The day he met with Tommy to turn down the manager’s job, he was relieved. His fiancé didn’t seem to care much. Bea was happy. Henry Lee told him he should do whatever the hell he wanted and not pay any attention to anyone except his fiancé. If she didn’t care, then it was all on him and his choice alone. For his own part, Henry Lee said, he was happier Bill was staying one of them.
The winter so far was particularly cold and dreary. Before he’d been busted, while Bill was just a regular student, there had been many times when he and his fiancé had gone together to some of the things she went to. Many of them, like mime, made Bill uncomfortable. Anything touchy-feely put Bill ill-at-ease. Some of them piqued his interest as a writer and he was able to sit somewhere off in the distance and observe. More than anything else, Bill liked that.
Those days, the days of he and his fiancé doing things together, were over for now. What replaced them was his working all the time and paying off their debts. His hope, even without the manager’s salary, was to have the car paid off before the beginning of spring and then to be able to bank the money being deducted from his paycheck. His hope was to have enough money to be able to finance a new apartment wherever they moved to. That discussion, where they were going to move, was a difficult one. The most logical choice was to go straight to New York where his fiancé could pursue her dancing career. The safest choice was to move up to Cleveland where she could get a job teaching dance and choreographing then use that as a stepping stone for the move to New York.
Bill could not see it then. In fact, Bill would not see it for many, many years. But hers were kind of high-class choices. He had no choice at all. Wherever they went he would work in the kitchen and support them while she pursued her career.
They had had this discussion several times. Bill was the logical one. He reasoned that he could always write but a dancer had to dance while she was young. Looked at from this perspective, there was very little choice for Bill although at any moment she could have told him no, that they would find a way for both of them to pursue their careers. In retrospect, Bill would think later, maybe she did say these things and maybe he just wasn’t open to hearing what she had to say. Maybe what stopped him from becoming a manager also stopped him from pursuing his career. Maybe, he would think later, he was just plain afraid.
Bill got better and better at meat cutting, better and better as a line cook, more experienced as a prep cook. Lorraine hung around as a waitress. Having to support two daughters, she had little choice. Lexi, Norma, and even Victoria left and were replaced by new girls. The new girls were just girls, just waitresses. Most of them were a little older than Bill and most of them were eager to work there because the waitresses there made really good money. They had to work hard and they had to put up with Drenovis, but such was life. Those days, no matter where they worked there was always a manager like Drenovis, someone in power looking to get into their pants and having no reservations about using position to do it.
When all was said and done, after some 25 years in kitchens, at least Bill could say he never used his position to get in somebody’s pants. He could also say that he rarely pursued a waitress. What he actually did was wait for them to pursue him and then either accepted or not.
Coming Right After Mother’s Day
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
“So, we gonna see each other after work?” Bill asked Mary when they had a moment where he could talk to her freely.
“You want to?”
“Might be my last chance for a while.”
“If I can,” Mary said. “Have to see if Eddie will watch the twins.”
But they didn’t get the chance to see each other that night. Eddie refused to babysit and Mary did not want to push the issue. So once her day was done she rode home with Bea. For his part, Bill went straight home after work and spent some time cleaning up the apartment so that when his fiancé returned it would be decent. She had taken the cats with her and he was looking forward to their return.
The new year brought the beginning of the new trimester at school. His fiancé had only this one and one more to go. She had just finished the UDC winter concert series and the new trimester meant the immediate beginning of the spring concert series preparation. This would keep her very busy, so busy she wouldn’t really miss Bill at work. Her school day started early in the morning and ended late at night because at night the UDC had rehearsals. Then there were always other things the dancers had to do such that sometimes she was gone four nights a week.
That Bill mostly worked seven days a week didn’t seem to matter too much to her. Bill was not too upset either because now they were able to pay the rent, buy food, put money in the bank and pay back debt. Bill had already paid his brother the money he’d borrowed for rent last year. He’d also started paying back Mr. Bowman for the car. Bill had not wanted to borrow the money from his boss, but since his fiance’s father would not loan them money, there was little choice. So Bill paid extra when he could such that they could pay off the car more quickly. There was even money for some frivolous things, and of course Bill spent money with Doc for his substances.
