Among Women

by J. M. Cornwell

  Twenty-Eight

  So much of what came out in Darla’s story was from gossip; the rest came from Darla’s mumblings. It was as if she were listing her grievances, stuck on the hours before she was arrested, telling them over again, a litany of gripes, her hands and lips working as though running prayer beads through her fingers.

  Darla was only one of the thousands forced onto the streets when the state hospitals dumped their patients. The mentally retarded and emotionally disabled flooded the streets, forced to fend for themselves after a lifetime of institutions. Day after day, they wandered about, lost in a world that ignored their existence.

  Darla had been luckier than most. Her monthly disability check went to a local bar. The owner cashed the check for a small fee, doling out small amounts so Darla would have enough for the whole month. He didn’t care where she slept or lived, but he cared enough to provide some semblance of stability. Darla was not capable of anything approaching a stable life otherwise.

  Left to her own devices, she bought booze and junk food and ended up drunk, lost and passed out on someone’s lawn, the unaccustomed rich food speckling the pristine emerald grass. Every few months, she ended up in jail for trespassing, usually in the Garden District where the Victorian homes towered over sprawling lawns. Homeowners found her passed out on the lawn and reported her to the police. Darla, still in a drunken haze, would try to get away, end up punching someone and end up drying out in jail. Whatever was left in her pockets was put on her account and she was released in time to collect the next monthly check. She would be good for a while, get fed up and start the whole cycle over.

  It saddened Pearl to imagine anyone caught up in that kind of vicious cycle. At least the bar owner cared enough to put up with her. Too bad no one else did.

  When Pearl was finished, she read the story over, added a few notes and capped her pen. It was about time for dinner and she was hungry, even for cold sandwiches.

  “Mind if I reads it?” Betty had not asked to read anything else she had written.

  “Sure.” Pearl handed it over. “Isn’t it time for lunch or dinner or something?”

  “Mm hmm.” Betty kept reading. “Yeah, Boo, ‘bout time.” Her lips moved as she read, turning over the pages slowly, fingers moving down the page. When she finished, she shook her head. “You kin write. You needs to be outta here and not sittin’ roun’ this place.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice.” A line formed at the door. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s hungry.”

  “Does you min’ if I read them others?”

  “Not at all. I’ll go get them.”

  “Afta supper be jes fine. Now go on and git yo’ food. I kin wait. Gots lots o’ time.”

  The rest of the evening Pearl played solitaire, pretending to ignore Betty while she read, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She didn’t know why she was nervous or why she wanted Betty’s approval, except that Betty had been kind to her.

  It seemed like such a long time ago since she had first arrived on the quad, scared to death and numb from shock. She counted backward, not really knowing the date, except that it was January. Three weeks. She had been inside for three weeks; it seemed so much longer.

  When Betty finished reading, she handed over the pages and went back to playing dominoes. Pearl couldn’t concentrate, so she excused herself, gathered the pages and started downstairs. Martha motioned her over to the table.

  “Have you heard yet?”

  “About what?”

  “We going outside tomorrow.”

  “I thought there was an ice storm coming.”

  “No. It’ll be warm and the sun’ll be shining, girl. It’ll be painful walking up all them stairs my feets is so swollen, but I’m going outside and get me some of that sunshine.” Martha patted her arm. “I can’t wait till tomorrow. Been so long since I seen the sun I probably burst into flames.”

  Outside. In the sunshine. Fresh air, maybe a light breeze blowing. I wonder if I can see the lake from there.

  “How do you know?” Pearl asked.

  “Deputy told Maureen.” Martha levered herself up from the table and shuffled to the stairs with Pearl. “Sooner I gets to sleep, the sooner I wakes up and go outside.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Pearl helped Martha down the stairs. Martha hung onto the railing with one hand, her other hand resting heavily on Pearl’s shoulder. After saying goodnight, Pearl skipped down the hall feeling lighter and happier than she had in a long time. She was going to see daylight again and breathe fresh air. The night would take forever. It felt like waiting for Christmas morning. She was so excited she could barely contain herself.

