“I'm fine … really …” she wheezed, but she could barely breathe by then, and Sally watched her as she fought for air. She needed her inhaler desperately, and she didn't have it.
“Sure you are. Just sit down. I'll take care of it … this time …” She looked vastly annoyed as she buttoned her shirt and kept her eye on Grace, who was deathly pale as the guard unlocked the door for dinner. Sally signaled to him before he could move on, and waved vaguely at Grace, standing in the corner. “My fish is having a little problem,” she said quietly, “looks like asthma or something, can I run her to sick bay?”
“Sure, if you want, Sally. You think she's fakin’ it?” But when they looked at her again, Grace looked more gray than pale by then, and it was obvious that her distress was real. Even her lips were faintly blue. “Nice of you to play nursemaid, Sal,” the guard teased. Sally was known to be one of the hardest women in the prison. She didn't take shit from anyone, and she was in for two counts of murder. She had murdered her girlfriend on the outside, and the woman she'd been cheating with. “It lets people know how I think,” she always explained to the women she was involved with. But she had had the same lover in C Block for the past three years. Everyone in the place knew they were as good as married, and no one ever crossed Sally.
“Come on,” she said to Grace over her shoulder, and then shoved her out of the cell with a look of annoyance. “I'll take you to the nurse, but don't pull this shit on me again. You got a problem, you handle it. I ain't gonna wipe your ass for you, kid, just because you're my cellmate.”
“I'm sorry,” Grace said, her eyes brimming with tears. It was not a great beginning, and the woman was clearly pissed at her. At least that was what Grace thought. She didn't know that the older woman felt sorry for her. It was obvious even to her that Grace didn't belong there.
Five minutes later, she left Grace with the nurse, as she continued to gasp for air. The nurse gave her oxygen, and finally relented and decided to let her have, and keep, her inhaler. She wasn't going to be worth the trouble she caused if they didn't. But this time, they had to give her some other medication as well, because the attack had gotten too far out of hand in the past half hour. Grace knew only too well that without her medicine, she could die from suffocation. But at this point, she wasn't totally convinced that that wouldn't be a blessing.
She arrived at dinner half an hour later, shaken and pale, and most of the edible food was gone, the rest was all grit and grease and bone, and the stuff no one had wanted. She wasn't hungry anyway, the asthma attack had made her feel sick, and the medicine always made her feel shaky. She was too upset to eat anyway. She wanted to thank Sally for taking her to the nurse, but she didn't dare speak to her when she saw her with a group of tough older women, covered with tattoos, and Sally gave no sign of recognition.
“What'll it be? Filet mignon, or roast duck?” a pretty black girl asked from behind the counter, and then she smiled at Grace. “Actually, I've got a couple of slices of pizza left in the back. Any interest?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Grace smiled, looking exhausted. “Thanks a lot.” The young black girl produced them for her, and watched as Grace made her way to a table.
She sat down at an empty place at a table with three other girls, no one said hello or seemed to notice her. And across the room, she could see Angela, from the bus, with a group of women, engaged in lively conversation. But this group seemed to want nothing to do with her, and she was grateful to keep to herself, and eat her slice of pizza. She was still having trouble breathing.
“My, my, what a pretty little fish you have at your table today, girls,” a voice said from behind her as she sipped her coffee. Grace didn't move when she heard the words, but she felt herself jostled by someone standing directly behind her. She tried to pretend she didn't know what was happening, and she stared straight ahead, but she could see that the other young women at her table were looking nervous. “Doesn't anyone talk around here? Christ, what a bunch of rude bitches.”
“Sorry,” one of them muttered, and then hurried away, and Grace suddenly felt a warm body pressed against the back of her head. There was no avoiding it now, she leaned forward and then turned around, and found herself looking up at an enormously tall blonde with a spectacular figure. She looked like a Hollywood version of a bad girl. She was wearing plenty of makeup, and a tight men's T-shirt that you could see through. She looked like one of Sally's pinups. She was almost a caricature of a sexy inmate.
