L.A. Blues III Read Free Page A

motherly bone in my body. I’m too scarred emotionally. When I was eight years old and my mother had my brother Diggity, I changed his diapers and got up at night with him so much, I think I knew then I’d never want babies. She just handed him over to me like I was the mother.”
    Chica glanced around the bathroom, stooped down, peeked under the other stalls to make sure we were alone, then went into the bathroom and pulled out some toilet tissue. She handed it to me. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told another soul.”
    â€œWhat?” I wiped my eyes, and gazed out. Chica looked like I was seeing her through a rainy window since my eyes were so bleary.
    â€œWhen I was out on the streets, just before I got clean, I got pregnant by one of my johns. I didn’t know who the father was and I went and had an abortion . . .” She paused, as if it was too painful to remember, let alone put into words.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œOn that first day everything seemed okay, but the next day, I started hemorrhaging. I wound up in the hospital in ICU. While I was passed out, they gave me an emergency hysterectomy in order to save my life. At the time, I was just happy to be alive. I never dreamed I’d clean up and find a good man like Riley so it was just another day in the life of a crack head. But now, I’d love to have a baby for Riley and I can’t ever give him one. ”
    â€œDoes Riley know about this?”
    â€œHe knows I’ve had a hysterectomy, but he doesn’t know why. I heard what you said about dick is not your friend.”
    â€œWhen did I say that?”
    â€œWhen I wanted to tell Riley about my being molested as a child. You said something like, ‘Don’t tell men all your dirty secrets.’”
    â€œRight. Save that for your girlfriends.”
    Chica gave me a serious look. “You’re more than a friend. You’re my sister.” Then she added, “It’ll all work out. Trust me.”
    She pulled me into a long hug and was saying some more soothing words about her helping with the baby, which sounded more like Charlie Brown’s teacher, “Wonk, wonk, wonk,” as far as I was concerned. I heard Chica’s voice washing over me, but I didn’t feel comforted. Between the nausea, the constant peeing, the fist tightness in my womb, the sore tingling in my growing breasts, I was miserable all the time. I pulled away and rushed out the restroom. I couldn’t tell her the truth about the possible rape in Rio. I still didn’t know what I was going to do. I found a table and I sat alone.
    The dinner choices included grilled Cajun salmon, chicken cordon bleu, or Cornish hens with wild rice, asparagus, and a Greek salad. Dessert consisted of the most decadent piece of black forest cake slathered with a dollop of whip cream and the largest scrumptious Bing cherries I’d ever seen, but I knew I couldn’t hold it down so I didn’t try.
    An example of Haviland’s fastidious attention to detail was demonstrated in the impeccable calligraphy on the menu. I just picked at my food so my stomach wouldn’t get upset again. I was thinking about what Chica said. Would I regret having an abortion?
    â€œHello. Why are you sitting over here by yourself?” A strangely familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.
    I turned around and found myself face-to-face with the minister. He wore a white starched collar like a priest and a black old-fashioned Nehru-styled suit.
    I glared at him, throwing all the shade I could muster up. “Why not?” I just wanted to be left alone.
    His face melted into genuine lines of concern. “You seemed troubled.”
    â€œNo, I’m good.” I waved my hand in a “get lost” gesture.
    â€œI didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ve got to leave, but there was something about you. I’d like to give you my card, just in case you need