She told Nicole how she'd even taken a bus to Kentucky after he sent her money, and for a week spent six hours a day visiting him.
Her family thought she was off her rocker, but that had been precious time.
It was a Minimum Security prison, and they sat on the lawn and read together out of books, and she had never felt as close to anybody in her life. Her roommates were agog when she got back. They fixed her up with a nice guy for her birthday, but after she returned to the apartment and said good night to the date, all seven of her roommates jumped out of the bedroom. They were all wearing T-shirts with her boy friend's prison number across them. They flashed water pistols, kidnapped her, and took her out to this restaurant. She guessed she was kind of a legend at BYU. Her roommates even took pride in the way they had learned how to handle it. "Never know what's going to happen next to Tammy's life," they learned to say smugly.
When her boy friend got out of prison, he came back to Provo and got a job as a carpenter. About three weeks later, he took Tamera's car, loaded it up with everything he could take out of her house and the house of the fellow he was living with, and drove off.
Tamera hadn't seen him since.
Having it end in such a way, she wondered how close she had ever been to the boy. His whole life had to be a con. He had told so many lies she wondered how she could have felt so close. They hadn't been sharing the same truth, she said to Nicole. Yet, all the same, there had been some kind of truth, she said.
Now in the silence that followed, Tamera couldn't hold back any longer. She was so excited. "Please," she said, "let me just—" She gulped. She said, "Look, I'm going to find a typewriter, write a story, and bring it back and let you read it. If you don't like what I do, we'll just forget about it, you know. Because, after all—I said it'll be off the record," Tamera went on, "so if you still want it that way, it will be. But I got to try."
She went over to an old roommate's apartment and told her what was going on and sat down and started. It felt weird. There were so many constraints it took a couple of hours to write a couple of pages and when she brought them back, Nicole read, and took it all into herself, looked up and said, "No, I don't feel good about it." Tamera said, "Okay, that's it, then."
She felt disappointed, but, big deal—she'd just have to wait.
She wasn't going to violate the agreement.
The disappointment must have been marked right into her face, because now Nicole felt bad too. Tamera said, "Don't worry. That was our agreement." But Nicole got up and went over to a cabinet, and said, "I'm gonna show you something I never showed before. Would you like to read Gary's letters?"
That was one more heavy thing in what had sure been a heavy day. Tamera said, "Sure." Nicole took this full drawer, and dumped it on the table. There were so many envelopes Tamera just started reading at random. Couldn't believe it. Right off, first one she picked had some really good quotes. "Nicole," she said, "would you mind if I wrote down a couple of these sentences?"
They came to a kind of agreement: Tamera wouldn't do a story now, but after Nicole was gone, Tamera could write anything she wanted. So they both sat there at the kitchen table and read letters, and Tamera copied quotes as fast as she could. Finally left about eight that night. They'd been together since noon.
On the drive from Provo to Salt Lake, Tamera usually took it fast, went along with her radio full blast, and got a lot of tickets. On this night she poked along at 50, and tried to think. She didn't know what to do, couldn't sleep, and by morning, decided to tell her editor. It all seemed too big. In his sanctum, strictly off the record, she told how Nicole was planning to commit suicide when Gilmore went, and her editor remarked he had heard as much from other reporters. There were a lot of rumors going around. This new information, however, had convinced him to alert the authorities. That made Tamera fee! better.
She got to thinking that what Nicole needed most right now was a friend. Tamera was going to be that. Get her out doing things, and out from under the huge burden of living with Gilmore in her mind all the time.
Today you kissed my eyes, you have blessed them forever. I can see only beauty now. Oh, fair Nicole Kathryne Gilmore. You're a little elf sweet and neat and fun to eat. I'm not a great poet But if I had you naked on a bed or on the grass beneath the stars I'd write such a love song all over your fair freckled body with my tongue and my hands and my cock and my lips and whisper softly of your beauty, make you feel and soar and sail and sing to dance around the sun and moon and become as one and come as one and come and come and make you moan soft sighs wild eyes rolled back abandoned lusty sweaty wet and warm wrapped tire around mouths locked in sweet wet kisses kisses kisses look at you naked love to look at you naked or just in knee socks pull your panties up in the sweet crack of your little bouncy elf bootie loved to watch you walk around the house without your clothes on . . . sexy elf girl, I love you.
Your Gary
Gibbs also received a note that day:
So far, I've gotten a letter from Napoleon, one from Santa Claus, several from Satan, and you wouldn't believe how many postmarks and return addresses Jesus Christ himself uses. People think I'm crazy. Ha ha ha.
You'll never guess who I got a letter from. Brenda! First she helps them catch me, then she helps them convict me, now she wants to write and visit. She's got more balls than a bull elephant.
