Chapter 26

The glowing glass of the infrared scanner grew brighter as Calvin’s lilac-painted finger pressed against its surface, his mind full on panicking worrying what they were about to find out from his fingerprints.. He stood trembling in front of the thick plexiglass partition of the intake counter, the halogen overhead lights of the processing center beating down on him. Through the scratched acrylic barrier, he could see the bored, heavy-set intake officer pecking away at a greasy keyboard with more than half the letters on the keys worn off. Eyes wide he mentally begged the fates as he looked at the screen the officer was inputting data on.

Clara Diane Bent. Twenty-two. Female. The man entered looking at the ID Cal had gained that day at the dmv. Not seeing some popup on a match found for his fingerprints, he cringed at what he was about to do but he needed to get out of here and do it in a way that the federal government didn't find out he was some crossdresser or worse think he was trans. "Listen, please," Calvin started, pitching his voice into that soft, breathy alto, while sounding like a female wasn't difficult, hiding his panic was a struggle. "I'm not one of the bad ones. I haven’t robbed anyone, really I haven't done anything wrong."

The officer chewed lazily on a piece of gum. "Step back so your back touches the wall, for your intake photo."

Taking a single step back, Calvin pressed his finger together in front of him. "I have a job. A real, on-the-books job. I work at the Ahuva Bahyeet downtown. I'm a junior maid." The words tasted like ash in his mouth. ‘I am fucking Calvin David Bennent, the mastermind behind my hotel's expansion, it was just a dream for Moriah, I made it really succeed. I’m a fucking man with a graduate degree and here I am begging this buffoon…’ He thought eyes downcast even as he continued to plead.

"I'm a hard worker!" Calvin pleaded, a fresh tear escaping to trace a hot path down his cheek. "I'm actually up for a promotion soon… I think. They're going to let me clean the executive offices! They wouldn't just give that to anybody, right? I'm important to them. I'm trying to do things the right way."

"I said back to the wall.” The officer said, eyes completely glazed over with apathy. To them, the crying girl in the pretty party dress was just another number in a long, exhausting night shift. "We don't care about your promotion, Miss Bent. It won't do you much good once you go back to where you belong."

Calvin bit his lower lip, not really sure how much of the humiliation he could take before it burned him up from the inside. Doing as he was told though he moved into position for the photos. One standing facing the counter, the next facing left and then right. The machine beeped. A small printer spit out a white plastic wristband adorned with a stark black barcode.

The officer slid the wristband through the narrow slot under the glass. "Put it on. Hold on to your personal effects bag. Move to the holding area through the gray door."

Slipping the plastic band over his wrist, the barcode resting next to his thin gold bangle. He turned, the flared skirt of his dress swishing around his thighs, and minced awkwardly toward the heavy steel door. They had confiscated his purse back at Ana’s place and hadn't returned it, not that he had much in there. “Don't I get a phone call!?”

A guard buzzed the door open and steered him down a long, bleak hallway. "Cell four," the guard grunted, unlocking a heavy door with a reinforced glass window and gesturing inside, while ignoring the question.

Head hung low, the dress wearing man stepped into the holding cell, flinching as the heavy door slammed shut and locked behind him with a deafening clack. The room was large, brightly lit by caged overhead lights, and smelled sharply of bleach. Two long metal benches ran along the cinderblock walls, currently occupied by a dozen other women from various sweeps across the city. A few looked up when he entered, their eyes dragging over his exposed, hairless legs, his waist that was looking more and more too thin to him, and his tear-streaked face. No one saw a man. They just saw a pretty, terrified hispanic girl.

Shivering violently in the over-air-conditioned room, Calvin wrapped his arms protectively around himself pulling on the thin sweater tighter around him only emphasising the large mounds on his chest as he tried to find warmth. That was when he spotted a heavy metal phone bolted to the far wall next to a laminated sheet of instructions.”Fuck… Okay… okay… that's why they didn’t answer but this is good. Good… well it's something.”

He didn't know Moriah's number by heart, that was what contact cards were for. The only number he had memorized was for his hotel and he needed it to be a lifeline. Giving the room's occupants a sheepish smile he bowed his head and hurried across the freezing room, he lifted the heavy receiver with a trembling hand and punched in the digits.

