SURVIVAL OF THE MISFITS
Chapter Six
Author's Notes:
As always, I want to thank my amazing beta testers, Denisia and Severine.
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The rest of the morning passed uneventfully for the Misfits. They were allowed, along with the rest of the prisoners, a walk outside in the sun. No talking was permitted on this trek. Pizzazz could only look at the rows of uniformed prisoners, the armed guards, the massive building and try to stem off the feeling that they were living inside a nightmare.
After the walk, small groups of prisoners were allowed inside the library to pick out a book to read. Pizzazz watched disdainfully as Stormer eagerly probed the shelves for reading material. Jetta also picked out a book. Pizzazz finally sighed and reached for a newspaper. Roxy took a magazine, selecting one with copious pictures.
They were then returned to their small cells. Pizzazz paced, best as she could in the small space, as Stormer immersed herself in her book.
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Meanwhile, Roxy opted for a nap. She could read but it was not an activity she cared for. With nothing else to do, she decided to catch up on some of the previous night's missed sleep. Her back ached from the hours she'd spent on the floor previously and she was glad for her cot this time.
Jetta sat on her own cot with her book, blocking out the sounds of Roxy's snoring.
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"Officer, please," Jem began, as she was shoved into a jail cell. "If we could get in touch with– "
"Quiet!" the officer answered. Another man wielded a nightstick menacingly.
The five band members were pushed into a cell. Although this cell was larger than the ones that housed the Misfits, it contained only two sets of bunk beds. Aja hoped that the fact they lacked one bed perhaps was an indication that they would not be kept in here for long. The floor badly needed to be swept and the sink was cracked.
When their blood samples had been taken and entered into the testing equipment, Jem began again, "So you'll see that we have nothing to hide and have done nothing wrong."
"We're going to study the samples," one guard told them. "We believe you might have falsified some earlier tests."
The officers gathered up the test samples and their equipment, and left the area.
"So much for Riot laying off of us," Shana whispered, instinctively knowing that silence was called for now.
"I knew it. He was lying through his teeth," Aja muttered, arms crossed.
"No, I don't think so!" Jem insisted. Although she too was whispering, her voice conveyed passionate conviction. "I know he was telling the truth. This is the last thing he'd want – me in jail."
"But…here we are," Aja said, unfeigned disgust in her voice.
"This might have happened without having anything to do with Riot at all," Jem said, the truth dawning on her. She lowered her voice even more. "The night of the benefit concert. Kimber took Stormer's test. Surely they have a way to match one blood sample to another."
"I know," Kimber nodded, her gaze downwards at the sticky floor. "I've been thinking about that ever since they handcuffed us. They should be able to tell that I took the test twice. I guess I could be in a lot of trouble. We all might."
"Then it's time to call Synergy!" Raya said. She was aghast at the thought of her parents' reaction to hearing that their daughter was in jail.
Jem nodded. But Aja warningly placed her hand on Jem's arm, which was reaching for her ear.
"Wait a minute. We need to think this through. What can Synergy do to help us here?" Aja asked.
"Maybe she can project the image of one of the higher-ups, telling them to let us go?" Raya suggested.
Aja bore a skeptical look on her face. "But then what? We leave the jail and then what?"
"She's right," Shana said grimly. "Sooner or later, they'll know that we faked them out somehow and that the message to let us go was false. Then we'd be in even more trouble."
Jem felt her stomach sinking. Aja and Shana were right. "And then they'll come right back for us again. Even worse, we'd be putting Synergy at risk of being found out."
"That would be a nightmare," Raya realized, her eyes wide. "They might even decide to ransack the mansion to see how we were able to escape. What would we ever do if we lost Synergy?"
"If they find Synergy I can't even imagine what it might lead to…we could eventually lose custody of the Starlight Girls," Kimber speculated. "And think of the ways the crazies at this Morality Office could use Synergy for their own ends."
"This isn't like Eric Raymond's stupid games before," Aja realized, shaking her head. "This is a lot more serious. Before, we always had a place to run to. If things ever got really bad with Eric and the Misfits, we could've called the authorities. But now…." She let her voice trail off.
"Now it's the authorities themselves who are after us," Jem said. She looked around the small cell and saw her panic mirrored in the faces of her bandmates.
"How big is that hiding room you're working on in the Gabor mansion?" Kimber asked Aja, making a feeble attempt at humor. No one laughed.
"I don't know what to do right now but I think we need to sit tight for the time being and cooperate with them," Jem concluded.
