LJIdol Topic 17: the Caged Bird
Allie
A thoroughly fictitious entry
I'd never seen a woman like her. Not before and certainly not after.
She had the kind of grace in every move of the hand and shift of her hips that really, really spoke to a man. That made him think of crazy things. Oh, and her voice! The voice of an angel dipped in honey wrapped in velvet and kept at a nice warm temperature while it gently massaged your brain.
And other nerve-filled organs.
Yeah, Allie was gonna make it big. Bigger than that smoky room full of classless guys like me, just ogling the way she filled out those dresses. With the right push, I know she could've gone somewhere big. One of the big clubs in a more respectable city. Singin' on the radio, getting a record pressed. Every time I looked at her, I could just see her future like a city made of jewels behind her.
Like I said, she was gonna make it big.
At least she would've had it not been for the dead man in her apartment two years ago.
'Course, who knows, right? Crazy world the way it is, I'd put good money that if she avoided gettin' shanked or maimed and got to a parole board she might make it big anyway. The papers'd call her an angel who rose out of Hell. At least that's what I'd call her.
All sorts of people clamoured for the interview once she agreed to do it. The big problem wasn't city hall for once, instead it was all my coworkers and the other newshounds at all the rival papers.
She didn't have a defense at trial. She didn't fight or scream or cry when they dropped her in the hole. Allie had class and poise like I couldn't believe and everyone in the damn country wanted to know the 'why' of it all. I had to work Frank, my editor, damn hard to let me have a stab at this one. I wrote the letter of request, sent it to her lawyer and God be praised, I got the interview.
See, I'd been mesmerized watching her on stage. Heard her voice as it cast its smoky spell over us drooling fuckwits. Every motion making those moments so vivid despite the haze of drink and frustrated want of her that we all felt. Allie made the rest of the world so bland, so empty. Every hitch in her voice and pause between spoke volumes to me. When she sang a sad song, it broke the hearts of everyone in that two-bit jazz joint.
Allie was more real, though. She was a deeper thing than I am or you are or anyone's ever been, exceptin' the Good Lord Himself. There were whole hidden depths of sadness in those wide, glorious eyes. There was beauty in her that had been trapped by a world that wasn't ready for it. She was so honest those pricks on the jury just had to lock her up. We all knew how good she was. Our Allie didn't fight back against the prosecutors. I knew in my gut that it was because she didn't want to put that poor man's family through any more heartbreak.
If he had family. Can't say I remember much about anything but her in that room.
My angel in chains.
It broke my fuckin' heart.
I wanted to help her. Even if it was to just get her story out. I could do that much.
Bein' honest, though, I wanted to save her.
She was everything I wanted. I didn't tell anyone that, of course. Didn't want them to think I was just some loon looking to touch her shoes or anythin'.
I just needed to hear her voice one more time. With my own ears.
The license check and the inquisition-worthy going-over of my press pass, the frisking and the litany of barked orders about what I could and couldn't do were a small price to pay for the chance to speak with her. To sit nearer to her than any man I ever saw ever got to sit.
It was a public room during visiting hours and she shone in that place like a beacon. All the other prisoners--hard women the lot of them, with tattoos and surly looks--were kept away from her by a circle of police. Thank goodness, I thought. Thank goodness I wasn't the only one with a thought to protect her. They wanted her safe just as much as I did. Hell, with the way some of those lady guards were looking at her, maybe they wanted her safe even more than I did.
Did she sing at night?, I wondered. Lonely, longing songs for streets she could no longer see? Did she want to be outside as much as I wanted her to be outside?
I showed my credentials again and got past the guards to take my seat across from her.
It hurt to look at her.
'Cause in the midst of all the drab grey and the smell of smoke, she was still beautiful. Her hair was like a halo 'round her head despite the lack of fine treatments and her lips were even fuller and more inviting than they were when she was wearing makeup. And her eyes? The way she looked at me, half-lidded? I thought I was going to have a heart attack right there.
Trying to keep myself under control, I lit up a cigarette.
"Got any to share?" she asked and the words wrapped around me and drew me down to the bench across from her. I nodded and dug out my pack; she didn't want any of those. She reached up and plucked mine from my mouth and I watched her lips close around the filter and I was in love right there.
It was also the first time that I'd really noticed how heavy the manacles on her arms were. The heavy clack-clack-clack of them as she brought her hands up to take my cigarette... it was obscene to hold such graceful limbs back like that. Like hobbling a cat or plucking feathers off an angel.
"So," I said once introductions were made and I had my pen and notepad in hand. "What's your story, Allie?"
"My story?" she repeated. I shuddered a little. The way her lips formed the words, the way her throat produced them... I'm not ashamed to say it made me shift a little in my seat. A coy pair of words, like they were a bit more intimate than a newspaperman like me should be getting.
I adjusted my tie and nodded, "You agreed to this interview... I assume you wanted to get your story out. Is that right?"
She nodded lazily, smiling at me. "I did," was all she said.
"Well. What happened?"
