Only 2 weeks until the re-release of my novel JUST ACROSS THE STREET IN NEW YORK CITY. I am excited!

Here is the 10th installment from the book…sorry that the spacing and paragraph breaks are off. They’ll be normal in the book itself. For now, just have a good time “visiting” New York.

§§

Sharon pulled on her coat and said, “Don’t let them yank your chain, Pete. Having a baby is great.” She turned to Toulousa, “Who does he look like?”

She stared at Pete for a second and answered, “I think someone else must be the father. He’s whiter than Carolyn.”

Pete’s eyes got incredibly round. He couldn’t blink.

Then Toulousa laughed. “Just joking. Right now he just looks like a baby, a brown baby. Who knows who he resembles? You’ll see when you get there.”

 Pete gulped, “So you think we’ll be okay, her and me and a baby?”

She looked back and forth between her brother and Sharon. “You’ll be more okay if these guys keep helping out at the Triplex until Carolyn can get back to work.”

“Toulousa,” Joe interrupted, “What’s your boss going to say about you bringing in a couple of strangers to handle his money?”

“Maybe I should’ve phoned him about being short-staffed, instead of calling you,” she said.

But he knew the look in his sister’s eyes. “You think he’s going to love what you did.”

Sharon recognized the light in Toulousa’s brown eyes too. “Mamie is there for Coco. Whenever I’m not working at the YMCA, I’ll help here all I can.”

“So let’s start counting money and get outta here,” Toulousa said.

“I’ve got to stick around to lock up,” Pete said. “The hospital will let me in after midnight?”

“I’m going back to tell Carolyn goodnight. I’ll alert them that you’re coming. After all, it’s YOUR baby.”

When Toulousa arrived again at St. Vincent’s Hospital, Marsha was snoring in the chair next to a sleeping Carolyn. But they woke up to the sound of Toulousa rattling a sack of Tasti-Creme donuts.

After hearing about the record-high ticket sales at the Triplex and downing two chocolate donuts with sprinkles, Carolyn’s forehead wrinkled with worry. “You’ll explain to Max why I missed work?”

Toulousa waved her hand in the air, to shew away Carolyn’s thoughts. “No problem. I think you’ll be able to take as much time off as you need, with your job waiting for you to return. I have a plan that Max won’t be able to turn down.” She patted Carolyn’s hand as she stood up. “Pete should be here soon. He was checking the theaters when I left.” She shook her head and her dreadlocks swung out. “He was one excited man when I told him about Bert. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 “I’m leaving too, Carolyn. You made it a memorable January 1,” Marsha said.

Carolyn’s forehead wrinkled again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. It was great. We gave birth to a baby together.” Marsha’s tired face blushed, and she added, “You did all the work.”

Toulousa looked across the bed at Marsha. The dark circles under her eyes showed how exhausted she was. Toulousa guessed Marsha was almost 40 years old. She didn’t wear a wedding ring or any other jewelry except tiny gold studs in her ears and a watch that was too big for her wrist. If she put on make-up and got some sleep, Toulousa thought, she’d be attractive.

At the exit to the hospital, in the dark, as the holiday traffic went by, Toulousa ripped a sheet from a notebook in her big bag and started scribbling on it. “Here’s my name, and the phone number at my apartment. I’m putting the Triplex number on it too.” She handed the paper to Marsha and said, “She’s going to need help figuring out how to manage everything.”

Marsha nodded. She understood what Toulousa was saying. Maybe they could join forces to get Carolyn out from under her mean mother’s thumb. “Okay,” she agreed, passing her business card back to the black woman. That was the most her tired mind could formulate to say.

§§

Lori Vaughn sat at the head of the rectangular table, her arms crossed over her chest. Her assistants, Angela Herrick and Billy Barton flanked her, and six actors filled in the other places.

Mike didn’t show off that he had memorized the first 50 pages. He stayed low-key, just reading, getting familiar with the other actors. The woman who had the role of Mommy was probably 25, but she was small-boned and short, with a light, lilting voice. She could pass for 14 with the right clothes and make-up, except she was built with boobs that would make a porn queen proud. The actor who’d play the ditch-digger’s older friend Murray sat next to the one who had the role of the psychiatrist. There was a young man to play the court-room guard, and a woman who would do two roles, the judge and Seth’s parole officer.

