And when she returned to Hudson, Van Schaank she’d have a hero’s welcome. Jennifer closed her eyes again against the unbearable glare and tried to imagine that. Tom, so tall, would be at her side, maybe just lightly holding her elbow as she entered the double-wide glass doors to the floor. She’d buy something new to wear – maybe that suit she’d seen in the window of Walter Steiger, no matter how obscenely expensive it was. Yes, and shoes to match. And when she walked into the reception area the secretaries and support staff would be there, and they’d all stare and smile. Susan, her top secretary, would give her a big bouquet and say, ‘This is from all of us. We admire you so much.’ And then she and Tom would walk into the main office area and all the traders, attorneys, partners – all of them, even Dave Jacobs, who hated her – would stand up and they’d begin to clap, and the clapping would rise to a roar and then, the way they did it in European circuses, the clapping would become rhythmic, each pair of hands in perfect unison with the others. And Donald would open his office door and walk toward her and Tom. And Tom, because he was sensitive and wouldn’t want to detract from her moment, would give her elbow a little push. ‘Go to him,’ he’d say, and she would, in front of everybody. And Donald would lift his head and say …
She felt wet. Jennifer opened her eyes, back to the gruesome reality of the observation cell, and jumped to her feet. Water was oozing from under the wall behind her! She looked around. In fact, all along the wall where the mattress lay, the water lapped in, much of it already absorbed by the mattress but plenty spreading across her floor. Surely this wasn’t part of the punishment, some bizarre test? She ran to the door. There were roaches floating in the water! Worse, they were alive, and trying to find a perch or a nest. ‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Hey, someone. What’s going on? There’s a flood in here.’
The sadistic Officer Byrd was at her door in a moment. He looked in at her, shook his head and yelled, ‘Jesus H. Christ! Nine must have wadded the toilet.’
Then, instead of helping her or explaining, he ran off down the hall. Jennifer leaned against the Plexiglas of her door but couldn’t see what was going on. She could, however, hear – and in the next moment the howls began again, this time, if anything, even louder and more ferocious than before. Jennifer kept watching, her head pressed against the glass, the water running at her feet, wondering if any of the horror was real. She’d lose her mind if the hideous noise went on for another minute. Then, after one last fiendish screech, the stranger’s voice was stilled. Jennifer could still hear curses and grunts. She imagined the officers were making them and, sure enough, in another moment three burly guys were in the corridor, attempting to drag off a big black woman. She was dressed in a shameful orange jumpsuit but now it was partially obscured by the restraint jacket she had on. Though she couldn’t move her arms, she was kicking out with both legs, moving her head from side to side, and furiously screaming despite the taped gag that muffled her. Her hair was wild but her face was more so.
The woman was pushed back into a hard black plastic chair that sat as low to the ground as a beach chair. Officer Byrd obstructed Jennifer’s view for a few moments but, when he finally moved, Jennifer was horrified to see that the woman had been strapped into the chair at the legs. Then the straitjacket was slowly removed from the woman’s body, and the straps were brought over her shoulders in much the same way that an astronaut would be strapped to his seat.
Jennifer, terrified but unable to move, watched as they struggled to wheel the woman past her window. For a moment the startling blue eyes of the African American woman gave Jennifer an intimate look, certainly not one of apology. She winked at Jennifer. Then she was gone.
Jennifer, shocked, didn’t know how long she had stood there. There was a drain in the cement floor that gurgled.
She waited for a little while, hoping that the guard would return so she could demand some better conditions. But no one came. Finally she balanced on one leg and peeled off first one drenched sock, then the other. She squeezed them out over the drain. At least half a cup of water ran into the sewage hole, but Jennifer’s problem wasn’t solved. Now, without socks, her feet were frozen. She couldn’t sit on the mattress because it was also disgustingly wet. She didn’t know what the correction officer had done with the troublesome woman. Did they have a firing squad here at Jennings? Could she scream for help or attention? She found she couldn’t do it. The woman’s blue, blue eye winking at her, as if they were … together or … bonded somehow had really shaken her. Then she saw, with relief, that Officer Byrd was at the end of the hall about to pass by. Finally she knocked on the glass and he turned to her.
‘I’m wet,’ she said. ‘This whole room has been ruined. You have to help me.’ The fear in her voice only made her more frightened.
But Byrd didn’t have a clue. He turned his mouth to his squawk box and said something. He stepped into the room and turned around.
‘Tsk, tsk,’ he said. ‘You got more than you bargained for.’ Jennifer decided not to even respond. Then he looked her over. It was a sexual leer, and she could tell that he wanted her to be uncomfortable. ‘I’m alone up here now,’ he explained. ‘They had to take that one down to the hold. It was her first day in.’
Jennifer actually shivered. ‘They’ll be back soon,’ she said in a flat voice. What kind of man took a job in a women’s prison and then tried to …
‘Well,’ said Byrd, ‘I could take you down to a cell below six. That’s where the nigger was. She used her towel to stop up the toilet and caused a major flood.’ Jennifer recoiled both at the word he’d used and because he’d moved toward her. His voice insinuated that … Just then his walkie-talkie spoke.
Roughly Byrd took her under her right arm and moved her out of her little glass box. He was rubbing up against her as they walked past the place where the mad woman had been imprisoned, then moved her to number four, a cell exactly like her previous one.
‘Chow will be in a minute,’ he said as he slowly released his grip and ran his hand down her arm.
‘Food?’ Jennifer cried. ‘I can’t even breathe.’ Then she remembered her outfit. ‘And I need a new jumpsuit. This one is wet.’
‘We’ll have supper for you right away,’ Byrd said. ‘But we can’t issue another uniform. Laundry’s closed.’ Then he moved a little closer. ‘Of course,’ he almost whispered, ‘you could take it off and hang it up. There’s nobody here to see you.’
Jennifer looked around at the observation windows, the open ceiling, and the catwalk above. Now she was grateful for them. She wanted someone to keep their eyes on Byrd – or Vulture. But she had a creepy feeling that most of those eyes would get a big kick out of her standing around naked. And would they intervene if Vulture touched her?
‘Maybe I could get you something else to wear,’ he said now, ‘if you wanted to be friendly,’ he added.
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was a sexual innuendo, wasn’t it? ‘Forget about that,’ she told Byrd.
He shrugged. Had he just offered her something in return for sex? She kept her face calm but swore to herself that she’d have him reported to the governor by tomorrow afternoon. ‘Too bad. You’ll have to wear the damp one until morning,’ he said. He locked the door on the new cubicle and left.
Jennifer was deeply grateful for that. She would have spent some time examining the cell if it hadn’t been quite so obviously identical to the previous one. She’d even be willing to swear in a court of law that the stains in this mattress were shaped identically to the one on the other. Hadn’t there been that blot that looked like the state of Florida on the upper left corner of the previous mattress? The wetness against her ankles was terribly cold and the rough polyester chafed, but otherwise all was the same. Except that this time, when she sat down in her corner, her stomach rumbled