CHAPTER I. BROUGHT TO BOOK
Jenny`s hands were clenched tight as she looked at the judge. She tried desperately to
give him "that look", the look that melted men`s hearts when they were angry
with her.
"Jennifer Alice Portman," the judge began in grim, heavy tones, "yours has
been a wanton and selfish life. You are only nineteen years old, and yet you have managed
to amass debts totalling more than six hundred thousand pounds. Your life over the last
three years has been a senseless orgy of spending, drunkenness and hedonism." Jenny
didn`t know what heddenism was, but she guessed it probably meant partying. "You left
school at the earliest age allowed under the law, and since that time you have shown
absolutely no interest in working, studying, or contributing to society in any way.
Instead you have tried to live by constantly spending other people`s money, without the
slightest regard to your ability to pay it back."
The judge paused and drew himself up to his full height in his chair. "People like
you are parasites, a cancer eating away at our society. The young generation of today
believes that it has no responsibilities. Instead you believe that you have the right to
endless self-indulgence at the expense of others. This attitude cannot and will not be
tolerated. It is the duty of this court to make an example of you, and of all others like
you who come before this bench. You will go to prison for a term of five years."
Jenny couldn`t breathe. The courtroom swayed around her. She staggered and her legs went
weak. Two hands caught her arms. She twisted her head. The two policewomen behind her were
hard-faced, unsympathetic.
"Noooo!" she cried out in desperation, "You can`t! You can`t send me to
prison!" She realised that tears were running down her face. "Oh god no, not
that! Five years! I can`t go there!"
She looked out at the faces in the court. Mr Cullen her lawyer was impassive,
stonewalling. This had been an unwinnable case: he had just been going through the
motions. Everyone else in court looked self-righteously pleased. A young tearaway had
finally got what was coming to her. God knew it happened rarely enough these days. The
hands pulled her away. She barely managed to stay on her feet as they took her to the
police van. As they bundled her in, reporters clustered around her, eager to get snapshots
of her terrified, tear-wet face.
In the background a man was making a speech, voice full of self-importance: "Finally
we see a victory for morality and decency in this country. Things have been sliding
downhill since the nineteen sixties. It is an immense relief to know that somewhere there
is a judge and there is a court with the backbone to hand out the kind of sentences that
these young -" Then the doors slammed shut and she heard no more.
As the van pulled away, her life so far flashed in front of her. Everything had been so
easy. Companies had been crying out to give her cards. Everyone was offering a credit card
or a store card. For years she couldn`t go into a big chain store these days without
someone trying to push their own brand credit card on her. And when she found she`d spent
more than she could pay back, there were hundreds of different cards to choose from that
would take on her debt for free, with no interest for six months. She had just shifted the
debt around form card to card, ever more and more. Life had been great – days of shopping
for Gucci and Prada followed by nights in any pub or club that would put the bill on a
credit card. There was simply no time to look for work, she had been so busy partying –
and with all this free money, why should she bother?
Then the terrible day had come when her first credit card application had been rejected.
It had shocked her, but there were plenty more fish in the sea – right? Wrong. After that,
there wasn`t a credit company in the world that would give her a card. She had applied for
every kind of card she could find, but someone somewhere had decided that it was all over
for her. Then one day a bailiff had come to her house and served a notice on her, giving
her forty-eight hours to pay over six hundred thousand pounds. Two days later the same
bailiff had returned with two police officers, who had arrested her.
The van stopped. Were they at the prison? The doors opened and she stumbled out. No, they
were back at the police station. She expected to be taken to her cell, but instead she was
led to an interview room. Inside were her lawyer Mr Cullen, and a man and a woman in
business suits. The man stood up and gave her a big smile. The woman looked sour. That was
to be expected. She was over forty and showing her age. That kind was never happy in the
presence of a pretty young blonde.
The policewoman who had taken Jenny to the room gestured for her to sit down, then sat
down herself. She started a tape recorder. She made a brief statement for the benefit of
the tape, explaining that this was an interview with convict Jenny Portman and listing the
people present. It seemed that the two strangers were from a company called Second Chance
Industries.
