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Description

  1986, Los Angeles: Eloise Kim was about as far from a career criminal as you could get. This wasn’t to say that she hadn’t committed a lot of crimes in her time, but almost everything technically criminal she had ever done was related to the vast amount of drugs she had consumed working as a cocktail server at a nightclub, as well as all of the prostitution she had also done on the side. Sure, the drug possession and solicitation was blatantly illegal, but Eloise saw herself as not doing anything truly morally reprehensible. She loved cocaine, so she was going to do cocaine, damn the consequences. She loved sex, so she was going to provide her sex (which was incredible) as a service for a reasonable price. At no point did she ever harm anyone else, and while she didn’t consider herself to be a shining beacon of innocence, she did think that she was just making the most of what society gave her.

    Indeed, it was fairly easy to make the argument that Eloise had actually surpassed all reasonable expectations for her life. Her father had died fighting in the Korean War before she was born, and her mother had immigrated to Los Angeles and raised her alone as a single mother in a tiny apartment in Koreatown. After her mother died of a stroke in 1972 which was almost certainly caused by years of stress, Eloise, with few alternatives, hit the streets and worked as a prostitute for years, scraping together a decent living. Somewhere along the way, she realized that as great as her body was, it was one of many talents, and eventually graduated to working in dozens of clubs in practically every position: bartender, cocktailer, stripper, cabaret singer, and more, always going back to prostitution when the money got tight.

  Ever since she was a young girl, Eloise had known she was attracted to both guys and girls, and had taken advantage of the fact on the streets as an equal-opportunity hooker. Somewhere along the way, though, she had fallen for a client, a buxom blonde bombshell named Miranda. Miranda had come to Eloise for pointers on how to love a woman, and Eloise was more than happy to provide assistance. They had a surprisingly phenomenal time together, and when they ran into each other at a club where Eloise was working as a bartender, they took a chance on each other and found that there was a lot of chemistry.

    A few years into her relationship, Eloise found herself in a peculiar position in life. Life was a whirlwind of getting high, going to the club, running herself ragged, going home to Miranda, and repeating, with paid sexual encounters sprinkled in at random intervals. She may have been a cocaine-addicted cocktailer-slash-prostitute, but she was also a cocaine-addicted cocktailer-slash-prostitute with a steady girlfriend, a car, a decent house, and a general appreciation for life as someone who had no illusions about aspiring to be anything greater. To that end, she was in a pretty good spot.

    Eloise’s troubles started one morning in September of 1986, after a normal weekend night at her club, a place on the Sunset Strip called The Veil. It was 4:00 in the morning, and she was in the process of smoking one last cigarette before heading home for the night in the back room, idly blowing smoke while jangling her car keys. At that moment, her coworker Tiffany, who worked as a bartender, came in having just finished her own shift. The two idly talked about the shift for a minute before Tiffany, out of nowhere, dropped a huge proposal.

    “You know, Eloise, you’ve been a pretty nice girl in the time I’ve known you. My new boyfriend… well, I’ll be straightforward with you. He’s a dealer, and he makes a lot of money doing it. I’ve been talking about it with him, and we’ve been discussing that you, me, someone else reliable like… uh, George, that bouncer… that we could run the simple transactions here. There’s a good bit of cash to be made doing it.”

    Initially, Eloise was taken aback by how sudden and blunt the offer was, and her gut instinct was to say no. One of the perks of dating a white girl like Miranda was that her parents were old money, and that if times ever got tough, all she had to do was ask daddy for help. Granted, Miranda had her own income as a real estate agent, but the safety net was there. As she thought about it a little more, though, she began to realize that rather than using it as an opportunity to increase her income, it was instead a chance to decrease her expenses: she could break the golden rule of drug dealing and get high off her own supply, and cut the rest of the product with aspirin or the like.

  “Fine, Tiff,” said Eloise, “As long as the money’s fair, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  For the next two months, business boomed. The routine was a simple one, where Tiffany would distribute the night’s supply before work, Eloise would stash some away for herself, take a quick bump, work her shift while dealing on the side, go home with a pure batch, and then spend the rest of the night getting high with Miranda. If not the most wholesome existence, it was an existence, and she enjoyed it for everything it was worth: sex, drugs, and money, at face value. She had already had all three, but now she had more, and it was thrilling, kind of like that Scarface movie she had seen a few years back. She knew it wouldn’t last forever, but she figured that she would cross the bridge when she came to it.

  Everything changed one Friday night that November. It had been an uncharacteristically slow shift, and Eloise pulled her car into the driveway at midnight, cocaine in tow. From the moment she turned off the engine, she knew something was wrong. Miranda’s routine was based around running out to greet her with open arms, but there was no Miranda in the driveway nor any sign of movement from the house. Slowly taking her key out of the ignition, Eloise got out of the car and made her way to the front door, almost in a trance. There was something in the air, and she could feel it. Something was wrong, dead wrong, but she didn’t know what to do about it.

