Kitabı oku: «Insiders», sayfa 3
‘Well, Spencer,’ the officer opined, ‘maybe you might try Estée Lauder’s Youth Dew.’
The sarcasm wasn’t pointed or funny enough for Jennifer to laugh, but she did respond. ‘I just thought that, since you worked with the stuff all the time, you might know. I’ll make a note to tell our clients at Chesebrough-Ponds to develop some sort of cleansing cream for fingerprint ink.’
The intake officer threw back her head and roared with laughter. ‘Yeah,’ she chortled, ‘you can call it Out Damn Spot! Now get up on the table.’
Reluctantly Jennifer climbed onto the stainless steel bench. As soon as this monster was done poking and prodding, she would call Tom. He was probably already well on his way to getting her out of this place. Jennifer knew that everything was going to be all right. And then the officer told her to stand up.
‘Bend over and open your jumpsuit,’ she said matter-of-factly. She picked up a thin latex rubber glove and began to slowly and deliberately pull it over her hand. When she snapped it against her wrist, the sound sent a shiver down Jennifer’s spine. ‘Cavity check,’ the intake officer said, and Jennifer felt her stomach start to rise.
‘Why?’ Jennifer whispered. This was too much. She certainly didn’t have a prostate to examine. ‘Why do I need a cavity check?’ she demanded more loudly. ‘I’m not in here for drugs or on a weapons charge.’
‘C’mon,’ the officer sighed, ‘it’ll be over before you know it. It’s a lot worse when we have to hold you down.’
4 Movita Watson
Rich women have the Betty Ford clinic; poor women have prison.
A prison commentator. Kathryn Watterson, Women in Prison
I declared that until I said different, this candy – a name on the Inside for a new inmate – would be known to my crew as Number 71036. ‘She’s just another piece of snotty white meat,’ I told ‘em. ‘It’s not like we all have to sit up and take notice just because she dragged her sorry ass into this joint. She don’t mean nothin’ to us.’ I’m queen bee at Jennings. And while I know that might not mean much on the Outside, when you’re on the Inside it’s important to stay on top. Nobody wants to be on the bottom. Not the bottom bunk, not the bottom of the crew, not the bottom of nothing in a prison. I’ve always been on top, and I plan on staying there.
Cher’s the funniest, smartest, and baddest in our sisterhood, and she said to me, ‘Well let me tell you, that Number 71036’s sorry ass was dressed in the best damn silk underwear I’ve ever seen.’
My crew was sitting at our usual table in the cafeteria eating lunch. Dinner is always at one of our houses but lunch is quick and gotta be in from food service. When you first see us, you might think we’re kind of an unlikely group. I’m a proud and beautiful black woman, but all the rest of the women in my crew are white. Unlike men in prison, where black and white rarely mix, women inmates tend to group up based on whether or not they like each other, and what they can do to help each other out. My women make up the most organized, efficient and tight-knit crew in the joint. We’re a family.
Like I said, I’m the boss. As the Warden’s secretary, I hold a position of power (and opportunity) at Jennings that few, if any, can challenge. Cher McInnery works Intake, and that means that all sorts of nice things flow like a river over the desk in that room where the new inmates strip and leave all their possessions behind. Some of that river of riches, maybe just a small stream, gets diverted in Cher’s direction – and some of that gets passed on to my crew.
Right now Cher had an advantage over the others in the crew. She was the only other of us who had actually seen Jennifer Spencer. Even though I insisted that she was ‘no big fuckin’ deal’ to me, we had all heard and read plenty about Number 71036 in the news – the fall of ‘the Wall Street Princess’ – and we were all anxious to talk about her.
You see, inside a prison nothing ever changes. That’s probably the worst damn thing about living Inside. Everyone’s in the same uniform, Christmas looks just like the Fourth of July, the windows are too high to see out of, and the exercise yard doesn’t have a blade of grass that hasn’t been examined by four hundred pairs of eyes. There just isn’t much to look at except the walls and each other, and women, we like to look at things. I read once in one of the Warden’s magazines that the experts call it ‘sensory deprivation’. I call it goddamn hard.
