Among Women

by J. M. Cornwell

  “I have to finish something else, but, sure, tomorrow would be fine.”

  “See you after lunch. Got to get my beauty sleep in the mornin’.”

  Pearl had barely closed the door before the lights went out. After a few seconds, there was no need for light, accustomed as she was to the dark. She took her time undressing and rinsing out her things after the pages were safely tucked out of sight.

  After everything was hung up, she slid between the chilly sheets. There was no warm spot anywhere, so she curled up, pulled the covers over her head, tucked her hands between her legs and drifted toward the heartbeat of waves upon a beach. It seemed she had barely closed her eyes before harsh light and sound crashed into the cozy corner of the world. The frangipani wafting through her hair smelled of disinfectant and the turquoise waves that rippled up and down glittering white sands hardened and dulled to cement.

  Time to get up. New day, same old drill.

  Nineteen

  Lainie squatted down beside Pearl while she ate breakfast: scrambled eggs, toast and grits. She would rather have had creamed chipped beef or eggs over easy or even poached eggs on toast. No sense wishing. Pearl sipped her tea.

  “Did you finish?” Lainie asked.

  Pearl nodded. “You haven’t told me what was in the trunk yet.”

  “Well, where is it?”

  Pearl swallowed her food. “In my cell.”

  “Want me to get it?”

  “No, I’ll get it when I finish.”

  Lainie nodded and walked toward the picnic tables.

  “What you done promised that one?” Betty slurped her coffee. “Don’ promise none of ‘em nothin’. Cain’t trust ‘em.”

  “She wanted to read what I wrote about her.”

  “I noticed you been busy and I’m thankful for yo’ food, but you gots to eat sumpin’ or you gets sick.”

  “I’m fine. I’m not really all that hungry.”

  “You best eat. Don’ wanna get sick up in here ‘less’n you wanna go to the Charity Hospital.”

  The only reason Pearl ate was because it was expected, and it was better than nothing. Sort of. She offered the rest of the food to Betty.

  “Thanks, boo.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’ be goin’ on no hunger strike. You be near dead b‘fo' they get around to cartin’ yo' body outta here you keep up that mess. yo’ time will come. You gonna get your day in court for true.”

  “I’m not so sure any more. I haven’t seen a lawyer and I still don’t have clothes like the rest of you. My panties are nearly in shreds and my support bra doesn’t support anymore.”

  “They gets to ya. Ain’t nothin’ to be happy ‘bout. They still feedin’ ya. That sumpin’.”

  “How could they not? I get in line. I go through the motions.”

  “Be glad you gots a cell to yo’self.”

  “I am, but I miss Tamara. Imagine that.”

  Three weeks without a word. She wondered why Cap hadn’t come to visit. He had promised to follow the night the police picked her up. He had said he knew where they were going, so she had given him all the money and her purse and told him to use it to get her out. And I’m still here.

  The longer she waited the more afraid she was the money was gone. The only thing she had left was her driver’s license and watch in a bag somewhere in the bowels of the building with what little jewelry remained after pawning everything else. The only thing of value was the birthstone ring, a gift from her grandparents when she turned sixteen. The rest of the jewelry was costume junk, not worth hocking, things she kept because she liked them. He’s gone and the money’s gone, too. Might as well face it. Can’t trust anyone.

  What else did she expect? He worked for Lucky Dogs, too. From all accounts, his wife didn’t work—or leave the apartment, except to buy lottery tickets every week with the money Cap earned. They were barely making it. The small amount of money in that purse was found money.

  Maybe it was for the best.

  “You goin let me see what you been writin?” Betty wiped the tray clean with her toast.

  “Pardon?”

  “Yo writin’. You goin’ show me?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “Sho, I’d like it. Been cravin’ sumpin’ to read.”

  “I’ll go get it after I take the trays up.” What would you like to read? Your story?”

  “You done wrote ‘bout me?” Pearl nodded. “Naw, boo, I know my life. I wants to know ‘bout you.”

  “It’s not all that interesting.”