  Hand trembling, she reached for her front door and turned the knob. It should have been locked, but she could feel it give way. The door opened, and she took her first step into the house. All of a sudden, her life turned upside down as she saw a cop pointing a gun at her, yelling “Freeze!” Her world was a haze, as she felt a strong force tackle her to the ground and force her hands behind her back as flashing blue lights lit up her entire street. As she was led out and shoved into a police car, hands cuffed behind her back, she felt neither regret nor shock, but only hollowness and complete dissociation from reality.

  In the past, Eloise had done some overnight stays in jail for prostitution, but this was the first time she was looking at anything substantial. She had been smart enough to not talk to the cops and ask for a lawyer, and over the next few days (being arrested on a Friday, she had the misfortune of waiting until Monday for a court slot) was able to piece together what had happened from her lawyer, a court-appointed fellow with more spunk than his type usually possessed. Miranda had been a little overeager for Eloise to come home that night, and had started getting high by herself before turning the sound system up way louder than it was meant to go. A neighbor who evidently didn’t vibe with the new Bon Jovi stuff had called the cops, and they had arrived to find Miranda coked up out of her mind, willing to talk about anything. Without the cops even trying, Miranda accidentally surrendered everything she knew and inadvertently blew the entire operation sky-high.

  As someone who had been caught red-handed transporting cocaine in her car, Eloise was charged with drug trafficking and denied bail; Miranda was only charged with possession and promptly posted what was practically pennies. From what Eloise was able to put together, Tiffany had also been hit with trafficking, while her boyfriend and some other people in the network (none of whom Eloise ever interacted with) faced the big hitters like conspiracy, with some of them even staring down murder charges. According to her lawyer, the situation looked dark for Eloise: at minimum, she was facing eight years, and it was entirely possible that they could give her 20, or even tie her into the conspiracy and lock her up for life.

  A few days after Miranda made bail, she showed up to jail, looking like a hurricane had hit her. When the guards led Eloise up to the glass, Miranda burst into tears before Eloise could even get a word in. After a solid three minutes of Miranda crying while trying to get out how incredibly sorry she was, she finally straightened up enough to speak coherently.

  “Oh my God, Lise… I don’t even know what to do right now. I’m so sorry, and I just need to let you know how much it hurts me that I ended up screwing you like this.”

  Eloise simply sighed. “Miranda, I believe you. I love you, I really do, and I know that you’re sorry. But it’s a moot point. I’m not in a good position right now–neither are you, really–and they’re probably throwing the book at me. I just don’t know where we go from here.

“Lise, about that.”

  “What,” said Eloise, as Miranda’s eyes got watery again, “What’s wrong?”

Holding back her tears, Miranda got it out. “Lise, they want me to testify against you. If I do that, they’ll drop the charges. Just six months of probation. Otherwise, they say they’ll go as harsh as possible on me.” She breathed in. “They want me to say that you forced me into this, and that I know all about you being a major dealer. I can’t do it, I can’t. But I need to let you know.”

  Eloise stared at Miranda, processing the weight of the situation. The room felt suffocating, and Eloise’s thoughts raced around her head in a depressive circle. Miranda had grown up in Beverly Hills. She had gone to Stanford. She may have been slumming it with a whore like her, and it wasn’t like they lived in a gated neighborhood, but Eloise knew that she would be eaten alive in prison, especially if they decided to up the charges. After a moment of silence, Eloise spoke with a measured tone.

    "Miranda, I never thought I'd find myself in a situation like this. Maybe by myself, but never with you. But we're backed into a corner, and I need you to listen carefully. Testifying against me might be the only way to save yourself, even if it means I'll face the consequences."

    Miranda's eyes pleaded for understanding, tears still lingering on her cheeks. Eloise continued, choosing her words carefully.

    "Six months of probation is a small price to pay compared to what they could do. You can tell yourself that you can make it, but babe… I’ve lived the rough life. You don’t deserve that; they’ll break you. I can handle the consequences, but I can't bear to see you suffer because of me. Besides, let’s be honest: I did the crime. I’m guilty. All you did was come along for the ride."

    Miranda sniffled, wiping away her tears. "Lise, I can't betray you like that. I love you, and I can't imagine standing in that courtroom, pointing fingers at you, lying about what a bitch and a criminal you are."

    Eloise reached out, placing her cuffed hands against the cold glass that separated them. "Babe, listen. This isn't betrayal; it's survival. We got caught up in something we never should have, and now we need to do whatever it takes to salvage what we can. I don't want you to suffer because of my mistakes."

  She paused again, almost coming to tears herself, before pushing forwards again.

