LOCKED UP AND LOVING IT
Part 2
by Carrie
I was bailed out of jail on Saturday morning, and appeared before
a judge on Monday. I had decided to fight the ticket even though
I really was 100-percent guilty. I spent hours getting ready, trying
to look as good as possible because I thought maybe if I looked impressive
enough, I would get off scot-free. I dressed like I was going to
a job interview, wearing a purple business suit with a white blouse and
matching heels and my hair impeccably done. I looked like one of
the lawyers, and certainly looked better than the public-defender assigned
to me.
I felt good as the case started but I soon realized that
I was way out of my league and had gotten too cocky. The old, mean
judge was mad at me because he thought I didn’t show any remorse for breaking
the law. The officer who arrested me testified that I had enjoyed
the whole thing, so I guess I didn’t hide it that well. My defense
was weak, and I was found guilty. I guess that was justified, but
then the judge added up the speeding ticket, the impound charge, the court
costs (or as he called it, "the waste of this court’s time"), my attitude,
and he gave me a HUGE fine. I couldn’t believe it. It was Monday
morning and this guy was obviously not ready to be back at work.
Maybe he had a fight with his wife over the weekend, but he took it out
on me.
"Your Honor, I don’t have that kind of money," I said.
"Well, you have a choice: either pay your debt today or spend 30 days in
prison."
A bailiff approached me and gently pulled my wrists behind
me. I was cuffed and taken to a holding cell. There were only
two other women there, also cuffed and dressed not nearly as nice as me,
but I couldn’t make eye contact with them. Instead, I nervously kept
my head down. I wasn’t sure where I would be going and I started
to get scared.
Later, I would discover there was nothing to be afraid of.
But at the time, I certainly wasn’t as happy as I was when I was arrested
alongside the highway. There is no comparison between spending a
harmless night in the County Jail and being sentenced to a prison term.
Strangely enough, I kept thinking of my high-school friends. I hadn’t
thought about them in years. I wasn’t the homecoming queen or anything
like that, but I had lots of friends back then. Several people signed
my yearbook with: "You’re the nicest person I know!" I pictured them
hearing this news and their reaction. "Carrie is in prison?!"
they would think. "How?
What
happened to her?"
My brother, parents, and most of my family still lived in
my hometown and they had no idea of what was going on. I usually
talked to them once every two weeks. I wondered if I would even get
the chance to call them, and if I should tell them. Will they find
out if I just keep my mouth shut? I was so ashamed. As I sat
waiting in the holding cell, handcuffed as more women were brought in throughout
the day, I beat myself up mentally. You couldn’t be normal and stay
out of trouble, could you? Looks like you got what you wished for,
sweetie. You deserve this. I came close to begging one of the
guards. I wanted to say: "Please, I’ve learned my lesson. I
don’t need to go to prison. I’ll never do anything like this again.
Could you take the handcuffs off and ask the judge to send me home?
Please?" Finally, a bailiff took me out of the room. We walked down
the hall, with him holding my right bicep, to an elevator that said "SECURITY
PERSONNEL ONLY" on the doors. The elevator took us down to the parking
garage below the courthouse where a state car was waiting. The bailiff
unlocked one of the handcuffs, then put my hands in front of me and re-cuffed
them. "Stand still," he said and seconds later I felt an odd sensation.
It was the bailiff cuffing my ankles! Then he connected my handcuffs
and leg-irons with a long, tight chain. I was surprised at how quickly
it was done. Before I knew what was happening, my shackled frame
was helped slowly into the backseat and I was off to prison.
Shortly into the 90-minute ride, I realized I was going somewhere
special, but I had no idea where. For some reason, I was being transported
by myself instead of traveling to a state facility with the other women.
We went very deep into the woods. I knew most prisons were in secluded
locations but I got more anxious as we kept going. However, my spirits
immediately lifted when we approached the prison grounds and I saw this
sign:
"Max’s High-Security Prison for Non-Violent Female Criminals."
Yes! I can do 30 days here, easy.
The car drove through an open gate and pulled up to a building
which the
sign "Receiving and Processing" posted outside. A uniformed
guard helped
me
out of the car and directed me into an office. I was still
chained but by
now
I didn’t care. I sat in one of the chairs and was told to
wait. Opposite
me
was a large desk and a swivel chair. I thought it was Max’s
office and I
would finally get to meet him, until a man entered. "Hello,
Carrie," he
said
as he took his seat, dressed in a very nice suit.