Not long after the turn of the new year things at work started to get routine. Routine was satisfying for Bill. He liked regularity. He liked sameness. He liked everything being in the same place all the time and not having to look for anything. But having learned just about all there was to learn of the cooking at Suburban, one day he realized he was bored. Not even fooling with waitresses and kitchen help changed that, and except for Mary he wasn’t interested in fooling around. With Mary it was way beyond fooling around. There were feelings and emotions and cares and…
The day Tommy approached him about becoming a manager Bill sat in the office and listened to everything Tommy had to say. He told Tommy he needed a little time to make up his mind but he was thankful for the offer. Tommy asked him how long he thought he needed and Bill asked for a few days.
At home, he discussed this with his fiancé over and over. She told him to go on and take the job. He told her he didn’t think it was fair because soon after she graduated they’d be leaving. He also said that he didn’t know enough about the workings of the kitchen to really be able to be a good manager.
There came a time when Bill discussed this with Mary. Mary was quick to pick up on his self-doubt. She called him out on it right away telling him he was scared to take the job, telling him that he should have no hesitation, that it was a good opportunity for him and a good deal for Suburban. Bill only shrugged his shoulders and walked away from her.
Coming Right After Mother’s Day
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
In all, the barber, or whatever he was, only made about ten strokes. He went front to back from one side of Bill’s head to the other and came back again. Years and years of growing that hair, and in less than two minutes it all lay there on the floor of the jail barbershop.
The barber had left his cigarette in an ash tray on the counter. Finished with Bill, he stepped over the hair and took it up, flicked the ashes on the floor on the hair. Cigarette in mouth, he walked over to where the broom and dustpan were. He returned to Bill who was standing by the chair with his tormentor.
“Clean up your hair,” the barber said.
No other inmate that Bill had seen had to clean up his hair. That one guard, his tormentor, had fixed it like this. It wasn’t the first time he’d been picked on or discriminated against in his life, he thought. Anyway, there was nothing he could do. He shrugged it off, took the broom and went to work.
“Garbage, like you,” Bill’s tormentor said about the hair.
Bill didn’t say anything. He swept up his hair, did what he was told and wondered what was ahead of him.
On the walk back to the dorm, Bill and his tormentor were unaccompanied. Not even completely clear of the barbershop, his tormentor started in on him. “I got all my people watching you. Step out of line anywhere and it comes back to me. Say something, it comes back to me. I’m making you my mission, boy. We’re gonna teach you about America. We’re gonna teach you respect. We’re gonna teach you you ain’t as free as you think. You understand me boy?”
“Yes sir,” Bill said. What else could he say?
His tormentor stayed on his case all the way to D dorm, but when they got there and he opened the door for Bill, he turned nothing but sweet. He walked Bill in and stayed with him so Bill could make sure all his things were still on the bunk. Only then did he head out, leaving Bill on his own.
Bill hadn’t peed since just before getting on the bus. The scariness of it all and the constant anxiety had kept that urge at bay. Now he really had to go, so before he started setting up his bed and getting settled, he walked to the toilets. No one seemed to pay him any mind and Bill thought that was a good thing.
Back at his bunk, he stowed himself away. On the wall between the bunks were two shelves, one above the other. Bill folded his towel, still slightly damp, and placed it on his shelf. He did the same with his skivvies and socks. Then he unrolled the mattress and made the bed. Set, he climbed up, slipped off the shoes and lay down. He so wanted to cry, but he didn’t dare. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t know what time it was. He just knew he was locked in this dorm with forty-five other men and he wasn’t getting out for twenty-one days.
Announcing:
The first volume of Fiction Outtakes, Bill Wynn: The First Hundred will be available on Amazon right after Mother’s Day. Thank you all for following the series and the blog.
