Orange is the New Black: A New Life Chapter 16
Piper
Fuck! I can't decide what to wear. Should I wear a dress? Nothing too formal, a simple dress like I would wear when I work for my dad, but it is so cold outside and it's Friday night. Nah, no dress. Alex looks good is a dress. She was wearing a dress the night we met. She looked hot. And that khaki gray pencil skirt during the riot, my mouth waters. Okay, snap out of it.
My cell plays Yazoo's "Only You". It's Alex. "Yes, yes, yes … Hi, Alex. I was thinking of you."
"You were?" Her voice is low and sexy, but a little hesitant.
"I was thinking about you in a dress."
She lets loose with a laugh. "That was unexpected. Why?"
"You in a dress," I lower my voice, "my love, makes me so hot."
"Really?"
"Remember the hallway during the riot?"
"I do," Alex lowers her voice. It is so sexy. I bite my lip. "I believe you had your way with me, in a closet no less … standing up … with everyone outside."
"I know," My face blush. "I wanted you the moment I saw you and Nichols enter the hallway in your khaki haute couture."
"You don't say."
"I do," I mimic Alex. "I do, do , do."
Alex laughs. "You're being silly,"
"No, Alex. I yearn for you and the magic you do. I have been having so many dreams of you."
"Me, too," she says back.
"I think Wednesday was the most intense," I say, sitting on my bed. "The peak you created rocketed me from my sleep; it was so real."
"Me, too, on Wednesday. Boo heard me through our shared wall. She keeps teasing me."
"Boo's probably jealous, envious even." I snigger.
"Remember when Piscatella asked how you got the tape off your mouth?"
"Yeah, I said that I had a good tongue."
"Well, Pipes, you do and I miss it."
"It's been so long. I think the closest was our last time," I say sadly. "Max, there was nowhere to go, too much scrutiny. Maybe if I hadn't forgotten my caddy ... when we were in the shower. Fuck! If we had been together, maybe Piscatella would have left us alone, or we could have beaten him somehow, and he would have never destroyed your shoulder. I wouldn't have thought you were dead and I wouldn't have blamed Red for Piscatella. Fuck!"
"Calm down, Piper. You weren't at fault."
"Alex, I screwed so much up."
"You can't blame yourself for Piscatella, not for what he did."
"Only myself."
"Pipes, stop being an idiot. Hey, you still having dinner with your professor?"
"Yes," I say. I take a deep breath.
"Where are you going?"
"A place called Margaritaville."
"Like the Jimmy Buffet song?"
"Yeah."
"What does it have?"
"A variety of stuff: Caribbean, burgers, fish and chips, fried dill pickle chips, jambalaya."
"Gawd, that makes me ache. My mouth is watering so much."
"Maybe it'll be a place we can go to when you are liberated."
"What are you wearing?"
"That's what I was deciding on when you called. I can't decide what to wear?"
"I didn't go outside today. What's the weather?"
"Cold and overcast, but no snow."
"Perhaps a turtleneck or sweater. Wool slacks. Jeans don't provide enough insulation."
"I remember that sweater you wore when you visited me. I have something soft like that. Oh, I need to go back to New York and bring your stuff in storage here."
"So you can wear my clothes," Alex laughs.
"No, … well, yeah. I do like that sweater. I'm going do that so you have your things."
"Leave it, Pipes. I paid for six years before I surrendered myself. I'll tell you when it expires. You can go then."
"Okay, but having some of your stuff here would be like you're here." I pause. Less maudlin, Piper, I tell myself. "So, I'll be seeing you on Sunday for the afternoon visitation. At one. I can't wait. I can't wait to see your beautiful face. Have they replaced your glasses yet?"
"No. Not yet."
"Sweetie."
"Berdie's put in the paperwork. They simply haven't come yet."
"I wish I could do something to help. You love to read."
"I manage."
"I could call the BOP, but since we're not legally married, I have no standing."
"Piper, don't worry about it. They'll come."
