Chapter 1

 

Chris Hyde sat in his blue Chevy Nova, watching the woman leave the minimum-security prison. From his vantage point in the front row of the parking lot, he couldn’t be sure it was her. This woman had gray hair tied back in a bun, quite different from the professional hairstyle of the gorgeous blonde he remembered. The lines on her face made her look older than his idea of his “mom”. However, as she continued her slow, steady walk through the parking lot, her facial features started to look more familiar. He recognized her broad brow, straight nose, and finally her wide mouth over a strong chin–those were definitely Sophie’s.

Fifteen years of incarceration hadn’t erased all of it. He frowned. She didn’t seem as tall–her once towering, perfect posture had seemed Olympian to a small boy. He was twelve and short for his age the last time he saw her. Logic told him she probably only seemed tall then. This woman, his mom in all but birth, was about 5’8″ or 5’9″. Her once proud posture was gone, replaced by a slightly stooped stance–someone beaten down by the system. Chris held the Los Angeles politicians accountable for her struggles. They had deliberately made her a scapegoat to protect their reputations, fueling headlines in the Herald Express, the Examiner, and the Times for weeks.

By age ten, each new headline brought fresh fear–“Madame Sophie arrested”, “Madame Sophie suspected of…”–with one horrific crime after another linked to her name. She was falsely portrayed as the secret gambling czar, the leader of Southern California’s crime movement, and the queen of the underworld. All this happened at a time when women rarely held leadership roles. She was accused of debauchery, slavery, kidnapping, brutality, and, most damaging, enticing innocent husbands into her “House of Ill Repute” to steal their morals and destroy their marriages. It was quite a scandalous reputation for the quiet, gentle woman he called “Mom”. Chris pressed a button to lower the passenger window. She paused to watch the glass slide down into the door. She frowned as she bent to study him.

“Hello, Mom,” he said.

For a moment, she seemed to wobble, then caught herself. “Chrissie, is that you?”

He jumped out of the car and ran around to her side. Taking her arm in one hand and wrapping his other arm around her shoulders, he pulled her in close. “It’s me. Thought you deserved to see a friendly face.”

She looked up at him. “You’re so tall.” Moisture gathered in her bright blue eyes for a moment before spilling down her cheeks.

Chris blinked back his own tears and pulled her into a tight hug.

Her arms wrapped tightly around him.

He felt an overwhelming peace in that embrace. His mom was back.

“You didn’t forget me,” she murmured.

“Never,” he said into her hair.

He began guiding her toward his car. “When they took you that day, I promised myself I would grow up and find a way to rescue you. When I landed my first job after law school, it was with the city prosecutor’s office, hoping to get closer to the action and find a way to help. I campaigned for mayors, did favors for council members, and volunteered on committees. When none of that worked, I finally made it onto the Governor’s staff. That’s where I struck gold!”

She froze as if struck. “You got me the pardon?”

He chuckled. “No, the governor did that. All I did was lay out the facts for him. Being on his staff gave me my day in court. When he asked me why I was so worried, I told him what you’d done for me, how you’d rescued an orphaned boy and treated him like your son. I told him what life in your house was really like.”

Surprise softened her features, revealing the old Sophie underneath. “And he listened?”

Chris nodded, “He owed me that much. I spent two years advocating for his election. He wasn’t part of the old-boy network and kept an open mind.”

Tears still shimmered on her cheeks as she started to laugh. “Politics got me in; politics got me out.”

True, but this time it wasn’t because of corruption from schemers trying to cover their tracks. She had always banned him from cursing or using profanity, and he was not about to break her rules now.

She lifted her head and gazed into the distance. “It’s so good to be free. I’m finally out!” She hugged him again. “I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

He shrugged. “I’ve grown.”

Her old laugh bubbled up as she straightened, peering at him. “I’m five-eight, and you tower over me.” She kissed his cheek and looked at him with a searching gaze. “Thank you for coming.”

He opened the passenger door, helped her inside, then walked around to the driver’s side and sat behind the wheel. He wished he could express his affection for her more openly. In the months and years to come, he planned to shower her with more love.

“Ready?”

“Where are you taking me?” Sophie asked.

“I found you a place,” he replied. “It’s modest, but it’ll do until you’re back on your feet.”

Sophie started to cry again.

Chris quickly handed her a handkerchief, surprised by her willingness to cry in front of him. Over the seven years they lived together, he’d never seen her cry–even when she was wrongly imprisoned. “You didn’t forget me,” she repeated.

Chris put his arm around her. “Anyone who cared for you hasn’t forgotten.”

“Your regular letters kept me going. Without them, I’d have felt completely cut off.” She lowered her head, twisting the handkerchief in her hands. She smiled. “Never go to prison. It’s terrible. No privacy. The guards act like overlords.” She shuddered visibly. “I’d rather die than go back.” She raised the handkerchief and pressed it against her eyes, like a bandage over a flood of emotions.

Chris drove into Los Angeles via the Hollywood Freeway. He exited onto Vermont and headed north, passing Sunset. There, in plain sight of Griffith Park and the observatory where she’d once taken him, he pulled over to the curb. The six-unit apartment building had a wide porch with rocking chairs. In front, a small, well-kept lawn added a charming touch.

“Here we are,” he said.

“It’s lovely.” The distant look in her eyes probably meant she was comparing it to the last place she’d lived for fifteen years.

