SURVIVAL OF THE MISFITS
Chapter Five
Author's Notes:
This chapter contains some original song lyrics, never before published anywhere else. The lyrics were written by SchizoAuthoress and are being used here with explicit permission.
Thank you to my wonderful beta testers, Denisia and Severine.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please take the time to leave a review. Every review is appreciated no matter how short or long, and constructive criticism is always welcomed.
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I knew it was going to be a rotten day from the moment I woke up. My throat was scratchy, my nose was running like a faucet and I was coughing before I was even awake. Sometime between our pizza dinner, my composing session and the morning, I had developed one hell of a cold. Whatever bug was making me sick had invaded quickly.
We Misfits cleared out of the mansion for the day. We had a lot of work to do in the studio and also wanted to give Aja and Craig a wide berth. I don't think any of my bandmates wanted a run-in with Aja; the situation was so awkward. So we decided to head towards the studio.
On the way there, we stopped at a drug store to get me some tissues and cold medication, which I took eagerly. But even hours later, the non-drowsy pills didn't seem to be having much of an effect.
Pizzazz told us about Jerrica's phone call. We should have been jubilant – me more than anyone – but we weren't. I was so run-down from this cold, the embarrassment of the whole situation in general, and was still smarting over the gay-bashing from the comedians we watched on TV last night. Actually, I didn't care so much about what the comedians said but my bandmates' lack of reaction hurt more.
Of course when Pizzazz recounted her phone conversation with Jerrica, she threw a dirty look in my direction, again as if to remind me that all of this was my fault. She looked disgusted. I suspected she was pissed mainly at having to grovel in front of the (former?) enemy, but I also knew that I would bear the brunt of her irritation.
There was one bright spot to this crummy day. I was proud of the lyrics I wrote the previous night. I was very glad that Kimber had encouraged me. Usually I don't play a lead in terms of creating the lyrics – that's Pizzazz's role, whereas my realm is instrumentation. Only rarely did I write or embellish song lyrics. But what I did yesterday evening was a complete re-write of the words to one of the two new songs we had debuted at our triumphant benefit concert that fateful night.
The song was originally titled "Fast and Furious" and the lyrics had been, well, typical Pizzazz. But yesterday evening, I came up with a new title and more meaningful words:
"Ain't Changin' Me"
You say it's wrong to be me
Baby, what's wrong with what you see?
What do you want me to do
Want me to think your lies are true?
I'm the best that there is, you ain't changin' me!
CHORUS: Why do you care so much
'Bout my past and who I love?
Why do you think you can judge?
Why is it wrong to be me?
You say it's right to be you
Baby, what are you tryin' to prove?
You just can't let me be
Why don't you open your eyes and see
I'm the best that there is, you ain't changin' me!
CHORUS
You say I'm wrong, that I don't belong
You can try to lead, but I won't go along
(Ain't changin' me) I am who I wanna be!
(Ain't changin' me) Nobody's better than me!
Baby, I am the best, you ain't changin' me!
I knew that these were not typical Misfits' lyrics. But times had changed, and my bandmates respected my opinion. And if Pizzazz would only sing them in her typical commanding style, the song would be ours. It could be one of our best yet. So after we'd played a few songs and were taking a break, I pulled out the piece of paper.
"Hey guys," I began, my voice raspier than usual because of my cold, "I got something new to share with you." I got up and headed towards my bag where I had the piece of paper with the new lyrics.
"I hope it's better than Roxy's impromptu guitar solo last time," Jetta smirked.
I thought her comment needlessly nasty. But, in general, if Pizzazz isn't in a good mood, neither is Jetta and that said it all for today.
I began, "No, I re-wrote the lyrics for Fast– '"
But Roxy cut me off. She took a step towards Jetta and made a fist. "You know, Jetta I'm sick of listenin' to your crap. You don't even---"
And then Roxy was cut off when Pizzazz tossed her bass guitar. I think she was aiming for it to land somewhere between Roxy and Jetta. It looked like it grazed Jetta's shoulder before crashing to the ground.
"Hey!" Jetta exclaimed.
"Shut up both of you. Who needs another one of your fights?" Pizzazz grumbled.
I looked at Roxy's face. She was angry. Though she'd never admit it, she was, well, sensitive about her music. She was proud of her guitar-playing and why not? She's a great guitarist. Her improvised solo that day hadn't been all that bad either. She turned to Jetta and, ignoring Pizzazz's warning, totally went off on our saxophonist.
Jetta, not one to sit and allow herself to be berated, counter-attacked. Pretty soon Roxy was shouting, and Jetta was shouting back. There was lots of name-calling. Both of them sounded almost weary, as if they were too fatigued to have another scuffle but were doing it out of habit anyway. They looked one step away from coming to blows – like they wanted to but didn't have the energy for a fist-fight.
