Deaths of Jocasta (48 page)

“Look, I really appreciate…” I started.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joanne cut me off. “You bring excitement into our otherwise drab existence.”

“Careful, Joanne,” Cordelia said. “You’re starting to sound like Alex. And you’ve only been living together two weeks.”

Cordelia’s car was double-parked right out front. The advantages of M.D. plates. She and Joanne loaded me into the front seat.

“I’ll be by later. Get some rest,” Joanne said, then she headed for her car.

I guess I nodded out. I woke up to Cordelia opening my door in the clinic parking lot. Again she put her arm around my waist and assisted me into the clinic. It was still early, a few voices from the Catholic side of the building, but none of the clinic staff were in yet.

“I’m going to park you here for the time being,” she said, leading me into one of the examining rooms and letting me flop down on the table. Cordelia turned on the air conditioner, then covered me with a sheet.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, my eyes already half shut.

“I’ve got to go on rounds at the hospital. Bernie or…someone usually gets here around eight to open up and turn on the air. You okay until then?”

“I’ll sleep. I’ll be okay,” I made the effort to reassure her. I’d caught the hesitation in her voice. Bernie or Betty.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said, then turned out the light.

I think I mumbled some response, but I quickly nodded out.

It seemed that Cordelia had returned instantly, but I knew I’d been asleep.

“I’m moving you to the storeroom,” she said, helping me off the examining table. “It should be cool in there by now and you won’t be disturbed.”

There was a cot in the storage room. I lay down and Cordelia again covered me with the sheet, tucking it under my chin. She didn’t immediately stand up, looking at me for a moment. For a brief second I thought she was going to kiss me, but instead she straightened up.

“Here’s a blanket, in case you get chilly,” she said, putting it at the foot of the cot.

“I’ll be okay. But…thanks.”

“Get some sleep,” she said, quietly closing the door as she left.

No, I wouldn’t kiss a drunk I’d just watched vomit for half an hour, I thought as I fell asleep again.

I awoke sometime in the middle of the morning. Someone had been in to check up on me, because there was a glass of water on the shelf next to the cot. I was very thirsty, I realized as I drank the entire glass. Too bad they hadn’t left aspirin, too, I thought as I lay back down. My head was pounding. I closed my eyes, hoping it would go away.

When I opened them again, someone was standing next to the cot. Elly. She seemed distant, guarded even.

“Hi,” I said, to let her know I was awake.

She hesitated before returning my greeting. Then she asked, “Did you get my message?”

“Yeah…yes, I did.”

She merely nodded, then turned to walk away.

“Elly,” I called.

She turned to glance back at me.

“Tell Danny…”

“No,” Elly cut me off. “You tell Danny.”

Then she was gone.

I closed my eyes and drifted in and out of sleep until I heard the door open again.

“Hi, you’re awake,” Cordelia said, seeing me watching her.

“Yeah, more or less.”

“How do you feel?”

“I’m…I’ll be fine. This is hardly the first hangover I’ve had.”

“You do look a little better.”

“I couldn’t look much worse. I hope.”

She nodded distractedly, took a half-step to leave, hesitated, then finally turned back to me. “What happened? You didn’t have to sleep with me. Or even talk to me. But you didn’t have to worry me like that.”

“I’m sorry. I guess…I was pretty drunk. And I…needed to be alone.”

“You made me feel like something you had to run away from. That’s not a pleasant way to spend the night.”

“I…don’t have answers. I’m sorry.”

“It hurt me, Micky. I don’t guess you meant to. I hope you didn’t. But I still have to wonder why. If it was something I did. Something I didn’t do.”

“No…nothing.”

“I guess when we’re hurt we want reasons. I guess I do. If it wasn’t me, what was it?”

“I didn’t mean…to hurt…I don’t even know.”

She waited for me to continue, but there was nothing else I could say. She finally said, “Well, let me know when you figure it out,” then turned to go. “If you do,” she added as she shut the door.

“I’m sorry,” I said uselessly.

My head was pounding. I closed my eyes again, but didn’t fall back asleep. I lay still, unmoving, hoping that my headache would ease up.

The door opened and Bernie tiptoed in.

“It’s okay. I’m awake,” I told her.

She was bringing me some fresh water. She scurried off to do my bidding when I asked for aspirin, returning with a whole bottle.

“Thanks, Bern,” I said, taking three.

“Sure, Micky. How are you feeling?” Bernie asked, pulling up a box to sit on.

“I’ve felt better, but I don’t think I’d rather be in Biloxi.”

“You got the flu?” she asked innocently.

“The flu?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“Millie said you were under the weather.”

“More like three sheets to the wind.” I decided to be honest, maybe un-crush her. “This is a hangover. I got very drunk last night.” I gave Bernie the expurgated version.

“Wow,” was Bernie’s comment when I finished. She was quite impressed with my getting rid of the bomb and not at all bothered by my having been skunk drunk. Her crush continued. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“So am I. Don’t you need to get back to work?” Cordelia (and Elly now) might not like my hanging out with baby dykes in a dim storage room. Not to mention the handy cot. Though I suspected I had enough of a headache to keep all of New Orleans celibate.

“It’s lunchtime. Besides, it’s weird in there.”

“Weird? How?”

“Well, you know we got two bomb threats last week.”

“No, I didn’t. What happened?” I took bombs seriously these days.

“Nothing. Just a phone call each time, but nothing happened. And then…well…”

“Yes?”

“Elly’s pissed at you.”

I nodded. I knew that.

