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It was stories such as Portia’s, and her own, that were why Desdemona never forced one of her paramours to do anything they didn’t choose. She thought of her own pimp. Majig. Violence had been his best friend as well.
She flinched at the memory of one of his backhand slaps.
“So, he is all you have?” Desdemona asked, hating just how much she understood.
“Had,” Portia stressed. “And yes. I lived with him because I’m not old enough to get my own place.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
Still a kid.
“I’m not going back to foster care. Before I do I will go back to Papo and just recover from that ass whipping.”
Desdemona was thankful their food arrived. She pretended to focus on eating as she tried to figure out her next step. This young girl was her responsibility now. But what to do with her?
Shit.
“What’s your name?”
Desdemona looked up from pushing her hash around on her plate with her fork. “Ms. Smith,” she lied with ease.
She had far too much to lose by letting this stranger too far into her life.
“And what’s your story?” Portia parroted.
“Just a concerned citizen who wants to help,” Desdemona replied, setting her fork down.
I just don’t know how.
“You a social worker or something?” she asked.
“Far from it.”
She didn’t miss how the girl’s eyes fell on her designer tote and the fluffy mink she wore. Was she impressed or scheming? Desdemona wasn’t sure. “Finish your food,” she said, picking up her fork to do the same.
She welcomed their silence, needing time to formulate a plan. No more flying by the seat of her pants when it came to this young woman who was too much of a mirror to her past.Think, Desi, think.
They finished their meal, and Desdemona rose, sliding on her fur and grabbing her tote before taking the bill. “Let me warm the car up,” she said. “I’ll flash the lights when it’s ready.”
“Okay.”
She paid the bill at the register and scanned the restaurant until she saw Maxie coming out of the kitchen. She waved her over and pressed a crisp fifty-dollar bill into her hand.
The woman’s eyes widened when she opened her hand. “Thank you,” she stressed.
Desdemona knew what it felt like to be tired but too broke to rest.
She stepped out of the diner. The northeast winter air was frigid, causing her to rush across the parking lot. She used the key fob to crank the car and was thankful the seat was warm when she slid onto it. Glancing up, she eyed Portia looking out the window. She reached over to lock the glove compartment that contained her insurance card and registration, revealing her real name and address.
Get on point and stay on point, Desi.
She flashed the lights and turned up the heat, watching as Portia eagerly jumped to her feet and walked out of the diner as she pulled on her puffer coat. At that moment she saw an eager child wanting to be loved, and her heart ached.
Desdemona gave her a warm smile as she opened the door and climbed inside.
“Tonight, I’ll get you a hotel room,” she said, glancing at her before reversing out of the parking spot.