Vaughn’s gray-blond hair was in a knot at the top of her head, held up by a yellow #2 pencil. When the man playing the guard raised his voice and pounded his fist on the table, Vaughn interrupted to say, “Let’s just keep it a read-through today, Mr. Fontaine. We’ll get to the acting later.” At one point, she asked them to pick up the pace. Otherwise, she stayed silent, taking notes.

Her sidekicks didn’t say a word. Billy Barton stroked his goatee like he was imagining sets, props, lighting, and costumes. Angela Herrick scribbled notes on a calendar, then numbers on a spreadsheet during the 2 hour rehearsal.

By the end of the session, Mike had a good idea of the personalities of his new colleagues, as well as the characters in the 200-page play. He felt like he was riding a cloud of ecstasy during the afternoon. There wasn’t any reason for him to be so happy, so focused, so in his skin, except that he loved acting. And after the read-through, he was convinced this was the role of a life-time. His character never left the stage. He was the star.

Lori Vaughn wrapped up the session with a small speech, “The first six weeks, we’ll rehearse three nights a week. Know your lines by February 1. If you have any problems, tell Angela, and we’ll see how we can work things out.”

Mike was putting on his coat, when Vaughn came up to him. She stood straight, her shoulders back, without a smile. “Seth’s a big role, Mr. Levine,” she said to him.

Mike smiled, still floating, and told her, “I’m glad to be working with you.”

She took a beat, like she was considering her next words. Then she said, “I have some ideas about how to make your performance really powerful.”

Mike’s ears perked up. This could be his chance to transform into an actor with honed skills and technique. “Anything you suggest, I’ll do my best to follow through with it,” he told the director seriously.

She smiled, revealing her small, shining teeth for the first time. “I’m glad to hear that. I want you to come by my loft. Show up at 9:00 tonight. I’ll give you a private acting lesson.”

He left the Off-Center Theater in a daze. He was sure she’d said she would give him an acting lesson. But what he heard was she wanted to fuck him. It was her tone, her limpid eyelids, the way she shrugged when she gave him her address. Mike knew these signals.

He arrived at his apartment with two pizzas for dinner. After he’d eaten with Fran and Sherri, Mike asked if they were okay with him leaving for an hour, because the director had some notes to give him from the rehearsal.

Bathed, freshly shaved, with fresh jeans and shirt, Mike kissed the forehead of both girls as they settled in to watch a DVD of Ghostbusters. Sherri shook her finger at him and said, “Be home by 11 or you’ll be grounded for a week.”

He saluted her and said, “Yes, mam,” then headed to Dwayne Street.

§§

When Lori Vaughn opened the door, she was wearing a man’s white shirt, unbuttoned, and nothing else. His instincts had been right. Her greying hair was the same color top and bottom, but her body didn’t have a loose muscle on it.

He moved the few inches that separated him from the woman and kissed her. “Like I said, Madame Director, anything you say, I’ll do.”

“Let’s start with champagne,” she said, letting him follow her to the end of the loft where the futon bed was. She handed him a flute, filled it with bubbling liquid, and said, “If you want more, you’ll have to convince me.”

Mike chugged the champagne and pushed Vaughn back onto the bed. He didn’t need more champagne to become the master of the situation. 15 minutes later, Vaughn made a cry, like a woman keening over a lost child. She shivered, and directed, “Again.”

This time, her shiver came slower and almost tossed him off the bed, but he held her tight, waiting until her cry stopped. The tension in Lori’s body collapsed.

After ten minutes of silent, exhausted breathing, Lori Vaughn sat up on the damp bed, pulled on the white shirt, and said, “I knew it would be a good rehearsal.”

Mike tried to hide his smile. “Do you have performance notes for me?” he asked.

“You can try the Meisner technique next time,” she replied, standing up. “You’ll come again?”

He reached for her and said, “I loved coming with you.”

She stepped away before he could kiss her, saying, “Oh yes. You’ll be great in the role.” Her little teeth showed in a smile. “But now, why don’t you get dressed. I’ll see you at the theater at the next rehearsal. Don’t be late.”