"Max?"
"Oh, no, I’m not Max. And we refer to him around here
as Warden Max," he said, raising an eyebrow as if to tell me that was some
kind of order. "I’m very sorry," I replied. "I didn’t know."
He smiled and said: "That’s OK. Warden Max is extremely
busy, and he only sees inmates when he deems it absolutely necessary.
Well, I shouldn’t say that...he sees you all the time, but he only has
contact with you when it’s necessary. Warden Max is always watching,
but I’m his assistant. And the biggest part of my job is acting as
a liaison between the inmates and him." "I see," I said, just to acknowledge
that I understood so far. It was obvious he wasn’t done.
"We’re very glad that you’re dressed so lovely," he started
again, still not telling me his name. I smiled back, enjoying this.
I had completely forgotten that I was wearing chains.
"Carrie, this is a small prison as you can tell. Nobody
goes by a number here, and we only accept, how shall I put this...we only
accept beautiful women of class, like yourself." I was blushing.
I hadn’t been flattered like this by any man I’d ever gone out with.
"There are no hookers here, no killers, or child-beaters. You won’t
be in any danger here." "I’m so relieved to hear that," I said.
"It won’t be so bad," the assistant went on. "30 days
go by fast here, and trust me, we have the best prison food in the world.
Most of our inmates are here for traffic fines like you, or for civil disobedience.
We have some drunk drivers who fortunately didn’t hurt anybody. The
biggest crime one of our women committed was shoplifting from Wal-Mart.
She tried to steal almost the whole store - shoes, a sweater, a watch,
a jacket and sunglasses by wearing them through the check-out line!
We liked her style so we took her, but she’s an exception."
Then the tone of his voice sharpened. "Now we can’t
forget that you are a criminal. That’s a tag you’ll have to carry
for the rest of your life, but here is where you will really be punished.
All inmates spend their first week chained in solitary confinement.
Warden Max likes you, but there can be no exceptions. The shackles
on you now will remain for seven days. They will only be taken off
to change clothes. And for the first week there will be no visitors,
no phone calls, no mail, no leaving your cell except to take a shower.
Your meals will be brought to you. After one week, you’ll be transferred
to the general population and be given a job for the rest of your time,
and you will get to live about as normal a life as a prisoner can have."
"Any questions, Carrie?"
"None," I said. "Thank you."
"Good luck," he said, and then summoned for a guard to take
me to solitary.
The shackles were taken off for me to change out of my nice
clothes into an all-white dress, and then they were replaced. I wondered
why the uniform was white instead of blue or orange, but I would soon find
out. I was taken to the basement of the Housing building, and placed
in a private cell even smaller than the one in the County Jail. This
was about the size of the walk-in closet in my bedroom at home. I
laid down on the hard bed and tried to get comfortable, which was very
difficult in the chains. What a long day!
For that first week, I had contact with another person only
five times per day, and three of those were when a guard brought meals
to me. The assistant wasn’t lying; the food was actually pretty good,
a pleasant surprise. In the afternoons, my cell would open and there
would be someone with a camera to take a full- length photograph of me
in my shackled condition. "It’s for our library," I was told, which
I knew was the politically-correct way to say it was for Warden Max’s visual
pleasure. As if the surveillance video camera in an upper corner
wasn’t enough, but who’s complaining? I also figured my dress was
white so the chains would show better in the pictures. The only other
time all day I saw another human being was shower time, which came to be
my favorite part of the seven days. For starters, I was taken out
of my cell and that would have been satisfying enough. But I was
forced to shower wearing the chains! I don’t even think I can describe
the erotic thrill I would feel when a guard would wrap the icy cold steel
around my bare waist! You just have to experience that yourself,
I can’t do it justice. During this week, I went through mood swings
constantly. I never left the cell except to shower. At times
I felt like a dog stuck in the house until my owner decided it was time
to take me for a walk. But at other times, I was overcome by the
sensual feelings of isolation and captivity. Then I would blow kisses
at the camera, directed at Warden Max, who I knew was watching. But
occasionally, I would start to think the use of shackles and handcuffs
was overkill. I mean, being locked in was usually enough to excite
me. And why can’t I get anything to write with or read? What
is the point of locking me down in this prison within a prison? However,
those angry thoughts would be squashed when I remembered that I was lucky
to be here. You could easily be in State, I would tell myself, where
the food and the inmates are hideous. And they don’t get to shower
in shackles.