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When Craig saw that the Morality Officers had driven away with their new prisoners, he turned and looked at Mrs. Bailey. She was simultaneously trying to comfort the Starlight Girls and reach Jerrica Benton on the phone. Unable to get in touch with her, she then began trying to get a hold of others. Rio was on tour, road managing for one of Starlight Music's other acts and Anthony was in New York working on his latest film. Craig assisted Mrs. Bailey by phoning Video and Danse, and then trying to reach Raya's family. Video was the only one they had any luck finding, and she offered to head directly over to Starlight House to see how she might be of assistance.
Once he saw that the situation at Starlight House would be under control, Craig told Mrs. Bailey that he was going to "look for some help". He got inside Stormer's car and headed straight for the Gabor mansion. Craig drove so quickly that he ran a red light (and fortunately escaped unharmed and without having been detected by the police) and later narrowly avoided rear-ending another vehicle. Sprinting out of the car towards the main entrance, he tried to tell himself to calm down.
"Mr. Phillips," James, the butler, greeted him at the door. "Please come in. Do you know the whereabouts of Miss Gabor or your sister and their friends?"
"No," Craig said. The sinking feeling that welled up in his gut when he saw Aja and the others being arrested began to grow even larger.
"They have not been back here since yesterday – in fact, it was before you and Miss Leith arrived here yesterday. They left for Misf—I mean, Stinger Sound. None of them came home last night. They do not always tell me of their plans but they almost always sleep here when they're in town."
"Where's Mr. Gabor?" Craig demanded.
"He is on a business trip in Japan."
"Shit!" He took a breath and then said, "Okay. James, call the authorities. I think they might be arresting rock bands. Jem and the Holograms were just arrested. See if you can find out if the Misfits were arrested too."
"I will do so right away."
"Good." Craig then headed for the main staircase. "I'm going to see if I can find something that might help us," he offered by way of explanation.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Craig retraced the steps back to Stormer's room. He flung open the door and, his eyes scanning the room, tried to locate an address book or some sort of personal organizer. He opened each drawer and looked inside the two purses he found but came across no address book.
She's never been the most organized person,' Craig said to himself. But which of her bandmates might be?'
Craig guessed that Jetta's room was the one that contained two saxophones and a poster of Buckingham Palace. He searched through her bureau's drawers until he found a small address book. Flipping through the pages with their tidy handwriting, he reached the letter "T".
Under the "T"s, there existed a cryptic entry for a "T.R." which included an address and a phone number. Craig remembered hearing of Techrat during his last discussion with the Misfits. Taking the address book in hand, he raced back down the stairs.
"Did you find anything out?" he asked when he saw James.
James held the receiver to his ear. "I am on hold right now. The person I spoke with earlier said that she thought Miss Gabor might have been arrested yesterday but she is checking with her superiors to find out what she can tell me."
There wasn't any doubt in Craig's mind where his sister was. Leaving his contact information with James, Craig dashed out to the car. He hoped to be able to find the elusive Techrat. Brushing aside fears of his sister being forced to take another blood test – and fears that he was probably too late -- , he drove as fast as possible.
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When the prisoners were summoned for lunch, Roxy elected to continue napping. Jetta was surprised that the guards did not compel her bandmate to join the others in the cafeteria; the guitarist was permitted to continue her slumber. She was also surprised that Roxy was tired enough to actually skip lunch, but she knew her bandmate had not gotten a sound night's sleep on the floor of the cell. And although Roxy was not the most discriminating eater, the food here was nothing to get excited about either. So Jetta joined Pizzazz, Stormer, and the other prisoners in their wing as they silently lined up and were marched towards the cafeteria.
Lunch was not as casual an affair as breakfast, apparently. Signs demanding "NO TALKING" were posted, and the prisoners ate without conversation. The food was no more appetizing than at breakfast, though Jetta still had no desire to eat, given the previous night's ordeal. She sat at the table with Pizzazz and Stormer, the three friends exchanging glum looks and picking at their cold food. Jetta noticed that Stormer didn't seem ill anymore; the only sign of her cold from yesterday was a few sniffles.
Clash studiously avoided the three Misfits.
There were two different shifts for meals at the large prison which had recently been expanded with a new wing and hundreds more cells. Jem and the Holograms were on a different shift than the Misfits and therefore the two bands did not cross paths during this mealtime.
Jetta, along with the other prisoners, was escorted back to her cell. Roxy was still sound asleep on her cot. Jetta picked up her book and tried to immerse herself in it. Despite the rows and rows of cells occupied by prisoners, the wing was quiet. Jetta felt a vague ringing in her ears caused by the unnatural silence. Roxy's intermittent snoring was the only sound in the vicinity.