The line rang three times before the professional greeting of his own front desk chimed in his ear. "Good evening, Ahuva Bahyeet. This is Lauren speaking, how may I make your evening better for you?" Calvin squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his forehead against the freezing cinderblock wall to steady himself. "Lauren, it's me. Clara."

"Clara?" Lauren's voice dropped its formal customer-service tone instantly, shifting into the warm, conspiratorial tone of a coworker surviving the night shift. "Hey girl! What are you doing calling the front desk at this hour? I figured you would be at Ana's birthday bash. Did the music finally blow your eardrums out? Or maybe your social battery just ran out?"

Tightening his grip on the phone he stammered out a reply. "I... I had to leave early," Calvin lied, fighting his desperate urge to scream for a lawyer. "Lauren, I really need a favor. Is Sidney still there? Or do you have his cell phone number? It's an absolute emergency."

There was a pause on the line, followed by a sympathetic, knowing sigh. "Oh, honey. Are you okay? Did your man stand you up for a planned date night after the party? Where are you? Because let me tell you, men do that sometimes, and they can be absolute trash when they think they can get away with it."

The accusation struck a nerve deep in Calvin. She was not referring to him yet he still replied defensively. He had done a lot of terrible things in his life, and he certainly treated his conquests as disposable, but he was punctual and his upfront callousness. He didn't just cower and ghost people. "I have never done that!" he snapped, the sharp edge of his real temper bleeding in.

Lauren just laughed, a soft, echoing sound through the heavy metal receiver. "Of course not. You're far too sweet to ever do something like that to anyone. But you shouldn't make excuses for them either… trust me Clara. I’m speaking from experience when dating jerks."

Holding up one hand while still resting his forehead on the wall he made a motion as if trying to hand signal to the talkative woman to hold off and pause. "Thank you," Calvin gritted out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone. He was in a federal holding cell, while they probably were looking to deport him, and he was being patronized about boy trouble by a receptionist he paid three five dollars more an hour than minimum wage from her length of employment and pay for working late shifts all while he only made ten dollars an hour, three less than her right now "But Sid is not my boyfriend, and you know it."

"I know that is what you keep saying," Lauren teased playfully, entirely unconvinced. "But considering you're calling the hotel at this hour in a panic trying to track Mr. Larson down, you might want to rethink your cover story, girl."

Slapping his free hand on the wall he pressed on. "Lauren, please," Calvin begged, genuine terror rising back up to choke his pride. "I can't say where I am, but I really, really need him. Please." The playful banter vanished from Lauren's voice, replaced by concern. "Okay, Clara. Okay, I hear you. Just hold on. Let me check the system..." The sound of rapid typing clicked over the line. "Yeah, his badge is still swiped in at the security office. He usually stays late on weekends to finish incident reports. You should get on him about work life balance… But I'm going to patch you through to his desk right now. Hang tight, okay? Stay safe."

"Thank you," Calvin whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.

The line clicked, replaced by the upbeat hold music Moriah had selected for the hotel's phone system three years ago. The hold music was far too upbeat for his situation but it soon abruptly cut out with a sharp click.

"Security. Larson speaking."

"Sidney!" Calvin hissed into the receiver, pressing his face so close to the wall that the cold seeped into his cheek. He instinctively lowered his voice to a frantic whisper. He shot a paranoid glance over his bare shoulder at the dozen exhausted women slumped on the metal benches behind him. He had absolutely no idea how much English his cellmates actually understood, and the last thing he needed was to broadcast his true identity to a room full of strangers.

"Clara?" Sidney’s voice came through the earpiece, infuriatingly steady and awake. "Lauren said it was an emergency. Where are you?"

"I'm in a federal holding cell, you idiot!" Calvin whisper-yelled, his manicured fingers gripping the heavy plastic handset like he was trying to strangle it. "ICE raided Ana’s party! They put me in a van, they processed me, and they have me locked in a cage! You need to get down here right now!"

"Okay, calm down. Have you been fingerprinted?" Sidney asked, his tone so thoroughly casual he might as well have been asking if they needed more towels.