  Whistling while she rinsed out her things, she hung them to dry and stretched out on the bunk under the blankets, arms behind her head, a small glow of possibility burning. As she fell asleep, she didn’t notice Joy and Letty standing outside the cell looking through the bars. They looked at each other, sniggered and went their separate ways. Pearl was oblivious, lost in dreams of climbing up into the bright sunlight of a new day.

  The next morning the quad buzzed with the news. They were going outside, up to the roof for a little exercise. The rain and ice storms had ended. The sun was shining.

  Betty told Pearl they would go up in groups of five or ten and get thirty minutes. “Ain’t no place to go up there, Boo, less’n you want to go and jump. ‘Course you gotta climb the fence and get over the bob wire first.” She sucked her teeth and turned over a tile. “Best watch out for the guns. Some o' these heifers fat, but they fast. Jes’ itching for target practice.” She chuckled and turned over another tile. “You ain’t paying ‘tention, boo.”

  To be able to go outside after nothing but green painted windows, not knowing day from night, made Pearl’s lungs felt cramped, her chest so tight it felt as though it would burst. Sky. Clouds. Traffic. Would voices reach up that high? I’ll find out soon enough.

  She still was not sure where she was, except that she was still in New Orleans. Very little was visible through the smeared windows of the cruiser the night the police brought her in. Pearl had seen little more than a maze of darkened streets and the glare of headlights, traffic lights and neon everywhere she looked. Farther and farther from the music and bustle of the French Quarter they went until they had stopped at last in a dark cement-walled cavern. The officers had ordered her out of the cruiser and up iron-railed cement steps into chaos and screaming. Shoved into line, she had waited her turn before a grimy Plexiglas window, recited name and social security number and had been hustled into a long narrow room that had echoed with the metallic slam of heavy steel.

  That was then and this was now. This time when she got into line, it would be for something good, a change of pace, a rebirth of sorts. For a little while, she would be reborn into the world.

  Deputy Walpole called her name. Pearl lined up behind a shifting, snaking line of women chattering and laughing, as happy as children on the last day of school. Pearl caught some of their enthusiasm, a bright thrill of excitement running through her veins, until she could hardly contain it. Not even the climb up seemingly endless flights of stairs dulled the emotions welling up inside her. They spilled over when she tripped through the doorway and down onto the gravel. She was out.

  She blinked in the unaccustomed glare of a late January morning. Silent tears warmed her cheeks and slid down into her ears as she raised her face to the sky, golden light shining through the blue tracery of veins in her closed eyelids. Chest expanding until it could hold no more, Pearl breathed out slowly and inhaled deeply, savoring the lingering taste of fresh, clean air. She raised her arms as if to hug the breeze to her chest and smiled. The wind blowing off Lake Pontchartrain was warm and the bright sun coursed like sparkling wine through her veins. Pearl delighted in the simple act of breathing: in and out, in and out.

  Resisting the urge to hold her arms out and spin, Pearl opened her eyes and walked to the waist high wall where a chain link fence rose
topped by spiral tangles of razor wire from thick concrete plugs up into the cloudless sapphire sky. She had no intention of diving from the parapet. She walked the perimeter, one hand running along the fence until she ended up back in front of the door.

  The usually close knit groups spread out, drawn briefly toward the center and out again like erratic satellites around a parent planet. Only one satellite trudged from doorway to parapet and back again, barefoot and mumbling, sucking hard on a hand rolled toilet paper cigarette. Darla. Not even the gravel beneath her feet slowed the pace. Her feet must be hard as leather. It was as if she were unaware of her surroundings, locked in her own world, and Pearl wondered if being inside was any different than being outside the jail. Darla moved from doorway to parapet and back to doorway, like a record needle stuck in a groove with no hand to pick up the needle and move it.

