Читать книгу Insiders - Olivia Goldsmith - Страница 11

Some people think that law enforcement officers are inhumane or uninteresting. Personally, if I became personally involved with every person sitting there crying, I couldn’t function in my job. I’m not inhumane – I’m just removed from the emotion.

Georgia Walton, deputy sheriff at Sybil Brand Institute.

Kathryn Watterson, Women in Prison

‘Good morning, sir,’ the new inmate began briskly as she was ushered into the Warden’s office by Officers Camry and Byrd.

Gwen Harding didn’t get many chances to laugh during an Intake meeting, but the dumbstruck look on Jennifer Spencer’s face when she got her first look at ‘sir’ was almost comical. Like so many other women, Spencer obviously assumed that Warden Harding would be a man with whom she might flirt. The girl was clearly more than just a little rattled by her discovery.

Spencer was thin, taller than average, with big dark eyes and lots of dark hair. Staring at the Warden, those eyes went from registering surprise to embarrassment, and then quickly to something closer to … manipulation. Oh yes, Gwen Harding thought, this girl was capable of causing trouble. ‘Too smart for her own good’ was the phrase that Gwen’s father would’ve used to describe Jennifer Spencer. ‘Take a seat,’ Gwen told her and pointed to the chair that sat directly in front of her desk.

There were two chairs for visitors in the Warden’s office. The one beside the desk was rarely offered to inmates or even coworkers. The other chair – which was known as the ‘hot seat’ – was the chair intended for Jennifer’s butt. But Miss Spencer seemed to be past any discomfiture, and, ignoring the ‘hot seat’, she slipped quite easily into the chair beside Gwen’s desk. Officer Camry moved to stop her, but the Warden shook her head. She’d see how this all played out. ‘You may go,’ she told the officers, and they turned and left, closing the door behind them.

Gwen looked the girl over. There was no doubt that she was going to be a problem. Deciding where to put these high-profile types was always a tough call. She had to get it right the first time, because there was no good way of changing it later. Gwen thought she was a pretty good judge of character, however, and while Spencer might be high profile, Gwen didn’t think she’d end up being high maintenance. Number 71036 was too proud for that.

‘I trust that your trip here and your processing at Intake was not too difficult,’ Gwen began. Gwen realized as she said it that it had been very difficult for this young woman. She could tell at a glance that Jennifer Spencer never expected to be stuck in a prison. Jennifer Spencer would’ve been far more comfortable heading up the JRU meeting than coping with what she was about to experience at Jennings.

‘Miss Spencer,’ the Warden continued as she opened her desk drawer and took out the inmate manual. ‘You’ll find this booklet to be indispensable during your stay here.’ She handed the bright yellow pamphlet to Jennifer, who took it, set it on her lap, and folded both hands on top of it.

‘Thank you,’ Jennifer said. ‘I –’

‘You must read it completely later, but now I’d like you to turn to page three. It’s headed Inmate Responsibilities.’

As instructed, Inmate 71036 opened the book, but only glanced at the page before she began to speak. ‘It’s important –’

‘It’s important that we read this page together,’ Gwen interrupted. ‘I want to touch on a few items listed here.’ The Warden began to read: ‘You are responsible for your behavior, actions, and attitude.’ Gwen saw the girl shift in her seat.

‘Warden Harding,’ Jennifer said. ‘May I speak frankly?’

‘Please do,’ Gwen said dryly, waiting for the inevitable. Often Gwen found that if she let a new inmate ramble on long enough, she would catch some pertinent detail, some insight into her personality that would enlighten Gwen on how she might help the woman to help herself. Gwen believed in rehabilitation, not punishment. But she could almost bet that Jennifer Spencer was going to put this belief to the test.