“It’s temporary. We’ll do better later,” he promised. He helped her up three steps to the porch, feeling her arm shake.

She reached for a rocker and gave it a little tug. It moved back and forth without a squeak.

Chris handed her the key to number two and waited for her to unlock the door. “Welcome home.”

She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Screams suddenly erupted as five of her girls, now mature women, surrounded her, all talking at once. “Sophie,” they shouted.

The noise grew louder than Chris could handle. This was Sophie’s special time with her ‘girls’.

He quietly stepped back, letting them enjoy their spontaneous joy.

It was comforting to have his mom back, and even more so to see her so happy.

 

#

 

Chris drove back to the Rialto Hotel in West LA. Seeing Sophie again stirred up a flood of memories.

He was five years old when his birth mother took him to Sophie’s house.

“Where are we going?” the young boy asked. Although excited about riding in a yellow taxi, his instincts told him that something felt different. His mother was acting strange.

“I want you to meet a woman. If you like her, I’d like you to stay with her for a while.” His mother looked him in the eyes. She seemed ready to cry.

“Will you stay, too?” he asked.

She looked away as the cab pulled to the curb, reached into her purse, and extracted money for the driver.

“That’s a twenty,” the driver said, looking perplexed. “Got anything smaller?”

“Keep it.”

The driver’s features smoothed into a grin. “Thanks a lot.”

Chris stepped out first and looked at the big, white house as his mother shut the cab door. “Three stories,” he said. “Is this a hotel or something?”

“Not quite.” His mother ran her hand through his hair, trying to arrange the lock that always seemed to hang over his forehead.

“I hope she likes you.” Then, as if distracted, she added, “Not a hotel, although Sophie has a few women living with her. And sometimes, in the evening, men come to visit. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?” She winked at him.

Chris shook his head. “No, Mother, I wouldn’t mind.” Why was she asking his opinion? It wasn’t his house. “Where are you going to be?”

She hesitated. “I took back my old job. I’m going to fly again.”

“You’ll be a stewardess again?”

 

#

 

On October 4, 1960, an Eastern Airlines Lockheed Electra, flight 375, crashed into the sea shortly after taking off from Logan Airport. Sixty-two people lost their lives, while ten survived.

A large flock of starlings was sucked into the engines, causing two of the four engines to lose power; a third engine flamed out. At an altitude of 300 feet, the plane rolled left and dove nearly vertically into the shallow bay.

Two flight attendants survived, along with eight passengers. Chris’s mother wasn’t one of them. She and another flight attendant were waiting for the takeoff to complete, discussing where they planned to eat at their next stop. Both had been seated in the forward section, which ended up nose-down in the shallow bay. They both died instantly, along with the two pilots and fifty-eight passengers. It was the worst bird strike in commercial aviation history.

 

#

 

Late on the day Sophie was released from prison, Chris ate a quiet dinner alone. He watched the evening news on TV before crawling into bed. He lay awake for another hour, replaying the day’s events and planning tomorrow’s activities. He wanted to make Sophie’s new life as enjoyable as possible. First, he would take her shopping for new clothes. Next, he’d grab lunch at a great restaurant he knew. Then, they’d visit the Farmer’s Market so she could stock up on fresh fruits and vegetables. “Food is one of the worst things about being in prison,” she’d said.

He fell asleep, anticipating her reaction to everything he could do for her. Reborn into the world after fifteen years, it was going to be amazing, and he planned to enjoy every moment.

Hours into sleep, Chris noticed the phone buzzing. He struggled to wake up and grabbed the receiver. “Hello,” he mumbled.

A woman sobbed into the receiver, her mouth so close that he couldn’t understand. her words.

He turned on the bedside lamp and swung his feet onto the floor. Holding the receiver away from his ear, he stared at it, hoping she would slow down and clarify. A strange premonition crept into his stomach. He brought the phone back to his right ear and tried to focus on her words.

“Stop! I can’t understand you. Slow down and speak clearly.”

Another sob, followed by a long, indrawn breath. She sniffed and asked, “Chris, is that you?”

“Yes, I’m Christopher Hyde. Who are you?”

“Never mind.” Another long pause.

“Well?”

“Sophie is dead,” the woman sobbed.

Chris felt a chill run through him. “No, that can’t be. She’s in her new apartment, probably asleep.” The words escaped him automatically, a desperate attempt to deny the shocking reality. He hunched over the phone, gripping the receiver tightly as if to hold back the terrible news. It felt as if the words had knocked him flat onto wet cement, and he whispered, “She can’t be dead, not Sophie.”

The voice continued with relentless clarity, “Someone broke into her bedroom last night and slit her throat.”

“Who would do such a thing? Did you see anyone? Tell me your name.”

The phone clicked and went silent.

Chris realized he was moaning and rocking back and forth. He slammed the receiver into its cradle. “It’s my fault,” he said aloud. He should have known they wouldn’t want her out. My getting the Governor to pardon her was what got her killed. He might as well have done it himself.

He jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom. Dropping to his knees in front of the toilet, he clutched both sides of the bowl and heaved until his stomach was empty. He kept flushing, an unconscious effort to wash away the unknown woman’s words.

Sophie’s happy face flashed into his mind. For a few brief hours, she’d been free.

He’d reveled in her excitement. He’d left her anticipating the months they would have together. Now she was dead. Someone would pay!