CHINA
My court appointment is scheduled for eleven forty-five in hall nine. The girls and I pulled in around ten, just to make sure I was ahead. Walking up to the establishment, I realize the courthouse is somewhere I’ve never had the privilege of visiting. Did I think I was better than the hordes of rapists, drug dealers, and hookers that I naively expect to visit here on a regular basis? Hell yes! But I was definitely naive. I didn’t expect this wild menagerie of clientele.
The halls are filled with mothers, fathers, men and women of all ages in ragged clothing, power suits, and comfy clothes. It shows they’re just here to fight a parking ticket, noise disturbance, custody battle, or jaywalking. Each are closed off from those they sit beside, checking their emails, playing games, talking or texting on their phones, blatantly ignoring the world around them.
Cathryne, Hallette, and Harlow dressed in their best innocent outfits. Each wanted to present the sweet girl next door, but we stick out like sore thumbs.
Hallette is in a white fan dress with blush pumps. Cathryne’s in a vintage Valentina cream white pant suit. Harlow? Oh, but Harlow. She is something altogether different. She looks like a schoolgirl gone bad. With her hair pinned to her head, wisps falling low around her face, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and a soft billowing blue sundress, each and every dirty catcall was directed at her, and she relished the attention. I dressed down wearing black pumps and black leather leggings, paired with a soft crepe pink halter and my favorite white leather cuff Hermes watch.
Just before leaving the house, I talked to Wyatt on the phone, and in his bossy big brother way, he attempted to coach me. He told me what to say, what not to say, what to answer yes sir, no sir to, and even if I feel that an explanation is in order, to somehow keep my mouth shut. Personally, I think it’s more to keep the image of Crown Industries squeaky clean. Good luck with that. I’ve never been one to keep my opinion to myself, or found to be backing down from something I felt I was right about. This should be a good fight.
And as they said they’d do, my brothers got in touch with our lawyer to cover my ass, yet again. Even though I didn’t want it, they insisted it would be an asset to have one of the she hounds help me. Merconda Smith, our lawyer, got ahold of me yesterday, somewhere in the middle of that bottle of red. She’d told me to expect her to contend the charges on my behalf.
Do I think she can get me off? Yep. But the real question is, do I want her to? It’s not that I’m ungrateful for the chance to stay out of an ugly jumpsuit, but I kind of think this is one of those turning points in my life. If I’m always getting out of situations with a bit of money and a lawyer, then have I learned a lesson?
Do I need to learn the consequences to my actions? I’m not sure, but sometimes I think I’ve had too much handed to me without dealing with the repercussions of those choices. This is not the first arrest, or the first infraction I’ve had. It’s just the first time I’ve been in the position where I can’t get out of it.
Awaiting my turn to enter the courthouse for the arraignment, the flurry of activity has been interesting, to say the least. Hallette and Harlow have started a game with points based on attire, hair (or lack of) teeth (or lack of), and if you have to guess their gender.
“Definitely fifteen points for that one,” Hallee says as she looks at a person down the hall from us. “He has an Alabama dinner jacket, a lovely mullet, and there’s at least two teeth missing in the front. Solid fifteen.” Looking down at the person in question, I find myself unable to disagree after hearing their point marking scale. Five points for each component, and if there’s over four, then it jumps to twenty-five. So far, Hallee is the clear front-runner. I’ve tried to keep out of it on principle alone, but it’s hilarious watching their banter.
We’re not known for frequenting places where the dollar figure that someone makes is under the poverty line. To them, it’s an attraction of sorts. I’ve been busy checking emails, hanging back, thinking about what to say when my time comes, and trying to find a bit of calm before things get out of hand.
I had hoped that Jamieson would’ve at least texted me with an excuse for not showing up, but no such luck. The consummate asshole shines through. He’s not here to help, to guide, or give me a shoulder to punch. Truly, I can only depend on my girls and myself. No one will be coming to my rescue. Maybe it’s better this way. Deep down, I kind of hope that Merconda doesn’t show either.
Cathryne left us a while ago to check the parking meters, and to check on the cars. She’s worried someone might be ballsy enough to lift her Mercedes in a parking lot full of police and varied security personnel. Seeing her walk back in, she seems distressed.
“Did someone key your car, lover?” I slowly lose my kidding side as fear flies off her in waves. “What’s wrong, Cathryne?”
Pulling a folded newspaper out of her Hobo bag, she hands it to me. “I’m so, so, so sorry, sweetie.” Handing me the Times, I flip it open. I see the front page with a full color picture of me with Officer Mason from last night. It looks like he’s slicking his sticky hands up my dress.
