Chapter 5
The three days I spent in the detention center were as idyllic as prison time could be. The matron made sure I had all the cigarettes and sweets I could possibly want, that my dinners came from the staff kitchen rather than the inmates', and that I had fresh linen every day. But she didn't come near me! It was as though she didn't want her life's pattern disturbed, no matter how enjoyable it had been for her to have someone else do the lovemaking. And in a way I could see her point. Both of us had had the same difficulties (although she had most certainly experienced them in much greater detail and at greater length than I), and when Matron had first made love to me I had realized that I could never put up with totally selfish lovers again. The difference between us was that I had choices, Matron had to take what she could get.
It was with some regret, then, that I left the house of detention to go to court for sentencing and from there to a minimum security prison upstate to serve out my two-week sentence. The judge had been rigorous on matters of sexual conduct and two weeks was the maximum penalty he was entitled to deal out. He had assured me that, had it been within his power to give me more, he would have done just that. Two weeks! Now and then I felt like crying, and if it hadn't been for the reporter in me, I might have broken down worse than that. Instead I kept on taking mental notes. The rides in the paddy wagons, the atmosphere in the court, the old men on the bench, the court reporters, the small crowd who watched cases come and go, the policemen and their female counterparts, the holding cells, everything that might add color to the article. By the time my two weeks were over I'd have a sizzling expose on my hands, that much I was sure of.
The new jail was a lot nicer than the house of detention. The women lived in large dormitories, twenty for each room, and there were wardrobes, big windows, clean bathrooms, a library, sports facilities, everything to make one think it was a summer camp. Only the high wire fence at the perimeter reminded one that it was a penal institution. Even as that pleased me, it also worried me. How would it look if an article on prisons ended up praising the system? That didn't sell papers! No, I had to look for the worms in this particular apple.
One of the women who had arrived in the same batch as me, had been to most prisons in the country. I asked her what the reputation of this place was and she shrugged: "It ain't bad. You just have to do as Mrs. Robinson says and your time will go easy. In other places you got every screw on your back for one thing or another but Mrs. Robinson is the boss here and that makes it a lot less complicated, if you know what I mean."
"Not really ... this is my first time here."
"Ah, I see. Well, people who run prisons have their own way of making a little extra bread. They skimp on the food or they buy bad quality gear, or they run their rackets inside, you know, selling dope or weapons, and when you have mother-fuckers like that running a house you don't know where the trouble's gonna come from next. But Mrs. Rob runs this place like a Hitler. If one of her employees steps out of line, she's gone. If Mrs. Rob don't fire her she gets the treatment from Mrs. Rob's girlfriend. No drugs here, no shivs or guns, the place is well-kept-but you better be a stone dyke, honey." The veteran laughed shortly and turned to her own bunk. "A stoooooooone DYKE!"
"You'd rather be here than any other jail, then?" I pressed.
"Hell no, give me those crazy houses in Ko-rupt County," she sneered. "I gotta have a cock between my legs, not a tongue. And I like to pop and shoot on rainy days, I can get into making pocket money and shit. Here-shit, if you can't play scrabble and don't like the taste of a strange pussy mashed in your face, yon ain't part of the in-crowd."
She was a tall girl with a blonde afro and shrewd blue eyes, and she affected black speech by way of establishing her toughness. Her figure was curvaceous but she was clearly very strong, and I almost regretted that she was so cock-orientated. Her name was Helen and when I told her my name was Ellen, she, too, saw that we would have made a fine couple under different circumstances. I asked her what she had done to get herself locked up and she treated me to one of those ironic glances that reminded me of the caste system operating in all institutions. A rookie was a rookie, whether it be the major leagues or prison.
"I was a victim of society, honey. My old man needed cash, so I put ads in the paper soliciting gentlemen callers. Gentlemen callers ... the first customer was a goddamn vice squad cop. But I been here before for assault, armed robbery, stealing cars, the usual penny-ante shit."
"You've a very attractive woman, couldn't you have made money modeling or something like that?"
