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lawyer.’
    â€˜Oh my Lord,’ the woman laughed, ‘she’s one of those. ’And both officers – even the nice one – laughed right along with Morticia. Jennifer cursed herself for her foolish gaffe. Her head was swimming. But she was so accustomed to hotel check-ins, where the faxes and messages were always waiting, that only now did she realize that the jumpsuit the woman was wearing was in fact a prison uniform – she was just another inmate. Jennifer felt her face color.
    Officer Camry pulled out a key chain packed more densely than the A train at rush hour and unlocked a door on the wall next to the counter. ‘Please step right through here and turn to your left,’ Officer Camry said.
    Jennifer obliged his courteous request, and found herself in a room with nothing in it but a chair that had a bright orange jumpsuit folded neatly on the seat. She took a step closer to the chair and heard the door slam behind her just as yet another door in the far wall burst open. Jennifer spun around to see that she was alone, then she spun again to see who was about to enter. In her dizzy state she lost her balance, almost fell to the floor, and watched as her expensive shoes slid across the polished surface and into the feet of a tall, severe woman dressed in a long white lab coat.
    â€˜You’ll need to strip down,’ the woman said firmly. ‘It’s time for your exam.’ Her voice was deep – as deep as her waist was wide. She wasn’t really fat, but any niceties like a waistline or hips – if she’d ever had them – were long gone. ‘Get on your feet, strip, and fold your clothes,’ the baritone in white instructed.
    â€˜Are you a doctor?’ Jennifer asked without standing.
    â€˜I’m the intake officer,’ came the reply, which Jen noted was not exactly an answer but, it seemed, was all she was going to get. The intake officer pointed to a sign that read, in both English and Spanish: REMOVE ALL CLOTHING , JEWELRY , AND OTHER PERSONAL EFFECTS , INCLUDING CONTRABAND . HANG YOUR CLOTHES ON THE PEGS OR PLACE THEM IN THE PLASTIC BAG YOU’LL FIND UNDER THE GOWN . WHEN YOUR FINISHED , RING THE BUZZER .
    â€˜Can you read?’ she asked in her neutral tone.
    Jennifer looked at her as if she were crazy. ‘Yes, I can read,’ she shot back. ‘I can read well enough to see the typo.’
    â€˜What typo?’ the officer asked.
    â€˜The second your, ’ Jennifer told her.
    â€˜It’s not mine,’ the officer sighed.
    â€˜That’s the point. The your isn’t the personal possessive. It should be the contraction,’ Jennifer continued.
    â€˜Do you understand what the sign means?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Jennifer admitted.
    â€˜Fine,’ the officer said. ‘Then forget the spelling and do what you’re told.’ Then she turned and left Jennifer alone in the room.
    Jennifer read the sign again. It might as well have read, ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’ God. What could she do? On the other side of the door she could hear the guards laughing. This was no country club and so far she certainly wasn’t receiving the special treatment that Donald and Tom had promised she would get. This all had to be some kind of mistake. She must be in the wrong department. That must be it. There was probably some other area, some VIP lounge where decent people were waiting for her. She stood up, gave the buzzer a push, then lifted the jumpsuit and plastic bag off the chair and sat down to wait, mindlessly stroking the nasty synthetic texture of the jumpsuit as if it were a kitten she held on her lap.
    The door was suddenly pulled open and Officer Camry walked in. ‘Do you have a problem, Miss Spencer?’
    Jennifer smiled at him as if she were a debutante who had found herself at the wrong cotillion. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘I don’t think it’s really a problem. I