‘What was she wearing?’ Theresa LaBianco wanted to know. She’s into ‘How was her hair styled? Does she know how to put on makeup?’ Theresa used to be at the very top of one of those big makeup sales pyramids. Had a couple of hundred housewives sellin’ mascara. I could just imagine what the kites – secreted notes – would say about this new candy.
Theresa worked in the canteen and could always manage to buy us the freshest produce or the best chicken when we got to shop. It wasn’t until her husband was caught cooking the books that she found herself on the Inside at Jennings. But Theresa never lost her love for life or blusher. And the bitch could dish. She especially loved to hear Cher talk about all of the new inmates. ‘It’s kinda like window shopping,’ she would say.
‘Well,’ Cher began, because she knew what was expected of her, ‘her shoes were the softest damn leather I ever felt.’ Cher shook her head. ‘Shoes like that must go for four hundred bucks if they go for a dime.’
‘Well, you know what they say about shoes, don’t you?’ Theresa asked. ‘They say, you can’t know someone’s sorrows until you’ve walked a mile in her shoes. That’s what they say about shoes.’ Theresa had a damn saying for everything. She lived by sayings. She said that was how she had motivated her sales force, but they drove me nuts.
‘Well, I don’t think 71036 has ever had too many problems walking in those shoes,’ Cher sneered. ‘And I plan to walk more than a mile in ‘em,’ she told us and laughed.
‘Did you take ‘em, Cher?’ Suki asked, all wide-eyed. Suki Conrad was our crew’s innocent – our baby. She worked in the laundry and in Suki’s case it wasn’t so much what she could do for the rest of us, but what we could do for Suki. I think Suki made us all better women.
‘Damn right I took ‘em,’ Cher said proudly. ‘When I saw that those shoes were a size eight, I took that for a sign.’ Cher lived by signs and omens like Theresa lived by sayings. ‘My parole date is comin’ up, and I figure those pointy shoes were pointing directly to my getting outta here.’
‘Girl,’ I said with a sigh, ‘you can’t just keep stealin’. You’re gonna get caught, lose your chance at parole and damn it, it’s wrong.’
‘You know what they say about stealing, don’t you?’ Theresa chimed in. ‘They say that God helps those that help themselves. That’s what they say about stealing.’
I was never sure with Theresa if she meant to support me or sass me when she said somethin’ like that.
‘That’s not what God meant,’ Suki protested. ‘God said, “Thou shalt not steal.”’
‘NBD – No Big Deal – I haven’t stolen from God since I used to swipe money out of the collection plate at Sunday school,’ Cher laughed. ‘And I never take nothin’ from people who can’t spare it. Won’t steal from the simple minded, neither,’ she added.
Cher was a thief and she didn’t mind saying so. She didn’t see anything wrong with what she did. What was wrong to Cher was that everyone else had more than she did, and the only way to make up the difference was for her to take what she needed. That’s what she’d done to get herself incarcerated and what she did every time a new inmate was processed into Jennings. She just put the things she didn’t want into a bag with the new inmate’s name and number on it, and she put the good stuff into another bag with a different name and number. No one would ever reclaim the second bag, because the name and number on that bag belonged to a dead or released inmate. Cher had perfected the system, and now had plenty of bags hidden right out in plain sight.
‘What was she wearing?’ Theresa wanted to know.
‘Armani!’ Cher giggled. ‘I’ve never managed to steal Armani before. It’s so damned expensive that the stores usually have it wired to the rack.’
‘Well, I don’t think 71036 ever had to steal anything,’ Suki said. ‘It said in the papers that she’s really rich.’
‘Yeah. And greedy, too. She got busted for stealing that money on Wall Street,’ Cher shot back. ‘That makes her a thief just like me.’
