Insiders (9 page)

Remember that you are always in a better position to ask for a job transfer if you have a good record on the job you already have. Failure to do well on a job may result in demotion or punishment.

‘Rules for Inmates' at the Ohio Reformatory for Women in Marysville, Ohio. Kathryn Watterson,
Women in Prison

Jennifer Spencer survived yet another night in prison, only to awaken to another day of working in the laundry.

Nobody wanted the laundry detail. Undoubtedly that was why Jennifer had been assigned to it. The laundry was a long room in the basement with a low ceiling. Between the steam and the pervasive smell of chlorine bleach and dirty clothes, the place reminded Jennifer of nothing so much as a cheap health club back in what she was beginning to think of as her ‘other life'.

There was nothing healthy about this place; the work was heavy and dangerous. All of the prison's dirty laundry – everything from the polyester jumpsuits to regular uniforms to underpants, socks, sheets, and blankets – came through this laundry. So did washrags and blood-soaked pillowcases.

In addition to the stuff that was
supposed
to be washed,
there were two other categories: detritus and contraband. Detritus included bloody gauze pads that had been accidentally wrapped in a towel and thrown into a cart, or the speculum that had been entangled in a dispensary johnny. There were hair clippings from the barbers, stale and rotting food in garment pockets, puzzle pieces, and every possible piece of unbreakable plastic dinnerware (including sporks, pepper shakers, and plastic ketchup squeezers). Jennifer had been issued heavy-gauge rubber gloves and an apron, but it wasn't enough. About the only thing she figured the gloves could protect her from were the roaches she was constantly finding in pockets, socks, or accumulated at the bottom of the bucket.

The laundry at Jennings reminded Jennifer of a blue flannel suit: it attracted everything but men and money. Only two days ago Suki had pulled out a speculum and on another day Jennifer herself had felt a lump inside the tied leg of a pair of slacks. When she untied the bottom the meticulously taped package of cocaine dropped like an iced plum into her hands. ‘One day we found a scalpel,' Suki told her.

Laundry came in on industrial rolling carts that, for some reason, Jennifer kept tripping over again and again. The carts were heavy to push, and because the sheets and clothing were often water-soaked, simply untangling the garments and putting her gloved-sheathed hand into the mix seemed almost more than she could bear. The smell of sweating women, the industrial-strength liquid detergent, the cheap perfumes, and the mildew were intolerable to her. I'll call Tom and get him to charter a helicopter, she told herself.

After Jennifer unloaded the dirty linens into the huge
front loader and snapped the lock shut, she would pull the cart back and watch Suki do her magic. It was the only fun that Jennifer managed to get out of the dirty work. When Suki turned on the huge stainless steel industrial washing machines, it was as if the little blonde girl was in control of the space shuttle at Houston. She could barely reach the flip switches on the top of the machine, but she managed to snap some of them all the way up, some in the middle, some all the way down. ‘You have to be careful to synchronize the water level push button with the “on” button or otherwise the water runs out over the top. It'll get you wetter than you were when you were in Observation!' Suki yelled over the noise of the tumbling drum.

Once the machine was activated, Suki and Jennifer would stand back and watch the water fill up the front of the glass and watch the bubbles consume the clothes inside.

When all the dirty clothes were sorted and washed it was time to go help out in the clean laundry. There were two black-topped Formica tables butted up against each other where women were folding the clean clothes. None of the women liked folding the jumpsuits, shirts, or undergarments. And forget about doing the socks – that was right up there with the popularity of having to wash silverware. There was always a silent contest, though, when it came to folding the towels and facecloths. It was a competition of speed, neatness, and the crispness of the crease (to insure that the stack of linens would stay vertical). The record for facecloth stacks was held by an older woman named Rory with seventy-five, while Dakota – a black teenager – held the record for twenty-five bath towels.

For Jennifer – who hadn't done laundry since college –
there was a certain fascination in watching the women work briskly, trying to outdo each other. She had to admit that the cleanliness of this part of the work area was nice, the fresh smell of the clean clothes, the heat that radiated from the sheets and towels. It was a homey kind of comfort that she couldn't quite get over.

Later in the day, just after Suki had pushed and emptied a particularly large cart loaded with wet linens, Jennifer saw the girl clutch at her stomach, grow completely pale, and then pass out. Jennifer rushed to Suki's side and caught her just under the arms. In another two seconds, Suki's head would have hit the wet concrete floor. For a moment Jennifer stood there, paralyzed, holding the tiny body upright. She couldn't lay her on the floor, nor could she let go of her grip to get a better hold and attempt to carry Suki to the infirmary. Unconscious, Suki was ninety pounds of dead weight and, unlike the wet laundry, she wasn't on wheels.