I would've intervened sooner but another coughing fit overtook me. I covered my mouth and coughed loudly, my throat burning. Having a cold sure increases the misery-factor of everything. When I was done coughing though, I blew my nose again and then stepped in between Roxy and Jetta.
"Hey, you guys, pipe down," I said quietly. "Let's get back to what we're doing here today. We gotta work on our music. And I have something to run by you."
Despite how sick I felt, I was proud because I knew the words came out firmly and did not sound like a plea.
"Yeah, I agree," Pizzazz said. "Shut up you two," she added, in Roxy and Jetta's direction. She looked at me and said lovingly (catch my sarcasm?), "You better not give me that cold."
"What do you have to share with us, Stormer?" Jetta asked. Her voice once again displayed the charm she was quite capable of conveying. She passed my cup of tea over to me.
"I re-did the lyrics to Fast and Furious'," I said. "I came up with some lyrics last night and I really think they'll work. Take a listen."
I then recited the lyrics. I didn't sing them because that's Pizzazz's domain, and my voice was dying from the cold anyway. So I read off the lyrics.
Before I could even finish the final verse, Pizzazz made a face and said, "No way! I'm not singing that."
"Why not?" I asked.
"'Cuz they suck," Pizzazz said.
I took a step towards Pizzazz. I didn't care if she saw my fury. "Saying 'they suck' isn't very constructive, Pizzazz. What about them don't you like?"
My voice sounded like the cracking of a whip. I knew I also conveyed a tone one might use if speaking to a child. Which Pizzazz so often acts like. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roxy and Jetta exchange a look. I was being more brash than usual.
"I'm not singing them. They don't sound like something I'd sing."
"What do you mean not sound like something you'd sing? 'I'm the best there is….I am who I wanna be….Nobody better than me', doesn't sound like you?" I asked incredulously, quoting the lyrics.
I turned and looked at Roxy and Jetta, hoping they might have liked the lyrics. "What do you two think?"
"What's it matter?" Pizzazz asked. "They don't have to sing 'em. I make the decision on lyrics!"
"But we all get a say in band decisions, Pizzazz," I reminded her.
"I'm not getting in the middle of this," Jetta said, smiling. I interpreted her statement to mean that she liked the words but not enough to put her at odds with our leader.
"I think it's pretty decent," Roxy offered. "You oughtta think about singing em," she said, looking at Pizzazz.
"Really?" Pizzazz asked. I couldn't tell if that 'really?' meant that she would actually consider it.
"Hey, speaking of singing, what's the latest on our appearance on 'Friday Night Rock'?" Jetta asked. "Did we get the contract on that one yet?"
"You're supposedta be keepin' track of that stuff," Roxy muttered.
"That two-bit, late night cable show should be begging us to perform!" Pizzazz added.
I stood there looking at my three bandmates. Jetta had just changed the subject. Maybe she was tired of arguments and didn't want to find herself in the midst of another one. I was too sick and weary to take up the fight again. My nose was running and I had to reach for more tissue. I took a sip of the now tepid tea and I listened to the others talking about the cable show. I blew my sore nose again, wishing I had some lotion or something to put on my nose -- it was red and becoming raw. Maybe we could revisit my lyrics later. I was determined not to give up on this one.
The others usually didn't ridicule my work. Early on, they did occasionally though never as badly as on the day I walked out on them, years ago. Since then, they knew better than to make fun of my music or my opinions. Leaving the Misfits was the second best thing I'd ever done. Re-joining them was the best.
Though I sure didn't feel that way on days like today.
After not too long, we ended up in our office. We do have a Misfits office at Stinger Sound, though Pizzazz and Jetta usually handled the band's business from the Gabor mansion instead where they also have an office. I sat off to the side, blowing my nose and popping more throat lozenges as Pizzazz sat at the computer, Jetta leaning over her shoulder.
"Over there," Jetta pointed. "Click there. Yes, we did get the contract to appear on 'Friday Night Rock'. We signed it and faxed it back to them, so everything should be okey dokey. Can't believe I didn't remember that -- guess I've been a bit flummoxed with everything that's been going on."
"It's next Friday," Pizzazz observed. "They want us at the studio at eight."
She then leaned back in her chair. "What did we ever need Eric for anyway?" she rhetorically asked. "We can run this band better than he ever could."
Suddenly we heard a knock on the door. Without waiting for an invitation, Riot walked in.
"Good evening, ladies," he said, with such false cordiality that I wanted to puke. "I saw the light on in here and thought I would stop in."
Silence greeted Riot. Normally Pizzazz would be rushing to say some ingratiating words to him.