Please do pick up a copy of my already published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
All of the outtakes are autobiographical. The workhouse outtakes are especially autobiographical.
Enjoy!
Announcing:
The first volume of Fiction Outtakes, Bill Wynn: The First Hundred will be available on Amazon right after Mother’s Day. Thank you all for following the series and the blog.
Please do pick up a copy of my already published works here:
Books by Peter Weiss.
All of the outtakes are autobiographical. The workhouse outtakes are especially autobiographical.
Enjoy!
Bill’s fiancé was not due home until the day after New Year’s. So if you looked at it that way, he still had one night free. But Bill was conflicted. Bill was always conflicted. He was conflicted and afraid as well as shy and reticent. One might not have known it regarding how he was with the kitchen help and waitresses, but this was true of him in his personal life. Later, he would discover a whole host of things about himself that would show how having had his life torn apart several times at a really early age affected him. When he added to that the survivor stuff and the substance abuse it was even more complicated and that didn’t talk to the effects of the substances.
For now, at any rate, he was a young soul way off the track he’d picked for his life, about to get married and busy messing around in a whole lot of things he should never have been messing around in. No one could have told him anything about any of this. The only thing that might have deterred him, or stopped him in his tracks, would have been getting caught.
Mary and Bea were already dressed in kitchen whites and up on the floor at work when Bill got in. He’d slept until almost 8:30 when Lorraine had awakened him with kisses.
“You’ve got to go to work,” she’d said.
Bill did not stir. Despite her kisses he lay still, refused to move. Finally she pushed at him until he sat up. “Damn,” he said.
“You got time for a quick shower if you want.”
“Nah. I’m okay.”
“Might wake you up.”
“I’m up enough.”
A moment later he got up from the bed. He was naked but Lorraine had laid out clean skivvies for him.
“Mr. Dad may not always pay his child support, but I still have a few more sets of his unused, packaged skivvies.” She laughed. “Anyway, I wouldn’t care if you didn’t wear underwear.”
“Sometimes I don’t,” said Bill. “Not lately though. We change in the hall a lot now.”
“That must be kind of strange.”
“Yes and no. In the end it doesn’t really mean anything. We change and we go to work. Mary says that you always love your first crew.”
“So where’d we sleep last night?” Mary asked when Bill came up on the work floor.
“At Lorraine’s. We didn’t get out of here till very late. It was much easier to just sleep there.”
He made sure to omit the fact that Lorraine’s daughters were not home. He made sure to be selective in what information he let out. He had one more night without his fiancé and he wanted to spend it with Mary. He didn’t know if that could happen. He didn’t know if that would happen. He only knew he would try. Since it was the holiday and they were closing early, he felt he had a shot at it even though they were not able to use The Upper Room. Maybe, he thought, they could find a place to go or they could go parking somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone parking.
Meanwhile, up on the floor he assessed what he needed to do to work with Mary to get her set so he could go downstairs to cut meat with Henry Lee. Because of how busy they’d been there was a lot of meat to cut. Prime ribs were already in the oven. That was the day’s special. They were running a limited menu of steaks, prime rib, fried fish or shrimp. This meant they’d probably sell a lot of steaks. Then, with any sort of luck, they’d be out of the place early.
Coming Right After Mother’s Day
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
So the new year started off with a big surprise. Bill followed Lorraine to her house and when he got there he discovered that her children had gone to a sleepover. He and Lorraine had the house to themselves.
Lorraine was no longer shy, at least not with Bill. When they got inside, she opened a bottle of wine and they sat on the sofa for a quiet moment toasting the new year. Then, Lorraine slipped off her shoes and lay back. “Give me a moment,” she said, closing her eyes. “I’m really tired and my feet are killing me.”
“I smell funky,” Bill said. He stood up, leaned over and took one of her feet in his hands. “You know my feet get tired too,” he said. As he said this, he started massaging her foot.
“I made a fortune tonight,” Lorraine said.
“Good for you.”
