"Yes."
The farm was on the other side of the main prison, and the twenty acres, planted with vegetables and fruit trees, were tended by trusties. There was a large artificial lake used for irrigation, surrounded by a stone wall that rose above it.
The next five days were almost like a new life for Tracy. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed getting away from the bleak prison walls, free to walk around the farm and breathe the fresh country air, but all she could think about was escaping. When she was not on duty with Amy, she was required to report back to the prison. Each night Tracy was locked in her cell, but in the daytime she had the illusion of freedom. After breakfast in the prison kitchen, she walked over to the warden's cottage and made breakfast for Amy. Tracy had learned a good deal about cooking from Charles, and she was tempted by the varieties of foodstuffs on the warden's shelves, but Amy preferred a simple breakfast of oatmeal or cereal with fruit. Afterward, Tracy would play games with the little girl or read to her. Without thinking. Tracy began teaching Amy the games her mother had played with her
Amy loved puppets. Tracy tried to copy Shari Lewis's Lamb Chop for her from one of the warden's old socks, but it turned out looking like a cross between a fox and a duck. "I think it's beautiful," Amy said loyally.
Tracy made the puppet speak with different accents: French, Italian, German, and the one Amy adored the most, Paulita's Mexican lilt. Tracy would watch the pleasure on the child's face and think, I won't become involved. She's just my means of getting out of this place.
After Amy's afternoon nap, the two of them would take long walks, and Tracy saw to it that they covered areas of the prison grounds she had not seen before. She carefully observed every exit and entrance and how the guard towers were manned and noted when the shifts changed. It became obvious to her that none of the escape plans she had discussed with Ernestine would work.
"Has anyone ever tried to escape by hiding in one of the service trucks that deliver things to the prison? I've seen milk trucks and food--"
"Forget it," Ernestine said flatly. "Every vehicle comin' in and goin' out of the gate is searched."
At breakfast one morning, Amy said, "I love you, Tracy. Will you be my mother?"
The words sent a pang through Tracy. "One mother is enough. You don't need two."
"Yes, I do. My friend Sally Ann's father got married again, and Sally Ann has two mothers."
"You're not Sally Ann," Tracy said curtly. "Finish your breakfast."
Amy was looking at her with hurt eyes. "I'm not hungry anymore."
"All right. I'll read to you, then."
As Tracy started to read, she felt Amy's soft little hand on hers.
"Can I sit on your lap?"
"No." Get your affection from your own family, Tracy thought. You don't belong to me. Nothing belongs to me.
The easy days away from the routine of the prison somehow made the nights worse. Tracy loathed returning to her cell, hated being caged in like an animal. She was still unable to get used to the screams that came from nearby cells in the uncaring darkness. She would grit her teeth until her jaws ached. One night at a time, she promised herself. I can stand one night at a time.
She slept little, for her mind was busy planning. Step one was to escape. Step two was to deal with Joe Romano, Perry Pope, Judge Henry Lawrence, and Anthony Orsatti. Step three was Charles. But that was too painful even to think about yet. I'll handle that when the time comes, she told herself.
It was becoming impossible to stay out of the way of Big Bertha. Tracy was sure the huge Swede was having her spied upon. If Tracy went to the recreation room, Big Bertha would show up a few minutes later, and when Tracy went out to the yard, Big Bertha would appear shortly afterward.
One day Big Bertha walked up to Tracy and said, "You're looking beautiful today, littbarn. I can't wait for us to get together."
"Stay away from me," Tracy warned.
The amazon grinned. "Or what? Your black bitch is gettin' out. I'm arrangin' to have you transferred to my cell."
Tracy stared at her.
Big Bertha nodded. "I can do it, honey. Believe it."
Tracy knew then her time was running out. She had to escape before Ernestine was released.
Amy's favorite walk was through the meadow, rainbowed with colorful wildflowers. The huge artificial lake was nearby, surrounded by a low concrete wall with a long drop to the deep water.
"Let's go swimming," Amy pleaded. "Please, let's, Tracy?"
