The Secret Life of Lula Darling

by Alex Dean

  “What hospital are you taking him to?” Ariel and I managed to ask simultaneously.

  The paramedic turned to us just as he slammed the ambulance’s door shut. “Northwestern Memorial. It’s the closest trauma center we have.”

  Ariel tapped me on my arm. “Come on, Lula. I know how to get there. We’ll follow them in my car.”

  We rushed to her parents’ Jetta and got in, and Ariel fired up the engine before making a quick U-turn. I noticed the police speeding down Wabash just as we were leaving. And it’s a good thing we left when we did, because when I turned around, I saw that they’d quickly cordoned off both ends of the block.

  Ariel pinned it through Bronzeville, running several stop signs and even a red light on our way to the hospital.

  “If my parents find out what happened, I’ll never hear the end of it. My dad is going to totally freak out,” she said, shaking her head, hitting the steering wheel.

  “Then let’s hope he doesn’t find out. Let’s also hope it doesn’t make the news,” I said.

  “Are you kidding? Every night there’s a shooting here. This one involving kids from Chicago Prep! If my parents think this is the type of crowd I have you around, I’m toast. I know it.”

  I couldn’t believe how worried Ariel had become concerning her parents. It was almost as if she had accidentally pulled the trigger herself, responsible for what had happened. I turned toward her to address the meltdown head-on. “Okay, Ariel. What am I missing here? It’s terrible what happened to Marcus, and I’m praying for his recovery. But we did nothing wrong.”

  Ariel shook her head as we paused for a light.

  “All right. I promised my dad I would keep this a secret. But of course I suck terribly when it comes to keeping my mouth shut. And so the way I see it, you were going to find out eventually.”

  The more Ariel talked, the more my heart rate began to accelerate. I had absolutely no idea what she was getting at. Then she briefly turned to look at me.

  “My dad said that some people from our government want to speak to you, Lula. I mean … really high-ranking people like the CIA.”

  “Why do they want to talk to me?”

  “Something about national security, and about your past. He said they want to fly you out to Washington, D.C.”

  We had just pulled in front of the parking garage across from the hospital. Feeling betrayed by this, in a sudden panic, I opened the passenger door and bolted from the car.

  “Wait! Lula!” Ariel yelled. She had apparently put the car in park, then got out and started running after me on West Erie Street.

  “Please, somebody stop her! Help! Stop her!” Ariel screamed.

  As I ran past a crowd of pedestrians and a nearby work zone, a burly construction worker in a lime-green safety vest and white hardhat dropped some kind of heavy drilling tool, bobbed under yellow caution tape, and grabbed me as I tried to get by him.

  Bystanders paused and looked.

  “Hold on, young lady. Not so fast. What’s going on? You running from someone?” he said as he held me in his grip. I turned around and saw Ariel suddenly stop in her tracks as she tried to catch her breath.

  “It’s okay. She’s my friend. She’s a little scared, that’s all. Lula, will you just let me explain, please?”

  The construction worker released his grip, walked over to a large gaping hole in the asphalt, and picked up his tool. “You girls have a nice day,” he called out over the Near Northside’s traffic sweeping by us.

  I trudged toward Ariel, my arms folded, no longer sure who I could trust.

  Ariel stood directly in front of me, going into full damage control mode. “Lula, I promise you, my family and I won’t allow anyone to harm you. My dad had no choice. They’re basically forcing him to cooperate.”

  “No choice? Cooperate? I don’t believe that,” I scoffed, shaking my head at her. “Everyone has a choice, Ariel. Especially now. And in case you didn’t get the memo, it’s a lot different in this life compared to the one I come from.”

  Ariel said nothing at this. Then we began walking toward her car.

  Ariel nodded. “I can imagine how you must feel, Lula. Honestly, I do. But my dad said if we don’t go along with this investigation, there could be serious, far-reaching consequences. They want to find out exactly how you got here. Something to do with dimensional portals, I think.”

