Chapter 2
Late the next afternoon as she headed for her final interview of the day, Noreen felt as though she had been living in a goldfish bowl all day. Not a shred of privacy had been left her. She had been pawed, poked, probed. A male doctor had been especially offensive.
As she took a chair at the matron's order a door opened and a tall dark haired girl came in. She was obviously not a prisoner, for she wore a light summer frock of expensive cut and material, as well as beige stockings and high heeled slippers. Pinned to her left breast was a bouquet of June roses.
The girl greeted the matron, then glanced at a notebook in her hand. "Is this Casey?"
Matron Talbot nodded. "It is. We're right on time, ain't we?"
"Oh, yes. But you'll have to wait a few minutes. The warden is still busy with another inmate." For a moment the girl's large brown eyes played over Noreen. There was no mistaking the pity in 'her glance. Noreen stared back defiantly, hating the girl as she had never hated anyone in her life. Not even her father.
Noreen hardly heard the matron talking.
"You remember what I told you," the woman pattered on. "Mind your manners with the warden. She's a nice woman and the best friend you'll find in here. Oh, she can be hard at times. If you break the rules! But she's as fair as they come. So if you mind your P's and Q's and don't talk back smart you'll be all right. I'm telling you all this for your own good, dearie. You got a year to spend here and you can make it easy for yourself or you can make it hard. It's all up to you."
Gabbing old fool, thought Noreen. Doesn't she ever shut her mouth! All her quasi-liking for the matron had vanished.
Nevertheless she was forced to listen to the old woman drool until the door opened again and the tall girl beckoned to her. Matron Talbot gave her shoulder a little pat. "You remember what I told you now. I'll wait for you out here. By the time you're through in there it will be time for supper."
Yes, thought Noreen as she brushed past the secretary and entered the warden's office. Time to go back to listen to the insane monkey chatter of the other delinquent girls. The other criminals!
"Hello, Noreen. I'm not going to say that I'm happy to meet you. That would be rather a transparent lie, wouldn't it? Under these circumstances."
The girl looked at the woman in surprise. This was a tone she had not heard since she had arrived the night before.
Immediately Noreen was conscious of a queer sense of envy. Here, she knew instinctively, was a lady. Here was class. The voice, for one thing. Cool, well modulated, yet firm. The girl had seen enough movies, of the better sort, and read enough good books, to know the real thing when she saw it.
She was seeing it now. Debra Poindexter was a regal sort of woman. Tall, well formed, looking much less than her forty-three years. She wore beautiful clothes beautifully. Her face, smooth skinned and with only a touch of lipstick, was long, her mouth rather wide and mobile. It could be a humorous mouth at times. Her nose patrician, thin, with a high arch to the nostrils. Her long corn-colored hair she wore bound in thick braids and wrapped around her well shaped head like a coronet.
Now she regarded Noreen with eyes that were dark green. "I hope it hasn't been too bad, Noreen. Your first day? I don't expect you to tell me you like it."
"I hate it," Noreen said defiantly. Something about this woman awed her. And Noreen didn't like being awed.
The warden nodded. "I expect you do. But the point is, Noreen, is that you arc here. You must accept that fact and make the best of it. It won't be forever, you know. A year isn't such a long time."
"Look at me," the woman told her gently. "I like people to look at me when I'm talking to them, Noreen."
No mistaking the command in her voice, mild though it was. Noreen slowly raised her eyes. Her glance met that of the warden and held for a moment.
"That's better," said Debra Poindexter after a moment. "Now let's get on." She picked up a sheaf of papers from her desk and glanced down at the top sheet. "You understand, of course, why you are here?"
"I don't," Noreen said quickly. She fought to keep a tremor out of her voice. "I don't! I didn't do anything that the other kids-the others didn't do. We were all in it together. Then why aren't they here with me?"
The warden nodded. "I know the circumstances of your case, Noreen, only through what I have read in these papers." She held up the sheaf of papers. "I can't change the fact that you're here. I very much doubt that there has been a miscarriage of justice. These things are very thoroughly investigated both by social workers and the juvenile authorities. But if you would like to tell me your side of it I would be glad to listen."
"Then you would be the first," Noreen flashed. She felt her courage rising. This woman wasn't anyone to be afraid of, no more than the others. No matter if she did have class and looks and talked like she had swallowed the dictionary. And all this smooth talk-maybe it was just to get her, Noreen, all mixed up and confused. What did this woman really care about Noreen Casey?
The warden inclined her head. The desk lamp she had only now switched on caught the amber crown of her hair and sparked in it. "I would like to listen," she told the girl. "But you'll have to hurry a little, I'm afraid. It is rather late."
After an awkward beginning the girl found herself speaking with surprising ease. She told the warden about coming home that afternoon, after a visit to Lucy Vandiveer's house, to find her father drunk and beating up her mother. Who was also drunk.
Debra Poindexter consulted the file on her desk. She nodded her eyes steady on Noreen's. There was a hint of compassion in her glance but no pity.
"Yes. I understand this was a fairly frequent occurrence?"
"Every time Dad got drunk," Noreen said. "And that was every time he got his hands on any money."