‘But did you see her on the TV news?’ Suki asked. ‘She looks just like a movie star.’
‘Well, you know what they say about pictures, don’t you?’ Theresa began.
‘Yeah, we all know what they say about pictures, Theresa,’ I said in exasperation. ‘You all act like we never had us a celebrity prisoner before. What about Jackie James, the sick little twist from Montgomery who killed her two babies on a tourist trip to New York, then said they’d been kidnapped by a black brotha’? That was in all the papers.’
‘Nobody likes baby killers,’ Cher said.
‘Or baby rapers,’ Theresa added. ‘Whatever happened to that teacher, Camille Lazzaro, who decided to teach one of her boy students more than geography? Didn’t she just give a whole new meaning to the term “teacher’s pet”? She had the baby and the daddy wasn’t even thirteen years old yet.’
‘Or that Carole Waters over in Unit Three?’ Cher added. ‘She got her boyfriend to murder both her husband and her mother-in-law just for the insurance and the inheritance. She was in all the papers, too.’
‘I steer clear of anyone who kills for money.’ Theresa shook her head. ‘It’s one thing if you catch your man screwin’ your sister or your daughter. I say shoot ‘em. But to kill someone just for money, that’s cold.’
‘That reminds me,’ Cher said, laughing, ‘any of you heard that Dixie Chicks song on the radio called “Goodbye Earl”? It reminded me of you, Movita.’
As soon as Cher said that, it got real quiet. ‘We ain’t gonna talk about Earl,’ I said – and I meant it. Cher didn’t say another word. She didn’t dare to. It’s an unspoken but well enforced rule that you don’t never talk about anyone’s life on the Outside. You specially don’t never mention no one’s family or her man unless you’re invited to.
Most of the women on the Inside are here, one way or another, because of a man. Either she got involved in one of his illegal schemes, or he beat her until one day she fought back and killed him. It’s safe to say that most of the women in Jennings wouldn’t be here at all if they hadn’t been hooked up with low-life no-goods like my Earl. Men are a weakness, like drinking or drugs. I know I was weak willed with my Earl, and fact is I don’t like to be reminded of it.
Suki was the first one to speak up again after the silence. ‘You think this Jennifer Spencer got in trouble because of her boyfriend, too?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ I said. ‘I know about bookkeeping, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a dental office in Kew Gardens or investment banking on Wall Street. It all comes down to shifting the books and what you’re allowed to get away with. Men still make the rules about that and they probably always will.’
‘Well, 71036 seems to be pretty comfortable around men,’ Cher said. ‘You shoulda seen her flirtin’ with dumb ol’ Roger Camry. He was all “Miss Spencer” this and “Miss Spencer” that. It was enough to make ya’ sick.’
‘What about Byrd?’ I asked her. ‘Was that prick hittin’ on her?’
‘Not yet,’ Cher said with a smirk. ‘He’ll get her eventually, but right now it looked like he was gonna let Roger have first crack at her.’
As soon as Cher said that, Suki stood up, took her tray from the table, all angry like, and said, ‘I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this dirty talk. I gotta get back to the laundry.’ She took her tray to the dirty dish window and left.
‘Well, what’s wrong with that one?’ Cher asked, not that she really wanted to know.
‘Maybe she’s having her time of the month,’ I answered, though I was afraid I knew the answer and it wasn’t that.
‘Well, you know what they say about women living together in prison and their periods, don’t you?’ asked Theresa.
‘Theresa, if we all got our periods at the very same time,’ I laughed, ‘this ol’ building would vibrate so hard from the tension that the cement blocks would all collapse and we’d be able to just walk on outta here.’
Just then old Springtime, who tends the flower gardens, was passing the table and overheard what I said. ‘Is someone planning a breakout?’ she asked, her voice hushed but all excited.
‘Nah, old sista’,’ I told her gently. She’s tried to escape fifty or sixty times by now. ‘We’re just waiting for the place to fall down on its own so you can hop your withered old ass right over the pile of rubble and get out.’ I smiled at her and she grinned back.
