I took it, struggled to pull out the enclosure, and glanced at it. It was an invitation to Jennifer Spencer’s wedding. ‘No, I haven’t gotten one, yet. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. Lenny is a lovely man.’
‘But won’t it be fun?’ Gwendolyn asked.
Perhaps I was muddled over the reversals of the morning. All I know is I said, ‘She deserves every happiness. Still, it doesn’t much matter since I can’t go to it anyway.’
‘Actually, you will be able to go,’ Gwendolyn said.
‘Gwendolyn, you can’t let me leave the grounds to go to a wedding. She’s not even a relative. I know things are different, but they’re not that different.’
‘Have wedding, will travel,’ Gwendolyn said, and chuckled. ‘Look at the invitation, Margaret. Former Inmate 71036 is coming here to be married!’
‘Here?’ I asked. ‘Where? Where will it be?’
‘Margaret, you’ll have to go out to the shed.’
They hold a lot of weddings at men’s prisons. I don’t pretend to understand the phenomenon, but it’s surprisingly common that a woman will correspond with a prisoner, become involved, and marry the criminal, even if he’s guilty of a heinous crime. Perhaps, as my friend Gwendolyn opined, it’s because when your husband is in prison at least you always know where he is. I think the situation feeds into a woman’s need for fantasy and ‘romance’ – if he’s not around underfoot, if you can see him only briefly, if the sex is rare or actually impossible and only imagined, a woman is capable of turning any frog into a mental prince. But weddings in women’s prisons are virtually unheard of. And women love weddings. So, you can imagine the stir that the event made at Jennings.
The garden shed had been converted into a bower of flowers. White lilacs, roses, lisianthus, lilies, and ivy covered it. Seats had been put outside, with white ribbons streaming from them. Inmates had volunteered to work on a long white runner, hand hooked, that ran from the shed to the entrance of the yard. The wedding was truly beautiful. Jennifer looked radiant. Her dress was simple; a white swath of silk designed by Movita, covered with tulle that created a ghostlike effect as it shadowed the dress beneath. Jen also had what seemed like miles of tulle flowing from her simple headdress, and a wreath of flowers prepared by Springtime. Leonard – I was the only person who refused to call him that undignified name he was known by – looked very elegant in a simple black suit. I regretted, a bit, that it wasn’t Bryce or Tyler Jennifer was marrying, so that she could actually become a member of my family – until I realized that neither of my boys was good husband material, and she was a member of my family anyway. I will never lose track of her or she of me.
Before the ceremony I had helped prepare the bride along with the other ‘girls’, Movita, Suki, Theresa, and Cher. Jen had asked that I give her away and, as she had neither mother nor father, I was pleased to do it. I had spent years serving in loco parentis, and I probably was more loco than parental at this point.
I was a little worried about misbehavior on the part of any of the inmates but I had two weeks to prepare them and I was delighted that their deportment was excellent. I have no idea what Leonard Benson’s mother and aged father thought about the venue, but I could see that they were delighted with their new daughter-in-law.
I hadn’t been to a wedding since my Tyler was married and that had been some fifteen years ago. And I couldn’t attend any ceremonies for either of my boys anymore so this was definitely going to be an extra exciting time for me. The wedding march had started to play – the warden had brought in a CD player – and all the girls and I got in line and waited nervously for the right time to enter the yard. Theresa and Cher walked out first as the bridesmaids, then Movita as the maid of honor. The flower girl was Christina, who was accompanied by Suki for assistance. They were all stunning, dressed up in their lavender dresses, wearing real makeup, with their hair done beautifully. Once the girls had gotten twenty steps out – I had to try to keep count as they walked away – I gave Jennifer’s arm a little squeeze and she smiled down at me through her veil. ‘Let’s get outta here,’ she said, and gently took my hand.
