BY THE TIME MICKI got to English class, Mr. Newsome had already written homework questions on the blackboard. But when she went to copy them, she couldn’t find her assignment pad; she must’ve left it behind in Miss Giannetti’s room. She raised her hand and asked if she could go back to look for it.
A shrewd smile spread across Mr. Newsome’s face. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until next period passing. I cannot have students wandering around, missing class, because they say they’ve misplaced something.”
Fuck you, you asshole, Micki thought, and slouched down to glower at him for the rest of the period. Then the moment the bell rang, she tore back upstairs to the third floor, but room 323 was empty when she got there; even Miss Giannetti was gone. Spying the little book on the teacher’s desk, she hurried over to get it.
A teacher she didn’t know came dashing into the room. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Using both hands, the woman adjusted her black cat’s-eyes glasses, her piercing, pale-grey eyes looking small behind them. She looked down at Micki. “How dare you take something from my desk.” Then she pulled at her peach cardigan sweater, causing a smidgeon of lace from her shirt’s collar to peek out from underneath.
“But it’s mine; it’s my assignment pad. I left it here after my calculus class.”
“Hand it over, please.” Yet when the teacher couldn’t find Micki’s name in the book, she demanded to see Micki’s loose-leaf, as well—to compare the handwriting.
Who the fuck would steal a goddamn assignment pad? Micki thought. The end-of-passing bell rang. “Can I go already?”
The teacher peered down over her glasses. “You need to learn some manners, young lady.”
Micki lowered her eyes. “Sorry.”
The teacher wrote a late pass, and Micki hurried down to the basement, handing the piece of paper to Mrs. Tandy on her way into the locker room. The crowded rows were already thinning out, metal doors slamming and locks clicking closed. Micki entered her combination, took out her gym clothes, and put her books away until the room sounded empty. But just as she stood up, about to unbuckle her belt, she saw Suzy Parish standing at the end of the aisle in nothing but pink cotton underpants and a matching undershirt. Barely over five feet tall, Suzy was skinny and noticeably flat-chested, her dark brown hair heavily streaked with blonde. A quiet, shy girl, she was something of a loner.
Micki pretended to be rearranging her books while Suzy moved closer. And though it was Suzy who was half undressed, Micki felt the urge to back away and cover up. “What is it?” she asked.
Voice shaking, frosted-pink lip gloss shining, Suzy said, “I like you, Micki.”
“Well—uh—I guess I like you, too, but I need to change.”
The late bell rang. From out in the hallway, Mrs. Tandy called, “Let’s go, girls. Whoever’s still in there with Micki, you’re late.”
“C’mon, Suzy. I really need to change. Just get out of here, okay?”
Suzy twirled some hair around her finger.
“Don’t do this, Suzy. Please.”
And then, in a voice that was mostly breath, Suzy said, “I want you to kiss me.” She pulled off her undershirt. “I want you to—to touch me.”
Shaking her head, Micki took a step back. “Y’got it all wrong; I’m only interested in boys.”
The smaller girl’s jaw dropped, and she clutched the undershirt to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Micki said.
Suzy’s pretty face turned ugly. “You better not tell anyone.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Oh, god! I’m dead if anyone finds out.”
“No one’ll find out; I promise. It’s nobody’s business.”
Eyes pleading, Suzy gave Micki a final look, then ran back to her locker and up to the gym.
When she was finally alone, Micki changed and followed.
♦ ♦ ♦
THEY HAD A SUBSTITUTE teacher for physics; Mr. Taubenfeld was sick. The period was being spent as a review session. And as if that weren’t bad enough, the substitute’s voice was a monotonous drone, eventually lulling Micki unconscious. But she was jolted awake by the grip on her upper arm, a grip she knew all too well. Head groggy, eyes half closed, she scanned the faces around her, trying to piece together where she was and what was happening. Absolute silence filled the classroom.
“Get up and take your books,” Baker ordered.
Gathering her things together, she wondered if this was all because she fell asleep in class again, though she couldn’t imagine the gawky, insecure substitute as being capable of such treachery. Once they were out in the hall, she asked Baker what was going on.
“Shut up.” And he roughly steered her all the way to the security office, where he ordered her to put her books down. Feet planted wide, arms folded across his chest, he asked, “You were late getting to the locker room for gym?”
