Story: Particular Woman, Particular Predicament (Part 2)

PARTICULAR WOMAN, PARTICULAR PREDICAMENT 2
By Tcheser

“Ms. Myers?” the tired looking field agent hesitantly inquired before entering my little office. It was near quitting time and many of my colleagues at the Child Welfare office were already packing up to leave and he probably thought I was going to turn him away. Unlike my colleagues however, I knew the work day didn’t end until five o’clock, and as long as I was on the clock, I was working. I had learned a long time ago that mine was a long, thankless and chaotic job. If you were to stay sane, you had to stay organized and do things by the book.

“Come in,” I told the agent and swiveled away from my computer so I could give him my full attention.

By that point the agent had fully entered the office and as was often the case, he had with him a child which with he apparently wanted me to deal. From the way he firmly held her arm it was evident to me that the girl he had brought with him had already been quite a handful. She looked like she was between 12 and 14 years old, with messy short brown hair and stood just a hair over five feet. Like many of the children I saw she appeared malnourished and wore only a pale pink t-shirt with frolicking kittens on it. It was both too tight and too short. It barely covered her private parts and as she stood there she nervously pulled at it trying in vain to make it longer.

“This girl here was found at a local hotel, completely nude. She tried to claim she was a guest, but it seems more likely that she is a runaway and was just there stealing food. I’ve tried repeatedly to get her name, but the only name she will give me is Alexis Lords, the name of the guest she was trying to impersonate, so I have no idea what her real name is. She put up a struggle at the hotel, do you want me to stay here while you interview her?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I told him. I had handled some rough customers in my tenure at the office and I was quite confident that I could handle a barefoot little girl who looked like she weighed about half of what I did. The field agent, probably eager to go home as well, nodded and left.

The girl looked at the open door and was clearly thinking about making a break for it, and might have, had I not reminded her of her situation, “Don’t try it honey,” I said gently, “You might get as far as the front door, but there are guards down there who know just how to respond to an unaccompanied minor. Like it or not, you’ll find yourself right back here talking to me, so you might as well skip the escape attempt, and have a seat.”

She seemed to think it over for a moment before ultimately giving in and sitting down as I had suggested. I dealt with a lot of older children and therefore had a full size chair in front of my desk for guests. Sitting in this chair she found that her feet didn’t even touch the floor which seemed to bother her to no end and she struggled to perch on the edge so her toes at least would touch. This action of course made her little t-shirt edge up nearly exposing her privates though and as soon as she realized this was happening, she let out a little yelp and pulled it back down with an angry jerk.

“If you’re quite comfortable, I believe we should proceed with the processing paperwork. The sooner we have you in the system, the sooner we can sort you out,” I said as I woke up my computer and navigated to the appropriate database.

“Yes, please, finally maybe you can sort out this mess, everyone thinks I’m a runway child, but that couldn’t be further from the truth,” the girl sighed in exasperation. Children these days, I thought, so dramatic.

“Excellent, let’s begin with your name shall we?” I prompted in the friendly easy going manner I typically adopt when first dealing with an unfamiliar juvenile.

“As I’ve already said, like a million times already, my name is Alexis Lords, and I-”

“Let me stop you right there,” I hushed her with a raised finger, “Alexis Lords is the name of the woman staying at the hotel which you were trying to impersonate. I need your real name is we are going to proceed.”

“But that is my real name!” the girl grumbled, “If you bloody busybodies would just accept that, I could go back to the hotel and you can go bother someone else.”

“Well I’m not prepared to accept that,” I told her and why would I? She couldn’t have looked less adult with her baby face and pixie haircut. Not to mention her totally undeveloped little body. Admittedly the women in my family, myself included, were all full bodied with more than generous curves and ample bosoms, but I thought I could recognize a child when I saw one. “If you won’t give me your real name, I’ll just record you as Janie, Janie Doe.” I informed her as I typed the name into the system. It certainly wasn’t the first time I had been forced to use such a placeholder.

“Janie Doe?” the girl sneered, the name didn’t seem to be to her taste, but until she gave me her real name, that’s the name I was going to use.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 24 years old, an adult, so I shouldn’t even be here, right? Can I leave now?” the girl answered with conviction, but I couldn’t put down 24, that was ridiculous. Instead I typed in fourteen. She might have been a little older or a little younger, but it was hard to tell with girls around her age.

“Alright,” I continued, “Where are you from? Are you from this town or are you from another town?”

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m an idiot,” was the girl’s reply.