“What a pretty girl,” the tall blonde said, looking down at her. “You lonely, baby?” her voice was a sensual purr, as she seemed to press her pelvis toward Grace as she stood there, and Grace could see now that her T-shirt was damp, which allowed everyone a clear view of her breasts and nipples. It was as though she were wearing nothing. “Why don't you come and see me sometime? My name's Brenda. Everyone knows where I live,” she said, grinning.
“Thanks.” Grace still sounded breathy from her asthma attack, and the big blonde smiled at her.
“What's your name? Marilyn Monroe?” She made fun of the way Grace had sounded.
“Sorry … asthma …”
“Oh poor baby … you take anything for it?” She sounded concerned and Grace didn't want to be rude and get her angry. The big blonde was tough and sure of herself, and she looked to be about thirty.
“Yeah … I've got an inhaler.” She pulled it out of her pocket and showed her.
“Take good care of it.” She laughed then, and tweaked the tip of Grace's breast before sauntering off to her buddies.
Grace was shaking as the other girl walked away, and she stared down into her coffee, thinking about all of them. It was truly a jungle.
“Watch out for her,” one of the girls at her table whispered, and then walked away. Brenda was a tough one.
Grace went straight back to her cell after that. They were showing a movie that night, but she had no interest in going. She just wanted to go back to her cell, and stay there until morning. She lay on her bunk, and heaved a sigh of relief. She had to use her inhaler two more times that night before she relaxed and felt like she could breathe again. And she was still awake at ten o'clock when Sally got back from the movies.
Sally didn't say a word to her, but Grace turned on her bunk and thanked her for taking her to the nurse for her asthma.
“She gave me my inhaler back.”
“Don't show it to anyone,” Sally said wisely. “They play with people here for things like that. Just keep it to yourself, and use it in private.” That wasn't always possible, but Grace sensed that it was good advice, and nodded. And then, as they turned off the lights, and Sally got into her lower bunk, she spoke to Grace again in the darkness. “I saw Brenda Evans talking to you at chow. Watch out for her. She's dangerous. You're going to have to learn to swim here real quick, little fish. And watch your back till you do. This place ain't no playground.”
“Thank you,” Grace whispered in the dark, and she lay there for a long time, as silent tears slid down her cheeks onto the mattress. She lay there for what seemed like hours, listening to the clattering and banging outside, the shouts, and occasional screams, and through it all she listened to the comfortable purr of Sally's snoring.
Chapter 5
After two weeks, Grace knew her way around Dwight, and she had a job in the supply room, handing out towels and combs, and counting out toothbrushes for the new arrivals. Sally got her the job, although she pretended not to have any interest in helping Grace. But she seemed to keep an eye on her from a distance.
Molly had been to see her once by then, and she was devastated by what she heard and saw there. But Grace insisted that she was all right. And much to her own surprise, no one had really bothered her. They called her a fish whenever they got the chance, and Brenda had stopped to talk to her again once or twice at chow, but it never went beyond that. She hadn't even tweaked Grace's breast again. So far, she felt pretty lucky. She was safe, she had a decent job. Her roommate was tacitur
n, but basically kind. No one had threatened her, or invited her to join a gang. It looked like what they called “easy time.” At this rate, she would survive the two years. And she was in pretty good spirits when David saw her, which reassured him. He hated her being there, and he felt more than ever that she didn't belong there, but at least nothing untoward had happened to her, and she insisted that she wasn't in any danger. It was something to be cheered about at least. And they spent their time together talking about her future.
She had already made up her mind that after she did her time at Dwight, she was going to Chicago. She had to stay in the state for two years of probation, but Chicago would suit her perfectly. And the fifty thousand dollars of her father's that Frank Wills had given her would give her a nest egg. She wanted to get a job when she got out, but before that, she wanted to learn to type, and take her college courses, as soon as she could start them.
David told her about the appeal, and he was encouraging, but it was hard to say what would happen.