On my eighth day, I was taken out of the cell and released
from my chains.
I was actually getting used to them, since I had been restrained
continually for seven days except for the 5 minutes it took each day to
get in and out of my clothes, and it felt strange to not have them on.
I was given a new uniform, blue jeans and a red shirt this time.
Then I was brought upstairs to a little area that resembled a gift shop.
"You can buy as much as you want here," the guard said.
"You’ll be billed when you’re released. You got 5 minutes to look
around and you only come here once a week."
There were magazines, some books, legal pads, and pens -
things I knew I would need. The prices were steep, like what you
see at an airport. That was no surprise, but I was surprised to see
the beauty accessories for sale. There was lipstick, makeup, hairbrushes,
etc. Obviously, Warden Max wanted his prisoners to look good, and
he trusted us not to turn any of these items into weapons.
To go from solitary in shackles to this felt like going on
vacation. But after my little shopping spree, I was led to a new
cell and reality struck again. The cell was close to the size of
the dorm room I lived in my freshman year of college, and that was for
one person. Now there were two bunk beds, two foot-lockers, and a
toilet in the room, and I had a cellmate. I noticed she looked very
familiar to me as the guard locked me in with her.
She was very attractive with short blond hair and what looked to
be a fit body. She sat on the lower bunk, and I placed my belongings
on the top bed.
"Hi," I spoke, "I’m Carrie, which locker is mine?"
She pointed to one of them. "That one there.
I’m Andrea. Nice to meet you."
When she said her name it jarred my memory. I had seen
Andrea on TV. She was former United States Senator Andrea Frazier!
A while back she was indicted for soliciting illegal campaign contributions
from large corporations and for money laundering. Apparently, she
promised these companies she would help them in Washington in return for
their support, and she pocketed some of the cash herself. What the
hell was she doing here? "Aren’t you Andrea Frazier?" I asked.
"Yeah," she answered and smiled. "Not many people recognize
me anymore."
"How did you wind up here?"
"Well, it was part of my plea agreement," she said.
"The whole story is we worked out a deal with the Justice Department, kind
of a mutual decision. Warden Max had heard about me and contacted
my lawyer and my husband. We all agreed that I could be saved from
the abuse and rough living I would have gotten in another prison.
My husband had some connections and the deal was made. The Justice
Department didn’t even know about this place, and they still won’t acknowledge
it exists. Publicly, that is. As far as the media is concerned,
I’m in a federal pen in Minnesota. The only people who know I’m here
are my husband and my children."
"Wow," I was barely able to breath out. "That’s amazing."
"You’re only the third person I’ve told, and I hadn’t told
anybody in
over a
year. It felt good to say it out loud again. I only
tell people who
recognize me, and even then not all the time. So when you’re
released,
you’ll
have to sign something and swear to secrecy."
"Absolutely," I said.
"So enough about me. How long are you in for?"
"30 days."
"I figured as much," Andrea said. I figured her for
about 55 years old but she appeared 35. This woman had grown children,
and I’ll bet as they grew up they had the prettiest mother of all their
friends. "You’re my 27th roommate, Carrie. They keep coming
in and out. I’m in my second year of a 5-year sentence."
"Five years. My God," was all I think of to say.
"That’s what most of them say," she replied. "You are the rule and
I’m the exception. So what did you do?"
"Speeding." I laughed as I said it. "I couldn’t
pay the fine." Andrea snickered, rolled her eyes and said: "Unbelievable.
A federal thief and a fast driver."
In my second week, I learned how the system works.
Bedtime was 10:00 P.M.
Wake up at six. By 7:00, we were at our job for that day -
handcuffed and waist-chained. Whenever we were out of our cells,
we had to be at least cuffed and usually chained too. That meant
we worked, ate, and yes, showered in metal. I was astounded the first
time I walked into the cafeteria. I had guessed there were 40 women
in the prison, and I had never seen so many handcuffs in my life!
We worked from seven until four in the afternoon. For
three days, I had kitchen duty. Basically, I washed, dried, and stacked
dishes. Then I spent four days in the mail room sending envelopes
in and out. I noticed one letter for Andrea in women’s handwriting,
probably from one of her daughters.
Later
that night, she was beaming.
"I got a letter from my baby!" she told me.
"That’s great. What’s her name?"
"Rebecca," Andrea said. "I haven’t seen her in so long.
She’s seventeen and she’s psyched about graduating and going to college.