"Modeling? You think I could have? Nah, get outta here, not a chance." She turned away again but I could tell she was flattered. "I could make it on the street or even in my own place. Guys like big tits and blonde hair, you know-well, you should know, you got the same equipment. Is that what you're in for?"
I told her how I happened to have come that way and she shook her head in pity and contempt.
"You weren't even charging those suckers for it? You better stick around with me, baby, you need to be educated!" I was ready to start with Sex Education, but I knew Helen's views on that subject and I wasn't about to press my luck with the brawny blonde.
The occupants of the dormitory were coming back from lunch and as they made their way through the room toward their beds, they checked the newcomers out with an indifferent expression.
We looked at them, too, though with apprehension. Some of the women looked like real hard-boiled bitches and I was glad to have found an ally in Helen. She knew some of them from other institutions and hearty greetings were exchanged, quick news updates. One woman in particular caught my attention. She moved around the room with authority and when someone was in her way, that someone made sure she wasn't in the way for long. The woman had the best position in the house, just near the windows and furthest away from the bathrooms. It didn't take me long to figure out that she ruled this roost, but she couldn't be Mrs. Robinson.
Her name, I later discovered, was Tina. She was close to six feet tall, black as the night, powerful shoulders, narrow waist, big tits and big buttocks, strong legs and arms, her hair was close-cropped and everything about her suggested fluency and speed. The way she moved and talked were very much to the point. Her eyes were small and almond-shaped, she had high cheekbones, and a full mouth, and a long neck. She was beautifully proportioned all over, but it wasn't the beauty of a fashion model. She was more like a panther, beautiful yet ready to kill at the drop of a hat. She addressed one of the women at one point and the woman snapped into action, did as she was asked, and looked quite relieved when Tina moved away. Not the lady to fuck with.
"Don't fuck with her," Helen whispered, echoing my thoughts.
"Who is she?"
"Tina? She's Mrs. Robinson's friend, the one who deals out the treatment if you step out of line."
"I expected her henchwoman to be a prison employee."
"Yeah, well, Tina figures it this way, she's in for ten years and she's going to make the best of it. She's smart, that bitch. She gets well-fed, there's some money going into her bank account, she gets as much pussy as she wants and if she wants a bit of cock for a change she can get that, too. Hell, she's got a better life here than on the outside."
"I guess so. But she's not free."
"Free to do what?" Again that sneer saying: 'you rookie!' "Free to support her old man, free to beg for food stamps? Or free to sit behind a typewriter and take shit from a bunch of white guys all day?"
"Just free," I said, embarrassed now. "That's what America is all about, isn't it?"
"Oh right, I forgot." Helen shook her head and dropped the subject. We were sent to the mess hall for a late lunch and as soon as we were done we were assigned to a work detail for the rest of the day. The work wasn't hard, just weeding and raking the market gardens at the back of the buildings. One guard stood by to make sure none of us goofed off, but she didn't carry anything more lethal than a nightstick. Only the barbed wire fence stood between me and a walk in the country.
Half an hour before dinner we were marched back to our respective accommodations, and told to wash up. There was some good-natured jostling in the bathroom from which only Tina was exempted. Also I noticed that Helen didn't get pushed around too much, and that there was a peculiar tension between her and Tina. I got the impression that the two were natural rivals, both of them strong and smart, the kind who chose up teams rather than being part of the same group. After dinner that innate rivalry became more obvious. Some women sat with Tina, others gathered around Helen, and the only remaining women were off by themselves, sewing or reading, watching TV. The two groups made themselves comfortable on bunks and chairs, gossiped, laughed, and argued, with Tina arbitrating in one and Helen in the other. I saw this two-party system as having microcosmic significance, and already the sub-headline had formed in my mind: democracy in prison.
Tina had a girlfriend, a thin, mousy blonde who hung around her wherever the tall black woman went. Her name was Dog. At least, that was what all the others called her, even Tina. I watched Dog with special care to see how she survived in this environment, because if she was any kind of dog it was an underdog. She stayed as near to Tina as was permitted, and when Tina wanted a cigarette, a light, or a cup of coffee, Dog provided it. If Tina blew her nose, Dog disposed of the laden tissue. And I wondered what other services she was made to perform when no one was watching.
