Among Women Read online

  Among Women

  J. M. Cornwell

  Published by the author as a member of the

  Alexandria Publishing Group

  Kindle Edition

  Among Women - Copyright 2011 by J. M. Cornwell

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of recognized historical figures, the characters in this novel are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art & Design: Michael Winter Reighn and Aubrey Ayala Boneau

  Acknowledgements

  No book is ever written by one person, and this book is no exception. Teachers and friends, acquaintances and family made this book possible. I would like to thank the following people for their contributions of time, talents and support.

  To all those who taught me about literature and grammar and writing a good story.

  To Mary Ann and Ruth, who proofread and offered suggestions to improve and enrich the story.

  To Tracy Jean, who always believed.

  To John, who offered quiet support.

  To Doris Booth, who showed me how to pull it all together.

  To Aubrey Ayala Boneau and Michael Winter Reighn, who helped me put together three stunning covers.

  Most of all, to the women who taught me how to see beyond the surface to the heart and soul.

  I could not have written this book without you.

  For Betty

  I can still hear your voice

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four: BETTY

  Five

  Six

  Seven: MAUREEN

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen: JOO-EUN

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen: LAINIE

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty: MARTHA

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two: ELKE

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five: SARAH

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven: DARLA

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two: ANGELA

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  About the author:

  Other books by J. M. Cornwell:

  One

  The sense that someone had been in her room since she had fallen asleep the night before was in the air when she woke, a feeling that brought her bolt upright in bed. As Pearl Caldwell scanned the room, it took a while for everything to register. Something was missing, but she could not place the item. Her jacket was on the chair with her clothes and the purse was on the table. She got up and looked in the bathroom. The makeup case was sitting open on the counter; nothing had been touched, and yet there was something out of place. She felt it more than saw what it was.

  After dressing quickly and brushing her teeth and hair, Pearl checked her purse. The traveler’s checks were gone, as were both credit cards and all her cash, except for one dollar she kept in a side pocket for luck and a handful of change. She dumped the purse on the bed, checked her jacket and pants pockets and couldn’t find her car keys. Feeling as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach, she nearly retched. The window, she should be able to see the parking lot from the window.

  Looking down, she scanned the lot. The sun bounced off all the metal, making it difficult to see. She kept scanning until ... It was gone. Her car was gone. She grabbed her wallet and ran across the hall.

  Clutching the wallet in nerveless fingers, she knocked and J.D. Bath’s door swung open. The room was empty. The suitcase on the bureau was gone. She took one step into the room. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

  She ran down the hall, rang for the elevator and waited while looking for the stairs. What is taking so long? Calm. She must remain calm.

  Downstairs, she rang for the desk clerk and asked for Mr. Bath.

  “Mr. Bath checked out.”

  Blood roared in Pearl’s ears. Black specks danced in her eyes. All she had left to hold onto was herself. “When?”

  “At four this morning,” the clerk said.

  She could not breathe.

  The clerk placed an envelope on the desk. “He left this for you.”As the clerk turned away, Pearl moved aside, peeled up the flap inch by inch, extracted the folded page and opened it.

  Pearl,

  It has been fun, but it’s time I moved on. Fifty dollars will get you back to Ft. Lauderdale on the bus. Thanks for everything.

  J. D.

  Hands shaking, she placed the fifty in her wallet, folded the note, placed it back in the envelope and secured the flap, resisting the urge to rip it to shreds.

  Gone. Everything was gone, including her car. Her knees felt like rubber. It took every ounce of control not to give in to the bile-tinged hysteria bubbling up in her throat. She swallowed past the lump and blinked at the expanding black specks. “Thank you,” she checked the girl’s name badge, “Alice.”

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  A brain. A heart. A clue. Would you send them up to my room, please? “No, thank you.”

  “Would you like the room for another night?”

  Pearl didn’t trust herself to speak, not without losing last night’s meal. She shook her head, swallowed and blinked away the swarming black meteors clogging her eyes. Deep breath. Don’t lose it now. “No,” she managed. Get a grip. “Thank you, no.”

  “Check out time is eleven.”

  Pearl swayed and gripped her arms tighter, feeling the color draining from her face.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” The clerk reached out a hand.

  Pearl forced a smile. She nodded and turned away, hand on the counter to steady herself. Stranded in New Orleans with fifty dollars. How generous to leave her anything. Fifty dollars, her makeup case and the clothes she wore. What can I do? I can’t go back and I can’t go on to California, not without my car—or clothes or money. She turned back to the desk on a surge of adrenaline. “Excuse me.” She struggled to remember the clerk’s name. “Alice.” The girl cocked her head to one side, waiting expectantly. “Is there a Traveler’s Aid nearby?”

