Read Online Slow Motion Riot by Peter Blauner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Blauner
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stockings, gold hoop earrings, and a little less makeup than usual. I
try to avoid looking into her wide brown eyes for too long. Otherwise, I know
I'll be lost.
"So did you go to that
word-processing job the counselor sent you to?" I ask as she sits down and
crosses her legs. I can't help noticing the way her skirt rides up a little.
"Yes," Maria says with a
mild accent and a smile. "It seems like a nice place. Thank you for
helping me set that up."
"How much are they paying
you?"
"Almost six dollars an
hour."
"And how fast can you
type?"
"Only about fifty-five words a
minute." She looks down at the floor as though she feels ashamed.
"Only?" I say.
"What's the name of the place you're working?"
She says the name of a prominent
textbook publisher. I tell her that she should ask for at least seven dollars
an hour.
"Please don't make me do that,
Mr. Baum," she says in a slightly panicky tone. "I need this job.
They won't hire me if I ask for that kind of money."
"If you can type fifty-five
words a minute, that publisher can certainly pay you the seven."
"No, but they won't..."
"They will," I insist.
"Listen, if they don't hire you because you ask for more money, then I
will take personal responsibility for finding you another job within a week
that pays at least six dollars an hour. Okay?"
"Okay..."
"You still don't sound
sure." I put her file on my lap and feel something stirring under it.
"Look, Maria, you've got to start having a little higher opinion of
yourself. Don't you think you're worth it?"
"I dunno."
"Well I do. You can't allow
yourself to be held hostage by your fears..."
I realize I'm gazing at her for too
long again. She smiles back at me and doesn't say anything for a minute. She's
beginning to see how attracted I am to her. I look away guiltily and squeeze
the Silly Putty in my pocket. It just shows the sorry state of my own love
life. Not only is it wrong to act this way around a client, but when I think
about what Maria actually did, I get a little sick to my stomach.
It happened on a fall night. Her
mother noticed Maria had been in the bathroom for a very long time. That's the
funny thing about Maria being bright—the rest of her family isn't.
The mother knocked on the door and
called her a few times. Maria didn't say anything. She just groaned. The mother
went back to watching Wheel of Fortune. She didn't understand what they were
saying or spelling; she just liked looking at the prizes. During one of the
last commercial breaks, Maria came running out of the bathroom, past her
mother, and threw something out the window.
An hour later, a neighbor found the
newly born baby girl dead in the alley five floors down.
They arrested Maria. The family
claimed they never knew she was pregnant. She wouldn't say who the father was.
Her lawyer said she was suffering from postpartum depression and the district
attorney charged her with manslaughter. The court gave her probation with
psychiatric treatment.
Within her first few visits, I
learned that her uncle had been sexually abusing her since she was eight and I
began to suspect that he was the one who got her pregnant. Then I found out he
beat her to make sure she wouldn't tell anyone, but I figure the rest of the
family must have known what he was up to and just didn't do anything about it.
With all these confidences going
back and forth, Maria and I have built up a good relationship. She always shows
up for office visits and I get her appointments with Job Corps counselors. I've
even gone with her to their offices a few times to make a good impression on
interviewers. I convinced her to stay in school during days and work nights to
make money. I also gave her my home phone number, which is what I'd do for any
other client, of course.
The one thing I can't get her to do
is move out of the apartment where she still lives with her family. Every time
I see her, I bring up the subject.
"No, no, no," she always
says. "It's not so easy as you
try to avoid looking into her wide brown eyes for too long. Otherwise, I know
I'll be lost.
"So did you go to that
word-processing job the counselor sent you to?" I ask as she sits down and
crosses her legs. I can't help noticing the way her skirt rides up a little.
"Yes," Maria says with a
mild accent and a smile. "It seems like a nice place. Thank you for
helping me set that up."
"How much are they paying
you?"
"Almost six dollars an
hour."
"And how fast can you
type?"
"Only about fifty-five words a
minute." She looks down at the floor as though she feels ashamed.
"Only?" I say.
"What's the name of the place you're working?"
She says the name of a prominent
textbook publisher. I tell her that she should ask for at least seven dollars
an hour.
"Please don't make me do that,
Mr. Baum," she says in a slightly panicky tone. "I need this job.
They won't hire me if I ask for that kind of money."
"If you can type fifty-five
words a minute, that publisher can certainly pay you the seven."
"No, but they won't..."
"They will," I insist.
"Listen, if they don't hire you because you ask for more money, then I
will take personal responsibility for finding you another job within a week
that pays at least six dollars an hour. Okay?"
"Okay..."
"You still don't sound
sure." I put her file on my lap and feel something stirring under it.
"Look, Maria, you've got to start having a little higher opinion of
yourself. Don't you think you're worth it?"
"I dunno."
"Well I do. You can't allow
yourself to be held hostage by your fears..."
I realize I'm gazing at her for too
long again. She smiles back at me and doesn't say anything for a minute. She's
beginning to see how attracted I am to her. I look away guiltily and squeeze
the Silly Putty in my pocket. It just shows the sorry state of my own love
life. Not only is it wrong to act this way around a client, but when I think
about what Maria actually did, I get a little sick to my stomach.
It happened on a fall night. Her
mother noticed Maria had been in the bathroom for a very long time. That's the
funny thing about Maria being bright—the rest of her family isn't.
The mother knocked on the door and
called her a few times. Maria didn't say anything. She just groaned. The mother
went back to watching Wheel of Fortune. She didn't understand what they were
saying or spelling; she just liked looking at the prizes. During one of the
last commercial breaks, Maria came running out of the bathroom, past her
mother, and threw something out the window.
An hour later, a neighbor found the
newly born baby girl dead in the alley five floors down.
They arrested Maria. The family
claimed they never knew she was pregnant. She wouldn't say who the father was.
Her lawyer said she was suffering from postpartum depression and the district
attorney charged her with manslaughter. The court gave her probation with
psychiatric treatment.
Within her first few visits, I
learned that her uncle had been sexually abusing her since she was eight and I
began to suspect that he was the one who got her pregnant. Then I found out he
beat her to make sure she wouldn't tell anyone, but I figure the rest of the
family must have known what he was up to and just didn't do anything about it.
With all these confidences going
back and forth, Maria and I have built up a good relationship. She always shows
up for office visits and I get her appointments with Job Corps counselors. I've
even gone with her to their offices a few times to make a good impression on
interviewers. I convinced her to stay in school during days and work nights to
make money. I also gave her my home phone number, which is what I'd do for any
other client, of course.
The one thing I can't get her to do
is move out of the apartment where she still lives with her family. Every time
I see her, I bring up the subject.
"No, no, no," she always
says. "It's not so easy as you
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