***Author’s Note***
This is the first part of a love story. How many parts it will be depends on what you all think!
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Ten years ago, I was the defendant yet again. I had no doubt in my mind that that tag was going to be engraved on my tombstone:
"Here lies the perpetual defendant HAILEY MARIE GONZALES - May she rest in peace and time served."
And based on my condition that last time, I figured that my ass was going to be planted under a tombstone very soon. I was twenty years old and now facing the Judge for the seventh time in four years. This time it was really serious. Not only had I violated my probation yet again, but I was also driving while intoxicated on a revoked drivers' license and crashed head-on into a convenience store; just after I had robbed it. It was only by the grace of God that nobody was hurt, but now I was looking at doing some really serious time in the state pen. I weighed a meager ninety-six pounds soaking wet, my arms were all tracked up and my once light almond skin was now jaundice. I shook like a leaf, I had completely shaved off my one time long and shiny jet black hair; and just about any place that could be on my now very frail 5'5 frame was pierced and had some sort of metal stud or ring dangling out of it. Yep, I was a true to form Anglo-Mexican alcoholic-junkie; and a lesbian to boot.
After getting me off the previous six times with a slap on the wrist, community service and probation, the attorney that my parents had hired refused to defend me again. So here I sat in the court room of the same cantankerous old Judge with a green attorney from the Public Defenders Office who was at the most four years older than me. But as I sat beside my baby-faced attorney at the defendants' desk in the cold court room, I was actually welcoming the idea of going to prison for a very long time. I had nothing left on the inside and the outside wasn't too far behind. I was just a ninety-six pound hunk of flesh with no soul or life force left. I was nothing more that a floating piece of human wreckage, slowly sinking into the dismal and primordial ooze. I figured that God had made a terrible oversight when he created me and that the only place for somebody with no preset divine destiny and who's body wouldn't die was prison. And given the prosecuting attorney that the D.A's office had assigned to my case this time around; that's exactly where I was going.
Thirty-one year old Assistant District Attorney Lindsay Whitmore was well known to have no stomach for plea bargaining and she was notorious for succeeding in putting scum like me away, regardless of how good their defense was. She was referred to in the underworld as the wicked bitch of the D.A.'s office and on that faithful day ten years ago, I was her target. Though I had heard her name many times in all my trips through the courts and jails, I had never actually seen her. So, when Lindsay walked into the court room that morning, I initially thought I was having an acid flashback or some other kind of drug induced hallucination. Assistant D.A. Lindsay Whitmore was the spitting image of the movie actress Laura Linney and the character she played in the movie "Primal Fear" with Richard Gere and Edward Norton. As I watched her stride up to the prosecution desk on her beautifully toned long legs, topped off by a perfectly round and firm ass wrapped in a designer business skirt, I was temporarily captivated. With the high heeled shoes on her feet, she was easily six feet tall with a lean and slender torso, round and perky D-cup breasts, toned shoulders, willowy arms, sensual hands, dark red fingernails, long and sleek neck topped off with gorgeous flowing blonde hair that perfectly accentuated the alabaster skin of her angelic face and draped down to the tops of her shoulder blades. As I watched Lindsay open her briefcase, remove what I assumed was my file and then mingle with the other attorneys at her desk, I felt something stir deep inside of me that I hadn't felt in a long time: Life! And it took the form of sexual arousal. I couldn't believe it. With all that was happening, all that I had been through and all that lie ahead of me at that moment, there I was getting turned on by the woman that was probably going to send me to prison.
After my lawyer bumbled and babbled his way through my defense, Lindsay Whitmore was mesmerizing and almost hypnotic to me as she presented the state's case against me to the Judge in a sensual and dare I say deep sexy voice. She was charismatic in the extreme, incredibly articulate and an amazingly eloquent public speaker. There was a tremendous aura of confidence, intelligence, charm and savvy whit emanating from every fiber of her being. Lindsay Whitmore was everything that I had ever wanted to be: Beautiful, confident, intelligent, well educated, fashionable and very sexy. And as I listened to her read the laundry list of charges to the Judge, as well as my impressive repertoire of criminal offenses, I picked up something in her voice that I didn't expect at all: Compassion. With her reputation of ruthlessness preceding her, I was expecting a cold, vindictive and heartless bitch that was totally incapable of human feeling. But I distinctively heard hints of compassion and concern in her voice for this very troubled and sick young woman, as she referred to me. When she finished her summation she took her seat directly across the aisle from me and crossed her legs slowly and sexily. For a split second, I actually entertained the notion that she might be teasing me. She glanced over at me and I felt my lips form a smile for the first time in God knows how long. Lindsay merely raised her eyebrows like Mr. Spock at me and turned her glance away.
When it was all said and done, the Judge sentenced me to ten years in prison; basically for being a habitual fuck up! I ended up serving six years of the sentence and was paroled almost six years to the very day that I was sentenced. One of the questions they ask you at your parole hearing is: "Do you feel that you've been rehabilitated?" Not only had I been rehabilitated, I had been virtually reborn. Having it strongly recommended to me that I go to a twelve step recovery program when I first arrived, I have since found sobriety and a new design for living that really works. When I was paroled, I weighed 128 pounds versus the 96 I weighed when I came in. My hair had completely grown back and it was as jet black, beautiful, long and shiny as ever. My skin had no more track marks and had returned to its normal shade of light almond for my body had healed. I no longer shook like a leaf for I was now well nourished; I exercised daily and for the first time in my life, loved the way I looked. I could actually call myself hot; God knows a lot of the girls on the unit sure did. But then again, their girls in prison; may not be the best place to judge your physical appeal. But most important of all, I was alive again on the inside. I was no longer just a hunk of flesh or a piece of human wreckage sinking into the primordial ooze of life; my soul had been restored to me, completely refurbished by God himself and I lived each day filled with hope and peace. The light and sparkle in my deep blue eyes was noticed by everyone at my meetings.
