Summary: Men are being strangled and propped on the john, a lipstick kiss on their foreheads. Detective Blair Sandburg is determined to stop the murders. He's also determined to get Jim Ellison into his bed.
Warning: A bit of underage, although it will be mostly implied. Also, there's a touch of bestiality.
Notes: Chapter 1 of this was originally No Way to Treat a Sentinel. The following chapters were No Way to Treat a Guide. This is based on the movie, No Way to Treat a Lady. Therefore, there will be minor character deaths. It was released in 1968, so some of the action will reflect that. The authors mentioned wrote Tarzan of the Apes and John Carter of Mars, Doc Savage, John Kenton who sailed the Ship of Ishtar, and Alan Quartermain who searched for King Solomon's Mines. The first line of the story Blair reads is taken from The Moon Maid by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Monday, Monday was written by John Phillips and performed by The Mamas and The Papas. The Greta Garbo Home for Wayward Boys and Girls is courtesy of Manfred Mann. "There's a holdup in the Bronx, Brooklyn's broken out in fights, etc." is the theme from Car 54, Where are You? The Dr. Seuss book Mrs. St. Paul is reading is Horton Hatches the Egg.
Acknowledgements: Thank you t Kat, Tony, and the NY Public Library for help in finding the census for Manhattan Island for 1968. And, as always, many thanks to Gail, who is a beta par excellence.
Passing Through the Night
Chapter 1
Part 1
Naomi, my mother, always told me, "You can be whatever you want to be, sweetheart."
When I said, "I want to be an anthropologist, Mama," she smoothed my curls and pinched my chin.
"All right." Although clearly she had no idea what an anthropologist did. I could have told her I wanted to be a doctor, soldier, or Indian chief, and she still would have said, 'All right.'
In the beginning, though, I was just a kid who had no father and whose mother was a dancer.
That was always said in a sneering tone. She wasn't a Rockette, and she didn't dance at clubs like the Copa. She danced in places that smelled of spilled beer and cigarette smoke and other things. It didn't pay too well, but it put food on the table, as she liked to say. She was working now at the Scarlett Slipper, and the tips were the best they had been.
I'd taught myself to read at a really young age, but Naomi was the only one who knew that. She left True Confessions and Hollywood Confidential magazines scattered around the crappy little apartments we had, and I learned from them.
Naomi was a good mother, even though she'd never married my father. When Old Man Mankowitz came to her, complaining that he'd found me in the back of his used book store, hiding from the cops he'd said, she'd snarled at him, "My boy has no reason to hide from the cops. Did he take anything, destroy any books?" Mankowitz reluctantly shook his head. "Then get out of my house."
After Old Man Mankowitz had left, she'd gotten a sad look on her face. "This neighborhood is no good for you, sweetheart. We'll have to move."
So we did. Again. She finally found a furnished apartment between Lexington and Third. It was larger than the furnished apartment we'd left, and I'd have my own room. The best thing about that was that I wouldn't have to sleep on a lumpy sofa in the parlor. There was also a bathroom. In our last place there had been a toilet at the end of the hall, and everyone on the floor had to share it.
The staircase was located at the front of the building. I'd finished the climb and was carrying a box with the last of our belongings down the hall to the apartment when I saw a short boy hovering by the doorway. He was about my age, with the biggest blue eyes, and blond hair that was curlier and longer than mine.
"Hello." He smiled shyly.
"Hi."
"You're new here." He studied me. "You have the same color eyes as I do."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. They're blue."
I nodded. "This box is getting heavy. Wanna see my room?"
"I'd like that. Thank you." He was very polite.
"Come on, then. I'm Blair."
"I'm Butch," he said quickly.
We went down a short corridor. To the right was the kitchen, and further down on that side was the bathroom. My room was just across the hall, and Naomi's was at the end.
"Oh. Your room is … small."
I looked around in surprise. "You think so?" There was a bed and a chest of drawers. Only Naomi's room had a closet, but that was okay, I didn't have enough clothes to need one. I put the box beside the bed.
"I live in 202. It's at the front of the building. Would you care to see my room?"
"Sure. Ma? This is Butch."
Naomi was just coming in with bedding to make the bed.
Butch approached her with his hand outstretched. "How do you do, ma'am?"
"Hello, Butch. Call me Naomi." She smiled at him, shifted the sheets to her other arm, and shook his hand, and I could see him fall in love with her.
"Is it all right if I go see his apartment?"
"It's right down the hall, ma'am." He blushed.
"Okay. Not too long, though, Blair. It's almost dinner time, and then you'll need to unpack."
"Okay."
Butch and I left my new home and started down the hall.
"This is where I live." He opened the door, and we stepped into a room that appeared larger than our whole apartment. "This is the front room."
"My head! Keep your voice down, Reginald!"
I looked around to see who she was talking to, but it was just me and Butch.
"And close the door!"
"I'm sorry, Mother." All the shades were drawn, and the room was dim, but not so dim that I couldn't see the dull red in his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize… "
The woman lying on a sofa had a white cloth over her head. She sat up, holding the cloth in place, and looked over at us, her expression clearly unhappy. "Who is this?"
"This is Blair," Butch said. "He and his mother just moved into 206."
"That matchbox." She frowned at her son. "Don't make any noise. I have a splitting headache."
"No, Mother."
"It was nice to meet you, Missus."
"Oh, my word, a greenhorn!" She shuddered and sank back on the sofa.
Naomi had taught me to be polite to women, even if they weren't ladies, so I didn't blow a raspberry at her.
"What is your last name, Butch?" I whispered.
"Dandridge."
"Mine's Sandburg."
"Reginald, *please*!" For someone with a splitting headache, she had sharp ears and a cutting voice.
He sighed and led me out of the room. His shoulders were slumped, and I patted them. "It's okay. Grownups can be like that." My nose twitched as we passed the kitchen. "Something smells good." It reminded me that it had been a long time since lunch.
"Thank you. That's the pressure cooker. I made beef stew." I wasn't surprised he knew how to cook. I'd had to learn how myself. "Mother doesn't care for beef stew – she says it's bourgeoisie – but that was all we had in the house. She'll go to General Delivery tomorrow if she's feeling well enough, and get the check, and then we'll have money for food she thinks is more appropriate for us." He opened a door at the end of the corridor. "Are you going to say something about my name?"
"Nope. You wanna be called Butch, that's okay by me."
"Thank you. I like it much better than Reginald." He smiled, a sweet smile. "This is my room."
It was larger than the room that Naomi had said was mine. There was a bed covered with a white bedspread – and I wondered how Butch kept it so clean – a dresser, a desk and a chair. The late afternoon sun splashed through the two high windows. Under them was a wide bookcase filled with books.
I let out a long, low whistle, keeping in mind his mother. "Can I look at your books?"