“Then what’s your address?” I inquired.

“22 Boulevard des Capucines,” she replied after a bit of thought.

“And what is the city and zip code?”

“I don’t recall the zip code, it’s in Paris,” she grumbled irritably.

“Paris, Texas? You’re a long way from home,” I said as I tried to remember the number of my counterpart in that part of Texas.

“No, not Texas! Paris, France! Jesus!” the girl exploded breaking my concentration.

“Please, calm down, I’m doing the best I can. If you had made it clear you were speaking of a foreign destination I wouldn’t have assumed you meant the nearer Paris now would I?”

“Whatever,” the girl threw her arms up in frustration, “If you had been what I’ve been through today you would be pretty short on patience too!”

“Do you happen to have a phone number to this address or to where your parents might be?” I then inquired and for the first time the girl’s eyes lit up.

“I don’t know where my parents are exactly, they travel a lot, but you can call my flat there in Paris, they might be there. At least my boyfriend will be, he can tell you who I am!” she said nearly jumping for joy she was so excited. “The number is +33 1 43 68 32 10.”

Not knowing who I would get on the other end of the line, I dialed the number she gave me and waited for someone to answer. It rang at least eight times and I was about to hang up when someone abruptly picked it up and began speaking. It sounded like it was a woman, but as I don’t speak a bit of French, I couldn’t understand any of what she was saying. Finally after a couple of tedious minutes trying to explain who I was and ascertain who I was speaking with I gave up frustration.

“Nice try,” I said to the girl as I hung up the phone. “Giving me a foreign number. What did you think I would do? Assume the person on the other end was one of your parents without being able to understand who it was? And then what? I would just let you go because you apparently have parents! Sorry honey, it just doesn’t work that way.”

The girl looked like she was going to explode with rage when I told her this. Her little face turned all red and her hands clenched into fists, but I guess she knew that screaming at me was going to do no good, so she just sat back down in a huff, crossed her arms and pouted. “That must have been the maid,” she grumbled, “Stupid woman was supposed to speak English, but I haven’t heard any yet.”

She then provided me with a handful of other numbers to call. Friends who would tell me who she really was she said. Only half of the numbers were even correct though and all of those went to voice mail. On the off chance that one of these people actually knew my Janie Doe, I left our typical voice mail message with details on how to contact the office.

“There’s others that you could call... but their numbers are in my cell phone.” the girl thought aloud, “But if you took me back to the hotel, I could go to my room and get my cell phone. In fact my ID is there as well. That would straighten things out wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, ID would be very helpful, but that will have to wait until tomorrow,” I replied as I turned off my computer and gathered up my purse.

“What? Why?” the girl asked puzzled. “It’s just across town. With you with me, those rent-a-cops won’t stop me from getting back in my room and I promise you, if I could just get back in there this whole situation can be resolved!”

“Sorry, honey, it’s time for me to go home,” I informed her as I pointed to the clock which read 5 o’clock, the official end of the work day.

“But...but...what about me?” the girl asked nervously, “If you aren’t going to finish your freaking job and you aren’t going to let me go, what are you going to do with me?”

“Oh don’t worry your little head, Janie,” I said as I took her by the arm and led her out of my office, “We have some nice people already lined up that will look after you until we can get things sorted out.”

“What? Like a foster home?” the girl asked in disbelief as she tried to keep up with me while at the same time struggling to keep her little shirt from revealing all her business.

“Yes, exactly a foster home,” I smiled as we exited the building and walked to a waiting van, where I handed her transfer form to the driver. “They’ll take good care of you and keep you safe and off the streets until I can find your parents.”

“But you don’t need to find my parents! I’m an adult! This is all a big misunderstanding!” the girl cried again as I loaded her into the van and closed the door behind her. Clearly displeased she banged on the windows with all her might, but would soon find escape impossible. No matter what the truth was, no matter how much she protested, she was sealed safely inside the van until the driver brought her to the foster home I had selected for her.

That done and the van already pulling away I made my way to my own car. Janie’s case wasn’t so bizarre really. I saw a dozen girls like her every week. Many had tragic stories, but some, like I suspected Janie, were just runaways who thought they were unique, that they didn’t have to obey their parents or the law and could talk their way out of any trouble. She would soon find that such behavior didn’t fly at the foster home she was going to. The couple in charge there were well versed in handling obstinate children and had a special way to deal with naughty tweens who wouldn’t behave or tell the truth. I hoped for her sake that she quickly got with the program. Otherwise her poor little heiny was going to pay dearly.