“But I had a pass. I left something in Miss Giannetti’s room.” All this for being late?
“And what happened after you got there?”
“Nothing. I changed and—” Micki stopped.
“You changed and what?”
“I went up to the gym.” But her voice had come out sounding uncertain, and she knew she had that guilty look on her face, the one she always got—as if everything that went wrong in the world was her fault.
“Was Suzy Parish in the locker room with you?”
“Yessir.”
“Alone?”
“Yessir.”
“And what happened?”
“Nothing.”
Baker took a step closer. “I’m going to ask you nicely only one more time, so I suggest you get your answer straight. What exactly happened down there?”
“Nothing,” Micki repeated.
Baker struck her across the face, cutting the skin below her eye. Then he grabbed her away from the desk and slammed her against the wall. “That’s not what I heard.”
“I dunno what you heard, but I didn’t touch her!”
“Really? Because I never mentioned anything about you touching her.”
“I—I just—”
“Cut the shit. You look so fucking guilty it isn’t even funny.”
“But I didn’t—” She grunted as pain ripped through her, directly under her ribs. Baker had barely moved.
“Y’know, up to now,” he said, “all of your fuck-ups have been borderline issues, things that could be written off. But not this. This is something else.” And he thought about how close he’d come to putting himself on the line for her. Thank god he hadn’t called Malone yet. “I’ve got news for you, Reilly, this is your ticket back to Heyden. The only thing you have to decide right now is how bad off you want to be when you get there. So tell me what you did, or I’ll beat it out of you. I really don’t have any problem with that.”
“Did Suzy say I did somethin’ t’her?” Micki was almost positive they’d been alone. And Mrs. Tandy, all the way out in the hall, couldn’t possibly have heard them—at least, not clearly.
Baker was silent.
“I wanna know what she said,” Micki demanded.
“You want to know what she said? She told Mrs. Tandy that you came on to her while she was changing—backed her into a corner and felt her up.”
“And y’believe that? Y’know I’m straight!”
“How the hell should I know what you really are? Maybe you swing a little both ways. Maybe you got so hard up at Heyden that you checked out what it was like with girls. Or maybe”—he lowered his voice—“you just wanted to be the one pushing someone else around for a while.”
“Or maybe y’just so fuckin’ stupid, y’can’t see the truth.”
When he crashed his palm against her cheekbone, she jabbed her knuckles into his ribs. And after that, it all became a blur, ending with her hands cuffed behind her, the side of her face and the front of her body smashed into the wall. She hurt all over.
Baker said, “I’m not finished with you yet, Reilly. I warned you about ever hitting me again. You’ll be lucky if you can walk out of this room. So now you tell me how it is that I’m stupid.”
But as he viciously jerked her back by the neck of her shirt and vest, it suddenly occurred to her that her promise to Suzy didn’t matter anymore. After all, the girl was a fucking little liar, and, because of it, she was the one who was taking the fall. Her words came out in small bursts as she struggled against the pain, trying to say what she wanted to before he started in on her again. “It was her—she came on t’me—flipped out when I said no—was afraid I’d tell everyone.”
And Baker stopped, his stomach dropping as all of the pieces rearranged themselves into a completely different picture. The teacher had been so outraged—and so sure—about what Suzy had told her that he’d ignored his own gut feeling that something was off. He hadn’t even questioned the accusing girl himself. Seeing how small she was, he’d assumed she’d been easy prey. And yet she hadn’t appeared traumatized, just extremely nervous—a huge red flag. Which he’d dismissed.
“Why didn’t you say this before?” he asked.
“Promised her I wouldn’t. Besides, y’already made up y’mind I was guilty—didn’t believe nothin’ I was sayin’.”
“But I meant it when I said you’d be going back upstate.”
With a bitter shrug, she turned away.
Baker called Warner to the office to stay with Micki while he went to question the other girl himself. Before he left, he said to Micki, “You’d better be telling me the truth, or you’ll wish you were never born.”
“You’re too fuckin’ late.”
♦ ♦ ♦
DECIDING IT WAS BEST not to talk to Suzy alone, Baker enlisted the gym teacher’s help. Outside her office, he gave her the basic game plan, stressing the importance of maintaining a nonjudgmental facade no matter what the girl might say. They went in together, but Suzy looked so frightened that Baker stood in the corner, behind Mrs. Tandy, who took a seat at her desk.
