She was to be our fake mother, all of us dressed in eighteenth century peasant?s rags. In the evening, we were taken to a party room. There were three...client couples on one side of a long table set up with food and wine served by two black females in maid?s uniforms. You know with their nipples, cunts and asses exposed. ?In addition, there were three midgets, not from my cellblock on the table, lying on their sides facing the clients with one knee held highs to show their cracks. They were all. Your betting got you in trouble sometimes, but you were usually very careful about it, and there was very little risk since you could shame almost anyone at that age, and you never hustled. In fact, at 12, you started taking money from the hustlers and were often asked to aid hustlers in one way or another, but you always turned them down, saying, "I bet so I can play more, you bet to put money in your pocket," and that's always been true, whatever you make off bets is used only for games,. I was starting to root for my husband to win that last hand, instead of someone else.The men smoked cigars and drank whisky and beer until about midnight when the Black man, Lt. Lawrence Jackson announced it was time for the last hand. I had been fetching beers and refilling drinks and emptying ashtrays all night and was about ready for bed when he said this. I was instantly awake, I guess I had put it out of my mind a little as the evening had dragged on. I was escorted to the table where Lt.. When she realized how much she had hurt him, her face had dropped, and he could see the genuine sorrow in her eyes.He hadn't been able to fathom that Laura Treem could possibly feel sorry for anything. But it was there. And all of a sudden, he had seen something different, something beautiful. He had seen a different side to her he was certain no one else had seen before.They started opening up to each other, somehow. Some sort of strange connection had been made. She started opening up about.