"But it's Friday already?"
"Stop fretting about it or me."
"I can't help it. I think about you all the time."
"I think about you, too."
"What's there to worry about me? I'm not in prison. I don't have to worry about guards, getting shanked, having to eat bad food…"
"And it is bad, but more like camp. No Barb. No Carol."
"No Badisons?" I ask.
"No, just our camp methheads pulling pranks. This place is a picnic compared to Max."
"It was so bad there."
"Piper, get out of your head. You're out. I'm doing better, fine. Tell me, how are you doing? I worry about you. You're alone out there. You gave up your family, friends."
"Alex, you're my family, my best friend. I've chosen you. From now on, I will always choose you."
Her voice catches, "After all–"
"Shut up, Alex. Now, you don't be an idiot. It should have always been you. It is you. No one else." She sniffs. "Now, tell me about Cleveland FDC. What's it like? What has the old family been doing? What have you been doing?"
"Shouldn't you be getting ready?"
"I have time. Tell me about you, Sweetie."
"Okay," her voice lightens. "First of all, have you heard, Judy King published a book about her experiences at Litchfield and the riot?"
"No."
"She has and she sent copies to everyone here. We've been reading and discussing it," Alex tells me about the book, the tryst between Yoga Jones, Luschek and King, the discussions, and then about our friends. I take it all in. In a way I wish I was with her, but I am also glad to be out, but here, in Cleveland. I am preparing for our future life together.
On West 9th St or 10th, the route to Margaritaville is pretty much a straight shot. At five forty in the afternoon, even though daylight savings time has passed, the sun is on the brink of setting. A couple of weeks ago the sun would have already tumbled over the western horizon and all would be in darkness. I am happy it is lighter. The sun is only going to stay up later and later. Now, if the frigid weather would disappear, I could start running or walking outside instead of running on the treadmill.
I pull into the restaurant's parking lot. More than half of it is already full. It's Friday, and Professor Überman said it was popular. The restaurant is alive. The ceiling is the color of the sky, no of the sea. It is a map of the Caribbean. Calypso music mixes with the boisterous noise of conversations. "Ms. Chapman," Professor Jackson waves me over. He sits at a table with her wife, Meredith Überman, and two tall bi-racial teenage girls. One has a sling on her right arm and the second is an exact copy without sans sling.
Professor Jackson is in her late forties and neither short nor tall. She comes up to my chin and probably works hard to keep weight off. I can tell that under the Hillary Clinton pastel pant suits that she wears in class that she is a fit, athletic woman. I take her for a runner or perhaps a tennis player. She is black but lighter. Historically, she probably has caucasian blood in her ancestry, maybe has a white parent. The cutest part of her look are the freckles that leave a dusty trail beneath her eyes and across her nose. She wears her hair short and no makeup.
"On time, early even." She shakes my extended hand. I wasn't sure what I should do. "Sorry to be so close to the televisions, but my girls want to see the game and, when I say my girls, we brought our Merry and our daughters. Their progress reports had straight A's. That means dinner at a restaurant of their choice. Merry gave them a list of three we were considering for tonight and they chose Margaritaville. They love the Caribbean."
"Nice to see you again," Professor Überman says as she stands. She offers her hand in greeting. While Jackson is the shorter Mutt of the duo, Überman is Jeff. She is tall, not quite statuesque. She has long auburn hair, a creamy white, flawless complexion, fierce blue eyes, and a great athletic build. I could see her playing basketball, or perhaps volleyball.
Next to her are two teenage girls. The one without a sling stands. She offers a hand. "I'm Jamie," she says with confidence. She is a forehead taller than Überman.
"I'm Elizabeth," the second has difficulty standing. Professor Jackson helps her stand. "Call me Lizzy."
The girls' coloring is a blend of their moms', with creamy skin, Professor Jackson's facial freckles, and Überman's eyes. Both wear glasses, jeans, St. John's Academy sweatshirts, boots, and Cavelier beanies. Überman is dressed in a similar fashion.