Through the din, the vapors of the room, and the jerry-built lighting system, Flora, the supervisor, a middle-aged woman who seemed to really care about her laundry staff, made a motion to another inmate to help Jennifer pick Suki up and lay her across one of the black Formica laundry tables.

A cold cloth was brought for Suki's head and a couple of aspirins were distributed. From her pocket, Flora brought out an ampule and snapped it open right under Suki's nose. Suki's eyes popped open – the bright blue color agitated by all that she could feel going on around her. When her eyelids closed again, Jennifer took a deep breath and almost choked as the supervisor cracked open another capsule of ammonia salt. Once again, Suki's head snapped back and
her eyes rolled open. This time, the supervisor cradled her head in her arms and began to ask questions.

‘Suki, can you hear me?'

The blonde bounced her head up and down.

‘Talk to me. Talk to me, then,' Flora said.

For no discernible reason, Suki began to sing. Her voice was as petite as the supervisor but a good deal more polite ‘Don't Cry for Me, Argentina' as she warbled some lines from the flat stage of the linen folding table.

‘Are you on your period?' Flora asked.

Suki shook her head.

‘We'd better bring her down to the dispensary,' Flora said.

‘No, no!' Suki remonstrated. She struggled to sit up, then lost her strength and collapsed again on the table.

‘If you take her to medical, they'll do a quick once over and take money from her canteen fund, and she doesn't have that much in it,' Springtime told Flora.

‘They make you
pay
for medical treatment?' Jennifer asked in disbelief.

‘Yep. A co-pay. Five bucks for a doc, four bucks for a nurse,' Flora explained.

Suki came to again and assured them she was fine. As the group broke up Suki grabbed Jennifer's arm. ‘Jennifer, lean over,' she said, and Jen bent her head over the table. ‘Can I tell you a secret?' asked Suki, her eyes bright with news.

‘Sure,' Jennifer asked, as the supervisor left.

‘I'm not on my period,' Suki giggled. ‘I can't be.'

‘Well, you might be weak anyway,' Jennifer told the young girl, and patted her head. ‘Sometimes people are affected differently.'

‘No, no, you don't understand,' Suki giggled again. ‘I'm going to have a baby.'

For the first moment, Jennifer felt panic. She looked at Suki's flat stomach. Was the girl delusional? Did she think she was going to give birth here? Jennifer had seen her crumple and was sure that Suki hadn't hit her head, but somehow she was out of it. ‘Suki,' Jen said gently, ‘you're not having a baby. You just passed out.'

‘Promise you won't tell nobody?' Suki admonished.

‘Oh, I won't tell,' Jennifer told her. But how could she be pregnant? How could she
get
pregnant? Maybe she was just having some kind of seizure. Jennifer looked over at the petite blonde. She seemed to be completely recovered. ‘Suki,' Jennifer went on boldly. ‘You can't be pregnant, can you?'

Suki just smiled. It was the same smile that Jennifer had seen her give to Roger Camry.

When the workday was over and Jennifer had settled Suki into their cell, she realized that she had a little free time before the bell rang for dinner. One of the phones in her ‘pod' wasn't being used. She approached the phone as if it were the magical port that would take her out of this forsaken place. She picked up the receiver and entered Tom's number. But as the phone began to ring on the other end, Officer Byrd came into the rec area of the unit. ‘Head count,' he announced. ‘Take your places.'

Jennifer kept listening to the ringing. She watched the inmates leisurely move to the entrances of their cells. She, however, was frozen in place. She
had
to get the call through.

Officer Byrd walked up to the first doorway and, with
clipboard in hand, marked off something on his papers. He moved to the next, looked over the women, and marked again. The phone rang again. When he got to Jennifer and Suki's doorway, Jennifer could see Suki leaning against the door for support. Pick up, she thought. Come on. Pick up, Tom.

‘Jennifer Spencer,' Officer Byrd growled in a voice loud enough for her to hear all the way down the hall. ‘Jennifer Spencer?' he repeated. ‘Where is she, the infirmary?'