When we stepped out of the doorway and into the sunshine and fresh air I felt like it was the first time I had ever been outside. A sound, something between a sigh and a gasp, came from the many inmates and guests assembled. I felt rejuvenated. The colors of the maid of honor’s and bridesmaids’ dresses against the green of the lawn and trees was breathtaking. As we approached the pastor I squeezed Jennifer’s arm again. I didn’t want to let go of her at the end of the white runner but I did. As I let go, Gwendolyn came up behind me and helped me to my seat. ‘Isn’t she ravishing?’ I asked.
‘Without a doubt,’ Gwendolyn whispered.
The ceremony was emotional for everyone. Even the bulldaggers cried.
When the pastor pronounced the two of them man and wife, Leonard leaned forward and took Jennifer’s face in his hands. I was right next to them and I had never noticed what lovely, long, strong fingers he had. He tilted her face toward him and the kiss that he gave her was as deep and long and passionate as I hoped their marriage would be. Jennifer colored, and the blush was one I remembered from the days when Riff was exciting in a good way. She was a wise and good girl, Jennifer Spencer Benson. She had picked her mate, a decision always fraught with the potential for catastrophe for a woman. She had picked her mate wisely. Leonard clearly cherished her and I had the strongest sense that he would continue to do so.
And when it came time for Jennifer to throw her bouquet, I must say it was the hungriest, most eager group that I had ever seen. Jennifer, with Lenny’s help, stood up on a chair, closed her eyes, and threw her flowers. As the bouquet was released, arms shot up into the air as if the women were waiting for the delivery of packages from home. Several of them used basketball blocking moves. The bouquet suddenly disappeared from the air and the women were scrambling. I couldn’t see who caught it and no one was holding it up in victory. Were they ripping it into pieces so they each got some? What were they doing?
Then I saw the bouquet come out of the crowd. Behind the flowers I saw a dark leathery face and loony bright eyes. I was distracted for a moment by Jennifer, who was still standing up on the chair, and who had started to laugh and point. When I looked back to the group of inmates still collected, I spotted what Jennifer was laughing at. Behind the colorful flowers I saw Springtime with the biggest grin on her face, the recipient of the bridal bouquet.
Epilogue
If I had been present at the creation, I would have given some useful hints for the better arrangement of the Universe.
Alfonso the Wise, King of Castile
I didn’t feel sorry for myself despite all that I had gone through. And I didn’t feel sorry for Tom Branston when he was disbarred, or when he found out that he was virtually penniless due to Cher’s shenanigans. I never spoke to Donald again, and I never asked for a pardon from the governor, because I was guilty. Not as guilty as Donald, who has never been punished, but if I had learned anything at Jennings, it was that there may be plenty of laws but there’s very little justice.
I have been luckier than most. I was born with a good brain, I was raised by my own mother, I managed to get into university and even graduate school. That it was the wrong one, and that I wasted some years on Wall Street, doesn’t seem like a major mistake compared to the mistakes that other people make with their lives. And I did learn how the system works as I combated the system. Certainly, my time at Jennings wasn’t wasted. I learned the value of liberty, something I had always taken for granted. I learned about injustice, and how prevalent it is. I had the chance to reevaluate the importance of money versus human needs. In this country, in this century, financial considerations will virtually always win out over human ones, but Jennings put me on another path. My work now is focused on helping other women, women not so lucky as I.
Mostly, I raise funds. Movita Watson is now the director of the outreach program that we’ve c
reated. My husband has worked hard to get us the not-for-profit status that we need. He’s started his own practice, which makes his time as flexible as mine is. Sometimes, on very busy days, he’ll watch the twins. Otherwise I take them to the office or drop them with Suki, who is running a day-care center. Roger’s quit his job as a correctional officer and is now a guard for Brinks Security.
Cher is still on Wall Street. So far she hasn’t been arrested for stock fraud, insider trading, or alienation of affection. At last count she’d had three affairs with moguls, and she’s a big contributor to our outreach program. ‘Nobody ever gave me nothin’,’ she says, tough as ever, ‘but since it’s tax deductible, I may as well.’