Instead Roxy spoke, breaking the silence, "How's it goin'?" she asked. I wanted to hug her because I loved her tone of voice on the casual question. She conveyed not a scrap of deference -- it was a tone she might have used with the doorman (if she had been in a pleasant mood and deigned to greet him).
"All is well here. Are you ladies hard at work?" As always his voice was liquid smooth.
"We're just checkin' the contract on our next TV appearance," Pizzazz said. I wanted to hug her too. She barely looked at Riot and kept her eyes mostly on the computer screen. Her voice used to sound breathy and ultra-feminine around the Stingers' lead signer but today she just sounded like herself.
"Well then I won't keep you. Good evening," Riot said before he left, closing the door behind him.
"What a f---ing phony," Pizzazz muttered. "The man's been trying to get us thrown in jail but he walks in here and talks to us as if we're old friends. Or colleagues."
"I hate that we gotta work for him!" Roxy said, arms crossed in front of her.
"He hasn't got the danglies to tell us what he really thinks of us," Jetta said. "What a wanker." She then changed into her business tone, "But Pizzazz, we do need to be nice to him. After all, he agreed to stop attacking us. And he owns the record company we're signed to."
"Yeah. You don't need to remind me of that," she replied.
I saw a look cross Pizzazz's eyes and I knew trouble was brewing. Maybe being reminded of how she had to ask Jem for a favor (or "grovel", to use her words) did not sit well with her. Nor did the reminder that she used to be head-over-heels for Riot and he'd never cared for her one bit. Add to that the fact that her father used to own the record company but sold it, thereby cutting one more tie with his daughter. I saw intense aggravation and weariness on Pizzazz's face. Maybe even I don't fully understand everything she goes through. She made an arm movement as if she was going to reach for an object on the desk (to fling it across the room perhaps?) but she awkwardly aborted the gesture.
I wasn't the only one who noticed Pizzazz's mood. "Let's get the hell outta here," Roxy suggested. "We done enough work tonight." Roxy isn't as perceptive as Jetta, but she's not blind either. She knows Pizzazz and her moods well.
"Yeah, that sounds ace!" Jetta enthused. "Let's have a night on the town!"
Pizzazz brightened at that idea. "Yeah!" she exclaimed.
"You up for it, ducky?" Jetta turned towards me. I had just begun another round of coughing.
"Sure," I said. "Anything to get my mind off this cold."
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I had hopes that our evening out might go better than the way it eventually did. Instead, it was one calamity after another, ending in total disaster.
For some reason, we allowed Pizzazz to drive. She blared the radio – as she made insulting remarks about every song that was played -- and didn't keep her eyes on the road. So it was no surprise that, on the way to the restaurant, she rear-ended another car. After a sarcastic shouting match with the other driver, it was all ironed out (with Pizzazz's insurance obviously footing the bill for the damages.)
We reached her favorite restaurant but learned that there would be a two-hour wait – whether or not the famous Misfits and the daughter of Harvey Gabor demanded otherwise. My bandmates were less than polite to the hostess regarding this wait, and we left for another eatery.
The second place we visited also had a long wait. We sat at the bar and ordered appetizers. An ugly guy hit on Roxy but she rebuffed him. Pizzazz looked pissed that he hadn't hit on her, even though she herself wouldn't have wanted him. I'm not a big drinker, but I downed two drinks. Roxy and Jetta got into another argument, this time over who would eat the last quesadilla. They were yelling so loudly at each other that we were asked to leave.
The evening kept going downhill and I kept popping the cold medications that I'd stashed in my purse.
When we finally were seated for dinner at a third restaurant, Pizzazz threw a fit because the restaurant was out of the dish she wanted. She, Jetta, and Roxy made a spectacle of themselves complaining and yelling at the manager. I don't even want to give all the gory details here. For the second time that evening, we were asked to leave a restaurant.
We then headed to a bar (after going through the drive-thru at a fast food restaurant and scarfing their greasy food) to try to salvage the evening. At this point, I warned the others that we had to calm down or trouble would be sure to follow. I reminded them that we couldn't act out like we did before, and being asked to leave the restaurants might've been the tip of the iceberg. They didn't listen to me.
When we reached the bar, we couldn't find a parking spot no matter how many times we drove around the neighborhood. Pizzazz finally shrugged and parked illegally, declaring that she would just pay for the ticket and if we were towed, we could always take a taxi home.