    "Think about your future, Miranda. If you testify, you'll have a chance to move on from this. You can rebuild. But if you don't, they'll crush you, and I'll be left with the guilt of knowing I dragged you down. I can handle the consequences, but I can't bear to see you suffer because of me."

    Miranda shook her head, her voice trembling. "I can't just abandon you, Lise. We're in this together."

    Eloise leaned in closer to the glass, her gaze intense. "No, Miranda, we're not. I’m a Korean girl who grew up without a thing. You’re a white girl whose dad has a Maserati. I’m a prostitute. You’re somebody who actually does something worth a damn. It’s entirely my fault that we got into this mess. With all of the sleeping around I do, my stupid decisions, me getting you turned onto coke… I don’t know what somebody as worthless as me ever did to find an angel like you. I love you, but we’re not the same, and we’re not meant to be together.”

    Miranda wiped away her tears, looking torn between love and the fear of betrayal. "But what about you, Lise? What happens to you?"

    Eloise took a deep breath. "I'll figure something out. Worst comes to worst, I can serve my time and come out on the other side. I don't know, but I can't let you ruin your life for me."

    Silence hung in the air as Miranda absorbed Eloise's words. Finally, she nodded, a mixture of pain and acceptance in her eyes. "Okay, Lise. I'll... I'll do it. For you."

    Eloise managed a small, grateful smile that hid the pain inside. "Thank you, Miranda.” They blew kisses at each other through the glass before a guard dragged Eloise back to her cell.

  A month later, Eloise sat inside the courtroom, on the day Miranda’s testimony was supposed to happen. Just like she had thought, might happen, the prosecutors had intentionally refused to offer her any sort of plea deal at all, even a harsh one, instead preferring to make her the center of a vast criminal conspiracy. As such, while she would have happily pled guilty, she now found herself on trial, with a dizzying range of charges stretching far beyond trafficking, about to get absolutely razed to the ground by Miranda’s testimony.

  As Miranda came into the courtroom, Eloise felt that the differences between them had never been greater, certainly least visually. Eloise was shackled in an awkward position, hands at her sides, with the color she had put in her hair to make it more lively contrasting with the dull orange of her scrubs. Miranda, in contrast, really did look like an angel, with her permed blonde hair shining like a halo over a shiny white pantsuit. When the time came, she walked up to the witness stand and went through the motions with the prosecution, promising to be truthful.

  The prosecutor began by asking a few questions about Miranda’s identity before quickly going for the kill. “Ms. Schroder, you were involved in the drug operation with the defendant, Eloise Kim. Is that correct?"

    Miranda hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with conflicting emotions. She then squared her shoulders and responded, "Yes, I was involved. We both were."

    The prosecutor continued. "Could you clarify your role in this operation, Ms. Schroder?"

    Miranda glanced at Eloise, subtly nodding before turning back to the prosecutor. "I was aware of what was happening. I knew about the cocaine, and while I didn’t deal, I certainly partook. It was a joint decision between Eloise and me."

    The prosecutor raised an eyebrow, pressing further. He couldn’t believe it. "So, you're saying you were not coerced or forced into participating?"

    Miranda shook her head. "No, not at all. Eloise and I were in this together. It was our choice."

    Eloise, watching the proceedings, felt her heart beating out of her chest from pure stress as the prosecutor changed tactics. "Ms. Miranda, are you telling this court that Eloise Kim was not a primary orchestrator in this drug operation? That she played a minor role?"

    Miranda took a deep breath, glancing at Eloise again. "Yes, that's correct. It was a partnership. Eloise didn't force me into anything, and she didn’t do anything other than help supply dope to a bunch of cokeheads who would’ve gotten it some other way.”

    After a few more questions, the prosecutor gave up, and the defense had her reiterate what she had said before finishing with her. The entire time, there was an awkward connection between Eloise and Miranda, with them constantly sneaking looks at each other, each of them seemingly offended by the actions of the other. When Miranda walked out of court, she gave Eloise one last look, a semi-smirk (maybe?) that was impossible to decipher.

  From that point on, the trial was a messy slugfest. What had been meant to serve as a slam dunk opportunity to grandstand against a dangerous drug pusher had instead directly helped the defense, who found themselves with new ammunition to argue against Eloise’s characterization. Eloise herself was apoplectic, cursing Miranda every night in her cell as she went to sleep. After brutally long closing arguments demonizing and deifying her, the jury came back with a verdict: Eloise Kim was guilty of drug trafficking, but not guilty for every other charge. Being convicted of a felony was brutal, but she had already resigned herself to that fate, and she felt her heart rise as the jury continued to list the charges she wasn’t guilty of.