The hours slumped by. Jetta nearly finished the book she was reading. Bored out of her mind, she almost considered doing some sit-ups or push-ups on the cell floor. Anything to take her mind off of last night's ordeal with the guards and to pass the time. She wondered if, later in the afternoon, they would be allowed outdoors for another breath of fresh air, another chance to get some exercise and walk around. After more time passed, Jetta would have traded her favorite saxophone for a chance to do just that.
Finally she heard Roxy begin to stir. Waking up, Roxy turned over and rubbed an eye.
"Oww!" Roxy suddenly screeched as her body jerked suddenly, eliminating the silence.
"What are you on about?" Jetta queried.
"My neck!" Roxy exclaimed. She had frozen in her position, with her neck turned awkwardly to one side. Gritting her teeth, she held one hand up to her neck as if to stop the pain. "I pulled a muscle or something. It hurts like hell."
"I think you slept wrong during your nap. You were in a strange position." Jetta silently added that sleeping on the floor of the cell last night could not have helped either.
Roxy let out a string of profanities. She remained nearly frozen in position. Stormer heard the commotion and asked if there was anything she could do. Her voice could barely be heard through the barrier that separated their cells.
"Yeah, send me over all the painkillers you got," Roxy grumpily demanded, knowing full well that Stormer had none.
Jetta winced at seeing Roxy in so much pain. The "tough girl" didn't often like to show or express hurt, but in this case it was plainly obvious. She was still practically frozen in position, the pulled muscles in her throbbing neck causing her untold amounts of pain.
"Maybe I could call the guards," Jetta offered unthinkingly. "We can ask them for something."
"After last night?" Roxy gawked. "Forget it – we're not dealin' with those stupid guards any more than we need to." A look of resolve seemed to come over her face. "Forget it. I'll just deal with it."
"Damn bloody Morality Office!" Jetta burst, angrily pacing the cell. "Keeping us locked in here for no bleedin' reason! When things get back to normal, we're going to hire every bloody lawyer in the world and sue their feckin' arses for all the money we can get!"
The cell was so small that it made pacing difficult. Jetta could only take a couple of steps in one direction before needing to turn around. She began to feel dizzy given the cramped space. She looked around and was walled in, in each direction. The air inside the building was stale and her cheeks began to flush as the panic started to climb.
"Keep your shirt on, Jetta," Roxy said, looking over at her bandmate. Despite the awkward angle she had to hold her neck at, she could see Jetta's distress. "We'll get outta here sooner or later."
"How! Pizzazz's father is abroad – not that he'd even notice that we were gone. Eric's been gone for months. Haven't got a baldy on how we'll ever get outta here. There's no one around to notice or care!"
"I'm sure Stormer's brother has noticed and he's probably working with Jem and the Wimp-o-grams right now to bail us out," Roxy muttered, sounding unenthused at the prospect of being rescued by their rival band once more. "Maybe they'll use whatever magic they pulled at the concert. So sit down and cool your jets. We're gonna be fine," Roxy commanded with utmost confidence in her statements.
She observed that Jetta took her advice and returned to her cot.
"Now take a few breaths," Roxy ordered, seeing the pinkness on Jetta's cheeks. "Just do it. Breathe."
"Okay, Mum!" Jetta responded sarcastically. She was unsure, though, why she had jokingly referred to Roxy as "Mum". Jetta's own mother had rarely noticed when her only daughter was experiencing anguish, be it mental or physical. Shaking those thoughts aside, Jetta forced herself to quietly take some breaths. She closed her eyes.
A few minutes passed and Jetta felt the panic begin to recede. Silence returned to the cell. She looked over at Roxy.
"So, how's your neck?"
"Crappy." Roxy was still maintaining her position and clutching her neck. "Shouldn't have slept on the damn floor of the cell last night."
Jetta felt the fear begin to well up once more in thinking about the encounter with the guards that had caused Roxy to station herself at the cell's entrance last night. When she thought about it, and against her better judgment, she felt touched by Roxy's gesture. But she shivered at the thought of spending another night in jail.
"You cold?" Roxy asked.
"No. Just thinking about spending another night in this minging place!"
Roxy knew that the lack of cleanliness of the jail was obviously not the reason Jetta loathed the idea of spending another night here. Slowly, achingly, Roxy shifted position so she could lift up her pillow.
"Look here," she whispered, gesturing at the objects underneath her pillow.
"What do you have there?" Jetta responded quietly, getting up to take a closer look.
"Weapons. In case we need 'em. Quick little stab to the eye or the groin. They don't look like much but it's all in how you use 'em."