We got even more obnoxious at the bar. Apparently the others didn't find the male clientele to their liking and they made a big stink about that. We behaved much as we used to years ago. We threw things, we yelled, we pushed people out of the way, we played jokes on people. When we wanted to get on the dance floor, we yelled at the DJ and demanded he play what we wanted. Between the alcohol and the cold pills, my mind was fuzzy, but images from that evening still linger in my mind. There was the DJ, cringing as Pizzazz and Jetta knocked over his CDs, demanding to hear a certain song. There were the glasses flying across the room and a lot of angry people including one woman who was stupid enough to almost pick a fight with Roxy. I love my bandmates but they really can be assholes at times.
I drank more – I had already had a few and decided that I wanted to get tipsy, if not completely drunk. Soon my head was spinning. I recalled making another feeble protest to the others, insisting that we had to tone it down but once more no one listened.
So it really came as no surprise when the Morality Officers entered the bar and led us away in handcuffs. I blinked as the cuffs were placed on my hands behind my back. I had a few seconds' worth of that feeling you get when, say, you're in a car wreck and you really can't believe what you're seeing and you wonder if you're in a bad dream. The cold feel of the metal against my wrists helped clear my head a little. I felt dizzy and fear began to seep through my whole body.
"You can't do this!" Pizzazz protested.
"We've been trailing you for hours," I heard one of the officers say. "Your behavior is completely unacceptable. We have it on film."
We were driven to the police station and unceremoniously thrown in jail. The guards grabbed me and put me in a cell with Pizzazz. Roxy and Jetta were placed inside a cell next to ours.
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The Morality Office guards made their way to the jail cells that contained the new female arrivals. One guard was pushing a stand on wheels which contained a computer and other grim testing equipment.
"Alright, ladies, it's time for some blood tests," a guard announced. One of them donned gloves and reached for a needle.
Pizzazz and Stormer exchanged a shocked look. Stormer's stuffy head throbbed and she nearly choked on the rising anxiety. Pizzazz glanced at her bandmate.
"Officer, we just had our blood tested. A week ago, before our concert. Can't we just use those test results?" Pizzazz managed. She didn't sound like herself and despised the weakness in her voice.
"We ask the questions here," came the gruff reply.
Normally a person would not have been re-tested so soon after a previous test that had been passed. But one of the higher-ups was Riot's acquaintance who had promised Riot that he would more closely examine the results from the night of the concert. He had spotted some anomalies and had been monitoring the rock stars for a day now. He had further irregularities to follow up on as well.
The guards unlocked the jail cell and opened it. Stormer briefly considered making a run for it, but three armed guards stood in front of them and she had no idea how to even find the exit to this building. Physically she was weak from the combination of the cold and the alcohol.
Pizzazz looked again at Stormer and saw defeat in her eyes as well. Bereft of an alternative, both women extended their arms and submitted to the test.
During the next few seconds, Pizzazz wondered what would happen next. Maybe with the remainder of the Gabor fortune, she could bribe whoever necessary to keep the lid on this scandal. It might even be possible to get Stormer released, for enough money. She knew her family's stockpile of wealth was not as extreme as it once was but there were a lot of poor people too who might welcome a bribe. 'Maybe I can convince Daddy to sell the mansion. If we can get a buyer, that's gotta be enough to buy whoever we gotta buy to get Stormer free and keep the media away. I don't know how I'm going to convince him though. I'll have to ask for the remainder of my inheritance, every last dollar, now.'
"All clear," the officer said, looking at the computer screen.
Another officer glanced over his shoulder and sounded surprised as he said, "Looks like you're right, Bill. All areas of the test are passed for both of them."
Pizzazz peeked at Stormer using her peripheral vision. The keyboardist was hiding her shock well, she noted admiringly. Pizzazz also concealed her wonderment.
"Great, so can we go now?" Pizzazz asked, sounding bored and feeling much more in control.
"No. You get released when we say so. You still have to account for your uncontrolled behavior on the town."
"And we have to test your two friends," another officer said.
As Roxy and Jetta's cell was next to Pizzazz and Stormer's, the interchange had been overheard by the remaining two members of the band.
"Officer, please," Pizzazz heard Jetta say, with a false laugh and a morsel of desperation. "We just got carried away on the town. It won't happen again."
The saxophonist was ignored. Pizzazz could overhear Roxy and Jetta then cooperating with the guards and being pronounced free of any "drug use or immoral sexuality" once their test results were reviewed.
When certain that the guards were gone, Pizzazz turned to Stormer and whispered in her ear. "So what gives here? You not a lesbian anymore?"
Stormer's reply was whispered back even more quietly, "I've got no idea how I passed that test."
Feeling a modicum of calmness for the first time since the arrest, Pizzazz looked around the cell. The walls were bare, comprised of large concrete slabs of brick. The floor consisted of concrete as well. Two cots were pushed against either wall. One of them had a pillow but the other did not. They both had blankets with varying numbers of holes. The cell also contained a sink and a toilet. Other than that, it was bare.