From her place at the phone Jennifer could see Suki's head shake strenuously and her mouth form the word ‘no'. Then she smiled flirtatiously at Officer Byrd and pointed in her direction. He turned around quickly and Jennifer couldn't help but shrink back as he started toward her, though he was a long hallway away. But in what seemed like two steps he was in her face. ‘Just what the hell do you think you're doing?' he asked. He grabbed her upper arm roughly. ‘It's head count. You're supposed to be in your cell.'

Jen could hear the phone ring. Pick up, pick up, she silently prayed. ‘I'm just trying to call …' she began.

‘I don't care what you're doing!' he snarled. ‘You stop everything – even if you're taking a leak – and get to the entrance of your house for head count.'

Then the ringing stopped. ‘This is a collect call from …' the automated voice intoned.

‘Move it,' Byrd was saying at the same time. He jerked her arm. With the receiver still to her ear, Jennifer heard Tom's voice. ‘Yes, I'll accept the charges,' he said. And at that moment, Officer Byrd grabbed the phone and jammed it into the receiver.

‘Get to your house,
now,
Spencer! You're being written
up for this,' Byrd said, his face flushed almost purple. ‘Just two more incidents and you'll be losing visitor's privileges.'

Stricken, Jennifer did as she was told.

Prisoners of hope.

Zech. 9:12

‘Back off and wait your ass like everybody else,' the skinny woman hissed at Jennifer.

Jennifer decided not to argue. She wasn't standing any closer to the woman than anybody else was, and like everyone else she'd been waiting in line for more than half an hour to use the phone. But everyone steered clear of the harsh skinny woman. Suki told her that she was from Haiti and knew voodoo. That didn't worry Jennifer, but the crazy look in the woman's eye did. Three women had already used the phone, each for a ten-minute interval, and by rights the receiver should now be handed to Jennifer. But she wasn't going to press the point with this obviously deranged, outraged woman who seemed to be getting some bad news.

Of all the facility problems at this disgusting prison, the phones were the worst. Some bastard in some state
architectural office somewhere had to think long and hard in order to make placing a phone call such a humiliating experience. Two antique-looking pay phones hung side by side in the rec room, and
why
they were pay phones no one could say since inmates were only allowed to make collect calls.

Worse, they were placed just high enough on the wall so that you couldn't sit down while using them, but neither could you stand completely upright – if you did, your head was directly in front of the television set mounted on the rec room wall. If the television was on – and it was always on – you had to crouch slightly for your entire call, and then try not to bump into the person who was crouched next to you using the other phone.

Right now the volume on the TV was turned up full blast, and as the women on the phones shouted to be heard, everyone else who was trying to watch the television was shouting at the callers to ‘shut the fuck up!' or ‘get your goddamn fat head out of the way!' It was chaos.

At last Jennifer was just a moment away from getting to the phone. Barring a lockdown, a head count, or an act of God, she would get to talk to Tom. She stared at the receiver, now being sprayed with spittle as the angry, skinny woman shouted something. Disgusting as it was, that phone was her only lifeline to the Outside.

Jennifer called Tom's office number and heard the phone ringing. Pamela, Tom's secretary, picked it up. The moment she heard Pam's voice, Jennifer began to speak, but the automated operator interrupted her to ask whether or not Pamela would accept the charges. Jennifer felt her stomach contract tightly. My God, what if Pam said no? She held her breath for what seemed a very long moment. When her call
was accepted and she heard Pam's voice say hello again, Jennifer felt actual tears of relief in her eyes.

‘Pam?' she said. ‘This is Jennifer. I need to talk to Tom right away.'

‘Jennifer!' Pam said brightly, as if this were a normal situation. ‘You're calling from –'

‘Yes, yes! I need to talk to Tom right away,' Jennifer repeated.

‘Oh, sure. He's in a meeting but –'

‘Get him! Get him right now,' Jennifer said.

She held her breath and waited. The thirty seconds of silence seemed as long as her entire previous life. Then, when Tom's voice said hello she felt as if her heart might explode in her chest. ‘Jen!' he said. ‘Jen, is it you? I've been so worried.'

‘Oh, Tom,' she cried, and she was shocked to hear how small and miserable she sounded. ‘Oh, Tom!' She looked behind her at the line of women waiting for the phone and lowered her voice. ‘Get me out of here. This is unbelievable. You just don't know.'

‘What's happened?' he asked.

She realized how wide the chasm from their last good-bye to this hello was. She could never get him to understand. And she certainly didn't have the time now. ‘Why hasn't
anything
happened?' she asked. ‘You have to get me out of here.'

