Savannah wasn’t sure whether it was the dream, as she came to call it, or the fact that she hadn’t been hooked on dope for more than six months, but by the following week Vanna was better. The personality changes and mood shifts heroin was known to trigger seemed to ebb, and she felt stronger. More competent and lucid.
In retrospect, Vanna realized Zoya must have noticed it too, because one afternoon she came back to the house with a Walgreen’s bag and shook it out on the kitchen table. Two pregnancy tests fell out. Zoya made both Vanna and Jenny pee on the sticks. Zoya’s eyebrows rose as she read the results. She eyed Jenny and Vanna from top to bottom. Then she walked out, as she usually did, leaving Savannah and Jenny with the guards. The girls snatched the sticks off the table and studied the results. Jenny’s test was positive; Vanna’s wasn’t. Vanna heaved a sigh of relief. Jenny burst into tears.
“Crap, Vanna. What am I going to do?”
Vanna shook her head. “I don’t know. How did it happen?”
Jenny wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “That’s a stupid question.”
“What I mean, is, do you think you were pregnant when they were shooting us up?”
“I think I’m about three months. So I had to have been.” Fresh tears streamed down Jenny’s cheeks. “Which means the baby might be deformed or something, you know?”
“That’s okay. You not going to keep it, anyway.”
Jenny stopped crying and looked at Vanna. “What do you mean?”
“Just tell Zoya you want an abortion. There’s still time. I’m sure they’ll say yes. They don’t want you having a baby any more than you do.”
Jenny sniffed. “I—I don’t know.”
“Jenny, you have to. This”—Vanna waved her arm to encompass the kitchen, the farm, their entire situation—“this is not the time or the place to have a baby. Promise me you’ll ask, okay? Tell them you’ll do anything to get it out of you. And then we’ll figure out a way to get out of here.”
Jenny bit her lip. Then the guards cut them off and took them up to their rooms.
Vanna was dozing when Zoya returned that afternoon. She came awake when she heard the woman’s heavy tread on the stairs. Vanna frowned. There was more than one person on the steps. Zoya came into her room followed by a pudgy man in a suit. Thin, dark strands of hair in a comb-over failed to hide his baldness. He was carrying a black bag.
“Who are you?”
“A doctor.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Sure you are.”
Zoya cut in. “You no talk. He doctor. Take blood.”
“Why?”
“We want to make sure you’re healthy,” the man said.
“Healthy? You want to make sure I’m healthy? Where were you when I needed you?”
“I’m just going to take a little blood. Make sure you don’t have any STDs or AIDS.”
Vanna ran her hand through her hair. “Oh fuck. Just get it over with.”
Mercifully, the doctor was quick. Once he had a couple of vials of blood, he nodded to Zoya and left the room.
Zoya closed the door. Vanna hadn’t noticed, but Zoya was carrying a familiar white bag with a red bull’s-eye. She placed the bag on the bed and slid out the contents. Inside was a silver-sequined tank top, the skimpiest black shorts Vanna had ever seen, four-inch heels, and tubes of mascara, eye shadow, and blush. She told Vanna to put on the clothes.
Vanna’s spirits sank. Was she being sent back to the hookers? Her throat closed up in fear. “But I don’t want to.”
Zoya squinted and shoved the clothes closer.
“I don’t want to go back there,” she pleaded. “Please.”
“You pass test, you no go.”
“The blood test?”
“No.” The woman shook her head. “You see.”
“What about Jenny? Is she having the test too?”
Zoya shrugged.
“Why me?”
But Zoya didn’t answer. She waited while Vanna tried on the clothes. Then she nodded. “You take off now. Rest.” She locked the door and left Vanna’s room.