Pressing up against the bars, Pizzazz could see other cells in this dark wing of the building. Many seemed to be empty, though she could hear and see other people in some of the cells. A long hallway connected them.
The Misfits had been arrested once before, shortly after the Morality Office had been established. Pizzazz surmised that this was the same jail they had spent time in earlier, though back then they had been allowed to make a frantic phone call to Eric Raymond to secure their release within a few hours.
The guards had finished up with Roxy and Jetta and were walking back down the hallway.
"Hey!" Pizzazz called after the retreating officers. "Don't we get to make a phone call? Don't we get to see a lawyer?"
The guards silently kept walking though one of them scoffed at Pizzazz's questions.
Stormer started another coughing fit and reached for some toilet paper to blow her nose on. 'Great,' Pizzazz thought. I'm sure to get her damn cold now!'
Pizzazz then called to Roxy and Jetta. Speaking loudly, they could hear each other relatively well, though they couldn't see each other because their cells were adjacent.
"Can't your dad and his lawyers help us?" Jetta asked. She sounded quite panicked. Pizzazz knew that the British woman did not like enclosed spaces.
"Maybe -- if I could get to a damn phone and call him!" Pizzazz answered. "But I think he's on some business trip in China right now."
"Can they really just leave us here?" Stormer asked, still mystified at having passed the blood test. "Don't they have to like charge us with something?"
No one knew. Jetta wanted to kick herself for not doing more to learn what their rights were under this new order.
"Good thing we all passed the test," Roxy started to say but then Jetta cut her off. They all understood that they had to be very careful about what they said.
After a short while, footsteps and the sounds of doors unlocking were heard. Soon the Misfits were able to see guards escorting a small group of uniformed prisoners down the hallway. Unbeknown to the Misfits, the prisoners were being taken from one work activity to another.
Pizzazz again stood up against the bars, watching for any clues that might prove helpful later on. She looked at the prisoners. She spotted Clash before Clash noticed her.
"Clash," Pizzazz said.
The fan turned towards the Misfits and blinked. "Pizzazz!" she called. But the guards pulled her along, and she didn't have time to do much else other than register their presence and call Pizzazz's name. Soon she was whisked away, out of visual range.
Well, it wasn't a surprise, Pizzazz mused. They knew Clash had been arrested. The sobering reality of being imprisoned for an indeterminate amount of time was a terrifying prospect, Pizzazz began to see.
Pizzazz turned back towards her cell. Stormer, sitting on one of the cots, began another coughing fit. She rummaged around in her pockets. Fortunately the officers had not taken their clothing and allowed them to keep what they wore. Stormer popped her remaining cold medications.
"How the hell are we ever gonna get out of here!" Pizzazz called, to no one in particular.
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"This cell is bogging. And I'm completely knackered," Jetta said, collapsing down onto one of the cell's cots and observing the dirty wall. Their cell was identical to Pizzazz and Stormer's.
"Yeah, we had a wild night," Roxy grinned.
Jetta peered at her bandmate. Roxy, though certainly not thrilled at being imprisoned, was taking it all in stride. It was almost as if Roxy had had so much fun on the town that she was not going to allow this setback to bother her. Jetta herself had the urge to pace but the cell was too small and she was too tired to stand. The band's escapades of the past few hours were catching up with her. She was still stunned at the fact that they had landed in jail. Every muscle in her body cried out for freedom.
"We really should've listened to Stormer," Jetta said, verbalizing her thoughts. "Then maybe it wouldn't have all gone up the left." She spoke quietly enough that the occupants of the adjacent cell would not be able to overhear.
"Huh?" Roxy asked, settling down onto the other cot.
"She told us we needed to get a hold of ourselves." Of course, thought Jetta, Stormer didn't always think as strategically as she needed to when it came to communicating with the rest of the group. She believed that Stormer had made a major miscalculation at the studio earlier when she'd unveiled her new lyrics. Pizzazz had been in a bad mood and was not receptive to any new ideas then. Stormer should have seen that and picked a better time to push for changes to a song. Instead Stormer believed that because she was the band's songbird that she'd be listened to regardless, Jetta saw. Jetta herself would have handled the situation much differently, waiting for a time when Pizzazz was more approachable.
"I wonder how Stormer passed the test," Roxy said.
Jetta put a finger up against her lips. "Shhh! You don't know who might be listening!" she whispered, harshly.
Roxy rolled her eyes at Jetta's response.
'I can add Roxy to the list of people who need to think through her actions better,' Jetta thought, although this was certainly not the first time she had this particular rumination.