The whole room looked our way as old Springtime’s cackle echoed off the steel and cinder blocks.
5 Gwen Harding
Some people think that law enforcement officers are inhumane or uninteresting. Personally, if I became personally involved with every person sitting there crying, I couldn’t function in my job. I’m not inhumane – I’m just removed from the emotion.
Georgia Walton, deputy sheriff at Sybil Brand Institute.
Kathryn Watterson, Women in Prison
‘Good morning, sir,’ the new inmate began briskly as she was ushered into the Warden’s office by Officers Camry and Byrd.
Gwen Harding didn’t get many chances to laugh during an Intake meeting, but the dumbstruck look on Jennifer Spencer’s face when she got her first look at ‘sir’ was almost comical. Like so many other women, Spencer obviously assumed that Warden Harding would be a man with whom she might flirt. The girl was clearly more than just a little rattled by her discovery.
Spencer was thin, taller than average, with big dark eyes and lots of dark hair. Staring at the Warden, those eyes went from registering surprise to embarrassment, and then quickly to something closer to … manipulation. Oh yes, Gwen Harding thought, this girl was capable of causing trouble. ‘Too smart for her own good’ was the phrase that Gwen’s father would’ve used to describe Jennifer Spencer. ‘Take a seat,’ Gwen told her and pointed to the chair that sat directly in front of her desk.
There were two chairs for visitors in the Warden’s office. The one beside the desk was rarely offered to inmates or even coworkers. The other chair – which was known as the ‘hot seat’ – was the chair intended for Jennifer’s butt. But Miss Spencer seemed to be past any discomfiture, and, ignoring the ‘hot seat’, she slipped quite easily into the chair beside Gwen’s desk. Officer Camry moved to stop her, but the Warden shook her head. She’d see how this all played out. ‘You may go,’ she told the officers, and they turned and left, closing the door behind them.
Gwen looked the girl over. There was no doubt that she was going to be a problem. Deciding where to put these high-profile types was always a tough call. She had to get it right the first time, because there was no good way of changing it later. Gwen thought she was a pretty good judge of character, however, and while Spencer might be high profile, Gwen didn’t think she’d end up being high maintenance. Number 71036 was too proud for that.
‘I trust that your trip here and your processing at Intake was not too difficult,’ Gwen began. Gwen realized as she said it that it had been very difficult for this young woman. She could tell at a glance that Jennifer Spencer never expected to be stuck in a prison. Jennifer Spencer would’ve been far more comfortable heading up the JRU meeting than coping with what she was about to experience at Jennings.
‘Miss Spencer,’ the Warden continued as she opened her desk drawer and took out the inmate manual. ‘You’ll find this booklet to be indispensable during your stay here.’ She handed the bright yellow pamphlet to Jennifer, who took it, set it on her lap, and folded both hands on top of it.
‘Thank you,’ Jennifer said. ‘I –’
‘You must read it completely later, but now I’d like you to turn to page three. It’s headed Inmate Responsibilities.’
As instructed, Inmate 71036 opened the book, but only glanced at the page before she began to speak. ‘It’s important –’
‘It’s important that we read this page together,’ Gwen interrupted. ‘I want to touch on a few items listed here.’ The Warden began to read: ‘You are responsible for your behavior, actions, and attitude.’ Gwen saw the girl shift in her seat.
‘Warden Harding,’ Jennifer said. ‘May I speak frankly?’
‘Please do,’ Gwen said dryly, waiting for the inevitable. Often Gwen found that if she let a new inmate ramble on long enough, she would catch some pertinent detail, some insight into her personality that would enlighten Gwen on how she might help the woman to help herself. Gwen believed in rehabilitation, not punishment. But she could almost bet that Jennifer Spencer was going to put this belief to the test.
