Insiders

by Olivia Goldsmith

  Hoping to find a card, Jennifer lifted the last tissue from the bottom of the box. She saw a trifolded piece of paper. She actually sniffed it in hopes that she would be able to smell the scent of Tom’s aftershave on it. With great anticipation she unfolded the Hudson, Van Schaank letterhead.

  Dear Jennifer,

  I thought you might need some of this. I would like to come and see you on visitor’s day if that’s okay with you. Because I’m neither a family member nor your attorney I have to get your approval. I’ve written to the Warden so she should be in touch with you directly. I look forward to seeing you. And try to keep smiling. You have such a beautiful smile.

  Leonard Benson

  ‘Who’s Leonard Benson?’ Suki asked, peering over Jennifer’s shoulder. ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘No,’ Jennifer responded, too surprised by the note and Lenny’s unexpected kindness to really hear the question. ‘Oh – uh, he’s a guy at the office. My accountant.’ She stared into the box.

  Lenny Benson – her accountant – had sent her an entire box of oral hygiene and grooming products?

  ‘Let’s go to Movita’s house and show the crew what you got.’ Suki was so proud and enthusiastic that Jen couldn’t really deny her.

  Most of the crew was gathered in Movita’s cell. Suki good-naturedly teased Jennifer in front of the others. ‘Jenny has a new boyfriend! Jenny has a new boyfriend!’ she shouted.

  Suki gestured all around the tiny room. ‘This is Jenny,’ she said.

  ‘Jennifer,’ Jennifer corrected.

  ‘And this,’ Suki continued without taking in the correction, ‘is Theresa, the best cook in Jennings.’

  ‘Hi,’ Theresa said.

  ‘And Movita,’ Suki said. ‘She’s the boss.’

  ‘She’s not my boss,’ Cher said.

  ‘That’s Cher. Did you meet her at Intake?’ Suki asked.

  Of course Jennifer remembered the Morticia character from Intake. And she remembered her from the telephone line. But she opted to play dumb. ‘No, I don’t remember,’ Jennifer said. Cher sneered lightly in response.

  ‘Jenny got a big load of stuff from her boyfriend. She gave me a new toothbrush,’ Suki said. ‘Look at it all.’

  Cher demanded to ‘have a look at what ya’ got,’ and took the box from Jen. Then she expertly appraised each and every item. ‘These Oral-B toothbrushes are top of the line,’ she admitted. She looked down at Jen. ‘But tell ‘em to send ya’ something mintier than Crest the next time,’ she advised, handing the box back to Jennifer.

  ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth,’ Theresa calmly advised, ‘especially this one.’

  Movita smiled. ‘This boyfriend seems to be a little preoccupied with her mouth already,’ she said and smiled at Jennifer.

  ‘He says she has a beautiful smile,’ Suki said, as proud as if it were about her.

  A little embarrassed, Jennifer shook her head. ‘He’s just a friend from work.’

  ‘You know what they say about smiles, don’t ya’?’ Theresa asked. ‘Everybody smiles in the same language. Smiles are the same everywhere ya’ go in this world. You can smile in English and it means the same damn thing in Thailand. You know what I’m saying?’

  ‘Would my smile mean the same thing in Poland?’ Cher asked, smirking.

  ‘If it was my smile, yes. But not if it was yours. You don’t smile,’ Theresa told her. ‘You’ve got a shit-eatin’ grin. Uh, pardon my French,’ she said to Jennifer.

  ‘Would anyone like the Tic Tacs?’ Jennifer asked. She wound up giving them to Theresa. The hair spray went to Cher and a tube of hand cream was given to Movita. Jennifer was happy to be able to share her package with these women. It made her feel like a popular girl in high school.

  The crew was waiting for their dinner to heat up. Theresa told Jennifer that she had received real goodies in her package from home: salami, some cheese, a six-pack of Sprite and a bag of Oreos. Tonight they would feast on store-bought, brand-name junk food. ‘Well, afterwards you can all brush with Crest,’ Jennifer offered.

  ‘So back in New York City what do you usually make for dinner?’ Theresa asked Jennifer.