Jetta herself had pondered the question though. "Maybe there's a weakness in the test," she whispered. "Maybe there really is a way to round it." This was good information to file away for later.
Jetta glanced over at Roxy. The guitarist had pulled the ratty blanket on her cot over herself and apparently was trying to sleep. Within minutes, the sound of light snoring could be heard.
Jetta envied Roxy this ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. She herself was too agitated, especially by being cooped up in such a small space, to just fall asleep despite her exhaustion.
More time passed. Pizzazz and Stormer's cell was quiet now too, and Jetta wondered whether they might be sleeping as well. She estimated that it was now the early hours of the morning, perhaps around 3 or 4 a.m. Jetta then overheard Stormer coughing and blowing her nose.
More footsteps were heard coming down the outside hallway. These steps didn't sound as official as the others, Jetta noted. They meandered a bit. She listened carefully.
"Here they are," one of the guards said. The two men stopped outside of Roxy and Jetta's cell and shined a blinding flashlight inside.
"Hey, yanks!" Jetta began, irritated. She then quieted down, reminding herself that now was not the time nor place to demand or expect even a modicum of courtesy.
And then one of the guards said something that made her blood chill. "That's the one I was telling you about."
"She's not that great looking," the other guard said. The flashlight remained on Jetta's face, and she had to hold a hand over her eyes and squint.
"I think she's a fine piece of meat. She'd be good to have some fun with tonight," he continued. Jetta could vaguely make out his facial features. He was grinning lecherously at Jetta, practically licking his chops. Both men reeked of marijuana.
"Hey, what is going on here?" Jetta demanded, against her better judgment. This time her voice shook as nightmarish memories resurfaced. "You can't – "
The bars to the cell door were unlocked and opened, and both men entered. One of them roughly grabbed Jetta's arm and pulled her to her feet, as if to drag her along.
"C'mon, sweetheart! It's party time," he said
Suddenly, the guard was shoved to the side. Roxy had sprung to her feet and delivered a heavy blow to him. The guard instinctively let go of Jetta, and Roxy spun him around to sock him in the face.
Jetta's rational side, which would have told her that this was no time for a physical confrontation, was suppressed in favor of her outraged and terrified side. She reached for the second officer, who was advancing towards them, and kicked him in the mid-section.
The Misfits were so distracted they didn't even hear several more guards running down the hallway.
"Joe! Bob! Get away from them," one of the guards ordered. They pulled the two men out of Roxy and Jetta's cell.
"You can't keep sleeping with the female prisoners – you'll get another reprimand," another officer said. "And our whole unit could get in trouble again."
"Yeah, you gotta wait till they're convicted. Then you can do what you want," said a third officer.
As suddenly as the intrusion started, it ended. All the guards left, heading back down the hallway. The wing soon became as silent as it had been just moments ago.
"Hey, you guys. Are you okay?" Stormer whispered from the other cell.
Roxy sat on her cot, nursing an arm which had received a blow during the brawl. Jetta hunched over on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself as she trembled. Neither said a word.
"Are you?" Pizzazz could be heard, sounding both demanding and fearful.
"We're fine Pizzazz," Roxy lied, looking at Jetta. Jetta was covering her face with her hands.
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Roxy's eyes darted around the cell. There had to be something she could use as a weapon, a means of defense. She remembered her high-heeled shoes, tossed under the cot. She reached for them and deftly snapped off the heels. She placed them under her pillow.
She hadn't forgotten Stormer's frightening description of her ordeal in Chicago and what she had needed to do in order to secure her release from the authorities.
Roxy looked at Jetta, sitting in the corner and still shaking slightly. In the past, a weak Jetta would have been cause for gloating. But that was the distant past now.
Roxy had already disposed of the incident. The guards were gone and she and Jetta were safe for the moment. She had a small weapon she could use in the event that they – or others like them – returned. Never once did she believe that the Misfits wouldn't get out of jail, sooner or later. Mentally she left it at that.
But Jetta was having trouble now. It wasn't too much of a surprise for Roxy, when she thought about it. Jetta had freaked on the train ride years ago, when they had come aboard Jem and the Holograms' train and Jetta got her foot caught. She also had panicked on the boat with Pizzazz, years ago in Alaska. 'When it comes down to it, she can't take the heat the way I do,' Roxy mused triumphantly. 'Even though she might be smarter at all that business crap.'
Roxy wondered if she should say something to her.
'Well, why not?' Roxy thought to herself as she slowly arose from her cot. She walked a few steps over to where Jetta sat hunched on the floor. Her head was still buried in her hands, and even in the dark cell Roxy could see her shaking slightly.
Roxy crouched down and extended a hand. She gently placed it on Jetta's shoulder.