He wasn’t used to being dismissed after sex. He was usually the one who did the dismissing. But it didn’t make any difference. He was flying high. His director thought he was enough of an actor to take him to bed. Mike suddenly saw himself as a successful stage actor with the celebrated Lori Vaughn as his director. He could get laid anywhere. Feeling like a successful man was not so easy.

Going home, he imagined telling his employees at Liberty Tax about Lori. Maybe they had seen her name in the newspaper. He could describe her gray-blond pubic hair. He would tell them she was prettier than the miniature headshot in the paper. The tale-telling was just a fantasy. He didn’t talk to people at Liberty as if they were friends. He joked with them, talked about clients with them, occasionally drank with them. But that was the limit.

His daughters knew a few general things about his dreams, fears, and happiness, but he certainly was not going to talk to the girls about Lori Vaughn.

He wouldn’t talk to the other actors about her either. Instinctively, he knew the relationship would be over instantly if the cast heard about him and Lori. He wasn’t sure what kind of relationship it was, but he wasn’t going to put his role as Seth in On The Couch in jeopardy by doing something stupid like telling sex stories.

With images in his mind of celebrities applauding his stage performance, Mike got home before his curfew.

§§

Marsha was dreaming about a baby floating in a basket down the East River, when a buzzer woke her up. It took her a minute to remember where she was. She opened one eye and looked at the clock beside the bed. 10:28. The sun was up, so it must be 10:28 in the morning.

The details of the previous day took form, bloody Carolyn, the taxi ride, the hospital, the cookies. Marsha sat up, both eyes wide. “Fucking shit,” she said to herself. “The cookies.” The batch of toxic cookies was still in the kitchen, covered, waiting to be delivered upstairs.

She had one leg out of bed, and the buzzer sounded again. It was the building’s front door. In bare feet, Marsha went to the intercom and pushed the button, “Yes?”

“We’re trying to get hold of Carolyn Duffy,” a voice said.

Marsha wondered who could be asking for Carolyn on Saturday, the day after New Year’s Day. “Hers is the middle buzzer, the one that says Duffy,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

She was heading toward the bathroom when the buzzer sounded again.

Marsha used her most pleasant voice with the intercom. “Yes?”

It was the same man’s voice. “Mam, we’re with the NYPD. No one answers the buzzer for that apartment. Do you know where we can find Ms. Duffy?”

“NYPD?” Marsha repeated.

“Yes, mam.”

Marsha ran through her options. She could do what she was supposed to do, get their badge numbers, and confirm their identity by calling 911, before buzzing them into the building. Or she could keep it simple.

She knew she looked terrible, swollen eyes and limp hair, but simple sounded good. “Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

She tossed her laundry in the air, piece by piece, the clean things mixing in with the dirty, until she found her sweatpants. Marsha pulled them on, stuffed her nightshirt into the waistband, threw on her ski jacket, and stepped into her slippers. It felt like a familiar costume. She didn’t take time to look at herself.

She unlocked her door, stepped into the hallway, and went to the building’s front door. She opened it, and yes, two uniformed officers stood on the stoop.

“May I see your badges?” she asked.

The taller cop answered by tapping his shield on his chest. “I’m Officer Jones. And this is Officer Tobias. Can you tell us where Carolyn Duffy is?”

Marsha wondered if every day of 1991 would start with a crisis at her door. She wasn’t feeling cooperative, and answered the policeman by saying, “Yes.”

Officer Jones did not roll his eyes. Instead, he kept his cool and continued, “Will you tell us the information about Ms. Duffy?”

“You can ask her mother. She lives one floor up.” Marsha stood aside in the doorway to let the officers pass.

Officer Tobias spoke up, “Who are you?”

“Why do you need to know?” Marsha asked, defensively.

This time, Jones couldn’t keep a poker face. His eyes lifted to the sky with impatience. “Mam, there’s been an accident. We’re trying to find Carolyn Duffy to inform her about an accident.”

“An accident?” Marsha asked.

“What’s your name?” Tobias asked again, taking a notebook out of his coat pocket.

Marsha could tell she wasn’t managing the situation well. “I’m Marsha Winston. I live here, on the 1st floor. Carolyn and Lydia Duffy live in the next apartment up. They own the building.”

