Insiders (21 page)

Jennifer barely ate dinner that night, though Movita's cooking was good. She moved the food around on her plate until Cher asked her, ‘You gonna eat that or hang it on your wall?'

She didn't even respond while the chatter went on around her. She was a human stopwatch, counting down the minutes until eight o'clock. She needed to be sure she was first on the line for the phone and she rushed through the washup as quickly as she could. She couldn't take a chance on using the cell phone again, partly because she might be seen by a CO and partly because she was afraid Tom might have caller ID and investigate. Anyway, the cell phone was only for JRU business, not for her personal convenience. Movita asked her a question, but she didn't hear it, and the woman just shook her head, leaving Jennifer to stow the plates in the footlocker. When she was finally done, she rushed down the hall to the rec room.

The noise was already deafening. The television was blaring loudly, and two groups of tough-looking women had taken on sides to cheer on some event. As always, one of the psychotics was ranting, this time at an empty chair. Jennifer moved directly to one of the phones, stooped to make sure she wouldn't block the view of the set, and urgently placed her collect call to Tom's apartment. Her knees were shaking as she waited and rehearsed in her mind the outrage she would unleash upon the betraying Tom. Jennifer could barely hear the operator when she asked, ‘We have a collect call from Jennifer Spencer, will you accept the charges?' and she turned and glared at the noisy sports fans, but then she heard Tom's voice. ‘Jennifer,' was all that he said. His tone stopped her cold.

‘This is the last call I'm going to accept from you,' he said flatly. ‘Should you call my home again I will contact the Warden and tell her that you are harassing me. Is that understood?' Jennifer could not speak. ‘Is that understood?' Tom repeated.

‘Is this Tom Branston?' Jennifer asked weakly. ‘Tom, it's Jennifer.' There was silence on the line. ‘Tom?'

‘I'm sorry, Jennifer,' Tom spoke more quietly. ‘But nothing more can be done. We've looked into it and it's clear to everyone involved that you were actively complicit in what was going on at the firm and you got caught. You were a little too ambitious, a little too willing to take shortcuts. There's nothing more I can do about it.'

Jennifer didn't sleep that night but she didn't spend one minute of it crying. She did curse herself for being stupid, for thinking she was smarter than she was, and most of all for trusting men who had made their careers and all their money by taking advantage of the trust of idiots like herself.

But she knew that to continue looking backward would kill her. She told herself that, compared to the other women sleeping in ‘houses' all around her, she had been lucky. She had to tell herself that, repeating it like a mantra, or else she might begin to shake so badly she would split down the middle like a log hit by an ax for kindling. She wouldn't split, she wouldn't come apart, she told herself. She thought of Movita's dark eyes and her words of advice when she had come to her in the SHU. ‘This place can break you forever. Or it can make you stronger.'

Jennifer had a three-to-five-year sentence. For the first time she tried to imagine what that meant. With good behavior she'd be out in a year and a half. She felt as if she'd already served a lifetime. It was too easy to lose track of time. How would she get through it?

She had always been an optimistic person. She thought it was probably genetic. And she knew how to work hard.
She thought of her condo, the silk rugs, the antique furniture, and the soft, soft Pratesi sheets. The blanket on her bunk, pulled up to her shoulder, was a parody of comfort, but it would have to do. She was lucky, she reminded herself, one of the lucky ones. Unlike Maggie Rafferty, or Movita Watson, she'd be going home, and though she wouldn't mind killing either Tom or Donald, she certainly wouldn't want to pay the price they had. Nor, she realized, did she want to go back to her old job or even that industry – not that she'd be allowed to. Movita and Maggie had been right: She'd been selfish. There had to be more than simply working sixteen hours a day, buying lots of gifts for yourself and taking some splendid vacations sometimes. During that long, long night it became clear to her that dealing with JRU and the situation before her was a responsibility that, for some reason, had been placed in her hands.

She hadn't prayed in a long time. She wasn't sure that she believed in the God the nuns had taught her about, but she still believed in destiny, in fate, or perhaps some higher power that placed people in situations for a reason. As the night wore on she was certain that her fate was connected to these women and their future at Jennings. In this month she already felt closer and more connected to them than she ever had to either her partners or adversaries at HVS – Hudson, Van Schaank.

She tried to find a more comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. It was virtually impossible. She heard a CO go by on patrol. By now she could already distinguish the sound of their steps. It was probably Mowbry, a heavyset, African American woman, who seemed to show a lot of compassion to the prisoners. What this place needed, first and foremost, was a lot more compassion. After that, of
course, it needed about a million other things, from more library books to inmate classes to a maternal visitation wing to … well, the list was endless.