But the gesture started Jetta. She screeched, jerked her head up while still keeping her hands in front of her, defensively.
"Hey, Jetta, don't worry about –"
Jetta cut her off. "Just leave me alone, Roxy," she whispered passionately. "Leave me alone!" Her words didn't convey any animosity towards Roxy but they were feral and desperate.
"Okay, okay," Roxy said, heading back towards her cot. 'Suit yourself,' she thought.
Another idea then took root in Roxy's mind. If the guards returned, she wanted to be alerted right away. She attempted to drag her cot and place it immediately in front of the entrance. But the cot was chained to the wall and wouldn't budge.
With a sigh, Roxy reached for the musty pillow and blanket, and the makeshift weapons stashed under the pillow. She stretched out on the bluntly hard floor, guarding the entrance, weapons in hand.
Jetta looked up and saw that Roxy had stationed herself in front of the cell entrance.
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I don't think we were given too long to rest. I could hardly sleep with my nose running so much and my persistent cough. Having a cold is awful enough but I can't even describe how miserable spending the night in jail is, with or without a cold.
My cold symptoms weren't as bad as they'd been but I desperately wished I had some more cold pills.
I had overheard the guards who paid a visit to Roxy and Jetta's cell earlier, and was still shocked and numb from that too. It was all too awful to think about and I tried to block it out, pretend I was somewhere else. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of what had happened when I was in policy custody in Chicago. I wish I could blot that disgusting encounter out of my mind permanently.
But I was baffled at passing the blood test. During that sleepless night I spent time thinking about what could have been different as compared to my last blood test in Chicago. I had taken a lot of medication prior to this test and wondered whether that could have skewed the results somehow. I also had had too much to drink – I'm not a big drinker and I wondered if the alcohol could've done something. Those were the only differences between the previous blood test and the one yesterday. Well, other than the fact that it was cold in Chicago and warm here, but I didn't think that could impact blood test results.
Oh, and at one point during the night Pizzazz barked at me to not use up all the toilet paper on my runny nose. With my nose raw and throat burning, I honestly wanted to give her the finger in reply or toss my wadded up snot rags at her but somehow restrained myself.
Later on, the lights in this wing of the building were turned up. I guessed that morning was here. Armed guards escorted us, along with a bunch of other prisoners (though I didn't see Clash) to some group showers. We were ordered to undress and shower with everyone else. The showers were kind of like those in my high school gym – lots of showerheads in one big room, no curtains.
"I most certainly will not!" Pizzazz exclaimed at one of the guards. "There's no privacy in here. And these showers are filthy!"
But one of the guards advanced on Pizzazz, holding a nightstick. (Thankfully all the guards there were female.) Roxy spotted the raised nightstick, reached for Pizzazz's arm and told her to cooperate.
"No talking!" a different guard commanded, her nightstick brandished and ready.
I glanced at Pizzazz and saw terror in her eyes. She was sobered enough to go along with it. The guards confiscated our clothing. I kept my eyes squarely on myself during the shower. The soap felt grimy. When our time to shower was up, we were each given a towel (the size of a hand towel) and prisoner uniforms.
"When are we going to be charged with something? When will we be able to call a lawyer?" Jetta demanded of one of the guards. I looked at her. She looked so strange in the prisoner uniform, with no make up and her hair flat. We all looked weird. But there was also a look in Jetta's eyes that I don't remember seeing ever before, a look of horror.
"No talking," came the only reply.
We were ushered into a large cafeteria-type room for breakfast. My stomach grumbled even though my tongue didn't feel the least bit of craving for food. This room was even more littered with guards than the showers. But my ears perked up as I heard a delicious sound: conversation. Prisoners ate together in groups and talked. I guessed the "no talking" rule didn't apply in this room for some reason.
The four of us went through the cafeteria line where we weren't able to select what we wanted but rather various items were just placed on our trays. Mostly boxes of cold cereal and dry bagels along with brownish bananas. As we sat down at a table, I wished I had some orange juice or some other type of citrus. My inflamed throat wasn't helped by the dead coffee.
"I can't take another second here!" Pizzazz exclaimed.
"Keep your shirt on," Roxy said. "They can't hold us here forever."
"I'm not so sure," Jetta said.
"My father sure isn't going to notice that I'm missing," Pizzazz added grimly.
"I don't understand it. We all passed the bloomin' test!" Jetta added. "Was our 'uncontrolled' behavior last night really that bad?" Even Jetta's voice sounded different and I knew that what had happened last night with the guards was really having an effect on her. Pretty amazing for someone who could come across as cold and icy.
"Oh, look who's coming our way," Roxy groaned. I looked up and saw Clash, her tray in hand, rapidly approaching us. But once again, I marveled at how nonplussed Roxy sounded, in contrast to Jetta whose face was pale and who only picked at her food.