"Terry came in," she narrated, gesturing vaguely with my cigarette held between two fingers, "He wanted...something. I don't know what," In my head, I could see the scene. Drunken manager following her home, busting in her door, shouting up a storm and making a grab for her arm. Probably holding her just where the manacles did. One more bit of dead weight holding that angel down.
"I hit him with the lamp. But he didn't stop." Poor girl. Those little arms weren't strong enough to take down a full-grown man.
"Explains the knife," I interjected.
She smiled a little, a coy smile. She was embarrassed by the whole thing. By me knowing about it. Poor girl.
"Sorry," I said, trying to put her at ease, "Go on, I'll shut up."
"It's okay," she replied, soothing voice running over me. "You know the rest. Everyone does." Allie started smiling and I felt it in every inch of me, "What did you want to know?" she asked.
"Oh," I said, shaking out of the stupor her voice had put me in. "I think I--uh--I think the people will want to know what he was doing there. What got the whole thing started?"
Allie tilted her head some and smiled that angel's smile of hers. She leaned closer then and whispered, "He was in love with me."
I leaned in a little myself to better hear her, taking the words down as quick as I could, my pen scratching on the page.
"He gave me the best times, best backup, best musicians. Knew I was the best act he'd ever see. Said so a couple times. But... he wanted more." I could see what that meant in her eyes. He'd wanted her. "It's all I've ever had," she said with a barely-there shrug. "I can sing and men just... fall in love with me. It's..." she trailed off before turning those amazing eyes to mine, reaching across the table with a clack-clack-clack to hold my hand. "It's not on purpose. I don't want it to happen. They just do."
My heart was going like a jackhammer on a hot summer day.
"How..." I mumbled, trying to get my bearings as her graceful hand snatches up my pen.
Everything goes slow-motion then. My brain goes red as her fists meet the underside of my chin. The table gets turned up and I can hear the guards coming toward the pair of us.
Y'know, It's funny, but I didn't hear the other prisoners moving. Usually, you hear about a fight starting in a prison and the whole thing just exploding.
"I never want out of here," she whispers to me as she kneels at my side. "In here I'm free. Free of all of you. Tell them that," and with that she spat on my face and raised her hands up high; I can see my pen clenched white-knuckled in them. My brain goes red again and those pretty white knuckles are stained red and my pen's gone and my throat hurts like nothing I've ever felt. My own breath comes in ragged gasps and wet coughing.
Yeah, I'd never seen a girl like her before. Sad to say, I never will again.
This entry was written for LJIdol's seventeenth (!) topic the Caged Bird. I hope you enjoyed!
A thoroughly fictitious entry
I'd never seen a woman like her. Not before and certainly not after.
She had the kind of grace in every move of the hand and shift of her hips that really, really spoke to a man. That made him think of crazy things. Oh, and her voice! The voice of an angel dipped in honey wrapped in velvet and kept at a nice warm temperature while it gently massaged your brain.
And other nerve-filled organs.
Yeah, Allie was gonna make it big. Bigger than that smoky room full of classless guys like me, just ogling the way she filled out those dresses. With the right push, I know she could've gone somewhere big. One of the big clubs in a more respectable city. Singin' on the radio, getting a record pressed. Every time I looked at her, I could just see her future like a city made of jewels behind her.
Like I said, she was gonna make it big.
At least she would've had it not been for the dead man in her apartment two years ago.
'Course, who knows, right? Crazy world the way it is, I'd put good money that if she avoided gettin' shanked or maimed and got to a parole board she might make it big anyway. The papers'd call her an angel who rose out of Hell. At least that's what I'd call her.
All sorts of people clamoured for the interview once she agreed to do it. The big problem wasn't city hall for once, instead it was all my coworkers and the other newshounds at all the rival papers.
She didn't have a defense at trial. She didn't fight or scream or cry when they dropped her in the hole. Allie had class and poise like I couldn't believe and everyone in the damn country wanted to know the 'why' of it all. I had to work Frank, my editor, damn hard to let me have a stab at this one. I wrote the letter of request, sent it to her lawyer and God be praised, I got the interview.
See, I'd been mesmerized watching her on stage. Heard her voice as it cast its smoky spell over us drooling fuckwits. Every motion making those moments so vivid despite the haze of drink and frustrated want of her that we all felt. Allie made the rest of the world so bland, so empty. Every hitch in her voice and pause between spoke volumes to me. When she sang a sad song, it broke the hearts of everyone in that two-bit jazz joint.
Allie was more real, though. She was a deeper thing than I am or you are or anyone's ever been, exceptin' the Good Lord Himself. There were whole hidden depths of sadness in those wide, glorious eyes. There was beauty in her that had been trapped by a world that wasn't ready for it. She was so honest those pricks on the jury just had to lock her up. We all knew how good she was. Our Allie didn't fight back against the prosecutors. I knew in my gut that it was because she didn't want to put that poor man's family through any more heartbreak.
If he had family. Can't say I remember much about anything but her in that room.
My angel in chains.
It broke my fuckin' heart.
