Insiders

by Olivia Goldsmith

  She hoped that the announcement she had to make at breakfast would go well. If it didn’t, she’d have egg on her face – literally. Most people didn’t like change. Oddly enough, it was the people with the least to lose who were most often resistant to something in which they might, in the long term, gain. Between Jennifer Spencer, Movita Watson, Maggie Rafferty, and the new consultant they had brought in, they had a formidable team and had already begun to make significant changes. But, she reminded herself again that people did not like changes, even for the better.

  Gwen tugged on the front of her pant legs to help reduce the creases from where she had been sitting in her chair. They had all decided to make the wake-up time more pleasant. Instead of the heart-stopping, dream-shattering clang of the wake-up bell, today the pleasant sound of the Cat Stevens song ‘Morning Has Broken’ was softly wafting throughout the halls and cellblocks. Of course, it was possible that some people might not like the old hymn, but since the man had converted to Islam they couldn’t be accused of being insensitive and Theresa LaBianco had put together a multicultural morning mix for the future including the Beatles’ ‘Good Day, Sunshine,’ the show tune ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,’ and some hip-hop boy singing about how good it felt to wake up. Gwen suspected it meant waking up after almost overdosing but she listened to the lyrics and approved the song.

  Gwen cleared her throat. She had worked with Spencer and Maggie Rafferty on the announcement about JRU. She had practiced it until she had it memorized, but she was still afraid she might begin to stammer. She took another deep breath. ‘Good morning, ladies,’ the Warden announced over the speaker system. ‘Today is Thursday. Please be advised that breakfast will be served in the cafeteria in just fifteen minutes. And an announcement will be made. Please attend. Thank you.’ Then, without the usual blast from the bullhorn, the cell doors slid open and the music continued. Gwen took fifteen minutes and spent it walking up and down the halls. Women were actually smiling. People seemed to be moving to the cafeteria in a more quiet and orderly way. Gwen herself smiled. Why hadn’t she thought of this? What an improvement. It hadn’t cost a dime to do, but the effect was priceless!

  Gwen, no longer reporting to the state, had fired Ben Norton and they had replaced the head of food services. For the last few mornings she had eaten her own breakfast there and had made certain that all of the breakfast foods were hot and looked recognizable. No more would her girls be seeing blobs of gray oatmeal, no more rubbery squares of Jell-O. There was more fresh fruit, and they had added healthy cereals with skim milk. Breakfast was actually a more pleasant meal now and it was cheaper per person because there was less spoilage.

  Today the Warden stood at the front of the breakfast line and handed out trays with plastic utensils wrapped in paper napkins. She greeted each woman with a hardy good morning. She could see from the expressions on their faces that they couldn’t decide if they should go along with her or fear the calm before the storm.

  The line did not move quickly. The inmates weren’t used to having so many choices, and breakfast had always been such a horrendous meal that many of them stood frozen, without making a choice. ‘Scrambled or boiled?’ – ‘Hashbrowns or home fries?’ – ‘Bacon or sausage?’ – ‘Orange or cranberry juice?’ – ‘Coffee or tea?’

  The inmates were nearly speechless as they were confronted with each new choice. And unlike Ben’s staff, the new food-service personnel seemed positively delighted to be able to offer the choices. There were smiles and pleasantries exchanged, and the warden was pleased to notice that the food was served with greater pride and accepted with less belligerence.

  It took longer than usual for people to get their meals and take their seats. Then Gwen gave them some time to luxuriate in the unexpected quality of the food in front of them. When she could put it off no longer, the Warden stepped to the front of the room and asked them all for their attention. She greeted them with the same tone that she had used on the public address system. ‘You have probably noted some changes,’ Gwen began. Some inmates laughed, a few clapped and cheered. ‘We hope you approve,’ Gwen said. ‘There has been a change here at Jennings. It is called “privatization”. This means that the state has asked a company, in our case one called JRU, to manage the prison. It doesn’t mean I stop being warden but it does mean that there will be other changes. We hope all of them will improve our lives here.’ She could smell the suspicion in the air, and throughout the room rumblings were heard as Gwen continued to explain the ‘changes in management and changes in attitude’. Nobody liked change and to these women any change in their blighted lives had meant a change for the worse. She needed a way to tell them that change could be a positive thing or else she, Movita, and Jennifer might be saddled with a mutiny. Every warden lived in fear of a hostage situation, and if the new owners of the prison were actually a part of the prison population it would not make things easy.

