For the rest of the afternoon Lena hammered out information in drill sergeant style while everyone took notes and answered questions when called upon. I felt like I was in grade school with a witch for a teacher.
I’ll admit, I wasn’t quite as attentive as the others. After all, my job wasn’t to sell the stuff. My job was simply to do what I’ve always done. Keep track of the finances. Still, I pretended to pay attention. I’m good at that.
Back when I was in school, it was easy for me to slide through tests on what I heard in class, and this was no exception. In fact, I actually surprised myself with correct answers the few times she pinned me with her laser gaze.
At the end of the day, exhausted and somewhat bummed out, we all piled back on the bus. Kate sat next to me, while Cameron took the aisle seat across from Kate. Cameron said, “How about that Hemmelmacher? Can you imagine her and someone like Leona Helmsley locking horns? Gives me the chills just thinking about it.”
Kate nodded. “Yeah. Helmsley was in prison, but she died in 2007. Still, Helmsley might have won. She was better looking than Lena and had the bucks. All that Frau Hemmelmacher has is attitude. I sure don’t want to get on the wrong side of her. You know, government employees can’t be fired unless their job is eliminated. I think the best they can do is transfer them.”
Tucker sat in front of Kate. Hearing our chatter, she turned around, her soft Southern drawl flowing like molasses. “You know what, y’all. Julia told me our lovely Training Director was a matron in a women’s prison before getting this job. From what she said, I guess that ole gal was caught getting way too forceful with some of the inmates. That’s why she was transferred to this job where she doesn’t have much direct contact with inmates except training. All she does here is introduce them to the conditions of the FACR program if they’re lucky enough to get in.”
Cameron said, “I don’t doubt that one bit. She’s so nasty I believe one look from her would make a grizzly bear turn tail and run. I also don’t think she and Julia like each other one iota. ”
“Well, y’all, besides running training sessions for the inmates, Julia said something about her having administrative duties, but I truly can’t remember what they were.”
“Hmmm. Since she handles the orientations, maybe she has to write up reports or something.”
“Could be—“
Julia tapped the mic. “Ladies, ladies—a minute, please.” When she cleared her throat, the mic’s amplification made it sound like an avalanche tumbling down a mountain. Now what?
“Ladies, ladies. Please be quiet. This is important. Before we get there, I wanted to let you know the…er… accommodations are a bit, um, ‘rustic.’ Unfortunately, it’s the only choice with the lack of motels in town. I just didn’t want you to expect anything luxurious.”
Tucker snickered. “Luxurious? Out here in a place that looks like the end of the earth? Is she serious?” She shrugged. “Listen, y’all. I can put up with something like a Nightcap Motel for a night. No problem.”
Just at that moment, the bus pulled a sharp right turn, jostling all of us, and then continued for about half a mile along a horribly uneven road filled with potholes. We felt another sharp jolt when the driver slammed on the brakes in front of a nondescript gray structure that looked like barracks. I squinted to read the faded sign: Paradise Cottages. Who were they kidding? Since when were concrete barracks called cottages?
We all clambered off the bus and waited as the driver unloaded our bags.
Inside the low cinderblock building one of the women whistled and said, “Holy shit! Calling this place Paradise Cottages is like saying you met an honest politician. What a stretch of the imagination.”
Another said, “It is quite a hellhole, but at least it’s only for one night.”
I looked around Cottage Seven, a dismal place boasting eight cot beds with rusty footlockers at the end of each one. Flakes of yellowish green paint had peeled off the walls and lay in little piles on the floor. I wondered when, if ever, the place had been cleaned. I poked the mattress on the bed that was to be mine. It looked like it was only about an inch thick with a thin blue blanket folded at the end. The pillow, stuffed into a dingy white pillowcase, reminded me of a sack of cement.
Ugh. Now I knew why Julia had treated us to nice rooms and a good dinner the night before. The phrase “the condemned man had a hearty meal,” kept running through my mind. I desperately hoped there was a decent restaurant close by. But then, I also wished for world peace and a fat bank account.
The little town of Paradise Hills didn’t have a motel that could accommodate all of us. Since it is forty miles east of everywhere, apparently this was the only choice. If I were a gambling person, I’d have given odds that even the inmates’ beds weren’t this sad.
It got worse. The bathroom was a big area with a long row of grayish-toned basins that may have been white a long time ago, set into a barf-green counter. The doors on the toilet stalls were so out of square, they wouldn’t close. The one long water-spotted mirror running the length of the sinks reflected expressions ranging from shock to horror as our crack sales team took everything in. Compared to this dump, anything would look luxurious.
Cameron complained, “All I can say is our expense allowance better be enough for decent lodgings once we’re working our territories. If not, I’ll quit. I don’t think I’ll get any sleep tonight.”
From what I’d learned about my new colleagues, the sad truth was that most likely none of us could afford to quit, so Julia never heard our complaints.
We all piled back on the bus for a foray into the actual town of Paradise Hills where food at the local McDonald’s was considered haute cuisine. Unfortunately, for us, we passed that eatery by and continued to a dilapidated café located about a mile past it. The neon sign outside blinked Cuppa Joe and Sanwiches on and off. Sandwiches was spelled wrong. And that wasn't all that was wrong about the place once we got inside.