‘I guess you’ve probably already heard from Attorney Howard McBane of Swithmore, McBane, or from Thomas Branston at Hudson, Van Schaank & Michaels,’ Jennifer began. ‘Or maybe Mr Michaels himself called.’ Before Gwen had a chance to respond, Jennifer crossed her legs, leaned in toward Gwen, and continued. ‘This situation has gotten a little out of control, I’m afraid. I wasn’t meant to come here at all, and I certainly should not have had a rectal or pelvic exam. When I speak with my attorney I’m going to have to mention it and see if legal action should be taken.’
‘Legal action?’ Gwen asked. She was getting more than just annoyed with this woman.
‘Yes,’ Jennifer said flatly, ‘I am neither a drug offender nor a smuggler. The invasive examination wasn’t needed. And your intake officer didn’t seem to have any medical education.’ She took a deep breath, and Gwen saw that, in spite of her bravado, the girl was trembling. Gwen felt a stab of pity for the girl as she watched her toss her head back and continue. ‘Anyway, I’d like to talk about Attorney Branston’s arrangements for my special needs while my appeal is being heard.’
‘Special needs?’ Gwen echoed.
‘Did he tell you that I would like a sunny room? And I can’t have a roommate because I’ll be keeping late hours. If desks and laptops are not standard issue then I’ll need to get one of each.’
Gwen merely blinked.
‘Also, I’ll need access to a copier and hopefully some secretarial help. I don’t know if you have a trained staff, but I’d be more than willing to pay for someone to come in.’
Gwendolyn Harding sat in a state of stunned disbelief as 71036 enumerated her expectations of ‘white-glove treatment’ and ‘special considerations’. This wasn’t the standard protestation of innocence, but rather a list of demands from the kind of young woman who was used to giving orders – and having them carried out. Not even when women like Margaret Rafferty – someone from a very high social position – were taken in had Gwen run into this lack of reality and misguided arrogance. Did Spencer really think Jennings would revolve around her? Who had led her to think such a thing? Her boss? Her success on Wall Street? Spencer’s file indicated that she was clearly not from the kind of social background that would justify such an astonishing sense of self-importance.
Gwen took a deep breath. Whatever the reason for it, this was not an attitude that would allow Spencer to survive within the prison population. And it certainly was not endearing her to Gwen, either. The longer Gwen listened, the tighter the muscles cramped in her neck, jaw, and throat. All of her life she had fought a debilitating stammer when confronted with ignorance and pride. Years of speech therapy had taught her to modulate her breathing, focus her thoughts, and to speak in a rhythmic pattern that allowed no time for a stutter. She had managed to control it throughout the horrible JRU meeting, but now she felt that the stammer would return and it angered her. When she was certain that she had mastered her own emotions, Gwen placed her hands on her desk and leaned her face close to 71036. ‘Your opinion to the contrary, Miss Spencer, you are not – in charge – here.’
The rhythm of the statement echoed ‘On your mark – get set – go.’ But the intention was not to start a race, but to stop Jennifer Spencer dead in her tracks. It worked. Spencer shut up and paled. This result pleased Gwen, and consequently she felt the spasm of anger release its grip from her throat. She would not be intimidated by this young woman, nor would she let her forget why they were both here. Jennifer Spencer needed Gwendolyn Harding’s help.
‘You are here – to get – help,’ Gwen told her, continuing with the steady rhythm of pa-dum, pa-dum, pa-dum. ‘I am here – to help – you.’ With her anger under control, Gwen took a cleansing breath and continued in a more relaxed tone. ‘You will not be given an office or a laptop, nor will you – be assigned – a desk. Or a secretary. You will work on prison work for which you will be paid. Every woman – at Jennings – works. There are no – special favors – here. Have I made – myself – clear?’
The pa-dum, pa-dum, pa-dum achieved the desired effect. The new inmate dumbly opened and closed her mouth a few times – kind of like a guppy – uncrossed her legs, and nodded her head with a robotlike rhythm that matched the cadence of Gwen’s speech.