"It's not for swimming," Tracy said. "They use the water for irrigation." The sight of the cold, forbidding-looking lake made her shiver.
Her father was carrying her into the ocean on his shoulders, and when she cried out, her father said, Don't be a baby, Tracy, and he dropped her into the cold water, and when the water closed over her head she panicked and began to choke...
When the news came, it was a shock, even though Tracy had expected it.
"I'm gettin' outta here a week from Sattiday," Ernestine said.
The words sent a cold chill through Tracy. She had not told Ernestine about her conversation with Big Bertha. Ernestine would not be here to help her. Big Bertha probably had enough influence to have Tracy transferred to her cell. The only way Tracy could avoid it would be to talk to the warden, and she knew that if she did that, she was as good as dead. Every convict in the prison would turn on her. You gotta fight, fuck, or hit the fence. Well, she was going to hit the fence.
She and Ernestine went over the escape possibilities again. None of them was satisfactory.
"You ain't got no car, and you ain't got no one on the outside to he'p you. You're gonna get caught, sure as hell, and then you'll be worse off. You'd be better doin' cool time and finishin' out your gig."
But Tracy knew there would be no cool time. Not with Big Bertha after her. The thought of what the giant bull-dyke had in mind for her made her physically ill.
It was Saturday morning, seven days before Ernestine's release. Sue Ellen Brannigan had taken Amy into New Orleans for the weekend, and Tracy was at work in the prison kitchen.
"How's the nursemaid job goin'?" Ernestine asked.
"All right."
"I seen that little girl. She seems real sweet."
"She's okay." Her tone was indifferent.
"I'll sure be glad to get outta here. I'll tell you one thing, I ain't never comin' back to this joint. If there's anythin' Al or me kin do for you on the outside--"
"Coming through," a male voice called out.
Tracy turned. A laundryman was pushing a huge cart piled to the top with soiled uniforms and linens. Tracy watched, puzzled, as he headed for the exit.
"What I was sayin' was if me and Al can do anythin' for you--you know--send you things or--"
"Ernie, what's a laundry truck doing here? The prison has its own laundry."
"Oh, that's for the guards," Ernestine laughed. "They used to send their uniforms to the prison laundry, but all the buttons managed to get ripped off, sleeves were torn, obscene notes were sewn inside, shirts were shrunk, and the material got mysteriously slashed. Ain't that a fuckin' shame, Miss Scarlett? Now the guards gotta send their stuff to an outside laundry." Ernestine laughed her Butterfly McQueen imitation.
Tracy was no longer listening. She knew how she was going to escape.
11
"George, I don't think we should keep Tracy on."
Warden Brannigan looked up from his newspaper. "What? What's the problem?"
"I'm not sure, exactly. I have the feeling that Tracy doesn't like Amy. Maybe she just doesn't like children."
"She hasn't been mean to Amy, has she? Hit her, yelled at her?"
"No..."
"What, then?"
"Yesterday Amy ran over and put her arms around Tracy, and Tracy pushed her away. It bothered me because Amy's so crazy about her. To tell you the truth, I might be a little jealous. Could that be it?"
Warden Brannigan laughed. "That could explain a lot, Su
e Ellen. I think Tracy Whitney is just right for the job. Now, if she gives you any real problems, let me know, and I'll do something about it."
"All right, dear." Sue Ellen was still not satisfied. She picked up her needlepoint and began stabbing at it. The subject was not closed yet.
"Why can't it work?"
"I tol' you, girl. The guards search every truck going through the gate."
"But a truck carrying a basket of laundry--they're not going to dump out the laundry to check it."
"They don' have to. The basket is taken to the utility room, where a guard watches it bein' filled."
Tracy stood there thinking. "Ernie...could someone distract that guard for five minutes?"
"What the hell good would--?" She broke off, a slow grin lighting her face. "While someone pumps him full of sunshine, you get into the bottom of the hamper and get covered up with laundry!" She nodded. "You know, I think the damned thing might work."
"Then you'll help me?"