  A cloud slipped across the sun and Pearl shivered. As soon as it appeared, it moved on, a disappearing puff of cotton candy pulled apart by the winds. Sitting down in a warm spot against the wall, she stretched out her legs and leaned against the sun-warmed concrete, closing her eyes and letting go of everything.

  After a few minutes, her mind turned to Sarah’s situation. She was raising her children alone, working nights while her mother babysat, at odds with her daughters’ father who, until a month ago, had no interest in his children or their welfare. He was more interested in the woman he got pregnant, a younger woman from a wealthy family, but the dream fell apart when she lost their baby in a car accident. In order to save her life, the doctors performed a hysterectomy. She would never have children. It nearly ended their relationship, until James offered up his children by Sarah.

  What Celia Phelps wanted, she got, and she wanted to raise James’s children. James was smart enough to know which side of the bread was buttered. James saw an opportunity not likely to come his way again when Celia walked into his life.

  He had some money and a half interest in a popular club, and Celia’s family was willing to tolerate her choice of husband. They would only make things worse if they opposed Celia’s choice. She was of age and she controlled her own fortune, a combination guaranteed to give Mummy and Daddy second thoughts. The only thing their princess wanted was James—all of him or none of him. His children—Sarah’s daughters—were the key.

  It didn’t take long for James to use that key to give Celia the family she craved.

  I wonder if Celia knew what James had planned. Did she turn a blind eye to get what she wanted? I’ll bet she didn’t know about Veronica’s teacher.

  Without money or a powerful family, Sarah had one shot at getting her children back. An editor at the Times-Picayune where Sarah worked agreed to print her story if someone would write it. He couldn’t assign one of the staff reporters; he could not afford it—professionally or personally. He didn’t dare go up against the Phelps family since they owned the paper. He would publish Sarah’s story so long as it would not be traced back to him. He would treat it as a freelance story of interest, pretending he didn’t know about the custody battle. It would be just another human interest yarn.

  Sarah had read Pearl’s stories the first day she arrived. She decided Pearl would write about her experiences and, in exchange, Sarah would help to see the other stories were published. For her part, Pearl could not mention Sarah’s name or her tenuous connection to the Phelps. That way, Sarah’s story would be told and it might be enough to help her when the case was heard the following week.

  Pearl was willing to try. It hurt to see the pain and sadness in Sarah’s eyes when she spoke of her children. Aside from the benefits she would derive from the deal, more than anything she wanted to help Sarah get her children back.

  There was another benefit. Pearl would be paid for the profiles. The editor agreed to hold the checks until she was released. The idea of having money waiting for her when she got out gave her hope.

  If only there was a way to get a letter to Cap or Laura. She remembered the address of the Traveler’s Aid, but that wouldn’t do any good, since none of them went there anymore. She didn’t know where Cap lived, except that it was away from the river up Esplanade. Since Laura and the others didn’t go to the same motel every night, that wouldn’t work either.

  She wondered if the editor had enough clout, once he published a few of her stories, to get her out of jail, or at least contact a lawyer willing to see her. Even if nothing else came of it, helping Sarah would give Pearl something to do to help pass the time. It was worth the risk.

  Pearl felt someone sit down next to her and opened her eyes. Joy moved closer and Letty stood in front of them. Pearl started to get up and Letty took a step closer. “Stay there, boo. We got somethin’ to say.”

  “All right.” Although she was rattled, Pearl forced her voice to a more casual tone. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t wanna talk about no weather. Got somethin’ else on my mind.” Joy gripped Pearl’s leg and squeezed, softly at first and then harder, her skinny fingers digging into the flesh. “And don’t scream. Wouldn’t wanna make things worse now.”

  “What’s on your mind?” Pearl asked, wincing from the pain as Joy’s hand moved up her thigh, digging in her fingers whenever Pearl tried to move away.

  “Got a message from Florida.” Joy hesitated, making sure she had Pearl’s complete attention. “If you ever want to get out of here, you best listen. Ain’t no one know where you are, but life’ll go much easier if you be nice.”

  Letty looked over her shoulder, checking to see where the guard was. “Hurry up.”