Before either adult had said a word, Suzy, one hand tightly clasped within the other, asked, “So—um—is Micki gonna get kicked outta school over this? I don’t wanna have to see her again. I’m scared of what she’ll do to me for telling.”
“Actually,” Mrs. Tandy said, “we’d like you to think very carefully about what happened and tell it again to Sergeant Baker so he can hear it from you himself. These are very serious charges. Depending on what you say, he’ll determine whether or not to place Micki under arrest.”
“Arrest? He can arrest her?” Then, turning to Baker, “I mean, you’re really a cop?” Despite the buzz around the high school, none of the kids seemed to know for sure.
“I’m really a cop,” he stated flatly.
Suzy squirmed. “Cause—um—I mean, I didn’t think she’d, like, get arrested or anything …” Her voice trailed off. Fist pressed against her mouth, she said, “I—um—like, I just figured she’d be sent to another school or something.”
“If what you told Mrs. Tandy was true,” Baker said, “she’s going back to Heyden Reformatory for Girls. On the other hand, if I later find out that what you said wasn’t true, maybe you’ll end up there instead.”
Suzy’s eyes flitted from Baker to Mrs. Tandy then back to Baker. She swallowed. Hard. “Well—um—like—um”—her voice became very small—“I dunno.” She started to cry.
“All I want you to do,” Baker said, “is answer one question for me. And I want the truth, whatever that is. Understand? I want the truth to just that one question. You don’t have to tell me anything else. Understand?” he repeated.
Eyes closed, tears streaming down her face, she nodded.
“Did Micki touch you or threaten you in any way?”
Suzy shook her head no.
“You’re absolutely sure now?” he pressed. “You’re not just saying that because you feel bad about what might happen to her?”
Between sobs, Suzy said, “She … didn’t … do anything … to me.”
“So everything you told Mrs. Tandy before was a lie.”
Suzy nodded.
“Did you tell anyone else about any of this?”
The girl shook her head no.
“Well, thank god for small miracles.”
The teacher glanced over her shoulder at Baker, but he walked right past her to the quaking girl, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stand. “I want you to see what I did to Micki because of you.”
Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, she let him lead her down the hall to the security office, where he turned the knob, pushed the door in, and pulled her inside. The gym teacher followed.
Micki quickly turned away. But not before Suzy and Mrs. Tandy had gotten a glimpse of her face: split, fat lip; bloodied, swelling cheek … Suzy looked to Mrs. Tandy, but the gym teacher appeared to be feeling faint.
With timid steps, the girl approached Micki. “I—I’m sorry.”
Hands still cuffed, Micki whirled around. “Why’dja lie? I would never’ve said nothin’. Never.”
Suzy hung her head and started to shake.
Baker looked at Micki. “Would you like to initiate some kind of disciplinary action against Suzy?”
Micki’s eyes shot over to his. “What? What’re you talkin’ about?”
“She made false accusations, and you’ve suffered for it.”
Tears pouring down, lips in the shape of an “o,” Suzy was unable to even utter a plea.
Micki looked away. “Forget it. I don’t care.”
“Are you sure?” Baker asked.
Micki turned to him with a look of unbridled hate. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Baker nodded slowly. “Okay then, Suzy, you can go. But you’re not to say anything to anyone. If I hear rumors, I’ll make sure the truth is spread around just as quickly.”
“Please …”
“It’s up to you. Keep your mouth shut.”
Mrs. Tandy looked from Baker to Suzy to Micki. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Eyes still locked with Suzy’s, Baker said, “I think it’s better you don’t know.”
Suzy looked down at her new pair of brown suede shoes. “May I go now?”
“The period’s almost over. When the passing bell rings, you can go to your next class.” He addressed the gym teacher: “Thanks for your help—and your silence.”
Raising an eyebrow, Mrs. Tandy replied, “I wouldn’t know what to say anyway.” But before she was completely out the door, she turned back to Micki. “I’m very sorry for what happened. It never crossed my mind that Suzy would lie.”
♦ ♦ ♦
AS SOON AS SUZY was gone, Baker said to Warner, “Thanks for watching Micki.”
“No problem. You want me to stick around?”
Micki had already turned to stare out the window again.
