Page 94 of Dark Ugly Places

I take out the office phone, but Bambi sits up and grabs my hand. “Actually, no. Not her. She’s Whitney’s doctor, too. I thought I told you to keep track of these things.”

“Right,” I say, trying to sound calm. “Sorry. I forgot about Whitney.” I run down the list of names. We’re almost near the bottom. “Dr. Lin?”

“Who’s Dr. Lin?”

“Jason’s dermatologist. I know it’s a stretch, but she might be good?”

Bambi laughs. “That’s just perfect. Jason’s doctor. I can ruin my business and my personal life in a single day!” She takes the ice pack and throws it into a nearby table, knocking a crystal vase to the floor. Lucita comes running in.

“Oh, Mrs. Bambi!” She stoops to scoop up the vase and collect the ice pack. “Don’t worry, I will clean this up.”

“No, Lucita. Don’t. Not right now.”

Lucita nods, her eyes worried. “Yes, Miss Bambi. I make lunch?”

Bambi is silent. Normally, this question would be followed by a quick no from Bambi, then a protest about what Lucita would cook, followed by more resistance from Bambi, but not today. Today, Bambi just sits, thinking. Lucita shifts her weight, waiting for an answer. She breathes in like she’s going to add something but doesn’t. Bambi shuts her eyes. She looks like she wants to cry.

“Lunch would be nice,” she says, her eyelids pressed tightly together.

I nod and smile at Lucita, my most good-Martha nod. “Thanks, Lucita.”

Her expression changes, a rare burst of joy coming over her. “Don’t worry, Miss Bambi, I fix something really healthy. Maybe salad, lite dressing, and your coffee?”

She shakes her head side to side, rolling her hair over her face. “No. I don’t want a salad.”

“No?” Lucita rubs her hands together. “Quinoa cakes?”

“No.”

Lucita is lost for words. “Kale smoothie?” she asks at last.

“No!” Bambi intones. She pulls herself forward like it’s a great effort. Her white pajamas are creased, and the buttons of her shirt are undone so that her bra is showing underneath. She doesn’t seem to care. “What can you make with cheese?”

Lucita’s face contorts. “Queso? But you don’t—”

I hold my hand up. “How about a quesadilla, Lucita?”

Lucita gives me a look like I’m the devil incarnate. “Sí, I can make quesadillas, pero Miss Bambi don’t eat queso. Or tortillas.”

“She does now,” I tell her.

Lucita stares at me for a moment, then shrugs and heads to the kitchen.

We sit for a second in silence before Bambi opens her eyes. “I need to get this fixed, Martha.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I say, unsure of what any doctor can do in time for her shoot. The bruising is deep, her face black and blue where Jason unleashed on her.

“And I need something stronger for the pain.”

“I might have something.” From my purse, I pull out a few of Nicola’s pain pills that I stashed away in the zip pouch long ago—just in case.

Bambi’s eyes enliven. “What are those?”

“Just something to take the edge off,” I tell her and hand her an Oxy.

She swallows the pill with a sip of water. “You’re a genius.”

I can’t help but smile a little. Nicola never talks to me this way.