"Yes! They scanned everything! The fake ID held, but I am standing here in a fucking cinderblock jail cell with twelve others!!" Calvin gasped, the compression of his corset making his rapid, panicked breaths come much more shallow. "Sidney, you need to call our lawyers. Call Moriah. Call the governor if you have to! Get me out of here before they strip-search me or deport me!"

"Right. I'll make some calls to see where they took you," Sidney replied, the absolute lack of urgency in his deep voice grating Calvin's frayed nerves. The sheer, apathetic calmness of his head of security was the spark that ignited Calvin's lingering rage. ‘How dare this meathead treat me like a minor clerical error!’

"Make some calls?" Calvin whisper-yelled into the receiver, his voice trembling yet dripping with a venom and still sounded pitifully feminine. "You listen to me, you incompetent fat fuck. I am your boss! I pay your salary! If I am not out of this cell in the next hour, I will personally ruin you! I will fire you, I will blacklist you from this industry, and I will sue you for everything you own!"

There was a heavy, put-upon sigh on the other end of the line."Yeah, yeah..." Sidney muttered, completely unfazed by the threats of a skirted man trapped behind federal bars. "I will get it taken care of. Don't get your panties in a twist and don't say anything till a lawyer shows up."

"Sidney, I swear to God…" Cal started to say before he heard the sound.

Click.

A dead dial tone buzzed harshly in his ear. Not moving for a few heart beats. Cal’s mouth hanging slightly open, his plump dyed lips trembling. Slowly, he pulled the heavy receiver away from his ear and stared at it in absolute disbelief. ‘Did that asshole just hang up on me?’

Slamming the heavy receiver back onto its metal cradle with as much force as his slender, manicured hands could muster. The plastic clattered loudly against the cinderblock, drawing a few weary glares from the women huddled on the nearby benches, but Calvin didn’t care. His chest heaved against the restrictive underwire of his bra, his breath coming in short, furious gasps.

Unable to stand still, he turned and began to pace the narrow stretch of open concrete in the center of the cell. Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.

The rhythmic sound of his heels striking the hard floor echoed off the walls. Calvin stared down at his feet, watching his hips sway to accommodate the height of his four-inch heels. It was a sound he knew intimately. For his entire life, that familiar click-clack had been an auditory cue. It meant a woman was approaching in the proper footwear. It was a sound that had always commanded his attention, often sparking his lust.

Now, the sound was just... him. It was the soundtrack of his own emasculation, broadcast to a room full of strangers. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the sickening dysphoria back down into the pit of his stomach. ‘Don’t cry… don’t cry… well... Don’t cry more.’ He told himself.

He was just turning on his heel to pace back toward the phone, a thought coming to his mind of just talking to Lauren to help him through this, when the heavy deadbolt on the cell door echoed with a loud, mechanical clack. The steel door swung outward. A male guard stood in the hallway, his face an emotionless mask. Without a word, he grabbed the arm of a young girl and shoved her roughly into the cell. She stumbled forward, her sneakers squeaking on the concrete as she barely caught her balance.

The guard reached for the heavy door to swing it shut. Calvin’s lingering rage boiled over. Mincing quickly across the floor, he marched right up to the reinforced glass as the door began to close. "Hey!" Calvin shouted, his voice ringing out in a furious, breathy tone. He pointed a painted nail directly at the guard's face through the narrowing gap. "My lawyer is already on the way! And when he gets here, you and everybody else in this facility are going to realize exactly how badly you fucked up!"

The guard didn’t even blink. He didn't offer a sneer, a laugh, or a reprimand. He just looked right through the angry girl and pulled the door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy, dismissive thud.

Glaring at the small window, his chest rose and fell rapidly. He wanted to punch the reinforced glass, but he knew he'd only end up breaking a nail and bruising his knuckles.

"Do you really have a lawyer?"

The voice was cautious, laced with a defensive skepticism.

Turning around. The girl who had just been shoved into the cell was standing a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. At first glance, she looked brutish, stocky with broad-shoulders, wearing an oversized, faded black hoodie and baggy jeans that swallowed her frame. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe, messy bun, and a deep scowl was etched onto her face, like she was ready to throw a punch if anyone looked at her wrong.