Ernestine was thoughtful for a moment. Then she said softly, "Yeah. I'll he'p you. It's my last chance to give Big Bertha a kick in the ass."
The prison grapevine buzzed with the news of Tracy Whitney's impending escape. A breakout was an event that affected all prisoners. The inmates lived vicariously through each attempt, wishing they had the courage to try it themselves. But there were the guards and the dogs and the helicopters, and, in the end, the bodies of the prisoners who had been brought back.
With Ernestine's help, the escape plan moved ahead swiftly. Ernestine took Tracy's measurements, Lola boosted the material for a dress from the millinery shop, and Paulita had a seamstress in another cell block make it. A pair of prison shoes was stolen from the wardrobe department and dyed to match the dress. A hat, gloves, and purse appeared, as if by magic
"Now we gotta get you some ID," Ernestine informed Tracy "You'll need a couple a credit cards and a driver's license."
"How can I--?"
Ernestine grinned. "You jest leave it to old Ernie Littlechap."
The following evening Ernestine handed Tracy three major credit cards in the name of Jane Smith.
"Next, you need a driver's license."
Sometime after midnight Tracy heard the door of her cell being opened. Someone had sneaked into the cell. Tracy sat up in her bunk, instantly on guard.
A voice whispered, "Whitney? Let's go."
Tracy recognized the voice of Lillian, a trusty. "What do you want?" Tracy asked.
Ernestine's voice shot out of the darkness. "What kind of idiot child did your mother raise? Shut up and don't ask questions."
Lillian said softly, "We got to do this fast. If we get caught, they'll have my ass. Come on."
"Where are we going?" Tracy asked, as she followed Lillian down the dark corridor to a stairway. They went up to the landing above and, after making sure there were no guards about, hurried down a hallway until they came to the room where Tracy had been fingerprinted and photographed. Lillian pushed the door open. "In here," she whispered.
Tracy followed her into the room. Another inmate was waiting inside.
"Step up against the wall." She sounded nervous.
Tracy moved against the wall, her stomach in knots.
"Look into the camera. Come on. Try and look relaxed."
Very funny, Tracy thought. She had never been so nervous in her life. The camera clicked.
"The picture will be delivered in the morning," the inmate said. "It's for your driver's license. Now get out of here--fast."
Tracy and Lillian retraced their steps. On the way, Lillian said, "I hear you're changin' cells."
Tracy froze. "What?"
"Didn't you know? You're movin' in with Big Bertha."
Ernestine, Lola, and Paulita were waiting up for Tracy when she returned. "How'd it go?"
"Fine."
Didn't you know? You're movin' in with Big Bertha.
"The dress'll be ready for you Sattiday," Paulita said.
The day of Ernestine's release. That's my deadline, Tracy thought.
Ernestine whispered, "Everythin' is cool. The laundry pickup Sattiday is two o'clock. You gotta be in the utility room by one-thirty. You don' have to worry about the guard. Lola will keep him busy next door. Paulita will be in the utility room waitin' for you. She'll have your clothes. Your ID will be in your purse. You'll be drivin' out the prison gates by two-fifteen."
Tracy found it difficult to breathe. Just talking about the escape made her tremble. Nobody gives a shit if they bring you back dead or alive...They figure dead is better.
In a few days she would be making her break for freedom. She had no illusions: The odds were against her. They would eventually find her and bring her back. But there was something she had sworn to take care of first.
The prison grapevine knew all about the contest that had been fought between Ernestine Littlechap and Big Bertha over Tracy. Now that the word was out that Tracy was being transferred to Big Bertha's cell, it was no accident that no one had mentioned anything to Big Bertha about Tracy's escape plan: Big Bertha did not like to hear bad news. She was often apt to confuse the news with the bearer and treat that person accordingly. Big Bertha did not learn about Tracy's plan until the morning the escape was to take place, and it was revealed to her by the trusty who had taken Tracy's picture.
Big Bertha took the news in ominous silence. Her body seemed to grow bigger as she listened.
"What time?" was all she asked.