  Sentencing followed soon after, this time without Miranda there. After her testimony, she had her bail revoked due to perjury and found herself charged for possession with intent to distribute, locked away in another wing of the county jail. Eloise had tried valiantly through every possible avenue to get in touch with her, to tell her how upset she was, but it was no use. Miranda was an enigma. Meanwhile, her sentencing went on, without any indications of how sympathetic or not the judge was.

  After a week, the big moment came. The judge–or specifically, Judge Carroll, as he preferred–gave the typical long spiel about the legal technicalities, and Eloise readied herself for the moment when he would actually deliver justice. Finally, after some commentary on the wrongness of her actions, it arrived.

  “Under California health and safety code 11352, transportation or sale of controlled substances, I sentence the defendant, Ms. Eloise Kim, to eight years in state prison to be served at the California Institution for Women, with the possibility of parole after four years and credit given for her time served.”

  Eloise was stunned, and she was escorted away in shackles with a look of complete confusion on her part. It wasn’t just less than she was hoping for: based on what her lawyer had said, with every aggravating factor added up, it was the bare minimum. Throughout the next few weeks, as she was subjected to the machine and was moved from county jail to state prison and given a new routine, she was in a state of disbelief and hardly noticed the fact that she was locked up. All she could think was “How?”

  As she settled into her new life at CIW, Eloise Kim took a moment to consider that life wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Life in prison was no cakewalk, but neither the food nor the people were too bad, she had a decent amount of free time, and she was currently enrolled in the cosmetology program. Best of all, while it had made for some rough nights in jail, she had broken her addiction to cocaine somewhere along the way, and it made her feel healthier than she had felt in years. Indeed, there was just one thing missing, one woman who she wanted nothing more than to hold in her arms and tell her how sorry she was for everything.

  About six months into her incarceration, Eloise was surprised to learn she had received mail. Given her lack of living relatives, mail was a non occurrence, and she found herself wondering if she was the victim of a scam of some sort. But instead, as she looked at the envelope that had been dropped through the slot of her cell, she was again surprised to see a handwritten letter on what looked like paper very similar to the type she had access to in prison, as well as a photograph taped to the bottom.

  Dear Eloise,

  I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to get into contact with you until now. I know that the process of going to prison is scary, and I want you to believe me when I say that there’s nothing I wished I could have done more than be with you every step of the way. I hope that you find yourself in a better place now than during the trial.

  Right now, I’m writing you from county jail, back in Los Angeles. It’s crazy to think that we’re only an hour’s drive away from each other! Well, I know that we were actually in jail together at one point, but it’s not like that really meant anything. After the little incident at your trial, they did their best to throw the book at me–all of that probation talk died real quickly! Miranda Schroder, real estate agent, is now Miranda Schroder, prisoner serving a two-year sentence.

  As I write this, I’m sure that you have hundreds of questions. I’m sure you’re upset with me for not listening to you; I know that I would be. I know that we agreed that I would testify against you, but honestly? I just couldn’t. You have your problems, but so does everybody. When I look at you, I see those problems, but I also see somebody who doesn’t give herself enough credit. You’re smart, funny, down-to-Earth, and, if you’ll forgive me for being risque, fucking phenomenal in bed. You’re a whore, but you’re my whore, and I love you. When it came time to snitch, I realized that an entire life without you, even one where I get off scot-free, just isn’t worth it.

    Again, I realize that you’re upset, so let me just argue that all’s well that ends well. I’ve done some math, and as I write this, I should get out in roughly 17 months. If you get parole–and believe me, somehow, I will make sure you get parole–that means you should be out in a little over three years, right in time to kick off the new decade. What we’re going to have to go through sucks, but there’s no place in the world I would rather be than right here, on cell block 14, if it meant that you didn’t have to throw your life away. I don’t know what we’ll do or how we’ll do it, being two gals with a record, but when we get out, you and I, hand in hand, are going to turn the page on this whole business with drugs and clubs and just make it about Eloise and Miranda. No matter what, I’ll be there for you.

P.S. I know that you’ve only met my father once, but when you see him next time, please be very thankful. He and Judge Carroll play golf together every other weekend, and twisting the arm for you cost him lunch at the country club and a new putter!

  P.P.S. One of the other girls here somehow got ahold of a Polaroid, so if you’ve been missing me… here I am!

  Love, Miranda.

Eloise read Miranda’s letter and looked at the photograph, then read the letter again before bursting into tears. As a convicted felon nowhere near the end of her sentence, stuck behind literal tons of concrete, steel, and razor wire, she felt truly happy in a way that was completely at odds with how she knew she was supposed to feel. Life had thrown her a curveball, and then some, but through all of it, she somehow had found her angel, a beautiful being named Miranda to watch over her and save her from life behind bars. She had no idea what the future would hold, or how she and Miranda would make it theirs, but she knew that as long as they had each other, physically separated as they were, it was going to be alright.

