Woman on the Edge of Time - Marge Piercy [107]
“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.”
“Listen, Connie, I’m in terrific shape! Look at me. I weigh one hundred seventeen—you believe it? And last week, you know what I earned on my behind?”
“Four hundred dollars,” she said wryly.
“How did you guess? Not bad, hey? Nice clothes, pretty things for my baby. Mamá keeps Nita Tuesday through Saturday and then Sunday I get her and I have her till Tuesday morning.”
“Carmel’s got her all week?”
“What other mother do I have? Sure, Carmel’s got her. It works out better.”
“Dolly, this is not good. You don’t have your baby inside, your daughter you only see weekends like an aunt, and you’re taking poison that burns out your soul.”
“Don’t be silly, Tía. You forget what the world’s like, shut up here. I’m on top now. I know what I’m doing. And last week I made four hundred dollars!”
“Dolly, please. Get me out of here! I beg you. Get me released. Talk to them!”
“Hermana, how can I do that? Luis signed the papers. I didn’t have a thing to do with it. You have to talk to Daddy about getting out.”
“Please, Dolly, do something. I beg you. Look around this ward. They’re operating on us. They’re sticking needles in our heads!”
“Yeah?” Dolly looked around vaguely. “Daddy says they’re famous doctors from a university. That they’re for real helping you so you won’t have to go in again. He says you’re going to be in a hospital in Washington Heights. I could get to see you all the time. It’s real hard to get up here, you know?”
“Dolly, you think I need an operation? Look at me.”
“Connie, am I a doctor? What do I know? At least it’s clean in here, not so depressing like last time.”
“I don’t want their help, Dolly. I want to go home! Listen—I’ll work. Tell Luis I’ll do anything! I’ll work in his sweatshop nursery. I can get temporary office jobs. Tell Luis that!”
“You shouldn’t go on feeling sorry for yourself, Connie—that’s your problem. We can rise above what we are if we have the will. Look at me! After Geraldo, that prick, left me flat, with no money and lots of debts, I didn’t cry long. I cried, sure, but then I went out and got myself a white pimp. I lost twenty-two pounds, you know? I took myself in hand and I haven’t gained a pound in weeks! I dyed my hair on my head and”—lowering her voice coquettishly—“even the hair on my thing. I say I’m of a Spanish mother and an Irish father. Sometimes I say my mother was a contessa.”
“I think that’s Italian.”
“No, it’s Spanish. Anyhow, they’re johns—what do they know? I make money hand over fist. Just last week—”
“Dolly, please, listen to me!” Connie interrupted, near despair. “They’re going to do an operation on me. You go look at that woman in the corner, the black woman, Alice. That’s what they want to do to me. At least let me come home for a weekend. To eat real food. To see you and Nita. Please, Dolly, talk to them.”
“Sure, honey. Once you’re in New York, why shouldn’t you come visit