“Don't worry about it. I'm okay here,” she said gently, and as he watched her leave the visiting room that afternoon, he marveled at the quiet dignity of her carriage. She held herself straight, and she was thinner than she had ever been. She looked beautiful and neat and clean, and it was hard to believe, looking at her, that she was an inmate in a prison. She looked like a college girl, or a cheerleader. She looked like someone's really good-looking wholesome little sister. It was impossible to see her history as one looked at her, except if you saw her eyes. The pain one saw there told a different story. And all that he knew of her made him ache for her. It was never easy for him to forget her.
He waved sadly as he drove away, and she stood outside watching his car disappear in the distance. It was even harder for her than it was for him. For her it was like being deserted in the jungle.
“Who's that?” a voice behind her asked, and when Grace turned to look at her, she saw Brenda. “Your boyfriend?”
“No,” Grace said, with quiet dignity, “my attorney.”
Brenda laughed openly at her. “Don't waste your time. They're all pricks. They tell you what they're gonna do, and how they're gonna save your ass, and they don't do shit except fuck you, literally if you let them, and every other way too. I never met one worth a damn. Actually,” she laughed again, “I never met a guy worth a damn either. What about you?” She looked pointedly at Grace. She was wearing one of her wet T-shirts again, and Grace noticed that she had a tattoo on one arm, of a large red rose with a snake under it, and next to her eyes she had tattoos of tiny teardrops. “You got a boyfriend?” Grace knew that here it was a dangerous question, whatever you said, you were in a precarious position. She just shrugged noncommittally. She was learning. And she started to walk slowly back inside after her visit. “You in a hurry to go somewhere?”
“No, I … I thought I'd write some letters.”
“Oh how cute,” Brenda laughed. “Just like camp. You got a mommy and daddy at home to write to? You still didn't answer me about the boyfriend.”
“Just a friend.” She had wanted to write to Molly, about David's visit.
“Hang around. It can be a lot of fun around here. If you want it to be. Or it can be a real drag. It's up to you, babe.”
“I'm okay,” she said, looking for a way to exit without enraging Brenda. But Brenda wasn't making it easy.
“Your cellie's a real creep, and so's her girlfriend. You met her yet?” Grace shook her head. Sally was very discreet about her private life. She had never said anything to Grace, nor did she seek her out when they were out of their cell. She minded her own business. “Big black bitch. They're a real drag. What about you? You like to party? Little magic dust, little weed?” Brenda's eyes sparkled at the thought of it, and Grace tried to look vague and then shook her head.
“Not really. I've got pretty bad asthma.” And no interest in drugs. But she didn't say that. The last thing she wanted was to offend Brenda. She had already gathered from others that Brenda was considered bad news. She was involved with one of the gangs, and the rumor was that she not only did drugs, but sold them, and one of these days, she was going to get in a whole lot of trouble.
“What's asthma got to do with it? I had a roommate in Chicago who only had one lung, and she used to freebase.”
“I don't know …” Grace said vaguely, “I'm not into that.”
“I'll bet there's a lot of things you haven't tried yet, baby girl.” Brenda laughed again, and Grace walked away with a friendly wave, and then she hurried back to her cell, feeling breathless. She touched the inhaler in her pocket and was reassured to know it was close at hand. Sometimes just knowing that it was there made her breathing easier.
There were movies again that night, and Sally went out again. Her one weakness in life, other than pinups, seemed to be movies. The more violent the better. But Grace hadn't been to one yet, and she was grateful for time alone in her cell after dinner. The room was so small and claustrophobic, but there were times when she was so relieved to be there, and away from everyone, that it actually seemed cozy.
After dinner, their cells were left unlocked unless one requested they be locked up. It allowed for some visiting time for inmates to stop by and see each other, or play games. They played a lot of cards, and a few of them played chess, or Scrabble. It was just understood that from six to nine the cells would be open, and inmates could come and go to various approved locations.
Grace was lying on her bed writing to Molly after dinner that night, and she heard the door open, but didn't bother to look up. She assumed it was Sally, back from the movie, and the other woman didn't say anything when she came in. She rarely did, so Grace thought nothing of the silence, until she sensed a presence next to her, and looked up to find herself staring into Brenda's face. She had uncovered one breast and it was resting on Grace's bunk, and just behind her was another woman.