Description

  1986, Los Angeles: Eloise Kim was about as far from a career criminal as you could get. This wasn’t to say that she hadn’t committed a lot of crimes in her time, but almost everything technically criminal she had ever done was related to the vast amount of drugs she had consumed working as a cocktail server at a nightclub, as well as all of the prostitution she had also done on the side. Sure, the drug possession and solicitation was blatantly illegal, but Eloise saw herself as not doing anything truly morally reprehensible. She loved cocaine, so she was going to do cocaine, damn the consequences. She loved sex, so she was going to provide her sex (which was incredible) as a service for a reasonable price. At no point did she ever harm anyone else, and while she didn’t consider herself to be a shining beacon of innocence, she did think that she was just making the most of what society gave her.

    Indeed, it was fairly easy to make the argument that Eloise had actually surpassed all reasonable expectations for her life. Her father had died fighting in the Korean War before she was born, and her mother had immigrated to Los Angeles and raised her alone as a single mother in a tiny apartment in Koreatown. After her mother died of a stroke in 1972 which was almost certainly caused by years of stress, Eloise, with few alternatives, hit the streets and worked as a prostitute for years, scraping together a decent living. Somewhere along the way, she realized that as great as her body was, it was one of many talents, and eventually graduated to working in dozens of clubs in practically every position: bartender, cocktailer, stripper, cabaret singer, and more, always going back to prostitution when the money got tight.

  Ever since she was a young girl, Eloise had known she was attracted to both guys and girls, and had taken advantage of the fact on the streets as an equal-opportunity hooker. Somewhere along the way, though, she had fallen for a client, a buxom blonde bombshell named Miranda. Miranda had come to Eloise for pointers on how to love a woman, and Eloise was more than happy to provide assistance. They had a surprisingly phenomenal time together, and when they ran into each other at a club where Eloise was working as a bartender, they took a chance on each other and found that there was a lot of chemistry.

    A few years into her relationship, Eloise found herself in a peculiar position in life. Life was a whirlwind of getting high, going to the club, running herself ragged, going home to Miranda, and repeating, with paid sexual encounters sprinkled in at random intervals. She may have been a cocaine-addicted cocktailer-slash-prostitute, but she was also a cocaine-addicted cocktailer-slash-prostitute with a steady girlfriend, a car, a decent house, and a general appreciation for life as someone who had no illusions about aspiring to be anything greater. To that end, she was in a pretty good spot.

    Eloise’s troubles started one morning in September of 1986, after a normal weekend night at her club, a place on the Sunset Strip called The Veil. It was 4:00 in the morning, and she was in the process of smoking one last cigarette before heading home for the night in the back room, idly blowing smoke while jangling her car keys. At that moment, her coworker Tiffany, who worked as a bartender, came in having just finished her own shift. The two idly talked about the shift for a minute before Tiffany, out of nowhere, dropped a huge proposal.

    “You know, Eloise, you’ve been a pretty nice girl in the time I’ve known you. My new boyfriend… well, I’ll be straightforward with you. He’s a dealer, and he makes a lot of money doing it. I’ve been talking about it with him, and we’ve been discussing that you, me, someone else reliable like… uh, George, that bouncer… that we could run the simple transactions here. There’s a good bit of cash to be made doing it.”

    Initially, Eloise was taken aback by how sudden and blunt the offer was, and her gut instinct was to say no. One of the perks of dating a white girl like Miranda was that her parents were old money, and that if times ever got tough, all she had to do was ask daddy for help. Granted, Miranda had her own income as a real estate agent, but the safety net was there. As she thought about it a little more, though, she began to realize that rather than using it as an opportunity to increase her income, it was instead a chance to decrease her expenses: she could break the golden rule of drug dealing and get high off her own supply, and cut the rest of the product with aspirin or the like.

  “Fine, Tiff,” said Eloise, “As long as the money’s fair, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  For the next two months, business boomed. The routine was a simple one, where Tiffany would distribute the night’s supply before work, Eloise would stash some away for herself, take a quick bump, work her shift while dealing on the side, go home with a pure batch, and then spend the rest of the night getting high with Miranda. If not the most wholesome existence, it was an existence, and she enjoyed it for everything it was worth: sex, drugs, and money, at face value. She had already had all three, but now she had more, and it was thrilling, kind of like that Scarface movie she had seen a few years back. She knew it wouldn’t last forever, but she figured that she would cross the bridge when she came to it.

  Everything changed one Friday night that November. It had been an uncharacteristically slow shift, and Eloise pulled her car into the driveway at midnight, cocaine in tow. From the moment she turned off the engine, she knew something was wrong. Miranda’s routine was based around running out to greet her with open arms, but there was no Miranda in the driveway nor any sign of movement from the house. Slowly taking her key out of the ignition, Eloise got out of the car and made her way to the front door, almost in a trance. There was something in the air, and she could feel it. Something was wrong, dead wrong, but she didn’t know what to do about it.