  ‘Reservations!’ Jennifer replied.

  Suki laughed. ‘Get it? Reservations – like making reservations for dinner. Ya’ get it?’

  Movita looked at Jennifer. ‘I have something for you, too,’ Movita said, reaching into her pocket. ‘It’s from the Warden.’ She handed Jennifer an envelope.

  ‘Two in one day,’ Jennifer said as she opened it and unfolded the note inside. As she silently read what it said, she felt her stomach tighten into a knot. Then she looked up at Movita and asked, ‘Is this true? Can we only have one visitor on visitor’s day?’

  Movita shrugged. ‘Not exactly. Ya’ get one hour. Ya’ decide how ta break it up. Half hour for each or whatever. You’ll have to let ol’ Gwen know who ya’ wanna see,’ Movita told her, ‘your attorney – who can come any time – or the guy that sent the package. It’s up to you.’

  ‘I’d go for the one who makes you smile,’ Theresa suggested.

  Jennifer wondered which one that would be and decided she’d see both but give more time to Tom.

  The bell rang for dinner and Jennifer left the crew to go once again, all alone, to the horrors of the cafeteria.

  14

  Gwen Harding

  Justice should remove the bandages from her eyes long enough to distinguish between the vicious and the unfortunate.

  Robert G. Ingersoll

  The Warden was drunk, but not so drunk that she didn’t know it. More than drunk, she was lonely, and she was afraid that she was going to lose her job. As she locked away her bottle and journal in the bottom drawer of her desk, she considered the irony of her situation. She was probably the only woman in Jennings who didn’t want to leave the place; not tonight – not ever. She rose unsteadily and looked out the window at the ugly coils of razor wire and the illuminated double rows of fences. She ran her fingers through her hair, out of place and hanging over her eyes. She had to move.

  She stepped through the door of her office, irrationally hoping that Movita would be there, sitting at her desk. She wanted – no needed – to talk. But Watson was safely in her cell. And Miss Ringling had her coat on at a quarter to five and wouldn’t stay a moment past the hour even if the entire prison staff was being held hostage.

  Gwen returned to her desk and wished that she had even one person she could confide in, or laugh with. Gin was not a friend. Gin didn’t listen and gin, most certainly, never answered any of her questions or calmed her fears. In fact, Gwen knew that the gin, once a useful painkiller, had become her enemy. JRU, of course, was also her enemy, and Gwen was very much afraid that the State Department of Corrections might also become her enemy. The administration was sick of her and her years of fighting for better conditions and bigger budgets. And the inmates were not, could not, be her friends. Yet all of them – JRU, the Department of Corrections, and the inmates – they all wanted Gwendolyn to be a friend to them.

  She looked down at her report to the State Department of Corrections. She prepared it at home and actually went to an outside typing service and Kinko’s to do the word processing and graphics. That was because she didn’t want anyone within the prison – staff or inmates – to read either the proposal or her response to it. It would only breed unrest, fear, and rumors. All her prison experience told Gwen that rumors were one of her biggest foes of all.

  She ran her hand across the big report. She’d dropped one copy at the FedEx office herself, and now she had to take this copy and lock it away safely. Along with all of her charts, graphs, and cost projections, which clearly illustrated how and why the proposed prison privatization by JRU International was destined to fail. Gwen had summed up the moral issues with strong harsh words:

  In addition to the practical, humane, and financial considerations summarized above, there is a political and ethical issue that must also be addressed. The work of th
ose incarcerated, when exploited for commercial purposes, can easily be interpreted as a form of slave labor. In my opinion, the inmate population of this – or any other – correctional facility cannot and should not be exploited as a homogeneous pool of potential laborers. Their incarceration may void their right to vote, but it does not revoke their humanity.

  The new century has brought with it new social and related penal problems. Without doubt, the explosion of the female prison populations has created a daunting difficulty and a major tax burden. But to convert this from a problem to an opportunity for profit-making would, without a doubt, be taking the wrong turn. The myriad and complex problems that these women bring to us must be the focus of our future correctional efforts. To propose the reverse is an invitation for disaster.