"Sure!" Butch brought the chair over, but I sat cross-legged on the pale, oval rug that covered most of the floor. He hesitated, then sat beside me. "Er… I'd ask you to join us for dinner, but Mother doesn't allow guests. I'm sorry."
"That's okay."
"What are you having for dinner?"
"Dunno. Depends on what Naomi can find at the corner store."
"You call your mother by her name?"
"Sure."
"Oh."
"How come your mama is going to General Delivery? That's for mail. It isn't a bank."
It was a few seconds before he responded. "She's sent a check every month." His lower lip quivered, and he looked away. "My… my father doesn't want me. He sends Mother money to keep me away from him."
"The bastard!" His head whipped around, and his eyes were enormous. I'd picked up some choice words from the boys who ran the streets in my old neighborhood. "You look like a good kid, Butch. I don't understand why your father wouldn't want you for his son."
He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and blew his nose. "Thank you. Mother won't talk about it, so all I know is that he lives in Virginia, I think."
"You don't have an accent."
"I was born in Richmond, but we never lived there. We've lived in Washington, DC, Philadelphia, and Boston before we moved here. What about your father?"
"Naomi says he was a soldier." He'd been out of the picture since before I was born.
"Did you ever meet him?"
"No. He was killed on Iwo Jima." If anyone asked, that's what she told them.
"Doesn't it bother you? That you'll never get to meet him, talk to him?"
"I've met a lot of people. Not meeting one more won't make much of a difference. Besides, what good does it do anyone if I let it bother me?"
"But he was your father!"
"But he's not here. It's just me and Naomi. I'm not going to cry over it."
"You're not?" He seemed surprised, as if it had never occurred to him that while there were some things a kid had no control over, he could control his reaction to them.
I was getting uncomfortable. "Uh… The Bobbsey Twins, Butch? Not to be rude, but these are kind of sissy books."
"Those are Mother's choice. She thinks they're suitable reading for impressionable minds." His blue eyes danced, and it was as if we hadn't just been having a serious discussion. "These are my books! Mother doesn't know about them." He moved the other books aside, and behind them were authors I hadn't seen in the little storefront libraries I'd visited in the various neighborhoods we'd lived in.
Edgar Rice Burroughs, Lester Dent, A. Merritt, H. Rider Haggard.
I took a book out. On the dust cover was a scantily clad, very well-endowed young lady. She rode what appeared to be a centaur who brandished a wicked-looking spear. Intrigued, I opened it and read the first sentence of the prologue.
I met him in the Blue Room of the Transoceanic Liner Harding the night of Mars Day – June 10, 1967.
The date caught my eye. This took place in the future!
I took out another book, and another. Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. Man of Bronze. Seven Footprints to Satan.
"These are wonderful!"
"Would you like to borrow them?"
"You wouldn't mind?"
"No. That's what… what friends do, isn't it?"
I smiled at him. "Yeah, that's what friends do."
We sat there for a while, and he talked in fits and starts, as if he wasn't used to having someone he could talk to. His mother was disappointed in him. She'd wanted a daughter. If his school hadn't objected, she'd have kept his hair in long ringlets.
Abruptly I realized I was having a hard time distinguishing his features. I glanced up at the windows, to see they were darkening. "Oh, no! I'd better get home."
Butch got up and turned on a lamp.
"Thanks for letting me borrow this, Butch."
"You're welcome, Blair. I keep a journal," he told me, "like they do in Dracula. The book, not the movie. This was such a great day! I'm going to write about meeting you. I always write about the things that make me happy." I wondered how many entries there were in his journal. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"I don't know. Naomi and I are going to get me enrolled in the school a few blocks over."
"My school is uptown." We tiptoed past the supine figure on the sofa.
"That stinks. It would have been nice to have a friend there. Listen. Would you like to come to my apartment for dinner? Whatever Naomi is making, I'm sure there's enough for you."
His face lit up, but then he deflated. "I can't. Mother doesn't like waking up to an empty apartment."
"Well, maybe you can come over after dinner tomorrow night? We can do our homework together. Thanks again for the book. I'll get it back to you as soon as I finish it."
"There's no rush. I'll see you, Blair." He closed the door, and I walked down the corridor, thinking about what to tell Naomi.
I entered our apartment and locked the door behind me. "Ma?"
"I'm in the kitchen, sweetheart." A pot of water was boiling on the stove, and Naomi was opening a can of tomato paste.
"Spaghetti? Great."
She smiled at me. "So. Did you have a nice time with Butch?"
"It was interesting. His name is really Reginald. Reginald Dandridge. His mother seems to have these horrible headaches… "
"Poor woman. Nana suffered from those. I remember the rags soaked in vinegar that she'd have on her forehead…"
"I guess. He let me borrow a book." I held it up.
"No wonder why you were late. The table is all set. Go wash your hands."
I put the book on top of the icebox, went to the sink and washed my hands, then sat at the small table.
"Ma?"
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"Butch and his mother are alone, just like we are, but she doesn't have to work. He told me that she goes to General Delivery every month and picks up a check."
"That's interesting." She put a plate of spaghetti in front of me.
"Yeah. I think it's a swell idea. If you go to General Delivery and get a check, you won't have to work any more either."
"Blair… "
"I'm kidding, Naomi." I gave her a big grin. She smiled and reached across the table to pat my hand. "Butch's mama is getting that money from his father." I didn't ask if she would have accepted money from my father.
"I guess some people just don't get along together."
"Butch says it's to keep him away from his father, that his
father doesn't want to see him."
"Who told him that?"
"He said his mama did."
"That witch!"
"I think that stinks, Ma. Butch misses him, even though
he's never seen him. I mean, my papa is dead, so I don't expect to see him walk
up the front steps. But Butch's… "
"Blair, do you want me to give you a new papa? I can get married and do that if
you want it very much."
"No, Mama."
She looked relieved. "Now, why don't you get unpacked? Once that's done, you can take a bath and then read a bit before bedtime. I'll have to leave for work in about an hour."
"Okay." Her boss had told her she could take the night off because of the move. Of course, she wouldn't be paid for the time she wasn't dancing. I really wished she didn't have to work so hard. I took the plates to the sink, washed and dried them, and put them away in a cupboard.
"Hi, BaaBaa." On top of the dresser was the stuffed lamb Naomi had given me when I'd been born. I had slept with it when I was little, but now I was too big for something like that.
I put my clothes away in the dresser and went into the bathroom. Naomi had run the tub for me. I was a little hesitant to step into it. I'd never had a bath before.
The water rose to a little above my waist, and I liked the warmth that surrounded me.
I looked down and saw the shape of my body wavering in the water.
"Don't dawdle, sweetheart. I want you out before I have to leave."