When she was done, the man in the business suit said, "Hi, Jennifer." He gave
her an even bigger smile. His glasses were square and too large, making him look like an
idiot. With that grin he looked demented. But Jenny tried her best to smile back. She
wanted someone on her side. Smiling was usually a good sign. The coppers and lawyers she`d
met recently never smiled when they were about to screw you over.
"As you may have gathered, we represent Second Chance Industries. Have you ever
heard of the Redemption of Criminal Culpability Act?" Jenny didn`t read the
newspapers. She shook her head guiltily. "It`s a new law. It allows us to pay your
debt to society. Then, in return, you work for us until you`ve paid us back – plus a
certain percentage, which is where we make our profit."
"You mean – I wouldn`t have to go to prison?" A sudden light had appeared in
her bleak world of dark misery. "What – I mean -"
"Yes, that`s exactly what it means. If you sign our contract, you won`t go to
prison. We`ll give you a job instead."
"Cool!" Jenny grinned with relief. The idea of a job wasn`t appealing, but it
had to be better than prison.
"Miss Portman," the sour-faced woman said, "do you have any useful skills?
Is there anything you can do?"
"Uh – well..." Jenny groped desperately, then a light came on in her mind.
"Fashion! I know everything about fashion. And glamour. And shoes. And dresses and
stuff. I`d make a bloody brilliant model!" She moved her head and shoulders in a sort
of imitation of a model`s strut on the catwalk, although this was limited by the fact she
was sitting down.
"Hmm. Fashion and beauty related skills. That could come in useful." The woman
was still sour but with a slight tone of approval, like a money-hound sniffing out a
lucrative resource. "Anything else?"
"Well, you know – just being a sexy, exciting, charming young chick really. You
know. Charm, like. Getting men to do what I want. I`m bloody great at getting stuff out of
men."
"Yes. Charm and interpersonal skills," said the woman rather icily. Jenny hoped
she hadn`t made the old cow jealous by being so much better looking than she was.
"Very good. Yes, I believe we can work with this." She turned to Jenny`s lawyer.
"Mr Cullen, I would like to offer your client a contract."
"Jennifer," Mr Cullen said, "I believe that it would be in your best
interest to sign this contract. Second Chance can offer the opportunity to make really
impressive salaries. It could result in your being able to pay off your debt in much less
than five years. The alternative is five years behind bars."
"How... how much will I get paid?" asked Jenny.
"That will vary with exactly what post we put you in," the sour woman said.
"But in the placement which I envisage for you, you would be working on a commission
basis. You would earn a percentage of every sale you make, so the better you do, the more
money you would make. It all comes down to your personal charm and your ability to get men
to part with their money."
"Sweet! Nobody can beat me for parting blokes from their cash! Where do I sign
up?"
The man from Second Chance Industries took three copies of a contract from his briefcase
and slid them across the table. "Sign where they`re marked with an X." He
produced a pen. Jenny signed without reading them, and sat back with relief.
* * * *
Jenny stayed in the police station overnight. A car was sent for her the next day. A
security guard – big muscles, shades, no expression – sat in the back with her, while a
uniformed chauffeur drove the car. There was obviously a lot of money in this Second
Chance operation. The car wound through the streets of London and eventually pulled into
the rear entrance of a large building, going down a ramp into an underground car park. The
security guard led Jenny up to an office. The sour woman from the interview yesterday was
sitting there. She looked up and gave a cold, brief imitation of a smile. It disappeared
as quickly as it had appeared.
"Good morning, Jennifer. Sit down."
Jenny looked around. It was a plush office, with wood panelling and leather chairs.
"Sit down," the woman snapped. "Do as I tell you."
"Sorry," Jenny said, and hastened to her chair.
"Sorry, Miss Hawthorne. You will address me formally when you speak."
"Yes... Miss, Miss Hawthorne."
"That is better. To begin with, I have decided that you will be known as Sapphire
while you work here. I think it suits you. From now on, you will forget the name Jennifer
Portman and you will call yourself Sapphire at all times."
"But – why?"
"Don`t be impertinent! Do not speak out of turn to me! And address me
properly!"
"Sorry – sorry, Miss – Miss -"
"Hawthorne."
"Miss Hawthorne." Jenny squirmed. This was like a boarding school in some old
movie. They had never talked to her like this when she was at school. Weren`t there laws
against it or something?
"What is your name?"
"S-Sapphire, Miss Hawthorne."
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