Theresa has opened a restaurant with one of her innumerable sisters, or maybe it’s her cousin, or her sister-in-law. It’s in Brooklyn, and we all get together there at least once a month and eat ‘macaroni and gravy’ and drink too much red wine.
Gwen Harding now heads the State Corrections Authority and is engaged to be married! And to a judge! We could hardly believe the news when we heard it but Gwen says she can hardly believe it either. Movita was the first one to meet him and she says he’s a pretty good guy for a judge. We all expect to meet him at a party they’re throwing in Albany next month.
And finally, there’s Maggie Rafferty. I visit her regularly, and she seems happy and busy in her many roles at Jennings. She runs our outreach program from Inside and feeds inmates into our programs as they become ready for them. If I have any regret at all, it’s that I couldn’t get Margaret Rafferty out of prison. But her case was simply too high profile and other members of the Rafferty family (not her sons) were too politically connected to allow it. While men murder their spouses at an alarming rate, women who kill the men in their lives are rarely forgiven. It’s dreadful to imagine that Maggie will end her life in Jennings, but she does seem adjusted to that fact, and to be, to some extent, at peace.
The sale of JRU back to the state made Maggie a tidy sum of money, but she donates virtually all of it to various programs protecting women caught in the legal system. And, in the last two years or so, a change has come over her. She seems, in a way, to have transcended her physical boundaries. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or if it’s true, but she seems to have found some kind of peace that makes me think of the saints I read about back in parochial school. She seems not just satisfied but actually fully realized, and, although incarceration is a cruel punishment, after all these years it seems as if Maggie Rafferty has found a mission and a raison d’être. She’s godmother to both of my twins as well as Christina, and I know Suki plans to ask her to be godmother to the new baby as soon as it’s born.
Movita’s eldest, Jamorah, has just aced her SATs – with a little help from her friends – and plans to become an attorney instead of a fashion designer as she had once planned when she was younger. Talitha has also been doing well. The youngest, Kiama, has been diagnosed with a learning disability. Now she’s being tutored three times a week.
As I said, I have no regrets. I’m not as optimistic as Theresa, who believes that everything is part of God’s plan, but I do know that serving time in Jennings has brought me my life’s mission, my husband, my best friends, and my little boys, Tyler and Bryce. Needless to say, Maggie dotes on them and is their honorary grandma, since my mom is dead.
I think now that my mother would be proud of who I am, and though I know I can never do enough, at least I’m doing something. I’m busy all the time. Of course, there are times when I’m overwhelmed, depressed, particularly exhausted, or upset. But those are the times that Lenny reminds me of what Thomas Jefferson wrote: ‘Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.’
Acknowledgments
Of all of the novels that I have written in my career, I must admit that Insiders has been the most difficult. You try to write a charming, uplifting, funny, and empowering story about a woman who wrongly goes to jail! I wrote this book to expose some of the evils and inequities that exist in the prison system, but I felt certain I could find the fun and dark humor of strong women being taken advantage of by a bad system (as I have previously done in First Wives Club, Flavor of the Month, Fashionably Late, and Young Wives). But in doing my research for Insiders I found there was very, very little that was charming, uplifting, or empowering in prison. What I learned within prisons, from prisoner advocates, prison superintendents, inmates, and correction officers has helped in the creation of this novel, but a great deal of pain and misery had to be jettisoned. The characters are, I hope, lifelike, funny, and inspiring; but their situations (except for the most desperate parts) are far better than what real inmates experience. It is important for readers (and all women) to be aware of our incarcerated sisters and to know that:
Women are the fastest growing sector of the entire prison population. Since 1980, the female inmate population nationwide has increased more than 500 percent.
Health care for female prisoners is incredibly insufficient. (Pap smears, mammograms, annual gynecological checkups, are almost nonexistent.) It is common practice for prisoners to be denied medical examinations and treatments.
Every time a woman is incarcerated her innocent children are also punished. They are sent to family members or – tragically – sent out to foster care.