  Hand trembling, she reached for her front door and turned the knob. It should have been locked, but she could feel it give way. The door opened, and she took her first step into the house. All of a sudden, her life turned upside down as she saw a cop pointing a gun at her, yelling “Freeze!” Her world was a haze, as she felt a strong force tackle her to the ground and force her hands behind her back as flashing blue lights lit up her entire street. As she was led out and shoved into a police car, hands cuffed behind her back, she felt neither regret nor shock, but only hollowness and complete dissociation from reality.

  In the past, Eloise had done some overnight stays in jail for prostitution, but this was the first time she was looking at anything substantial. She had been smart enough to not talk to the cops and ask for a lawyer, and over the next few days (being arrested on a Friday, she had the misfortune of waiting until Monday for a court slot) was able to piece together what had happened from her lawyer, a court-appointed fellow with more spunk than his type usually possessed. Miranda had been a little overeager for Eloise to come home that night, and had started getting high by herself before turning the sound system up way louder than it was meant to go. A neighbor who evidently didn’t vibe with the new Bon Jovi stuff had called the cops, and they had arrived to find Miranda coked up out of her mind, willing to talk about anything. Without the cops even trying, Miranda accidentally surrendered everything she knew and inadvertently blew the entire operation sky-high.

  As someone who had been caught red-handed transporting cocaine in her car, Eloise was charged with drug trafficking and denied bail; Miranda was only charged with possession and promptly posted what was practically pennies. From what Eloise was able to put together, Tiffany had also been hit with trafficking, while her boyfriend and some other people in the network (none of whom Eloise ever interacted with) faced the big hitters like conspiracy, with some of them even staring down murder charges. According to her lawyer, the situation looked dark for Eloise: at minimum, she was facing eight years, and it was entirely possible that they could give her 20, or even tie her into the conspiracy and lock her up for life.

  A few days after Miranda made bail, she showed up to jail, looking like a hurricane had hit her. When the guards led Eloise up to the glass, Miranda burst into tears before Eloise could even get a word in. After a solid three minutes of Miranda crying while trying to get out how incredibly sorry she was, she finally straightened up enough to speak coherently.

  “Oh my God, Lise… I don’t even know what to do right now. I’m so sorry, and I just need to let you know how much it hurts me that I ended up screwing you like this.”

  Eloise simply sighed. “Miranda, I believe you. I love you, I really do, and I know that you’re sorry. But it’s a moot point. I’m not in a good position right now–neither are you, really–and they’re probably throwing the book at me. I just don’t know where we go from here.

“Lise, about that.”

  “What,” said Eloise, as Miranda’s eyes got watery again, “What’s wrong?”

Holding back her tears, Miranda got it out. “Lise, they want me to testify against you. If I do that, they’ll drop the charges. Just six months of probation. Otherwise, they say they’ll go as harsh as possible on me.” She breathed in. “They want me to say that you forced me into this, and that I know all about you being a major dealer. I can’t do it, I can’t. But I need to let you know.”

  Eloise stared at Miranda, processing the weight of the situation. The room felt suffocating, and Eloise’s thoughts raced around her head in a depressive circle. Miranda had grown up in Beverly Hills. She had gone to Stanford. She may have been slumming it with a whore like her, and it wasn’t like they lived in a gated neighborhood, but Eloise knew that she would be eaten alive in prison, especially if they decided to up the charges. After a moment of silence, Eloise spoke with a measured tone.

    "Miranda, I never thought I'd find myself in a situation like this. Maybe by myself, but never with you. But we're backed into a corner, and I need you to listen carefully. Testifying against me might be the only way to save yourself, even if it means I'll face the consequences."

    Miranda's eyes pleaded for understanding, tears still lingering on her cheeks. Eloise continued, choosing her words carefully.

    "Six months of probation is a small price to pay compared to what they could do. You can tell yourself that you can make it, but babe… I’ve lived the rough life. You don’t deserve that; they’ll break you. I can handle the consequences, but I can't bear to see you suffer because of me. Besides, let’s be honest: I did the crime. I’m guilty. All you did was come along for the ride."

    Miranda sniffled, wiping away her tears. "Lise, I can't betray you like that. I love you, and I can't imagine standing in that courtroom, pointing fingers at you, lying about what a bitch and a criminal you are."

    Eloise reached out, placing her cuffed hands against the cold glass that separated them. "Babe, listen. This isn't betrayal; it's survival. We got caught up in something we never should have, and now we need to do whatever it takes to salvage what we can. I don't want you to suffer because of my mistakes."

  She paused again, almost coming to tears herself, before pushing forwards again.