The warden folded her hands on the desk. Her nails, Noreen saw, were immaculate and beautifully cared for. "You have, no other relatives? No one to whom you could have gone? To get away from your home environment?"
Noreen shook her head. "No. There's just me and Mom and Dad. And I couldn't leave home because of Mom. Without me there he might have killed her."
"Go on."
"Well, this afternoon after I came from Lucy's house he was drunk. He hit my Mom, my mother, and I got mad. It was like I didn't know what I was doing for awhile. I got the big iron skillet from the kitchen and hit him on the head with it when he wasn't looking. He was in a chair and had his back to me, taking another drink. I just sneaked up behind him and hit him as hard as I could."
Was there a quirk of amusement about the warden's mouth, Noreen wondered? There for a minute-but there sure as hell wasn't anything funny about it.
"After that I ran out of the house," Noreen went on hastily. "Mom was passed out upstairs and there wasn't anything I could do anyway. I didn't Want to be-around when he woke up, for sure. He might have killed me."
"Was your father in the habit of striking you?"
"Every time he took the notion. Every time he got loaded."
Again the warden glanced through the file. Noreen waited patiently. She felt better for talking about it, to someone who was really listening. No one had ever really listened before. As Debra Poindexter leafed through the file Noreen was conscious of envy. To be like this woman! Not that she would ever want a job like this-but to look like that and talk with that smooth perfection. To have that calm assurance and poise, to know that you could never do anything mean and dirty to anyone. And that they would never dare do it to you. Because, well, because you would be somebody! One of the important people in the world!
"I find no record that your father was ever arrested for beating you and your mother?" Her cool green eyes were questioning. She thinks I'm lying, Noreen thought bitterly. Nobody believes me. She's just like all the rest.
But she was telling the truth. "Mom would never let me call the cops," she told the woman. "I wanted to a lot of times. She loves him, I guess. A lot more than she does me."
"But the neighbors? Surely someone must have known. Have heard-"
"They were all afraid of him. Anyway folks in my neighborhood don't bother much with things like that. It's a lousy Irish neighborhood. I always hated it ever since I was a little kid."
"I see. Yes. Well, so you ran out of the house?"
"Yes. I went down to the Big Juke, that's a place over on the other side of town where the kids I knew hang around." She must be careful now, Noreen told herself. She didn't want to get any of the other kids into trouble. There were some who had been in on the party that night who had never been caught.
The warden noticed her hesitation and interpreted it correctly. "You needn't worry about talking to me, Noreen. Nothing that you tell me in this room will go any further. You have my word on that."
"Yes, ma'am." Noreen stared at the woman for a minute, wondering if she could really trust her. She decided not. You could never trust a cop, Studsy had told her more than once. And Studsy wasn't such a dumb cluck, either, though he had been stupid that night.
Noreen went on. "I was feeling lousy-I mean bad. Low. And I wanted to have a good time so I could forget what had happened. So I-I took a few drinks with my friends. Just wine. But I guess it went to my head."
The warden broke in here. "This party was held in the home of one of your friends, I see by the reports."
"Yes, ma'am. At Studsy's place."
"Studsy? Surely that can't be his right name?" For the first time during the interview Noreen could see a hint of disdain on the warden's face.
"No ma'am. His real name is Jack. Jack Green. Only everybody calls him Studsy." Noreen stared straight at the woman, wondering if she could guess why. Studsy was called that.
Debra Poindexter tapped with her pencil on the file. "That brings up a point, Noreen. According to your father-when he talked with the investigators-you didn't like to associate with people of your own-"
The warden brought herself up sharp. She had been about to say class. That, she knew, would never do. It wasn't even precisely what she meant. She tried again.
"You didn't mingle with people in your own neighborhood. To use your father's exact words,"-she consulted the papers-"you thought you were Miss high and mighty! You were always over on the far side of town, away from your own district. Is that true?"
Noreen nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I guess it is. I liked it better on the other side of town. I liked the kids better, too. They had nice houses and clothes, and all the things I didn't have. They knew I didn't have any money and they didn't care." She stared resentfully at the warden and tossed the bright copper banner of her hair.
"I was planning on leaving home soon anyway, ma'am. I couldn't do Mom any good anymore. She didn't even want me around. And I thought that maybe Studsy, Jack-and Lucy might help me get a place to live and a decent job. I thought they was real good friends."
"You don't now?"
Sullenly the girl shook her head. "No, T don't. I'm in here and they got off. Because their folks had money and knew people. They could have helped me, but they didn't."
But they will, she thought viciously. They will help me when I get out of this place. I'll find a way to make them help.
"I see. Your resentment is natural enough. Now, it also says here that you were smoking marijuana that afternoon and evening. Is that right?"
Slowly Noreen inclined her head. "I had two cigarettes. And some wine. I guess maybe a lot of wine. I guess that's why I was so crazy."
The direct level stare of the warden was on her face. "And so when someone suggested breaking into the tavern you didn't object? You just went along with the others."
"Yes. There was a bunch of us. Everybody was excited and St-I mean someone said that there was a ventilator in the back of Mac's Tavern that we could crawl through. We was-were-all out of money and we wanted more wine."