Women prisoners spend, on average, seventeen hours a day in their cells with only one hour outside for exercise (far less than for male prisoners).
Despite the minimal services, it annually costs more to send a woman to prison than to Harvard University.
Privatization of prisons is creating a female slave labor force. (Prisoners are forbidden by law to unionize or strike.) Unprotected by minimum wage laws or the Fair Labor Standards Act, they cannot voice complaints or even refuse to work without receiving severe retaliation.
It takes a special kind of person to do good work in a prison, jail, correctional facility, or whatever you choose to call the walls that incarcerate women. To choose to be locked inside a building full of misery, addiction, illness, and pain, where there is virtually no privacy, and where you – as an employee or volunteer – experience the heartbreaks of so many women, takes tremendous courage. To witness the pain of the return of a previously released inmate, when family or friends don’t arrive for visitor’s day, when early release is jeopardized by a single mindless act, or when bad news from the Outside is received, is more difficult than most people can imagine, much less bear. Without the assistance of those listed below, I wouldn’t have been able to interview inmates, tour facilities, obtain necessary statistics or the ‘insider’ information that I needed to write this book. So, special thanks to:
Randy Credico of the William Moses Kunstler Fund for Racial Justice, a hero who has worked at freeing more unjustly imprisoned women than anyone else I know.
Kathyrn Watterson, author of Women in Prison, for the definitive book on the subject, as well as her generous permission to quote from it.
Andi Rierden, author of The Farm, a human and humane look at female prisoners.
Robert Gangi, executive director of the Correctional Association of New York, for his insights, as well as his entrée to prisons and halfway houses in New York and elsewhere.
Jennifer Wynn, director of the Prison Visiting Project, for her help in doing the difficult work necessary to get clearance for me to visit women prisoners.
Mishi Faruquee, director of Women in Prison Project. Keep up the good work.
Margaret Owens, executive director of the National Center for Women in Prison. Thanks for being there, and for the tremendous job you do.
New York State Senator Velmanette Montgomery of the 18th Senate District in Albany. Thanks also to Sandy Stewart, her able administrator.
Superintendent Eleine Lord of Bedford Hills. Her savvy, compassion, and wisdom impressed me enormously (and I’m not so easily impressed).
Superintendent Wayne Strack of Fishkill Correctional Facility for allowing us to tour the Beacon, New York, women’s
prison.
Superintendent Susan Schultz of the Beacon Correctional Facility for Women, who not only gave us a tour but also gave us lunch and free access to talk with inmates.
The Prison Activist Resource Center of Berkeley, California. Their tremendous work on behalf of prisoners all over the U.S. and the statistics that they have gathered were absolutely invaluable.
Nan Robinson, my able and loving (as well as much beloved) editorial assistant, who toured many facilities with me (and the Cheshire County Department of Corrections in Westmoreland, New Hampshire, without me).
Superintendent Richard N. Van Wickler of the Cheshire County Department of Corrections for giving Nan Robinson a personal tour of his facility and for taking the time to explain procedures, observation areas, Special Holding Units (which I am glad to report have been turned into storage closets), and for answering so many of our questions. Thanks too, to the staff: Kerry, Penny, Julie, and the many COs, and the medical staff Nan met during the tour.
Nan would like to extend a special thank-you to the group of women who were housed in the Cheshire County Department of Corrections at the time of her visit for allowing her to walk through their wing, watch a little television, and – most important – to be interviewed during their lunch time.
The book is, unfortunately, unworthy of the subject. So, most important of all, I would like to thank the women inmates who took the time and made the effort to talk with me despite cynicism, depression, or fear. Ironically, I cannot give copies of this novel to any facilities until it comes out in the paperback edition because hardcover books are considered contraband (items can be hidden in the book binding). But in the meantime, women on the Inside need to be visited by women from the Outside. And while I took small gifts to many of the women I visited, I received so much more than I gave.
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