    "Think about your future, Miranda. If you testify, you'll have a chance to move on from this. You can rebuild. But if you don't, they'll crush you, and I'll be left with the guilt of knowing I dragged you down. I can handle the consequences, but I can't bear to see you suffer because of me."

    Miranda shook her head, her voice trembling. "I can't just abandon you, Lise. We're in this together."

    Eloise leaned in closer to the glass, her gaze intense. "No, Miranda, we're not. I’m a Korean girl who grew up without a thing. You’re a white girl whose dad has a Maserati. I’m a prostitute. You’re somebody who actually does something worth a damn. It’s entirely my fault that we got into this mess. With all of the sleeping around I do, my stupid decisions, me getting you turned onto coke… I don’t know what somebody as worthless as me ever did to find an angel like you. I love you, but we’re not the same, and we’re not meant to be together.”

    Miranda wiped away her tears, looking torn between love and the fear of betrayal. "But what about you, Lise? What happens to you?"

    Eloise took a deep breath. "I'll figure something out. Worst comes to worst, I can serve my time and come out on the other side. I don't know, but I can't let you ruin your life for me."

    Silence hung in the air as Miranda absorbed Eloise's words. Finally, she nodded, a mixture of pain and acceptance in her eyes. "Okay, Lise. I'll... I'll do it. For you."

    Eloise managed a small, grateful smile that hid the pain inside. "Thank you, Miranda.” They blew kisses at each other through the glass before a guard dragged Eloise back to her cell.

  A month later, Eloise sat inside the courtroom, on the day Miranda’s testimony was supposed to happen. Just like she had thought, might happen, the prosecutors had intentionally refused to offer her any sort of plea deal at all, even a harsh one, instead preferring to make her the center of a vast criminal conspiracy. As such, while she would have happily pled guilty, she now found herself on trial, with a dizzying range of charges stretching far beyond trafficking, about to get absolutely razed to the ground by Miranda’s testimony.

  As Miranda came into the courtroom, Eloise felt that the differences between them had never been greater, certainly least visually. Eloise was shackled in an awkward position, hands at her sides, with the color she had put in her hair to make it more lively contrasting with the dull orange of her scrubs. Miranda, in contrast, really did look like an angel, with her permed blonde hair shining like a halo over a shiny white pantsuit. When the time came, she walked up to the witness stand and went through the motions with the prosecution, promising to be truthful.

  The prosecutor began by asking a few questions about Miranda’s identity before quickly going for the kill. “Ms. Schroder, you were involved in the drug operation with the defendant, Eloise Kim. Is that correct?"

    Miranda hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with conflicting emotions. She then squared her shoulders and responded, "Yes, I was involved. We both were."

    The prosecutor continued. "Could you clarify your role in this operation, Ms. Schroder?"

    Miranda glanced at Eloise, subtly nodding before turning back to the prosecutor. "I was aware of what was happening. I knew about the cocaine, and while I didn’t deal, I certainly partook. It was a joint decision between Eloise and me."

    The prosecutor raised an eyebrow, pressing further. He couldn’t believe it. "So, you're saying you were not coerced or forced into participating?"

    Miranda shook her head. "No, not at all. Eloise and I were in this together. It was our choice."

    Eloise, watching the proceedings, felt her heart beating out of her chest from pure stress as the prosecutor changed tactics. "Ms. Miranda, are you telling this court that Eloise Kim was not a primary orchestrator in this drug operation? That she played a minor role?"

    Miranda took a deep breath, glancing at Eloise again. "Yes, that's correct. It was a partnership. Eloise didn't force me into anything, and she didn’t do anything other than help supply dope to a bunch of cokeheads who would’ve gotten it some other way.”

    After a few more questions, the prosecutor gave up, and the defense had her reiterate what she had said before finishing with her. The entire time, there was an awkward connection between Eloise and Miranda, with them constantly sneaking looks at each other, each of them seemingly offended by the actions of the other. When Miranda walked out of court, she gave Eloise one last look, a semi-smirk (maybe?) that was impossible to decipher.

  From that point on, the trial was a messy slugfest. What had been meant to serve as a slam dunk opportunity to grandstand against a dangerous drug pusher had instead directly helped the defense, who found themselves with new ammunition to argue against Eloise’s characterization. Eloise herself was apoplectic, cursing Miranda every night in her cell as she went to sleep. After brutally long closing arguments demonizing and deifying her, the jury came back with a verdict: Eloise Kim was guilty of drug trafficking, but not guilty for every other charge. Being convicted of a felony was brutal, but she had already resigned herself to that fate, and she felt her heart rise as the jury continued to list the charges she wasn’t guilty of.