To ease the tension for a moment the warden said, easily, "I notice that you try to speak good English. And you do-you speak very well."
"I studied hard while I was in high school," the girl said. "I don't want to be dumb all my life."
"Stick to that idea," the warden said. "I'll try to arrange it so that you can attend classes while you're here. Is there anything you would especially like to study?"
Only I'm not going to be here. Noreen thought with secret pleasure. I'm leaving as soon as I can. Meantime she would play along.
"I like to sing," she told the warden. "I've got a good voice. And my teacher in school said I should study voice."
The warden smiled. "We have an orchestra here. And a choral group." She smiled and Noreen had to fight hard to keep from smiling back. Just trying to con me, she thought. Just like any cop.
After a few more minutes of talk the warden stood up. She beckoned to Noreen and they walked to a tall window overlooking the grounds. It was nearly five now and the June sun was beginning to sink rapidly over a line of trees to the west. The shadow of the tall boiler house chimney lay elongated across the grass.
Debra Poindexter lifted one well groomed hand and made a sweeping motion around the grounds. "You see, Noreen, that we have no walls, no fences, no bars. This is not a prison in the strict sense. It is very important that you understand that."
With sudden impish, and Irish, humor the girl said, "Then I can leave anytime I want to, ma'am?"
The warden laughed. "Not as easily as that, I'm afraid. You will have to spend at least nine months here. With good behavior you should be out in that time." She turned to the girl suddenly. "Try to look at it this way. Nine months isn't a long time. Just the time it-it takes to have a child. Don't do anything foolish, my dear girl. Try to bear it. I know it's hard. But you were sent here, by the judgement of the court, for your own best interests. That's why you're here, Noreen. Because the court thought you were worth saving! It thought there was a chance for you-away from your home environment. And since you had no other relatives, no one to whom you could go, this seemed the answer. When you leave here you will be looked after. A job will be found for you. You won't be forgotten."
That's what I'm afraid of, the girl thought bitterly. She wondered if this woman, from her aloofness, really believed what she was saying? What did she know about anything! How could people like the warden ever understand about people like herself! They couldn't-that was the answer. They were do-gooders, as her drunk of a Dad called them. Like die nosy-parker social worker that he had thrown out of the house once. No, the gap was too wide to bridge. Even at her age she knew that. The world was a tough, cruel place and anything you got you got yourself-and paid for yourself.
She said, meekly enough, "I'll try my best, ma'am."
"Good. I'm sure we'll get along. Now, before you go, is there anywhere special you would like to work? We have our own truck gardens, you know. And there are the housekeeping details, the kitchens and-"
"If I could, I'd like to work in the laundry." Waffle was in charge of the laundry sometimes. Noreen had gleaned the knowledge from listening to the other girls.
"The laundry?" The warden felt a sense of perplexity. Usually the girls hated laundry work. "May I ask why?"
Noreen racked her brain for a moment. This had to be good.
Finally: "Just at first, ma'am. Maybe I would want to change later. But right at first I'd like to keep as busy as I can. It-it will make it easier." And she managed to give the woman a wistful smile.
After a moment of hesitation the warden nodded. "Very well. I'll see to it. Goodnight, Noreen. I will see you again before long. I like to keep in close touch with my girls."
With your inmates, Noreen sneered inwardly as she left the room.
When the girl had gone Debra Poindexter walked back to the window and stood watching the sun slide behind the fence of trees to the west. She took a deep breath and put a hand to her left breast.
There had been very little pain today.
That girl, she thought. Noreen Casey. Poor, poor child. And yet she has everything. And doesn't know it. She sat there just now hating me, possibly envying me. She must think-well, God knows what they think, girls like that.
She smoothed her crown of golden hair with long white fingers and turned from the window. There, she thought, but for the Grace-but I mustn't let this thing get too personal. There are too many of them. Forever and always too many! One does what one can, within one's powers, but it is never enough.
Nevertheless I'll try to keep an eye on this one. She's very lovely. And she says she has a voice. Perhaps. But the laundry? That's odd. Ayers is in charge of the laundry most of the time and I've never liked her. There have been a few hints, rumors-but there always are in a place like this.
She walked to her desk and rearranged the roses in the silver bowl. I wonder, she thought as the pain came stabbing again. She clutched her breast and held on hard to the desk, completing the thought the pain had momentarily severed, I wonder what that girl would say if I told her I would change places with her in an instant if I could!
She wouldn't believe me, of course. But it's true! If I could have her youth, her beauty and, most of all, the future to do with as I pleased. And no cancer!
She opened a drawer and took out a small box of pills. She swallowed two, washing them down with water from a carafe on the desk. In a moment the pain began to subside.
I'll have to tell John tonight, she thought. I suppose I should have told him long before now. And I'll have to have the operation soon. As soon as possible, even though Doctor Clarke says it won't do much good with my type of cancer. Poor John. He surely drew a lemon when he married me. First I can't bear him children, now this.
Debra Poindexter went to a closet for her hat. That girl, she thought again, just beginning life. I must help her. I must! Right now she's at the nadir-probably-thinks her life is over.
She smiled, a weary smile, and went home to tell her husband that she was dying.