“Good for my kids. They need things, things I can’t afford to buy them sometimes. The holidays have been good however. Mr. Dad doesn’t always pay his child support.”
“I’m not having kids,” Bill said.
“Never?”
“Nope. I’m not dad material. Anyway, I’ve got a record and I don’t know how that’s going to affect the rest of my life. At least for now, I can’t even get a job using my degree.”
“Well,” Lorraine said, “I didn’t plan on being a waitress. I planned on being a housewife, on raising my kids, on making sure they went to college. But here I am.”
Bill let the one foot go and started on the other. While he did this, he lifted her skirt somewhat, just enough so that he could look up to see her panties. It wasn’t even an hour since he’d been with Marie. Marie had not bothered him too much. He was able to please her using just his hands. For her part she had wanted to do things to him but he had gotten away with telling her he was tired, smelly, and just wanted to go home. Having been satisfied, she let him off the hook.
After the shower, Bill and Lorraine went into her bed. Hers was a normal queen-size bed, not too frilly, not too fancy. They were both extremely tired and just about the moment their heads hit the pillows they were ready for sleep.
“What time do you have to be in?” Lorraine asked.
“About nine,” Bill said.
“I don’t have to be in till one. But I’m one of the closing girls. My kids will be home by the time I get home from work.”
“Must be tough raising two girls on your own.”
“You’ll never know.”
“No,” Bill said. “I won’t.” He kissed her, softly at first, then more fully and completely. Lorraine moved into his arms and shifted so that she lay on top of him. She took charge of the kissing and positioned herself so that he met her where she wanted to be met.
“You’re sure the kids aren’t coming home?”
“No problem. They’re at the eldest’s best friend’s house. There’s lots of girls there. I’m willing to bet they’re just about all asleep.”
“What we should be,” Bill said.
After he said this, he went to work. He kept Lorraine on him for a while while they kissed and pressed against one another. Then, since there was no hurry, he moved her next to him and did what he did. For her part, Lorraine did what she did, happily, slowly, and with the patience of a mature and experienced woman.
They spent a full hour enjoying each other and when they were done Lorraine poured them each another glass of wine. They sat in candle light in her bed sipping wine and readying themselves for sleep.
When they’d finished their wine and Lorraine had blown out the candles, she lay next to him in the dark. “I’m glad we met,” she said.
Coming Right After Mother’s Day
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
In light of the Special Prosecutor and in consideration for those who are pleading guilty, here’s the anatomy of a guilty plea when you’re coerced into making one.
Ohio State University, 1970. More than six hundred would be arrested. Most of them would have their cases dismissed because of entrapment. I was the first person arrested.
The demonstrators were sitting on the gates to the campus. The gates were open and while demonstrators were hindering traffic, the road was not blocked other than by people. From inside the campus, in plain clothes, what would turn out to be undercover FBI agents entered into the crowd. They pulled one demonstrator from the gates and started beating him. They made no attempt to arrest him or identify themselves. They simply beat him.
I was standing there with one of my professors. We had met for lunch and he wanted to see what was happening. I pleaded with the crowd to help the kid being beaten but no one did. Finally I threw down my books and grabbed the guy nearest me who was beating the demonstrator. I was immediately knocked out from behind. I came to in the paddy wagon where an undercover cop started and led a conversation that showed up verbatim at my trial.
I was in a holding cell for about eight hours. I had no one to help me and no money for bail. Finally another professor of mime, a friend, bailed me out. He took me to the hospital where I was treated for a concussion and patched up. If not for this friend, I would not have had a lawyer. I had no money, no resources. I was hurt and in trouble.
I’ve told this many times in many contexts and written about it too.
A legal defense fund was started and my friend made some calls to find out if they would take my case. When I say I had no money, this means none, nada. I was on a work study program that paid my tuition and I received a meager SSI benefit for my deceased mother which paid my rent. This was my entire income.
