Read Heat and Light for Free Online Page B

Compared with some of them, Wanda is a pleasure—no beefs, no attitude.
    â€œYou hear about that boy in the balloon? Out west somewhere. They had the radio on in the kitchen.” Wanda works the early shift, prepping for breakfast. Devlin can see, across her forehead, the faint red line left by her hairnet.
    â€œHe went to some air show with his parents and stowed away on a hot air balloon. He out there floating all by hisself.”
    â€œStill?” says Devlin.
    â€œWhat kind of mother, is my question.”
    â€œYou can’t watch them every minute.”
    â€œTrue that.” The arched eyebrows give her a startled look, as though she’s seen everything and decided, in the interest of efficiency, to remain surprised.
    By the standards of the world she is not an attractive woman. Not a woman at all, in point of fact; and yet Devlin looks forward to seeing her each morning, a realization that unsettled him at first. Her bright face is a relief from the drab functionality of the prison, its unrelenting maleness. Though not technically a woman, she is womanlike; and he would rather look at women than men.
    She rubs the lotion into her hands, her elbows. “The dishwasheris broken. We was scrubbing pots for a solid hour. You think I’m kidding.” She shows him her fingernails, the red polish chipped in places.
    It’s unclear who smuggles in her makeup. Every few months, her sister comes from Philadelphia for a visit. Strictly speaking, the cosmetics are contraband, though Devlin is willing to look the other way. For another CO, it might be reason enough to toss her cell. Wanda is a kind of inkblot test for the COs. The decent ones treat her kindly. For the shitbirds—Schrey, Ianello, Poblocki on a bad day—she is an easy target.
    Late in the day, from a certain angle, her face looks shadowed, mustache and sideburns coming in.
    â€œOkay, Wanda. I need to shove off. Don’t forget, there’s a fire drill later.”
    â€œWait, wait.” She approaches the bars. “Boss, I need to ax you a question.”
    â€œHit me.”
    â€œIt’s a delicate matter. Come here, I won’t bite.” She smiles, showing her gold tooth. “Unless you like that sort of thing.”
    Devlin approaches the bars.
    â€œOfficer Devlin, you have always treated me with respect. I appreciate that. These other ones, don’t get me started.” Wanda lowers her voice. “I am in a situation. Somebody stole my pills.”
    He catches a whiff of her vanilla-scented lotion, the same kind his wife uses. “You’re not on the med list.”
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    Unhappily, he does. It’s common knowledge that Mulraney supplies Wanda with birth control pills, to meet the mysterious hormonal needs of a man who wants to be a woman. What Wanda gives him in return is conjectured, but not known.
    â€œIt’s the middle of my cycle. I can’t be skipping pills. There are consequences.” Intelligence in her eyes, a basic awareness: Wanda, a man in lipstick and false eyelashes, is saner than most.
    Devlin speaks in a low voice. “How long have they been missing?” The question itself shows poor judgment. By acknowledging that the pills exist, he has already compromised himself.
    â€œSince yesterday. Somebody came in here while I was at work.” At this distance, despite the makeup, she looks neither masculine nor feminine. Viewed up close, Devlin thinks, everyone is just a person.
    â€œAnd you’re sure they’re gone? You couldn’t have misplaced them somewhere?”
    Wanda looks meaningfully around the cell, ten feet square. There is a chair, a desk, a toilet, a bed.
    Devlin says, “I’ll see what I can do.”
    THE REST OF HIS TOUR IS UNEVENTFUL —no missing, no hang-ups. He has encountered both before and certainly will again, a thought he beats back each morning as he crosses the sally port into the