“Bet neither of you woke up today thinking you’d be teaching Chowchilla’s newest celeb all the tricks of the inmate trade,” he said with a grin.
LaDonna whooped. “I knew it was you! Gold-digger Karen, right? I’ll bet you’re gonna be the first-ever, real-life influencer in the state pen. I think we should nickname you Goldie. Kinda of likeGold Is the New Black.”
At least it wasn’t Grave-Digger Karen.
“You ever watch that prison show?” Eve asked.
“Nah,” said LaDonna. “Figure I’ve been there. Going there again.”
“Don’t do the crime and you won’t do the time,” Corrections Officer Poff lectured from behind the wheel.
The two women rolled their eyes, but Cara didn’t bother. There was no point in proclaiming her innocence to anyone on the inside—even in the van on the way. Given how she’d been treated as Public Enemy Number One during her trial, Cara was a little bit surprised that the van carrying her to prison looked and sounded decades old. Not that she expected a private car... or maybe she did?
A support beneath LaDonna’s metal bench seat squeaked as she shifted from one butt cheek to the other. “Seriously, Goldie, you should score us a reality show.”
“It’ll never get canceled—I mean, you are a lifer,” Eve added. “We can do season after season afterseason.”
LaDonna and Eve proceeded to spitballthe best everprison reality show, starring Cara, who would commit newbie no-nos like asking fellow inmates what they were doing time for and sitting on other women’s bunks without asking. Entertaining hijinks would include Cara getting her first prison tattooand contracting amputation-grade foot fungus after showering barefoot.
“You’ve got connections to make the show happen, right, Goldie?” asked Eve.
There was indeed a time when Cara’s status as a top-tier influencer enabled her to casually pitch an idea to the movie producer who lived at the end of her cul-de-sac. As the wife of a prominent plastic surgeon, she could also have discreetly circumvented HIPAA laws to approach any of the celebrities her husband, Karl, had nipped or tucked. She even had a friend whose sister had married a highly placed TV executive.
She doubted any of her contacts would accept a collect call from the state penitentiary.
Certainly not one from her.
“I’ll have to think on that,” she said.
Energized by their big idea, LaDonna and Eve began listing people they knew—or were related to, or were friends of friends—who were famous.
My second cousin’s kid was on a football team Snoop Dogg coached...
I know someone who went to high school with Kendrick Lamar...
This girl onThe Bachelorwas born in Inglewood and knows my sister...
Met Doja Cat once . . .
Oscar De La Hoya was at this picnic I was at...
While they played Six Degrees of Separation, Cara leaned her head against the side of the van and dozed until she was awakened by the crackle of the van’s radio. They were now traveling along a divided highway between railroad tracks and palm trees, in the city limits of Who Cares.
CalFire activity just north of Fresno. Be aware of a detour ahead.
“Great, just what we need,” muttered Poff.
“We’re stopping in Fresno for food, right?” LaDonna asked.
“I’msothirsty,” said Eve.
“We need a bathroom break, too.”
Their liquids had been limited for the drive, and Cara was thirsty and hungry, too—her body was, anyway. Personally, she didn’t care if she ever ate, drank, or went to the bathroom again.
In the aftermath of Karl’s murder, Cara had begun to stress eat. Sugar, carbs, dairy, In-N-Out—anything and everything she’d denied herself since she finally shed that thirty pounds of “baby fat” in her early twenties. She couldn’t stop overeating during the trial, either, and her growing roundness had been noted in increasingly hurtful posts headlinedGluttonous for Punishment,Prisonly Plump, and worse.A wellness spa had even reached out, asking her to participate in and promote their thirty-day detox programif and whenshe was acquitted of all charges.
And then she was convicted.