"Okay, Ma." I washed my hair first and ducked it under the water, then soaped up the washcloth she had draped over the faucet and started scrubbing.
Once I was clean and dry, I pulled on my pajamas and went into my room. I was just hopping into bed when Naomi came in with The Moon Maid.
"You left this in the kitchen."
"Thanks, Ma."
"You're welcome, sweetheart. I'm leaving now. You'll be okay?"
"Yes, Ma."
"Pleasant dreams." She hugged me and kissed me goodnight, turned on my bedside lamp and snapped off the overhead light. "Not too late, now. I have my alarm set early so I can go with you to school."
"Okay. Have a good night, Ma."
She smiled and left my door open.
I listened to the sound of her footsteps as she crossed the apartment, shut the door behind her, and locked it. Then I opened the book and began to read.
It wasn't long before I began to feel sleepy, so I used a piece of paper to mark my page, got up to make a last check of the apartment, then went back to bed. I switched off my lamp, pulled the covers over my shoulders and turned on my side, and thought about the boy who lived at the front of the building. I fell asleep in the middle of wondering what it must be like to have a mother like his, and being thankful that I didn't.
The next day Naomi walked me to the public school I'd told Butch about. She handed my records to the secretary, then smiled and kissed my cheek. "I have to go now, Blair."
"I'll see you later, Ma." I watched until she opened the door to the stairwell and I couldn't see her any more.
"Wait here. I'll give your records to Mrs. Short. She's the vice principal." Within minutes she returned to her desk, smoothing a grimace off her face.
A large woman in a dowdy dress with flowers all over it came out of the office. Her salt and pepper hair was in tight pin curls, and twin circles of rouge stood out on her cheekbones. She was holding my records and frowning at them.
"This is obviously incorrect. You're seven and a half. You belong in the second grade." She led me down a flight of stairs to the second floor, to a classroom at the end of the corridor. She tapped on the door, then motioned the teacher out.
"You have a new student. Blair Sandburg."
"Hello, Blair. I'm Mrs. Edgerly. I'm so happy you'll be in my class." She was young and pretty and enthusiastic, unlike other teachers I'd seen who'd been worn down by overcrowded classrooms and lack of supplies.
"Hmmph." Mrs. Short turned on her heel and walked back to the stairwell, her stride almost militant.
My new teacher touched my shoulder. "If you'll come in? Everyone, this is Blair Sandburg. He's new here, so let's welcome him."
There were some muffled 'hi's'. I wished Butch were here. At least then I wouldn't have been so alone.
"Hang up your jacket, then take that desk there." Mrs. Edgerly pointed to a desk in the back of the room and returned to the blackboard where she listed synonyms, homonyms, and antonyms. I'd taught myself about them, but I pretended to be interested to be polite.
The bell rang for lunch. "All right, children, put your work away and line up at the side of the room. Blair, would you mind waiting, please?" After the room emptied, she returned to her desk, and I joined her. "Did you understand what I was teaching?"
"Yes," I remembered Mrs. Dandridge's reaction, "ma'am."
"Explain it to me, please?"
I did. She began to question me about arithmetic, and then had me read from first a 2B reader, then 3A, and finally 4A. When I'd finished, she was clearly puzzled.
"Why were you assigned to my classroom, Blair? You're obviously on fourth grade level."
I shrugged. "I'm not old enough."
She looked startled. "Hmmm. All right, go have your lunch."
I found the cafeteria and ate the lettuce and tomato sandwich I had made for myself. Just as I was finishing, an older kid who had to be an eighth grader approached me. "Are you Blair Sandburg? Come with me. Mrs. Weston wants to see you."
"Who's Mrs. Weston?"
"She's the principal."
I threw away my trash and followed him through the corridor and up the stairs to the third floor. The vice principal frowned at me as I walked past her and into the principal's office.
Mrs. Weston was somewhere between her vice principal and the second grade teacher. She was dressed in a gray suit and wore shoes that matched. There were crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, but I had the feeling they were from smiling and not frowning.
"Thank you, David." She waited until we were alone before she spoke to me. "I understand you're quite bright."
I kept my mouth shut. I'd heard that before, or variations of it, and it always prefaced flying fists.
"Sit there."
So I sat 'there', a student's desk probably used for detention, and I took tests and answered questions, and by the end of the day I'd been promoted to the third grade.
"I can't, in good conscience, put you in the fourth grade, Blair. However, you'll see me after class every day for additional instructions."
"Mrs. Weston, my mama works nights. After school is the only time I really get to see her."
"Very well, then. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and during your lunch hour. Now, go back to Mrs. Edgerly's room and get your coat. Class is over for the day."
When I got home, I told Naomi all about it.
"How do you feel about being in school so much, Blair?"
"It's only a couple of hours three days a week, Ma."
"All right. But if it gets too much, I want you to tell me. You can stop whenever you want."
But the thought of not learning bothered me more than staying after class.
****
Naomi and I fell into a routine. I made my own breakfast and lunch, and left a pot of coffee on the stove for when she woke up. I'd walk home after school, and she'd have dinner ready.
While I did my homework, she'd get dressed for work. "Don't stay up too late, sweetheart." She'd kiss my cheek and leave.
Often Butch would come over, and we would do our homework together. I studied hard and got the highest grades in my class, and at the end of that school year, I was skipped another grade. And then another.
I'd read all of Butch's books, over and over, and I started going to the library on 42nd Street. It had books the little store front libraries I'd used didn't have space or patrons for.
As I got older, I got a job selling newspapers on the corner.
Naomi wouldn't take the coins I'd earned when I tried to give them to her. "Save them, sweetheart. I want you to go to college, just like your cousin Franklin."
Franklin was her sister Rebecca's son. Uncle Asher had been 4-F, had worked in the Brooklyn Navy Yard through the whole war, according to Naomi, and was still working there, insulating the big ships. She didn't like him too much, and Aunt Rebecca always found something to criticize. Franklin, the few times I'd seen him, had been nice, but he was wrapped up in his studies. He wanted to be a surgeon.
Going to college would be nifty, but I knew it would be hard for Naomi to pay my tuition, so I put everything into a tin box I kept in the top drawer in my dresser.
It was different with Butch. His mother didn't want him doing anything menial.
He stood with me on the street corners a couple of times, but I could see he was uncomfortable doing that, so I stopped asking him.
"After I graduate high school," he told me one evening when we'd put away our books and were talking about the future, "Mother will probably make my father pay for college."
That was the only time I ever envied him a father.
Part 2
It was a rainy Saturday in the late fall. Butch and I had spent the afternoon at the movies, and now we were home. I'd walked him to his apartment. The shades were drawn and the lights were off. His mother was lying on the sofa, the white cloth over her forehead.
"I'll see you later?" I whispered.