Jetta looked at the broken-off heels. She'd spent time on the streets too and knew how to defend herself. She also knew full well that Roxy's actions – guarding the cell entrance and creating make-shift weapons – were done as much to protect Roxy herself as to protect Jetta. But she still appreciated it.
"Careful, luv," Jetta began, noticing Roxy's new position might be jostling her pained neck. "You don't want to hurt yourself any more."
"Don't think this damn pain can get any worse no matter what I do," she grimaced.
An idea sprung into Jetta's mind. Ever since the Gabor mansion had closed its spa, Stormer had willingly offered massages to her bandmates. Jetta had taken advantage of them more than once and they seemed to work wonders at getting knots out. Stormer had very strong hands.
"'ere," Jetta said, kneeling on the hard floor in front of Roxy. "Maybe I can do something to help."
"Like what?" Roxy asked. It was now her turn to feel a hint of panic.
"Maybe I can rub that kink out of your neck. Stormer's massaged me before. It feels nice. It can help."
"No," Roxy said, shrinking back even though the movement caused more jolts of pain to assault her neck.
"Why not?"
"'Cuz I said 'no'! Now shove off."
Jetta heard Roxy's words and had an understanding of the fear from which they sprang. She did not want to respond to Roxy's fire with more fire of her own. She instead began, soothingly, "Oh come on now. You can handle it. It will help you."
Roxy had to be very particular about who touched her, when, and how. There had been times when she'd participated in a hug from a bandmate or even a smaller gesture, such as a hand on a shoulder from Stormer. That she could handle. Roxy also, as Jetta knew, had had numerous lovers. But in those situations, Roxy took the lead and did not allow her own body to be explored that much. Prolonged, intimate touch was not something the Misfit looked forward to. Growing up with an absence of physical affection, Roxy still had a hard time seeing touch as normal.
"I dunno how much it's gonna help," Roxy said weakly, though she felt her resolve begin to break as another attack of painful knives overtook her shoulder and neck.
"Roxy, you know I won't hurt you. Don't think of it as being touched," Jetta said, unsure of why she was being so persistent. "Pretend I'm a doctor performing some work on you – like a dentist putting in a filling or something."
It was a strange analogy, but Roxy bought it. 'Well, what does it matter?' she asked herself. Jetta's already seen me vulnerable. I can barely move now. Heck, she saw it back at the mansion that day we talked about our shitty childhoods. And I've seen her freakin' out in here too so we're even,' she concluded, wondering if Stormer would be proud of her.
"Okay," Roxy breathed.
Jetta put her hands on Roxy's shoulder, realizing then that she really had no idea how to give a rub-down. Getting a massage and giving one were different things entirely. She worked her hands against the skin of her old foe, improvising and hoping for the best.
"Is it helping?" Jetta asked after a few minutes.
"I dunno, I think so." Roxy was still tense, both at being touched as well as by the sharp pain still emanating from her neck and shoulders. She gritted her teeth as Jetta continued.
Despite her love for food, Roxy was thin and Jetta could easily feel the bones that jutted up against the skin. Roxy's shoulders had hardened muscles.
"Things are startin' to get better," Roxy said after a while longer.
"Just let me know when you want me to stop," Jetta said, ignoring the discomfort in her knees as she knelt on the cell's floor.
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The guards came by again, some time after lunch. They were opening up cell doors and escorting prisoners somewhere.
"What's going on?" I asked as I rushed up towards the cell's bars, though I didn't know who my question was addressed to. "Where are we going?"
"Basketball game," of the guards answered.
Apparently the game was optional. But I sure relished another chance to get out of the cell – the afternoon had been creeping by intolerably slowly and I was nearly finished reading the book I'd selected. Apparently my bandmates agreed. None of us enjoyed sports but we allowed the guards to march us, with the others, to a gym.
Talking was not allowed during our trek to the gym, but once inside we could do so. I was surprised that both Pizzazz and Jetta joined one of the two ad-hoc teams that were being formed. Maybe they just wanted the chance to move around. We don't like exercise but it isn't fun being cooped up inside a cell all day either. I can't describe it, but it's like your whole body cries out for the chance to move.
I didn't watch the game very closely but I noticed that Clash was on one of the teams too. Despite my need for exercise, I didn't play myself. Although my cold was a lot better that day, I still felt weak and slightly congested.
Roxy sat next to me on the bleachers. She was grimacing and holding her head in a very strange angle as she explained to me that she'd pulled a muscle "or somethin' – I slept weird". I wanted to offer to help her by rubbing her neck but I knew she didn't like that kind of touch so I kept my offer to myself. Roxy seemed uncharacteristically quiet and maybe even reflective that afternoon.