The arraignment came. The judge told the prosecutor it was a ridiculous case, so outrageous that he should dismiss it outright. He then turned to me and said he wanted to dismiss the case but knew that if he did they would re-arrest me the moment I walked out the door. He said they would then file felony charges against me, my bail would skyrocket, and worse, they’d put me in the penitentiary for a year. So in my best interests, he said, he was holding the case against me over for trial.
Then came the wheeling-dealing, all of which was handled by my lawyer. We met in his office and he laid it all out. I was charged with three misdemeanors, assault and battery on a police officer, resisting arrest and disorderly conduct. If I didn’t cop a plea, they would file a felony against me, Rioting One. The penalty for that was prison time in the penitentiary. As well, I had to face a disciplinary hearing in the university’s ombudsman’s office. If I didn’t cop a plea, they would try me immediately and if were found guilty, not only would I go to prison for a year, but I’d also be expelled from the university and never be allowed to graduate. I was a senior in my last quarter.
So what choice was there for me? In the end, what I did or didn’t do didn’t matter. Truth didn’t matter. Getting their conviction was all that mattered and they were willing to ruin my life for that.
This is the anatomy of a coerced guilty plea. Imagine what they did to General Petraeus and so many others.
Coming Right After Mother’s Day
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
Coming Right After Mother’s Day
The line at the barber was thirty deep. The guards deposited Bill and went out for a smoke. They told the guards guarding the line to call them if they weren’t back in time.
There was no talking allowed. There was no anything allowed. Like all the other inmates, Bill stood quiet, trying not to make serious eye contact with anyone, especially the guards. With other inmates, eye contact could mean a stare-down which could mean a conflict. If a stare-down happened and you punked out, that could mean getting picked on.
No response to eye contact led to no predictable results. Each case was a crap shoot. With the guards, however, it was a sure problem unless they were addressing you directly. So like the other inmates, Bill stared at his feet, stared at the walls, looked up to the ceiling and around at the jail. He noted the walls and the floors were painted institutional grey. He noted the absence of windows. He noted the constant order maintained. He noted that the guards never traveled among the prisoners alone. They always walked in pairs, always carrying night sticks, never wearing side arms. He noticed there were guard stations. Inside these stations, guards wore side arms and carried shotguns. They looked down upon everything, watched everything everywhere.
Bill hadn’t cut his hair since he was fourteen. Until then his father made him wear a crew cut and took him to the barber once a month. At fourteen he’d rebelled and fought his father for what he’d wanted.
His was thick black hair, curly and long, falling more than halfway down his back. It had taken a long while to grow it so. At football camp just before his senior year in high school, when he was seventeen, he’d met a girl named Beth. They’d had a summer fling. Every night they went off into the woods and did what they did. Beth loved stroking his hair. She loved brushing it and braiding it. She brought her own brushes and did his hair. Then they made out and everything more. Beth was crazy about Bill. Bill liked her well enough.
At the University he was just one among many with hair down his back. His hair had become a trademark for him, even his tradition. To say he loved his hair was a bit strong, but as the line cut down to about fifteen, he started to feel separation anxiety. Up till now the idea of losing his hair had been an abstraction. He knew it was there on his head and he knew it was getting cut off. But he didn’t feel the reality of it going. It getting cut off did not yet exist among the realm of that which actually happened.
Bill had had that same experience—really it was a sensation—about going to jail too. Way back even before the summer trimester had begun, the deal had been cut and he’d known he was going to jail. He’d known exactly what he was getting: twenty-one days in the workhouse, a two hundred-fifty dollar fine and a year’s probation. In return, they kept the case out of court until after the summer session so Bill could graduate.
He did graduate. The court date had come, moved from the conceptual to the actual. Now he was first in line and the reality of losing his hair was upon him. Bill still couldn’t believe it.
“Next.”
Bill’s tormentor led him to the chair. “Not short,” he said. “Take it all.”
Bill noticed that the barber shop had windows. He closed his eyes to the light. He felt the first stroke with the clippers, then the next, then the next and the next and the next.