  “Readin’ ‘bout yo' life be fine.”

  Downstairs, she ripped the pages from the pad and straightened them out before returning to the quad. “Here, Lainie. It’s all there.” Lainie picked up the pages. “Except for what was in the trunk. Can’t write what I don’t know.” She turned to walk away.

  Martha touched her shoulder. “I thought you were writing a letter, but didn’t see you buy no envelopes.”

  “No, I was just writing about being in here.”

  “For true? You a writer?”

  “Not really. I write, but I wouldn’t call myself a writer. I haven’t written anything for publication since I was in school. I didn’t have anything else to do, so I wrote about all this.”

  Martha stroked her belly. “I wished I could write. Never did have the knack, but I love to read.” She offered Pearl a book. The cover and first few pages were curled and the binding was frayed between crisscrossed layers of tape. A few pages fell out. Pearl stooped to pick them up then handed them back. Martha rearranged them, straightening them on the rounded edge of her belly before putting them back in the book. “Do you like romances?”

  “Not really.”

  Martha put it back on the table. “Me, I’ll read anything.” Martha grinned, a flash of white teeth. “For true. I got a few other books if you want them. I read them two or three times. I’m ready for something new. Seems like months since anybody brought in any kinda book and my mama forget when she brings my babies. Said she got more important things on her mind. If I know Marcus and Anthony, she got plenty on her mind keeping those boys out of trouble.” She shook her head and giggled, the sound girlish, completely at odds with the heavy mass of her body. “Boys are wild enough. Twin boys? Well, they be too much and mama don’t run so fast no more. She outta shape.”

  Pearl sat down. Martha lowered herself to the bench and talked in a heated rush. Usually surrounded by card players and gossip, this gregarious and gossipy side of Martha was strangely appealing. She was almost as popular as Maureen for her experience, ready smile and belly shaking laughter. Martha knew how to milk a joke and tell a story.

  “The boys run Mama ragged, but she settle them down. She’s good with kids.”

  What surprised her most of all was the way Martha spoke.

  At first, Martha seemed as little educated as Betty or some of the prostitutes, who had taken to the streets without graduating high school—or junior high school in some cases. The persona she had adopted fell away little by little until she caught the cadence and tone of conversation with Pearl. Martha was more cultured and educated than she pretended, a chameleon slipping easily in the patois of the streets when the other women were around and just as quickly adopting a more uptown tone and vocabulary when she was talking with Pearl.

  As soon as she was transferred and the baby was born, Martha planned to continue with the college courses she had begun and finally get her degree.

  “I tell you. I’m so tired of living hand to mouth on Welfare. It’s not enough, not enough at all. My children need so much I can’t give them, not without college. I do not want my boys selling drugs and putting gold on their teeth, not as long as I can do something about it. They are not going to end up on the street. I’m gonna see to that. My mama didn’t raise no fools and I won’t either. I get to the Feds and everything’s going to be all right.”

  According to Martha, prison was more like a college campus. Th
e library was stocked with good books. If you ignored the bars and the steel fences topped with concertina and razor wire, and the armed guards manning the towers, it sounded idyllic.

  All the inmates worked at some job or other, going to work at specific hours just like on the outside. Three hot meals, a salad bar, sandwiches and desserts and college courses were available. What more could anyone want?

  When Pearl thought about all the prison movies she had seen, it sounded too good to be true. How good could it be when you had to watch your back all the time? Someone might stick a stolen butter knife honed to a killing edge in your back or beat you up when you refused sexual come-ons? “What about being stabbed, beaten and raped? Doesn’t that go on there?”

  “Boo, you got it all wrong. I was in the Fed before and they treated me real good.”

  “What were you in for?”

  “Same as now, shoplifting. I only got a year that time. It’ll be longer this time since it’s my second trip.”

  “How much did you take?”

  “Enough.” Martha’s laugh was infectious. Pearl smiled. “They ruined Christmas for my babies. Took everything. Got a search warrant and come into my house, carried it all away. That no account, good for nothing husband of mine made sure of that. We are done. I don’t want that low life around my children. He’s a bad influence.”

