Insiders

by Olivia Goldsmith

  At first, little Cher pitied the dog. She could barely stand to hear the thud, the yelp, and the laughter, but she couldn’t turn away either. She’d stand and watch, and then wait for her father and his friends to leave so that she could go to old Betty and comfort her with a stew bone and some petting.

  ‘Why do you let ‘em do that, Betty?’ she’d ask, searching the old dog’s eyes for an answer. ‘Bite ‘em the next time,’ she’d urge. She tried to retrain Betty to fight. ‘Bite me!’ she’d snarl at the cowering animal. ‘Don’t lick my hand, bite it! Fight back, ya’ stupid damn dog!’ Just once, Cher wanted old Betty to come back snarling with her fangs bared. Just once she wanted that dog to take a bite out of Daddy Floyd’s ass.

  But the next time would be the same, and so would the time after that, and eventually Cher’s pity for the dog turned to anger, then to disgust, and finally to loathing. Cher couldn’t help but think of old Betty every time she saw the women at Jennings preparing for visitor’s day. She just shook her head when week after week after week they would get their hopes up and be all excited. They’d talk about how their boyfriends or their husbands – or even their daddies – were coming to see them, how the foster mother taking care of their kids swore that this time she was going to bring them. And then week after week after week they’d get kicked in the gut when not one of the bastards showed up. But they always went back for more.

  ‘Kick the bitch, she likes it,’ Cher would think as she watched the anxious women rouge their cheeks with dried grape juice and line their eyes with eyeliner made from burnt matchsticks. Week after week after week the women would do their best to look their best for their men – the men who never showed up.

  Cher never had a visitor on visitor’s day, nor did she fool herself into thinking that she would. Her family was too scattered to come for a visit. But she didn’t mind. Hell, with everyone else so damn distracted and actin’ crazy it made it easier for her to do a little stealing. For Cher, visitor’s day was like a day at the shopping mall. She didn’t care if no one ever came to see her; she’d rather lift a few goodies from some dumb bitch who was downstairs getting her heart kicked out while waiting for some shiftless, useless man. As far as Cher could see, they were no smarter than old Betty. At first she had pitied them, too – but then came the disgust and the anger.

  When the women came back to the cellblock crying about how disappointed they were, Cher just wanted to kick them and scream, ‘Fight back, you stupid damn dog.’ But instead, she stole from them, because when Cher was stealing she didn’t have to think or feel bad. She remembered her mama and how pretty she used to look back when she and Cher used to go visit Uncle Silas at the Little Rock jail. They never missed one visitor’s day all the while he was in there, but even back then Cher couldn’t remember ever seeing a male visitor at that prison. No. Cher learned at an early age that the only visitors you can count on are mothers, sisters, and maybe a brave daughter now and then. So it pissed her off when women came back crying because some damn man hadn’t showed up. They should be happy that they got to see anyone at all.

  The only women Cher did feel sorry for were the ones with kids. Visitor’s day was miserable for these inmates whether their kids came to see them or not. If someone did bring them, the babies were usually screaming and crying in fear, and the slightly older ones always asked too many questions like, ‘Why are you wearing those clothes, mama?’ or ‘Why didn’t you come to my birfday?’ and the worst one: ‘When are you coming home?’ The older they got, the more ashamed they were to be coming to the prison at all. Since most of them had to grow up without their mothers, as they got older they glared at women they hardly knew, doing nothing to mask their anger, embarrassment, and discomfort. It would’ve been better if they hadn’t come at all.

  That’s why Cher didn’t understand why Movita went through worlds of trouble to arrange for visits with her little girls. Cher couldn’t remember for sure the last time they had actually come to Jennings to see their mother. Since Movita hardly ever talked about them, or even showed anyone a picture of them, you sometimes forgot that she had any children. Cher always figured that’s what Movita herself was trying to do and respected her for it. But Movita was acting real different lately. Cher could tell that something was bothering her – something was on her mind. When the lights-out alarm rang the night before visitor’s day, Cher could tell that Movita was way too nervous to go to sleep. ‘Ya’ think it’s such a good idea for those girls to come here?’ Cher whispered to her.

