It was Jack, trying to contact her for the umpteenth time. ‘Hello?’ she answered. ‘Where are you? Why are you not answering my other calls? Are you ok my darling?’ Jack’s voice was desperate and demanding. He was genuinely worried for her and he needed to know her whereabouts. ‘I’m fine.’ Helen was reluctant to answer all of his caring questions. ‘I’m cold and wet, but then again are you really interested to know that?’ ‘Of course I am. Let me collect you and bring you home. I think we need to talk things through more clearly and air a few thoughts about us. This situation is silly. You have things of yours here and I know you had no intentions of leaving.’ Helen thought about Jack’s request seriously. Now that she had heard his voice, she began to feel for him, and even want him again. ‘You asked me to leave. I’m not sure if I should come back or not. Is there really things we need to talk about?’ ‘Yes, lots of things. Tell me where you are.’ ‘What about my other lover? Have you had. It was a stupid name and he knew it, laughed about it. A stupid-assed white man's name, he'd say, then laugh again. Mr. A delivered me himself, six o'clock Friday night. I shuddered as we drove into the neighborhood. Most of the businesses were abandoned. The ones that were open had thugs standing around outside, laughing with each other and drinking 40's from brown paper bags. They'd stare at us as we drove by, deadpan looks on their faces. There was garbage up and down the sidewalks and abandoned cars along the street. And hookers. Cartoonish hookers with hair piled high and skintight dresses, half of their asses exposed and nipples poking through thin tops. They glared at me as we drove past and I tried to sink lower into the front seat.The hotel we stopped at was more than fifty years old, dark and dirty. Half of the windows were shattered, the other half boarded up. Mr. A spotted the pimp and pulled to the curb. I stepped out and he howled at me, "whoo-hoo, fine lookin' bitch"..
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