I wished that the game was outdoors so I could get some fresh air, but I tried to just enjoy the glimpses of blue sky available from the few windows inside the gym. As much as I hated our current predicament, it was kinda nice to be sitting at Roxy's side and just zoning out as I half-heartedly watched the game.
At some point Clash decided to take a break or something. She walked over to the bleachers and sat down on my other side.
"So what've you Misfits been up to lately?" she asked. She was faintly out of breath and had begun to sweat a bit too. "I heard you played some big benefit concert with Jem and the Holograms and the Stingers."
After our encounter at breakfast, I was surprised to hear Clash addressing us once more like we were old friends. But given recent events, I guess nothing could surprise me too much.
"Yeah, we did," I said. "It went well and we got lots of good publicity." I didn't want to get into everything that had happened on that fateful night. The less Clash knew about things, the better.
"What have you been up to?" I asked her, wanting to turn the conversation around to her.
"Not much." She then dropped her voice and said quietly, with hints of excitement and pride, "I got a girlfriend though."
"You do?" I asked. I was intrigued. "What's her name?"
"Gwen. She's a graphic artist."
"Is she here?" I asked.
"No. We met before I went to jail – we've been together three months."
"If you already got a girlfriend, what were you doin' at a dyke bar when you got arrested?" Roxy asked, joining the conversation.
Clash made a face. "Gwen and I went there to dance. They played cool music. It's nice to just go somewhere where you can hold hands and be a couple and stuff. She was in the bathroom when the cops came. I think she got away – that bathroom had a big window. I don't really know though – where she is or what she's doing, or when I'll see her again. My first phone call since I got here was to Pizzazz, and I had to beg and plead for them to let me make a second call."
Clash spoke with such a wistfulness in her voice that I was nearly overcome with sympathy for this young woman who I'd never really liked that much. Not to mention shame at our (or Pizzazz's) utter failure to help.
"Who was your second call to? Why didn't you call Gwen?" I asked.
"I didn't wanna get her in trouble. So I called Video instead. But she didn't wanna help me."
There was awkward silence for a few moments. I watched Roxy absentmindedly rub at her neck again. Then I turned towards Clash and asked another question.
"What would you do if you were out of jail?" I asked.
"Find Gwen and get the hell outta here. We talked about leaving the country. We shouldda done it when we had the chance."
"What country would you go to?"
"We were thinkin' maybe Mexico. Their economy is worse but they ain't targeting gay people like they are here. We might try to make it to Canada but I heard the border there is really tight and they don't want to let gay people in. Though I heard if you can get in, it's not so bad for queers there. They don't like us but they're not throwing us in jail there either. Canada's economy is pretty bad too though – at least as bad as it is here, if not worse."
One of the basketball players whistled and made a gesture at Clash. She sprang to her feet. "Looks like I'm needed. See ya later!" she said, before scampering back onto the court.
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Officer Houghton was in charge of operations for the Los Angeles branch of the Morality Office. Arriving at the women's prison that afternoon along with another officer, he met with the warden to review recent test results.
It was a mystery how the rock bands had deceived the office on the night of the benefit concert. Somehow they had obtained two samples from Kimber Benton and none from Mary Phillips. He had no idea how that had occurred. The blood samples taken this morning from Benton matched both of the samples from the night of the concert. Phillips' sample from yesterday did not match any of them. But all of the specimens passed the tests.
Houghton silently reviewed his options at this point. He could dig further and open an investigation into what had occurred the night of the concert. There was enough evidence that something was amiss to continue to hold both bands in prison. Besides, he always had the old standby that some of their lyrics were unacceptable, plus the fact that various members of both groups hailed from uncertain parentage. Legally he was on solid ground, he knew, if he wanted to continue to keep them in custody.
He continued to ponder his next step. Both bands had to be wealthy, especially the one headed by that Gabor heiress. Dollar signs began to dance in Houghton's mind. Perhaps a few bribes might be enough to persuade him to overlook any odd redundancies in test results. He would have to be careful if he wanted to pursue that course of action though; the Morality Office did not take well to their leaders getting caught receiving bribes. He looked through his computer files, attempting to determine which of his underlings knew what at this point.
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Craig Phillips stood outside of the giant lair. It had taken him much longer than he wanted to locate the foreboding place, including more than one reluctant stop to ask for directions. Craig was not familiar with this part of the city and Techrat had not made his hideout easy to reach either.
Walking through the deserted parking lot and stepping over garbage blowing in the gentle wind, Craig made his way towards the structure. This had to be it. Once again, the fact that his sister had led a life that he knew so little about hit him. Craig banged loudly on the door.
His knock was ignored. He repeated it. After receiving only more silence, Craig continued to bang on the door but to no avail.