  ‘I’m gonna read ‘em a story,’ Movita answered. ‘Went to the library today and had old Maggie pick me out a book for ‘em.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Cher said simply. ‘My mama used to read me stories.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Movita whispered. ‘That’s what a mama should do. A mama should read stories to her babies.’

  Babies? How long since Movita had seen her girls? Cher didn’t sleep that night, either. She worried about Movita. She was worried that the kids wouldn’t show, or if they did, she worried about what Movita would see when she looked across the visitor’s table. Cher sighed and knew there wasn’t much she could do. She just hoped Movita would learn her lesson and not turn into a Betty. Then she decided that she’d steal something real nice for Movita. Maybe she could find a new hairbrush or some perfume. Movita loved a nice scent.

  The cafeteria was always noisy at breakfast on visitor’s day. Theresa in particular seemed to get especially loud when she knew she was having a guest – and Theresa always had a guest. Cher couldn’t keep track of how many sisters Theresa had – it might be five, six, or seven – and sometimes there were also women who used to work for Theresa in the cosmetics business who still came for advice and motivation. But it didn’t matter who came to see her or who didn’t come to see her. As far as Theresa LaBianco was concerned, visitor’s day was an occasion for great celebration.

  ‘But don’t it make you sad when it’s over?’ Suki asked her. ‘It always makes me so sad when everyone leaves. It makes me lonelier than ever.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say about loneliness, don’t you?’ Theresa began. ‘Loneliness is what we call it when it’s painful to be alone. But you know, there’s another word – and that’s solitude, and that’s the word we use when we want to be alone. So when visitor’s day is over, I just tell myself that I need a little solitude, that’s all.’ Theresa struck a dramatic pose and did a very bad imitation of Greta Garbo: ‘I vant to be alone.’

  ‘You’re full of shit,’ Cher said with a laugh. ‘I love ya’ – but you’re full of shit.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say about shit, don’t you?’ Movita asked.

  ‘No,’ Theresa said, falling for it like she did every time, ‘I don’t know. What do they say about shit?’

  ‘Well if you don’t know, then no one knows,’ Movita said good-naturedly, causing the others to laugh.

  Theresa laughed with them. Theresa could take a joke. Hell, Theresa lived for jokes. ‘So is that good-looking lawyer coming to see you today, Cher?’ she asked, batting her eyes.

  ‘Yeah. Ain’t it a pity that the only guy who comes to see a hottie like me is paid by the hour and doesn’t stay long,’ Cher chuckled.

  ‘Lawyers are just like whores,’ Movita said, picking up a spork full of grits. ‘They’re both paid by the hour and don’t stay long.’

  Theresa spoke up again. ‘Hey, I do know a shit joke. What do you have when you have a lawyer buried up to his neck in shit?’ she asked. She looked around the table to see if anyone had the answer. ‘You don’t have enough shit, that’s all!’

  The bell rang to signal the end of breakfast, and the crew stood up to return their trays to the conveyor belt. Cher winced when she noticed that Movita was carrying her damn storybook with her along with lollipops from Sally in Unit B. Now as they made their way toward the visitor’s room, she stopped Cher. ‘You gonna be down there for long today?’ she asked.

  Cher shook her head. ‘
Nah,’ she answered, ‘no reason to. And besides, I got me some errands to run,’ she added with a wink.

  Movita only nodded, then turned and followed the others out of the cafeteria. After they were out of sight, Cher followed as well. She guessed she wanted to be there to see Movita’s face when she saw her little girls.

  Cher wrinkled her nose as she entered the visitor’s room, which always reeked of body odor and too much perfume as the crowd of nervous women quietly waited, watched, and listened for their names to be called out. Cher stayed at the back, where none of the crew would notice her. She wasn’t alone. While most of the women who didn’t have visitors stayed as far away as possible from the grim reminder of their loneliness, others – like Cher – stood and watched the more fortunate women with their guests. Cher was nearly on tiptoe, straining to see what was going on, but she could see no sign of Movita.

  ‘Are you expecting someone, Cher?’

  The question startled Cher and she spun around to face the debutante. ‘Ain’t none of your business who’s coming,’ she snapped at the newcomer. Then Cher caught sight of Movita on the other side of the room. A guard was handing her an envelope, and Cher could see it trembling in Movita’s hand. She pushed the rich bitch aside and made her way through the crowd of waiting women.