“That’s okay,” Baker said. “Go back to your post.”
After the door had clicked shut, Baker walked up behind Micki and lifted her wrists. “If I take these cuffs off, are you going to behave yourself or do something foolish?”
“You can take ’em off.” And when her hands were freed, she put them in her front pockets, gritting her teeth so the pain wouldn’t show.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Though she did as she was told, it was only to fix her eyes on the little refrigerator and then the coffee machine—the stupid coffee machine with the carafe nearly empty, the liquid inside a brownish-black sludge starting to burn on the bottom—
“I guess I should’ve given you a chance to explain everything,” Baker said, “not jumped to conclusions the way I did.”
She looked up. But when it was evident he’d finished, her expression changed. “That’s it? That’s all y’have t’say? After what y’just did t’me, that’s y’whole fuckin’ apology?”
Inside his head, a voice was telling him to say he was sorry. What came out was: “It’s not like I wasn’t justified in believing her, Micki. Look at what you’ve come from.”
Her eyes went black.
Baker walked over to the little refrigerator and removed some ice cubes from the freezer. He put them in a paper towel and held them out. “Put this on your face.”
“I don’t wannit.”
“C’mon, Micki, it’ll help with the swelling.”
When he moved toward her as if to apply it himself, she slapped his hand away, propelling the ice toward the wall.
“I wanna go back t’Heyden.”
“What?”
“I said I wanna go back ta Heyden.”
His face went blank. And then: “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU WANT TO GO BACK THERE?”
“Because I’m tired of all this shit. I’m tired a bein’ under suspicion f’every little fuckin’ thing. I’m tired a how much y’hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Micki.”
“No, not much. It was so fuckin’ obvious yesterday.”
“Yesterday … Look … I didn’t …” He ran his fingers through his hair. “At least you’ve got your freedom out here.”
“Y’call this freedom? I might as well be locked up. From the minute I get up, I’m runnin’ from one fuckin’ thing t’the next. I don’t even have enough time t’sleep. I’m so fuckin’ exhausted, bein’ locked up would be a relief. I mean, it’s not like I get t’have any fun or anything—I got no friends. I got—I got nothin’ out here.”
“You’ve got nothing there, too.”
“But at least I know where I stand.”
Stiffening, he pulled himself up a little taller, then lowered his voice. “In case you’ve forgotten, you didn’t exactly do too well at Heyden.”
“But there’s a new warden there now.”
The newspaper article in her desk. “And you think that means it’ll be different?”
“Well … yeah.”
“Then let me explain something: positions like that often attract people who are warped, or maybe it’s the position itself that warps them. I don’t know which it is. All I can say is that the new warden might be worse than the old one. Even if she isn’t, I’m guessing the rest of the staff hasn’t changed. I’m sure your favorite guard is still there.”
Micki turned away. But when she looked back, her eyes had narrowed. “I don’t get it. How come y’tryin’ t’get me t’stay? Isn’t this what y’wanted? Y’should be jumpin’ up and down, plannin’ a goddamn party.”
“Because I think you’re making a mistake. If I didn’t try to talk you out of this, it would weigh on my conscience. Once you go back there, that’s it. If you realize later on that you made the wrong choice, you won’t be able to get out again.”
“Y’think I don’t know that?”
But he saw a terrible sadness in her eyes. “Listen to me, Micki, and take some time. If you still feel this way next week, I’ll make the arrangements. Otherwise, we’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”
“I don’t wanna wait a week!”
“What’s the rush? Afraid you’ll change your mind?”
“I’m not gonna change my mind!” Her eyes gleamed darkly. “What is it y’need me for, huh? I wanna know what it is.”
He looked at the bruises he’d given her, already ugly—yet just a hint of what they’d become over the next few days. “All right,” he said, “I’ll level with you: it’s true I needed you for something, but I don’t need you anymore. So you’d better take what I say very seriously because, right now, I’ve got no ulterior motive.” Of course, he’d put himself in an interesting quandary: as soon as he’d told her she could take a week to reconsider, he’d falsified what he’d just said: Malone needed his decision by the end of the day.
The passing bell rang, and Baker hailed Warner on the walkie-talkie. “Cover for me while I take the kid home.”
“But I’ve got a history test eighth period,” Micki said.
“You’ll take a make-up.”
