Insiders (17 page)

I don't want the cheese, I just want to get out of the trap.

Latin American proverb

‘Okay. My chicken is served,' Theresa told the crew. For a Yankee the girl knew how to make her chicken. Cher felt her mouth water, but she sat down to dinner with resentment. She knew something was up but wasn't sure what it was. That bothered her. Movita had been busy, and Frances had been delivering a lot of kites along with ice. Cher had heard that the debutante wasn't going to work in the laundry no more. Cher knew Movita was a private person, but when something was on, she let Cher in. Not this time, though.

Cher didn't like to be dependent on no one. In fact, she felt it was best not to get too close to no one. But she had never had a friend like Movita. She had never had no black friend at all, and she had never known a woman who was as on top of things, smart, and resourceful as Movita was. The
thing about her was that she was like Cher, but she wasn't like Cher. She was like Cher because Movita was smart, tricky, realistic, and funny as hell. But she wasn't like Cher because she didn't just use her smarts for herself – she was always figuring out a scam or a way to involve or help other people. Of course, the crew came first. Movita tried to keep peace among everyone. Unlike Cher, she was willing to make an extra effort to make things better for someone else. At first Cher had thought she did it to get power over people, or to get something else back. But time and observation had taught her that Movita was also a natural leader. She couldn't help straightening things out for other people. It was her way. Sometimes Cher admired it, and sometimes it was big goddamn pain in her ass.

Like her, Movita was secretive – she was one of the two or three women in the whole damn prison that could keep something to herself. But though Cher had trusted Movita to keep a few secrets of her own, she didn't like it when something was afoot and she was left out. She also didn't like it that it seemed Movita was trusting the debutante with some kind of secret that she was keeping Cher out of.

What do I care, Cher tried to tell herself as she helped herself to the largest piece of the fried chicken. I'm out of here. But she looked over at the debutante and then over at Movita. It irked her. Before the plate was passed on she took another piece of the chicken. What the fuck. Theresa raised her eyebrows but Cher paid no attention.

‘Have some coleslaw,' Suki said, passing her the bowl. ‘We have plenty of
that.
'

Back in Arkansas, Cher's mama used to say, ‘Girlchild, we shoulda spelt your name S-H-A-R-E, ‘cuz you are absolutely
obsessed
with that word.' And Mama had been
right. As one of nine hungry children in a poor white trash family, Cher learned very early that survival depended on
learning
to share,
doing
your share, and
getting
your share.

Now Cher ignored Suki's hidden admonition. Like Suki knew jack shit about anything. ‘The only thing we had plenty of when I was growin' up was work,' Cher told the crew. ‘And if you didn't do your share of the work, you didn't get your share of the food. It was just that damn simple.' Everyone had filled their plates and had begun eating. Nobody spoke, so Cher continued. '‘Ceptin for my baby brother Ellis.' Cher shook her head and took another bite of the chicken. ‘Mama spoilt him somethin' awful. She was too damn old by then to have another kid, and little Ellis was so pathetic and weak that she made sure he never had to lift a finger his whole life. And, ‘cuz I was the oldest, I was supposed to do his share of the work
and
share my share of the food.' She laughed, but she hadn't laughed then. And nobody laughed now. It pissed her off. She looked over at Jennifer Spencer, so sweet, so damn demure. ‘Jesus Christ, I used to think I had two names,' Cher said. ‘Alls the time my mama would be shoutin' at me:
Share, Cher! Share, Cher! Share, Cher
! I got damn sick of it then, and I'm damn sick of it now!'

Movita put down her cup hard. ‘What'n the hell you jabberin' about?' she wanted to know.

Cher indicated the whole table with her chin. ‘They think I didn't share the chicken,' Cher said sulkily.

‘Did anybody say that?' Movita asked. ‘I didn't hear it. And if you knew what people were thinking, you'd be worried about more serious stuff than that.'

‘You know what I always say?' Theresa, the peacemaker, asked. ‘Enough is as good as a feast.'

‘This
is
a feast,' the debutante said, like she hadn't been eating in four star restaurants her whole damn life.

‘Yeah? What did you ever make for dinner but reservations?' Cher asked.