"Yes. After dinner? We can go up to the roof?" His lips were puffy, and I couldn't take my eyes off them.
"Okay."
The hallway was empty, and I leaned in and kissed him quickly. His eyes were bright with happiness and just a touch of anxiety at what his mother might do if she ever found out – and I was familiar enough with her to understand it. He shut the door, and I went to my apartment.
"Blair?" Naomi called from her bedroom. "I'm in here, getting ready."
I went down the hall and hung on the frame of her bedroom door. She did her makeup at home. The lighting was better, she said.
"Hi, sweetheart." Naomi met my eyes in the mirror above her vanity and smiled at me. "You're home late, aren't you?"
"We watched the movies twice."
"I kept a plate for you in the oven."
"Thanks. Uh… Mama?"
"What is it?" She stopped in the careful application of her makeup. I hadn't called her 'Mama' since I was seven years old.
"I think I may have a problem."
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
"No. But I think maybe I'd better."
She put down her eyebrow pencil and turned to face me. "Then talk to me, sweetheart."
"Something happened this afternoon." I swallowed and licked my lips. "You know today is Saturday."
"Yes." She didn't get impatient at the obviousness of my statement.
"And Butch and I go to the matinees every Saturday." We'd sneaked up to the balcony. It had been closed, as it usually was on a Saturday afternoon.
"Yes."
"They were showing three movies today. And Then There Were None, The Most Dangerous Game, and The Island of Doctor Moreau."
"Oh, my. Not exactly my choice of movies. I begged your Aunt Rebecca to take me to see The Island of Doctor Moreau when she went with her friends, and I had nightmares for weeks. 'What is the law? Not to spill blood. That is the law. Are we not men?'"
I gave an uncomfortable laugh. "I know what you mean. When they dragged Doctor Moreau into the House of Pain… " I shuddered. "Butch was practically … um… sitting in the same seat with me."
Butch had actually been in my lap, his head buried in my neck. My arms had come around to hold him, and I'd stroked his back and whispered, "It's okay, Butch. I'm here."
And it was a good thing the balcony was empty, because he'd turned his head, and his lips had brushed over my neck. His breath had been hot on my skin, and I'd found myself not only with a lapful of friend, but with a hard dick as well.
I tried to shift so my dick wasn't digging into his ass.
"Blair?" Butch couldn't help but feel it.
I opened my mouth to say I was sorry, and then his mouth was on mine.
The movie finished, and a Tom and Jerry cartoon came on, and we necked through it. And after that, And Then There Were None started again, and we spent the rest of the movie exploring each other's mouths, and then The Most Dangerous Game as well.
"Uh… Mama, I kissed Butch. In the balcony. And… and… " When it was over, while they were showing the coming attractions and the matron shooed us out, scolding us because we shouldn't have been in the balcony – usually we didn't get caught – we went to the boys' room. We'd washed our hands, taking our time, and when the last few boys had left, when it was empty, we'd kissed again.
I licked my lips again, wondering if they were as puffy as Butch's had been, wishing I could still taste his kiss.
I watched Naomi through my lashes, but she didn't say anything right away.
"Mama?"
"You know people say nasty things about me."
I nodded. "Because you're not married but you have me."
"Yes. And also because I take my clothes off in front of strange men. I don't
want people talking about you like that."
"They won't!"
"If they find out that you kissed another boy, they'll say even worse things."
I hadn't thought of that. "Why should they care, Mama? We're not hurting anyone."
"What do you want me to tell you?"
"That it's… That I'm not… That Butch won't… " I sighed. "I don't know, Mama."
"Do you intend to do it again?"
"Are you going to tell me I can't? I shouldn't?"
"I just want you to be careful."
I worried my lip. "After dinner I'm meeting him up on the roof."
"Blair. Butch is your friend. He's the same age as you, but… He can be so easily hurt. Don't hurt him. Don't hurt yourself."
"I won't, Mama. I promise."
She stood up and came to me, held me. "I don't think Mrs. Dandridge will be as easy-going about this as I am. Is Butch going to tell her?"
"Jeepers, no! And if she finds out… " I shuddered. I didn't want to think how my best friend's straight-laced mother would react to us keeping company.
Keeping company. I liked that phrase. It was grown-up.
"Well, Butch can stay here if he needs a place to stay."
"Thanks, Mama."
"Go eat your dinner. And Blair. A gentleman, a real gentleman, doesn't kiss and tell. I expect you to be a gentleman. Don't tell anyone about what you and Butch do, and don't push Butch to go faster than he wants."
"No, Mama." And I went to hurry though dinner so I could meet my friend on the roof.
****
Butch never wanted to go as far as I did, but that was okay. He was my best friend. I remembered what Naomi had said. I was willing to settle for kisses and the occasional handjob or blowjob.
I came home from high school one day to find Naomi staring at a piece of note paper. She held it out to me. "This was under the door. It wasn't in an envelope."
"What?"
"I don't want you thinking I'd opened your mail."
"I'd never… " I scanned the pale blue paper. I'll be in touch as soon as I can, Curly. R
Curly. That was his pet name for me, because my hair was a riot of curls, even curlier than his, especially when it was cut short.
"What does he mean, Mama? He'll be in touch? Where did he go? Why did he sign it with an R?" I felt as if I'd been hit by a steamroller.
"They're gone, sweetheart. Butch and his mother have just… just gone. Mrs. Pelligrino said she went to collect the rent, and Mrs. Dandridge told her they were moving out."
"He didn't even say goodbye. He didn't leave an address. How can I find him?"
"I don't know, sweetheart." She put her arms around me and hugged me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought Butch was the one who needed to be looked out for, taken care of, but it was you."
I never knew what happened – if someone had seen us and spilled the beans, if his mother had gotten suspicious of Butch always doing his homework in my apartment – even though we never did anything there – or if she'd just got tired of lying on that fucking sofa.
I found a Virginia telephone book in the library and dialed every Dandridge in it, but it was useless.
For six months I fucked anyone who looked interested – who looked like Butch – and then I got tired of giving blue-eyed blonds what he hadn't wanted. I buried myself in schoolwork. By the time I graduated, I had an additional year's worth of college credits under my belt.
And the hurt had lost its intensity.
****
I applied for every scholarship I qualified for, and some that maybe I didn't. There was one for Children of Iwo Jima Combatants. It wasn't much, but it covered my books. I lived and ate at home, and the part time job I had evenings and weekends at The Starlight Lounge, the exclusive club on 33rd Street where Naomi danced, paid for the clothes I needed.
While I cleaned off the tables and emptied the ashtrays, I'd move to the music, copying the moves the girls made.
They didn't interest me in a sexual way, which was good. I didn't think I could have coped – watching my mother dance on that stage and knowing I had a hard-on.