  “Shut your mouth, bitch. Deputy ain’t gonna do nothin’.” Joy turned back to Pearl, brushed the hair back over her shoulder and leaned in closer. “All you gotta do is be nice,” she said as she moved her other hand up toward Pearl’s crotch, “to me. It’s gonna be a long time before you gets out, so you might as well get comfy.” She dug her fingernails into the tender flesh on the inside of the thigh and leaned in so close Joy’s breath felt like a blast furnace against her cheek. Pearl’s flesh crawled. She resisted the urge to push the other girl away. “There’s people want to know what you did with the book, people who like to keep their secrets secret, if you know what I mean. Best tell me where it is and you could get out of here tomorrow.”

  “What book?”

  “Lorenzo’s book. Ring a bell?”

  Pearl’s pulse beat faster. “But….”

  “Line up,” Deputy Walpole yelled. “Now!”

  Joy jumped up and grabbed Letty’s arm. Over her shoulder, she winked at Pearl. “In your cell after lunch.” They hurried to the door.

  Pearl got up slowly, her leg sore from Joy’s nails.

  “Move it,” Deputy Walpole said, tapping the nightstick against her palm.

  Pearl hurried over, limping a little as feeling returned to her thigh, and stepped down into the gloomy stairwell, blinking to adjust her eyes. She heard Joy and Letty laughing below her and wasn’t anxious to follow. She stopped and knelt down. “Shoe lace,” she said as Deputy Walpole loomed behind her. She wanted to savor a few more breaths of fresh air; they might be her last for a long time, and postpone following the evil twins. If they allowed us outside this time, they might let us out again. It was all she had to hold onto for the moment.

  “I said move it.” Deputy Walpole jabbed her with the nightstick.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Pearl straightened up and walked down the stairs, back into limbo where Joy waited for her.

  She wondered how to tell whoever was behind Joy and Letty that she did not know what book they meant. They already had the manuscript, took that when they killed Lorenzo. I don’t have it. Will they believe me? It didn’t matter. She would have to deal with Joy and Letty first.

  Now that she knew what was at stake, Pearl knew what she had to do—lie to get out of limbo.

  Twenty-Nine

  Sarah waited patiently in line for her turn in the sun. As Pearl passed Sarah, she took the woman’s hand briefly an
d nodded. A grateful smile flashed in Sarah’s calm, impassive face just before she marched through the door.

  “I knowed you was goin’ do it.” Betty’s attention was on the cards in her hand.

  “Do what?” Pearl asked.

  Betty pointed to the cards face down on the table. “It yo’ play, boo.”

  Pearl sat down and reordered the hand, chose one card, laid it down and drew another from the pile.

  “Don’ nothin’ happen in here wifout it gettin’ ‘round. Boo, you ain’ like them.” She glanced over at the women on the stairs. “That one ain’t like them neither. Y’all be outta here in no time. Bes’ you do what you kin so’s you don’ never end up back here no more.”

  Pearl laid down another card.

  “Best watch what you doin’, boo. For true.” Betty picked up the card. “Gin.”

  Pearl counted up the cards. Betty added up the points.

  “Good thing we playin’ for fun, boo.” She shuffled the cards and dealt another hand. “Bes’ keep yo’ eyes open. Won’ want the wrong ones in yo’ business.” Betty cocked her head at the guard station and looked right into Pearl’s eyes as she chose a card and laid it down.

  Pearl glanced sideways at the guard station where two of the guards stared directly at her.

  “Word gettin’ ‘round.” Betty sucked her teeth and popped her gum. “Yo play.”

  “You mean about Sarah?”

  “Some other thangs. ‘Bout how them two done cornered you on the roof.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I got ears.” Betty chose a card and discarded. “Darla done tole me.”

  There was no way to tell what Joy and Letty had said, much as they liked to gossip. To think that Darla came out of her funk long enough to warn Betty was a big surprise. She wondered how much of Darla’s actions were more act than fact, and was beginning to see there was more to Darla than she thought.