  “Yes, ma’am. At the YMCA at Lee Circle.”

  It was a place to start. “How do I get there?”

  Six weeks of trudging the streets, spending the days at the Traveler’s Aid offices looking

  through the ads for a job, typing up resumes, going on interviews in borrowed clothes and working afternoons pushing a hot dog-shaped cart to sell Lucky Dogs to tourists had f
inally paid off. J.D. had left her high and dry, but she hadn’t crashed and burned or called her family for help—not that they would have given it. Had it not been for her friends—Laura, Cap, Chip and Leo—she would not have made it. They shared out their lunch tickets and their earnings, and kept each other company. Had it not been for them, the past six weeks would have sent her running back home, tail between her legs. She would’ve had nothing to show for the past few years but another sad story to prove she would—as her mother always put it—never amount to a hill of beans. How close she had been to running.

  Pearl now knew how the other half lived, the poorer half. She’d walked everywhere (bus and trolley tickets cost money), sold blood plasma three times a week and taken whatever odd job she could find that didn’t require references until the temporary agency had called and set her feet on the return path to a normal life. And they had called with a great prospect. She interviewed at the Transit Authority and was hired—temporarily.

  Happiness bubbled up inside Pearl until she could hardly contain it. The past week had been a study in contrasts. Snow at the beginning of the week in dirt-spangled piles like muddy snow cones dumped outside the Transit Authority building and now balmy breezes redolent of Cajun spices and daiquiris at the end of the week. Instead of the usual tramp through the French Quarter hawking condos or serving up eight-inch Lucky Dogs, she and her friends were playing tourist beneath the carnival lights, listening to jazz spilling from the doorways on Bourbon Street. It felt more like Halloween than a couple days past Christmas. There was a distinctly frenzied feel in the air as the year rushed past in a blur toward a brighter new year.

  She had a job and, if the past two days were any indication, it would be permanent. Her boss at the Transit Author was pleased with her speed and efficiency—at least that’s what Nora at the temp agency had told her when Pearl picked up her check. Ninety days and she’d be fully back into the mainstream.

  “So how do you like the new job?” Laura took Chip’s hand and pulled him toward the group. “And you don’t need to be staring at all those girls.”

  “You know I only have eyes for you, babe.”

  “Eyes front,” Laura said.

  “How about the job, Pearl?”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t done before. Typing, filing, more typing and answering phones. It’s not rocket science, but it’s a job. It’ll do until something better comes along.”

  “I thought it was just temporary.” Chip took a deep whiff of the popper and passed it to Cap. “You know, not forever.” Cap took a sniff of the popper and passed it on.

  “Lots of temp jobs end up permanent and this one looks to be the same. My boss told me she likes my work,” Pearl said. “It’s no worse and no better than most jobs and it serves a purpose.”

  “Money for an apartment. Then you’ll have to buy pots and pans and groceries and….”

  “You miss spending money, don’t you, babe?”

  Laura sighed. “When you’ve had it all your life, it becomes second nature.”

  “I’m just glad to have a job.” Laura passed the popper to Pearl. “What is this?” Pearl asked.

  “A popper. You know, amyl nitrate. Give it a try.”

  “What do you do with it?”

  “Like this,” Laura said. “You put it up to one side of your nose, hold the other closed, press and inhale. Simple.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just try it. It’ll make you feel good.” Laura held it up to Pearl’s nose.

  After a few moments’ hesitation, Pearl took a deep whiff. Cap steadied her when she began to lean backward a little too far. “Wow.”

  “Wow indeed,” Chip said looking at a voluptuous brunette barely wearing a spangled gold dress.

  Cap leaned over and whispered in Chip’s ear. “You’re kidding.” Cap shook his head, dislodging his horn rimmed glasses. He pushed them up his nose. “No way.” Cap nodded.

  Laura locked arms with Chip’s, pulled him closer and bit his ear. “Ow! Why’d you do that?”

  “Just ‘cause.” She laughed. “Look at those all you want, babe. It’s all outside plumbing.”

  “You’re just saying that ‘cause she’s hot.”

  “I’m saying that because he’s a she. A guy dressed as a woman.”

  “No lie?”

  “Sometimes, you’re such an innocent.” Laura kissed Chip’s ear. “All better now?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Chip stared after the brunette trying to figure out where she—he—it—put the plumbing.

  Just another night in the quarter—a night off for a change—and things looked good. Chip was headed off to an oil rig in the Gulf for a month and Pearl had a whole weekend to relax and plan. An apartment first and then a car. Pots and pans can wait. Have to have a place to put them first.