Next day, Thursday, soon as Tamera came into work, she received a call from a correspondent for Time magazine. Heard she'd been with Nicole. Wanted to know if she had a little information to pass along. Pressure was coming down on her editors as well. They were having to stall old newspaper acquaintances. It was the first time Tamera had seen how the newspaper business was like a swap shop. "I'll give you a piece of my story today, if you take care of me tomorrow."
She had always thought it was closer to the movies: you went out by yourself and brought it back alive.
At this point, the news editor took Tamera off other assignments, and said, "You're on Nicole. Do what you have to do." She looked blank, and he added, "I don't care if you bring her up to Salt Lake, and have her stay at your house. If you have to, take her out to dinner. I don't care what it costs. Do anything, but don't lose that story."
Well, this was more like what she had thought it would be. Then the guy from Time magazine called back to say he wanted quotes. When she said, "This is between me and Nicole," he said, "She's just given an interview to the New York Times." Tamera just thought, "WHAT??"
Later that morning, Tamera was waiting as Nicole came out of prison. Soon as she brought up the interview with the Times, Nicole said, "That's ridiculous. I'm not talking to anyone."
"I just want you," said Tamera, "to understand my position. I'll keep the secrets you told me so long as you also keep them." She looked real straight at Nicole. "But as soon as you start talking to other media people, I don't feel bound to honor our agreement. If you want to earn some money on this thing, you're totally justified. Somebody wants to pay you, that's great. But I want you to know I'll write a story too when that happens."
Nicole just said, "Agreed." Acted like they were still friends. All of Tamera's anger went away. She just loved Nicole again and started making plans for what they could do on Saturday, her day off. Maybe go up to the mountains. A good idea to get out. Nicole agreed.
Then they drove over to Kathryne's house and had whole wheat toast, and talked, and in the middle of that, Nicole whispered that she wanted Tamera to keep Gary's letters. Didn't want her mother to see them after she was gone.
Next, Nicole and Kathryne got into the most impossible conversation.
"I'm going," Nicole said, "to the execution Monday morning."
Kathryne said, "Sissy, I don't want you there."
"Well," said Nicole, "I'm going."
"If you are," said Kathryne, "I'm going too."
"Gary didn't invite you."
"I don't care whether he did or not. I'm not going to see him. I'm there to wait for you
."
"No," Nicole said, "I'll go myself."
"Get it straight, kid," said Kathryne, "I'm taking you."
Then the news came over the radio. None of them could believe it. Gary's execution had been delayed again. Governor Rampton had just issued a Stay. The radio announcer kept repeating it in an excited voice.
Tamera was sure glad her editor had said to stick with Nicole.
Otherwise, she might have run back to the newspaper to see if they needed her. Instead, she could now offer to take Nicole over to the prison. On the way, Nicole gave her the key to the apartment in Springville. Told her she could pick up the letters, and hold them.
During that twenty-minute trip to the prison, Nicole still looked calm, but Tamera knew she was stunned. What came off was one clear message: Gary would now have to commit suicide. That was bringing it very near to Nicole.
She started telling Tamera about her mother-in-law, Marie Barrett.
Really liked Marie, she said, liked her a lot better than Jim Barrett.
Marie was a groovy lady and loved Sunny and Jeremy. Nicole said she would have always gotten along great with her, if Marie hadn't been such a super housekeeper. Nicole liked to keep the house clean, but her mother-in-law had to do it her way. Other than that, she was terrific. Nicole had about decided Sunny and Jeremy ought to grow up with Marie after she was gone.
Then she told Tamera about the last time she saw Marie. It was just after Kip had been killed.
"Now, it will happen to Gary soon," Nicole had said to Marie Barrett, "I don't know what there is about me."
She had been feeling miserable all over. Marie said, "Nicole, maybe next time, you'll find a fellow you can have a good relationship with. Just be more careful. Check him out a little more before you get married."
Nicole said, "There won't be another time."
"You're through with men?" Marie asked.
Nicole said, "I don't know what I mean, but there won't be another time." She almost gave it away. "If something happens to me," Nicole said, "would you take the kids?"
"Sure, I would," Marie said, "you know I would. Only nothing's going to happen to you."
"Then, that afternoon," Nicole said to Tamera, "the cops came around to Springville and knocked on the door and kind of looked me over." Just made polite conversation at the door, but she knew Marie had sent them. Nicole would still trust her with the children, only she didn't know about confiding in her personally. Tamera took it as a message.
Soon as she dropped her at the prison, Tamera returned to Nicole's apartment, picked up the letters, put them in a grocery sack, and searched the place for a gun or sleeping pills. Didn't know what she would do if she did find something, but made the search.
PROVO HERALD
Nov. 11, 1976. Salt Lake City (UPI)—Utah Governor Calvin L. Rampton asked the Utah Board of Pardons to review Gilmore's conviction at their next meeting on Wednesday, November 17, and decide if the death penalty is justified.