Sometimes, when we were hosting a bachelor party, or if a fraternity came into town to blow off some steam, I'd get my ass pinched or fondled. I'd raise an eyebrow to see if they were serious about their offer, and if they were, sometimes I'd take them up on it. I'd either let them go down on me in the john, or if the joint was really jumping, take them out to the back alley and fuck them up against a wall.
In my sophomore year at NYU, I was offered the opportunity to accompany Professor Eli Stoddard on a field trip to Peru.
Professor Stoddard was visiting from Rainier University, which had one of the most comprehensive anthropology departments in the country.
Only three others out of that class had been selected to go with him to study the indigenous tribes of the Amazon where it flowed into the Peruvian rainforest.
"If you can do this, Sandburg, I'll mentor you at Rainier."
"Professor, I can't afford Rainier."
"I'll see you get a scholarship and a job as a teaching assistant to cover incidentals."
That was an interesting way to describe food, clothing, and housing.
I found Naomi at the Lounge and told her about the trip and the professor's offer.
"I'm sorry, Blair. I can't even supply half the cost." There was no way her paycheck, even with tips, would cover our living expenses as well as this field trip. And even though I'd been able to add to them on occasion, the sad little mound of coins in the tin box wouldn't do much either. "I'm afraid you'll have to forget the trip this time."
It wasn't easy for a seventeen-year-old to earn two thousand dollars in six months, but this seventeen-year-old intended to do just that.
I'd heard through the grapevine that a friend of a friend's brother ran an escort service, and he was looking for young men. I tracked him down.
"I need a job that will earn me enough money to go to Peru in six months," I explained to Neil.
"Well, this is one that'll do it. Peru?"
"It's a field trip for my anthropology studies."
"That's a college course, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I like smart boys who are willing to work." He looked me up and down, fingered my brown hair that was a curly cap on my head, tipped my chin up and studied my blue eyes. "Y'know what an escort does, kid?"
I opened my mouth, but he interrupted me.
"Let me clarify that. Do you know what an escort who works for me does? He doesn't take girls to the prom or ladies out to dinner. He accompanies gentlemen who prefer the company of young men. And that means into the gentleman's bed. That's what you'd have to do. Think you can?"
"Neil, I'm butch." I could see my chances of going to Peru fading fast.
"I've got some clients who prefer that, and right now, I don't have a boy for them." He studied me carefully. "Show me what you can do."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I'm your date." He led me to his back room and pulled a Murphy bed down from the wall. "We've had a lovely dinner, gone dancing, and now we're back at my place. Seduce me. Make love to me."
By the time we were done, I lay sprawled on the bed, panting, amazed by the things he'd taught me.
It took him a few minutes to catch his breath. "You're a firecracker, kid. I can definitely use you."
"Then yeah, I can do this."
"Okay, Firecracker." He kissed the corner of my jaw. "You've got the job. I think you'll do good in this business. Now, the calls come through me. I set up your dates, and you give me a quarter of your take for that. If your client wants to tip you, you keep all of that. No need for me to get greedy."
I told Naomi what I'd done, and she sighed and shook her head. "Be careful, Blair."
"I will, Mama. I promise."
She kissed my cheek and left for work, a garment bag over her arm that contained the costume she'd put together and was going to try out that evening, feathers and sequins and fringe that shimmied and danced.
I was lucky. Neil ran a straight business, so-to-speak. His clients got what they wanted, his boys got to keep most of what they earned, and he made us see a doctor every week, which made sure we stayed healthy.
I earned the money I needed and more with a couple of weeks to spare. I was going to Peru.
****
What Professor Stoddard called our base camp was going to be set up in the town of Iquitos, on the Amazon River, near the Peruvian border with Brazil, so we could study the Aguaruna, Shipibo, and Mayaruna tribes.
"What about the Chopec, Professor?" I asked him as we all piled into the donkey cart that would take us from Lima to Iquitos. There was no airport, and the roads didn't treat automobiles kindly.
"Unfortunately, we're too far north."
The first night in Iquitos, he assigned us roommates. Toby Morgan, one of the three other students, shared a room with me at the youth hostel, and once we were in the field, we shared a tent also. He had short brown hair and green eyes, and was two years my senior.
"This is the first time I've ever been away from home," he told me as he carefully examined the drawers that were his.
"Looking for something?"
"Insects. Tarantulas, scorpions, stuff like that." He seemed satisfied the drawers were uninhabited, and emptied his suitcase.
I glanced at a hole in the corner. I could just see whiskers poking out and twitching, and I grinned and shook my head.
"I… uh… I really like girls." He'd been stealing peeks at me when he thought I wasn't looking.
"That's okay by me, Morgan. I hope you get laid."
"Have you?"
"Have I what? Gotten laid? Yeah."
"But you're younger than I am." He sounded so aggrieved.
"Go to sleep, Morgan." Wearing just boxers and an undershirt, I got into bed. I had no problem falling asleep – because of that lumpy sofa in the parlor, I could sleep anywhere and on any surface.
I was having an unusual wet dream. It wasn't unusual that I dreamt of my cock being sucked, but in this dream it was by someone who didn't really know what he was doing. I winced as his teeth scraped the underside of my cock. "Ouch!" And I woke up to realize it wasn't a dream.
My roommate had his mouth on my body. Between sucking kisses to my ribs and navel and hips, he muttered, "Gorgeous eyes, gorgeous hair, gorgeous body…Let me… please, let me… " His words became inarticulate and incoherent, and he tried to take my cock in his mouth again.
"Toby." I touched his cheek.
"You're awake!" He pulled back, his eyes enormous in the early dawn light that was filtering through the wooden blinds.
"It's okay, I don't mind. Just watch your teeth, okay?"
"You really don't mind?" He looked like he was ready to cry.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"I don't know what I'm doing. I hurt you."
I grinned at him. "I'll show you, and then you can try again." I pushed him gently onto his back and showed him how to do it, how I liked it done.
It hadn't been my intention, but after that, he followed me like a puppy, more than willing to be my slave. I had to admonish him to be careful. He could have wound up with a roommate who was homophobic.
"That wouldn't have mattered. I wouldn't have done anything in that case. It's you I wanted to try this with."
Which was flattering, but… "We're away from home, and things are different. Once we get back, this will be all over."
"I know. I understand. But until then… " And he struck a pose on his bed, fluttered his lashes, and laughed when I threw myself on top of him.
Picking up new languages had always been easy for me. Naomi and I had moved from one neighborhood to another, and I'd learned to speak Italian like a wop, German like a kraut, Spanish, French, Polish, Russian, even a smattering of Chinese. It didn't take me long to pick up Quechua, one of the languages of Peru.
Time passed quickly, and we were starting to think of ourselves as bona fide anthropologists.
There was one last expedition before we would leave for home. This would take us deep into the jungle. There were rumors of a people who worshiped the jaguar as their god.