Jones dropped his head and repeated himself softly, “Where is Carolyn Duffy?”

She thought for a minute, but couldn’t find any good reason not to tell the police what she knew. “She’s in the hospital.”

The two cops looked at each other, then back at Marsha.

Marsha lifted her shoulders and said, “What? She’s in St. Vincent’s. Really. She had a baby yesterday.” Her morning brain was starting to click into gear. “What accident?”

Jones said, “We need to talk to next of kin before saying anything more. Thanks for your help, Ms. Winston.”

Marsha couldn’t tell whether his last words were sarcastic or not.

Jones and Tobias turned to leave.

“No wait,” Marsha said. “You can’t go tell Carolyn some kind of bad news without any warning. It was an emergency Caesarian. She lost a lot of blood. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Sorry. We can’t do that,” Jones said.

“You’re going to the hospital?” she asked.

Tobias nodded. “Thanks for the information.”

They moved to the sidewalk.

Marsha couldn’t guess what kind of accident would involve Carolyn as next of kin. She only knew Pete’s first name, but maybe Bert’s daddy was hurt. Mugged. Murdered. Where did he live? She didn’t know. If Carolyn learned that her beloved had been in a terrible accident, she might roll over and die. How would she ever raise Bert alone?

Marsha ran out of the building in her slippers and caught up to the cops, grabbing at Tobias’ elbow.

He swung around with a glare, jerking his elbow free.

“I’m coming with you,” Marsha said. “Carolyn should have someone with her when you talk to her.”

Jones’ eyes rolled up to the sky again, and Tobias snorted, running his eyes up and down Marsha.

She remembered what she was wearing, that her hair was uncombed and her teeth unbrushed. “Please. Please. Give me one minute to put on shoes and get a purse. Please. It was a traumatic birth she went through. Let me go with you.”

Tobias took a step away, but Jones said, “You’ve got one minute. Hurry.”

Marsha didn’t think about more than shoes, purse, and locking the door. From the back seat of the police car, she repeated, “I’ll be more help if I know about the accident. Tell me what’s going on.”

Jones and Tobias ignored her during the five minutes to St. Vincent’s. Inside, Marsha led the way to the maternity floor.

Toulousa was in the room, sitting next to the hospital bed reading a book. Carolyn was staring at the sleeping, miniature baby in her arms.

Marsha saw Carolyn’s eyes roll open in panic when the police followed her into the room, a nurse bringing up the rear.

“It’s okay, Carolyn. They gave me a ride here,” Marsha said. She knew it sounded crazy, but it was what came out of her mouth. She was jumpy, afraid that the police would upset Carolyn, and then…, then, she didn’t know what would happen then. Maybe Bert would stop breathing or Carolyn would choke on her own tears. She didn’t know how to take care of a hysterical new parent. She almost hoped Pete was dead instead of maimed. Maimed could mean a miserable future.

The nurse walked to the bed, smiling. “You did okay with the feeding?” she asked.

Carolyn nodded, and Toulousa said, “She’s a natural.”

The nurse stroked Carolyn’s head before stroking Bert’s. “I’ll bring him back to you in a couple of hours,” she said, gently lifting the baby from Carolyn’s arms.

Then it was Jones’ turn. He stood where he was and said, “You’re Ms. Carolyn Duffy?” Carolyn didn’t answer and didn’t blink. The cop knew he had the right person, and he went on, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Ms. Duffy, but there’s been an accident.”

No one in the room breathed. Toulousa took Carolyn’s hand in hers. Marsha didn’t know what to do with herself.

Carolyn’s eyes teared up, and she turned to Marsha, “Pete didn’t show up last night. I knew something terrible had happened.”

Marsha went close to give Carolyn a hug.

“It’s your mother,” Jones went on.

“My mother?” Carolyn repeated.

“Her mother?” Marsha said.

Toulousa spoke, third in line, “Her mother?”

§§

“It was a car going the wrong way on 7th Avenue, driving north fast,” Officer Jones said.

Tobias took over, “We have the driver in custody. We don’t know yet why he was driving so crazy.” He looked down at his feet.

Carolyn was still holding her breath.

