Read Online Tales From the Crib by Jennifer Coburn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Coburn
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wanted to scream. She smiled, and I adored her again.
“How long do you intend to live this way?” Anjoli asked, again brushing the hair from my eyes.
“Will you stop with the hair?!” I snapped.
“I want to see your eyes.”
“Then look at them. There’s no hair blocking your view. Why do you keep brushing my hair away? What do you want, to just pet me like a cat?”
“Maybe I do. Is that such a crime?”
I moved next to her on the couch and put a pillow on her lap. I was about to rest my head on it when Anjoli protested. “You’re not planning to put your head on my legs, are you?”
“Problem?”
“Darling, my circulation. Please, rest your head next to my legs, not on top of them. I’ll get varicose veins.”
The doorbell rang. My mother glided to the front door to greet the traveling waiter from Zen Palate. I overheard that his audition went well, but that he wasn’t sure he looked Russian enough to play one of the Cossacks in Fiddler on the Roof. With that, I glanced around the corner to see the most beautiful Puerto Rican young man I’d ever seen. His brown eyes were so wide and piercing, I almost floated from my seat toward him. I think Anjoli’s apartment has some weird effect on guys because every man who passed through those doors in the last three weeks was quiver-worthy.
I heard Anjoli tell the guy that West Side Story was coming back to Broadway next season and that she knew the director. Of course she could get him an audition, she assured. “You are coming to my New Year’s Eve party, aren’t you? You’ll meet Tommy then.”
New Year’s Eve party? What New Year’s Eve party?
Chapter 9
Never let a comfortable environment fool you. It’s those times when you think you’re in the absolute safest place when disaster strikes. I’d claimed a favorite spot in Anjoli’s living room—the far end of the sectional facing the fireplace and Christmas tree. A bright light craned over my seat so I could always read, even when Anjoli decided to dim the main lights so the tiny white holiday lights would sparkle. And just off to my left was a wooden table just big enough to hold my mug, book, and cell phone.
The sun had set and it was officially New Year’s Eve, a night filled with the promise that tomorrow was another year. A clean slate. A fresh start. Anjoli and Alfie were at Jefferson Market picking up some last-minute items and I was curled up on the couch finishing the last few pages of a lovely novel. I felt a rare sense of peace. Then I felt a sharp cramp that made me drop my book and shout. I felt warm blood rushing out of me, soaking my underwear and bottoms. Panicked, I reached for my cell phone to call Anjoli before remembering that she doesn’t carry one. She believes they cause ear cancer. I inhaled deeply and tried to fight back the tears while dialing 9-1-1. “Yes, I need help. I’m having a miscarriage and I’m home alone,” I said as calmly as I could. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I continued answering the dispatcher’s questions. “Eight months ... Yes, I’m bleeding and cramping ... Sixteen West Eleventh Street, it’s just west of Sixth Avenue ... Yes, of course I’ll stay on the line.” Was she kidding?! My husband dumped me and my mother was making a prosciutto run. The disembodied voice said she was sending an ambulance that should arrive within minutes. I could tell she was a mother because she kept telling me to breathe deeply and that everything would be fine. But how could it be? My fifth baby had come so close, and now he was leaving too.
Anjoli and Alfie arrived at the same time as the paramedics, so I didn’t have to struggle to answer the door. “What in God’s name is going on, Lucy?” Anjoli cried, rushing in to the apartment. “Why is an ambulance here?”
With that, I burst into tears. “I’m having a miscarriage,” I bawled.
“Oh, Christ!” Alfie rushed over to me.
The paramedics brought a gurney to the couch and pulled back
“How long do you intend to live this way?” Anjoli asked, again brushing the hair from my eyes.
“Will you stop with the hair?!” I snapped.
“I want to see your eyes.”
“Then look at them. There’s no hair blocking your view. Why do you keep brushing my hair away? What do you want, to just pet me like a cat?”
“Maybe I do. Is that such a crime?”
I moved next to her on the couch and put a pillow on her lap. I was about to rest my head on it when Anjoli protested. “You’re not planning to put your head on my legs, are you?”
“Problem?”
“Darling, my circulation. Please, rest your head next to my legs, not on top of them. I’ll get varicose veins.”
The doorbell rang. My mother glided to the front door to greet the traveling waiter from Zen Palate. I overheard that his audition went well, but that he wasn’t sure he looked Russian enough to play one of the Cossacks in Fiddler on the Roof. With that, I glanced around the corner to see the most beautiful Puerto Rican young man I’d ever seen. His brown eyes were so wide and piercing, I almost floated from my seat toward him. I think Anjoli’s apartment has some weird effect on guys because every man who passed through those doors in the last three weeks was quiver-worthy.
I heard Anjoli tell the guy that West Side Story was coming back to Broadway next season and that she knew the director. Of course she could get him an audition, she assured. “You are coming to my New Year’s Eve party, aren’t you? You’ll meet Tommy then.”
New Year’s Eve party? What New Year’s Eve party?
Chapter 9
Never let a comfortable environment fool you. It’s those times when you think you’re in the absolute safest place when disaster strikes. I’d claimed a favorite spot in Anjoli’s living room—the far end of the sectional facing the fireplace and Christmas tree. A bright light craned over my seat so I could always read, even when Anjoli decided to dim the main lights so the tiny white holiday lights would sparkle. And just off to my left was a wooden table just big enough to hold my mug, book, and cell phone.
The sun had set and it was officially New Year’s Eve, a night filled with the promise that tomorrow was another year. A clean slate. A fresh start. Anjoli and Alfie were at Jefferson Market picking up some last-minute items and I was curled up on the couch finishing the last few pages of a lovely novel. I felt a rare sense of peace. Then I felt a sharp cramp that made me drop my book and shout. I felt warm blood rushing out of me, soaking my underwear and bottoms. Panicked, I reached for my cell phone to call Anjoli before remembering that she doesn’t carry one. She believes they cause ear cancer. I inhaled deeply and tried to fight back the tears while dialing 9-1-1. “Yes, I need help. I’m having a miscarriage and I’m home alone,” I said as calmly as I could. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I continued answering the dispatcher’s questions. “Eight months ... Yes, I’m bleeding and cramping ... Sixteen West Eleventh Street, it’s just west of Sixth Avenue ... Yes, of course I’ll stay on the line.” Was she kidding?! My husband dumped me and my mother was making a prosciutto run. The disembodied voice said she was sending an ambulance that should arrive within minutes. I could tell she was a mother because she kept telling me to breathe deeply and that everything would be fine. But how could it be? My fifth baby had come so close, and now he was leaving too.
Anjoli and Alfie arrived at the same time as the paramedics, so I didn’t have to struggle to answer the door. “What in God’s name is going on, Lucy?” Anjoli cried, rushing in to the apartment. “Why is an ambulance here?”
With that, I burst into tears. “I’m having a miscarriage,” I bawled.
“Oh, Christ!” Alfie rushed over to me.
The paramedics brought a gurney to the couch and pulled back
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