  By the time she got to Movita, the envelope was torn open and was lying on the floor at her feet. Movita was frozen into a statue. With one hand she held a crumpled wad of paper, and with the other she grasped two colorful crayon drawings to her breast, along with the storybook that she had brought with her from the library. Her face was a blank stare. Cher was relieved to see there were no tears; no visible anger. She had simply frozen.

  ‘What happened, Mo?’ Cher asked her gently. It wasn’t necessary for everyone to see her in her moment of weakness. ‘Where are your girls?’

  ‘They ain’t comin’,’ Movita said quietly. ‘They ain’t comin’.’

  Cher took the crumpled letter from Movita’s hand and read it. ‘Goddamn bastards,’ she hissed. ‘Fuckin’ cruel sons-of-bitches.’

  ‘Watch yer mouth,’ Movita shot back at her. ‘I’m sick to death of yer filthy talk.’

  At that moment Jennifer walked over with her tray of breakfast. Like Mo needed the sympathy of one more friggin’ white girl. ‘Suki told me you had it all arranged,’ Jennifer said to Movita.

  ‘Just who the hell are you to talk to me? Did I say ya’ could speak to me? And I don’t care what Suki told ya’,’ Movita snapped. ‘Ya’ thought I had it all arranged, huh? Well I ain’t got nothin’ arranged. Ya’ got that? I ain’t got nothin’.’ She moved to push her way past Cher.

  ‘Come on, honey,’ Cher tried to comfort her. ‘Come on. We’ll go get ya’ somethin’ nice and new. Come on with Cher.’

  ‘Just get your damn hands off me!’ Movita suddenly shouted. ‘Just keep away from me.’ As she tried to push her way past them, the drawings and the storybook fell from her grasp and Movita collapsed onto the floor with them. One of the religion pimps – the churchgoing cranks who were always selling their brand of Jesus to the limp and the lost – started up with ‘Sister, it’s not too late to see the Lord’s work in everything.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ Cher told her, and in the moment she turned away the debutante was there kneeling beside Movita trying to help her. But when this Jennifer picked up one of the drawings Movita violently slapped her hand away from it. ‘Keep your hands off it,’ she snarled. ‘That’s from my baby. My baby drew that picture for her mama, and you keep yer hands off it. That’s from my baby.’

  With the paper shaking in her hand, Jennifer gave the drawing back to Movita as Cher helped the now sobbing woman to her feet. For a moment everyone else in the hot and crowded room was deadly silent.

  Cher assured everyone that she had everything under control. She looked directly at Jennifer. ‘She’s my responsibility. I’m takin’ her back to the cell,’ she said protectively, and the crowd parted to let them pass. At the same time, a guard stepped over to where they were and said firmly, ‘Miss Spencer, you have a visitor.’

  16

  Jennifer Spencer

  Everywhere there is one principle of justice, which is the interest of the stronger.

  Plato, The Republic

  Tom hadn’t disappointed her! Jennifer was actually going to see him, hold his hand. When she heard the officer say her name, her heart began to thump wildly and she almost ran to the guards to be processed and searched.

  But when Jennifer walked into the visiting room, Tom wasn’t sitting at any of the empty tables. She looked around, a little panicky; the noise from the inmates, the kids, and the other visitors seemed overwhelming. Then she saw her visitor. Her guest was not Tom Branston, it was Leonard Benson.

  He was sitting at a large table, his dark head bent over a copy of Forbes magazine. He looked up, smiled, and took off his reading glasses. Jennifer tried to mask her disappointment as she crossed the room to welcome him, but her heart was still racing from excitement at being called. She actually felt the room tilt a little and start to spin. She held on to the corner of the Formica table and tried to take a deep breath. Lenny stood up and gestured to the seat opposite him. ‘Lenny, what a surprise!’ she managed to say.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thanks for giving me permission to visit. You don’t mind that I came?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, and sank into the chair across from him. ‘It’s really good of you to come.’ The words sounded forced and rather formal for a prison visiting room.