“What am I supposeta tell Mr. Ingram?”
“You? You’re not going to tell him anything—I will.” Seeing the look on her face, he added, “Don’t worry, he likes you. He’ll let you take the exam another day.”
“But—”
“Micki, you’re going home now. You’re going to put some ice on your face and anything else that hurts and just take it easy.”
“My homework assignments—”
“I’ll get your assignments and drop them off on my way home.” It was almost comical: one minute, she didn’t give a shit about anything; the next minute, she was worried about fucking homework assignments. He threw his jacket on and was pocketing his cigarettes when the memo underneath caught his eye. “There’s a school dance for seniors next Saturday night.”
“So?” She was struggling to get into her jacket before he looked up again.
“So I want you to go.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You said you have no friends; this’ll give you a chance to make some. Maybe you’ll have some fun.”
“I’m not gonna make any friends, and I’m not gonna have any fun; I’m just gonna stand around all night feelin’ like a jerk. I don’t belong here; I don’t fit in.”
“I don’t think you’ve tried.”
“Oh, for chrissakes, gimme a break.”
“You’re going to that dance.”
“But I work Saturday nights.”
“I’m sure Mr. Antonelli can find someone to fill in. He’s got almost two weeks.”
“I can’t afford to lose a whole day’s pay.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“I can’t believe you’re gonna make me do this.”
“And I’m working security that night, so you’d better show up.”
Jesus fucking Christ, she thought, how lucky can I get?
♦ ♦ ♦
STILL DRESSED, MICKI WAS trying to fall asleep on top of the blanket. The only position that minimized the pain was lying on her back—which also happened to be the one position she found it almost impossible to sleep in. At least it was her day off from work.
Baker let himself into the apartment.
She sat up and grimaced.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
Words clipped, she said, “Never fell asleep.”
A strange, late-afternoon light filled the room. It accentuated the swelling and discoloration of her face, which had more fully taken form. His chest collapsed, and he could feel the weight of her eyes upon him.
“Y’got my homework?” she asked. It hurt to talk, the bruised ribs resenting the extra breath required.
“How bad does it hurt?” he asked.
Ignoring the pain, she stood up. “Bad enough.”
“Do you want to go to the hospital?”
“For what? You’re pissed at how I asked you for my homework, so now you’re gonna knock me around some more?”
“Jesus! That’s not what I meant! I just want to know if you’re all right. If you think you need to see a doctor, I’ll take you.”
She looked away. “I’m fine. Don’t need anything. Just wanna be left alone.”
He handed her a folded piece of paper. “I’ll stop by in the morning to give you a ride.”
She opened up the single loose-leaf sheet and looked it over, then tossed it on the desk.
The ache in his chest grew. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you got a couple of nice shots in on me.” When her eyes met his, he saw a glint of satisfaction in them.
On his way out the door, he paused to glance back. Despite the considerable damage he’d done, he’d still acted with some measure of restraint. He was confident no bones were broken, just badly bruised like the rest of her. But standing all alone in the middle of the room, she looked fragile.
“Jesus!” she said. “What’re you waiting for?”
Lowering his eyes, he left.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE PAIN SETTLED IN for the night and, unable to sleep, Micki thought about the pills in her jacket. Constantly. In fact, one of the reasons she wanted to go back to juvi—the one reason she wouldn’t tell Baker—was fear of picking up her old habit again.
It was windy outside, and the tree in front of the streetlight was casting moving shadows on the wall and ceiling. Lying on her back, she was watching the shifting shapes, thinking about the time she’d been so badly cut and slashed that Willy had finally shot her up to give her some relief. And though she threw up the first time, thinking, the hell with this shit, he’d still waited a couple of days before shooting her up again—trying not to get her hooked. But it was too late. That second time—the last time he’d done it for her—the rush was incredible; the high, so sweet.
It wasn’t until about a week after he’d skipped town—when the reality of being all alone had sunk in—that she’d scored her first fix for herself, secretly hoping to suffer the fate of many a junkie. Twice, in fact, she’d thought she’d taken enough smack to OD—only to survive with a bigger habit.
She smiled sadly into the darkness—she couldn’t do anything right.
♦ ♦ ♦
JUST PRIOR TO LEAVING the school, Baker called the station house and caught Gould in the middle of some paperwork. When Gould heard about Micki’s request to return to Heyden, he said, “So you’re off the hook; take the other kid and run.”