It’s a good thing you won’t be here to see me when that happens because
I’ll be a basket case.
I feel bad for whoever will be stuck here with me."
"Where’s she going?"
"Northwestern. She’ll be right near Chicago, it’ll
be so exciting for her."
Andrea stopped and her voice went from elated to very serious.
"She makes me wonder why I did what I did. I’ve been so unfair to
her, and she’s never stopped loving me. You see, she was born much
later than her brother and sister. My other two kids are 28 and 25
and was there when they graduated and I saw them off to college.
And then in the best time of my baby’s life, I got extremely selfish.
I put myself above her and now we’re both paying." Now she was fighting
back tears.
I sat down next to her and put my left arm around her.
"It’s OK," I said.
"At least you haven’t lost her. You’re still her mother and
she still loves you."
"You know, there were just two things I couldn’t get enough
of - wealth and power. I was never satisfied. I wanted to be
the most influential female Senator in history. Now I’m definitely
the most memorable." "And the money. My husband is a world-renowned
surgeon and I was a Senator.
I probably could’ve bought this prison and turned it into an outlet
mall. But money made me drunk, I was addicted to it. I loved
making money and I loved spending it more. I once bought a watch
for ten thousand dollars, can you believe that? I wore it to my sentencing.
I knew I’d have to hand it over and now it’s in storage probably damaged
to hell. But at least my husband can’t give it to one of the golddiggers
he’s screwing out there." God, this woman was compelling. And she
loved to talk. No wonder she’d been elected to office. I couldn’t
respond but she continued. "But when I get out, I’ll get that watch
back. It’s going to be on my wrist every day reminding me not to
give in to temptation, and to think about my family before myself."
"Plus, the thing was gorgeous." We both laughed hard
at that one. Andrea wrapped up. "I’m sorry and I went on and
on there. But come on, it’s time for your story. I told you
why I stole money, tell me why you drive fast."
I flashed back to the county jail when I had told most of
the truth to my cellmate, Paula, and she ripped my head off. But
Andrea had really confided in me and we got along great, so I told her
the entire story. From the very beginning, back in that motel in
Chicago when the lights went out. When I was done, Andrea laughed
harder than anyone I’d ever seen and that got me laughing too. We
went on chatting most of the night. I asked her what she thought
about this place with its rules and handcuffs and chains. "I don’t
like it here, but I’m damn lucky to be here. I’ve gotten used to
the shackles but it’s still uncomfortable and a little humiliating at times.
I don’t see why we have to spend nine or ten hours a day in them.
But at least this place is not a total hellhole. I cringe when I
think of where I could be, and if I were a man, forget it."
And just like that it was lights-out time.
The next day, I was not given a work assignment. Instead,
I was taken back to Warden Max’s assistant’s office. Handcuffed behind
my back, of course. "A deal has been worked out," the assistant said.
"You’re going home."
I was amazed. "But it’s only been fifteen days.
What’s going on?" "Well, we both know you have responsibilities on the
outside. A speeding ticket and a short time in prison shouldn’t change
that. You will be serving the rest of your sentence under home confinement.
On Monday you’ll be back at your job. We’ve talked to your boss,
and he’s not going to fire you for one mistake, but your two-week vacation
is gone."
"In the next fifteen days, you will leave your house for
work only, and then return directly home. When you go home today,
the first thing you are to do is go into your basement and await further
instruction." "OK," I said, wondering what would be waiting for me in my
basement. "Very well," the assistant said as he stood up. A
guard unlocked my handcuffs. "First you have to sign these."
There were two pieces of paper.
The first was the document indicating I wouldn’t blow Andrea’s cover.
If I did and I was caught, according to the paper, I would go to a super-maximum-security
federal prison for twenty-five years! That was good incentive not
to squeal.
The second was my shopping bill. I signed and returned
them. "Thank you.
Mrs. Frazier spoke very highly of you. That’s what started
the process of
what’s happening now. And finally on behalf of Warden Max,
may I say that
you
have been a model prisoner."
"Oh, I never got to meet him," I said.
"Perhaps someday," the assistant answered. "I can assure
you he does have a special place in his heart for contributors to the web-site.
He’ll be sorry to see you go."
I smiled and thanked him. Then my hands were cuffed
in front of me and I was led into a van that took me home. I was
uncuffed and walked into my house, and went straight to the basement.
Was I in solitary again, or what?
All I could do was wait...
THE END, maybe
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