Jen tossed again and again. She now had no doubt that she would have to serve her sentence and, for the first time, she admitted to herself that it was fair that she do so. She
had
participated in manipulating and insider trading. Of course, it was de rigueur. And she, Tom, Donald, virtually all the men she had worked with at Hudson, Van Schaank, and the other Wall Street experts at other firms did the same thing on a daily basis. But that didn't make it right that she had. More unforgivable was that she'd been so proud of it.

Yes, that had been her big sin. Being proud that she, Jennifer Anne Spencer, had been smarter than the other girls, had figured out a way to get herself out of the life she'd been assigned and into what looked – on the outside at least – like a much better one. But her brain was something she didn't deserve any credit for. It had been an inherited gift, no different from the pretty blue eyes she had, or the money that so many of her classmates at Wharton had inherited and that she had so resented. She had taken her gift and her energy and she'd squandered it on Beidermeyer armoires.

Jennifer lay on the thin mattress, the worn and ugly blanket pulled over her, and decided not to look back. She had always had a strong will and she would use it now, not only to help herself but to help others if she could.

Tomorrow she would talk with Maggie and see if she could reach the Rafferty boys. They were thought of as outlaws, Wall Street gunslingers who played the very edge of the line, but she no longer had to worry about her
reputation. There, in the dark, she smiled, if a bit grimly, and began to do what she did so well: try to find the solution to a business problem in front of her. Comforted with the familiarity of it, she fell asleep just as the small strips of sky visible through the high windows were beginning to lighten.

We're not allowed to communicate with the girls after they get out. They can call or write us here, but we can't answer unless they get special permission from their parole officer.

Ms Bonnie Brown, a registered nurse at a state prison.

Kathryn Watterson,
Women in Prison

The first time I laid eyes on Cher McInnery I thought she was nothin' better than a piece of wild hillbilly white trash. But Cher didn't mind; she never pretended to be anything nor anybody other than who she was. And if I tell you she was smart as a whip, ya' better believe it. Cher was a thief – everythin' she saw was ripe for the pickin'. But she wasn't just a booster; she'd been involved in some complicated scams. She lived without pretense and with both eyes wide open. She was always on the lookout for the next opportunity to take what she needed, and when she got to Jennings, she knew that what she needed was a friend.

So, on the day Cher met me, the thief decided that she would just have to steal my black girl's heart. I wasn't sure I understood how it happened, but until now I was damn
glad that it did. She made me laugh, and I could set her off, too. Neither one of us was much of a crier, but if I did have to shed a few tears I would have rather done it in front of Cher than anyone. I knew that Jennings was goin' to be a damn lonely place for me after she was gone.

Those last days before Cher's release were hard on me. I admit it. Cher knew it and she tried not to talk too much about her meetin' before the parole board, her future plans, or any of it in front of me. But it was almost impossible for an inmate not to be excited (and a little nervous) when she was getting out of prison after almost four years. And the others – especially Theresa – couldn't seem to talk about anythin' else.

The evenin' after Cher's parole hearing wasn't easy for me. I wished her well. I'm not a godful type so I didn't pray or nothin' but if I was I would have.

‘Well, take a look at Miss McInnery over there,' Theresa crowed when Cher got back to our crib. ‘Doesn't she just look like the cat who stole the canary?' Her parole hearin' must have gone well. Cher was not only a great mimic but a really gifted actress – the girl could make a man believe she was a virgin while she was givin' head.

Anyway, real unlike her, Cher said nothin' back to Theresa – except to mumble a halfhearted, ‘No way.'

‘No way?' Theresa pressed on. ‘Cher, you're positively glowing with excitement. I could make a fortune if I could bottle your skin color right now! You look like you're ready to take on the world.' She shot a glance over at me. And again, Cher muttered the same, ‘No way.' I could see she didn't want to make no federal case out of it. But Theresa – a woman happiest when beating a dead damn horse – refused to let the subject drop, and after a few more words
of enthusiastic encouragement – always followed by Cher's ‘no way' – I finally snapped.

‘What in the hell is this “no way” shit you keep sayin'?' I demanded.

‘Oh, everybody on the Outside says it,' Suki chimed in. ‘My sister says that my niece is
always
saying it. You know, “no way” this and “no way” that.'

‘Well, it sounds dumb as hell,' I snarled. Sometimes, when I've missed some slang or didn't know they made bite-size Oreos I feel bad. Like the world is passin' me by. Cher just stood up and walked away.

She was tryin' to be kind, but I knew things would never be the same anymore between me and Cher. They couldn't be. Cher was leavin' this place – but I was never gettin' out, and when one of the crew left I always went through a low time. But it would be really hard to lose Cher.