  Sentencing followed soon after, this time without Miranda there. After her testimony, she had her bail revoked due to perjury and found herself charged for possession with intent to distribute, locked away in another wing of the county jail. Eloise had tried valiantly through every possible avenue to get in touch with her, to tell her how upset she was, but it was no use. Miranda was an enigma. Meanwhile, her sentencing went on, without any indications of how sympathetic or not the judge was.

  After a week, the big moment came. The judge–or specifically, Judge Carroll, as he preferred–gave the typical long spiel about the legal technicalities, and Eloise readied herself for the moment when he would actually deliver justice. Finally, after some commentary on the wrongness of her actions, it arrived.

  “Under California health and safety code 11352, transportation or sale of controlled substances, I sentence the defendant, Ms. Eloise Kim, to eight years in state prison to be served at the California Institution for Women, with the possibility of parole after four years and credit given for her time served.”

  Eloise was stunned, and she was escorted away in shackles with a look of complete confusion on her part. It wasn’t just less than she was hoping for: based on what her lawyer had said, with every aggravating factor added up, it was the bare minimum. Throughout the next few weeks, as she was subjected to the machine and was moved from county jail to state prison and given a new routine, she was in a state of disbelief and hardly noticed the fact that she was locked up. All she could think was “How?”

  As she settled into her new life at CIW, Eloise Kim took a moment to consider that life wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Life in prison was no cakewalk, but neither the food nor the people were too bad, she had a decent amount of free time, and she was currently enrolled in the cosmetology program. Best of all, while it had made for some rough nights in jail, she had broken her addiction to cocaine somewhere along the way, and it made her feel healthier than she had felt in years. Indeed, there was just one thing missing, one woman who she wanted nothing more than to hold in her arms and tell her how sorry she was for everything.

  About six months into her incarceration, Eloise was surprised to learn she had received mail. Given her lack of living relatives, mail was a non occurrence, and she found herself wondering if she was the victim of a scam of some sort. But instead, as she looked at the envelope that had been dropped through the slot of her cell, she was again surprised to see a handwritten letter on what looked like paper very similar to the type she had access to in prison, as well as a photograph taped to the bottom.

  Dear Eloise,

  I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to get into contact with you until now. I know that the process of going to prison is scary, and I want you to believe me when I say that there’s nothing I wished I could have done more than be with you every step of the way. I hope that you find yourself in a better place now than during the trial.

  Right now, I’m writing you from county jail, back in Los Angeles. It’s crazy to think that we’re only an hour’s drive away from each other! Well, I know that we were actually in jail together at one point, but it’s not like that really meant anything. After the little incident at your trial, they did their best to throw the book at me–all of that probation talk died real quickly! Miranda Schroder, real estate agent, is now Miranda Schroder, prisoner serving a two-year sentence.

  As I write this, I’m sure that you have hundreds of questions. I’m sure you’re upset with me for not listening to you; I know that I would be. I know that we agreed that I would testify against you, but honestly? I just couldn’t. You have your problems, but so does everybody. When I look at you, I see those problems, but I also see somebody who doesn’t give herself enough credit. You’re smart, funny, down-to-Earth, and, if you’ll forgive me for being risque, fucking phenomenal in bed. You’re a whore, but you’re my whore, and I love you. When it came time to snitch, I realized that an entire life without you, even one where I get off scot-free, just isn’t worth it.

    Again, I realize that you’re upset, so let me just argue that all’s well that ends well. I’ve done some math, and as I write this, I should get out in roughly 17 months. If you get parole–and believe me, somehow, I will make sure you get parole–that means you should be out in a little over three years, right in time to kick off the new decade. What we’re going to have to go through sucks, but there’s no place in the world I would rather be than right here, on cell block 14, if it meant that you didn’t have to throw your life away. I don’t know what we’ll do or how we’ll do it, being two gals with a record, but when we get out, you and I, hand in hand, are going to turn the page on this whole business with drugs and clubs and just make it about Eloise and Miranda. No matter what, I’ll be there for you.

P.S. I know that you’ve only met my father once, but when you see him next time, please be very thankful. He and Judge Carroll play golf together every other weekend, and twisting the arm for you cost him lunch at the country club and a new putter!

  P.P.S. One of the other girls here somehow got ahold of a Polaroid, so if you’ve been missing me… here I am!

  Love, Miranda.

Eloise read Miranda’s letter and looked at the photograph, then read the letter again before bursting into tears. As a convicted felon nowhere near the end of her sentence, stuck behind literal tons of concrete, steel, and razor wire, she felt truly happy in a way that was completely at odds with how she knew she was supposed to feel. Life had thrown her a curveball, and then some, but through all of it, she somehow had found her angel, a beautiful being named Miranda to watch over her and save her from life behind bars. She had no idea what the future would hold, or how she and Miranda would make it theirs, but she knew that as long as they had each other, physically separated as they were, it was going to be alright.