I wanted to help her. Even if it was to just get her story out. I could do that much.
Bein' honest, though, I wanted to save her.
She was everything I wanted. I didn't tell anyone that, of course. Didn't want them to think I was just some loon looking to touch her shoes or anythin'.
I just needed to hear her voice one more time. With my own ears.
The license check and the inquisition-worthy going-over of my press pass, the frisking and the litany of barked orders about what I could and couldn't do were a small price to pay for the chance to speak with her. To sit nearer to her than any man I ever saw ever got to sit.
It was a public room during visiting hours and she shone in that place like a beacon. All the other prisoners--hard women the lot of them, with tattoos and surly looks--were kept away from her by a circle of police. Thank goodness, I thought. Thank goodness I wasn't the only one with a thought to protect her. They wanted her safe just as much as I did. Hell, with the way some of those lady guards were looking at her, maybe they wanted her safe even more than I did.
Did she sing at night?, I wondered. Lonely, longing songs for streets she could no longer see? Did she want to be outside as much as I wanted her to be outside?
I showed my credentials again and got past the guards to take my seat across from her.
It hurt to look at her.
'Cause in the midst of all the drab grey and the smell of smoke, she was still beautiful. Her hair was like a halo 'round her head despite the lack of fine treatments and her lips were even fuller and more inviting than they were when she was wearing makeup. And her eyes? The way she looked at me, half-lidded? I thought I was going to have a heart attack right there.
Trying to keep myself under control, I lit up a cigarette.
"Got any to share?" she asked and the words wrapped around me and drew me down to the bench across from her. I nodded and dug out my pack; she didn't want any of those. She reached up and plucked mine from my mouth and I watched her lips close around the filter and I was in love right there.
It was also the first time that I'd really noticed how heavy the manacles on her arms were. The heavy clack-clack-clack of them as she brought her hands up to take my cigarette... it was obscene to hold such graceful limbs back like that. Like hobbling a cat or plucking feathers off an angel.
"So," I said once introductions were made and I had my pen and notepad in hand. "What's your story, Allie?"
"My story?" she repeated. I shuddered a little. The way her lips formed the words, the way her throat produced them... I'm not ashamed to say it made me shift a little in my seat. A coy pair of words, like they were a bit more intimate than a newspaperman like me should be getting.
I adjusted my tie and nodded, "You agreed to this interview... I assume you wanted to get your story out. Is that right?"
She nodded lazily, smiling at me. "I did," was all she said.
"Well. What happened?"
"Terry came in," she narrated, gesturing vaguely with my cigarette held between two fingers, "He wanted...something. I don't know what," In my head, I could see the scene. Drunken manager following her home, busting in her door, shouting up a storm and making a grab for her arm. Probably holding her just where the manacles did. One more bit of dead weight holding that angel down.
"I hit him with the lamp. But he didn't stop." Poor girl. Those little arms weren't strong enough to take down a full-grown man.
"Explains the knife," I interjected.
She smiled a little, a coy smile. She was embarrassed by the whole thing. By me knowing about it. Poor girl.
"Sorry," I said, trying to put her at ease, "Go on, I'll shut up."
"It's okay," she replied, soothing voice running over me. "You know the rest. Everyone does." Allie started smiling and I felt it in every inch of me, "What did you want to know?" she asked.
"Oh," I said, shaking out of the stupor her voice had put me in. "I think I--uh--I think the people will want to know what he was doing there. What got the whole thing started?"
Allie tilted her head some and smiled that angel's smile of hers. She leaned closer then and whispered, "He was in love with me."
I leaned in a little myself to better hear her, taking the words down as quick as I could, my pen scratching on the page.
"He gave me the best times, best backup, best musicians. Knew I was the best act he'd ever see. Said so a couple times. But... he wanted more." I could see what that meant in her eyes. He'd wanted her. "It's all I've ever had," she said with a barely-there shrug. "I can sing and men just... fall in love with me. It's..." she trailed off before turning those amazing eyes to mine, reaching across the table with a clack-clack-clack to hold my hand. "It's not on purpose. I don't want it to happen. They just do."
My heart was going like a jackhammer on a hot summer day.
"How..." I mumbled, trying to get my bearings as her graceful hand snatches up my pen.
Everything goes slow-motion then. My brain goes red as her fists meet the underside of my chin. The table gets turned up and I can hear the guards coming toward the pair of us.
Y'know, It's funny, but I didn't hear the other prisoners moving. Usually, you hear about a fight starting in a prison and the whole thing just exploding.
"I never want out of here," she whispers to me as she kneels at my side. "In here I'm free. Free of all of you. Tell them that," and with that she spat on my face and raised her hands up high; I can see my pen clenched white-knuckled in them. My brain goes red again and those pretty white knuckles are stained red and my pen's gone and my throat hurts like nothing I've ever felt. My own breath comes in ragged gasps and wet coughing.
Yeah, I'd never seen a girl like her before. Sad to say, I never will again.
This entry was written for LJIdol's seventeenth (!) topic the Caged Bird. I hope you enjoyed!