I shake their hands. They sit. Jamie helps Elizabeth. Almost immediately, They look up at a bank of large television monitors. Two of the monitors have basketball and one has a hockey game. I watch little of either, but from the look on the faces of the teens and Überman, sports is a devotion. "Pardon my girls, including this one," she kisses Überman's head as she slides into a chair next to her.
"Cheaper than going to the arena," Überman kisses her wife back when she sits.
"This is Piper Chapman," says Jackson.
"Nice to meet you," I say. This is not what I expected. A family dinner. I thought this was going to be a business meeting.
"Can I get you anything to drink?
"Shirley Temples," pipe the girls in unison.
"Landshark," says Überman. "That's a beer for the uninitiated," she says.
"Fourteen or twenty ounce?"
"Twenty, hone'," she says to Jackson. "This is the only one tonight." She turns to me, "Crappy day in court. When this case ends I can talk more about it out of the office. You want a beer?"
"I probably should just stick to water," I say.
"Don't drink?"
"Sometimes, but," I hesitate.
"Honey, she's a struggling student."
"Look, we invited you. This is our treat. I know what it's like. How 'bout a second for our guest?"
"Thank you." In truth a beer sounds good.
"Girls," she speaks to their daughters, "egg rolls and chips?"
"Yeah," they reply, their attention has gone over to the games.
"We'll also have two orders of egg rolls and one order of dill pickle chips."
The waiter repeats the order and leaves.
"Fried dill pickle chips," Jackson informs me, taste better than they sound.
"And Caribbean chicken egg rolls," says Jamie. "They are so good. You'll love the food."
"It's nothing fancy. Perfect for these three."
"Are you saying that I'm not cultured, Monique," Überman laughs.
"Yes. Merry's idea of great food is burgers, fries, and beer."
"My wife likes a little more refinement. After this case babe, if I survive, your favorite restaurant. If I win, we ditch these two with your Mom and add a little getaway for the weekend, too."
"As long as it isn't during March Madness, or the NBA playoffs or Super Bowl, or World Series. Have I forgotten anything?" They laugh. I can tell they want to give one another a kiss, but have already done so once. This after all is Ohio.
Jamie, who sits adjacent to me, points at my right hand. "Is that a paper clip?"
"Yes, it's my wife's wedding ring."
"Interesting. Can I?" Jamie points.
"Sure." I take the ring off and give it to her.
"Does it have a story?" asks Lizzy as she waits to inspect it.
"Girls," Jackson says in the universal parental warning tones every child knows far too well.
"A guard stole it from her at her last prison."
"Your wife's in prison?" Lizzy stares.
"Lizzy, manners."
I answer. "Yes."
"Why a paperclip?"
"It's all we had available." I hold up my left hand and show the thin keyring on the fourth finger. "This came from a CO's keyring."
"So you were in prison, too."
"Is that where you met?"
"No," Lizzy hands Alex's ring back to me. "We knew each other before."
"Were you in love?"
"Yes." I smile and put the ring back on its temporary home.
"So why were you in prison?" asks Jamie. "You… what did you do?"
"Girls, that's enough."
"No, I don't mind," I say. "I moved some drug money across international borders.
"No!"
"Wow!"
"It wasn't fun. I was fucking-," I catch myself. "I was very scared. I thought I'd lost it at one point."
"Then what would have happened."
"Alex's boss would have killed me."
"So why did you do it?"
"Alex was in a jam and I did not understand all the repercussions. I did it just once."
"So how much time did you get?"
"I did it so I pleaded out. I got fifteen months and then six more for collecting Cheetos and organizing an art installation during a riot."
"Riot. Litchfield. You were." Überman starts thumbing her cellphone. Jamie does the same.
The waiter arrives with our drinks. For a moment Überman ceases her search. "The three of us," she points to me, Jackson, and herself, "the beers and the kiddos Shirley Temples."
When the waiter leaves, Jaime gasps, "There are several videos. Burning Cheetos."