  “How could he be responsible?”

  “That fool hid drugs and jewels up in my house. Search warrant was for his narrow black ass, but the po-lice took everything. All my children’s toys and games gone ‘cause I didn’t have no receipt. How many white folks you know keep receipts?”

  Pearl shrugged her shoulders. “I tear the tags off pillows.”

  “There you go. Some of them things they took I bought with my own money. Didn’t matter. They took it all. Stupid fool ruined Christmas for my babies. Man ain’t paid a dime of child support all these years. Been in Angola more times’n I can remember. Got out long enough to get me pregnant and went right back in, like he was out on vacation. Wasn’t no vacation for me. Don’t get me wrong. I love my children, but life’d be just a little easier without one or two.” She folded down the flap on the sugar.

  Her mother put money in Martha’s account every two weeks, trading food stamps for cash, so Martha could buy what she needed. She had a small portable black and white television and a radio, but they wouldn’t let her have it in the parish jail. It was locked up until she was transferred.

  She didn’t have to wear the light blue chambray shirt or the dark twill trousers either; they probably couldn’t get any to fit her. Instead, she wore blue chambray shifts. She was well spoken and had an earthy manner and talked about shoplifting like it was the most natural thing on earth. “You do what you gotta do for your children.”

  As Martha talked, Pearl realized she wanted to know more, not just about Martha, about all the women.

  She looked up to see if Lainie had finished. The pages were scattered around the picnic table, handed from one person to the next.

  “Ain’t you finished yet?” A thin brunette held out her hand. “Hurry up. I want to read the rest.”

  Lainie finished the last page and handed it to Maureen. Eyes focused on the page in front of her, Maureen handed a page to Joo-Eun next to her.

  “Looks like I’m getting behind.” Martha took the pages someone behind Pearl handed her and started reading.

  Lainie whispered in her ear. “Let’s take a walk. I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Pearl nodded, watching the yellow pages going from hand to hand from the picnic table where she sat to the next table. “Uh, sure. After I take these pages to Betty.”

  “That can wait.” Lainie motioned Pearl closer.

  “Well, I be. Ain’t never read nothing like this before. You shore you ain’t published?” The thin brunette leaned over, elbows on the table and her chin rested in her hands.

  “You have not read anything like this before, stupid cow.” Maureen snatched up the papers, straightened them and held them up to read. “It’s impolite to read over someone’s shoulder.”

  “I ain’t readin’ over yore shoulder, you uppity bright bitch.”

  Maureen looked at the brunette from under her lashes and smiled, a slight curve of the lips like da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, with a hint of poison. The brunette wilted to the bench and refused to look up.

  Feeling as though a goose walked across her grave, Pearl shivered and then looked around for Lainie. She was gone. Lainie wasn’t going anywhere. She’d catch up to her later after she followed through on her promise to Betty. She looked up at the clock just as lunch was called. Where had the morning gone?

  Before she could sit down at Betty’s table, Martha brushed her arm.

  “This is really good. Would you mind writing about me? I’d like to send it to my mama to read to my children. Might help them understand what I done.” Before Pearl could answer, Martha said, “You can use my paper. They don’t open letters going out, just coming in.”

  “All right. I’d be glad to.”

  “When you want to start?”

  “How ‘bout afta she eat sumpin?” Betty set down her tray. “Girl gotta eat.”

  “Sure, sure.” Martha handed Pearl a few pages. “I’ll get the rest when they’re done reading.” She patted the papers. “You are good.”

  Pearl blushed.

  Betty glanced up and Martha nodded. “Right after you eat. All right?”

  “Definitely.”

  As Pearl went through the line, all she could think about was the logistics of getting a television between her legs and walking. Martha was a big woman and her dresses were voluminous enough to accommodate her belly, but not much more. She had thick, muscular thighs; she had seen how thick one morning when she glanced into Martha’s cell as she walked past. It was not intentional and she was not in the habit of being so nosy. It just happened.

