Charlotte Rogan - Now and Again

With the director away and Valerie in and out, the office echoed with absence. Maggie’s eyes strayed to the bank of locked files in DC’s office, and when a bumblebee lit on the tall steel cabinet, it seemed an invitation to search for Valerie’s keys, which were easily found in her desk drawer, to stand on a chair, and to crush the brittle body in a scrap of paper from the waste bin — and, while she was at it, to slip the key into the lock on DC’s personal file cabinet and slide open one of the heavy drawers. She was so preoccupied she didn’t remember until too late that bees were dying left and right and that if people wanted fruit crops to exist in the world of the future, they needed to protect pollinators and not annihilate them. She rushed to the waste bin, but the bee was a smear of body parts. It was impossible to think of everything at once!

Maggie’s heart was thumping in her chest as she climbed back up on the chair. She had let the bee distract her, and she knew that lack of focus could lead to fateful mistakes. The hair on her arms stood on end as she opened the second-to-top file drawer and finally the top one. The air was buzzing as if it were full of bees or as if a warning bell was warming up for a full alarm. She knew Valerie wasn’t really sick and might show up at any moment. She even imagined DC might hear his own buzzing, leave his family zipped in their tent beside the Red River, and come rushing back to the office to catch her in the act. When someone dropped a stapler in the copy alcove, Maggie froze on the chair, swaying slightly and cocking her head toward the door, but no one appeared. Footsteps clumped down the hallway. Someone laughed. A minute later, the copy machine chugged to life.

The topmost drawer was the one she had seen Valerie open the day she had worn the inappropriate blouse and Maggie had watched her from the hallway. Right at the front of the drawer was a training brochure on prison discipline and a pamphlet called “You and STDs,” both of which she skimmed before slipping them into the waistband of her skirt. The PATH woman had been right about solitary confinement: among other things, prisoners had no right to question their confinement and the term of such confinement should not exceed ten years, although that was not a hard-and-fast rule. Ten years! thought Maggie. The idea of it was enough to break a person’s heart.

At the very back of the drawer was an unmarked accordion folder, and in the folder was a heart-shaped card from DC to Valerie that said, “Be good while I’m away.” Scrawled beneath the message was the address of the River Motel. And there, fallen down behind the unmarked folder, was the missing draft legislation.

A printout of a series of emails was tucked inside the cover, with a subject line saying THE SAFE NEIGHBORHOODS ACT: DRAFT 3.2. The email exchange started off:

The fact that spending on prisons has now surpassed spending on education has directed an unfortunate spotlight on our entire industry, but should community safety be sacrificed for budget constraints?

Maggie’s hands were trembling as she put the document into the top drawer of her desk. More people stuck to the flypaper, she thought. More money lining the pockets of the people in charge!

She spent the rest of the day devising ways to smuggle the draft legislation and her other files out of the prison and shuddering to imagine what would happen if she was caught. All personnel were subject to random searches, and there was never any telling how thoroughly the exit guards would search an employee’s purse and bags. She decided to start with something small, so as a trial run, she tucked the pamphlet on STDs into the bottom of her purse. Then she zipped the one on prison discipline into the side pouch where she kept her sunglasses.

She had wanted to leave with the five o’clock rush, but without Valerie to do her share of work, it was almost six by the time she reached the exit. Her heart sank to see that no one else was waiting in line for security — only Hugo was there, twiddling his thumbs and grinning at her. “Good evening, Hugo,” said Maggie, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

“ID, ma’am,” Hugo replied.

“Oh, Hugo! You know who I am!” exclaimed Maggie.

“When a guard asks for documentation, the employee must immediately produce it,” said Hugo, reciting from the handbook.

Maggie opened her purse and fumbled around in it, finally producing both her ID badge and her driver’s license.

“Employees must wear the ID badge at all times while on prison premises,” recited Hugo.

At first Maggie had regretted the kiss, but now she wondered if she could use it to her advantage. “Any plans for the weekend?” she asked in an insinuating tone of voice.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky,” said Hugo.

“Luck comes in two flavors,” said Maggie. “Good luck and bad.”

Hugo made a show of starting to open the electronic door, but then he tapped his temple as if he had just remembered something. “I can search you or your bag, ma’am — your choice,” he said with a nasty smile.

None of the women wanted to be searched, so if Maggie opted for a pat down, it would be obvious she had something to hide and Hugo would search her bag anyway. Sweat was breaking out on her forehead and under her arms, but there didn’t seem to be a good alternative to continuing on the course she had started. As she held the bag open, she said, “You naughty boy,” all the while hoping the scarf and the sweater and the homemaking magazine that were stuffed into the purse would provide ample cover for the pamphlet hidden beneath them. Then she winked and said, “Search away.” But it made her stomach turn to watch Hugo’s beefy hands push the sweater aside and pull carelessly at the delicate scarf.

“Good Housekeeping,” said Hugo, sliding the magazine out of the bag. “My mother reads that.”

“Tell her there’s a fabulous recipe for lemon bars in the July issue. I’d tell you the secret ingredient, but then it wouldn’t be secret.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Maggie regretted them. Why had she said the word “secret”? It was almost as if she wanted to get caught.

Hugo dug out Maggie’s pink pearl lipstick and her baggie of emergency tampons and finally the pamphlet on prisoners and sexually transmitted diseases. “What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a pamphlet on STDs,” said Maggie, trying not to look at the zippered compartment where the pamphlet on prison discipline was concealed.

“I mean, what are you doing with it?”

“It’s very well written. And as you might or might not know, I have a teenaged son.”

“Hmph,” said Hugo, leering again as he stuffed the items back into her purse. “So you’re going to talk to him about the birds and the bees, are you? What, exactly, are you going to say?”

All Maggie could think of was the bee she had killed earlier in the day, so she was late in replying. “Yes, I am. I’m going to tell him that love and sex are two different things and that he should be aware of the risks and take steps to protect himself.”

“Protect himself from love or from sex?” asked Hugo, belching out a laugh. Then he pushed the purse back at her and let her pass.

Maggie took her time walking across the baking asphalt to the bus stop, swinging her hips and wishing an evening breeze would break through the unrelenting humidity and cool her burning cheeks. The good news was that she had successfully gotten the two pamphlets out of the prison, even if the bad news was that Hugo had found one of them. But she had learned something, and she had to be happy about that. When she got home, she added the pamphlet on prison discipline to her stash of evidence before making her way to the kitchen, where Will and Lyle were eating the last of a chocolate cake.