Our knapsacks were packed and at our feet, and Toby and I waited for the other students to turn up.
"Sandburg! Morgan! Jensen! Has anyone seen Henderson?" They came pounding out of the hostel. "All right, gentlemen. This is the trail we'll follow." Professor Stoddard opened a map that looked as if it were a million years old, and pointed to a winding pathway that headed north and east.
Part 3
I'd always thought I had a good sense of direction, but maybe that was just because I knew my way around Manhattan.
Somehow, in the Peruvian rainforest, I became separated from Toby, Professor Stoddard, and the others.
Somehow, I could never remember how, I lost my knapsack, my knife, and my way.
There was rustling in the underbrush, and I grabbed up a broken branch to use as a weapon and backed away slowly. There were jaguars and other predators in this jungle.
A band of men seemed to appear from nowhere.
"I am Incacha, shaman of the Chopec," the one in the lead said in Quechua. "We will help you. Here. You must be thirsty."
I accepted the water gourd he offered, wondering what Chopec were doing so far north.
"Thank you, Incacha. I am very thirsty." I answered in the same language, and he nodded in approval. "I am Blair Sandburg." I introduced myself belatedly. The gourd didn't contain water, as I'd expected, but a sweet liquid, almost like nectar. "I must get back to my friends. They'll be worried."
That was the last thing I remembered saying.
I came to in a hut with the world's worst headache and a sore shoulder, and with the sense that time had passed. I just couldn't tell how much.
A white man walked into the hut. Although his skin was tanned enough to make him look like a Chopec, he was taller than the natives, and his eyes were blue. "I thought you'd wake up about now."
"Who are you? Where am I? Why was I brought here?" There was an awful taste in my mouth. "How long have I been here?"
"You're just the other side of the Chopec Pass. You were brought here because you needed to be taught."
"Taught what?"
"Here. This will make you feel better, Blair." He handed me a gourd with some milky liquid.
"How do you know my name?"
"Drink this."
I hesitated, remembering that the last time I'd drunk an unfamiliar liquid I'd been rendered unconscious.
"It's all right. It's safe to drink."
"Why should I believe you?"
"No reason, but if you want to get back to your friends, you'll do as I say."
I sniffed the liquid, then stuck my finger in it and licked it. It tasted like coconut milk. Reluctantly, I raised the gourd to my lips and drank. Something must have been added, because in a matter of seconds my mouth no longer tasted as if something had died in it, and I was feeling almost well enough to wrestle a jaguar, although my shoulder was still sore.
"Come." He exited the hut, apparently having no doubt that I would be right behind him. Which I was. "When you meet Enqueri, tell him Jack Pendergrast is well and thinks fondly of him."
"Who's Enqueri?"
But he was gone.
"Shaman."
Automatically I turned to face the Chopec who spoke. It was Incacha. There was
an aura of power around him that I hadn't seen – or hadn't been able to see –
the first time I'd met him. His smile was satisfied, and he nodded.
"You will remember little of this, Shaman," he told me, "but one day you will recall it all." Little of *what*? *What* would I recall? "And you will be good for Enqueri."
Again with 'Enqueri'. "Who is Enqueri?"
He just rested his hand on my shoulder, the one that wasn't sore, and smiled at me. "Go now. These men will see you safely back to your friends, but the journey is not a short one."
They launched canoes into a river and began paddling.
"Where are we?" I asked in Quechua.
"This is the Ucayali."
"But where was your village?"
They waved behind them, and when I pressed for more information, clearer information, they suddenly couldn't understand the way I spoke their language.
Finally I gave it up.
Traveling mostly by river, but then on foot, it took some days to get back to the department of Loreto, the part of Peru where Iquitos was.
The men smiled at me. "Your path lies there, Shaman. Farewell." And they faded into the brush, backtracking to the river.
I started walking north and east. There was a knife in my belt, and a gourd of water around my neck. In less time than I'd expected, I was walking into Iquitos.
"Blair! Blair!" Toby ran toward me. "Jesus, I thought you were dead!"
"Stories of my demise have been exaggerated."
He laughed and grabbed me and pounded me on my back. I flinched.
"What's wrong? What's the matter?"
"Dunno. My shoulder is sore, is all."
"Ah, Sandburg. You're back." Professor Stoddard sauntered across the road. I expected him to be having a conniption fit with one of his students missing for however long I'd been gone, but he was taking it quite calmly. "I knew you would be. A friend sent me word, you see. What's this on the back of your shirt?"
I twisted my head, but all I could see was a vague outline in red. I tried to ease the material off my shoulder, but it was stuck. When I freed it, Toby gasped and Professor Stoddard's eyes grew wide.
"My, my, my. You've got yourself tattooed. It's Chopec, by the look of it. Very … interesting."
I blinked at the wolf on my shoulder. So that was why it had been sore.
"Well, I suggest a meal, a shower, and a day's rest, and then it's back to work."
"Yes, sir. That sounds like a good idea."
"I'll get you something to eat, Blair."
"Thanks, Tobe. Maybe later?" Food could wait. "I want to get cleaned up." I felt as if I hadn't had a bath in forever.
I hated being cold – Naomi and I had spent too many years in cold-water flats – but the heat and humidity of the rainforest and the trip upriver had me desperate for a cool shower.
The bathroom in the hostel was at the end of the hall. There were a number of shower heads to accommodate the residents.
I stripped off the clothes I'd worn and left them in a heap on the tiled floor.
A look into the fly-specked mirror above the sink had me shying back. I'd never seen myself look so scruffy and haggard. Five o'clock shadow that seemed closer to midnight, cheekbones that stood out in relief from the hollows beneath them, and bags under my eyes that could have contained all the clothes I'd brought with me to Peru.
I forced myself to take the time to shave, using soap and the razor that was lying on the sink. There were still streaks of lather on my cheekbones, on the point of my chin, on my adam's apple. I rinsed off the razor and turned on the shower, then stepped under the spray.
The water was tepid, and I groaned in relief as it poured over me. I washed my hair and let the spray rinse out the suds. Then I scrubbed my arms, chest, legs, ass, but I couldn't reach my back.
"Blair," the voice was tentative, "do you need some help?"
"Toby." I'd been so intent on getting clean that I hadn't realized I wasn't alone.
"Your back… Let me help you. You're almost dead on your feet."
"That's one way to put it." I gave a short laugh. "I could use a hand."
I wondered if he'd strip off his clothes and join me under the spray. He didn't. Instead, he pushed up his sleeves. "Step back a bit, okay?"
That made sense, I thought muzzily. He'd get all wet otherwise.
I did as he asked, and he stroked the soapy washcloth carefully over my shoulders, then my back and waist.
"All done. Rinse off."