I hear Taystee's voice. I think about the injustice and punishment she's endured.
"My, God. That's you."
"You're a mess."
Jaime shares the video of me filming the burning of the junk food and Tampons.
"Why did you burn Cheetos?"
"They were a bribe," I answer. I take a sip. My riot persona slips on like an old sweater. "The one speaking is Taystee. I shared a cube with her for a while."
"That's right. This was minimum security. Why was there a riot at a women's minimum security prison?" asks Jackson.
I snigger.
"Wasn't one of the inmates killed?"
"Poussey," I say. I take a sip of beer. "It was an accident on CO Bayley's part, but he should have never been hired."
"Was he abusive?"
"Oh, the opposite." I take another sip of beer. " He should have been working at a puppy farm or GameStop. I felt for him, but Poussey was killed and that did not have to happen." My anger has risen. "Her murder, the guards, Piscatella, MMC, the food, the overcrowding, everything. Then Alex was injured. I thought they had killed her, too. And Red and Lorna and Nicky and everything."
"I heard you've been back in communication."
"She processed into Cleveland Tuesday morning. She called me in the afternoon. If you were able to force the BOP or DOJ or PolyCon to finally get Alex here, thank you so much. If I could afford it, I should be buying you dinner and … not this ..."
"How is she?" asks Jackson.
"It was a long haul. I see her Sunday afternoon. She says she's fine."
Überman leans towards me, her tone and expression serious, "You said the ring was stolen."
Suddenly, I hear Alex scream. The girls are looking at Lizzy's phone.
"Oh, my God! Is this your wife? … That's you." My voice is ranting and Alex is telling me to shut up. "Are you wrapped in shower curtains?"
"What's happening?" Lizzy shows her parents and me the phone. It's the video Gina Murphy secretly made of Piscatella torturing Red and Alex's valiant effort to free us.
The video starts over. "Girls, look away," Red says, her voice filled with shame. Piscatella has already cut out most of Red's hair leaving a monk's tonsure. It reminds me of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. Patches of her scalp are bloody from where his knife removed not only her hair, but her scalp."
"Red," I feel tears. Poor Red. Poor Red.
Piscatella was using a pair of scissors to split the front of Red's prison gray issue shirt.
"Big fuckin' man!"
"That's Boo's voice," I say, offering narration. She's at Cleveland now.
"Beatin' up on an old lady," Boo continued to the Red's assailant.
I hear myself struggling against the duct tape he had used to bind Alex and I in the drab gray green plastic shower curtains.
Alex, who was next to me, struggled quietly. Suddenly, she exploded, her arms free, she leapt across and grabbed Piscatella in a choke hold.
He stands and easily controls her. "You dirty, cunt!" He twists her arm behind her back.
I scream, "God, stop it!"
"Oh, I've had enough of this insubordination! You are inmates, not the queen of the fucking Nile!" Ruthlessly, he tears the duct tape from her mouth. "Tell me what you are so I know you understand!" She is looking up at him. "You tell me!" He yells. Alex looks at Red. I am yelling. "Last chance." She doesn't comply and a heartbeat later he pulls ALex's arm up a gives it a violent twist. The sound of it ripping penetrates the anger and agony of my sobs.
"I hope that someone treats you the way you are treating us when you get locked up for assault," I rage, "you piece of shit!"
"Right. Nice fantasy, January Jones," he replies to me, his voice calm and self-righteous, "In a day or two or whenever this is over it's going to be my word against a bunch of criminals rotting away in Max. Who do you think they're going to believe?"
I sass back and Alex telling me to shut up, trying to protect me; me wanting to protect her and stop Piscatella so he stops hurting us.
Lizzy replays the video, "You were wild, she says.
"That was your wife? Lizzy, find her again. She's gorgeous. I love her hair."
"Girls," Jackson starts. "Put the phones away."
"Yes," I answer Lizzy as my head spins and thr restaurant blurs. What are they doing showing this to me, here? I zone out.