  Drunk as she was, Gwendolyn was proud of her report and of her work at Jennings. She decided to take a walk through the cellblocks. The lockdown bell had sounded more than an hour earlier, so no one would see her – or get close enough to smell her breath. Just to be safe she turned and entered the bathroom that adjoined her office. Gwendolyn flipped the light switch, grimaced at her reflection, and then rinsed her mouth with Listerine. She splashed some cold water on her face, brushed her hair, put on her suit jacket, and then walked a very straight line out of the door and toward the row upon row of quiet cells.

  After the lockdown bell sounds, the inmates have only minutes to return to their ‘houses’ before the bars slide shut and the guards do the nightly bed check. They are given but a half hour to prepare themselves for bed before being plunged into a sudden darkness that – except for the muffled cries – brings with it an eerie and forbidding silence. Only the click of the Warden’s heels sounded against the floor amidst the snores, the sex, the sighs – and the sobs. There was always sobbing.

  And the sobbing would get a lot worse if this JRU takeover happened, Gwen thought. The burgeoning population of women’s prisons created a bizarre business opportunity. Building prisons, staffing them, and exploiting the situation was something corporate America viewed as a growth industry. And communities, loath in the past to accept prisons, now often welcomed them because of the construction work and longer-term staffing positions they created in towns with failing economies. Who would have ever conceived of prisons as profit centers?

  So much was going to be changing all around her that Gwendolyn Harding wondered if it might be wiser to simply resign before she was asked to leave. Every meeting with the men from JRU was more baffling than the last, and as she tried to articulate the folly of many of their proposed changes at Jennings, she herself could hear the defensive and petulant tone that crept into her voice. The men simply smiled and nodded as she voiced her concerns, all of them smirking in that way men smirk just before they accuse you of hysteria.

  In the dimness, her feet shuffled along the uneven floors. It took only a split second for her toe to catch a ridge, and she was suddenly pitched forward. She felt herself toppling, but was helpless to stop herself. She managed to twist her shoulder to protect her face before she hit the floor, but the blow was a hard one. She hit the side of her forehead and knocked the wind out of herself. She tried to gasp for help, but couldn’t as she blacked out.

  The next thing Gwen knew, a pair of capable hands was holding her firmly and helping her up. ‘You okay, Warden?’ Movita Watson asked.

  Gwen was dazed but managed to speak. ‘I’m okay, but what are you doing out of your cell?’

  ‘Infirmary visit. That time of the month,’ Movita replied.

  Gwen raised her hand to her head and felt the bump and the sticky wetness of blood. ‘I guess I slipped,’ she murmured.

  ‘Just lean on me. It’s okay,’ Movita said.

  Gwen leaned. She saw the young, white face of Roger Camry standing there looking useless. She felt dizzy and there was a sharp pain on the side of her neck.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she lied. ‘Thank you. I’m all right.’ She wasn’t sure if that was true, but she hoped so. She found that her legs were steady. The lubrication of the gin had probably cushioned her fall. She tried to stand alone.

  ‘I’ll help you to the office,’ Movita offered. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she told Camry. ‘Just fine. Come on,’ Movita told Gwen.

  ‘Warden, can I help you?’ Camry asked as he approached them.

  ‘I’m just fine,’ Gwen lied, really shaken now. She supposed she was lucky that it was Roger Camry who had seen her fall rather than Doug Slavitz or that bastard Byrd, who would tell the entire prison and state management before morning. Camry was a good sort and would keep his mouth shut. But she was ashamed that she needed to depend on him and his kindness.

  Both reluctant and grateful, Gwen went along with Movita. Did she know? Could she smell the gin? It was not far to her office and they walked in silence, Gwen feeling more pain with each step. At the door she fumbled in her pocket for her keys, but as she pulled them out, Movita took them from her hand and unlocked the office door. A total violation, but so was walking alone through the prison under the influence. Movita turned on the light with her left hand while still supporting Gwen with her right. Then the inmate helped the Warden to a chair.

  ‘You sit here,’ Movita said. ‘I’m gonna get you some ice for that bang you got on the side of your head.’