  Ariel unlocked the passenger door and opened it. “It’s a miracle I didn’t get a ticket. Get in.”

  We managed to find parking in the visitor’s garage and then walked through the pedestrian bridge to get to the emergency room.

  My focus immediately turned toward Marcus and how he was holding up after being shot. As we entered the waiting area for the ER, we were met by a tall black female security guard sitting behind what looked like a podium. She wore a navy windbreaker and black pants and had shoulder-length dreads.

  “Who are you ladies here to see?” she asked.

  “Marcus Whitaker,” I said.

  “Give me a moment. I need to make sure it’s okay.” The guard made a call after looking at some papers lying in front of her. I figured it had something to do with the hospital screening Marcus’s visitors for security reasons.

  The guard hung up the phone and pointed to another set of doors. “He’s in surgery. And to be honest, it’s probably going to be a while. In the meantime, though, you can go up there and have a seat. Take the elevators up to seven.”

  “Do you know how he’s doing?” I asked.

  The guard shook her head and leaned back in her black task chair. “That I couldn’t tell you one bit. You’ll have to wait and talk to either the ER doctor or one of the nurses.”

  Ariel and I hurried to the emergency room and, once there, waited until approximately 11:25 p.m. Fortunately, her parents had extended our curfew because of the party. But of course, now, we were going to have to either leave or call them and come clean about what had happened.

  The latter of which was exactly what we did.

  For twenty minutes we waited patiently for her parents to arrive. As we sat watching The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon on a ceiling-mounted flat-screen, my stomach began to growl and churn like crazy.

  And was I surprised? No. It had only been fourteen some odd hours since I’d had the chance to put anything down. So I got up, reached in my pocket and headed for the group of vending machines we’d passed on the way to the visitors’ waiting area.

  “You want something?” I asked Ariel.

  “No, I’ll wait and eat later,” she said.

  I trudged down the hall, past a nurse calmly pushing a wheelchair patient, past a huge nurses’ station, but before I could get to the vending area, Ariel’s parents had exited the elevator.

  They both welcomed me with arms open. “Lula, we’re glad you girls are okay. Where’s Ariel?” Ariel’s father asked, concerned.

  I pointed. “She’s down the hall in the waiting room. I was on my way to get a breakfast bar or something. Ariel said she wasn’t hungry.”

  “By the way, how’s your boyfriend? Is he going to make it through?” Ariel’s mother asked curtly.

  I nodded. “Yeah. I think so. The paramedics gave us encouraging news before they placed him in the ambulance.” Then I shook my head. “I just don’t get all this violence in Chicago. Why are they doing this?”

  Ariel’s father gently placed his hand on my shoulder. “Go get yourself something to eat and let’s talk about this later. We’ll meet you back in the waiting area.”

  I continued toward the vending machines and my thoughts immediately went to why the shooting possibly happened in the first place. Was Marcus into something illegal? Was it a case of mistaken identity?

  I had heard rumors around school about the kind of people that Marcus would associate with. How he would, half the time, be described as the likeable, All-American jock, the other half a street hustler impatiently in search of “the good life.”

  I knew that he
didn’t grow up under the most ideal of circumstances. Of course, I could relate to that. But Mama D. apparently did her best with the situation she’d found herself in.

  No one ever said a thing about Marcus’s dad. I often wondered if the guy that got Marcus’s mother hooked on drugs was actually his biological father. But no one talked about it.

  When I returned to the waiting area, Ariel and her parents were standing and smiling. Ariel’s mother suddenly moved away from the pack, coming in my direction to meet me halfway.

  “Lula, we’ve got good news. Marcus’s doctor came into the waiting area while you were gone. He told us that Marcus is expected to make a full recovery.”

  I blew out a nervous breath and finally allowed myself to smile. That was what I’d wanted to hear tonight more than anything. Marcus was getting a second chance.

  I immediately gave Ariel and her parents a hug to celebrate the good news.

  “Marcus’s grandmother is on her way,” said Ariel’s mom.