I shuffled forward and braced my palms against the slick tiles of the wall. The water drizzled down on me, and I stared at the suds that whirlpooled down the drain.
The washcloth was wrung out and hung up, the faucet twisted off. "Come on. Let's get you dried off and in bed."
"Toby…"
The soft kiss I was half-expecting was pressed to the shoulder that wasn't marked, followed by a rueful laugh.
"I think you need sleep more than you need anything else." He dried my body while I dried my hair. I felt as if I were about to fall asleep standing up. "I'm so glad you're back safe. Lie down."
We were in the room we shared. I had to be more tired than I had realized for him to get me there without me being aware.
I sprawled out on the small bed, and I thought I heard him whisper something, but I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I dreamed of the jungle, of a wolf and a jaguar running side by side. They came to a halt in a cool clearing, and the jaguar licked the wolf's shoulder, earning himself a lick across his muzzle.
When I awoke the next morning, I felt much better, my shoulder no longer sore. On the dresser were two tiny figurines, a wolf and a jaguar, crafted of wood native to the southeastern portion of Peru.
"I found them in your pants pocket, Blair." Toby was lounging against the doorframe.
"Thanks, Tobe."
"Are you feeling better?"
"Yeah." I opened the dresser and pulled out clean clothes.
"What are you going to do with the clothes you had on when… "
"Burn 'em."
He gave a bark of laughter, until he realized I was serious. "Oh. Okay. Well, I've gotta get to work."
"Yeah. Thanks." I picked up the wolf and stroked it. Then I did the same with the jaguar. Beside my bed was my knapsack. Someone must have found it. I put them in an inside pocket, dressed, and went down to have breakfast.
Professor Stoddard was the only one around. He was sitting at the table, digging into a huge plate of scrambled eggs.
"Blair. You're awake. Sit. Eat."
"Where's everyone?"
"Oh, busy."
A plump mestizo woman came bustling out of the kitchen. Her long skirts swirled around her ankles. "Seńor Blair." She placed a large mug of coffee before me and a platter of warm tortillas to the side.
"Gracias, Juanita."
"Da nada. I bring you huevos revueltos now."
I waited until she left. "Professor, what happened to me?"
"Why I… I was hoping you could tell me."
"I don't remember anything." I raised the mug and took an incautious gulp, almost scalding my mouth from the heat.
"Don't you? Now, I find that very intriguing."
"You weren't worried about my absence?"
"No. As I told you, I was informed… "
"Who informed you, Professor?"
"Beg pardon? Oh," he waved his fork, scattering bits of egg onto the table, "just an acquaintance."
"An acquaintance?" There was a name at the edge of my mind. I couldn't remember much leading up to the time I'd just spent on the Ucayali, but I remembered the name. "Jack Pendergrast?"
"Why, yes. How did you… Did you meet him? Oh, that is excellent! You must tell me all about your experiences… Oh, no, that's right, you can't remember."
"So you just took someone's word that I'd be returning?"
"I don't like your tone of voice, Sandburg." His fingers tightened on his napkin. "As I was saying, Mr. Pendergrast informed me you would be returned to us shortly, and the authorities need not be notified."
"How shortly is 'shortly', Professor?"
"It's been just a tad over three weeks."
"Three weeks?" That meant this was sometime in late September. We'd be leaving Peru soon.
Just then, Juanita brought my eggs, and again conversation came to a halt. She made sure salt and pepper and other condiments were at hand, then returned to the kitchen.
"I must say, Sandburg – I'm quite intrigued by that tattoo on your shoulder." It was obvious he wasn't going to tell me anything else on that score.
"I didn't realize it was there until you mentioned the mess my shirt was."
"How is it feeling now?"
"Better."
"I'd like to see it."
For some reason, I didn't want him looking at my wolf. I decided to change the subject. "What did you find regarding that tribe that worshipped el tigre?"
"Now, you know, it's the most amazing thing…" And he was off and away.
After we finished breakfast, he took me to the shed in which we'd stored our finds, quite excited about what they'd discovered in the time I'd been… elsewhere.
The other students were there. "Hi, Sandburg."
"You're back."
"Lucky devil to be chosen to spend time with that tribe. Tough shit you can't remember it, though."
"Yeah, that was a waste. Shoulda picked me, Professor. *I* wouldn't have forgotten!"
"Now, now, gentlemen. These things happen. Henderson, why don't you bring Sandburg up-to-date on our findings."
In a matter of minutes, it was as if I hadn't been gone at all.
****
The area around Iquitos had two seasons, wet and wetter. The end of the wet season, the Peruvian Amazon's version of the highlands' dry season, was only a week away, and we hurried to get everything wrapped up.
It was time to go home.
"Quickly, quickly, gentlemen. Time and tide, you know."
Toby and I were in the room we shared, packing our suitcases. "We won't be able to do this any more when we get home, Blair."
I was aware of that. We actually hadn't done anything in the time since I'd returned to Iquitos. He seemed to have lost the desire to sleep with a man, and I had lost interest.
"Are you going to avoid me if… when we meet back in NYU?"
"That's up to you, I'd say." The gift I'd chosen for Naomi, a beautiful dress in a starburst of vibrant colors and decorated with beads and feathers, was wrapped in a soft linen cloth to protect it, and I placed it in my small suitcase.
"If my parents ever found out… Or my friends… "
I snapped shut the suitcase, set it on the floor, and swung my knapsack onto the bed. The books I'd brought as sources of reference and the notes I'd taken would go into that, as well as a linen pouch that contained semi-precious stones – serpentine, red jasper, rose quartz, tiger's eye.
"Blair, I do like girls."
I shrugged and slipped the knife that had been with me since my return upriver into the knapsack, along with the figures of the wolf and jaguar.
I looked around the room. "I guess this is everything."
"I guess it is. Let me help you with that." He reached for the knapsack.
"It's okay." I swung it up onto my shoulder. "I'm fine now."
Professor Stoddard and the other students were waiting for us in the puddled street in front of the hostel.
We rode in the cart from Iquitos back to Lima, and from there took the flight to Idlewild. The others were excited, crowding around Professor Stoddard's seat and discussing the various things they'd learned.
I put my seat back and wondered about the weeks that were missing from my time in Peru. I felt Stoddard's eyes on me, but when I glanced across the aisle, he quickly looked away.
It was a smooth flight, but all-in-all, I was relieved to set foot on US soil once more.
I caught a cab from the airport and returned home.
There was a close, musty smell to the apartment.
"Mama?" I put my suitcase and knapsack on my bed and searched the apartment. It was empty. On the table in the kitchen I found a note weighted down by the salt shaker.