  Martha’s thighs were like tree trunks, big, solid, substantial tree trunks, and no doubt capable of holding a portable television standing still, but walking? She must have been wearing a tent when she did it.

  Pearl hurried through lunch.

  “Slow down, boo. You goin choke like that. Girl ain’ goin nowhere. She wait.”

  Yes, Martha would wait. Pearl slowed down a little, finished the sandwich, scooped the lettuce onto Betty’s plate without asking and hurried over to dump the tray on the cart. She had work to do.

  “I’ve been waiting.” Martha slid across the bench, leaving enough space for Pearl, then nodded to the other women. Begging different excuses, every one of them left. Some of them found places at the other picnic tables and the rest followed Maureen and Joo-Eun to the stairs where the hair-braiding gang scurried to the upper steps.

  “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Martha handed Pearl a sheaf of paper. “Will that be enough?”

  “More than enough.” Pearl took a couple sheets and offered the rest to Martha.

  “No, you keep them. You’ll find something else to write about.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Girl, I would not be sitting here instead of taking a nap if I wasn’t sure.”

  Even though the women at the other picnic tables looked busy playing cards, reading and chatting, Pearl knew they were straining for every word—leaning toward Martha. She stifled a smile. There was nowhere else to go since the cells were off limits during the day, not that it stopped the more persistent inmates from stealing a few moments alone whenever they could.

  She had no sexual interest in any of these women—or any women—only in writing - and sleeping some of the endless hours away. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think she was catching a little something on the side. So far, Lainie kept to the hallway, but not Joy. She was still a little shocked at the furtive way Joy had snuck into the cell. Betty was right about that one. Joy was up to no good and she did not want to get noticed that way.

  A glance at the table directly opposite was al
l she needed to reassure herself that Lainie was not far away. She wanted to find out what was in the trunk and there was no doubt Lainie would drag it out as long as possible, sitting on the side and dangling the bait in the water. Just like fishing.

  No, Lainie would take her time. Pearl hoped she wouldn’t take too long. She didn’t want to alienate her or provoke her into a fight, but she did want to know what was worth running for. Cerebral palsy or not, Lainie was a formidable foe.

  “You ready now?”

  Pearl put all doubts and conjecture away. Sure, Martha.” She folded her hands on the table. “How did you get caught? You mentioned something about the cord and duct tape.”

  “Well, girl, I was in too much of a hurry. Weren’t but a couple days to Christmas and I couldn’t disappoint Marcus. He’s usually a good boy, but got a temper like his daddy. Couldn’t get his daddy’s fine hair or his straight teeth and my calm nature. No, that boy got the temper.”

  Martha leaned closer. “He don’t pull that mess on me ‘cause he know I light up his narrow behind, but, Lord, he be so mean with Anthony and Danielle and so moody. Whooee, but he get like a sore boil about to burst, so out I went.”

  Twenty: MARTHA

  Wrapping the electric cord around her thick fingers, Martha tucked in the end, looping it twice. She took the small portable color television out of the cart after she made sure no one was looking. Just one more television for Marcus and her Christmas shopping was done. She checked both ways down the narrow aisle, hefted it in both hands and quickly placed it between her legs, gripping it tightly between her thighs. The cord dangled down but it didn’t show beneath the hem of her maternity dress. It was a good thing she was pregnant or she might not be able to pull it off.

  As she pushed the cart toward the checkout counter, she mentally went through her Christmas list. A TV for Anthony and this one for Marcus. Picked up the Ataris last week and the Sit & Spin for Danielle yesterday, which was harder to hide under her skirts than the televisions. Got the tree from the church. She only had to put lights and ornaments on the tree and get a few new dresses for Danielle. The red velvet dress with the white lace in Godchaux’s would be perfect. She’d look like an angel in church come Christmas Eve. Got jeans and leather jackets for the boys and real nice suits for church. New shoes for everyone and some baby clothes. Yep, she was done shopping once she paid for the kitchen towels. Gotta buy something so she didn’t look suspicious.