  “Did the doctor say how long Marcus would have to be here?” I asked.

  Ariel’s dad exchanged glances with her mother. “It’s too early to tell. Those are the doc’s words, not mine. But however long his road to recovery turns out to be, it’s not something we want to rush. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see both of you when he’s transferred to a room and allowed to have visitors,” he said.

  “In the meantime, I hope you girls understand now why Patty and I impose a curfew. And worry about where you’re going and whom you’re hanging out with,” he went on.

  Then Ariel’s dad motioned for the four of us to start walking. I figured it was time to leave and return once we’d been given the okay to do so. “Lula, the twenty-first century has a whole new level of evil and danger compared to what you may have been faced with in Natchez,” he said as we made our way to the elevators just as the doors opened.

  “Welcome to the new US of A.”

  Chapter 23

  Had it not been for the small wisp of hair hanging beneath the head-wrap, the patch of skin the color of midnight peeking out from the covering, no one would have noticed the woman lying there.

  Folks on Chicago Avenue gathered around once they saw a woman named Marlene Baker huddle over what most passersby thought was just a pile of discarded clothing.

  Marlene was a deeply rooted, God-fearing woman with a circular face, a robust build and the type of compassionate nature that was hard to find in what could only be now described as the “age of mean.”

  She owned Marlene’s Bar and Grill on this busy stretch of street and was used to seeing the homeless, usually asking for money or food.

  But what she’d seen here was altogether different.

  She briefly glanced back at her shop, which was scheduled to open precisely at nine.

  Slowly she leaned over and removed the plastic tarp that some half-caring soul had placed over the motionless body.

  She jerked back in fear as the woman lying there suddenly turned and raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the brightening sky.

  “Ma’am, my name is Marlene Baker. I’m not here to harm you. Just want to help. Here, grab my hand.” Marlene extended her hand, and the woman held it with what little strength she could muster.

  She was weak and disoriented. She then raised a hand to cover her nostrils, blocking the distinct stench of many plumes of exhaust as she looked around.

  “Where am I?” she asked the stranger.

  “You’re in Chicago. West Chicago Avenue,” Marlene replied. Then she grabbed both of the woman’s hands, helping her to sit upright, alongside the foundation of a six-story red brick multiuse building.

  “What’s your name?”

  “My what?” the woman said, squinting into the sun.

  “Your name. Maybe I can help you.”

  “My…my name Ella Mae Darling, Natchez, Mississippi.”

  Marlene put her hands on her own hips. “Mississippi? Well, you’re a long ways from home, ain’t you? Both my husband and I got roots in Mississippi. Cleveland. It’s about a hundred and twenty miles outside of Jackson.”

  Ella Mae nodded and looked around, covering up the opening of her petticoat.

  “That,” she said, pointing. “What that…be movin’ so fast?”

  Marlene turned around and glanced at numerous cars, a CTA bus, and several taxis as they drove by.

  “Are you kidding me? Those are cars and buses. Surely you must have seen them before?”

  Ella Mae shook her head, still staring. “No.”

  “Let me help you on your feet. I own a restaurant several doors down. I’ll give you something to eat.”

  Ella Mae pushed up on her legs and took a moment to gain her balance. Once she was upright with her feet firmly planted, the two of them walked several yards to get to the restaurant.

  Marlene unlocked the front door, pulled it open and then switched on the lights. Ella Mae stared at the interior construction. After the hard concrete of Chicago Avenue, the hardwood floors felt good underneath her feet. Wooden tables and chairs took up most of the space. Ella Mae then noted the eatery’s bright fluorescent lights, columns of brick walls flanked by glass windows, and the thirty-foot bar.

  “My place doesn’t officially open until nine,” Marlene said and then looked at her watch.

  “That means we’ve got about half an hour. I’ll be the only one here until three. My morning cook called off today. Good help is sure hard to find. In the meantime, I’ll heat you up some leftovers from yesterday. You can have a seat right here.” Marlene pointed to a small table and set of chairs near the middle of the floor.