‘I guess you’ve probably already heard from Attorney Howard McBane of Swithmore, McBane, or from Thomas Branston at Hudson, Van Schaank & Michaels,’ Jennifer began. ‘Or maybe Mr Michaels himself called.’ Before Gwen had a chance to respond, Jennifer crossed her legs, leaned in toward Gwen, and continued. ‘This situation has gotten a little out of control, I’m afraid. I wasn’t meant to come here at all, and I certainly should not have had a rectal or pelvic exam. When I speak with my attorney I’m going to have to mention it and see if legal action should be taken.’

‘Legal action?’ Gwen asked. She was getting more than just annoyed with this woman.

‘Yes,’ Jennifer said flatly, ‘I am neither a drug offender nor a smuggler. The invasive examination wasn’t needed. And your intake officer didn’t seem to have any medical education.’ She took a deep breath, and Gwen saw that, in spite of her bravado, the girl was trembling. Gwen felt a stab of pity for the girl as she watched her toss her head back and continue. ‘Anyway, I’d like to talk about Attorney Branston’s arrangements for my special needs while my appeal is being heard.’

‘Special needs?’ Gwen echoed.

‘Did he tell you that I would like a sunny room? And I can’t have a roommate because I’ll be keeping late hours. If desks and laptops are not standard issue then I’ll need to get one of each.’

Gwen merely blinked.

‘Also, I’ll need access to a copier and hopefully some secretarial help. I don’t know if you have a trained staff, but I’d be more than willing to pay for someone to come in.’

Gwendolyn Harding sat in a state of stunned disbelief as 71036 enumerated her expectations of ‘white-glove treatment’ and ‘special considerations’. This wasn’t the standard protestation of innocence, but rather a list of demands from the kind of young woman who was used to giving orders – and having them carried out. Not even when women like Margaret Rafferty – someone from a very high social position – were taken in had Gwen run into this lack of reality and misguided arrogance. Did Spencer really think Jennings would revolve around her? Who had led her to think such a thing? Her boss? Her success on Wall Street? Spencer’s file indicated that she was clearly not from the kind of social background that would justify such an astonishing sense of self-importance.

Gwen took a deep breath. Whatever the reason for it, this was not an attitude that would allow Spencer to survive within the prison population. And it certainly was not endearing her to Gwen, either. The longer Gwen listened, the tighter the muscles cramped in her neck, jaw, and throat. All of her life she had fought a debilitating stammer when confronted with ignorance and pride. Years of speech therapy had taught her to modulate her breathing, focus her thoughts, and to speak in a rhythmic pattern that allowed no time for a stutter. She had managed to control it throughout the horrible JRU meeting, but now she felt that the stammer would return and it angered her. When she was certain that she had mastered her own emotions, Gwen placed her hands on her desk and leaned her face close to 71036. ‘Your opinion to the contrary, Miss Spencer, you are not – in charge – here.’

The rhythm of the statement echoed ‘On your mark – get set – go.’ But the intention was not to start a race, but to stop Jennifer Spencer dead in her tracks. It worked. Spencer shut up and paled. This result pleased Gwen, and consequently she felt the spasm of anger release its grip from her throat. She would not be intimidated by this young woman, nor would she let her forget why they were both here. Jennifer Spencer needed Gwendolyn Harding’s help.

‘You are here – to get – help,’ Gwen told her, continuing with the steady rhythm of pa-dum, pa-dum, pa-dum. ‘I am here – to help – you.’ With her anger under control, Gwen took a cleansing breath and continued in a more relaxed tone. ‘You will not be given an office or a laptop, nor will you – be assigned – a desk. Or a secretary. You will work on prison work for which you will be paid. Every woman – at Jennings – works. There are no – special favors – here. Have I made – myself – clear?’

The pa-dum, pa-dum, pa-dum achieved the desired effect. The new inmate dumbly opened and closed her mouth a few times – kind of like a guppy – uncrossed her legs, and nodded her head with a robotlike rhythm that matched the cadence of Gwen’s speech.