Blair —
I'm here to pick up some things for Aunt Naomi. She got sick suddenly and was rushed to Bellevue. I called the consulate in Lima, but they didn't seem in too much of a hurry to track you down. I sent a telegram too, but I don't know when you'll get it. Mama's been staying with her --
Black spots began to dance at the edge of my field of vision. My birth was the cause of the breach between the sisters. If Aunt Rebecca was at Naomi's bedside, my mother had to be dying. I dropped into a chair and got my head between my knees in time to prevent myself from passing out.
After some minutes I was able to continue reading the note.
Mama's been staying with her, and Papa has been coming down on the weekends. I've been looking in on her when I can. He was doing his residency in Bellevue. Her doctors have told me the crisis still hasn't passed. Get here as soon as you read this.
Frank
There was no date, and I had no idea how long it had been lying on the table.
I crumpled it in my hand and threw is aside, then ran down to the street. My cab was long gone, but it didn’t matter. It would be quicker to get to the hospital on First Avenue by taking the subway anyway.
The guard at the door gave me a sharp look as I barreled in, but he must have recognized my desperation. Working at Bellevue, he must have seen a lot of that.
I rushed to the front desk. "Please! Can you tell me where my mother is?" I asked the receptionist. "Naomi Sandburg."
She thumbed through what looked like a ledger. "Ah. She's in 742. They'll direct you at the nurse's station on that floor. She already has two visitors. One of them will have to leave the room. Please don't run."
"No, ma'am." But I took off for the elevator running and got in just as the doors were sliding shut. I jabbed the button for 7 as if that would make the doors close and the elevator rise faster.
On the 7th floor, I was told to go to the end of the corridor. 742 was on the left.
Ever after I would associate the odor of disinfectant and illness and bedpans that hadn't been emptied with that time.
It was a four bed ward. The beds to the right were empty, but the ones on the left …
Naomi was lying on the bed nearest the door. Her eyes were closed, and she looked so small, so frail. I went toward her.
"Don't wake her, Blair. She's sleeping." It was Aunt Rebecca. She glared at the occupant in the other bed, whose back was to us. "Finally."
"What happened?"
"We don't know."
"How bad is it?"
"We don't know. Franklin can probably tell you. He's somewhere in the hospital. Where have you been? He tried to reach you."
"I just got home. I got down here as soon as I read Frank's message."
"Jesus, can't a woman get any sleep around here?" The woman in the bed next to Naomi's glared at us, then started hacking. She swung her legs over the side and fumbled for her slippers. "I gotta have a smoke."
"You can't smoke in here!" Aunt Rebecca's voice was almost strident. There was an oxygen tank at the head of the bed.
"I know it. Old bat," she muttered as she shuffled out of the room.
"Witch." Naomi was awake. "You'd think someone with lung cancer would know better than to keep smoking."
"Mama!" I wanted to throw myself at her, but instead I bent over her and held her carefully.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Her hand rested my hair, but the gesture was so weak.
"Why, Mama? It wasn't your fault you got sick."
"I… I can't work. There won't be any money to pay the rent or … or to help with the post-graduate semesters…Rainier is so expensive…"
"It's all right. I… I changed my mind about going there anyway."
"You have?"
"Yeah. As a matter of fact, I've changed my mind about college completely. As soon as you're better, I'm gonna look for a job."
"No, no. You've always wanted to be an anthropologist."
"I found out I don't like sleeping in a tent."
"Oh, sweetheart… " she whispered.
"After all this time you change your mind?" Aunt Rebecca demanded. "Do you know how your mother worried about getting the money for tuition? She even came to us to…"
"Rebecca, this is between my boy and me. Stay out of it."
"Not when you come back to the family after all those years, like a beggar of mercy, and for this ungrateful …"
"Mama, you didn't ask them for money, did you?"
"Yes. They're family."
"But the scholarships!"
"It was before we knew about them – you wanted it so badly, sweetheart, I didn't see any choice."
"Mama, you didn't have to…"
"The least you could do is show a little gratitude, you… "
"Rebecca. Enough." Uncle Asher? I was surprised he could take a stand against his strong-willed wife.
Aunt Rebecca grumbled but subsided.
"Throat's so dry," Naomi rasped. I poured her a glass of water, propped her up, and held the glass while she took a sip through the straw.
"Mama, it will work out all right." I decided I'd drop the subject of her going to her sister for money for now. "I'll think of some way to support us both."
Mom waved the glass away and leaned against me wearily. "Why don't you and Asher get something in the cafeteria."
"That sounds like a good idea, Rebecca. Come on."
"Asher, I'm trying to talk to my sister."
"Naomi hasn't seen her son in four months. Let's see if we can find Franklin. I'm sure he can tell us more about Naomi's condition." He hustled her out of the room.
"Thank goodness," Naomi murmured.
"Yeah." I could see she was uncomfortable, so I plumped her pillow and turned it over so the cooler side would be up, then eased her down. "I can't understand how you and Aunt Rebecca come from the same mother."
"Behave, Blair."
"I really wish you hadn't gone to them for money, Mama." Well, so much for that resolve.
Naomi opened her eyes, the same blue as mine. "I'm your mama. I should be taking care of you."
"You always have. Don't worry about it. I just want you to get better."
"Blair." Her voice was surprisingly firm. "I don't want you working for Neil. Promise me."
"Mama, you saw how much I made in six months, and that was only goofing off. If I was serious about it…"
"No."
And I knew the conversation was over. I could have gone behind Naomi's back, but – I couldn't have gone behind her back.
"Okay, Mama. I promise."
"Hey, cuz!" My cousin Franklin strolled in.
"Hi, Frank. Your mother and father are looking for you."
"That's why I'm in here."
"You're a rascal, Franklin." But there was a small smile on Naomi's face.
"Seriously," he grinned at her, "I did see them. Good news, Aunt Naomi. You've turned the corner. Your doctor said you're doing much better."
But she was exhausted. And pale. And…
The look Franklin sent my way told me he was aware of what I was going to say, and I should just keep my mouth shut. "Once you're discharged, you'll have to take it very easy. No more dancing in smoky bars." He turned to me. "Papa says you're dropping out of college, Blair."
I swallowed hard. "Yeah."
"So you need a job?"
"Yeah. I'll have to start looking as soon as Naomi is better." He handed me something. "What's this?"
"A friend of mine is a cop. He told me NYPD is hiring."
"Me? A cop?" My haircut was short enough, but, "What about my height?"
"No problem. The ACLU is pitching a fit about the height requirements, and the NYPD is allowing even pipsqueaks like you to apply." Franklin winked at me. "It's got great health benefits."
I looked at Naomi. She was lying back, her breathing rapid and her face almost
as white as the pillow.
"Where do I sign up?"
****
It didn't take much to get me onto the police force. They were so floored by my transcript from NYU that they barely paid any attention to my doctored birth certificate.
It looked like I was going to be Officer Sandburg.