Jennifer stood up. She looked through Cher as if she were invisible, which only pissed Cher off more than ever. ‘Thanks, Theresa,' she said. ‘Great chicken. Sorry about the coleslaw. It wasn't very good.' She moved toward the cell doors and Cher wished they'd rack the gate and scrunch the skinny bitch. ‘I have to make a phone call,' the deb said. ‘I'd better go now before the line gets too long.'

‘Oh, is that where our little Miss Armani is going?' Cher countered. ‘Every time we get done eatin' she's outta here without doin' one damn bit of the cleanup.'

‘She helped me make the supper,' Theresa said. ‘She made the coleslaw. It's a lot of messy work. And you know the rule: Whoever cooks don't clean up.'

‘You call that sharin'?' Cher snarled. ‘Nobody ate any of that crap she served up. Coleslaw! Just makes the cleanup all that messier. Can't even get it to flush down the john.' She looked at the bowl, still almost full. It was so vinegary it had made Cher wince. ‘Should make her eat it all.'

‘She said she's got a phone call to make,' Suki said as she stood to help Cher with the dishes. ‘I'm on with you for the cleanup, Cher. I don't mind a little work.'

‘I don't mind work either!' Cher snapped back. ‘I know how to work and I don't mind doin' my share of the work if everyone else is doin'
her
share of the work. That's all I'm sayin'. You can bet your ass that she's gonna stick around and do cleanup tomorrow night after
I
cook. And I'm gonna make one hell of a mess, too. You can count on that.'

Movita shook her head. ‘Girlfriend, you have been
sputterin' and spoutin' about this now for the last fifteen minutes! Don't you got nothin' better to do? Like maybe practice talking about how well you've learned to live with others for your parole speech?'

Cher sat down again. Was that what this was all about? She was shut out because she was leavin'? Was that it? And Mo had picked the debutante to take her place. Cher got a real empty feeling under her breastbone and a pulling at the bottom of her stomach. She didn't like those feelings.

‘Fine,' she said. ‘I will.' She got up and angrily slammed a kettle down onto the hot plate. Despite her ire, the fact was she liked these women. In all her travels – and Cher had crisscrossed the country more times than the lines on her palm – she'd never met anyone like Movita, and Theresa – for all her wacky optimism and stupid aphorisms – and Spencer – with her smarts – were women Cher would like to keep on knowing. But once paroled she was forbidden to see or speak to any prison inmates. She couldn't even write to the crew without permission from her parole officer. That was cold.

And it was just as cold for the crew to replace her … and with Jennifer. Cher felt something unfamiliar, an unpleasant emotion. She was so self-assured, she generally felt so superior to the skanks and hos and marks around her that it was rare that she felt this annoying emotional tic, but she realized with a start that part of her dislike for the debutante was based on jealousy. From the day that girl had arrived in her Armani panties she had seemed an affront to Cher, and if she didn't come right out and say, ‘I'm better than any poor white trash like you could ever hope to be,' there was something in her posture and attitude that said it just as plain as speech. And there was no denying that
Movita favored her. Cher was jealous of Jennifer. It wasn't a nice feeling to have, but she supposed there was very little she could do about it. It was a pity that Movita felt that Jennifer was crew material, and it was clear she was planning to replace Cher with the debutante.

It wasn't that Cher blamed Movita – hey, it would be as much as her parole was worth to even jot her a postcard once Cher was out, and she knew she wouldn't think of Jennings or the other women. She could walk right by Theresa on the street and not notice her. But somehow Movita's friendship really mattered. Movita had to take care of herself because she was doin' a long stretch and Cher knew it but somehow seein' herself replaced with the little debutante caused her a pang.

She turned to face Movita. ‘And just why are
you
kissin' her uppity white ass?' she spat.

‘You ain't go no idea about
what
she's doin'!' Movita spat back. Cher could see that Movita was about to say more, but she stopped abruptly, shut her mouth, and remained silent – avoiding Cher's glare.

Something
was
up; Cher could always tell when a scam or a grift was going down – after all, she'd been grifting for twenty years – and something was definitely going down now. She narrowed her eyes and stared intently at her old friend Movita. The kettle water wasn't heated enough to really clean but she didn't care. She poured the lukewarm water into the plastic dishpan. ‘What's going on here, Mo? What ain't you tellin' Cher? Huh?'