Fine, Gwen thought. She looked closely at Spencer’s face. She had originally thought of assigning this new inmate to the library, but now she could see that Jennifer Spencer was going to need something very different than the cool and gentle hand of librarian Margaret Rafferty. This girl needed to learn values, cooperation, and probably some humility if she was going to survive incarceration.
The warden relaxed a bit, rose from her chair, sat on the edge of her desk, and continued. Jennifer in turn adjusted her attitude and sat and listened as if she were attending a lesson in the Baltimore catechism.
‘First, you have to be passed through Observation for a night,’ the Warden told Jennifer. This was SOP – Standard Operating Procedure. It probably wasn’t needed in Spencer’s case, but it was just possible that under that bravado, she was suicidal or drugged. Gwen knew Spencer wouldn’t tolerate Observation well. It was an extremely dehumanizing but necessary evil. However, the real question was, after she was finished with that, where would inmate 71036 fit in?
‘Miss Spencer – I assume – that you know that here – at Jennings – we all work. In addition – to the jobs – such as maintenance – there is work – to be done – in the shops.’ Gwen stopped and waited to see if any of this was sinking in. She saw the girl nod.
‘The pay is next to nothing. You work to help defray your cost to the taxpayer.’
‘Yes,’ Jennifer said calmly, ‘I know. I’m in a very high tax bracket myself.’
Gwendolyn looked to see if there was any attitude or irony in the comment. It was then that she knew exactly where Jennifer Spencer needed to work. ‘You will start in the laundry – for now,’ the Warden told her. ‘I believe that will be for the best. In due time, you may be promoted,’ she added with a smile of encouragement. And then, with a deep and meaningful intake of air, Warden Gwendolyn Harding prepared for her big finale. It was a speech she had given often, to each and every new inmate that she welcomed to Jennings.
While she recited the words, she was simultaneously deciding where to put Spencer after Observation. She concluded that she must go right into the middle of Movita Watson’s crew. With a good teacher like Movita, Spencer would eventually settle in and learn how to take care of herself. Gwen knew that Movita was fascinated with Jennifer Spencer. She had seen her take the papers and magazines from the library cart that was available to the inmates and read every article that was written about her.
The Warden paused for a moment, then continued both speaking and thinking. There was structure in Movita’s crew. She was a good leader with an eye for talent. Of course, no one in that group had ever known the kind of wealth and privilege that Spencer knew, and if that girl looked down her nose at Movita like she had with Gwen – well, she was likely to have that nose put out of joint. She studied Spencer’s face intently. Movita would either take Spencer in – or Movita would take her out. Only time would tell. If she did take her in it would take time.
The Warden’s speech was at an end, and she told Jennifer that their meeting was over. She called for Camry and Byrd to take her away to Observation.
Later, all alone in her office, Gwen couldn’t help but feel disappointed with the turn of events that day. Jennifer Spencer had actually shaken her self-confidence. Or maybe it was the JRU people who had done that. Why had they all rattled her so? Gwen had seen both Spencer and the women from JRU scrutinizing every inch of her person and her clothing. They all looked like those haughty store clerks at Saks. Except with Jennifer Spencer it was even worse. She walked into Gwen’s office like she was coming in for the quarterly earnings report. Gwen didn’t know who made her feel the most insignificant, Spencer or Baldy from JRU.
Gwen had kept a daily journal from the first day she began at Jennings. She kept it carefully locked in the bottom left drawer of her desk – where she also kept a bottle of gin, a glass, and a jar of olives.
Most often by the time Gwen finished her journal entry for the day it was deep into the evening. She’d write and sip, sip and read. Night after night she told herself that she found both solace and inspiration in recording her thoughts and observations, but in her heart she knew that it was really the gin that kept her at the office a little later each evening. The gin and the emptiness of her house. So far, she had sternly refused to drink at home. But with her mother dead, her beloved Yorkie gone almost two years, and her husband gone for far longer than that, there was little reason for Gwendolyn Harding to rush home at night.
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