Woman on the Edge of Time

“You won’t go back to G-2. If you transfer out of here, you’ll go back where we found you—on the violent ward, L-6. With comments on your record about how uncooperative you proved to be.”

She turned to the wall and would not speak to him and after a few minutes he strolled off. He would be back.

That Sunday, finally Dolly came. Dolly pranced into the ward to embrace her, then held her at arm’s length. “You lost so much weight, Connie! How wonderful! It’s like one of those reducing farms rich bitches go to.”

“Not much like them.” Connie smiled. “Is Nita here?”

“They wouldn’t let us bring her in. She’s outside with Vic. Come on to the window and we can wave.”

Down below she saw a tall well-built man in ice cream white holding Nita by the hand. They were watching a woman searching for something in the grass and Vic was laughing and nudging Nita. “Nita! Nita!” Connie hollered out the window, but Nita did not hear her. Instead the weekend attendant gave her a sign to shut up. Reluctantly she obeyed, craning down at Nita.

“Dolly, you look beautiful,” she said when she turned from the window. “You lost some weight too?”

Dolly had dyed her hair a fiery orange-red. She was dressed in a sleek green and yellow pants suit without sleeves, and she had kept on her sunglasses. “Oh, carita, it pays more if you look Anglo, you know? And they like you better skinny, the ones with money. Geraldo, that prick, left me with debts and no money. I have to break my behind hustling till I get clear of my debts.”

“Dolly, take off the shades. I can’t see your expression. It’s like talking through a wall.”

Pouting, Dolly took off her glasses, wincing at the light. A little prickle ran up Connie’s neck. “Nevertheless, darling, everything is going fine for me and mine, let me tell you. I’ve done okay without that big honcho. I work hard but the marks come running and I make better money than ever before, much better than with Geraldo. Listen, Connie—last week I made four hundred! In one week! How’s that?” Dolly’s words spilled out.

“Dolly, did you maybe bring me a little something?”

“How could I forget? I mean forget to tell you. I didn’t forget to bring for you. Now listen—I gave the old bitch at the desk thirty dollars for you in your account. Now, if you hold out your hand casual like, I’m going to slip you another five for extras. This place don’t look like no luxury hotel, but you can buy yourself a little something to take the edge off.”

She held out her hand and Dolly slipped a bill in it, folded up. “And my clothes? Did you maybe bring me some clothes?”

“Daddy, he said you were in the hospital and didn’t need street clothes. So I brought you two nightgowns, an old one you had and one of my own special ones, with real handmade black lace so you won’t be ashamed in the hospital. I wore it when I was having my operation, and it brings me down to look at it!” Dolly chattered as if nothing would ever bring her down. “Also I decided to bring you some dresses anyhow. What do men know what women need? I see you got a dress on, if you can call it that. So I brought you the turquoise and your green print and the red. You could use some new dresses, Connie. You lost so much weight, I don’t know if these will fit.”

“The turquoise, it’s from a long time ago. When I was with … Claud. It’ll fit.”

“If you give me your new size, I can get you a nice dress, the length they’re wearing now … . Listen to me—I gave the old bitch at the desk thirty dollars for you, and if you hold out your hand, I’m going to slip you another five for extras.”

“Dolly, you did that!”

Dolly was folding the bill up. “Come on, don’t you get it? Stick out your hand natural like.”

Dizzy, she stuck out her hand, and Dolly again gave her a five. Oh, well, she could use it. She stared into Dolly’s intense eyes, the pupils too big, too shiny. “What are you on?”

“Me? Like always—a little of this, a little of that.”

“You’re on more than a little of something.”

“I got to stay skinny, carita. The money is with the Anglos and they like you skinny and American-looking. It pays more if you look Anglo, you know. Sometimes I say I’m of Spanish mother and an Irish father, and that’s why I have the beautiful red hair. Even the hair on my thing, I dyed it red—Connie, you wouldn’t believe it.” She giggled.

“Is it speed?”

“A little, once in a while, to keep my weight down. Who can stand those assholes? They drive me crazy. They’re all pigs. But I’m much better off without that prick Geraldo, you know? This one, Vic, he was a real ballplayer—no joke.” She giggled again. “He played a season with die Cleveland Indians, except he was born in the Bronx like me. He’s okay, Connie, it’s purely business. He’s a good businessman. I’m not crazy about him, but so much the better, you know? I was crazy for Geraldo, and what did I get besides a lot of trouble?”

“Is it Vic’s idea you take that poison? It’ll burn you out.”