‘Of course,' he said. ‘God, I've been so worried. I couldn't reach you and I thought you would call me right away. Why didn't you call?'

‘Why didn't I call?' How could she possibly explain to him what this place was like? ‘That's all I've been trying to do,' she said. ‘But it's not easy here.' Not easy! Ha! This
conversation was surreal. She herself wouldn't believe what she'd been through if she herself hadn't been through it. ‘Tom, what's going on? When do I get out of here?' She couldn't afford to waste her precious ten minutes on any other topic.

‘Soon, real soon.'

His voice, his promise, calmed her. She breathed deeply, the first deep breath of air she'd had since she'd stepped into Jennings. ‘Tomorrow?' she asked. She really didn't think she could go back to the filth of the laundry, and more meals in that wretched cafeteria would surely kill her.

Tom said something she couldn't hear. ‘What?' she said.

‘Tomorrow?' Tom was repeating. ‘No, it's not going to be tomorrow.'

Jennifer felt panic rising. ‘It has to be,' she told him. ‘It
has
to be.'

‘Shut the fuck up,' the woman using the phone beside her snarled. Jennifer lowered her voice and crouched even more to keep her head from blocking the television.

‘You don't know what it's like here,' she said. ‘You just can't imagine.'

‘I know it must be rough but …'

‘You don't know anything!' she said. ‘This is no country club. And I'm not getting any special treatment.'

‘Where are you?' he asked. ‘I can barely hear you.'

How to describe the bedlam of the rec room? ‘Never mind that,' she said. ‘What's going on? How soon can I get out?'

‘Look,' Tom said, his voice soothing. ‘You can't expect us to engineer all this right away. You …'

Jennifer looked around at the rec room; inmates in grim
uniforms were playing cards, building puzzles, pacing around the room dodging the broken chairs, stopping to stare at the smudges of dirt on the walls. As usual, a clearly psychotic woman was ranting and scratching at herself, but nothing was being done to help her or shut her up. Jen took in the funky smell, the palpable anger and boredom. ‘Not right away?' she asked. ‘I don't understand. You said it would be just for a day or two. Remember? You said it would be a country club. And that you'd get me right out. House arrest, or a commuted sentence or …'

‘Look, Jen, I admit it's going a little slower than we'd like,' Tom said calmly. ‘You just have to trust me and accept that. We can't just bully our way through the courts on this.'

The courts? They hadn't planned on the courts. ‘But what about the governor?' she asked.

‘White-collar crime is a big political issue right now. And your case became pretty high profile.' He paused for a moment, and in that second or two Jen thought she'd lost him. ‘You know,' he continued, ‘the press is still watching us very closely, and if I move too fast they'll be all over it again. And if they are, no judge is going to take the risk of losing his bench over this case. We have to find the right time or we'll be in a worse jam than we are now.'

‘We?' Jen asked and heard the bitterness in her voice. ‘That must be the royal we that you're using. Because
I
am the one incarcerated, Tom. I am the one who was strip searched. I am the one who slept in a cell with a felon. I'm the one wearing the jumpsuit and eating the crap they call food here.' Then her anger left her all at once and was replaced by a sickening fear mixed with grief. She began to sob. She told herself she had to stop. She couldn't waste her
phone time like this, nor let the other inmates see or hear her cry.

‘Oh, Jen, I know it's tough,' Tom soothed. ‘Look, just try to sit tight. I wish I could do this for you. And I wish I could do it quicker. But you have to believe me when I say that we're doing absolutely everything to get you out of there. It all takes time, Jennifer.'

Time! It already seemed as if everything in Jen's previous life had dissolved, had evaporated, and this dirty room, these miserable and frightening women were all that she knew. ‘How long do you think it's going to be?' she managed to whisper.

‘Two weeks,' he said. ‘Three at the most. And we're already looking into getting you transferred or giving you some special treatment in the meantime.'

Jen couldn't speak. Two weeks! Another fourteen days of this! And maybe more. It was unimaginable. It was literally unbearable. She felt as if her breastbone were cracking, the pressure on her chest was so great.

‘Baby?' Jen heard Tom's voice, but she could only answer him with a nod. He, of course, couldn't see her response. ‘Baby, are you there?' he asked.

‘I don't think I can …' her voice trailed off, the pain moving up to her throat and choking her.

‘Don't be upset, Jen,' he said. ‘You know I love you, don't you?'