  Gwen again put her hand up to her forehead. It hurt, but was it also visible? Had Officer Camry seen it? How embarrassing! She listened to Movita’s retreating steps. She knew how precious ice was for the inmates; it would take Movita some time to get some. Gwen wasn’t so naive to what happened in her prison. All she needed was Frances to deliver kites on the rocks tomorrow and the whole population would know of her indiscretion. There was time; she reached into her drawer for the gin bottle, for just a small drink. She needed it.

  When Movita came back with the ice, Gwen was slumped over her desk, the injured side of her face resting on a pile of folders. She felt no pain but she couldn’t move. The last drink had done her in. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Movita. ‘I’m not feeling well.’

  Gently Movita lifted the Warden’s head, removed the folders, and positioned the ice on the bump. ‘I’ll make you some coffee,’ she said. ‘Just a minute.’

  Gwen’s face was now against the ice. At first it felt good, then it began to burn and hurt. But she couldn’t lift her head at all. If Movita was making coffee she must have realized that Gwen wasn’t sober. She should know how hard I work, Gwen thought, what stress I’m under. I’m doing it for every inmate – Movita included. When Movita returned, Gwen spoke. ‘There’s something really terrible happening,’ she said to Movita. ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m not feeling well.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Movita said casually, busy making a space on the desk and putting down the coffee.

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ Gwen continued. ‘There’s something new, something really terrible that might happen here at Jennings.’

  ‘It’s okay, Warden,’ Movita said patiently, as if Gwen were a fretful child. ‘Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen while I’m here.’

  Gwen tried to raise her head. It was so frustrating. ‘I’m not drunk,’ she said. ‘I’m being serious.’

  Movita lifted the coffee cup and set it close to Gwen’s head. ‘Even the smell will help,’ she said. ‘Jus’ inhale it. Then see if you can drink some.’

  ‘Jennings may be privatized,’ Gwen blurted out. ‘The state will sell us all.’ She heard the melodrama in her voice and she fell silent. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone this. What was she doing?

  Movita stopped fussing and looked at her directly for the first time. ‘Privatized?’ Movita said. ‘What d’you mean?’

  With a huge effort Gwen managed to lift up her head. It felt good to talk to Movita. ‘There’s a company called JRU. They’re the strangers who have been through here. They want to take over Jennings.’ Damn it, she thought. I am drunk. She knew she shouldn’t go on, but some lousy devil in her head was intent on blabbering everyt
hing. ‘And conditions are going to get so much worse … It’s just a terrible thing.’ She felt tears rise and tremble on her lower lids. ‘I can’t stand it,’ she said. She put her head back down, her face against the ice.

  ‘Is this for sure?’ Movita asked.

  ‘No, but there’s a good chance. They’ll run the place like a factory. You and the other inmates will be the machinery and I’ll be the oil.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Movita muttered, sitting down in the chair next to Gwen. ‘Jesus Christ.’

  15

  Cher McInnery

  When Rebecca Cross was sent to prison, it was nine years before her children’s first visit with her, because the trip … cost more money than she had.

  Kathryn Watterson, Women in Prison

  Cher McInnery shook her head, and her long dark hair flowed. ‘Every time it’s visitor’s day here,’ she said, ‘you dumb bitches remind me of my daddy’s huntin’ dog.’

  Floyd McInnery liked to kick his dog just to make a point. ‘Ya’ see that?’ he’d ask his beer-drinking cronies. ‘Ya’ can kick Betty and she jist comes a-crawlin’ back and licks your hand like she wants some more.’ He’d laugh, take another guzzle and let out a belch; then with a sneer of what looked to Cher like unspeakable sadistic pleasure, he’d land his filthy old boot right in the middle of the poor dog’s gut. There’d be a loud yelp, the old honey-brown coon dog would run about ten yards away, and then Floyd would holler, ‘Get back here, ya’ bitch.’ Sure enough, the dog would come crawlin’ back, her tail between her legs, her ears erect with hope for somethin’ better from the drunken son-of-a-bitch. Most often he’d just kick her again. Sometimes Floyd would even suggest that one of his friends should try the trick. ‘Go ahead,’ he’d urge, ‘kick the bitch. She likes it.’