JUST ACROSS THE STREET IN NEW YORK CITY, my novel set in the capital of the world, will be re-released February 2, 2022. That’s a Tuesday, and it’s coming up fast. Here’s the 9th installment before the book comes out. Have fun reading.

§§

By the time Marsha got back to the hospital, it was late afternoon. Carolyn was sleeping when she walked in the room.

Toulousa looked up from the book open in her lap. “You’re a week late to be playing Santa.”

Marsha set down the bags she had lugged in on her shoulder. “I was longer than I expected. Thanks for staying.”

“It was no problem to stick around,” Toulousa said, in a quiet voice so she wouldn’t wake Carolyn up. She turned the corner of a page down to save her place and closed the book.

“She’s doing okay?”

Toulousa nodded. “Really, you should have a sleigh. What do you have there?” she asked, watching Marsha reach into the bags.

“I stopped to get Carolyn some clothes to wear when she leaves,” Marsha whispered back. She pulled out two pairs of draw-sting pants, a navy sweater, and two big tee-shirts, one pink and one yellow. “I didn’t know what size to get,” she added when she showed a package of socks and a pair of floppy house-shoes. The last thing in the bag was a 3-pack of lacy black panties, big and sexy.

“So you’re a fashion buyer at Bloomingdale’s,” Toulousa said.

Marsha smirked, “Real funny,” and she opened another sack to display a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, a brush, and hand lotion. “When we caught the taxi last night, we weren’t thinking about what she’d need.”

The last bag she showed to Toulousa didn’t need explaining. Its aroma broadcast French fries and hamburgers. “I haven’t eaten since before dawn,” she said softly. “I thought you might be hungry too.” She passed a burger, a package of fries, and a soda can across Carolyn’s sleeping body to Toulousa. “I hope you like mayonnaise.”

Toulousa felt like swooning when she unwrapped the burger. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she took the first bite. Swallowing she said, “I’m a mustard woman myself, but don’t worry about it. This is great. Thanks.”

The burgers and fries disappeared. Then with a sly expression on her face, Marsha pulled out a tin-foil-covered plate.

“No! Yes?” Toulousa said.

“You know what’s in here?” Marsha said.

Toulousa closed her eyes, “You can’t mistake the smell. Ahhh.” Then she opened her eyes and said, “Dill pickles, right?”

Marsha jerked the plate away from Toulousa.

“I’m joking.” Toulousa said.

“I’m not laughing.”

Toulousa got back on track, “You made chocolate chip cookies.” She looked deep into Marsha’s eyes. “And you’re going to share with me, right?”

“Maybe. Well, yeah, okay,” Marsha said, taking the foil off the plate. “They’re not from scratch.”

Toulousa put a cookie in her mouth, sighing. “My Mamie makes chocolate chip cookies. They’re good, but they’re not this good.”

Marsha glanced at the sleeping Carolyn and asked Toulousa, “Do you cook?”

“I know how, but there are lots of good cooks in my apartment so I don’t have to do much. Just a lot of eating.”

“You’re skinny,” Marsha said, taking a second cookie.

Without looking at Marsha, Toulousa answered, “You’re not fat.”

“Yeah, but I count calories. I have to watch what I eat or I gain weight.”

“I’ve weighed the same since I was 12.”

Marsha nodded and said, “I bet you’re on lots of people’s shitlist.”

“Probably, but not because I’m skinny.” Toulousa started chewing her fourth cookie. She changed the subject then, keeping her voice in a whisper to keep from waking Carolyn. “Did you pay your rent like you said?”

Marsha took another chocolate chip cookie. It wasn’t warm any longer, but it was soft, with lots of chips. “You work with Carolyn, right?” she asked Toulousa, looking across the bed at the Jamaican.

Toulousa nodded.

“At a movie theater?”

Toulousa nodded again and added a smile. “Yeah, the 23rd Street Triplex.” She lowered her voice another notch and leaned forward in her chair. “I know Carolyn’s mother won’t be happy about this baby.”

Marsha harrumphed, “That’s an understatement.”