  Happy thoughts shattered as Laura’s angry protests stained the air blue.

  “You can’t just demand to see our IDs.” Laura crossed her arms and faced down the officers. “I know my rights. My mother is—”

  “You have the right to remain silent. Use it,” the red-headed female officer said, “or you’ll go downtown, too.”

  “Are we under arrest?”

  “Just show them your license, Laura.” Chip held his out. “Are you looking for someone in particular, officer?”

  The beefy officer’s arm muscles and ligaments bulged as he unsnapped the holster, hand resting over the butt of the gun. “Got something to hide, boy?” Chip backed away, hooking Laura’s arm and pulling her against the building. Cap sidled over next to Pearl and Leo took the other side, putting his arm around her.

  “You,” Red-headed Officer said and pointed at Pearl. “Where’s your ID?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Pearl said, palming the bottle of amyl nitrate behind her back. Leo eased it from her hand. She looked at the officer’s name tag. “Officer Charbonneau . . . .”

  “You can read, but you obviously don’t hear so good. ID.”

  Pearl dug the plastic card out of her clutch and held it out. The officer pocketed it.

  “Come with us.” Beefy Officer flipped the snap on his holster, left hand gripping the worn ebony handle of a nightstick.

  “What have I done, officer?” Pearl asked.

  “We’d like to ask you some questions.” Her friends closed ranks.

  “About what?”

  “Just come with us.”

  “You’d better go with them,” Cap said. “Remember what I told you.”

  Leo took her hand. “I’ll be all right.” Pearl glanced over at the officer, took her ID out of the wallet and handed her purse to Cap. “Keep this for me.” She followed the cops to a squad car parked on Conti. Cold steel handcuffs ratcheted closed around her wrists and she was helped into the back seat. “Where are we going?” she asked when the officers got into the squad car.

  The cops ignored her. Bleeps from the siren cleared the way and the car rolled slowly down the street, pausing at a dimly lit corner and headed toward Canal. Solitary silhouettes in ones and twos drifted in and out of the pools of light beneath street lamps, the sounds of the Quarter where she had spent most of the past six weeks faded. Good thing her meager belongings were in the flop du jour.

  They drove deeper into the city far from her friends and the only recognizable places to a massive brick building. The dark pile of concrete, steel and brick loomed above the crumbling, weathered faces of once graceful shops and office buildings. The officers hauled her out of the car and marched her into a teeming circus of sideshow freaks, cops, and men and women in rumpled suits casually dangling battered briefcases. She prayed she would see her friends again as the deputies processed and ushered her away from the light.

  Two

  There is a point between waking and sleeping where the surroundings filter into dreams. All the sounds and bodily functions begin to clamor for attention. A full bladder sends the dreamer looking for a bathroom or ending up sitting on the toilet while companions crowd arou
nd for an impromptu chat in a restroom with no doors. The deeper the dream, the longer it takes for external details to filter down, invading the safe haven where the trials and tribulations of the recent past are dim and far away. Sometimes the real world is insistent, very insistent, and will not be ignored.

  The alarm bell clanged. Pearl ducked under the covers. She didn’t want to wake up. A nightmare of cold and hunger and wandering unfamiliar streets and corridors where laughing, leering faces raked her with cold eyes watched and waited. Curling into a ball beneath the covers, she caught at the fading wisps of a better dream. She drifted to the place where she was happy, a beach with tropical breezes that smelled of sandalwood and frangipani. She wanted to lie in a hammock under the palm trees and watch birds wheel above in an aquamarine sky. She didn’t want to open her eyes. The view had been so bleak lately.

  She dreaded the damp winter morning and clung to the small pocket of warmth. Chill air prickled a bit of exposed cheek. Pulling her knees up, she coiled into a fetal position.

  From a distance, a strident voice demanded . . . something. Five more minutes and then she’d get up.

  Metal crashed. The sounds of rustling and shuffling penetrated her warm cocoon. Dream peace was shattered and she struggled against the sudden urge to void.

  If she could have a few more minutes, maybe . . . .

  Uncurling joint by joint and limb by limb, she ventured one hand from beneath the blanket, meeting only the floor. Where’s the heat? She turned over.

  It wasn’t her turn to sleep on the floor. Where was the carpet? Memories tugged at the strings of an errant thought. What?

  Nothing. Go back to sleep. She peered over the edge of the blanket, blinking furiously in the harsh fluorescent light. Above her, a heavy, barred steel door loomed.

  Florida was weeks ago. She was in jail. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she peered out and saw—dingy, speckled . . . tile? Underneath her was a mattress and she was covered by a scratchy, threadbare blanket full of holes.