Toulousa spoke up, “And Ms. Duffy?”

Jones said, “She was crossing the street.” He put his hands in his pockets.

Finally, Tobias said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Duffy. She didn’t make it.”

Marsha’s mouth dropped open. “Lydia Duffy is dead? How can that be? I saw her yesterday.”

Carolyn shifted her eyes to Marsha and said, “You saw her?”

Toulousa asked the cops, “You’re certain it was Lydia?”

The two police officers seemed more comfortable talking to the black woman wearing a red and green striped sweater than to the disheveled woman they’d brought from West 22nd or to the fat woman in the hospital bed. Tobias explained to Toulousa, “The victim had her purse with her and a cart full of groceries. She must’ve been coming from the market.”

“She was dead at the scene,” Jones added. “There was nothing anyone could do, but she was brought here, to St. Vincent’s.”

They both offered their condolences for the bad news and left.

Carolyn dropped her head back on the pillow and closed her pale blue eyes, with tears sliding down her face. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks and croaked out the words, “I need Pete. Where’s Pete?”

Marsha looked at Toulousa, repeating the same question with her expression. Toulousa shrugged and said, “He’s not answering his phone.”

“But I thought he was supposed to be here last night?” Marsha asked.

Toulousa gave Marsha a hard look trying to get her to shut up, but Marsha kept on.

“What could keep him from coming to see his baby? Carolyn, you must be devastated. Pete should be here. And now, your mother?” Marsha looked at Toulousa who was turning her eyes to the ceiling, the same as Jones the cop had done. “Carolyn’s been through a shitload already. How much more does she have to cope with, after what she’s been through?”

Carolyn lifted her head and looked back and forth between Marsha and Toulousa. “It’s real? Mother is .…”

Toulousa continued patting her hand and said, “It’s too much to take in, Carolyn. We’ll check it out. The accident, I mean. And we’ll find Pete, don’t you worry.” She was using musical tones like a southern preacher, soothing and soft, instead of cracking jokes. She took a deep breath and added, “Maybe it was her time, Carolyn. I’m sorry.”

Toulousa’s words reminded Marsha about the poisoned chocolate chip cookies sitting on her kitchen counter, waiting to be delivered to her landlady. She was flooded with gratitude that Lydia hadn’t answered the door to take the cookies.

“What am I going to do?” Carolyn moaned, putting her face in her hands not able to hold back the tears.

Marsha pulled her mind back to the conversation to say, “Bert’s going to be the love of your life, Carolyn.” She didn’t continue her thought – that it was fabulous timing for Lydia to die. Instead she said, “The baby’s the important thing.”

Toulousa murmured, “There’ll be plenty of time to figure out what happened and what you have to do.”

Carolyn hiccupped between her cries, “Pete. Pete.”

Marsha cradled Carolyn, “We’re here with you.”

Toulousa asked Marsha, “Are you going to stay here a while today?”

Marsha nodded, “I’m off work until Monday. You?”
            Toulousa spoke to Carolyn, “I’m sorry but I need to go to the Triplex to get the work schedules straightened out, but I’ll be back.”

“You’ll find Pete? You’ll get him here?” Carolyn coughed out between sobs.

Toulousa stood up, gathered her books and bag, kissed Carolyn’s forehead, and left the room, cocking her head to Marsha to come to the hallway for a few private words.

Face to face in the hallway, Toulousa said, “I have a terrible feeling about Pete.”

Marsha cocked her head, “What do you mean?”

“He’s an 18-year-old kid. Anything could have happened to him.”

Marsha’s jaw dropped open. “Bert’s dad is 18 year’s old? What was Carolyn doing with….”

Toulousa interrupted her. “When I saw him last night, he said he was coming to the hospital after he locked up the theater.”

“Could he have gotten caught in a drug bust?” Marsha asked. “Or his dad beat him up?”

“Or he had math homework to finish?” Toulousa said sarcastically.

“Okay, I get it.” Marsha said, “I’m stereotyping the guy.”

“Maybe he was hit by a car, like Carolyn’s mother,” Toulousa said. Then a glint came into her black eyes, and she added, “She’s got a home now without a mother hanging on her neck. That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

Marsha stayed silent, but she totally agreed.