Page 25 of Homebound
“Come in, helper McKinley.”
She followed him into his surprisingly cozy office. It was furnished with solid wood furniture, unpretentious but sturdy, the pieces well matched. A bronze statuette of a bespectacled lion decorating a shelf hinted at how OO regarded himself.
And the room was warm, something Gemma hadn’t experienced since September. She unbuttoned her scratchy, rough overcoat. Her body couldn't help but bask in the heat even if her core was freezing under the penetrating stare of the OO.
He sat down behind his desk and indicated a chair for Gemma to lower herself into. She nodded in thanks and perched on the edge, tucking her feet under.
“You asked for an appointment with me,” he prompted in his customary mild tone.
“Yes, sir. I’d like to petition for special treatment for an inmate,” she dove right in.
The OO’s brows rose all the way up to his hairline. “A special treatment? You surprise me, McKinley.”
She gave an involuntary nervous laugh. To compose herself, she folded her hands in her lap in a serene and ladylike pose her mother, and later her ballet school mistresses, had drilled into her.
“I find that I feel strongly about the issue to ask your permission.” She smiled encouragingly at him and immediately realized her mistake.
OO cocked his head and his eyes sharpened, roamed over her face. Her poise, her smile, and possibly her islander accent, considered posh by many of the City’s general public, coalesced into a package that finally registered with him as female. He noticed her, Gemma, under the prison helper’s worn overcoat and scratched boots, and his attention spiked.
He leaned forward. “How special of a treatment are we talking about?” His words held a wealth of meaning.
“There was an incident in the courtyard yesterday.”
“So I heard.” His gaze was penetrating. It was making Gemma fidget.
“A disabled inmate was attacked by other inmates,” her throat got tight and dry, and her words came out breathless.
“Yes. As a result of your, helper McKinley, decision to take him outside.”
Striving for assertiveness, she uncrossed her legs and sat up a little straighter, putting her hands on the chair seat and pushing her body forward.
“I understand, sir. I was responsible. And I would like to make sure it never happens again.”
OO didn’t immediately respond, and with dismay, Gemma realized his eyes were glued to her breasts made more prominent by her change in position.
She cursed inwardly.
She’d lost a lot of weight since coming to live in the City, hunger her clinging companion. The woman she now saw in the mirror was painfully thin, the tight lithe muscles of her dancing days replaced by the frame trim to the point of gauntness, with only her arms and legs retaining basic definition thanks to the physical work she continued to perform daily.
But no matter how skinny she’d become, her breasts hadn’t seemed to have gotten the memo. Granted, they hadn’t grown bigger, but against the backdrop of her diminished frame her boobs now stuck out like some elite warlords’ burial mounds.
And OO had just become very aware of that fact.
Slowly and casually, pretending she noticed nothing amiss, she adjusted her pose again, hunching and bowing her chest inward.
“Having learned my lesson, I am asking for your permission to take the disabled inmate outside the prison walls for walks,” she finished smoothly.
His eyes snapped to her face.
“And what makes you think it’s a reasonable request?”
“This is to protect a sick individual from unnecessary harm.”
“Wait.” His gaze slid again below her neck as if her breasts were magnets and his eyes two chunks of steel. Blinking fast in an obvious effort to concentrate, he adjusted his glasses and peered at Gemma with suspicion. “You work on what floor, again?”
“Third floor, sir.”
“That’s the alien floor. Are you asking me to let analiengo outside?”
