Read Online Charisma by Orania Papazoglou - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Orania Papazoglou
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was pulling up to the curb. They were at the Green, and the Green was where half the people in the city changed directions. Andy stood up and zipped his jacket shut.
“This is where we get off,” he said. “We’ve got to hurry. If we miss our connection, we get stuck in the cold for half an hour.”
But Andy wasn’t really hurrying, so Susan didn’t hurry either. She just wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and thought: We’re going to have to talk about this sometime. I haven’t had seventeen years to get it out of my system. I haven’t had seventeen years to make myself forget.
Of course, she should have had. That was what she’d gone into the convent for, something she hadn’t realized until much too late. But going into the convent hadn’t worked, and coming home hadn’t worked so far either. She still found herself tripping over it all at the most unlikely times, like now. She’d have her mind on something else and it would sneak up behind her, just to kick her in the rear. She was surprised she hadn’t started imagining things, like ghosts rattling chains through the hallways of the house on Edge Hill Road. Ghosts would have been appropriate in more ways than one.
Maybe she was a ghost of a kind herself.
When the bus stopped, it skidded into the curb and cut off abruptly. Andy fell halfway over, saving himself from landing on the floor only by keeping both hands wrapped around a metal pole. Susan didn’t, only because she hadn’t yet stood up. Seconds later, she was not only standing but running, chasing Andy down the ridged metal steps into the wet and slithering wind.
The Green would have been beautiful in the snow, except that its benches were covered with bums.
2
There were no bums on Congress Avenue. Like Edge Hill Road, its sidewalks were clear of all but businesslike traffic. Unlike Edge Hill Road, on Congress Avenue there was a lot of it. Susan saw a line of girls standing under the chipped blue paint on a plate-glass window that said WASH-CENTER, a man changing a movie marquee from SOMETHING-PASSION to HOT-GIRLS-SOMETHING-ELSE, another man laying out watches on an orange crate covered with a piece of turquoise felt. It was early. Congress Avenue didn’t really get moving until after dark. Even so, the girls were wearing skirts that barely reached the tops of their thighs and fishnet stockings that revealed more skin than they covered. Susan thought they had to be freezing. She also thought they had to be fourteen.
Andy tugged on her arm. “You can’t stand around and sightsee, for Christ’s sake. You’ll get them nervous. Either that, or they’ll think you’re buying.”
“Do I look like someone who’s buying?”
“Why not?”
Susan let him pull her along. There might be a point to that “why not.” She’d never been in a place like this. There were orders that sent their sisters to work among the poor in red-light districts, but hers hadn’t been one of them. She’d done her time at the Motherhouse and in parish schools. Oddly enough, though, this place bothered her less than the Green had. She liked the rhythm of it. There was music blasting out of a window somewhere, a big radio turned up loud and pushed against a thin pane of glass. She didn’t recognize the song, but the backbeat was eternal. It reminded her of the Chuck Berry records they’d played in their rooms at Sacred Heart when the madames were all safely tucked in bed.
“It doesn’t look anything like those pictures of the South Bronx,” she said. “It looks—happy.”
“Anything would look happy on three vials of crack a day. A rock would look happy. That’s why people take crack.”
“I thought you could tell when people were on dope. None of these people look like they’re on anything.”
“Maybe they’re not, at the moment. Will you come on? If you keep this up, we’re going to get mugged.”
“I know why people come down here,” she said. “If I was stuck in New Haven
“This is where we get off,” he said. “We’ve got to hurry. If we miss our connection, we get stuck in the cold for half an hour.”
But Andy wasn’t really hurrying, so Susan didn’t hurry either. She just wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and thought: We’re going to have to talk about this sometime. I haven’t had seventeen years to get it out of my system. I haven’t had seventeen years to make myself forget.
Of course, she should have had. That was what she’d gone into the convent for, something she hadn’t realized until much too late. But going into the convent hadn’t worked, and coming home hadn’t worked so far either. She still found herself tripping over it all at the most unlikely times, like now. She’d have her mind on something else and it would sneak up behind her, just to kick her in the rear. She was surprised she hadn’t started imagining things, like ghosts rattling chains through the hallways of the house on Edge Hill Road. Ghosts would have been appropriate in more ways than one.
Maybe she was a ghost of a kind herself.
When the bus stopped, it skidded into the curb and cut off abruptly. Andy fell halfway over, saving himself from landing on the floor only by keeping both hands wrapped around a metal pole. Susan didn’t, only because she hadn’t yet stood up. Seconds later, she was not only standing but running, chasing Andy down the ridged metal steps into the wet and slithering wind.
The Green would have been beautiful in the snow, except that its benches were covered with bums.
2
There were no bums on Congress Avenue. Like Edge Hill Road, its sidewalks were clear of all but businesslike traffic. Unlike Edge Hill Road, on Congress Avenue there was a lot of it. Susan saw a line of girls standing under the chipped blue paint on a plate-glass window that said WASH-CENTER, a man changing a movie marquee from SOMETHING-PASSION to HOT-GIRLS-SOMETHING-ELSE, another man laying out watches on an orange crate covered with a piece of turquoise felt. It was early. Congress Avenue didn’t really get moving until after dark. Even so, the girls were wearing skirts that barely reached the tops of their thighs and fishnet stockings that revealed more skin than they covered. Susan thought they had to be freezing. She also thought they had to be fourteen.
Andy tugged on her arm. “You can’t stand around and sightsee, for Christ’s sake. You’ll get them nervous. Either that, or they’ll think you’re buying.”
“Do I look like someone who’s buying?”
“Why not?”
Susan let him pull her along. There might be a point to that “why not.” She’d never been in a place like this. There were orders that sent their sisters to work among the poor in red-light districts, but hers hadn’t been one of them. She’d done her time at the Motherhouse and in parish schools. Oddly enough, though, this place bothered her less than the Green had. She liked the rhythm of it. There was music blasting out of a window somewhere, a big radio turned up loud and pushed against a thin pane of glass. She didn’t recognize the song, but the backbeat was eternal. It reminded her of the Chuck Berry records they’d played in their rooms at Sacred Heart when the madames were all safely tucked in bed.
“It doesn’t look anything like those pictures of the South Bronx,” she said. “It looks—happy.”
“Anything would look happy on three vials of crack a day. A rock would look happy. That’s why people take crack.”
“I thought you could tell when people were on dope. None of these people look like they’re on anything.”
“Maybe they’re not, at the moment. Will you come on? If you keep this up, we’re going to get mugged.”
“I know why people come down here,” she said. “If I was stuck in New Haven
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