We managed to slide into our seats a few minutes before Bruce and Julia returned from lunch. The pair didn’t look as chummy as they had before lunch. In fact they were glaring at each other. I shot a look at my new friends as if to say, “Think something’s up?”
Bruce rudely pushed in front of Julia, taking the seat at the head of the table. She narrowed her eyes as she slid into the last vacant seat and made eye contact with each of the women seated around the table. The anger lurking in those eerie green eyes contradicted her forced smile. I noticed the corners of her mouth were trembling.
For the next three hours I fought the urge to doze off. We were subjected to a lackluster PowerPoint presentation, lots of dry facts and a question-and-answer period just as boring. About the time it seemed like I couldn’t make it through another minute, Bruce said, “Well, ladies, I have a plane to catch. Julia will take it from here.” He ogled a few of us, grabbed his briefcase and rushed out of the room.
Julia stood, resuming the “alpha” attitude she had before being bullied by Bruce. “We’re going to wrap up this session now. I’m thrilled to have such a dynamic team and Bruce is very pleased with all of you.” The plastic smile flashed, then vanished just as quickly. “Dinner at 7:00 tonight in the El Diablo Room at the hotel. Tomorrow—Paradise.”
Was it a coincidence that the name of the restaurant was El Diablo? Oh well, I’d already sold my soul for a lot less than it was worth. At least I had two great new friends.
The three of us agreed to meet in the bar for a glass of wine before dinner. I felt the need for liquid fortification, and apparently so did they.
After a good hot shower, major repair to my makeup and a quick application of the flat iron to my frizzy hair, I must admit I did feel a lot better. I spotted three more of my new co-workers in the bar, but they were engrossed in conversation and barely acknowledged me beyond a wave of the hand.
A few moments later, a high-pitched giggle signaled that Cameron had just entered the bar with Kate right behind her.
They joined me in the booth I’d managed to snag, and from the tone of our gossip, it was clear all three of us had the same thought on our minds. What had transpired between Bruce and Julia?
Kate finally said, “From the way she looked at him when the meeting began, it almost felt like they might have had an affair and she doesn’t like the way he treats her now. I did a search before coming down here. Guess what? He married a very wealthy socialite about two years ago, so if he had been messing around with Julia, she probably got dumped around that time. Besides, the way that man leers at a pretty girl, I wouldn’t be surprised if he screws around while his rich wife cools her heels in D.C. What do you think, Cameron?”
Cameron did the lip-biting thing and mused, “My mind is such mush after all of those presentations, I have to think about that for a minute. By the way, I never thought anyone could drone on for so long about something that could have been said in twenty minutes. Bruce really is a pompous bore.”
“As far as I’m concerned he’s not only a bore, he’s a conceited ass. My money says it’s a sure bet they had something going once upon a time. Otherwise a cold fish like Julia would probably just let it roll off while sticking pins in a mental voodoo doll.”
“Geeze, Kate, you have a macabre sense of Julia. But you know what—your observation is probably right on. She does have a very pretty face. Maybe she wasn’t always so, well, full-figured.”
I snorted. “You two are awful. You already have her in and out of bed with him. I’d say she’s someone who likes to even the score.”
They both gave me thumbs up, and Kate said, “So we’re in agreement, right?”
The dinner was absolutely scrumptious, and I managed to make a real pig of myself. I dove into the chocolate soufflé with a vengeance, savoring every mouthful. Even though I didn’t have an ounce of room left, it was all I could do not to ask for a second helping. As far as I’m concerned, a chocolate fix always makes things right with the world, and that soufflé was high octane. Julia had ordered an excellent chardonnay, followed by some lovely sherry after-dinner drinks. We shared stories and had a good time getting to know each other.
Our rooms were on the same floor and we agreed to meet at the elevator in the morning so we could descend to our destiny together. Six was such an ungodly hour to take off for Paradise, but Julia said it was close to a three hour ride and she wanted to start early. At least she guaranteed coffee and donuts on the bus.
• • • • •
I took one look at my drooping eyelids the next morning and hoped coffee would do the trick. The black Federal Association of Correctional Reform bus was parked in the hotel driveway with its wire-covered windows and prominent logo. Nothing like advertising. What if someone I knew saw me boarding that monster? It would look as though I’d been arrested. Oh well, worse things could happen. After all, I’d told myself, I’m on my way to Paradise. Yeah, right.
• • • • •
Just before nine, our bus approached the prison gates. A plaque to the side of the guard station proclaimed: Paradise Hills Federal Prison.
“Omigod. A real prison.” The words spilled out of my mouth, setting off a collective wave of laughter throughout the bus.
The driver murmured a few words to the guard, while Julia trilled, “Here we are, ladies. Let’s see some excited faces. After all, how many people can say they’ve been inside a federal prison?”
Cameron looked through the window at the expanse of green lawn extending to razor-wire atop the fence beyond. She whispered to Kate and me, “Yeah, and how many would want to?” I tried to keep a straight face while Julia gave instructions.
She was using one of those little wireless clip-on microphones and her voice filled the tight space. “Our bungalows are outside the main security area.” She gave a forced laugh. “Don’t worry, you won’t be in prison overnight. The bus will park in front of the factory now. You will not, and I repeat, will not, be going into the main area of the prison. You will not be anywhere near the cell blocks.
