The Contract with America

Chapter Twelve

        Caroline skipped school.  She could go to school today but there was no need.  She had 200 dollars in her pocket and only one day to spend them.  Short of getting horrendously drunk, which was not what she had in mind, it was actually going to be quite a challenge to get through it all. 

        Her first stop was the hairdressers.  A small, fragrance drenched pop-up shop in a downtrodden part of town, the narrow shopfront was squeezed between an adult shop and a takeaway that looked like a front for some sort of racketeering joint.  Mind you, the place had been recommended by one of Brad's frequent fliers!  Inside, the hairdresser had done her best to create a pleasant, comforting environment and suffice it to say that the lighting was nothing if not 'artistic'.

        The hairdresser, Suzan, was a pretty punk with purple dipped hair and a heart tattoo on the inside of her left wrist.  She hailed from Alaska, having moved to Washington after she split up from her childhood sweetheart nearly nine years ago, and, although looking no more than twenty, but probably nearer to forty when her life story was fully reckoned up, hers was a pitiful if uninspiring tale.  She had given up the opportunity to go to college for her childhood sweetheart, a man who had proved to be both useless and unfaithful and who had left Suzan mired in debts.  Her escape to Washington had initially seemed like a second chance but she had quickly become involved with a kind but useless man, Geoff.  Geoff's best feature was his devotion to his daughter Kate but, as you can imagine, having a step-daughter brought its own set of problems.  Nevertheless, Suzan claimed, as she dyed Caroline's hair dark brown, she was happy with Geoff, Kate and their three - nightmarish sounding - dogs except for her truly nightmarish, homophobic, xenophobic neighbour who spat at Suzan in the misguided belief that she was both gay and foreign. 

        In return, as Suzan made the last finishing touches to her new brown bob, Caroline or 'Rachel Black' told Suzan about her bottle top collecting aunt, her faddy, over-anxious mother and her father who seemed to go out of his way to hurt her mother but who was, in fact, simply living in a world of his own.  Rachel only paid $35 for the cut and colour.  This seemed ridiculously cheap and, as she was very pleased with it, Rachel tipped Suzan the same again and left with the feeling that all was well in the world.

        The youth detention centre, where she went next, quickly brought her down to earth.  It was a grim place.  Massively underfunded, the place reeked of weed and urine.  If it were up to her, Rachel wouldn't have left a rat here, let alone a child.

        "Rachel Black, I'm here to see Patrick Williams."

"Is he expecting you?" the prison warden asked without looking up.

"Yes."

"Ah, yes, you're part of his rehabilitation programme, is that right?"  The warden asked after looking something up on her computer. 

"Yes."

"His lawyer's already with him.  Put any electrical or communication devices in that locker.  You don't have any offensive weapons or materials, or any other of the prohibited materials listed on the poster below, on your person do you?"  Rachel shook her head.  The warden handed Rachel a key to open one of the lockers in the reception area.

        Having locked up her mobile phone, her one electrical device, Rachel passed through a metal detector and handed another warden her bag to search.  The warden nodded and gave her a tag for her bag.  "You can collect it on your return.  Buzz through that door and wait for one of my colleagues to collect you."

        Rachel did as she was told and waited.  The room was dank with a worn red sofa, a tiny window onto an internal courtyard and a noticeboard listing everything from escapees to the "planned" festivities for Christmas 2009 - it was an odd mix!