  But luck and a deeper problem that she had known about now served her well. ‘I would like to announce,’ she said, ‘that as one of the first changes Officer Byrd has been fired.’

  There was a moment of silence, maybe two. And then the population broke out into such cheering and table banging and whooping and clapping as Gwen had never heard. Applause was a powerful thing. Gwen met it and felt it hit her face and belly and move past her. But the wave of approval kept coming. Every woman was on her feet, stamping them and, as people said today, ‘putting their hands together’. Gwen was shocked by their reaction and by how clearly Byrd had been universally despised. She put aside her shame at not having known it herself and instead focused on her delight at seeing all of the women united in a single feeling. She tried several times to speak but the applause and hooting continued. At last, she got them to sit down. ‘I hope all of the changes will meet with that kind of approval,’ she said.

  She was pleased that she wasn’t stammering and she got through the rest of the announcement. She did not ask if there were any questions, because there were so many that she couldn’t answer that she herself was reeling.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Springtime said to Movita. ‘I don’t like this at all.’ But as Rodgers and Hammerstein was followed with the Fifth Dimension’s ‘Age of Aquarius’ on the PA system, many of the women started to smile and laugh and even to dance a little in their seats as they ate their breakfast.

  ‘What in the hell is going on here?’ Theresa nervously wanted to know.

  ‘I think it’s kind of nice,’ Jennifer said encouragingly.

  ‘I think it’s damn weird,’ Springtime countered. Springtime suddenly leapt up from her table and ran toward the Warden. Quickly the officers tried to intervene, but Springtime managed to elude their grasp. Gwen was nearly paralyzed with fear as she watched helplessly with the other silent inmates. But Springtime did not attack her; she only whispered in her ear. Then, the Warden nodded and indicated that two officers should take Springtime from the room. ‘Please continue with your breakfast, ladies,’ the Warden instructed.

  As the women ate, the Warden explained how new programs were going to be implemented, that health care staff would be on duty three days a week, that visitation would be expanded to include Mondays and Sundays. That church services would be able to be attended with visitors and that a play area was going to be added for the inmates to interact with their children in.

  Someone started to tap her tray with the plastic utensils and was soon joined in by the rest of the population. Gwen couldn’t suppress her happiness. She smiled and nodded to the group. Here she was mother, teacher, nurse, and bearer of good news.

  Gwen Harding put her hands up in the air gesturing for quiet. ‘We have one more little surprise,’ she explained. And as she spoke, a beaming Springtime entered the cafeteria carrying a tray. On it were plastic cups filled with the marigolds taken from the sign that Springtime tended in front of the prison. The musical tape was playing ‘Good Morning, Starshine,’ as Springtime placed her small floral offerings in the c
enter of each table.

  36

  Movita Watson

  You get privileges, you get to wear one of them print blouses instead of the T-shirt uniform. We mostly all want ‘em. When someone new is down, one of us say ‘Don’t worry. Some day your prints will come.’

  Kristen S., interviewed by Olivia Goldsmith (anonymity requested)

  Ain’t nobody don’t got a secret wish, ‘bout what they mighta been, or woulda really liked to do. Mine, and I’m sure nobody in the world knows it, ‘cept maybe my baby Jamorah, was always to be a fashion designer. Funny, I can hear people actually laughin’ at me in my head every time I even think it. But anyway, even though it’s harder to believe than a good time at Jennings, I’m actually doin’ it! Designin’ fashions! For some reason, doin’ new uniforms was the job that got given to me. I didn’t ask for it, ‘cause I got this superstition that whatever I really want, and especially what I ask for, I ain’t gonna get. I know I got the job I wanted in the Warden’s office, but that’s all the more reason to know I couldn’t have another good thing happen to me. The chance of two good things happenin’ to a black woman inmate like me is slimmer than Jada Pinkett’s thighs. But somehow it happened anyway. The Lord moves in mysterious ways, I guess.

