Zelda clenched her groin at Grandma, eventually finding the rows of two-story houses off 164th Street. The door of Ruby’s was slightly ajar. Zelda admired a few dresses hanging on hooks in the waiting area. Size eight. Size ten. No size twelves anymore, she panicked.
“Yes?” Beth stepped out, quickly losing her cold stare.
“Hi. I’m Zelda. Puppy’s friend.”
“I know. You were here with that entertainer.” She made a face and bent over a pile of receipts on the desk. “What’s your last name?”
“Jones. But the order’s for Lopez…I mean, Dinton.”
Beth waited until Zelda was sure.
“Dara Dinton.”
Beth returned with a large box, which she started opening.
“I trust you.”
“Don’t.” She held up each of the four low-cut shimmering dresses in gold, black, blue and gold.
“They’re the bahm diggity,” Zelda said, carefully stroking the soft black material. “You do nice work.”
Beth blushed and nodded.
“Wish I could wear these,” Zelda said.
“Why not? You’d look great.”
Zelda rolled her eyes.
“I have your size in the gold and black.”
“No, you don’t, I looked.”
Beth scowled at the treacherous dress rack. “I can find something similar. I’ve got a gorgeous purple…”
“Hey, you already made the sale.” More embarrassed than she understood, Zelda tucked the box under her arm and hurried out, going a block before Beth grabbed her at the corner.
“You forgot your receipt.” She shoved the slip into Zelda’s coat pocket and stormed away.
“Sorry. Come on, I said I’m sorry,” she said to the retreating Beth. Zelda pursued and caught up a block away, tugging on Beth’s sleeve.
She whirled. “That was a shitty thing to say.”
“You’re right.”
“I don’t give a crap if you buy clothes from me. If anyone buys clothes from me. I’ll wear them all myself. But it’s outrageous to accuse me of only caring about money as a businessperson. I won’t be insulted like that.”
Zelda grinned. “Guess I’m not the only one having a bad month.”
Beth softened. “Guess not.”
“Do I need to apologize again?”
“Not this time.” Beth gave her a long look. “Which direction are you going?”
Zelda frowned. “None really.”
They walked in silence along 164th Street past Diego’s apartment, her fourth time on this block in the past few days. Diego’s sister had left her squared notes asking if she’d heard from him, which Zelda ignored, figuring it was better for his family to think she’s a jerk then have to lie in person.
At least tonight Zelda didn’t go inside the building and sit by his door eating a sandwich and finishing off a bottle of wine, hoping that asshole Black Top agent was wrong.
Zelda barely kept up with Beth’s quick pace and sudden stops, as if the dressmaker were unsure whether she wanted to ditch her or not. They waited for a light as another billboard drifted down from a stealth ‘copter and secured itself on an enormous stand across the street. FORGIVENESS wrapped itself around Grandma’s head like an obedient snake; even after thirty-plus years, people still murmured wonderingly at such tricks.
Except for Beth, who sneered and darted forward through the bumper to bumper traffic. She jumped onto a couple hoods, ignoring the drivers’ shouts while waiting for Zelda to clumsily cross.
“Pretty good,” Zelda said between labored breaths.
Beth shrugged. “I don’t get much exercise all day.”
“I used to be three hoods.”
The woman smiled faintly. “My best was five.”
“Puppy once did six.”
“Figures,” Beth said dryly. The women smiled tentatively. “I go home for lunch sometimes.”
Zelda studied the greenish cake sitting perfectly centered in the chipped blue and white plate. Beth’s kitchen was just like her parents, warm with cooking smells, redolent with cleaning fluids. Except this one had love.
“You know what that is?” Beth laid down a small fork.
Zelda didn’t want to guess.
“Crushed parsley and honey. It’s good for the baby’s digestion.”
She didn’t bother asking how Beth knew; women just did. Zelda took a bite, managing a weak smile. “Wonderful.”
“No, it tastes awful. The honey gets worse every year. And the parsley was pathetic. But it’s healthy for my son and especially good for a pregnancy. How far along are you?”
“Eight weeks.”
Beth glanced at her left hand, but Zelda shook her head.
“And please, Puppy doesn’t know.”
“He’s the father?” Beth’s eyes bulged.
Zelda hadn’t laughed that loud since her last night with Diego. “No, just a friend. Who I still haven’t told.”
“I worried about telling my husband. So many fears about the future.”
“Oh yeah.”
Beth smiled sympathetically and held up an empty palm. Alone?
Zelda nodded.
Beth gestured at her head and heart, raising her shoulders.
What can I do? Zelda fought tears, shrugging. “What’d you do about your fears?”
“What makes you think they’re gone?” Beth dumped the disgusting parsley cake in the trash and served a thick piece of SC apple pie.
“Then what’d you do?” Zelda asked between grateful bites.
Beth hesitated, slowly crossing herself.
Zelda pulled apart her lips. Helps?
The woman nodded cautiously, touching her mouth and pressing her fingertips against Zelda’s chest. Join me.
Zelda jumped up, red-faced. “I should be going.”
Beth frowned. “Don’t do it.”
Zelda trembled. “What?”
“What you’re thinking of.”
“I’m thinking of more pie.” She laughed limply. “Maybe some ice cream. Bottle of wine. Thanks for your hospitality.”
Beth grabbed her arm with strong supple fingers. “The hell what Grandma thinks. Care what He who created her thinks.”
“If the He who created her cared, this wouldn’t have happened. Or are you going to give me a lot of crap about free choice? I’m a painter. I read a lot about old artists, struggling with their humanity and your God.”
“Your God, too.” Beth tightened her grip. “Your baby’s God.”
She wrenched free. “It’s not my baby. It’s Grandma’s baby.”
Zelda ran down the steps and into the cold night.
• • • •
CLARY SETTLED ONTO a stool at the far end of the counter, longingly peering at the sweet foods beneath the