“Hi, babycakes,” she purred with a smile, caressing her nipple casually, as Grace sat up. The other girl was not quite as tall, but she looked a lot tougher than Brenda. “This is Jane. She wanted to come by and meet you.” But Jane said nothing. She just stared at Grace, as Brenda reached out and stroked Grace's breast this time. Grace tried to move away, and Brenda grabbed her arm and held her firm. It reminded her, for just an instant, of her father, and she could feel her chest tighten. “Want to come out and play?” It was not an invitation, but a command, and she looked like an Amazon as she stood there in all her blond splendor.
“Not really, I … I'm kind of tired.” Grace didn't know what to say to her, and she wasn't old enough or tough enough or savvy enough to prison ways, to know how to ward off Brenda.
“Why don't you come rest at my place for a while? We got another hour till lockdown.”
“I don't think so,” Grace said nervously, feeling her chest get even tighter. “I'd rather not.”
“How polite.” Brenda laughed out loud, and squeezed Grace's breast hard, and then pinched her nipple. “Want to know something, sweetheart? I don't give a shit what you want. You're coming with us.”
“I … I don't think so … I … please …” She didn't want to whine, but it sounded that way even to her own ears, and as she looked at Brenda she suddenly heard a grating sound, and Jane moved closer to them. Grace saw instantly that she had a switchblade concealed in the palm of her hand, and she flashed it at Grace with a menacing expression.
“Ain't that nice?” Brenda smiled. “An engraved invitation from Jane. In fact, she's done a lot of that kind of work. She does some real nice engraving.” This time they both laughed, and Brenda pulled open Grace's shirt and licked her nipple. “Nice, huh? You know, I'd hate to have Jane get excited and want to start doing some engraving right there… you know … sometimes she makes little mistakes, and it could get kind of messy. Okay? So why not hop down off your bunk and come with us? I really think you're gonna like it.” This was what she had feared. This was it. A gang rape using God knows what, and maybe ca
rving her face off with a knife. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this, not even her father.
She was breathless as she hopped off her bunk, still clutching her pen and her letter in her hand. And then, with a smooth gesture, she turned, as though to set it down, and as she did, and left the paper on Sally's bunk, she wrote one small word. Brenda. Maybe it would be too late. And maybe Sally couldn't help her, or wouldn't even want to. But it was all she could do, as she left the cell between Brenda and Jane. She was about as tall as they were, but she looked like a child next to them, and in many ways she was. She knew nothing of women like them.
She was surprised when they didn't take her to their cell, but walked past the gym instead, and then outdoors, as though they wanted to get some air. The guards were watching them, but the guards saw nothing untoward about three women going for a walk outside before lockdown. A lot of the women did that to get some air, or have a smoke, or just relax before they went to bed. And Brenda joked with the guards as they walked by them. Jane stayed close to Grace. The knife in her hand out of sight, but held close to Grace's neck, as she draped an arm casually over her shoulder. They looked like they were friends, and no one seemed to notice Grace's terror.
And once outside, Brenda wandered over to a small shed that Grace had never even noticed. The guards in the tower weren't watching them. There was no danger there, it was just an old shed with no windows they used to store maintenance equipment. Brenda had a key to it, and the moment she opened the door, the threesome disappeared inside. There were four more women in there, leaning against the machinery that was stored, smoking cigarettes, and holding a single flashlight. It was the perfect place for anything they wanted to do to her, even kill her.
“Welcome to our little clubhouse,” Brenda said, laughing at her. “She really wanted to come and play,” Brenda said to the others. “Didn't you, Gracie … oh pretty girl … pretty, pretty girl …” she purred, carefully unbuttoning Grace's shirt, as Grace tried to stop her. If at all possible, they didn't want to leave any signs of damage, like torn clothing, unless of course they really had to. If she forced them to, they could do a lot of damage, and if she was smart, she'd be too afraid to tell anyone who had done it.
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