Toulousa explained that she didn’t know Carolyn’s family details. “All I know is, Carolyn’s scared of her mother. She hasn’t told me that directly. It’s just what I’ve picked up.”

Marsha waved the plate of cookies away when Toulousa pointed for her to take another. “Carolyn would be better off without her.”

They looked each other in the eyes for ten seconds, before Marsha dropped hers to her lap.

Toulousa leaned back and said, “I wish I had milk to wash down these cookies.”

Marsha didn’t reply.

“No, no,” Toulousa said. “I didn’t mean you should have brought milk. I meant I’d eat the whole plateful if I had milk. They’re great. The coke is fine. Better than fine. The whole meal was fabulous. Really. Thank you. How much do I owe you for the food?”

It made her feel good that Toulousa appreciated the trouble she’d gone to for the burgers. “Nothing. You don’t owe me anything. Forget it.”

Carolyn said, “Hamburgers?”

The two women hadn’t noticed Carolyn had awakened.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” Marsha said.

She rubbed her hands gently across her stomach and said, “I’m sore.” Carolyn went on, “Pete hasn’t gotten here yet?”

“It’s still early,” Toulousa answered.

Carolyn turned her head on the pillow. “And Robert?”

Marsha wondered if Carolyn had a second boyfriend. She asked, “Who’s Robert, Carolyn?”

But Toulousa was showing her big teeth. “So you’ve named him. Robert. It’s a big name for a little baby.”

“For now, Bert,” Carolyn said. “Like Bert and Ernie.”

Marsha looked at Carolyn in wonder. Was that how it worked? While a woman slept after giving birth, the right name popped into her head? She asked, “Have you seen him yet?” Carolyn shook her head, and Marsha pushed the call button.

When the nurse came in, Toulousa asked, “Can the new mama meet baby Bert Duffy?”

The nurse looked around the room. She was going to retire in two more years. Until then, working on the maternity ward was a good assignment. “I’ll tell you what,” she said to all three women in the room, “if I can have a couple of those cookies, I’ll see if I can bring the baby here, instead of taking you to him.”

Marsha became the instant hostess, standing up, offering cookies, passing them to Carolyn as well, and promising more whenever the nurse had the taste for them.

In ten minutes, the nurse rolled the glass incubator into Carolyn’s room, and ohh’s and ahh’s started up about the mocha ice-cream colored baby. The nurse took another two cookies. With crumbs on her lips, she told Carolyn that baby Bert was breathing well, and weighed 5.1 pounds, “Not bad for 36 weeks. When he gains a few ounces, he’ll be able to go home.” Then she added, “Tomorrow, when the anesthesia’s cleared out of your body, we’ll get you started with breast feeding.”

Carolyn froze, like she’d been asked to parachute from an airliner. The nurse patted her arm and said, “Mother Nature will take care of everything. Don’t you worry. Now I better take Bert back to the nursery.”

Carolyn watched her baby being rolled out of the room. “Don’t worry?” she said. All she could do was worry. Her fingers clawed at the bed sheet. “What am I going to do when I leave here? How am I going to work and take care of Bert at the same time?”

Carolyn didn’t give voice to her biggest worry: What was Lydia going to do to her and the baby? Marsha and Toulousa were silently chewing on the same problem.

But then the miniature mouth on the face of her baby came back to her mind, and Carolyn forgot about her mother. He’d had his eyes closed, so she didn’t know the color, but his curled-up eyelashes were black.

Marsha broke the silence, “The nurse is right, Carolyn. Don’t worry. Everything will work out. The important thing is, Bert’s doing fine.”

Carolyn felt Toulousa’s hand on her arm. Then her friend said, “I need to go to the theater to check on Joe and Sharon before closing. I’ll come back tonight before I head for the subway home.”

Tears jumped to Carolyn’s pale blue eyes, “You’ve been so, so.…” She couldn’t think of the right word. What had she done to deserve all this kindness? “Thanks for coming,” she said lamely. After good-byes, Toulousa tipped her head to Marsha and left.

§§

“Good-night, Dad,” Fran said. Her flannel pajamas had yellow butterflies darting through roses. “Is it okay if I sleep late tomorrow?”