  Warden Harding and Jennifer asked me if I wanted to do it. I said, ‘Are you kiddin’ me?’ And there I am sittin’ with paper and crayons. (They still didn’t let us use pencils on account a their weapon possibilities.) It took me all of two minutes to start drawin’. Man, I know every woman in the joint is gonna have a preference, a problem, a beef. I don’t expect no gratitude. It’s the doin’ of the job itself. I got a million ideas.

  The first thing I’m thinkin’ to change is the material these jumpsuits we gotta wear are made out of. It’s some kinda polyester junk that chafes like crazy. By the time it gets soft it pills and there are these ugly little gray balls all over. The seams feel like rope and if you got a active job the seams hurt at the knees and elbows and under the arms and the crotch. I’ve decided to make the new uniforms out of some kinda cotton that ain’t so stiff and weird. Jennifer gave me a budget per piece, and Miss Ringling, believe it or not, was assigned to help me bid on some fabrics from our previous suppliers. But when I showed Jen the prices she laughed. ‘That’s the seven-hundred-dollar toilet seat,’ she said. ‘You remember they sold a toilet seat to the government for seven hundred dollars. I think hammers were four hundred.’ She shook her head. ‘I can get this in New York from an Indian fabric dealer on West Thirty-eighth Street for three dollars a yard. Why don’t I have him send some samples? He’d be thrilled for the business.’

  Boy, when those samples came it felt like Christmas. It wasn’t just the cotton. Ravi had also enclosed some Thai silks and they came in ten thousand colors, one more beautiful than the other. And, girl, they were cheap. So I got the idea that we would make curtains for the cafeteria out of the sky-blue fabric and do the same thing in the visitor’s room with a bright pink. And then I thought that if the stuff washed good – and we tried it and it did – we could sell some of the other colors in the canteen and that women could make bedspreads and curtains out of it. Just havin’ somethin’ pretty to spend their money on would be a real lift. Plus, the raw silk came in about thirty colors, so even if every cell was the same, it could be different because the colors were so different. Of course, I had to discuss it with the Warden, Jennifer, and Maggie, but they were all for it. Then I got me an even better idea: Why not make up T-shirts and sashes and neckerchiefs out of some of the colored silk? It would mean that women could do all kinds of shit – be in uniform but also be individual.

  Then I started thinkin’, why a jumpsuit at all? What are we, Oompa Loompas? Why not pants and shirts like everybody else in the world wears? I didn’t think separate pieces got weapon possibilities. I checked with the warden and she said it was okay.

  So I’m really cookin’, drawin’ away, and Theresa comes into the Warden’s office. Just what I needed. I’m sure she thinks she’d be better than me at this. I don’t think so. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, in a tone which said she knew damn well what I was doin’.

  ‘I’m designin’ new uniforms for us. New clothes, Theresa,’ I said. ‘And ya’ gotta try and not hold it against me.’

  ‘I don’t hold it against you,’ she said. ‘You don’t mind hearing my opinion, though, do you?’

  ‘I guess not, but I just started, you know. I’m thinkin’ about what they should be made out of.’

  ‘Clothes make the woman. They have to be neat and flattering. And not wrinkle. So they have to be permanent press.’

  ‘Hell, no!’ I said, beginning to draw again. ‘I’m so sick of this synthetic garbage. I say cotton all the way. It looks natural wrinkled. And puttin’ it on fresh in the mornin’ feels good. If I ever get outta here my kids are gonna wear nothin’ but cotton.’

  She looked down at my drawin’. ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘But slim down the pant leg. You’ve got the legs too wide. It’s not flattering. Not everyone’s as tall as you are. And put some darts in the top so that they have some shape. If a woman looks good, she feels good.’

  ‘No fuckin’ darts,’ I answered. ‘How’s somebody like Renee or Mavis from Unit B gonna wear somethin’ with darts?’ Renee and Mavis are both at least two hundred fifty pounds. They bulk up so their bellies blend with their breasts and they wind up with no shape whatsoever.

  Theresa shrugged and made a disapproving noise.

  ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘We ain’t gonna be goin’ for job interviews, you know, Theresa. We’re just gonna be hangin’ out here as usual, and we want to be comfortable.’

  ‘Maybe we could have different outfits for visitor’s day.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘There’s a budget issue, ya’ know.’

  Theresa made a face of givin’ up and walked out of the office. That made me feel good.

  Anyway, it took me three days to design a bunch of pieces. I did long pants, Bermuda shorts for the summer, two different styles of shirts – one sleeveless and one sleeved – a skirt for visitor’s day or Christmas or that kinda thing, some T-shirts and a couple of jacket styles for when it’s cold out and we need some warmth. The only thing still to decide was the colors. I thought I’d get the opinions of some of the others about that. It proved very interestin’, besides bein’ a big pain in the ass. The crew talked about it over dinner.

  ‘Can they be light blue?’ Suki asked. ‘Please?’

  ‘They’re already light blue, girl,’ I said to her. ‘Whaddaya mean?’

  ‘They’re not light blue, they’re gray.’

  We laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. They had started out some kinda gray-blue, but now they were gray. Suki was right.

  ‘Light blue’s too light,’ Theresa said. ‘We need a color that won’t show the dirt.’

  ‘Or be so boring,’ Theresa said. ‘How about prints? Animal prints. Leopard or tiger or something like that. Safari.’

  I nearly spat out my food laughin’, picturin’ Jennings crawlin’ with animal prints. ‘That’s wild, Theresa,’ I said. ‘But I don’t know if we could stand lookin’ at it.’

  ‘Well, then, how about black? Black is always cool,’ Jennifer chimed in as she entered the cell.

  ‘Black is a depressing color. We need to find out what colors of the spectrum are psychologically uplifting. Like red or orange, or coral maybe. Maybe the library has some books on color,’ Suki said.

  I shook my head picturin’ a sea of coral-colored inmates. God. Some people ain’t got no vision.

  Jennifer came up with the practical suggestion of khaki, which I thought was too dreary. Then someone, namely me, suggested dark blue denim. Everybody was shocked that they hadn’t thought of it. ‘It’s ‘cause I’m a fashion designer,’ I said, teasin’ ’em. ‘It ain’t by accident I get ideas.’

  Jennifer Spencer sweet-talked the Paragon Uniform company in Yonkers to do up some samples for us, tellin’ ’em they�
��d get a big order if they did. In the interest of a little variety I decided to have ‘em do some pieces up in black denim and some of the shirts in a lightweight khaki. I often realize later that an idea is good and then I’m not afraid to do it, even though someone else thought of it. But we didn’t order no animal prints.

  Then we had a most amazin’ event at Jennings, no doubt at all the first time anything like it happened. We had an honest-to-goodness fashion show!

  At first everyone wanted to be a model and Warden Harding thought we were gonna have fights or at least a very bad scene. But funny thing was, as the day and the actual doin’ it got closer, most all of ‘em that wanted to turned chicken and backed out and we didn’t have enough. Suki’s belly was slightly rounded now, but she wanted to be in and we let her. Why the hell not?

  The occasion itself had to be the most fun we ever had at Jennings. We moved the tables in the cafeteria together lengthwise to make a catwalk – this was Theresa’s idea. Then we set up the chairs in rows on each side and put fashion pictures from magazines on the walls. I had the new curtains for the windows and they were beautiful – yards and yards of the most gorgeous sky-blue silk. The day before we hung ‘em Warden Harding authorized repaintin’ the cafeteria and instead of that dirty old color we got it a clean pearly white and my curtains made it look like a kinda heaven. I mean, you were still in the joint but it looked like the nicest joint ya’ ever saw. Cher woulda been shocked, and then she’d probably try to cut off a piece of the curtain to turn into a skirt. I had to laugh. Maybe it was just as well she wasn’t here.