She got her parole and we celebrated, but it was still a bittersweet supper that we all shared on Cher's last night. Theresa tried to make jokes about it bein' the Last Supper, but the laughs were forced and the smiles were pretty sad. Cher would be gone in the mornin'. Her time was up. No one could think of anythin' more to say that would make sense of the situation. How could Cher be anythin' ‘cept happy at the thought of gettin' out of prison? But how could any of us be anythin' ‘cept envious or real damn sad at the thought of losing a friend? Our conflict of emotions couldn't be put into words.

Over dinner I studied Cher's face. How did she feel knowin' it was her last night on a lumpy mattress, her last night of starin' up at bedsprings? How would it feel to me? I couldn't imagine it. Her face, angular and no longer young but not yet middle-aged, showed nothin'.

I hoped she had changed, but I doubted it. She might have been punished in Jennings but she sure hadn't been rehabilitated. If anythin', it seemed like Cher was only tougher and hungrier for more thievery. No one said it, but in their hearts I think all the crew suspected – maybe even hoped – that Cher would be back before long.

‘So, what exactly are your plans, Cher?' Jennifer asked. The two of them had become much more friendly since the cell phone incident. Cher had spent hours in their house, rubbin' Suki's swollen feet and talkin' to Jenny about her business, Wall Street, and all kinds of shit. Now Jen asked, ‘Will you be staying with your family?'

Cher shook her head. ‘Do you have any kind of job lined up or anything like that? It seems like after this it might be kind of hard to adjust again.'

‘Don't worry about me, Jenny,' Cher said with her smile. ‘I have plans.'

‘Such as?' Jennifer asked.

‘Well, I thought maybe I might become a stock broker like you,' Cher replied. ‘Seems to me that you and your kind have figured out a legal way to steal. You just dress better while you're doing it, that's all.'

Jennifer's laughter was uneasy. Then she shrugged. ‘I don't think felons can become registered brokers. But if you need a recommendation, just let me know.'

I watched Cher look directly into Jennifer's eyes. I knew she was sensitive about havin' been busted – it hurt her pride. In all her years of stealin' she'd been busted but never convicted before. With a cold calm she said, ‘Thank you Jennifer, but you've already helped me more than you can know.'

I should have put two and two together and seen what
was comin' then, but I didn't. The uneasy silence that followed Cher's remark was of course, broken by Theresa. ‘Maybe we should have a toast,' she suggested as she refilled their glasses with grape juice. When everyone was ready all eyes turned to me, like I was some kind of toastmaster.

‘You know,' I began after some thought, ‘I haven't seen my babies now in quite a while. And it breaks my heart to think about how much they must've grown since I last saw ‘em.' I stopped and closed my eyes tightly for a moment before continuin' with the toast. ‘A mama is supposed to want her babies to grow
up,
but there's not a mama I know that wants her babies to grow
away
from her. But babies gotta go out on their own. And so does Cher, I guess.'

‘You calling me a baby, Movita?' Cher asked in mock protest.

I got over my mood. ‘You know what I'm callin' you honey,' I shot back. ‘I got this crew together so we could take care of each other in this place. And we have one of us is leavin' and it ain't so easy to see her go. I'll worry about ya', girl. Who'll cover your back?'

Just then Suki screeched. ‘Oooh! The baby's moving!'

It was a mood changer for sure whenever Suki shared the baby's activity. I went over to her and put my hand on her belly. The baby kicked again. ‘He's gonna be a football player with a kick like that,' I told her.

‘It's gonna be a girl,' Suki said matter-of-factly.

‘Now, just how do you know that?' Theresa asked.

‘My sister Louisa says that when you carry in the front it's a girl, when you carry in the back it's a boy,' Suki said.

Jennifer came over to Suki. ‘Can I?' she asked, indicating her belly.

‘Sure, everybody else does. Heck, I should start charging
for the feel. What do you think it's worth? A bag of Fritos from the canteen?' Suki asked.

I went back to my seat and watched Jennifer with Suki. She seemed a little bit scared of the whole thing and, when the baby kicked, Jennifer actually jumped back, startled. I had to chuckle to myself. I had to admit it was kinda weird to know there was a baby in Suki's still relatively flat stomach. I wished I had been able to conceal my belly durin' my pregnancies. But I gained fifty pounds. I started to get lonely for my girls so I had to start talkin' again. ‘So what kind of names do you have picked out?' I asked Suki.

‘I like Allison,' Suki said.

‘How about Juanita?' I suggested.

‘Oh Jesus,' Cher said in mock panic, ‘don't listen to a black woman when it comes to naming a baby!'

