Two female Miami-Dade County police officers struggled to control May Andersen who was kicking with her long legs and screaming obscenities. The officers were shorter than May, so it was difficult to hoist her down the hallway. They straddled May on either side, holding her by the upper arms, with May’s bare forearms held behind her back. May turned her head toward one of the female officers and spit on her face as the officer pushed her into the lime green holding cell. May was thrown forward, but immediately turned and jumped like a rabid dog at the cell bars as they slid closed on wheeled tracks, making the loud sound of metal on metal. May grabbed the steel bars and shook them without success. The bared door was firmly set closed, and her skinny muscle-free arms were useless. The two officers stood at the closed door, both sweating and relieved to have successfully caged May Andersen without succumbing to the temptation of slugging her in the face. They were trained to use restraint. In other circumstances, the officers would have smiled and possibly said something to May as she was screeching from her jail cell. But the officers were confused by the behavior of this tall lanky world famous super model with bruises to her face and arms. May had been brought from the Miami International Airport where she had hit a flight attendant in the face twice, nearly knocking her unconscious. This all happened in flight on a jet that had departed from Europe.
“Fuck you bitches. You think you so important, you fucking bitches,” screamed May as the officers maintained their composure.
Across from May Andersen’s holding cell was another cell identical to May’s. A wire thin Asian woman, maybe no older than nineteen, was watching the drama that unfurled on the second floor of the Dade County Women’s Detention Center. The Asian had large round eyes with straight black hair that hung to her hips. Her hair covered one eye, and she seemed to disappear behind her hair. She was wearing a soiled tight black skirt ripped up the side and a black sleeveless tank top. She had her elbow leaning on the horizontal flat bar that ran from one end of the cell door to the other. Her other arm was extended upwards where she clasped her hand around a vertical bar as if holding herself up. The Asian girl was barefoot.
The officers walked down the hallway that brought May to her cell and left through the heavy steel door that had a narrow vertical double pane bullet-proof window along its edge. The door bolt sounded like a thunder clap.
May turned and kicked the aluminum framed cot that supported a pancake thin mattress.
“Fuck,” said May as she sat on the cot.
“Hi,” said the Asian girl.
May looked up and toward the Asian girl.
“I don’t talk to criminals, bitch,” said May as she rubbed her forehead to remove the skull-shattering headache she was fighting.
“My name’s April,” said the Asian girl.
“Cute,” said May.
“I don’t think it’s cute when the month is April like now,” said April.
“You not shitting me? Your name is April, huh? So you not making fun of me,” said May.
‘I do not know what you mean.’ said April.
“Yeah, like you don’t know I am May Andersen,” said May.
“Am I supposed to know you are May Andersen?” asked April.
“You fucking Americans all have sense of humor, but you are not funny,” said May.
“You have an accent, like from Europe, right?” asked April.
“Like from Europe. I wrong. No sense of humor, just stupid. You Americans are stupid. It is a Danish accent,” said May.
“Oh. Cool. I never met a Danish person,” said April.
“Look, I have splitting headache. Please do not talk to me,” said May.
“What you in here for?” asked April.
“Because I stand up for my rights. The bitch stewardess gave me a scotch when I asked for rum. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So I gave her a good clink to the face. She made such a big deal of it, like falling back and pretending to be hurt,” said May.
“You hit the stewardess?” asked April.
“What the fuck you in here for?” asked May.
“Prostitution,” said April.
“Oh yeah. I did that. Well, not really. But back in Amsterdam it is legal, you know. It should be legal. We should be able to do whatever we want with our bodies, right,” said May.
‘It’s legal in Amsterdam? Amsterdam is in Danish land,” asked April.
“Danish land? You idiot. Amsterdam is in The Netherlands. I am from Denmark,” said May.
‘Denmark. Cool,” said April. April sat down on the cot in her cell. “I’ve never hit anyone before. Does it feel good to do that,” said April.
“Fucking fantastic. I am going to hit the judge when I see him. I am going to hit the police. I am going to hit the next person who does not do what I tell them to do,” said May.
“You are joking, right?” said April.
“Nope. But you can’t do what I do. I am famous. I am a super model with a gorgeous body and a perfectly luscious face, as if crafted by the hand of god. I make twenty-five thousand American dollars for five hours work. That’s five thousand American dollars per hour. That says I can hit. That says that the world lets me hit people I do not like,” said May.
“I’ve been hit, but I never hit anyone. I won’t get a chance, anyway. This is the third time I’ve been caught. Three strikes and your out in Florida. My lawyer tells me I will have to do three years,” said April.
“Well, that’s because you are who you are. My bail was set for $3,000, and I will be out tomorrow, and trust me, back in Denmark by the next morning,” said May.
“My bail was set at $300,000. Guess they think I will disappear or something,” said April.
“Do the math. That means I am a thousand times more important than you. A thousand times more gifted, more blessed, more beautiful,” said May.
April looks up at May. “You are very beautiful,” said April.
“I am beautiful even at my worst. Even when I am ugly, I am beautiful,” said May.
“Three years won’t be too bad. Maybe I can learn something,” said April.
“Just learn your place, girl. Just learn your place and you will be fine. Now shut up so I can rest and get rid of this fucking beautiful headache,” said May.
May lied down on the cot with both hands on her forehead. April looked over at her. April’s eyes started to water up. Not really a cry brewing, just a little sad, just a little scared. She guessed that she was not beautiful as her mother told her. She figured that she must be ugly. Know your place, she thought. She looked down at the concrete floor of her jail cell and thought about trying to find her place.