  Jennifer’s mind began to race. She only had one hour of visiting time. Where was Tom? Was he coming as well? She hadn’t heard a confirmation or, for that matter, a decline from Tom, so she knew nothing.

  ‘You look okay,’ Lenny said, as if surprised. ‘I mean, it’s a shock to’ – he gestured to her outfit, and to the room – ‘you know, to see you here with all this.’ He looked toward the officers and bars. ‘But you look okay. Healthy, I mean.’

  Jennifer looked around without searching for Tom. The room was stuffy and noisy. Most inmates sat across from other women. Children ran back and forth from tables to vending machines, making noise as they argued over soda selections and gobbled down candy bars. Some of the women cried, and so did some of the children. The rare male visitor, dressed in jeans and sneakers, seemed ill at ease.

  ‘I’m all right. But not for long. It’s … hard.’ She didn’t want to begin to cry so she forgot to be polite. ‘Where’s Tom Branston?’ she asked Lenny. ‘If I’m only allowed one visitor it should be him.’

  It was Lenny’s turn to mask his disappointment. ‘I’m sorry,’ he offered and shrugged. ‘Tom couldn’t make it, I guess. All I know is that I got a call from the Warden’s office yesterday. My request for a visit had been approved, so I came.’

  ‘But you’ve seen Tom at the office?’ Jennifer said. ‘Did you tell him you were coming? Did he say he was? Or did he give you a message for me?’

  Lenny shook his head. ‘I haven’t told him and I haven’t seen him,’ Lenny said. ‘He hasn’t been at the office, or if he was, he kept a real low profile.’

  Once again Jennifer searched the room for any signs of her fiancé. ‘Well, when I spoke to him he told me he was really busy with my appeal, or even a pardon.’ She looked at Lenny directly. His brown eyes seemed to brim with pity for her. Jen hated that so much that she pulled herself together. She couldn’t bear to be the object of Lenny Benson’s pity.

  ‘Um … is there anything you need?’ Lenny tried again. There was a long pause. ‘Did you get the package I sent?’

  Jennifer’s eyes, which had been skidding like a rat from table to table, suddenly focused on Lenny’s face and his question. ‘Yes,’ she replied, turning her gaze directly to his. His eyes were kind. ‘Yes I did receive it. Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘Your gifts were wonderful.’

  On his side of the table, Lenny blushed. ‘I did a little research and read a magazine article about women in p
ris –’ He stopped abruptly, embarrassed. ‘About women in … places like this. It said that getting packages is very important. It also gave me some ideas about what to send.’

  ‘Where did you read an article like that?’ Jen asked, and almost giggled. ‘Did they run it in Forbes?’

  ‘I looked it up on the Internet,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know if you used toothpaste or gel, so I got both.’

  ‘Listen, it was great to get anything.’ She thought of the day the package came and how touched she’d been. ‘It helped me make friends,’ she said. ‘I certainly didn’t expect it or …’ She was going to say ‘deserve it’ but she also didn’t deserve the punishment she was getting, either. So they were both silent again.

  ‘Did you know that you’re not allowed to have dental floss?’ he asked nervously.

  ‘No. Why not?’

  ‘I guess you can use floss with an abrasive kitchen cleanser like Comet and actually saw through the metal. I read that online, too,’ he admitted. Then he shrugged. ‘I’m so sorry for babbling,’ he apologized. ‘I guess I’m a little nervous.’

  Jennifer nodded and another silence hung between them. Jennifer looked around at the gate through which visitors came.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ Lenny asked. ‘If you’re expecting Tom or anyone else I …’

  ‘No. That’s fine,’ Jennifer assured him. ‘I’m sorry I’m so distracted. One of the women here just had a disappointment, a kind of breakdown. It was hard to watch. And I was really hoping Tom would come and, well …’ She stopped and looked across at him.

  ‘Does everyone miss me at Hudson, Van Schaank?’ Jennifer asked lightly.

  Once again Lenny colored. Then he shrugged and looked away. Lenny could not tell her anything that was not true. ‘You know how people at the firm are,’ he said, and Jennifer nodded in resignation. Most of her coworkers were extremely competitive. Selfish. Self-absorbed. Jealous. Vindictive. They hadn’t enjoyed watching her huge success.