Health Care for
the Homeless, Manna House—but I barely break even on those.
The big money is in capital projects."
"And politicians?"
"When I first started. Not so
often now. I prefer diseases to politicians."
"Who doesn't?"
Jackie looked at Tess over the top of her
menu, clearly puzzled.
"A joke," Tess explained.
"Oh, I get it." But she
didn't smile.
At least Jackie—it was still an
effort to remember which name to use—had an appetite. She
ordered an appetizer, salad, and entree, which meant Tess could follow
her lead without feeling the need to explain she had rowed that morning
and then run three miles. It was refreshing to be with a woman who ate
as much as she did, without apology. So many of the women she knew
seemed intent on deprivation, playing some unfathomable game in which
the winner was the person who ordered the most pleasureless meal. Her
mother specialized in exactly that kind of denial. In
Jackie's company, Tess felt she could hang a banner over the
table: Bring on the cream sauces !
"I really do have legitimate
business for a private investigator," Jackie told her after
they had ordered. "But I had a bad experience. I hired a guy
several months back, and he didn't do anything, just sat on
his ass and cashed my checks. Another one gave up when it got hard. So
I decided the next time I hired someone, I was going to make sure they
could do some rudimentary investigative work. Finding me
isn't hard, but you do have to have enough gumption to run my
name through a Chicago Title search, then run my name through the MVA
to get my address."
"Which name would that be
exactly?" Tess asked innocently, slathering butter on a
fresh, warm roll.
"The story I told you was
essentially true. Susan King got pregnant when she was a teenager, and
had a falling-out with her mother as a result. She ended up leaving
home and, I'm sorry to say, never quite reconciled with her
mother."
"Do you have to speak of yourself
in the third person? It's a little on the creepy
side."
"Susan King is a third person to
me and as dead as my mother."
"Why did you change your name?
Were you hiding from your mother after she kicked you out?"
Questions seemed to make Jackie impatient.
It occurred to Tess that she had rehearsed this little scene in her
head, and now Tess wasn't playing her part as scripted. How
she must have enjoyed sitting in her apartment, waiting for Tess to
knock on her door.
"My mother didn't kick
me out because I was going to have a baby. She was cool with that.
After all, I wasn't the first girl in Southwest Baltimore to
turn up pregnant."
"Southwest Baltimore? Which
part?" asked Tess, a true Baltimorean, forever focused on the
precise boundaries of where people lived.
"Pigtown," Jackie
muttered. "Pigtown, okay? Anyway, Mama wanted me to keep the
baby, so she could raise it, get a little extra AFDC money and food
stamps every month. I almost went for it, too. But you know, I had
finished high school and I had this nothing job, and I suddenly saw my
future. I told myself, ‘This is it, girl. You've
still got a chance to make something of yourself, but not if you keep
this baby.'"
The appetizers arrived—a tart with
woodland mushrooms for Tess, some goat cheese thingie for Jackie.
"What about the baby's
father?"
"He wasn't interested in
being a father. But you know, I give him credit for admitting it up
front, for not pretending to be into it and then dumping me as soon as
the baby came. I saw that happen often enough to my girlfriends.
Anyway, I signed my daughter over to a private agency and never looked
back. And when I got a scholarship to Penn, I decided to change my name
legally, sort of a symbol of my new life. In the back of my mind, I
think I didn't want my baby to come looking for me one day.
You see, I figured I was going to be somebody real famous, real
successful, and I didn't want any tabloid trash reunion in my
future."
Jackie's story was at once
impressive and repellent to Tess. How could
the Homeless, Manna House—but I barely break even on those.
The big money is in capital projects."
"And politicians?"
"When I first started. Not so
often now. I prefer diseases to politicians."
"Who doesn't?"
Jackie looked at Tess over the top of her
menu, clearly puzzled.
"A joke," Tess explained.
"Oh, I get it." But she
didn't smile.
At least Jackie—it was still an
effort to remember which name to use—had an appetite. She
ordered an appetizer, salad, and entree, which meant Tess could follow
her lead without feeling the need to explain she had rowed that morning
and then run three miles. It was refreshing to be with a woman who ate
as much as she did, without apology. So many of the women she knew
seemed intent on deprivation, playing some unfathomable game in which
the winner was the person who ordered the most pleasureless meal. Her
mother specialized in exactly that kind of denial. In
Jackie's company, Tess felt she could hang a banner over the
table: Bring on the cream sauces !
"I really do have legitimate
business for a private investigator," Jackie told her after
they had ordered. "But I had a bad experience. I hired a guy
several months back, and he didn't do anything, just sat on
his ass and cashed my checks. Another one gave up when it got hard. So
I decided the next time I hired someone, I was going to make sure they
could do some rudimentary investigative work. Finding me
isn't hard, but you do have to have enough gumption to run my
name through a Chicago Title search, then run my name through the MVA
to get my address."
"Which name would that be
exactly?" Tess asked innocently, slathering butter on a
fresh, warm roll.
"The story I told you was
essentially true. Susan King got pregnant when she was a teenager, and
had a falling-out with her mother as a result. She ended up leaving
home and, I'm sorry to say, never quite reconciled with her
mother."
"Do you have to speak of yourself
in the third person? It's a little on the creepy
side."
"Susan King is a third person to
me and as dead as my mother."
"Why did you change your name?
Were you hiding from your mother after she kicked you out?"
Questions seemed to make Jackie impatient.
It occurred to Tess that she had rehearsed this little scene in her
head, and now Tess wasn't playing her part as scripted. How
she must have enjoyed sitting in her apartment, waiting for Tess to
knock on her door.
"My mother didn't kick
me out because I was going to have a baby. She was cool with that.
After all, I wasn't the first girl in Southwest Baltimore to
turn up pregnant."
"Southwest Baltimore? Which
part?" asked Tess, a true Baltimorean, forever focused on the
precise boundaries of where people lived.
"Pigtown," Jackie
muttered. "Pigtown, okay? Anyway, Mama wanted me to keep the
baby, so she could raise it, get a little extra AFDC money and food
stamps every month. I almost went for it, too. But you know, I had
finished high school and I had this nothing job, and I suddenly saw my
future. I told myself, ‘This is it, girl. You've
still got a chance to make something of yourself, but not if you keep
this baby.'"
The appetizers arrived—a tart with
woodland mushrooms for Tess, some goat cheese thingie for Jackie.
"What about the baby's
father?"
"He wasn't interested in
being a father. But you know, I give him credit for admitting it up
front, for not pretending to be into it and then dumping me as soon as
the baby came. I saw that happen often enough to my girlfriends.
Anyway, I signed my daughter over to a private agency and never looked
back. And when I got a scholarship to Penn, I decided to change my name
legally, sort of a symbol of my new life. In the back of my mind, I
think I didn't want my baby to come looking for me one day.
You see, I figured I was going to be somebody real famous, real
successful, and I didn't want any tabloid trash reunion in my
future."
Jackie's story was at once
impressive and repellent to Tess. How could
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