But as Calvin’s anger began to simmer down, he looked a little closer. Beneath the oversized clothes and the tough-guy scowl, her cheeks were round and flushed, and her dark eyes were wide and swimming with tears. The bravado was a flimsy shield. ‘She isn’t some hardened criminal or a cartel smuggler. She is just a kid. Sixteen, maybe seventeen at the absolute oldest.’

An unexpected pang of guilt of empathy pierced through Calvin's self-centered nature. He was a ruthless man in his pursuit for profit, a serial cheater, and an arrogant prick, but even he had a line. Looking at the terrified teenager trying to act tough in the holding cell, an unfamiliar, protective anger flared in his chest. Rage he was used to, just not this flavor of it.

‘These assholes are literally kidnapping teenagers,’ Calvin thought, genuinely disgusted by the system he usually ignored.

Deliberately softening his posture, letting his shoulders drop. He offered the girl a small, comforting smile, making sure his practiced feminine voice was as gentle as possible. "Yeah, I do. He's... he's a very good lawyer. I'm hoping he can get me out of here soon."

The girl's shoulders relaxed just a fraction. She looked Calvin up and down, taking in Clara from her makeup enhanced eyes down to her heeled feet. To her, Clara looked like someone who could potentially have money, or at least a boyfriend with money. "Are you gonna get deported?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

"No. I'm a citizen. It's just a big misunderstanding," Calvin said softly. He took a slow step closer, his heels clicking softly. "Where are your parents, sweetie? Do they know you're here? There is a phone behind me so you can call them."

The girl looked away, her jaw tightening as she stared at the dirty concrete floor. "I don't know where they are. I've never known them. I've always just lived with my grandparents." She sniffled, wiping her nose roughly on the oversized sleeve of her hoodie. "They're gonna be so worried. My abuelo is sick, but he works as a night janitor for my school. He won't be off till morning so he can't come down here to get me."

"Oh, honey," Calvin murmured. Without even thinking about the absurdity of his own outfit, he reached out, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

She leaned into the touch just slightly, the tough exterior cracking wide open. "I'm supposed to graduate high school this year… " she whispered, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. "Two years early. I have all A's. I was gonna go to college. But if they deport me..."

A physical ache hit him in his chest that had nothing to do with his corset or his bra. She was a brilliant kid. She had a whole future mapped out, a future that was currently hanging by a thread because she was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Hey. Look at me," Calvin said softly, stepping closer and wrapping both of his arms around the teenager. He pulled her into what he thought was close to a parental hug, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. The girl let out a quiet sob, burying her face into the fabric of his bolero cardigan.

Gently stroking the back of her head, completely forgetting about his own ruined life, his stolen identity, and his bruised ego. For the first time in weeks, the act of being Clara wasn't a humiliating prison. It was a shield he could use to comfort a terrified child.

"It's going to be okay," Calvin whispered into her hair, his eyes hardening with a fierce, resolute glare as he stared at the locked steel door. "I promise you, you're not going anywhere."

One by one each of those in the cell were called out of the room then relatively shortly were brought back and by the time the door opened and his name… Clara was called the teen girl, Maria he learned was her name was leaning on him, her head resting on his chest as they sat on the less than comfortable bench.

The guard's voice cut through the low hum of the holding cell. "Bent. Clara Bent. You're up."

Eyes snapping open. Cal hadn't realized he'd been dozing, his head lolled back against the cold cinderblock, the teen he had been comforting, Maria's weight still pressed against his side. The teenager stirred, blinking up at him with sleepy confusion.

"Go," the girl mumbled, pushing herself upright. "You said your lawyer was coming."

"Yeah." Calvin nodded, smoothing down the front of his dress with both hands, a gesture that had become so automatic he no longer registered it. The pale blue fabric was wrinkled from hours of sitting on a metal bench, and there was a smudge of dirt near the hem where he'd tripped in Ana's yard. He looked like a girl who had been swallowed whole by the federal immigration machine.

Putting his heeled feet together for balance, he had a while ago thought of removing them after a few people from the room had been called out then returned but the floor was just too filthy to do so.

"Good luck," Maria whispered. Turning, offering her what he hoped was a confident smile. "You too. Don't let them scare you. You're smarter than all of them combined."

With that, the steel door swung open. Calvin stepped through, half expecting the same emotionless slab of a guard from before. Instead, he got something else entirely.