A Life More Complete by Nikki Young Page B

us,
heads down, walk at quickened pace as questions are shouted at us like machine
gun fire.
    One reporter screams above the crowd,
“Is it true that Trini Walters has been arrested on suspicion of DUI, again?”
    I stop and turn to the growing crowd that
is moving with us, “We will not be answering any questions at this time. We
will be making a statement regarding Ms. Walters shortly.” The mob continues to
spout off questions as Melinda and I are buzzed into the police station. We
sign in like we do this every day and the sad thing is we’ve both been here
more often than we’d like to admit. The woman behind the window purses her lips
and slides the visitor badges through the small slot in the bulletproof glass. The
look on her face is well known, if I could read her mind it would question the
validity of my job and the stupidity of my client, something I’m currently
doing.
    Trini sits, her head facedown on her
knees, her hands clasped behind her neck, in a wooden chair in an interrogation
room. She’s been kept separate from the others, given special treatment, which
will no doubt cause issues with the public and the media. She doesn’t move when
Melinda and I enter the room. The officer follows behind as we all sit around
the table. Trini’s lawyer arrives a few minutes later. It’s not the lawyer she
hired; they’ve sent someone from their firm. A young kid, he might be twenty-five
if he’s lucky and I want to ask him if he’s qualified to handle what has been
thrust upon him. He gives muddled reasons as to where Trini’s lawyer is, which
basically amounts to “he quit.” He didn’t quit the firm. He quit Trini. Her new
lawyer is nervous, he mumbles and says “um” far too often. The legal advice he
gives is basic, something in my six years as publicist I could’ve given her. I’ve
seen this show play out, each time a different character in the lead, an actor,
an athlete, a CEO. It doesn’t matter who, the outcome is still the same. He
tells her to plead guilty, pay a fine, lose her license and then move on with her
life. That fabulous use of the legal system will cost her at least five hundred
bucks. The officer proceeds with the details of her arrest and what she’s been
charged with. Trini glances at me, her eyes heavy, crusted and smeared with mascara.         
    “Trini, we have to release a
statement to the press. I think we need to keep it basic and I also think you
should consider entering rehab.” I wait for her response and her lawyer nods
his head in agreement.
    “Fine,” she answers, her voice resentful.
    “This is for the best. It’ll show the
judge that you’re serious about correcting the situation. It will show your
fans and the media that you’ve owned up to your mistake. I know this isn’t what
you want, but it will help you maintain your professionalism and your career.”
    “Fine. Whatever.” Her words are
harsher than before as she stares at me from across the table. Trini follows me
out of the station. Stopping at the base of the parking lot, the sun is just
beginning to rise and the sky is clear and serene, yet it feels as if it should
be swirling with dark, opaque clouds. I take a deep breath and begin to speak, “At
1:04 this morning, Katrina Walters was arrested and booked on suspicion of
driving under the influence, cocaine possession and leaving the scene of an
accident. This was an error in judgment and she is taking full accountability
for her actions. At this time, Ms. Walters has decided it would be in her best
interest to enter a rehabilitation center to help rectify her issues. We ask the
media to allow her the privacy and the respect she needs to heal. Thank you.”
    I quickly usher Trini into my car and
we leave the station, heading toward her house. Her father posted her bail, yet
wasn’t present. No one is with her except the people she pays to be by her
side, not Luke, not her father, not anyone from her ever-changing group