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Chapter 3
My life would probably have continued in the same manner had a fateful event not taken place. After an exhausting final shoot, I had just come out of the train station into the freezing night when a car slowed down, the door opened, and a man dropped a bundle onto the dirty, trash-strewn median about ten yards from me. The man made eye contact with me, then slammed the door. The car took off, but not before the man threw a bag from the window. It was disgusting, another pig throwing trash onto the street.
Then I heard a screech. I listened. It was a baby crying. The guy had thrown a baby out of the car. I ran to the bundle and looked at it, afraid to pick it up. What if it had been injured when he dropped it? The baby was tiny. I don’t know much about babies, but something told me this was a newborn. And then, to my relief, it began to cycle all four limbs, kicking off the inadequate blanket. The pink pajamas the baby was wearing suggested it was a girl.
The child took my breath away. For months, everywhere I went, I had seen babies and pregnant women. And here was a baby, lying at my feet. A thought zipped through my head that this was a dream. The baby screeched again. I crouched down and looked at her, trying to determine if she had been hurt in the fall. I decided that if she had the energy to make so much noise, she had to be okay.
Tightening the blanket around the little body, I picked her up and held her close to me. Oh God, she was so cute, with curly dark hair and a little rosebud mouth. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was freezing, so she had to be cold, too. Holding her close, I bent over and grabbed the diaper bag that had been tossed out of the car. A pacifier hung from the handle by a lanyard.
The bag was heavy, too. Hopefully there was a bottle inside, in case the little one needed to eat. I didn’t know what to do. I thought about going into the bodega on the corner to get warm and call the police, but Friday-night customers packed the place, and although I often went inside alone, I was afraid of strangers pawing at the baby or asking questions and possibly taking her away from me.
I’d go the two blocks to my apartment and call the police when I got there. The fear that the car would return made me kick off my high heels and run the distance on the freezing pavement in my stocking feet.
Ben had just let someone else out of the building and was there when I appeared, tears flooding my cheeks, the jostled baby staring up at me. He ran down the steps to me.
“Ben, Ben,” I cried, pointing down the street. “This baby was thrown out of a car on Lexington.”
“Miss Long, I’ll take the bag,” he said, his arm around my shoulders as he led me into the building. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“Yes, we have to. Poor little thing. I want to go up to my apartment.”
He looked down at my stocking feet. “I’ll go up with you.”
I began to sob, my fears for the life of this tiny human being overwhelming.
He got out his phone and called the police as we rode up three floors and walked to my door. My apartment was wholly inadequate for a baby. I stood there in a daze. I didn’t know how to take care of a baby. I didn’t know what to do.
“Miss, with your permission, allow me to call your father,” Ben said, watching me.
I came to my senses, not wanting Randy to control this situation. I needed to pull it together and do the right thing. I’d search online to learn what I had to.
“It’s not necessary,” I said, sniffing. “He’ll come all the way from Long Island. I can handle it. I think.”
“If you’re sure, then, I’m going to head back to the lobby and wait for the police.”
“Thank you, Ben.”
I walked back to the door with him, holding the little baby. Once the door was locked, I went down the hall with the diaper bag to my bedroom, feeling the unreality of the situation. Before I turned the lights on, I walked around, shutting the drapes. I felt so vulnerable, so worried about the baby. I thought about calling my mother, but what could she do long-distance? I felt alone.
Laying the baby on the bed, I reached over and switched on the lamp. She was so sweet. In the midst of all the turmoil, she’d fallen asleep. Long lashes lay on chubby cheeks. I unwrapped her, and it appeared that she was well taken care of, with clean clothes and little booties. But why no heavy outer garment? It was winter. Maybe she’d been taken away in a hurry.
I emptied the bag and found several prepared bottles in a thermal sack with an ice pack inside. It didn’t seem logical that a baby would be dumped on the ground with so much care taken. I put the bottles in the fridge.
I went to the bathroom and scrubbed my hands, thinking about being on the subway and then touching the baby. My makeup had streaked down my cheeks, and my hair was a mess. I pulled it into a bun, just to keep it off the baby.
“Well, baby. What do we do now?”
The door buzzer went off, so I wrapped her up again, picked her up, and went out to answer. Three officers, a man and a woman in uniform and one man in a suit, waited on the other side of the door. I stepped aside to let them in.
The guy in the suit did all the talking. “Miss Long?” he asked. ”I’m Detective Mark Spinoza. The doorman gave me your name.”
“Yes. Come in.”
He introduced the other two officers. “What’s her condition?”
“She seems fine, but I’m not a doctor. She’s moving her arms and legs.”
“Do you want to sit down?” Detective Spinoza asked, watching me.
