Jennifer used her most intimate and ingratiating smile. ‘You can call me Jennifer,’ she said as pleasantly as she could. ‘May I call you Roger?’
The officer gave her that same look and then said, ‘Just follow the rules, Spencer. Put on the smock and let the intake officer get on with her job. You’ve already wasted too much time. Trust me, you don’t want to keep the Warden waiting.’
The Warden! Of course. The Warden. That must be it, Jennifer thought. She just had to get through these formalities and then her white-glove treatment would begin. She smiled again at Officer Camry and said, ‘Fine. If I could have some privacy, then.’
Camry nodded and turned to leave, but just as he reached for his keys, the door flew open again and the looming hulk of Officer Byrd strode in. ‘What in the hell is going on in here?’ he wanted to know. ‘What is taking so long?’ Jennifer quickly stood and both the jumpsuit and plastic bag fell to the floor.
‘Pick that up and put it on,’ Byrd shouted at her. ‘And leave it unbuttoned.’
‘Now wait just a minute!’ Jennifer said. ‘I think you’ll find if you check with the Warden that my lawyer has called ahead, and he has made …’ Jennifer stopped. She could hear more than a hint of hysteria rising in her voice and she didn’t want to lose control.
‘Check with the Warden? Ha! I’ll let you do that. You think your lawyer called ahead and he made what?’ Byrd asked. He was leering at Jennifer. ‘Do you think you just checked into a friggin’ hotel? Do you think you have special reservations? A room with a view? A table for two?’
‘Sarcasm won’t get us anywhere,’ Jennifer said as calmly as she could.
‘That’s right,’ Byrd agreed. ‘You’re not getting anywhere until you strip naked. And that is the end of this discussion.’ He looked hard at Jennifer. And Jennifer looked right back.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to make trouble. I won’t be here for long, anyway.’
Officer Camry chimed in, clearly trying to make peace. ‘Please just follow the directions and ring the buzzer when you are finished.’
Jennifer looked around the room again. ‘Do you have any hangers?’
Byrd laughed aloud. ‘Use the pegs,’ he said as he exited. ‘And don’t hurt yourself.’
Both Byrd and Camry left the room and Jennifer proceeded with the ridiculous drill. Right, she thought. Roger Camry was right. She was wasting valuable time. Tom would’ve made the necessary arrangements directly with the Warden. These low-level functionaries knew nothing. The sooner Jennifer got through this Intake stuff the sooner she’d be Exhausted. She took off her Armani suit and the matching silk blouse, wincing as she hung them on the pegs. When she had removed her slacks she hung them with the jacket, only to see both pieces fall onto the floor. She stooped, picked up the clothes, and tried again. And again. The peg gave way and the clothes fell in a heap. With a shiver, Jennifer realized that the pegs were not an April Fool’s joke – they were designed to swivel under weight so that no one could hang herself from them.
Not likely, Jennifer thought with a toss of her head. She hung each piece of her outfit on its own peg, then put on the nasty orange jumpsuit. The fabric was harsh against her body – probably Tercel or Herculon or something worse. And it was enormous – probably a ‘one size fits all’ kind of thing. She didn’t want to have to meet the Warden like this. There wasn’t a mirror in the room, but Jennifer did the best she could. For years she had managed to make even the drabbest Catholic school uniform look a little stylish. She slipped the alligator belt from her slacks and cinched it around her waist. After just a few tucks and a little flouncing, Jennifer rang the buzzer. She kept the phone in her bra. She was ready to meet the warden.
When Camry returned, Morticia was with him. Jennifer couldn’t help but notice that her jumpsuit fit as though it had been made to measure. And Morticia was giving Jennifer a good looking-over, too. They both stood there, glaring at each other as only two women who have come to the party wearing the same dress can. When Morticia caught sight of Jennifer’s belt, she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. ‘You ready for your close-up, Miss DeMille?’ she asked. Jennifer didn’t say a word.
‘Cut the crap, Cher,’ Camry said firmly to the woman. ‘Just bag her personal effects. And Miss Spencer,’ he turned to Jennifer, ‘please take off the belt. It’s against regulations.’
‘He’s afraid you’re going to hang yourself,’ Morticia smirked, further betraying her hillbilly origins with her accent. ‘Also the brassiere and underpants if you have them.’
‘What?’ Jennifer asked.
‘I’ll have to pat you down,’ Morticia said. ‘Then Ms Cranston’s goin’ to give you an internal.’
Jennifer groaned and did what Roger Camry told her to do, but as she removed the belt she noticed that Morticia had picked up her shoes and was stroking one of them as if it were the Holy Grail. Jennifer guessed that she’d probably never seen a Louboutin before in her poor trash life. Then she turned her back and tried to carefully remove her bra without dropping the cell phone. Just as she was about to secret the phone into the sleeve of her jumpsuit she felt someone standing beside her.
‘What is this?’ Morticia asked as she grabbed the phone and held it up in the air for the officer to see.
‘Where’d you get that?’ Camry asked. ‘That’s what contraband is, Spencer, and it can get you into big trouble here at Jennings. Lucky for you it was found now and not later.’ He tilted his head toward the personal effects bag and Morticia went over and slid the phone into the bag.
The white-coated intake officer returned and asked, ‘Are we about ready to get on with this?’
‘Miss Spencer is ready,’ Officer Camry said, and he took hold of Jennifer’s elbow. As he steered her toward the door, Jennifer saw that Cher was slipping one of the shoes onto her foot.
‘Hey!’ Jennifer protested. But Cher quickly pulled the shoe off and put it back on the counter before anyone could catch her.
Camry turned to look at Cher. She met his glare with the blandest look on her face. ‘Get busy with that, Cher,’ he said. ‘Catalogue every piece of clothing and put it all away.’
‘Where is she taking my things?’ Jennifer asked, but she didn’t get an answer from either Camry or the intake officer. Jennifer looked down at the jumpsuit she was wearing. Well, if that Cher person stole her clothes, she’d just have to ask Tom to bring something else for her to wear when he came tomorrow to take her home. She could trust Tom to select something appropriate. He had great taste in clothes and sometimes looked better in his Prada suits than Jennifer did in hers!
‘All right then, let’s get started,’ the intake officer said in the deep voice that gave Jennifer chills.
The rest of the processing was like some kind of surreal out-of-body experience. It was almost as if Jennifer wasn’t there. She became just another woman in a prison uniform, and this disassociation actually made it all a little easier to take. She was weighed, measured, and photographed. When the officer fingerprinted her she calmly watched as her fingers were rolled in the ink and then onto the paper. As her prints were being made, Jennifer asked, ‘Do you have any suggestions on how to get this ink off your fingers? It’s almost impossible to wash it off with just plain soap and water.’
‘Well, Spencer,’ the officer opined, ‘maybe you might try Estée Lauder’s Youth Dew.’
The sarcasm wasn’t pointed or funny enough for Jennifer to laugh, but she did respond. ‘I just thought that, since you worked with the stuff all the time, you might know. I’ll make a note to tell our clients at Chesebrough-Ponds to develop some sort of cleansing cream for fingerprint ink.’
The intake officer threw back her head and roared with laughter. ‘Yeah,’ she chortled,