"Who was this guy?" Überman asks. "Were any charges filed? And you said, Alex …"
"Merry!"
"Excuse me." I push back my chair.
"Piper," Jackson touches my arm.
The restaurant swirls. I can't take it in. I can't breathe. My heart, it's wild. Tears are starting to fall. I wall away.
I find the bathroom. All the stalls are full. A woman and little girl are washing their hands at the counter. It has two sinks. I twirl about. I want to leave. I don't have my coat or purse. I have to go back to the table. A toilet flushes. The woman leaving the stall looks at me. I scare her. She shrinks back towards the sinks. I rush into the stall and slam the door. I lock it. I lean against the door and blubber. I can't control myself. I don't know why. I've seen the video before, but not since all the lawyer shit in Max. The violence now in my head, like an echo it repeats. Alex screming. Me yelling, wanting to protect Alex. Alex. Seeing Alex hurt. Hearing her shoulder rip. Her face. Her hair. It blends with my imagination of McCullouch beating Alex at Litchfield the day she left. Her ribs. Her back. Her legs and knees, and her hand. I twist the wedding ring McCullough had stolen. I cry. I force myself into silence. I want to slip to the floor, hug my knees, but this is a public bathroom, no. Toilets on either side of me flush, movement as stall doors unlock and open. Sink water, soap dispenser, water goes off, towel dispenser level pressed in rhythmic thump-thump-thump, then the final rips. There is a low murmur of voices and the flyweight of friction and air, the entrance opens, footsteps, and finally a gliding closure. A calm settles over the space. The calm means that my sobs can be more boisterous, but I have enough control that my tears and bleakness are on mute. I hold myself and work to bring myself under control. I wipe my eyes with the palms of my hands. Reaching down , I snag some toilet paper to do a better job at removing the wetness from my face and to blow my nose.
I sense movement beyond the stall and I cease all movement.
"Piper." Jackson's voice. Shit! I think. She followed. I've ruined the meal. "Piper, are you all right?"
I sniff. I need to pull myself together, now! I can do this at home, but not here, not now. Fuck my emotions, they seem to overwhelm me at the worst possible times. "In a minute," I croak. "I'm all right." Now I need to pee. This is so embarrassing. This evening is just so fucked. I stand up and use the John. I wipe and flush, pulling up my jeans. I exit.
Jackson watches me wash my hands. "My girls didn't mean to be cruel."
"Oh, no," I turn off the water and pull a length of paper towel from the dispenser. "I am not upset at them. I hadn't seen that video since my interrogation by the FBI."
"FBI?"
"They came in to find the ringleaders, actually the scapegoats for the riot. At the point that they questioned me was several days after the SWAT team took it down. Alex was missing. Red said the tall one was dead. I thought she meant Alex. So when the FBI showed me the video."
"So tonight."
"That … what you saw … that was the last day. That whole fuckin' ... excuse me,"
"Don't worry."
"I had never been so scared in my life. Alex. I had asked her to marry me just before SWAT came in. They blasted the door where we were hiding."
"That closet?"
"No. Frieda Berlin had created a bunker down in the old pool area. She'd invited her friends, including part of the family,"
"Family?"
"It's the only way to survive. You have to have people to coalesce around. Anyway, they rescued us, incapacitated the CO you saw, and we ended up in the pool area. We were down there a long time before SWAT found us. Then it was like a war zone or what I imagine it would be like. Alex disappeared."
"And the video reminded you of it."
"I'm sorry. Sometimes, everything comes back and other things. I thought I was doing better."
"Well, I've given my insensitive girls the tongue lashing they deserved. Come back out."
"I've ruined the evening."
"Nonsense." She places an arm around my waist. "Come on." She guides me out of the restroom and down a short hall into the main body of the restaurant. The waiter is at the table when we return, handing out plates and the appetizers Überman ordered.
"Hey, we're sorry," both girls pipe up immediately.
"You did nothing wrong," I tell them. "Sometimes, I spiral."