“…and she and Cordelia are barely talking,” Bernie continued. “I heard them in Cordelia’s office.” She glanced down at the floor, blushing slightly at admitting to eavesdropping. “Elly said, ‘She had no right to say it. It’s ugly,’ and Cordelia answered, ‘Danny shouldn’t have called her a whore.’ And Elly said, ‘Danny’s got a right, don’t you think?’ And Cordelia said, ‘No, I don’t think so.’ And I could tell she was mad. Cordelia doesn’t get mad much. That was it. Elly walked out. Do you know who Danny is?” Bernie asked. “Elly’s boyfriend?”

My splitting headache stopped me from laughing.

“No, just a friend,” I prevaricated, then changed the subject. “What about lunch? Aren’t you eating?”

“I came in to see if you wanted something. I could run to the store.”

“If you’re going for yourself.” All I wanted was something to drink. A cola to settle my stomach. I added some yogurt so it would look like I was eating something.

Bernie said she was going to the store for herself, although I was dubious.

She returned almost immediately, much too quickly to have gone out.

“Sorry, Micky, we have to leave.” Her expression was somber.

“Leave?”

“Another bomb threat. A letter. Just like those other letters. And since you were really bombed…”

No wonder Bernie was nervous.

“Picnic time,” I said, as I gingerly sat up and swung my legs off the cot. Yeah, I really wanted to go sit out in the hot sun and wait for this building to blow up. Of course, I thought, as I stood up, that was probably better than sitting inside waiting for the building to blow up.

Bernie stood beside me, wanting to help, but too diffident to put her arm around my waist.

Oh, well, let the kid get her very cheap thrill of the day, I thought, draping my arm around her shoulder and letting her steady me.

“You look like death warmed over,” Sister Ann observed as she joined us in the hallway and took my other arm around her shoulders. Between a nun and a nineteen-year-old. I hoped the bomb wouldn’t go off just yet. This would be a hell of a way to die.

“The flu,” Bernie lied for me.

“The Jack Daniel’s strain,” I corrected ruefully.

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of it,” Sister Ann commented.

It was bright and sunny outside. And hot. We aimed for the shade of an oak tree across the avenue. Once I was comfortably ensconced between roots, Bernie took off to fill our lunch order. Millie was talking to some of the displaced patients. I couldn’t see Elly anywhere. Cordelia was down the block, using a pay phone. Sister Ann settled herself beside me.

“Do you do this often?” she asked.

“What? Wait out bomb threats?”

“No. Drink to excess?”

“Well…I’m trying not to.”

She was quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“I…I know I have a problem,” I finally admitted. “I’ve really tried to cut down in the last few months, but…old habits.”

“How old are your habits?”

“I didn’t start drinking the minute I walked into Aunt Greta’s house, but…” I shrugged.

“But?” she questioned.

“But…” I shrugged again.

“Junior high?”

“High school. Sixteen,” I admitted. “I…uh…hung out in bars.”

“At sixteen?”

“I was tall for my age.”

“How could you afford it?”

“I worked and…” I stopped. Was I about to admit that to a nun?

“And?” she probed.

“And I drank very slowly.”

She nodded, her expression neutral.

“What was I supposed to do? Hang out at church picnics?” I demanded sarcastically.

“Well, don’t you think,” she said calmly, “that a church picnic might have been better than trading sexual favors for a few drinks?”

I stared at her, completely nonplused.

“I may be a nun, but I do keep my eyes open,” Sister Ann added.

“A lot of drinks. I did it for a lot of drinks,” I retorted, deciding on defiance. “And I slept around because I wanted to. And I despise church picnics,” I added angrily. “Where’s Bernie,” I muttered. “I’m starving.”

“I have an apple,” Sister Ann offered. “But…I believe it’s on my desk.”

“Well, let me run right in and get it,” I retorted sarcastically. Then by way of apology, “My head hurts. I think the heat’s getting to me.”

“Something is, isn’t it?” Sister Ann commented.

Sometimes the best defense is to be offensive. “How do you know so much about trading sexual favors?” I asked her.

“In this neighborhood, I pass it on the street,” she replied. “I’m a social worker, you know.”

“A do-gooder,” I snorted.

“It’s endemic among nuns.”

“I suppose.” Then bluntly, “Are you a virgin?”

“What do you think?” was her reply.

“I think people who’ve never had sex shouldn’t make moral judgments about those who do.”

“I wasn’t making a moral judgment.”

“Yes, you were. Catholic picnics are better than lesbian bars. You’re just so damned self-righteous you think that’s a fact and not a moral judgment.”

“Do you think hanging out at a bar at sixteen is better than going to a church picnic?”

“Didn’t you tell me you were engaged once? What happened to him? Did you do it?

“Why do you want to know?”

“You have no right to ask me about my sex life, if you won’t talk about yours.”

“All right,” Sister Ann replied. “No, we never did it, as you so delicately put it. I got engaged in high school. I was too young at the time. Of course, I didn’t know that then. He was a very persuasive young man and a few years older than me. He joined the army and served in Korea. Once he was gone, no longer influencing me, I thought about what I wanted out of life. And it wasn’t being married to him. I found God and my life’s calling.”

“Any regrets?”

“No, not really. I hurt Randall when I broke our engagement. He had been injured in the war and lost the use of his legs. He was very bitter about it and always believed I had left him because of it. I had hoped he would understand and we could be friends, but…he never believed that I could really prefer God to him.”

“Ever missed love? Physical contact?”

“Of course. I’m human. But what I’ve gained, the spiritual life, the peace within myself, has more than compensated for what I’ve given up.”

“So we should all bop off and be nuns?”

“No, of course not. I doubt you, for example, would be happy as a nun. I really believe it is a calling.”