‘What in the hell is that supposed to mean?' I asked her.

‘Oh, please!' Cher said, ‘if she listens to you that baby will end up with some kind of name like Metamucil or Mylanta.'

‘Is Stephanie, Bethany, Tiffany, or Brittany any better?' I asked, and made her laugh. ‘You're gonna need Mylanta if you don't shut your dumb honky mouth,' I threatened good-naturedly.

They were all laughin' so hard that no one noticed as the Warden stepped into the cell and gently put a hand on Cher's shoulder. ‘Sounds as if you're enjoying yourselves,' she said.

Cher pulled her shoulder away and said, ‘We're just trying to make the most of my last night.'

‘I just came by to wish you well, Cher,' the Warden said. ‘And to see how you ladies were doing. I guess it's going to
be rather different not having Cher around, isn't it?' She looked around the room but made eye contact with me.

No one said anything. So I stood up. ‘Thanks for comin' by, Warden,' I said.

The warden nodded at me. ‘Well, I'll leave you to enjoy each other's company,' she said, and she turned and walked down the hallway.

Once she was gone, all the women fell back in their seats and bunks and let out a simultaneous sigh. ‘Whoooeee!' Cher exclaimed. ‘That was a close one. You girls better be careful with her; ya' never know when she's gonna pop in. As for me, I'm gonna be gone.'

I turned and looked first at Cher, then at each of the others. The pain in my eyes was almost more than they could bear, but not one of them looked away. ‘I'm gonna die in this place,' I said simply. ‘I'm never gettin' out of here. Never.'

‘But …' Cher tried to speak.

‘Shut up, girl,' I said, raising my hand. ‘Shut up and listen, and make sure you don't make the same mistake I made. You hear me? Don't you trust no man when ya' get outta here. They set ya' up and then they let ya' down. I was dumb enough to trust my Earl. I let him keep his drugs at my place ‘cause he told me it was just petty dealin'. But when the cops showed up and arrested me right in front of my babies, Earl was nowhere to be found.' I shrugged. ‘When the police released me for turnin' Earl in, he hurt me. He hurt me real bad. But all of the reasons and all that shit don't mean a damn thing anymore. I killed him. And now I'm gonna live the rest of my days in here.' I walked over to Cher and took her hands. ‘Much as I love ya', girl, I don't want ya' comin' back here, ya' understand? When ya'
leave here tomorrow, I don't want to ever see your face again. I just love ya' too much.'

Cher only nodded. She understood all too well.

‘We're gonna miss you, Cher,' Theresa said with uncharacteristic brevity and no Hallmark bullshit.

‘I'm gonna miss all the stuff you steal,' Suki added. We laughed.

‘Don't worry,' she told Suki. ‘The very first thing I'm gonna boost is a layette for the baby.' We all laughed again. ‘And I might just miss all of you, too,' Cher admitted. ‘But I'll come back on visitor's day. Wait'll you see me then. I'm gonna get me a face-lift and a nip and a tuck …'

‘How are ya' gonna steal a face-lift?' I asked. Of course she couldn't come to visit. But Jennifer raised her glass and the others followed. She said, ‘Here's to our new and improved, soon-to-be-free Miss Cher McInnery.'

‘Hear! Hear!' the others chimed in.

I couldn't really tell what Jennifer was thinkin'. It wasn't like her and Cher ever got along real well, though since the phone thing they'd been chummy. I'm sayin' they respected each other – but they weren't tight. Oh, she was jokin' and laughin' with the rest of us – but I couldn't tell whether she was happy for Cher – or happy to see Cher go. And then that girl did the nicest damned thing. ‘I've brought something very special to the party,' she said with a smile, and she pulled out the fanciest box of candy I had ever seen. ‘It's Richart Chocolat,' she said – in French! ‘Lenny brought them for me.'

The crew couldn't get over these things – each one no bigger than the size of a sugar cube but all decorated up like a work of art. Some had dots – some had squiggles – some were striped. Each one a tiny little masterpiece. Who takes
the time to paint on a piece of candy? And what does it cost? ‘Cher goes first,' Jennifer said.

I think Cher liked that. She reached into the box, fished out a deep dark cube. ‘It's almost too pretty to eat.'

She was about to put it in her mouth when Theresa, who was looking at the card or such that came with the chocolate, let out a screech. ‘Stop!' she shouted. ‘You're not eating it right.'

‘I'm not what?' Cher asked.

‘There's this little book here with the candy,' Theresa explained. ‘And right here there's a whole page on “tasting technique”.'

‘You mean I can't just eat it?'

‘Girl, I been eatin' chocolate all my life and it seems just fine. Never got arrested for it,' I said.