The day I was released was also my twenty-seventh birthday. And as my heart sang at the joy of being free, it also wept at the same time. Being really optimistic and excited about the life that lay ahead of me, I was also heartbroken for I was leaving behind someone very special. Marta and I had been lovers for the last three years. Marta was twenty years older than me and she had taught me so much about life and about love. She had already been in prison for fifteen years when I arrived and our relationship had started out almost like a mother and daughter. But the longer we knew each other, the closer we got and it ultimately led to a very deep and passionate romantic relationship. Not only had Marta been my lover, she had also been my inside twelve step sponsor and spiritual advisor. She was a wonderful human being, but unfortunately would never see the outside of a prison again. She was serving two life sentences for two counts of capital murder. Yes I know that sounds strange to say that a person serving two life sentences for capital murder could be such a wonderful human being, but it's true! People can and do change in prison for the good.
I returned to my hometown of Miami, Florida and moved back in with my parents. My father is originally from Mexico City and my mother is from London; hence came my unusual name combination of Hailey Marie Gonzales. I found a home twelve step group, got actively involved and met wonderful people. Over the next four years, I did a series of odd jobs and remained very active in my home group. I finally got to meet my correspondence sponsor on the outside and she became a dear friend and soon learned everything there is to know about me. I started sponsoring other women and began corresponding with women currently in prison who wanted to recover. I was very open about my lesbianism but was not really interested in getting involved with anyone. It was particularly hard on the men in my group, for they confirmed what I had begun to believe while still inside and what the women on my unit, plus dear Marta had told me: I was hot!
By the time I turned thirty, I was living in my own apartment and working at a coffee shop not too far from the criminal justice district and courthouse where the journey into my new life had began. I had also been clean and sober for ten years and was going to college part time; studying the law. By some miracle, my drivers' license had been restored to me and a good friend in the program employed me on occasion as a driver in his own limousine and private car service. Though the memory of hopelessness and despair of my existence ten years ago never left me; I could no longer truly fathom how I once felt like that. Life was really wonderful.
One afternoon, I was working with a young lady that I sponsor in recovery and I was talking to her about the amends process as we clean up the wreckage of our past. As we talked, I suddenly began to realize that though I had made all my amends, I had never taken the time to reach out to and thank the people who had played an intricate part in my early salvation. So after talking to my sponsor, I made a list of people that I needed to thank for saving me from certain death at the hands of alcoholism and addiction. I tracked down the police officers who first responded to the accident and pulled me from my burning car after I crashed into that convenience store that long ago night. I tracked down the paramedics that revived me on the scene, then the doctors and nurses at the hospital who sewed me back together. None of them remembered me at all, but they were all extremely moved and humbled by my gesture of goodwill. Then it was time to track down the cantankerous old Judge who had sentenced me. Unfortunately I came to discover that he had passed away a few years earlier. I made all of these rounds in one day and when I crawled into bed that night, I felt incredibly peaceful and serene. As I pulled the covers up over me and shut my eyes, I heard a soft still voice deep in my mind and it spoke one word: Lindsay.
I sprang up instantly and flipped on the light beside my bed. I had completely forgotten to thank the one person who was probably more responsible for my still being alive than anyone else on Earth: Assistant District Attorney Lindsay Whitmore. Had she not been assigned to my case, I very possibly could have escaped going to prison and would quite certainly have been dead and buried a long time ago. I quickly jotted her name down on a pad of paper beside my bed, then promptly got down on my knees and thanked God for reminding me of her. As I slid back down under the covers, I began to recall the last time I had seen Lindsay Whitmore in my mind. With the passage of ten years, I had no doubt that she was no longer just an Assistant D.A., but more likely the D.A. herself or maybe even a United States Attorney or even been appointed to the bench.
I was at work at the coffee shop by five the next morning and Lindsay Whitmore was still going through my mind. I needed to find her and thank her as soon as I could. My plan was to head back down to the criminal justice district and courthouse after my shift and search her out. Surely that is where she'd be; and if she wasn't, somebody could tell me where I could find her now. The early morning rush from six till nine passed smoothly, but was feverishly busy; then came the lull period from about ten till noon. It was just after eleven and I was going over some inventory invoices with my back to the front counter. I heard the front door open and the door alarm ding indicating that it had done so. I finished jotting down a note on the clipboard inventory sheet and then turned around to greet the customer. I felt a tremendous rush of excitement and shock pass through my body and my heart began to pound. Lindsay Whitmore was standing directly across the counter from me. Though ten years had passed and she was now forty-one years old, she still looked incredible. Except for her hair being a darker shade of blonde, her face being a little more worn, lines around her mouth and with deep bags under her eyes, she looked every bit as beautiful, sophisticated and sexy as she had that morning in court ten years ago. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn't get any of it to come up, so I just said:
