by Sandra Hill
She got a cheeseburger and soda, while Rachel bought a grilled chicken sandwich with a lemonade. Delicious!
Despite all the criticism of Warden Benton, she had to give him credit for allowing the inmates to make items with the freedom to sell their products on rodeo days. And he’d taken Angola from one of the bloodiest prisons in the world to one in which prison violence was drastically cut. The only other money the inmates could earn was two cents an hour for prison labor by the majority of inmates and twenty cents an hour for trusties. Yes, Benton did some good, despite some of his methods.
Gabrielle had heard a story one time about the earliest days of Angola Prison when one of the disciplinary actions was to place an inmate in an iron casket buried in the ground for a period of time. Gabrielle shouldn’t be surprised by man’s inhumanity to man, but she was, even if it was convicts. What if something like that had ever happened to her brother? She stiffened at the thought.
Aside from souvenir T-shirts and caps—like Gabrielle would ever want to wear an Angola Prison shirt!—there was everything from jewelry to wooden lawn furniture. All kinds of things tooled from leather, not the least of which were belts. Woodcarving had been taken to an art form; it was obvious these men must have worked year-long on these projects. Several paintings were displayed on handmade easels, including a beautiful one of Angola that eerily depicted the coldness of the buildings contrasted with the bucolic setting. Ordinarily, Leroy would be required to man the table selling subscriptions to the prison newspaper.
Wanting to support the inmates, she bought a carved angel and figured she could always give it to Ivak. But, no, she had the perfect spot on the top of her bookcase. Rachel bought two wooden bowls and a carved alligator for one of her children.
While all this was going on, an inmate band was playing raucous versions of popular songs.
It was time for them to enter the arena. Given complimentary tickets, they found themselves on the fifth row of the bleachers, center field. To her surprise, Ivak soon slipped into the space next to her. At her raised eyebrows, he said, “I was able to get away for a little while. Tante Lulu and the others are having lunch with Selma.”
“Selma?”
“Selma Dubois, the warden’s assistant. You met her, remember.”
“Oh, I remember.” The woman who had flirted with him. “You didn’t want to do lunch with Sell-mah?” she inquired sweetly.
He winked at her, recognizing her spurt of jealousy.
She hated when he winked at her because she liked it so much.
A trumpet blared then, causing the crowd to quiet down and look to the other end of the arena.
“Wait until you see this,” Ivak warned.
Out came three inmates on black horses wearing white robes and gold rope belts. And fake feathered angel wings.
“A lot of chickens gave their lives for those props,” Ivak remarked with dry humor.
“Are you kidding me? Angels?” Rachel said.
Gabrielle was staring, mouth agape. She soon understood the significance of the angels when Warden Benton, wearing a cowboy hat and boots, rode out on a white horse, carrying a banner that read: “JESUS SAVES!”
The crowd cheered as the warden and his three angels galloped in tandem around the arena. Thus began the official rodeo opening.
The Angola Rough Riders came out then. All the convicts participating in the rodeo were required to wear black and white striped shirts reminiscent of old-time convict uniforms. Each of these riders carried flags, all the flags that had flown over Louisiana through the years, according to the voice on the loudspeaker. The most surprising was an elderly black man holding up a Confederate flag. The ACLU would have a field day!
“Are y’all ready for Bust Out?” the announcer yelled.
About ten thousand people minus three answered, “YES!”
Eight bucking horses carrying convicts burst out of chutes at the same time. It was pitiful to see how quickly the men hit the dirt. A few limped off the field, waving to the crowd.
With the bull riding, an inmate had to stay on the snorting animal at least eight seconds to score points. Only two of the twelve managed that feat.
“Have you noticed how young the participants are?” Ivak asked. When neither she nor Rachel answered, he said, “It’s because young bones heal faster.”
Next came Convict Poker. Four convicts sat at a table in the middle of the arena, pretending to be unconcerned about the thousand-pound, foam-flying bull that came barreling toward them. The last person sitting was the winner. And the way the man . . . no more than nineteen . . . was raising his fist jubilantly, you’d have thought he’d won an Olympic gold medal.
If the Convict Poker wasn’t pathetic enough, next came Guts and Glory. A red chip worth one hundred dollars was strung between an angry bull’s horns, and thirty convicts ran around the arena trying to grab the prize.
This rodeo reminded Gabrielle of the Roman Colosseum events where inexperienced people were pitted against gladiator warriors or wild lions. Especially the way the crowd cheered, as if wanting to see blood.
“Does anyone ever get hurt?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said, “but the warden would tell you that they all volunteered to participate.”
“I can only imagine how I’d feel if it was Leroy out there.”
They left before the end of the rodeo. Ivak went back to the prison to gather his talent show contestants. René’s band was already setting up on the stage.
A short time later, Gabrielle was in a prison stable being turned into a Cajun bimbo. The red spandex dress did, in fact, fit . . . if being molded skin-tight to every bump and curve on her body counted as fitting. The other women wore the same dress and high heels, but in different colors. Tante Lulu’s was bright yellow, and with her blond wig, she looked like either a daffodil or a canary. With a tease comb and a can of hair spray, Charmaine had given the rest of them big hair, too. They’d applied their own makeup. Celine, Tee-John’s wife, leaned over and whispered to Gabrielle, “Every year I swear it’s the last time I’ll do this act, but I get conned into it every time.”
“Same here. Except in my case it’s my husband who manipulates me into coming.” This from Valerie LeDeux, normally a very dignified lawyer, now sexed up into a bluebell tart. Gabrielle had seen her on TV in her conservative suits and skinned back hair. She was married to René LeDeux.
“I can only guess how René manipulates you, Val,” Charmaine said with a laugh. “God bless man-ipulation.”
“Well, it’s definitely my one and only time,” Gabrielle avowed.
“We’ll see,” said Grace Sabato, a friend of Tante Lulu’s. Apparently, she’d been a nun at one time. Hard to imagine when seeing the redhead in the sexy green dress.
None of them had any way of knowing how they looked, except through each other’s eyes, since there was no full-length mirror. Gabrielle was afraid to find out.
But then, Gabrielle was the first one out of the stable. And boy-howdy! did she find out!
Ivak had been walking up some steps when he saw her. He tripped and almost fell on his face, especially when she turned and wiggled her butt a little to show him the full effect of the dress. All he said was: “Oh my God!”
Since Ivak never swore, Gabrielle figured he must be praying.
She took that for a good sign.
His new favorite color was red . . .
Once Ivak was able to stand without keeling over, he grabbed Gabrielle by the arm and pulled her to the side. Already, she was drawing attention to herself. No surprise there! She would make a perfect poster for SEX.
Make sure you save that dress, sweetling, and definitely those shoes. I have plans! “Are you out of your friggin’ mind? You can’t come out here like that!” he snarled.
“Like what?”
Does she really not know how she looks? “Like sex in an ice cream cone with five thousand sex-starved men just wanting a lick. Forget lick. They’d want to do a lot
more than that.” I certainly do.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
He counted silently to ten in Old Norse. “Gabrielle! I can see your nipples.”
She glanced downward. “Oh. I should have put Band-Aids on them like Charmaine suggested.”
I am not picturing that. Not, not, not! “Or you could wear a brynja over your dress.”
“What’s that?”
“Chain mail.”
“You had no problem with the dress when you saw Luc hand it to me earlier.”
“I had no idea just how revealing it would be.” Medieval men had the right idea when they put chastity belts on their women and locked them in towers.
Ivak’s eyes went wide as he saw something even more alarming over Gabrielle’s shoulder.
It was Charmaine in a hot pink outfit.
She could pose for Playboy in that thing and not even have to be naked to have two million men jerking off. “You women are going to cause a riot.”
He shoved them all back into the stable and told them to wait until he brought a van. Soon he drove them around the arena to the back of the stage where the Swamp Rats were already warming up the crowd. He raised his brows when he saw Luc, Remy, Rusty, Angel, and Tee-John wearing cowboy outfits, minus shirts. Well, Remy and Rusty wore vests with no shirts, but Luc and Tee-John wore Western shirts fully unsnapped, exposing their bare chests. “Don’t ask,” Remy said. Both Remy and Rusty were scowling, obviously reluctant cowboy performers.
This whole family is barmy.
But he had no more time to think about what they were up to. He had a talent show to put on. René gave the signal for his band to stop playing and for Ivak to come up onto the stage. Turns out Warden Benton came out, too, from the other side.
Before Ivak had a chance to speak, Benton took the microphone and said, “Welcome to the first annual Angola Prisoner Talent Show. I can’t tell you how hard we’ve worked to pull this together.”
We? Benton hadn’t lifted one finger to help with the talent show auditions or practices.
“We hope to make this an annual event, and we think you’ll agree after you see the entertainment we have provided for you. After all the contestants have performed, a panel of trusty judges will pick the winner. A prize of one hundred dollars has been donated by Jerry’s Ford Dealership over St. Francis way.”
Wow! Talk about generosity!
“Now for a word from my assistant on this project.” Benton smiled at Ivak and slapped a hand on his shoulder as if they were best buds.
Whatever.
Ivak was pleased to see most of the crowd stick around and be enthusiastic about his twenty contestants, although it was approaching the dinner hour. They were probably waiting for the LeDeux musical extravaganza, but, hey, he’d take his perks however he could get them.
The most amazing thing happened to Ivak then as each of the individuals or groups came up to the stage. He was proud. Not of himself, but of them.
Leroy was amazing on the trumpet, especially when one of the inmates joined in near the end singing a bluesy rendition of “Stormy Weather.”
When Calvin Corl, the skinny black lifer from Alabama, sang “Amazing Grace,” the crowd grew silent, then burst into a standing ovation at the end.
Ivak might have got a tear in his eyes.
Calvin was so happy. Whether he won or not didn’t matter.
“Sonny and Cher” were hilarious. The tap dancing wasn’t half bad. The gymnast did an impossible double back flip and almost landed off the stage. Some of the other singers were more than okay. An inmate had come to Ivak at the last minute asking if he could play the piano, and his rendition of Mozart’s Fifth Piano Sonata had the house . . . rather arena . . . stunned.
In no time, all the contestants had performed. The convict judges would deliberate while the LeDeuxs performed, with a winner announced at the end. Ivak had already had to have one of the judges excluded when he learned that the man had been trying to sell his vote among the contestants. What the idiot had been asking for in exchange didn’t bear mentioning. Think blow-job times three.
René and his band were coming up the steps while he went down. René shook his hand and said, “Man, that was incredible!”
And Tante Lulu, who looked like she’d swallowed a can of yellow paint, said, “Mebbe next year when we do a charity event at Swampy’s, you could run a talent show.”
I don’t think so! “We can talk about it later.”
Gabrielle’s eyes were misty with emotion as she hugged him warmly and said, “Do you have any idea what you did for those men? You really are an angel.” Tante Lulu was yanking on her to come with the other women; so Gabrielle gave him a quick kiss and said, “Wait for me.”
As if he would leave her here alone!
Rene’s band, without any introduction, immediately launched into that famous Johnny Cash song “Folsom Prison Blues,” but whenever they came to the lyrics involving Folsom, they changed it to Angola. The spectators loved it, especially the convicts, who went wild with applause, singing along.
Folding chairs had been moved into the arena to supplement the regular bleachers. Ivak sat in the front row, not far from Benton and his pals, some legislators and businessmen he’d invited.
The band played several Cajun songs that would appeal to inmates: “Les Barres de la Prison,” or “Prison Bars.” “It’s Lonesome in Prison.” And “Convict Waltz.” Then they blasted out a lighter song, a lively rendition of “Diggy Diggy Lo.”
When they were done with that song, René took the microphone and said, “Has anyone noticed what’s missing up on this stage?”
A whole lot of men yelled out, “Women!”
René smiled and said, “I don’t know why you say that. Hey, look at me. Me, I’m so pretty!” He paused for effect and raised his arms, doing a slow turn with a little shake of his butt before crooning, “I’m sexy and I know it.”
The crowd knew what was coming and burst out laughing. It was the lead-in to that popular song of the same name by the musical group with the ridiculous name, LMFAO. In other words Laughing My Fucking Ass Off. Some modern people had a warped sense of humor.
At René’s cue, the band began playing the up-tempo song, and out snake-danced the five men and seven women, all singing the suggestive lyrics. They were good. All of them. But the spectators’ eyes were on the women in their sexy, skin-tight dresses and sex-on-the-hoof high heels as they shimmied and rolled their hips and shook their bottoms, laughing the whole time. Even Gabrielle. Especially Gabrielle.
Warden Benton’s eyes went wide when he first saw what the women were wearing. He never would have allowed it, if he’d known ahead of time. Soon he relaxed, however, and enjoyed the show.
The band played several more numbers, both country and popular, with René doing a running commentary to amuse the crowd. He especially enjoyed teasing his backup singers and dancers whom he joked were going to try out for some reality TV show. At least, Ivak thought he was joking. You never knew when Tante Lulu was involved.
“What reality show? Idiots Who Get Conned by Morons?” Rusty snapped.
“Now, now. You have to understand, folks, that Rusty here is a real cowboy. Has his own ranch. Talk about sexy and he knows it.”
Some of the ladies in the audience whistled and one of them yelled, “I’m available, cowboy!”
Charmaine pushed her way to the forefront, put an arm around a blushing Rusty’s shoulder, and said into the mic, “He’s taken, honey. They all are.”
There was an exaggerated feminine moan that rippled through the audience.
Tante Lulu went up to the mic, which had to be lowered to accommodate her height. “Hope y’all are havin’ fun.”
Wild clapping ensued.
“We wanted ta do somethin’ special fer our fin-all-lay, an’ a little bird gave me an idea.”
All the men and some of the women behind her scowled, wondering if one of their feathery brothers had turned th
em in.
Bird? She probably means St. Jude.
“You could say this person who’s gonna lead our fin-all-lay is an angel.”
Uh-oh! No way! She wouldn’t.
“Didja ever see that John Travolta movie Michael?”
She would! Ivak wondered if he could sneak out without anyone noticing.
“Dint you jist love how Michael the Archangel could dance? Betcha he could teach even us LeDeux some moves.”
Ivak slunk down in his chair.
“An’ the best part is the man with all this same talent is one of yer very own people here in the pokey.”
Warden Benton looked right and left to see who it might be.
The band began to play that Aretha Franklin song “Chain of Fools,” and Tante Lulu motioned toward him. “C’mon, Ivak.”
“You?” the warden asked, clearly shocked.
Ivak was rather offended by the shock. Did the warden think he was a humorless, rhythmless fellow?
Truth to tell, vangels had time on their hands between missions and could practice fighting skills or praying or twiddling their thumbs only so much. They watched a lot of TV and movies. Michael was a favorite of some of them. Not him, but others. As a result, he and his brothers knew the “Chains” dance moves very well.
Standing, Ivak went to the stage, like a man on the way to the gallows. Gabrielle caught his eye then, and he could see that this was a surprise to her, too. He pulled her forward to stand beside him. Then, closing his eyes, he let the rhythm of the song seep into his bones. At first he just swayed from side to side. Then two dance steps to the right, followed by two steps to the left, over and over, eventually twirling and moving about the stage. Fortunately, Gabrielle and the others were following him perfectly. Even Rusty and Remy.
In fact, so well was the catchy song-and-dance routine going over that many in the audience were standing and dancing along with them. Everyone sang along at the catchy “Chains, chains, chains” refrain. The cameraman filming the rodeo and talent show was having a field day with Ivak’s contribution. To his everlasting mortification, Ivak got a standing ovation and a call for “More, more, more!”