“No big plans?”

“I just have to finish a Fitzgerald novel before school starts up again. Sherri’s going somewhere with David. The library, I think. Mainly I want to do nothing. Nothing at all.”

“It sounds like a great holiday plan,” Mike told her.

Fran stood behind Mike’s chair and put her arms around his neck. “Are you learning lines for the new play?” she asked.

Mike flipped the pages over self-consciously and patted Fran’s arms. “Yes. Tomorrow afternoon, there’s a read-through with all the actors.”
            “You have to know it all by then?”

“No. Not at all. But I want to get a leg up on the memorizing. 199 pages, and I have lines on every one.”
            Fran leaned down and kissed her dad’s cheek. “When you need me to run lines with you, let me know.”

His daughter had helped him with all his plays, reading lines with him, back and forth, correcting his mistakes, prompting him when he drew a blank. But this play, it was too raw, too … what word would he use? It was art. He knew that. But the level of sexuality was beyond his normal limits.

His director, Lori Vaughn, predicted New York was going to love it, that it’d be sold out every night. Mike translated that to mean the play was too brutal for the rest of the country to accept, and he agreed.

But it didn’t matter because he loved the role. He loved transforming himself into a tough, macho man. It was a version of himself he’d never acknowledged in the light of day. In the dark of a theater, the character had found its home.

But as far as his daughters were concerned, even 17 year-old Fran who watched raunchy R-rated movies without flinching, Mike already knew he wanted to hide the script from them. He didn’t know how to handle it yet. They had watched every play and every indie film he’d acted in. They were his strongest supporters, his best audience. That was opposite to his ex, who ridiculed his theatrical work, just like she belittled all his dreams, he thought bitterly to himself.

Mike kissed Fran’s hand, saying, “Thanks for the offer, Fran. I’ll let you know when I need help. It’s a lot to learn, but maybe it’ll go easily.” He added, “If she’s still awake, tell Sherri ‘sweet dreams’ for me. Okay?”

When Fran was safely inside the bedroom, Mike turned the script pages over. He was at page 12. His character Seth had been escorted from the courtroom to the psychiatrist’s office, which served as the set for the entire play.

The shrink asked Seth to tell her about his formative sexual experiences. Mike read, trying to let the rhythms of the character’s language sink into his mind.

MY FIRST TIME WAS SPECIAL. MOMMY AND ME, WE’D BEEN KISSING FOR WEEKS.

THERE WAS A GUY I KNEW. MURRAY WAS HIS NAME. HE HAD HIS OWN APARTMENT. IT WAS A DUMP BUT IT WAS ALL HIS, HIM BEING OLDER THAN ME. WE WORKED AT THE SAME SITE. I’D BEEN AT THE JOB FOR MOST OF THE SUMMER, WHEN MURRAY SAYS TO ME, “SETH, ANYTIME YOU NEED SOME PRIVATE TIME, YOU LET ME KNOW. MY PLACE IS YOUR PLACE. UNDERSTAND?”

WE’D BEEN THERE, MURRAY AND ME, I MEAN, WE’D BEEN THERE LOTS OF TIMES TALKING OR DRINKING OR WATCHING TV, SO I FELT LIKE I KNEW THE PLACE.

ONE DAY, I PROMISED TO TAKE MOMMY TO SEE “ROSEMARY’S BABY.” YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID? SHE SAID “YES,” BUT THEN SHE SAID, “I BET MURRAY’S PLACE IS REAL COMFORTABLE.” SHE SMILED AND SAID, “MAYBE WE COULD GO THERE AFTER THE MOVIE.”

SHE WAS WEARING HER SPECIAL YELLOW DRESS WITH THE FULL SKIRT AND THE WHITE PETTICOAT UNDERNEATH, AND SHE SAT REAL CLOSE TO ME DURING THE MOVIE AND HELD MY HAND ON MY THIGH, THIS ONE, BECAUSE MY OTHER HAND WAS AROUND HER SHOULDER. I COULD SMELL HER, A SMELL LIKE SOAP AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE, LIKE AIR AND SUGAR MAYBE, A GOOD SMELL.