But Baker said he suspected this was simply more of Micki’s self-destructiveness. And while he argued his point, Gould refrained from asking why he cared. Instead, he steered the conversation around to Cynthia. “Call her, Jim,” he said. “It doesn’t sound like she wanted to stop seeing you altogether. If you still want her, fight for her. And tell her you’re keepin’ the kid; that should score you some points.”
But later, alone in his living room, Baker wondered why he’d argued with Cynthia in the first place, why he’d been unable to admit—even to himself—that from the moment Malone had mentioned the boy as an alternative, he’d known he’d stick it out with Micki. If Cynthia had said “black,” he would’ve said “white.” If she’d said it was night, he would’ve argued it was day—even if the moon was shining right outside the window.
He threw back his drink, the captain’s parting comment ringing in his ears: “Mark my words, Jim, you’re going to regret this.”
♦ ♦ ♦
THE NEXT MORNING, BAKER found Micki in so much pain that he told her to stay home. But when he returned to her apartment that afternoon, he paused outside in the hallway: she was talking to someone:
“Forget it, okay? I hurt too much, and I gotta get ready for work.”
“So? I don’t havta pork ya; y’could still get me off—”
Baker opened the door and got his first look at Rick: baggy jeans that were way too long, an old green T-shirt that was much too short, and a denim jacket that looked like it would never close over the bulge of his belly. Nothing like what he would’ve pictured as Micki’s type.
Glasses slightly askew, Rick announced, “It’s the fuzz.”
“Get your ass out of here,” Baker said.
Rick’s smirk broadened. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll kick it out of here.”
“Yeah, right. Like—”
But as soon as Baker advanced, the boy edged his way along the wall, eyes darting between Baker and Micki.
Baker slammed the door after him. “What the fuck do you want with a putz like that? He’s a selfish prick, a real asshole.”
“It’s better than nothing.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Oh yeah?” Eyes glittering with a bitter heat, she said, “How would you know. Look at you—like you’ve ever gone without a girlfriend if you wanted one.”
And in an instant, Baker saw it all very clearly: Rick was playing off of this deep insecurity of hers. She was nothing more than a trophy to him—a conquest. The more he could take advantage of her, the bigger his ego would become.
“You’re going to tell me you like this guy?” he asked.
Half rolling her eyes, she looked away.
“Are you at least attracted to him?” When all he got in return was a smoldering glare, he shook his head and pulled out some papers. “Here are your new homework assignments. Did you finish yesterday’s?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, sir,” she said.
“Did you at least start them?”
“No, sir.”
“But you’re going to work.”
“I need the money.”
“If you can go to work, you should’ve been able to get some homework done instead of talking to that shithead.”
“He just got here a few minutes ago.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What doesn’t matter anymore?”
“Anything.”
When Baker spoke again, his voice was much more relaxed. “Listen to me, Micki, you can’t afford to give up, do you understand that? If you give up, no one’s going to save you again; there won’t be another Sergeant Kelly to come along and rescue you again.”
She looked away. “I gotta go. I’m late.”
He felt a dull pain around his heart.
She put on her sneakers and continued getting ready. But judging from the difficulty she was having, she was hurting worse than the day before.
“You sure you’ll be able to work?” he asked.
“It’s too late now to tell Mr. Antonelli I can’t.”
“Well, you’re not to go to school tomorrow.” And he stepped behind her to help her on with her jacket.
She avoided looking at him as she left.
♦ ♦ ♦
THERE WAS A SMALL brown paper bag on the table. Inside, Baker discovered a tube of cover-up make-up that promised to hide unsightly blemishes and provide a healthy, overall glow. Either Micki had forgotten to apply it before leaving or had felt too uncomfortable to put it on in front of him. He placed the tube back in the bag, then started a half-hearted search of her apartment.
♦ ♦ ♦
TONY HAD BEEN SO wrapped up in his argument with Sal that he’d let an order of manicotti burn. Plumes of steam rising all around her, Micki was now vigorously scrubbing off the charred remains that were welded to the metal casserole dish. As she swiped the side of her upper arm across her sweaty face, she thought about the make-up she’d left sitting on the table. Like wet paint, it would’ve been dripping down with the sweat—a nasty beige mess getting all over everything.