It was kind of peaceful in the dormitory in spite of the TV set and the half a dozen transistors all tuned to different stations, the hubbub of women's voices, and the clatter of a mah-jong game being played. The women didn't seem too pent-up, somehow. The connotations of summer camp appeared again and I worried about the punch my article would pack. But the serenity was broken up by the entrance of a bulldog of a woman. I knew without anyone telling me that this was Mrs. Robinson. She wore a prison guard's clothing, stiff blue serge, and her hair was wrapped about her head in several braids. She and Matron would have found each other real soul mates, I thought.
"Tina!" The bulldog roared out the name like a drill sergeant issuing an order, and Tina was up on her feet right away. Behind Mrs. Robinson stood a woman prisoner lost in terror. She trembled, she was pale and sweaty, and her eyes couldn't seem to stop blinking. "This creature tried to steal from the canteen. Explain to her in your own way that that isn't done!"
"Certainly, Mrs. Robinson," said Tina with a lazy drawl. She sauntered up to the hapless creature, stood very close to her, and stared down at her as if she was a fresh heap of dog shit. "Dog, bring your tool kit."
Dog rushed up, happy as a lark. She had a small denim roll in one hand, which she unfurled to reveal a collection of pins and razors. "Just her lip," said Tina.
The women were all pretending not to watch but all of them knew what was going on. I stared, fascinated, as Dog picked out a razor blade and, holding it between thumb and finger, brought it up to the victim's bottom lip. A quick motion and blood gushed from the nicked lip. That was all. The bulldog turned on her heel and left the building. Tina and Dog went back to their conversation, and the victim stood in the center of the floor holding her face. She wasn't hurt exactly, nor would the wound ever fester and turn gangrenous. She wouldn't even lose more than a tablespoon of blood. But the humiliation had wrecked her for the moment and she didn't seem to know what to do next.
Long after she had disappeared I kept chewing over the incident. The cold-bloodedness of it all nagged at me. What would Tina be capable of if pressed? And what wouldn't Dog do for her? I shuddered to think. The twosome had taken on a gruesome aspect to me, one that appalled and excited me at the same time.
An argument developed among Helen's cronies, nothing consequential, but it grew heated. One of the women jumped to her feet and threatened one who belonged to the opposing faction, and right away a hush came over the dormitory as all eyes turned to see if there would be a fight or not. "You're a stupid fucking bitch I" yelled the aggressor.
"Don't call me a stupid bitch," retorted the other.
"I said a stupid fucking bitch!" The offended party leaped at her tormentor and like a flash
Helen stepped in between them. With the base of her palm she banged the aggressor in the nose, causing an instant nosebleed and a cessation of militancy; and with the other hand she pushed the other woman back onto the bed and pointed a warning finger. Peace had been restored. The nosebleed victim was given a handkerchief and the conversation went on.
There were no more incidents that evening. At ten o'clock the lights were dimmed and stayed that way for five minutes to give us all a chance to get ready for bed. Then they went out altogether and each woman was alone in the dark with her own thoughts. I wasn't surprised to see a couple of woman bed down with lovers. Dog slept on the floor next to Tina's bed, wrapped in a blanket, using her shoes for a pillow. And after the lights went out there was some tiptoeing about the dorm, but most women preferred their own company it seemed.
I stayed awake for as long as I could, hoping that one of the women had taken a imagine to me and had waited only for night to fall before introducing herself formally. When the minutes ticked by and no one came, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I caressed my breasts softly, lying on my side and folding my arms over my chest to make my tits as big as possible. And when my nipples vibrated with hunger I let one hand slip in between my thighs to titillate that tiny love button until the excess lust had been dissipated.
Somehow jerking off wasn't as much fun as it had been before Gina and I had broken through. I would have to find myself a lover the very next day if only to make the nights pass as pleasantly as the days.