Oh, how she loved this boy. Two years her junior, which made him twenty-eight, a tall Italian with soulful eyes and a smile that leveled her. And she was clean now. They both were. It was the cocaine that had made them do stupid things like steal cars, boost stereos and pick pockets. That chapter of their lives was closed. Donatello had two legitimate jobs----a courier for a law firm and a bartender at Beertonic----while he pursued his dream of making music at night and on the weekends, always carrying that ratty notebook where he penned his lyrics or toting around his prized Les Paul, strumming chords and humming to himself.
She loved him so furiously that it made her eyes water, her throat constrict. Just two hundred and six days now until they could be together forever. They would be married on a hillside overlooking a vineyard in Bordeaux.
"So?" he said to her in French. Donatello was learning English with audio recordings, but he had nowhere near Felice's knowledge of the language. Occasionally they tried to speak in English, but he always defaulted to French. "Tell me about her."
Felice shrugged and responded in French. "If I chose one word? Tough."
"Choose one more word, Felice. Come on. Everyone is so excited that you're sharing a cell with one of them."
Felice frowned. "She's a sweet girl, for an actress. But she's tough. The rumor is that the guards are trying to get her to confess to her crime. Coralie assigned Josette to her."
"Josette? Mon dieu!"
"Right. The worst of the worst. Every night, they drag her out of the cell and work her over. They gave her the 'bath' the first night. Since they, it's probably their usual bullshit----stress positions and depriving her of sleep. But Mischa hasn't confessed. She just takes their punishment. She doesn't even complain to us."
Felice looked about the room, which held two rows of long tables, filled to maximum capacity with husbands and boyfriends and parents and children, all desperately trying to make the most of the short time they had with the prisoners, trying to fit weeks' and months' and years' worth of love into one hundred and twenty minutes every other weekend. There was not one person among them, prisoner or visitor, who wouldn't leave this room bruised, full of despair, longing and heartache.313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡccKytwHkSO
"I'm worried about her," Felice said.313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlWJMxdqP6y
"That's why I love you, baby." Donatello touched her face for a moment. Anything beyond that would catch the attention of the guards. Contact minimale was the rule, except for children under the age of twelve, who could sit with, or on the laps of, the female prisoners. "Don't worry," he said. "Time will pass. It will get better."313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡifX7wlylAp
"Time will pass," she agreed. "But it will get worse. Right now, they can't really hurt her badly, because of the media. The reporters constantly want to visit. Sooner or later, the warden will have to let them in. They can't have anyone photographing Mischa with a broken nose or a black eye. But once the reporters move on to the next scandal? Mischa will have no protection from Rosalie and Josette."313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn7ZSpG8di7
"They'll get what they want," said Donatello, having served a stint in prison himself.313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU1Fn8gwyUr
"Either she'll confess or they'll kill her. One of their famous suicides, maybe."313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYoluyTpn6Q
The next table over, a young child was wailing as he sat on his mother's lap. She was trying in vain to soothe him, but he was inconsolable.313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1WHdSj7KCw
Felice shook her head and sighed. "Sooner or later, they're going to win," she said. "They always do."313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡb9rz2sJVkP
