Writer’s Night 2014-05-03 Part 6
You’re in prison and your partner is visiting for the first time. Write the conversation you have.
I sat there in the hard plastic chair, staring through the scratched up plexiglass window, waiting for her to enter. I was uncomfortably aware of the guard’s presence next to me. After a few minutes of waiting, I started to think she wasn’t going to show.
Then the door opened, and she walked in. She wore a candy-apple-red miniskirt with a mathcing top that showed too much cleavage. That bitch was flaunting it. She saw me from across the room and smiled that sly, mischievous smile as she sat down across the plexiglass from me.
“Hey baby,” she drawled. I think the southern belle accent was the only honest thing about her.
We didn’t pick up the phones. I don’t really know why they still had them; there are speakers now.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snarl at her. The burst of anger is uncharacteristic for me. I let her get under my skin.
She smiled, showing off her flawless white teeth. “I’m rubbing it in, baby.”
I say nothing, I just glare.
“I’m out here, and you’re in there. I get the cash, and you get the rap.”
“I’m going to take you down.” I threaten. It’s an empty threat and we both know it. Everything points to me, and with my record, I could have Saint Peter himself vouch for me and the jury would never believe it. The one time I’m really innocent, and I’m going to rot for it.
She laughs, honestly happy. Delighted even, tossing her head back in a carefree innocent gesture that tosses her hair back. Damn, she looks good.
“Tommy, baby, we both know you’ll get out of here and come looking for me.”
“Damn straight,” I say, and I mean it.
“And that’s the fun part,” she says. “You love me, and you love the chase.”
The worst part, as she walks out, is that I know she’s right.