If it didn’t float in grease or taste like cardboard, Cuppa Joe didn’t serve it. As for the namesake, the coffee could best be described as sludge. What was wrong with Julia? None of us finished our meal although she downed two cups of the drink they called coffee and didn’t even leave a scrap of the “Best Steak in Paradise” on her plate. I’m serious. Who in their right mind would even call that charred piece of shoe leather a steak? Oh for a Big Mac, fries and a coke. I suspected Julia was happy with anything, as long as it remotely resembled food.
On the ride back, Tucker seemed very jumpy. “What do y’all suppose will happen tomorrow? After that dinner and seein’ where we’re sleepin’ tonight, I’m actually a mite worried, aren’t you? After all, we’re comin’ face-to-face with criminals and all.”
Kate reached out and patted her hand. “Calm down, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Okay, it’s painfully obvious this isn’t the Ritz, and Frau Hemmelmacher really sucks, but I don’t think any of the inmates would dare try anything. Just keep telling yourself once we’ve made it through this dumb training, we’ll be able to start making some real money. Picture the bonuses. That’s what’s keeping me going.”
I laughed, “Yeah. I guess we can survive another day of this. Besides, I want all of you to make lots money. If you do, so do I. Anyway, Julia said we’d be going back to Seattle after the last session today, didn’t she?”
Cameron did her lip-bite thing and groaned. “We’d better. I swear if we have to spend another night here, I’d refuse to sleep on that thing they call a cot.
• • • • •
At seven the next morning we all clambered back aboard the bus for our return to Paradise Prison.
Kate whispered, “My God, after last night I think I know how the princess in that fairytale The Princess and The Pea felt. And, she had a stack of mattresses between her and the pea. The only thing between us and the bedsprings in this hellhole is a mattress as thin as a pancake. No wonder I felt something poke me in the butt all night.”
“Know what, y’all,” Taylor peered over the back of her seat, “I was about to put that little ole scrap of blanket and the pillow on the floor thinkin’ it would be more comfortable, but then I heard scurrying. I think we disturbed the cockroaches.” She fanned herself reminding me of an addled Southern Belle and slumped back into her seat. “I’m gonna need what’s left of the weekend to recuperate.”
As the bus bumped along toward Paradise Prison, not one of us was in a good mood. Call us spoiled, but after enduring the food served at Cuppa Joe’s followed by bedsprings poking us all night, I don’t think anyone could have faced the next day smiling.
• • • • •
Lena Hemmelmacher was already in the conference room, dressed in a tailored light blue suit, crisp white blouse and clunky brown orthopedic oxfords. We settled into the same seats we occupied the day before, while Lena scowled and tapped her laser pointer on the conference table.
Julia passed out large four-inch binders with Federal Association of Correctional Reform emblazoned in gold on the dark blue vinyl cover, the FACR logo below and the Federal Seal of the United States above the name. The rings were crammed with brochures, so I assumed the next thing on her agenda was to go through the binder. Boy, was I wrong.
There was a gentle tap at the conference room door and Lena Hemmelmacher clomped over to open it. An inmate came in pushing a dressmaker dummy on wheels, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He was followed by a handsome man standing about six feet tall, black slacks topped by a beautifully tailored gray blazer. The newcomer flashed a friendly smile that revealed a slight gap between his two front teeth. Thick brown hair tumbled over his forehead and a neatly trimmed mustache added to his sex appeal. He stopped at the head of the conference table and surveyed the room, amusement reflected in his chocolate brown eyes.
Julia welcomed him like a long-lost friend, and gave him a hug before leading him to a chair beside her. “Welcome Matt. I’m so happy to see you. Sorry you had to drive out here yourself.”
I thought, “Yeah, what a sacrifice. I’ll bet he’s devastated about missing a ride on the big black bus and staying at Paradise Cottages.”
“Everyone, say ‘hello’ to the man I call my right arm, Matt Thorne, Director of Design and Marketing. Matt is actually the brains behind our wonderful new marketing plan.”
While Julia continued to speak, the inmate pushed the dummy to a wide open space beyond the table. We all stared after him as he backed out of the room. An inmate walking around by himself? Julia mouthed, “He’s a trustee.”
“Good morning, ladies.” Matt flashed a sexy smile. “Just to clarify, trustees are inmates who have special privileges because of their good behavior.”
A little enlightened hum buzzed around the table.
“Let me start out by sharing my background. I recently relocated from the D.C. office to work hand-in-hand with Julia. FACR is on the move, and you will all be part of it.” He really looked like a nice guy—someone I’d like to know. I had a feeling we were going to hit it off.
He put his hand on the dressmaker dummy, turned it to face the table and pulled it closer. He pulled the cover off, revealing a cream-colored silk blouse clearly designed to show off cleavage. I realized everyone but me had plenty of that. The blouse topped a burgundy miniskirt—hardly more than a patch of fabric. He pulled a form-fitting jacket from his briefcase, the left breast pocket adorned with an embroidered Federal Seal highlighted by the letters FACR in an arc above the seal and put it on the dummy with a flourish. All I could think of was a soft core porno movie where the sexy salesperson would soon do her pitch as naked as a jay bird.