"I can imagine," Überman says with concern.
Jackson and I retake our seats.
"So, lets pass these around," Überman's voice becomes more light-hearted, "Piper, have you ever had fried dill pickle chips."
"No. Never heard of them." I sniff. I mimick the rest of the family. I take a couple and spoon what looks like a ranch dressing onto my plate. I take a sip of my bear. I think that I could use something stronger, but the beer will do. Next I add, at Jamie's encouragement, two egg rolls.
"Where are you from?" Jackson starts.
"Connecticut," I say. "Before coming to Cleveland I was living with my brother and his family in Brooklyn."
"You're close."
"I love Cal. He's probably the best of Alex, he's my best friend."
"What does he do?"
"Last time we spoke, he and his wife were selling vintage clothes in Seoul."
"Vintage clothing?"
"Used clothes. They go into Goodwill and other thrift stores, buy clothing, and send it to their contacts in Seoul to sell."
"I wish we could," says Lizzy. "Most women's clothes only come in sizes for short women."
"How tall are you?" I ask the girls.
"Six two."
"Alex is just short of six feet."
"You like tall women?" asks Jamie.
"I love Alex. Her height wasn't a consideration."
"But you're tall," says Jamie.
"I've been attracted to shorter women and men."
"So you're bisexual?
"I don't like labels."
"So what makes you fancy one person over someone else?" asks Jamie.
"Chemistry. Heart. I don't know." I give the teenagers a smile. "There's this attraction and you know. I was engaged to a guy, Larry, when I went to Litchfield, but Alex was there."
"And you left him?" asks Überman.
"It's complicated, but he left me. It was for the best. Even when I was with him, years after I had initially left Alex, I still thought about her. Larry was safe. I loved him, but in the long run he was not Alex."
"So you went back to Alex."
"No, not at first. I had a lot of anger. I made many stupid decisions my first nine months in camp. It wasn't until the Dominicans," I pause, "It was before that." I don't know why I am telling this story. It's no one's business. It's mine. Maybe Alex's. She was there. Not these people. I don't know them. Why am I telling them? I see their faces, their gaze. Their concern and empathy , they encourage me to make this confessional. "I hurt some people who were cutting in a business I started and inadvertently created a white nationalist gang to protect me. I knew I was fucking up, but I couldn't help myself. I lost control." I tar again well up. Alex left me over that and some shit went down for her and I was out of the loop and should have been there for her. I wasn't a good person. Then the Dominicans grabbed me and took me to the kitchen where they burned a swastika on my arm. Alex supported me when Red turned the swastika into a window." I roll up my sleeve and show my arm. My audience stares at it in silence. "Alex forgave me and took me back."
"That must have been painful." Jackson pats my back.
"Not as painful as the hurt I caused. Too many times I wasn't a nice person in prison."
"You had to survive," says Überman.
"It wasn't about survival. I think I became lost. I didn't know who I was."
"Have you found the answer?" asks Jackson
"I think I've found my path." I say.
There is a pause in conversation. Four faces stare, accessing me or what I've said or both. Surely, Jackson and Überman think I'm unfit to become a lawyer. I'm too broken or evil or something. I sniff and dab at my eyes. Fucking tears.
Jackson speaks, "Well, Piper, it seems my family is very good at dredging up painful memories and confessions. We all make mistakes in our lives," she shares a quick glance with her daughters and wife, "but it's what we do to fix those mistakes that count. So, I thought talking about family would be safe. How did we get from your brother's business to this? Well, what about your parents?"
"Dad's an accountant in Brooklyn. Mom stayed at home. Very Leave it to Beaver."
Jackson and Überman laugh.
"What about sports?" asks Jaime.
"I did some cheerleading in high school and I watched golf and baseball with my dad. I like kickball."
The appetizers disappeared and the waiter came to take our orders. Conversation continued through dinner. Most of the time the questions are directed towards me, getting to know you kinds of questions, until the waiter brings our desserts, me a slice of key lime pie. I need to make sure I spend extra time on the treadmill after work.
