Savages

138

A three-year sentence

O contemplates

Unless her boys come up with the Monet.

(O flunked Art History twice, partially because of her inability to distinguish Monet from Manet, partially because of her inability to get to class.) She does know money from Monet, though, enough to know that twenty mil is a lot of either, and while the boys wouldn’t hesitate to fork it over if they have it, she doesn’t think they have it.

Yet.

So she’s going to do some time.

For a brief but interesting period in her young life, O had a thing for Women’s Prison Movies. She and Ash used to sit up and watch old videos. Chained Heat, Canned Heat, Chained Canned Heat. Anyway, there was always some young chick who got thrown in with a bunch of hard-core dykes, a rapacious male or female warden, and a kinder, older mother-figure prisoner and O and Ash got off on the soft-core lesbian porn. Their favorite thing to do was turn the sound off and make up the dialogue themselves.

So she thinks she knows a little about doing time.

At least they took the blindfold off. Put her in a room with a bed, a chair, an attached bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower. There’s a window, but they taped over it so she can’t look outside and take a guess as to where the fuck she is.

And, of course, the one door is locked from the outside.

Three times a day this sweet, shy Mexican kid comes in with a meal on a tray. O has asked, but the kid won’t tell her his name.

Breakfast is always a roll with butter and strawberry jam.

Lunch is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Dinner is a microwave whatever.

This isn’t going to work.

Not for three freaking years if it comes to that.

For one thing, the video replay is driving her nuts.

Two, when that isn’t playing she’s bored out of her skull.

So …

She starts taking her head out for little walks.