Pushing aside doubts as to whether he had located the right place, Craig yelled, "I know you're in there, Techrat. I'm Craig Phillips -- Stormer's brother. I need your help."
After more pauses, the crackling sound of static was heard. Craig recognized noises that sounded like an intercom.
"Come in, Craig," said the creepiest voice he had ever heard.
Mustering up his courage, Craig walked through the darkened entrance way to see what awaited him.
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After an allotted one hour for their basketball game, the prisoners were returned to their cells. Once again, the Misfits' paths did not cross Jem and the Holograms'. The other band had been escorted outside for an optional baseball game instead.
Pizzazz and Stormer entered their cell. The bars were closed with a harsh sound of finality.
Pizzazz slumped down onto her cot. Although dinnertime had not yet arrived, it looked likely that they would have to spend another night in prison. Her eyes felt sore when she looked at the bars and the confining walls. Her stomach clenched at the thought of another unappetizing meal and another group shower the following morning. Words escaped her and she was almost too disgusted and upset to speak about their predicament.
"I never imagined you'd ever play basketball," Stormer offered, breaking the silence. She sat down cross-legged on her cot. Her voice sounded tentative and sorrowful.
Pizzazz shrugged. "It felt good to move around. And get out of this hole."
"I talked to Clash for a bit."
Pizzazz didn't respond nor give any indication that she'd heard Stormer. So Stormer continued, "I think you gotta reconsider, Pizzazz. We have to help her get out of here."
"In case you haven't noticed," Pizzazz began dismissively, "we can't get our own asses outta here, let alone anyone else's!"
"But we will," Stormer insisted. "Sooner or later they're gonna let us make a phone call and you can get a hold of one of your dad's lawyers. I'm sure they can either help us or round up some bribe money to get us free."
Pizzazz once again responded with silence. She lay on her back, staring at the decrepit ceiling and wishing that she was anywhere but here.
"Well?" Stormer insisted.
"Well what?" Pizzazz asked, not shielding Stormer from any of the irritation she felt.
"Well, will you help Clash when the time comes?" Stormer asked.
Pizzazz didn't like the exasperation she heard in her bandmate's voice. "Stormer, just drop it, okay?" she responded, her voice cracking like a whip. "I can't stand Clash! What, did she offer you sexual favors in exchange for you pestering me?"
Pizzazz's ears perked up. She suddenly detected a change inside Stormer.
"You are the most selfish, mean-spirited witch I've ever met in my lifetime," Stormer stated. Her voice was both steady and outraged.
Pizzazz sat up, swinging her legs around to face Stormer. Momentarily shocked, she didn't know how to respond.
But without missing a beat, Stormer continued, listing a litany of accumulated hurts. "I practically had to beg you to talk to Jem about doing something that would save my life! Despite the dozens and dozens of hits I've written for the band, you wouldn't sing the lyrics I wrote even though they mean a lot to me. You called me an idiot. You didn't say a word that day we were watching TV and the comedians were bashing gay people. And you didn't listen to me yesterday when I kept telling you that we had to tone it down or get arrested. Shit, you even barked at me not to use all the toilet paper when I was in agony from this cold and blowing my nose! Do I mean anything to you or do you just think you can treat all your friends like shit? Do you give a damn about anyone other than yourself?"
Stormer released the pent-up anger without much forethought. She had to admit, though, that as scary as it was it also felt good. As she spoke, she watched Pizzazz's face change colors. She knew the singer was gearing up for another tantrum.
"Go ahead," Stormer said calmly. "Have another tantrum. Look for something to throw, though I don't think there's much in here. Scream and yell – see where it gets you."
Pizzazz's hands trembled. Her body was shaking and her face had turned ashen. Indeed her eyes did dart around the cell seeking an object to hurl. But there was nothing for her to throw. Everything except for the blankets, pillows, and two human beings were secured to the hard ground. She wanted to slap Stormer but was too shocked and outraged.
So Pizzazz swallowed the scream inside her throat. She took a deep breath and then hissed, "How dare you. I have done things for you that I haven't done for anyone else. I had to go grovel in front of Jem! I had to beg my father to get us the helicopter to get out of Chicago. When you left the band – and you did that, you left me! -- I had to humiliate myself in front of Jem and the Holograms to ask for you back. What in the hell else do you want me to do!"
Although absorbed in their conflict, Pizzazz and Stormer spun around when they heard the sound of chuckling. A woman stood outside their cell, observing them and laughing smugly at the duo. The two bandmates stared at the intruder.
"Well, well, well Phyllis. I guess I should have expected no less from you," the woman said, a smirk in her voice.