"Jamie," Überman motioned for her daughter to change places with her, which she did. "Girls, the game," she nodded. "The Cavaliers, Cleveland's pro basketball team, was about to start.
"Now the real interview." Jamie pushes back her chair.
"Jamie?"
"Come on, Mom. You and Mama have been talking about this all week. Even at the hospital." Jamie turns to me. "Mom had to delay meeting with you when my klutzy sister wasn't watching where she was going."
"I was trying to catch the ball!" Lizzy huffed.
"And you missed."
"Jamie!"
"I've been nice."
"You needed to throw it better."
"Harrruarg!" Überman growls. Both girls giggle and the enmity of the conversation abates. They turn to the televisions.
"Job interview?" I ask Überman and then turn to Jackson who sits on the other side.
"Yes. That's what we wanted to do Wednesday before Lizzy's collision."
"I'm not a lawyer," I say. "I'm a first semester L1."
"I ran into Anderson Ingram late Tuesday afternoon. He has an office in our building, in fact, on our floor. He was returning from your class, I believe."
"Oh," I lick key lime from my spoon.
"You impressed him."
Jamie and Lizzy's eyes drift from the sports they have been following to me. I say nothing.
"Very few students can stand more than a couple of minutes of Anderson's scrutiny let alone answer question after question after question."
"I was lucky. I'd studied the topic he asked me about."
"I've seen the same thing when I ask you follow up questions. You don't just know the assigned text and its cases, but the footnotes, and the footnotes of the footnotes."
"I've seen Paper Chase."
"And you figured that most law professors would be like Kingsfield?"
"The good ones, probably. I understand the character was based on a Harvard professor."
"Yes, Edward 'Bull' Warren.' Yes. He was my father's contracts professor," says Überman.
"Really?" I am curious.
"Piper, that test last week. You aced it."
"I just want to prepare myself. I want to succeed. Alex and my law degree are my top priorities in life. In that order."
"What about your job at Starbucks?"
"It pays my bills in Cleveland and helps me take care of Alex." There is a pause as they wait for me to elaborate. "She needs commissary, money for shampoo, soap, toothpaste. I've mailed her letters with pictures of our apartment; I know she's not living there now and we might not live there when she gets out, and even though it is small, it has a nice view of the river. I also want to send her care packages. I bought a couple of used books off Amazon for her Tuesday when I got home and a couple of other things. It's not much, but," I shrug and stop there. I've already said too much tonight. My relationship with Al is my own.
"Here's the thing," Überman leans into me. "And Monique agrees. You have potential. When we first met you told me that you want to help women and improve prisons. Piper, that's what I do. My older sister went to prison when I was in high school for stabbing an abusive boyfriend with a kitchen knife. Even though she had bruises from a beating he had given her she went to prison. She had a fuck up for a lawyer, but any way," Überman is the one now becoming emotional, "she went to prison. A state prison in Kentucky. That's where she lived. She was a senior at U.C., the University of Cincinnati. She died in that prison. A guard raped and killed her." Jackson wraps her arms around her wife and gives her cheek a kiss.
"That's why Mom's a lawyer," says Jamie.
"Mom could have played for the WNBA, but chose law school instead."
What can I say? I'm so sorry? That seems lacking, but that's what I do. "I'm sorry," Professor Überman.
"After this it's Merry, Piper. Call me Merry."
"Merry," I say.
"And my darling wife is Monique." Überman gives Jackson a kiss.
"Moni," Jackson smiles at me. "Except in the classroom."
(This is a work of fanfiction based on the Netflix series Orange is the New Black. The story begins at the point the series ended. I do not intend to make any money from this endeavor. If you make any comments, please do so. I enjoy relevant feedback and critiques. I apologize for any mistakes in any foreign language, especially my Spanish. Please let me know of the proper usage. I hope you enjoy the story. I plan to upload updates at least every week.)