"This afternoon at two o'clock, Bert. They're gonna hide her in the bottom of a laundry hamper in the utility room."
Big Bertha thought about it for a long time. Then she waddled over to a matron and said, "I gotta see Warden Brannigan right away."
Tracy had not slept all night. She was sick with tension. The months she had been in prison seemed like a dozen eternities. Images of the past flashed through her mind as she lay on her bunk, staring into the dark.
I feel like a princess in a fairy tale, Mother. I didn't know anyone could be this happy.
So! You and Charles want to get married.
How long a honeymoon are you planning?
You shot me, you bitch!...
Your mother committed suicide....
I never really knew you....
The wedding picture of Charles smiling at his bride...
How many eons ago? How many planets away?
The morning bell clanged through the corridor like a shock wave. Tracy sat up on her bunk, wide awake. Ernestine was watching her. "How you feelin', girl?"
"Fine," Tracy lied. Her mouth was dry, and her heart was beating erratically.
"Well, we're both leavin' here today."
Tracy found it hard to swallow. "Uh-huh."
"You sure you kin get away from the warden's house by one-thirty?"
"No problem. Amy always takes a nap after lunch."
Paulita said, "You can't be late, or it won't work."
"I'll be there."
Ernestine reached under her mattress and took out a roll of bills. "You're gonna need some walkin' around money. It's only two hundred bucks, but it'll get you on your way."
"Ernie, I don't know what to--"
"Oh, jest shut up, girl, and take it."
Tracy forced herself to swallow some breakfast. Her head was pounding, and every muscle in her body ached. I'll never make it through the day, she thought. I've got to make it through the day.
There was a strained, unnatural silence in the kitchen, and Tracy suddenly realized she was the cause of it. She was the object of knowing looks and nervous whispers. A breakout was about to happen, and she was the heroine of the drama. In a few hours she would be free. Or dead.
She rose from her unfinished breakfast and headed for Warden Brannigan's house. As Tracy waited for a guard to unlock the corridor door, she came face-to-face with Big Bertha. The huge Swede was grinning at her.
She's going to be in for a big surprise, Tracy thought.
She's all mine now, Big
Bertha thought.
The morning passed so slowly that Tracy felt she would go out of her mind. The minutes seemed to drag on interminably. She read to Amy and had no idea what she was reading. She was aware of Mrs. Brannigan watching from the window.
"Tracy, let's play hide-and-seek."
Tracy was too nervous to play games, but she dared not do anything to arouse Mrs. Brannigan's suspicions. She forced a smile. "Sure. Why don't you hide first, Amy?"
They were in the front yard of the bungalow. In the far distance Tracy could see the building where the utility room was located. She had to be there at exactly 1:30. She would change into the street clothes that had been made for her, and by 1:45 she would be lying in the bottom of the large clothes hamper, covered over with uniforms and linens. At 2:00 the laundryman would come by for the hamper and wheel it out to his truck. By 2:15 the truck would drive through the gates on its way to the nearby town where the laundry plant was located.
The driver can't see in the back of the truck from the front seat. When the truck gets to town and stops for a red light, just open the door, step out, real cool, and catch a bus to wherever you're goin'.
"Can you see me?" Amy called. She was half-hidden behind the trunk of a magnolia tree. She held her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
I'll miss her, Tracy thought. When I leave here, the two people I'll miss will be a black, bald-headed bull-dyke and a young girl. She wondered what Charles Stanhope III would have made of that.
"I'm coming to find you," Tracy said.
Sue Ellen watched the game from inside the house. It seemed to her that Tracy was acting strangely. All morning she had kept looking at her watch, as though expecting someone, and her mind was obviously not on Amy.
I must speak to George about it when he comes home for lunch, Sue Ellen decided. I'm going to insist that he replace her.
In the yard, Tracy and Amy played hopscotch for a while, then jacks, and Tracy read to Amy, and finally, blessedly, it was twelve-thirty, time for Amy's lunch. Time for Tracy to make her move. She took Amy into the cottage.