The communal sigh of relief practically rocked the bus.
“Leave your purses and other belongings on the bus. They will be safe. The only thing you can take in with you is your driver’s license for identification.”
I shrugged, then pulled the license out of my wallet and put everything else under my seat. I saw the others did the same. We filed off the bus and walked to the admittance area. A uniformed guard wearing a gun in a holster on his hip greeted us. “Take off your shoes, belts, watches and earrings—anything that might trigger the metal detectors. We set them at a much higher sensitivity in prison than the detectors in airports. Any little thing can set them off.”
A broad smile spread across his beefy cheeks. His piercing blue eyes sparkled when he said, “Oh, by the way, you gals don’t have to worry about taking off under-wired bras.”
Did I spot a leer, or was I letting my imagination run wild?
“I can guess by lookin’ at you, that most of you were probably worried about that.”
All I could think was that the guy was sure enjoying himself.
“If it sets off the sensors we can wand you.” With that he gave a grunty sort of laugh. It might have been his private joke, but to tell the truth I didn’t find it very funny. I also noticed Julia didn’t object to his disrespect.
She put her license in the tray on the ledge at the side of the detector frame and stepped through. There was a beep and the grinning guard passed the wand across her generous bosom. Obviously they had been through this dance together many times. I wondered if the guard ever lost his control and groped her. He sure looked like he would like to. She turned and said, “See. Nothing to it. Now all of you do the same. Put your license in the tray and just walk through.”
The guard collected the licenses and gave them to another guard seated behind a window on the other side. Julia said, “They’ll keep those until we come out. After passing through the detector they stamp your hand. It’s a precaution to make sure no one on the inside can switch places with you. They write down the number of your stamp and keep it with your license. When you come out they’ll put your hand under a black light, match it up, give you back the license and let you out.”
One of the women said, “But Julia, this isn’t a woman’s prison and we’re all women. Wouldn’t it be pretty obvious if some guy tried to switch with us?”
Before Julia could answer, the guard at the window said, “Don’t be a wiseass. Rules are rules.” He looked at the first woman in line. “Now give me your hand.”
Once inside the factory, my eyes popped. I had pictured something much different. For some reason I thought we would enter a big open cavern of an area with multiple floors of cells all around the perimeter. I had pictured guards marching the inmates into this area so they could work at primitive equipment to produce furniture. In other words, a poor excuse for a factory— something you would expect to see in a comedy.
Instead, as I looked around I realized how ridiculous my expectations were. How could I have thought $800,000,000 a year worth of business could be produced from the Mickey Mouse operations I’d envisioned?
This factory was filled with modern computerized manufacturing zones. Some of the men in green uniforms worked lathes, extruding machines, and other noisy equipment while others worked on finer details like dovetailed drawers. From an explanation I’d received when I bought my new bedroom set, I knew that dovetail-style joining of a drawer front to the drawer body was an indication of good quality as opposed to the stapling used in cheaper furniture construction.
Julia waved her hand toward the busy floor. “Look around, ladies. See the guys in the green uniforms? They’re inmates. The ones in gray are guards, although I’ve said it before. The way a few of them act sometimes, it really does make me wonder if the colors got mixed up.” She waited for us to laugh.
We did and she began the guided tour through the massive facility. We stopped at an extruding machine. The inmate operating it told us with pride that he was making composition edge banding that would be stained like wood and used to finish the edges of desk tops. He was surprisingly courteous. I wondered what he was in for.
We continued, stopping at each machine for an inmate to explain what they were doing. Most of the men showed extreme pride while demonstrating their respective jobs, making it hard to believe that all of them were convicted criminals. I hoped none of them were murderers.
Only the upholstery sewing machines were inside of locked chain link enclosures. Julia explained that the needles and scissors had to be accounted for because they could become weapons.
A few hours later, we left the production area of the factory and were shown into one of the many meeting rooms in the facility. My first thought was that the huge, highly polished mahogany conference table, surrounded by comfortable blue leather executive chairs with the FACR logo embroidered on each back, seemed far more luxurious a meeting room than one would expect in a prison. Another of my misconceptions. I would have to get used to not automatically assuming everything would look tacky because it was government or prison. After all, this could easily function as a showroom for government buyers who came for a factory tour.
Heads snapped to attention when a no-nonsense woman with a rather stern face, her dark brown hair drawn beneath a hair band, entered the room. I guessed she was far-sighted because rimless glasses, perched almost at the tip of her generous nose, made her brown eyes look massive. This new arrival reminded me of one of those female German generals I’d seen in vintage newsreels.
Kate and Cameron exchanged glances with me as if to say, “Uh-oh. What next?” It wouldn’t have surprised me if the woman said in an authoritative tone, “You will be good little salespeople.”
Instead, she flashed a cold smile and said in a clipped New England accent, “Welcome. I’m Lena Hemmelmacher, Director of Training.” Her tone implied that we had better show respect, or else. In all honesty, she spiked some fear in me.
The formidable Lena snapped open a laser pointer, aiming it at a white board mounted on the wall. “Welcome to my training room. We will spend the next two days here, so pay attention. When I’m done with you”—she fixed each of us with a frosty stare—“you will know everything about how to mount an attack against those purchasing agents.” I pictured her snapping a riding crop.”
Attack? What were they going to do next? Issue the sales staff weapons?