Stormer deduced her identity first. The haughty patrician features and piercing green eyes were dead giveaways. The middle aged woman stood with her arms crossed. She wore a Morality Office uniform, and her hair was swept upwards into a severe bun.
"You haven't changed," she continued, calmly and flatly. "Getting away from you and your father was the smartest thing I've ever done."
Pizzazz's eyes leapt from her face as she realized who stood outside of the cell. She had not seen the woman's face nor heard her voice during the past two decades of pain and resentment.
"M-mom?" Pizzazz managed, her voice trembling.
"I heard that you'd been arrested again," she responded. Her voice continued in an even and detached tone. "I had to see for myself – in person -- what I had spawned." Her eyes narrowed and she nearly spat. "Pathetic."
Stormer snuck a glance at Pizzazz. Her face had been drained of color. Stormer saw insane terror and indescribable shame in Pizzazz's eyes. Her hands were shaking. Stormer took a step towards her and gingerly placed a hand on the singer's arm.
Pizzazz's mind shut off. She had no idea what to say or do. Oblivious to Stormer, she shrank slightly from the door as if she wanted to cower in the corner. Pizzazz's mother continued to gaze at her with a disgusted stare.
"Well, I saw what I came to see. And I realize that I made the right choice twenty years ago."
With that, Pizzazz's mother turned and walked away.
Pizzazz's legs buckled. As she crumpled to the ground, Stormer remained at her side.
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I sat there next to Pizzazz on the cold, hard floor. I didn't know how much of the last few minutes Roxy and Jetta had overheard but I wondered what they must be thinking.
But mostly I wondered what to do with Pizzazz. She was folded into a ball and still shaking. Watching her was like watching a volcano that was about to erupt.
And then I couldn't restrain a small gasp when I heard a sound coming from her. My ears strained to detect whether my first guess was correct or not. It was. Pizzazz was sobbing. She was trying to hold it in, but she was crying. Listening to it was scary and shocking.
I knew she had a tendency to push people away during times like this, but I decided to be brave and stay firm with her. I wrapped as much of my arms around her as I could manage. Very slowly and very gently, I rearranged her limbs so that I was embracing her. Her head landed on my shoulder, and my drab prison uniform soon became damp with muffled tears.
"It's okay," I whispered. "Let it out."
As Pizzazz did my bidding and allowed herself to cry, I replayed the words she'd said to me before her mother had arrived. She had demonstrated that she cared about me in all the ways that she'd mentioned. She had done a lot and maybe I'd overlooked it. But other actions of hers towards me were not the actions of a friend and I still stood by all the complaints against her that I'd verbalized. It had felt almost exhilarating to let them out.
Things with the Misfits will never be perfect, of that I am certain. We'll never be full of loving affection and open, earnest dialog about our friendships. But maybe – and I knew I'd had this realization before but I guess I needed to arrive at it again – things weren't so bad the way they were either. Maybe I can accept Pizzazz (and the others) the way they are, while still speaking up when they cross a line.
I had a lot of time to think as I hugged the sobbing Pizzazz. The actions of Pizzazz's mother baffled me a bit. Had she come all that way to get a glimpse of her daughter in person and to then just verbally humiliate her? She had seemed to gain almost a sadistic pleasure from it. I was also surprised that she had joined the Morality Office. I thought I may have glimpsed rank insignia on her uniform that indicated a high status.
Pizzazz and I sat together on that floor for a long time, Pizzazz still trembling. I stroked her hair periodically, trying to comfort her. When her tears seemed to be subsiding, I made a move as if to get up because I wanted to get her some tissue (and because one of my legs had fallen asleep). But Pizzazz grasped my arm fiercely.
I whispered softly, "I'm not going to leave you."
Pizzazz made a gesture that looked like a nod. She lifted her head up.
"Here," I said, getting to my feet. I ran some water from the sink onto a wadded up bunch of toiler paper. The water was lukewarm -- not the refreshing coolness that would have been nice.
Pizzazz dabbed at her reddened face. She slumped down onto a cot (mine, actually, not hers) and I sat next to her. She then tossed the paper towards the small wastebasket and sighed, leaning her back against the wall.
"You wanna talk about it?" I whispered. I was really just winging it here – I didn't know what to say or do. She might lash out at me at any second or begin with another tantrum. Well, I knew one thing. I was going to stay by her side at all costs.
"No," she responded. She set her jaw.
"Fair enough," I replied. So we sat in silence, next to each other on the cot. Our thighs touched each other's and she rested some of her weight against my side. Her breathing seemed labored.
