Page 96 of The End of Summer

I can only share the highlights that I actually saw.

After Vienna opened the door essentially naked andinvitedthe police to enter, my father walked in with four other officers: the Wellingham chief and two of his guys, and – to add insult to injury – my ex-boyfriend, Keith.

Cherry cut the music, and the party girls actuallybooed.I got down from the pole and walked over to the officers, yes, in platform glow heels and not much more than underwear.

“Gretchen?!” my father cried.

Cried.

He could not believe his eyes.

Keith –Keith, of all fucking people! –started questioning Vienna. “Do you have ID?” he asked.

Vienna is not very bright, I learned. She wasn’t 100% sure that this wasn’t still part of some stripper act. She replied, “Doyouhave ID, Officer?”

“I'm asking you a question, ma’am,” he clarified, eyeballing me.

Then Vienna ran both hands down his chest and said, “Ooh, yeah. Call me ma’am,” as her palms landedon his penis. I could not believe my eyes.

“Nope,” Keith said. “This is not happening.” He turned her around and cuffed her, and Vienna, thefucking moron, smiled like she was into it!

Meanwhile, Sweden tried to come for her. “Vie,stop it!” she screamed. “I think these are actual –”

Her sentence was cut short by her ass tumbling to the ground like a house of cards. She clutched her ankle. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she howled. Tears sprung to her eyes. “I definitely just broke my foot,” she seethed. Three of her friends crouched down around her. One of the officers radioed an ambulance.

Big Mike, Max, and the two other strippers made moves to leave, but, no, that wasn’t happening. The Wellingham cops began questioning them. Pretty soon, Max was being handcuffed and led outside. Big Mike tried to stop the cop, resulting in his arrest.

Cherry brought the Wellingham chief over to the locker bank and tried to answer his questions. He asked for a building permit, proof of inspection from the health department, a whole litany of things we did not know where to find, if they even existed. He pointed out that the lockers were blocking the fire exit. Eventually, he cuffed Cherry, too, explaining that he needed to bring her in for more questioning. Many of the girls attending the party were released to leave. One, who was drunk and topless, yelled at Keith for ‘putting his hands on Vienna’ and ended up in cuffs as well.

It all happened around us, as if me and my father were stuck in a standoff in the eye of a hurricane. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do the job he had been sent in there to do. He could only look at me with disgust and shame, and worse, disappointment.

An ambulance that ironically came from the fire department was on the scene moments later, and that was when my father turned around, walked over to Keith, who was questioning someone else, whispered something in his ear, put two sets of cuffs in his hand, and left.

Then, Keith approached me and, shaking his head, began to recite my Miranda rights.

I pushed him. “Don’ttouchme,” I said.

But he did. He spun me around, handcuffed me, and addedresisting arrestto my list of violations.

Other stuff happened, but it was all too much to register.

Here is what I know:

The girls were split between two cells. The guys were in the third cell.

I did not get to make a phone call. Everyone else did.

There was a warrant out for Joyce Cooke’s arrest. I almost didn’t realize they meant Arrow when I overheard this piece of information.

Bail was set at $500 per person. The arraignments would take place on Monday.

We were fingerprinted. Our pictures were snapped. Our phones, keys, and money were taken away from us, and we were each given a receipt for our things. The list of charges was endless: no liquor license, potential exploitation of sex workers/no adult-entertainment license, violations of building codes/zoning laws, Board of Health violations, fire code violations, tax regulations, reckless endangerment, disorderly conduct, noise and nuisance violations, and for me and one other girl, resisting arrest was also on the list.

People were brought in for questioning in a different room, one at a time. Not me, though. No one asked me anything.

I think it’s possible I had a panic attack, because after I got in the police car, I went mute. I could not speak to anyone. The shock was more real than anything I’ve ever felt, but at the same time, I was disconnected from it all, as if I was having an out-of-body experience.

At some point, I fell asleep on the blue bench in the jail cell.

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