Fine, Gwen thought. She looked closely at Spencer’s face. She had originally thought of assigning this new inmate to the library, but now she could see that Jennifer Spencer was going to need something very different than the cool and gentle hand of librarian Margaret Rafferty. This girl needed to learn values, cooperation, and probably some humility if she was going to survive incarceration.

The warden relaxed a bit, rose from her chair, sat on the edge of her desk, and continued. Jennifer in turn adjusted her attitude and sat and listened as if she were attending a lesson in the Baltimore catechism.

‘First, you have to be passed through Observation for a night,’ the Warden told Jennifer. This was SOP – Standard Operating Procedure. It probably wasn’t needed in Spencer’s case, but it was just possible that under that bravado, she was suicidal or drugged. Gwen knew Spencer wouldn’t tolerate Observation well. It was an extremely dehumanizing but necessary evil. However, the real question was, after she was finished with that, where would inmate 71036 fit in?

‘Miss Spencer – I assume – that you know that here – at Jennings – we all work. In addition – to the jobs – such as maintenance – there is work – to be done – in the shops.’ Gwen stopped and waited to see if any of this was sinking in. She saw the girl nod.

‘The pay is next to nothing. You work to help defray your cost to the taxpayer.’

‘Yes,’ Jennifer said calmly, ‘I know. I’m in a very high tax bracket myself.’

Gwendolyn looked to see if there was any attitude or irony in the comment. It was then that she knew exactly where Jennifer Spencer needed to work. ‘You will start in the laundry – for now,’ the Warden told her. ‘I believe that will be for the best. In due time, you may be promoted,’ she added with a smile of encouragement. And then, with a deep and meaningful intake of air, Warden Gwendolyn Harding prepared for her big finale. It was a speech she had given often, to each and every new inmate that she welcomed to Jennings.

While she recited the words, she was simultaneously deciding where to put Spencer after Observation. She concluded that she must go right into the middle of Movita Watson’s crew. With a good teacher like Movita, Spencer would eventually settle in and learn how to take care of herself. Gwen knew that Movita was fascinated with Jennifer Spencer. She had seen her take the papers and magazines from the library cart that was available to the inmates and read every article that was written about her.

The Warden paused for a moment, then continued both speaking and thinking. There was structure in Movita’s crew. She was a good leader with an eye for talent. Of course, no one in that group had ever known the kind of wealth and privilege that Spencer knew, and if that girl looked down her nose at Movita like she had with Gwen – well, she was likely to have that nose put out of joint. She studied Spencer’s face intently. Movita would either take Spencer in – or Movita would take her out. Only time would tell. If she did take her in it would take time.

The Warden’s speech was at an end, and she told Jennifer that their meeting was over. She called for Camry and Byrd to take her away to Observation.

Later, all alone in her office, Gwen couldn’t help but feel disappointed with the turn of events that day. Jennifer Spencer had actually shaken her self-confidence. Or maybe it was the JRU people who had done that. Why had they all rattled her so? Gwen had seen both Spencer and the women from JRU scrutinizing every inch of her person and her clothing. They all looked like those haughty store clerks at Saks. Except with Jennifer Spencer it was even worse. She walked into Gwen’s office like she was coming in for the quarterly earnings report. Gwen didn’t know who made her feel the most insignificant, Spencer or Baldy from JRU.

Gwen had kept a daily journal from the first day she began at Jennings. She kept it carefully locked in the bottom left drawer of her desk – where she also kept a bottle of gin, a glass, and a jar of olives.

Most often by the time Gwen finished her journal entry for the day it was deep into the evening. She’d write and sip, sip and read. Night after night she told herself that she found both solace and inspiration in recording her thoughts and observations, but in her heart she knew that it was really the gin that kept her at the office a little later each evening. The gin and the emptiness of her house. So far, she had sternly refused to drink at home. But with her mother dead, her beloved Yorkie gone almost two years, and her husband gone for far longer than that, there was little reason for Gwendolyn Harding to rush home at night.