‘I'm just sayin' we should cut Spencer some slack, that's all,' Movita said quietly, scraping the remains of the chicken bones and most of the coleslaw into the trash. ‘That's alls I'm sayin'.'

Cher snorted. No one had ever cut any slack for Cher in her entire life. If there was one thing she had
never
gotten her share of, it was slack. And now she would be damned if some snotty little rich white girl from New York City was going to get all of that, too – especially from Movita, known by all to be tough as hell. It had taken Cher months to get hooked up with Movita. And now the deb was her new best friend?

Cher would never admit to fear anything, and she wasn't
afraid
to get out but … Cher let the empty kettle fall to the floor with a clang and headed for the door. ‘I'll cut that little bitch somethin', and it won't be any slack,' she hissed. She shoved Suki out of her way. Cher heard Movita say something and follow her out of the cell, but she didn't look back.

The pay telephone was at the far end of the rec room, and Jennifer stood hunched there with her back to the line of women waiting for the phone. She held the telephone receiver to her right ear with her shoulder, and with her left hand she was covering her other ear to cut out some of the noise from the blaring television set. With her right hand she was frantically making notes, stopping now and then to put up her palm to the impatient inmates.

That's all Cher had to see. She crossed the room in less than four strides and without hesitation yanked the receiver from the startled Jennifer and slammed it back into its cradle on the phone. ‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' Jennifer asked.

‘You need to learn how to share, Missy,' Cher said to Jennifer.

‘I wasn't finished and that was a
very
important call,' the deb told her, then reached to pick up the receiver again. But
Cher was having none of that and put her larger and stronger hand hard on top of Jennifer's.

‘
I wasn't finished and that was a very important call
,' mocked Cher. She had mastered her impersonation of Jennifer, and her performance earned great guffaws of appreciative laughter from the rest of the women in the rec room. That is, from everyone except Movita, who had witnessed the whole confrontation and now came to the front of the group.

‘That's enough, you two,' Movita ordered. ‘Spencer's got to finish her call.'

‘The hell she does,' Cher shouted. ‘What's so damned important that this little bitch gets to hog the phone?'

There were murmurs of assent from the other inmates.

‘I have
business
to take care of,' Jennifer shouted in response.

‘Business?' Cher spat incredulously, ‘What business do
you
have? Anyway,' she taunted, ‘I thought
you
weren't going to be here long.'

The rec room was dead silent and all eyes were on the three of them. Cher knew she'd broken the first rule of any crew – no fighting or dissing in front of outsiders, but she felt wild with loneliness, disappointment, and futility. ‘Both of you, shut your mouths,' Movita said. She looked hard at Cher. ‘Gettin' outta prison isn't always somethin' that's good for a person, you know?' Cher felt herself color. Lord Jesus, she hadn't blushed since she was twelve years old. Movita motioned to the hall. ‘Come on over here with me,' she told Cher. Then she turned to the deb and said, ‘Get on the end of the line and finish your call.' She looked at the inmates gawking and waiting. ‘That all right, girls?' she asked. The women in the line nodded. Jennifer walked to
the end and Movita didn't say anything more, except to turn to Linda, the first woman waiting to use the phone, and indicate with a nod of her head that it was her turn at the phone.

Cher followed Movita out into the hallway. ‘What in the hell is goin' on here?' Cher demanded the minute they got out of earshot. ‘Somethin's up. I can always tell when somethin's up.'

‘There ain't nothin' up that concerns you,' Movita said quietly.

‘Then why are you dissin' me like that?' Cher asked almost petulantly.

‘
You
were dissin'
Spencer
in there,' Movita explained. ‘I don't want my crew fightin' with each other. Especially in front of that Jesus-freak group in the rec room. Spencer is
crew
now, Cher. She's one of us, and she was makin' a call I asked her to make, not that it was your bidness. And for a woman who has managed to get her hands on plenty of cash, I'd remind ya' that to diss someone for their financial success might be hypocrisy. It ain't no crime for her to be rich. You just jealous that her scams are bigger than yours.'