Mr. Antonelli came in to find out what was taking so long with the customer’s order. He happened to glance over at Micki, and eyed her face with alarm.
“Got in a fight,” she said. It was what she always said when he gave her that look.
“Is-a no good-a,” he replied hotly. “Too many fights-a.”
She shrugged, then looked back at her work. And though she could feel him watching her, she wouldn’t look up again.
She heard the kitchen door swinging back and forth after he left.
♦ ♦ ♦
MICKI WENT BACK TO school on Thursday, which was also Halloween. She wore the make-up she’d bought, though it was only partially successful at camouflaging the bruising.
Baker was working the main entrance and said, “Go into the office, Micki. I’ll be in before the bell rings.”
He came in much sooner than that, however, towing a boy whose long brown hair reached the breast pockets of his khaki army jacket. Faded fatigues and black military-style boots completed his outfit, but he was not a happy soldier. Baker was gripping his arm with one hand, the gun he’d tried to smuggle into school in the other.
“Go to class now,” Baker said to Micki. “And stay out of trouble.”
But it was just the beginning of what was to be a long and difficult day, kids spraying mace in the halls and vandalizing school property. And to top it off, there was a rumor that a large group of black students from Queens Central High was going to descend upon the late session, targeting the white kids as they left—the latest in a series of retaliatory events that had taken place since the infamous, curtailed basketball game. Just last week, three white members of the Newbridge High team had been suspended for beating up a black Central High player as he waited at a bus stop. The most recent game had been closed to spectators.
Before they left the school, students were warned over the loudspeaker to cover up hair with hats or hoods and vacate the premises as quickly as possible; no lingering outside would be tolerated. Police cars surrounded the building, and Baker stayed through the second security shift. But after all the precautions, nothing actually happened.
And though he really just wanted to kick back with a few beers and watch TV, Baker returned to Queens that night after Mr. Antonelli had called—as requested—to let him know when Micki had about an hour’s worth of work left. Unaware of the arrangement, Micki walked out of Bel Canto’s alley only to stop dead in her tracks: Baker, smoking a cigarette, was leaning against his car, which he’d parked right out front. He had the window open and the radio on, two sports commentators talking about the Ali-Foreman fight—the “Rumble in the Jungle”—that had taken place earlier. Baker straightened up and opened the door.
“Get in,” he said.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell am I supposed t’have done now?”
“Nothing. Just get in.”
A car full of teenagers drove by and threw an egg, which broke and splattered on the hood of the Camaro.
“Great,” he said and threw his cigarette down, grinding it out on the pavement. “Will you just get in, Micki, so I can drive you home?”
“Drive me home? I only live a block away.”
“But there’s all kinds of bullshit going on tonight. I just saw some kid being chased and hit with a sock full of chalk. Stupid as it sounds, it hurts to get whacked with one of those.”
“So?” But as she looked around, she noticed the shaving cream and eggs all over the sidewalk, the walls, the cars …
“So—you’re not healed much yet.”
She stared at him. Was he serious? Only three days ago, he was ready to beat her within an inch of her life. Now he was worried she’d be hit with a bagful of chalk? She got into the car, a painful maneuver in and of itself, then placed the container of leftover ravioli she’d taken—still hot—on her lap.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he said.
“For one block?”
The aroma of marinara sauce filled the air, and Baker’s stomach growled. He turned the radio off. “Put the damn seatbelt on,” he repeated. Then he made a U-turn, drove down the street, and double-parked in front of her building. He watched her go in, and waited until her light went on before pulling away—thinking about having to wash the damn egg off his car so it wouldn’t damage the finish.
♦ ♦ ♦
BY THE WEEKEND, MICKI’S pain had substantially subsided. She took full advantage of the free Sunday: sleeping late, lounging around in her nightshirt, and doing homework in spurts while daydreaming in between—mostly about the football player. She wondered if he was going to the dance. Every once in a while, she’d see him in the hall during passing. And he’d smile.
She looked through her clothes, then took the 7 train to Main Street, Flushing, in search of some cheap long-sleeved black shirts and a new pair of jeans—black jeans. Just yesterday she’d seen a boy on a bicycle wearing some, and she wanted a pair. But as she made the rounds of the numerous army-navy stores, she found that virtually all of the jeans they sold were blue. She spent almost two hours searching until she came across what she wanted, trying them on as quickly as possible so she wouldn’t have to look at the half-naked woman staring down at her from a poster on the tiny dressing room’s wall.