‘Yes,' she managed.

‘Well I promise you that everything's going to be all right.' He paused and his voice became soft, really loving. ‘You have to tough it out now, Jen. We're all behind you and we're playing for very big stakes. Just hang on a little while, and think of the reward.'

She clutched the receiver tightly and held it close to her. ‘I just didn't know it would be this hard,' Jen whispered.

‘Oh, baby. I'm so sorry,' Tom told her. ‘You know I would have done it for Donald if it didn't mean I'd be disbarred. You know what
that
would have done to our future.' She nodded again. ‘So, can you just hang in there?' he asked. ‘Think about the penthouse we'll buy. Think about our wedding. And the cruise we'll go on.' He laughed, then lowered his voice. ‘Think about lying on the sand with me on a Caribbean beach.'

‘Enough, goddamnit!' Jen heard the words, jumped, and then turned to see the tall dark woman from Intake, the one who had tried on her shoes. She gave Jen a push on her shoulder. ‘You've had more than ten minutes. You're not the only one who has a lawyer.'

Jen covered the receiver of the phone with her hand. ‘Just another second,' she told the reptile coldly and turned back to the phone.

‘Will you come for visiting day on Saturday?' Jennifer asked Tom.

‘
This
Saturday?' he asked, sounding hesitant. ‘Baby, I've got so much work to do. We're preparing your appeal – just in case, but we're also making a motion for mistrial and going the pardon route.'

‘Please,' she begged. ‘I only get an hour for a visitor. If I'm going to be here please come.'

‘I'll try,' Tom promised.

‘Hurry up, debutante,' the woman said, and this time she hit Jen's shoulder harder.

‘I've got to go,' Jen said reluctantly, but even after they said good-bye and Tom had hung up, Jen found she couldn't let go of the receiver. She still held it to her ear.

It was Suki who finally pulled Jennifer away from the phone. ‘Come on,' she said gently. ‘Come away, now.' She brought Jen over to a chair. ‘Bad news or good?' she asked, but before Jen had time to answer, a woman CO entered the unit and announced something. Jen didn't catch what she said, but Suki jumped up and got the look of a kid on Christmas morning. ‘They're handing out the packages!' she said and grabbed Jennifer's arm, happily leading her across the rec room and into the hall where two of the guards had wheeled in a large cart laden with parcels.

‘Are you expecting something?' Jen asked Suki.

‘I never get a package,' Suki said, then put her hand on her stomach. ‘But I got one here!' she whispered at Jennifer. ‘But maybe you got a package today, Jenny,' Suki offered cheerfully. Jen shook her head, but the two of them stood with the other hopeful women.

Jennifer was shocked to see that each and every package was already torn open. Obviously the contents had been rifled through and searched for contraband, but the women all eagerly stood in line and unashamedly shouted for joy when they heard their names called as recipients of these gifts from the Outside. Jennifer watched as each inmate hungrily grabbed her package from the officers and then clutched it to her breast. Most of them scurried to their house or a far corner to examine the bounty of the contents.

Many of the women, the forgotten ones, stood silently off to the side. They knew that they would be receiving no packages today – or perhaps any day. Their looks of envy and of unspeakable sadness nearly brought Jennifer to tears. But when other women – those who were in their crews – got something, the loners gathered around the
lucky member of their prison family and shared in the delight of the presents.

Jennifer thought of her mother. Up to now she had been so grateful that the woman who suffered enough in life hadn't lived long enough to witness the shame and humiliation of Jennifer's imprisonment. But right now Jennifer would give anything if she could receive a package from her mother – a package from home. She, too, wanted to open a box filled with cookies and LifeSavers and playing cards.

All around the room there were happy squeals as packages were opened and the contents were discovered. Jennifer found herself smiling as she witnessed the joy a gift of Dr Scholl's footpads could bring. Apparently inmates could buy a few generic healthcare products from the prison canteen, but real happiness was opening a box and finding Caress – Head and Shoulders – Visine – Rolaids – Jergens. The brand names were reverently whispered like the names of the gods of comfort and contentment. And as Jennifer watched she was amazed to see how nothing was taken for granted. Even Tampax and Preparation H were spoken of reverentially. The boxes and bottles were eagerly passed around, and the women, who were starved for any bit of normalcy or sign of life from the Outside examined every word, scent, and color of the products.

‘Look! They've changed the Keebler elves,' one woman said with a laugh.

‘Let me see.'