I’m a criminal.I look down at my two-hundred-dollar jeans.I’m gonna get shanked.
“Is there any way out of this?” I say to the officer.
“Uh…no,” she says as she pulls me to my feet and maneuvers me over to the police cruiser. She pushes down on my head, basically forcing me into the back of the car. I’ve seen this a million times on TV, but would never imagine it hurts thisbad.
“Easy, my god.”
“No more talking.” She slams the door and then walks over to converse with another officer. They’re getting statements from bystanders, as well as the burly bouncer. I’m done for.
There are a million things running through my head right now. One is,How am I going to keep this quiet?The officer gets into the car and we drive away in silence.
When we pull up to the Hollywood police station, I say, “Can you take me in a back entrance? Something a little less conspicuous?”
She looks at me in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are crinkled at the sides. I can tell she’s smiling. “You’re not that famous.”
“That’s not why! I just know a lot of people in this town.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t go around breaking noses, then.”
“Listen, you don’t know that woman. I bet you would have punched her ages ago. Anyway, she’ll probably get a better nose after this. Her old nose was too pointy,” I say.
“You should probably stop talking,” the cop tells me.
The inside doesn’t look likeTheAndy Griffith Showjailhouse orOrange Is the New Black. It’s more like a hospital with bars. After they take my mug shot—for which I accidentally smiled—my fingerprints and basic information, they put me in a cell with no one else, thank god.
A few minutes later, a guard comes up and asks if I want to make a call. I nod and she takes me to the hallway where there is a phone attached to the wall. “Go ahead. You get one.”
“Can I have my phone?”
“No.”
It hits me that I don’t know a single phone number by heart except for Alex’s. This day just keeps getting better. There’s a clock on the wall. It’s 11:30p.m.Brenda is watching the boys at the house because it’s Alex’s days at the apartment. He’s probably at Kate’s, lying in bed…naked…I’msoannoyed that I have to call him.
I dial the number. He answers in one ring. “Hello?” he says groggily.
“Hey. I got arrested. I need you to come and bail me out.”
“What? Is this a joke?”
“Really, Alex? You think I would joke about this?”
“You got arrested?” he says, and now he’s actually laughing. “For what?”
“I punched Beth Zinn in the face. Can you please just come and get me?”
The deputy guard is rolling her eyes and shaking her head atme.
“I don’t know what to do,” he says.
“Call a bail bondsman. They’ll figure it out. Have you never watched TV in your life?”
“Well, I don’t know how to find a good one. Is there like a section on Yelp with reviews?” He’s teasing me.
“Call the one where that sexy Jesus spins a sign on the corner that says, ‘Let God Free You!’ I think it’s on Highland. Look it up…Jesus Christ Bail Bonds.”
Alex is laughing so hard he can barely speak. “How are you not laughing right now, Dani?”
“Maybe because I’m hungover, in jail, and there is a very tall and strong-looking deputy hovering over me. Just hurry up, please. I have to go. I’m at the Hollywood police station,” I say quickly as the deputy is reaching to hang up the phone. I look at her and glare. “Wow, you guys are tough. It’s like I’m being treated like a freakin’—”
