeting angels on Earth. About finding strength when you have been beaten to the ground and question if you will ever recover. It is written to attest to the fact that no matter how horrible a blended family situation can get; no obstacle is ever insurmountable. The strength of the human spirit knows now boundaries. Most of all it is about Angelique, my barefoot, prostitute angel who gave without taking by sharing her words of encouragement and wisdom which unbeknownst to her, protected my spirit and saved my life. I love you, my sister. I thank you. I will never, ever forget you. And that very last thing you said to me? You were right girl....It's Never Too Late To Live Happily Ever After...
