the word divulge meant once again set her apart from the newcomers we were used to. She might actually have gone to high school.
“Desmond’s going to bring you a pair of pants to wear until we can get you some of your own. While you’re here, buns, breasts, and navels need to be covered.”
“Why?” Her eyes challenged me. “You think your kid might want to jump me?”
“I think you expect him to want to jump you. I think that’s how you define yourself.”
I turned an ear toward Desmond’s door but he still sounded like he was ransacking every drawer and cubbyhole. Even so, I lowered my voice.
“We’ll help you develop some self-respect here, God-respect actually, so you can discover a new definition. Meanwhile we’re going to go through the motions.”
Desmond appeared before she could answer, carrying no less than four choices for Foxy. Among them were the cotton sleep pants with the Harley-Davidson logo printed on them. If he was offering her those we were already in trouble.
Not surprisingly she passed them up. On our earlier ride on the Harley from Sacrament House she had latched herself to me and shaken like a Chihuahua until we pulled into the garage.
“You can have all of ’em,” Desmond said when she’d selected a plain black pair.
“That’s okay, Des,” I said. “We’ll go shopping later.”
“When?” Foxy said. “And where? I don’t want to go to a mall. Too many … I just don’t like crowds.”
Desmond stared at her as if only a crazy person would not want to go to the mall. He had a point. Most of the women before Foxy had said their first excursion there was like going to Disneyland. And none of them had been ready for it for several weeks, after they had learned how to lie down and sleep, feed themselves, brush their teeth, and do anything without either looking for the next fix or watching for the person who was going to take it away from them.
That did not describe this person, who was about to don the pants right there in the middle of the kitchen until I nodded for her to go into Desmond’s room to do it. I took the opportunity to pull Desmond in by the back of his neck and get directly into his face.
“She has zero self-respect, Des,” I said. “That means—”
“I know.” His voice teetered momentarily out of man-range. “You gon’ be impressed with the kinda respect Imma show Miss Foxy Lady.”
“Yeah, well, start by finding another nickname for her.”
“I can’t call her Miss Foxy Lady?”
“No.”
Foxy reappeared wearing the black pants. I could tell from the bulge under the shirt that she had them rolled down to her navel, but I let that go. One baby step at a time.
“Do you have Wi-Fi?” she said.
“Oh, yeah, ” Desmond said, brows pointed down. “We only got one computer, though, and you got to ask Big Al can you use it.”
Foxy pulled her hair back with both hands as if she were annoyed with it. “Actually I’d rather use my cell phone.”
“You have a cell phone?” Desmond and I said in unison.
“It’s an iPhone. My next question is, do you have a charger for one? I had to leave mine—I lost it.”
I was astonished that she ever had it, or the phone. She must have been handled by a high-end pimp to have mobile service. The chill made its way up my backbone again.
“Desmond,” I said, “will you excuse us?”
He looked about to protest.
“Take the rest of the Oreos with you.”
Even that didn’t have its usual effect. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the tiny woman who was currently fishing something out of her bra. When she produced the cell phone in question, I just handed him the cookie package and gave him a shove toward the door. He stiffened under my hand but he went.
“Let’s talk in the living room,” I said.
“But do you have a charger?”
“Living room.”
She rolled her eyes, but she followed me and parked herself with a huff in the red chair-and-a-half. I could just hear Sylvia now,
“Desmond’s going to bring you a pair of pants to wear until we can get you some of your own. While you’re here, buns, breasts, and navels need to be covered.”
“Why?” Her eyes challenged me. “You think your kid might want to jump me?”
“I think you expect him to want to jump you. I think that’s how you define yourself.”
I turned an ear toward Desmond’s door but he still sounded like he was ransacking every drawer and cubbyhole. Even so, I lowered my voice.
“We’ll help you develop some self-respect here, God-respect actually, so you can discover a new definition. Meanwhile we’re going to go through the motions.”
Desmond appeared before she could answer, carrying no less than four choices for Foxy. Among them were the cotton sleep pants with the Harley-Davidson logo printed on them. If he was offering her those we were already in trouble.
Not surprisingly she passed them up. On our earlier ride on the Harley from Sacrament House she had latched herself to me and shaken like a Chihuahua until we pulled into the garage.
“You can have all of ’em,” Desmond said when she’d selected a plain black pair.
“That’s okay, Des,” I said. “We’ll go shopping later.”
“When?” Foxy said. “And where? I don’t want to go to a mall. Too many … I just don’t like crowds.”
Desmond stared at her as if only a crazy person would not want to go to the mall. He had a point. Most of the women before Foxy had said their first excursion there was like going to Disneyland. And none of them had been ready for it for several weeks, after they had learned how to lie down and sleep, feed themselves, brush their teeth, and do anything without either looking for the next fix or watching for the person who was going to take it away from them.
That did not describe this person, who was about to don the pants right there in the middle of the kitchen until I nodded for her to go into Desmond’s room to do it. I took the opportunity to pull Desmond in by the back of his neck and get directly into his face.
“She has zero self-respect, Des,” I said. “That means—”
“I know.” His voice teetered momentarily out of man-range. “You gon’ be impressed with the kinda respect Imma show Miss Foxy Lady.”
“Yeah, well, start by finding another nickname for her.”
“I can’t call her Miss Foxy Lady?”
“No.”
Foxy reappeared wearing the black pants. I could tell from the bulge under the shirt that she had them rolled down to her navel, but I let that go. One baby step at a time.
“Do you have Wi-Fi?” she said.
“Oh, yeah, ” Desmond said, brows pointed down. “We only got one computer, though, and you got to ask Big Al can you use it.”
Foxy pulled her hair back with both hands as if she were annoyed with it. “Actually I’d rather use my cell phone.”
“You have a cell phone?” Desmond and I said in unison.
“It’s an iPhone. My next question is, do you have a charger for one? I had to leave mine—I lost it.”
I was astonished that she ever had it, or the phone. She must have been handled by a high-end pimp to have mobile service. The chill made its way up my backbone again.
“Desmond,” I said, “will you excuse us?”
He looked about to protest.
“Take the rest of the Oreos with you.”
Even that didn’t have its usual effect. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the tiny woman who was currently fishing something out of her bra. When she produced the cell phone in question, I just handed him the cookie package and gave him a shove toward the door. He stiffened under my hand but he went.
“Let’s talk in the living room,” I said.
“But do you have a charger?”
“Living room.”
She rolled her eyes, but she followed me and parked herself with a huff in the red chair-and-a-half. I could just hear Sylvia now,
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