On her way home, she stopped at Sunny’s to buy more shampoo—then changed her mind and went to the drugstore to splurge on the good stuff.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE PHONE RANG. SHIT! He’d just sat down with a beer and some pretzels to watch the basketball game. His voice purposely gruff, he said, “Hello?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Cynthia! “Hold on a sec.” Baker hurried to turn off the TV, then got back on the line. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” There was a split-second pause, then: “Cyn, I’ve missed you—really missed you. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”
“Actually, once I tell you why I’m calling, I’m not so sure you’ll feel that way.”
His mind raced: what was she going to say? That she was moving to Los Angeles? Marrying that asshole actor?
“I’m pregnant.”
Mouth hanging open, he stood there with the phone pressed against his ear.
“Hello? Jim? Are you there?”
♦ ♦ ♦
HE RESTED HIS FOREHEAD on his fingertips. “Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. I’m just—shocked.” When Cynthia didn’t offer anything more, he asked, “Are you saying this is mine?”
“It has to be.”
“But that’s impossible; you’re on the pill.”
“But I’d forgotten to take it for a few days when I was away, so we were using the condoms.”
“All right, so we were still safe then—”
“Nothing’s perfect!” she shot back. “Even the pill isn’t a hundred percent! Nothing’s a hundred percent except not doing it!”
“But we’ve hardly been having any sex. We haven’t even slept together in over a week.”
“Seriously? Figure it out! It happened about a month ago!”
This can’t be real, he thought, this just can’t be real. With a nasty edge, he asked, “Are you sure it isn’t Mr. LA’s?”
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”
Baker hung his head and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. So—so you’re going to get an abortion, right? I mean, you always said if this happened, you’d get one.”
“I know what I said, but now I’m not so sure. This isn’t easy, y’know. It’s strange, but there’s a part of me that wants to keep it.”
His palms were sweating, and he was getting stabbing pains in his chest. A baby. She wanted to have the fucking baby. Maybe. Jesus Christ! A million times they’d talked about how neither one of them wanted kids. He’d really meant it while she, apparently, had not.
“Jim?”
“Uh-huh. Well”—he stood up very straight—“listen, Cyn, I don’t want you to worry about anything. Whatever you decide, I’m here for you. If you want an abortion, I’ll help pay for it. I’ll even go with you; I don’t want you going through that alone. And, um”—he took another long, deep breath—“if you want to keep the baby, I’ll—I’ll help support it and, y’know, do the best I can.”
“Thanks, Jim.”
“You call me if you need anything, okay?”
She smiled a sad smile he couldn’t see. “Sure.”
They said goodbye, and Baker, very gently, returned the receiver to its cradle. Then he went over to the couch, sat down, and stared at the blank screen of the TV.
♦ ♦ ♦
NO SOONER HAD CYNTHIA hung up than the tears started again. Her eyes were red and swollen. And she had a photo shoot in the morning. The doctor had given her the news back on Friday, but, not wanting to fall apart over the phone, she’d waited before sharing it. And yet, she was no more together now than she had been then.
She pushed away some hair that had become matted to her face, then placed her palm against her belly. Totally flat, it betrayed nothing of the process going on inside, a process that could change the course of her life and was bombarding her with feelings she’d never anticipated. Always careful, she’d never worried that much; the chance of getting pregnant had seemed so infinitesimally small. And once abortion had become legal, there’d been a lot less to fear. But while she still firmly believed a soul didn’t permanently attach itself to a body until that body breathed its first breath outside the womb, the magic of a possible life could no longer be so casually brushed aside. Maybe it was hormonally induced, this desire to protect the tiny cells growing inside her. Thoughts of a little baby—especially a little baby girl—seemed so precious and bittersweet.
Her fingers, wet with tears, extinguished the candles she’d lit. Then she curled up in a ball, hands in fists against her collarbones. Overhead, her upstairs neighbor’s high heels clicked across the ceiling. And back. Then across once more before leaving her in silence—alone with the sound of her own sobbing. How could Jim not know that what she wanted most from him right now—more than anything—was the warmth and comfort of his arms around her?