“What the hell!” I yell out so loud, the hallway full of patrons all turn my way. “Sorry,” I say, hoping to appease their stares. As they turn back to their own lives, I ask again. “What the hell, Catty? Why can’t I catch a break?” Being quieter this time, I flip the page to read the excerpt of what Jack Jones thought he’d seen.
Who is this young man that gained the attention of Doll Crown? How did the two meet? Is this a chance stroke of serendipity by just desserts? I must admit, she seems totally enamored by the gallantries of this young and virile gentleman, with his chivalrous actions.
Really flouncing the big words there, Jack.
Peeking over my shoulder, Hallette and Harlow look at the page.
“Sorry, lover,” Harlow mumbles.
“It’s all total bullshit. What the fuck do I have to do to get out from under it?”
Cringing, Cathryne taps the paper. “Not the worst part, D. Flip to page twelve, it gets stunningly better.”
“If it’s that bad, why show her, Cat?” Smacking Cathryne on the shoulder, Hallette shakes her head.
“She needs to know what she’s walking into, babe.”
“I can’t possibly see how it could be worse.” Flipping fast through the pages, I stop where Cathryne taps. There, on the front page of the sports section is a full write up about my impending incarceration.
From the sudden loss of its head Indy car racer, King Crown, and with the incapacitated glory hound and top racing stardust son, Casper Crown, lying in the hospital for the past few months, recovering from a car wreck, there have been varied shortcomings in the IHRA, TT, and motocross circuits from Crown Industries. If it wasn’t bad enough that Crown Industries has repeatedly contended with plummeting race standings this season, it now seems that they may have to deal with the clear possibility that the youngest Crown, China, may be facing at the least community services, if not jail time for unsanctioned racing in public.
The spokesman from IHRA has noted that if the street racing charges stick, and she is indeed incarcerated or formally reprimanded by the LA County Court system, then it seems China Crown could see her racing license suspended or revoked. Her court appointment is set for later this week, and we’ll keep you informed regarding the finality of the pending charges.
How do I deal with this? What if it’s me that kills my parents’ dream? I don’t know what more I can do to turn the tides.
“Has Wyatt seen this?” Turning toward Cathryne, I see the same fear in her eyes that I’m sure reflects back from mine. “Was it him who told you about this? Or was it Jamieson?” She shakes her head, pursing her lips, not saying a word.
“Shit.” Tossing the newsprint all over the floor, I rush down the hall toward the closest ladies room, the cool water calling my name.
Charging into the sparse, unsanitary, and dank smelling toilet area, I almost want to run right back out before I throw up. Touching nothing but the taps, I grab some paper towels and run them under the water. Wringing them free of drips, I lay them across the back of my neck. I need calm. At this rate, there’s a good chance my morning breakfast will be a lovely addition to the detritus across the counter.
“Lover?” I hear Hallette say as she pushes the creaking door open.
“Yeah.” Even to me, my voice sounds deflated. Looking to comfort me, she reaches out and strokes my back. “Babe, we’re all here for you. We’ll stand with you. Well, not really with you. I look like shit in orange. It only suits people in movies and TV.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. She has a way of always making me laugh even with her somber and serious tone. Looking in the mirror at her, I can’t help but feel a bit lighter as she’s wearing the widest grin imaginable.
“Don’t let them get to you,” she says, turning me to face her. “This is something you’ve dealt with your whole life. You know the spotlight’s a bitch, lover, and we all get it. Buck the hell up, fucker. It ain’t about to get any better. Plus, some little tabloid bullshit isn’t about to stop you, right?”
“Hallee, it’s not just a tabloid. It’s the fucking Times! The. Fucking. Times!” Stomping over to the bin, balling up the sopping paper, I toss it in. “It isn’t some paparazzi camped out on my camper at a race, it’s the big show boys. I don’t think Cas or Whiskey have ever fucked-up this good.”
“I’m sure they have. Your parents were just fucking geniuses on how to twist a story and make it seem insignificant. If they were here—”
“That’s the point Hal, they’re not. They can’t hold my hand to tell me I’m okay, and that everything will be fine because they’re dead. Dad’s buried, casket done, cried over his corpse, laid the flowers dead. Mom, it’s yet to happen, but I’m alone without them…” Leaning on the cleanest wall I can find, I voice it. “Hallee, I’m fucking scared.”
Feeling the first tear hit my cheek, its partners fall quickly in step behind. Once more, I can’t stop them, and there’s no way to shut them down. Again, I find myself falling apart.
Hearing Hallette screaming for the girls as I fall to the floor, the jump in and grab me. I slowly watch as everything around me fades out like a photographic vignette.