Gilmore said he was "disappointed and angered" by the governor's action. "The governor is apparently bowing to pressure from various groups who are motivated by publicity and their own egotistical concerns rather than concern for my 'welfare.' "
Chapter 4
PRESS CONFERENCES
Out in Phoenix, Earl Dorius was bombarded with the news. Everybody was stopping him in the lobby to ask, "What's going on in Utah?" Earl felt as if the conference were totally destroyed for him.
He couldn't listen to anything. Kept racing back to his room to catch the news. If he wasn't on the phone, he was flipping stations on the TV set. "What do you think of the Governor's action?" everyone asked him. "I haven't had a chance to research it," he would say, "but it's my impression the Stay was improper because it was granted at the request of outside parties."
He realized he was closer to the office at this point than to the conference, and decided to check out of Phoenix and get back to work.
SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
Nov. 12, 1976—Boaz signed an agreement with Utah State Prison Warden Samuel W. Smith that he would serve only as an attorney for Gilmore, then talked freely about his intentions to "serve as a writer first, a lawyer second."
"We have no power to censure him. He is not a member of the Utah bar," a member of the Utah State Bar's executive committee explained.
PROVO HERALD
Provo, Nov. 13, 1976—Boaz said he plans to "make some money" from Gilmore's story and split it 50-50 with the condemned man's family and any charities he may choose.
Just as Dennis was coming into the prison, Sam Smith called him over and said, "I heard Gilmore had an interview with a London newspaper this morning. Do you know anything about that?"
Dennis was in a real state of excitement. David Susskind had just called from New York. He was interested in doing a movie on Gary's life. There could be large money at the other end. Dennis's mind was racing.
"The London newspaper?" he said to Sam Smith. "Oh, sure, I set it up."
The Warden's face got red, unusual color for a pale man. Then he shouted. Everybody at that end of the hall popped their heads out of offices. For that matter, Dennis was startled too Nobody was used to Sam Smith yelling.
Smith said he was going to file suit. Dennis said, "I couldn't care less, Warden." He was beginning to take personal pleasure in looking for statements to rile Sam Smith. There was something about Sam's skin that inspired you to get under it.
Dennis even laughed when they strip-searched him, just to be vindictive. It was a comedy. The guards came up to his armpits.
Why, two days ago, they'd been so impressed with the way he acted before the Utah Supreme Court, they let him bring his typewriter into the talk with Gary.
After Boaz got through the strip-search, he met Nicole. There was a slitted window along the south end of the visiting room, and there she was sitting on Gary's lap, right at that end window, both of them looking out at Point of the Mountain. She didn't pay much attention to Dennis. Necking with Gary was all she was heeding.
Still, when she came out of it, Dennis thought she had a sweeter, more innocent-looking face than he had anticipated. She was looking tired, even washed out, and that gave her a melancholy wistfulness he definitely liked. But, Gary glowered. Didn't approve of the budding friendship whatsoever. Looked like he thought Nicole was flirting, when all she was saying was that her grandfather's funeral would be starting in an hour or so.
Once she left, and Dennis was alone with him, Gary hardly offered a chance to talk about Susskind's offer. He was too fired up over Governor Rampton. The subject proved infectious. Dennis loved the way Gary could pass you his steam. In fact, Dennis felt like a boiler, all fired up himself at what he could soon say about the Governor.
From the beginning, Dennis was looking to give out thoughts that would bring people face to face with stuff they had never pondered before. Dennis was looking to make a few shocking statements about public executions and get the people thinking. Make them ask themselves, "Why do we have executions behind locked doors? What are we ashamed of?" Just that morning one of his zingers had been printed:
PROVO HERALD
Provo, Nov. 14, 1976—"I think executions should be on prime time television," Boaz said. "Then we would get some deterrent out of it."
He'd been having press conferences practically twice a day since he and Gary won at the Utah Supreme Court and over and over he kept telling the press that he was there to represent free and open dealing and would present his life as an open book. He might get masted, but his responsibility was to be very Aquarian and even report things about himself and his feelings that might seem strange.
At least the people would be getting open treatment, not manipulation.
The press could misquote him, misrepresent him, take his remarks at random and distort them. It didn't matter. He wasn't going to flatten his personality. In fact, right after he came out of the Utah Supreme Court, he told the reporters he was in Salt Lake because it had a
higher percentage of beautiful women than any city he'd been in, Plus the fact, he told the press, that a lot of these women like to meet Californians. For the taste of evil. There were millions to be made here, he said, importing California consciousness.
Really, he said. Of course, they never printed a word of it.
The press responded by asking about his financial affairs. "I have nothing to hold back," he told them. "The fact is, I owe $10,000, actually about $15,000, if you include not only what I owe creditors but friends. I have no shame about this. I made a bad investment once, and immediately found the whole thing bellied up, money gone."
The word in response, he soon learned, was that he was playing Gilmore for the money. He didn't care. The word would turn around when they realized he wasn't.
The Executioner's Song Page 54