  Ella Mae looked around some more, still amazed at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  Marlene went behind the bar, took out some smoked sausage from the refrigerator and some red-skinned potatoes with onions and green peppers and fired up the grill.

  She walked back to where Ella Mae was sitting. “It’ll be ready shortly.” Then she sat down at the table opposite Ella Mae and reached over to hold her hands.

  “I’m going to help you. There’s nothing I hate seeing more than women and children homeless out here on these ugly streets.”

  Marlene drew a long breath. “There’s also a community outreach center down the street. One of the girls that works there is a regular here. I’m thinking they can help you get on your feet.”

  Marlene rose and went back behind the bar to check on the food as it sizzled on the grill. The air became redolent of the nearly done meat and potatoes, the smell of which delighted Ella Mae as she sat and watched.

  “You got any family in the area? Anyone I can call?” Marlene asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Ella Mae responded, almost inaudibly.

  “How about any kids? You have children?” Marlene inquired as she scooped the food onto a plate and brought it out to the table.

  “My son, Clarence, he died when he was young.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “My daughter—”

  Suddenly the phone rang in the office in the back of the restaurant. Marlene pushed back from the table. “Excuse me for a moment.” She ran to the back to answer the call and had been gone for several minutes now.

  Ella Mae stared out the front window at the busy pace of Chicago Avenue, then shoved a spoonful of sausage and potatoes into her mouth.

  She closed her eyes as she chewed, savoring the sweet taste of the homemade sausage, carefully chosen spices, and Marlene Baker’s secret recipe all-purpose seasoning.

  Marlene made her way back to the front of the restaurant. “That was my husband checking up on me. He happens to be on vacation this week. I’m on my second marriage now. The first one only lasted two years. I found out in the end that he had a wandering eye. Well, he was actually doing more than just looking. He had a mistress on the other side of town. Paying her rent and most of her bills.”

  She shook her head. “My mother and sister saw the warning signs long before I did. But being young and in lov
e, of course, I didn’t listen. Had to find out the hard way.”

  Marlene smiled amiably. “But in my current husband, I truly think I’ve found my soul mate. He’s a good man with a well-paying high-level job. Director with the US Department of Homeland Security. Once a woman finds a good man, they’ve got to hold on to him and treat him right. Being able to cook, clean and do wifely duties is a strong virtue that’s missing in young women today. You ever been married, Ella Mae?”

  Ella Mae nodded. “Yes, ma’am, but he was killed in Natchez.”

  “Oh, my, once again I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Marlene imagined how terrible it had to be for a woman to have lost her husband and her child, only to end up homeless.

  Suddenly she felt the need to change the subject. She went to the end of the bar, flicking a switch to turn on the various TV screens in the dining area.

  She quickly returned to the table with Ella Mae while holding a ceramic cup in her hand. “Now, in all honesty, I ain’t never been one to go to church every single Sunday. But I am a God-fearing woman and know that the Good Book says: Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial. You’re just going through a trial in your life, Ella Mae. But you’ll get through it. Here’s a cup of Earl Grey to knock that chill off you. I just turned the air down. We usually keep the temperature at seventy this time of year.”

  Ella Mae took a sip of the tea as she marveled at the TV’s images twelve feet up on the wall.

  Suddenly the cup fell from her hands onto the table. It ping-ponged off the mahogany’s smooth surface, smashing onto the hardwood floor in many pieces.

  Marlene ran from behind the bar. “Ella Mae, you all right? You look like you seen a ghost!” Ella Mae, mouth gaping open, stared at a WGN Midday newscast reporter as he completed an interview.

  Marlene walked to the end of the bar, grabbed a broom and dust pan, and began to sweep up the shattered cup.

  Ella Mae smiled, her face brightening as it locked on to the screen. “There is my daughter,” she said excitedly.

  Marlene set the broom and pan down, wiped off her hands on a towel. “That’s your daughter?” she asked, staring at the screen herself now.