Without waiting for an invitation, Clash boldly pulled up a chair and sat down with us. I braced myself for Pizzazz's verbal assault on her. I didn't like Clash but I really didn't want to hear her being chewed out either.
"So, what are you guys doing here?" Clash asked, with a false casualness to her voice. I didn't think she had been in jail too long, but she already looked thinner and had circles under her eyes. She apparently had stopped dyeing her hair a while ago – it was brown, and longer than it had been before.
"They didn't like our behavior on the town last night," Pizzazz said. "They're not allowing us to call a lawyer or anything. What gives with that?" I was impressed with Pizzazz; she wasn't cutting Clash down. But of course the reason was evident -- she knew that we needed information from her.
"They'll let you make your call eventually," Clash said, speaking as if a wizened elder. "As long as you pass your blood tests, they let you do it – sooner or later."
"Why the delay?"
Clash shrugged. "Simple. They want to break you, make you guys get antsy. I'm sure they know who you are, Pizzazz. They probably want as much money from you as they can get."
Roxy looked at Clash. "Do the guards here ever rape the prisoners?"
This day was already shaping up to be a nauseous one, and Roxy's blunt question didn't help much. But it needed to be asked. My heart rate shot up again, and I took a sideways glance at Jetta. She looked ill.
Clash looked down at the table. She hadn't touched any of the food on her tray either. "Not before you're charged and convicted. But once you're like convicted….who knows? It happens here I think but no one talks about it much." She looked at Pizzazz. "I don't think they'd do anything to you though."
We were all quiet for a moment or two. I then decided to ask a question before I lost the chance.
"You ever hear of someone getting a false negative on their blood test?" I asked. I didn't know how accurate any of Clash's information was going to be, but it was pretty much all we had. And I ignored the sharp look Pizzazz shot my way when she heard the question.
Clash shrugged. "Sure, there've been rumors since the test came out that false negatives happen. But no one seems to know why."
Clash then leaned forward in her seat, pulling in closer to Pizzazz and speaking conspiratorially, "When you do negotiate with them for your release, will you help me to get out too?"
"Whaddya mean negotiate?" Jetta echoed. "I've never heard of someone negotiating like this. We either have rights or we don't!"
"Look, I'm not a lawyer, I don't know. People with money do tend to get released faster but it's not like they're very consistent with how they handle things here. They don't ever tell us too much. So….will you help me?" she pleaded, again leaning forward in her seat and facing Pizzazz.
I heard Pizzazz's reply and wanted to hit her. "Forget it, Clash. You're not a Misfit."
"But I – "
"Maybe we should, Pizzazz," Roxy began. "It couldn't---"
"No," Pizzazz responded. "You screwed us over too many times, Clash and the last time was the worst. We don't owe you anything after the way you publicly humiliated us."
"How long is your sentence?" I asked Clash, knowing that someday I might face the same sentence myself.
"Five years," she replied, devastation in her voice.
"Five years? For going to a gay bar?" I asked.
She nodded, her face overcome with shame. Her brash look, when she'd first headed for our table, had disappeared. "For 'immoral activity'."
I turned to Pizzazz. "Pizzazz, we have to help her," I pleaded.
"No way. Count me out," Pizzazz said, with utter finality in her voice.
Clash abruptly got up and stomped away from us. Her chair toppled over. I wished I could follow her because I was too disgusted to look at Pizzazz any more.
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That morning, the doorbell rang at Starlight mansion. Krissie answered the door and stood there blinking at the uniformed men.
"May I help you?" she asked. The officers towered over her.
"We're here to see Jem and the Holograms," one officer stated. His voice was cold and businesslike. "Have them come down here at once."
"I…I'll go look for them."
Several members of the band had been eating breakfast together. Craig had arrived that morning and joined them for the morning meal, as he and Aja planned to go to the Gabor mansion afterwards and spend more time working on the hidden room.
Kimber heard the commotion and peeked her head into the room.
"There! That's one of them." One of the officers spotted the shock of red hair quickly.
Moments later, the five members of the band were being handcuffed and led into the Morality Officers' truck. The Starlight Girls watched, mouths agape. Craig stood quietly to the side, knowing better than to provoke a fight now.
"Why are we being arrested?" Jem asked before she was shoved into the truck.
Kimber wondered whether they had gotten hold of some of her new lyrics and deemed them unacceptable. But then the reason for the arrest dawned on her just as the officer stated it.
"Falsifying government tests," came the gruff reply.
"What are you going to do with us?" Aja asked.
"We ask the questions here," the officer answered.
TO BE CONTINUED