I HAD TO CONCENTRATE REAL HARD ON THE MOVIE SO THAT MY HARD-ON DIDN’T BURST THROUGH MY JEANS.

WHEN WE GOT TO MURRAY’S, HE WAS THERE. MURRY AND MOMMY TALKED FOR A WHILE SAYING HELLO AND HOW ARE YOU. THEN HE SAID HE WAS GOING OUT FOR THE NIGHT TO WORK.

MOMMY AND ME, WE DIDN’T TURN ON THE TV OR ANYTHING. WE SAT THERE TALKING SOME, NOT VERY MUCH, BECAUSE WE BOTH KNEW WHAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN. YOU KNOW, EVEN WITH ALL EVERYBODY SAID ABOUT MOMMY, ABOUT HER JUGS, I KNEW THAT IT WAS THE FIRST TIME FOR HER TOO. I WASN’T SCARED. NERVOUS, SURE, BUT NOT SCARED, BECAUSE I KNEW I HAD TO BE STRONG FOR HER. SHE WAS JUST A LITTLE THING REALLY.

SHE WAS QUIET AND SOFT. SHE KEPT PUTTING HER HAND ON MY KNEE, TOUCHING ME AND LOOKING AT ME WITH THOSE HAZEL EYES. HER HAIR FELL ACROSS MY FACE WHEN SHE REACHED AROUND ONCE TO KISS THE BACK OF MY NECK. I WHISPERED TO HER,”WE SHOULD GO TO THE BEDROOM. WE’LL BE COMFORTABLE THERE,” AND SHE GAVE ME A NOD.

IN THE BEDROOM, IT WAS DARK. I TOOK OFF HER CLOTHES, GENTLE LIKE, SO SHE WOULDN’T GET SCARED. I DON’T REMEMBER TAKING OFF MY CLOTHES, BUT I MUST’VE. MY EYES WERE ON HER. I DIDN’T WANT TO STARE BUT I JUST KEPT LOOKING AT HER BODY, AND THEN MY BODY TOOK OVER, AS IF I’D DONE IT A HUNDRED TIMES.

The lines weren’t hard to memorize. Mike knew the first few pages before he’d finished two glasses of Scotch. He hoped Lori Vaughn knew what she was doing. The words, of course, were great, but it seemed boring for an audience to have to listen to a long monologue on stage, even if it was a man talking about sex to his therapist.

He turned back to the script of On The Couch. His job was to learn the lines, to flesh out the character. He’d let the director do her job later.

§§

At the Triplex, everything was just as Toulousa had expected. The ticket booth was dark, the last show had started an hour before. Her tall, dark, and handsome brother Joe was behind the candy counter with Sharon. Together, they were swabbing the popcorn cage, to get it ready for the next day. Pete wasn’t in sight.

“Hey there, Bro,” she said to Joe, slamming him a high five. “It went okay?”

Joe nodded and said, “Glad to help out. I’d rather sell tickets than study for exams.”

Wiping her hands on a towel, Sharon added, “It was busy all day, Toulousa. How’s your friend?”

“She’s not dancing yet, but she’s okay. Bert too. That’s what she named the baby.”

Sharon twittered with glee over the name. “Coco can call him Cousin Bert.”

“Pete,” Toulousa said, seeing the young usher coming out of theater # 2. “Congratulations! You must be so excited.” She went over and gave him a hug.

Pete wiped his arm across his forehead. “I can barely believe it.” He wagged his head like he was in a daze. “I’m a dad.” Then he looked up fast and added, “I sure am happy Carolyn’s okay. I was scared.”

Joe gave Pete a slap on his back, “You did your job, providing the sperm. What else is there? Congratulations, man.”

Sharon whacked him with her towel. “You know what else there is,” she said, trying to hide her smile. “Work, work, work.”

Joe’s arm went around Sharon’s shoulders, “Yeah, diapers, tears, bottles, I know. I’ve stuck around because you were cute when you were pregnant. I want to do it again.”

Pete watched Joe and Sharon. “It sounds scary,” he said.

Toulousa smiled, “Oh yeah, it’s worse than Halloween.”