Not long afterwards, the guards rounded up prisoners to be escorted to dinner. I asked Pizzazz if she was hungry and she shook her head. Frankly, I wasn't really hungry either and I had promised to remain with her, so I declined to join the dinner group as well.
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Roxy and Jetta, along with dozens of other prisoners, made their way to the cafeteria for dinner. Roxy rubbed the aching muscles around her neck and shoulders. What Jetta had done – as uncomfortable psychologically as it had been – had helped. Her pulled muscles still were sore though.
"What do you think happened in there?" Jetta whispered to Roxy, cocking her head in the direction of Stormer and Pizzazz's cell.
"Silence!" bellowed one of the guards. His intimidating nightstick was held high.
Jetta began to turn her head to glare at the guard, but thought better of it and halted the gesture. She didn't need another reminder of who was in charge here. She and Roxy, along with the others from their wing, were led to the cafeteria and instructed to remain silent.
It was like a bizarre game, Jetta thought to herself as she walked through the crowded but eerily noiseless cafeteria. A game with rules that constantly changed at the whims of the game's masters – when they could talk, when they couldn't, whether they got to go to the gym for a game or had to remain in their cells. No matter what was happening though, she and the other prisoners had no control and no say in the events.
Jetta and Roxy moved through the cafeteria line. Several unappetizing dishes were placed on their trays: waxy beans, an undercooked cut of pink chicken, limp carrots, and some gelatinous, glazed peaches that seemed to quiver. The two bandmates proceeded to sit next to each other at a table. Hungry Jetta forced herself to bring the food to her mouth and eat. She was a pickier eater than Roxy who downed the unappealing food with her usual gusto.
As she silently ate, Jetta recalled that she and Roxy had overheard some fascinating interactions originating from their bandmates' cell earlier. First it had sounded as if Pizzazz and Stormer had been having a verbal scuffle – easily one of the most contentious in memory between those two. That in and of itself would have been reason to pause but then there had been that strange interaction with the female guard. Her voice had been quieter and Roxy and Jetta could not make out everything she had said. But they did overhear a few tantalizing tidbits. Then the woman had left, and Pizzazz and Stormer had gone quiet.
Jetta was just musing that it had been a very strange sequence of events indeed when she looked up and saw something that made her gasp. Roxy whirled her head, first at Jetta and then in the direction of her gaze.
Jem and the Holograms were standing in the cafeteria line. The morose band wore prisoner uniforms and were obediently holding trays and waiting for their dinner, their bright hair colors standing out in contrast to their uniforms and the dingy surroundings. So Jem and the Holograms had been arrested too! But why, Jetta wondered. Surely they had not spent the previous evening on a partying rampage as the Misfits had. Jetta guessed that the other band's arrest could not bode well for the fate of her own band.
Shana nudged Jem and gestured in the direction of Roxy and Jetta. The two Misfits and the other band exchanged grim looks.
Following their silent dinners, the band members were led back to their prison cells.
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"It looks like we're gonna be spending the night in here," Shana said glumly after their dinner. She shivered in their chilly cell.
Jem took a breath. "I don't know what else to do at this point," she said, and then dropped her voice to a whisper. "I still believe we can't risk contacting Synergy." For all the band knew, they might be under video surveillance.
"I agree," Aja said firmly.
"We have only four beds," Raya observed, facing the two sets of bunk beds.
"I'll share with someone," Kimber offered. The beds were quite narrow; accommodating two adults, even slender ones, would be a challenge.
Raya decided to pair up with her.
"So it looks like Roxy and Jetta are here too," Jem said. She and the Holograms had glimpsed the two Misfits during dinner but had been unable to speak with them.
"I wonder if they just did a blanket arrest of all rock bands today," Aja mused gloomily. "Though I bet the Stingers aren't in here."
"I wonder where Stormer and Pizzazz are," Kimber said, worried. "They weren't in the cafeteria."
"Well, if they re-tested them, then Stormer's probably in big trouble," Shana said, her arms crossed. She had to admit that the thought of Pizzazz behind bars didn't trouble her too much. She herself was positively itching to get out of jail. She couldn't afford to fall even a few days behind her wedding plans. Yet Shana possessed patience in abundance and understood the wisdom of not contacting Synergy.
"I'm so worried about her," Kimber said.
"I'm worried about us," Jem said. "Rio's on tour, Anthony's in New York, we're not even allowed to make a phone call – I don't know what to do."
"I think all we can do now is what you said earlier," Aja responded. "Lay low for now and cooperate. I'm sure our people will do whatever they can to get us out." She deeply missed Craig and said a small prayer, hoping that he would be able to pull some sort of magic to free them.
TO BE CONTINUED
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