The guy nodded so slowly she couldn’t tell if it was a response or a tic.
“You do know her, then?”
“She ain’t here.”
“I see that. Do you know where she might be?”
“You could try the traffic island on South Van Ness.”
“Do you know her name?”
The guy shrugged. “We call her Leia.”
“What do you mean, you call her that?”
“Like Princess Leia.”
“But . . . why?”
“I dunno. It’s a nickname. Ask her.”
The light turned green, signaling an end to their conversation. “Thanks a lot,” she said, extending her hand. “My name’s Shawna, by the way.”
The guy just looked at her hand for a moment, as if it might somehow contaminate him. “Good for you,” he muttered, before shuffling back to pick up his sign.
•••
SHAWNA LOOKED FOR THE WOMAN at the traffic island on South Van Ness, but she was nowhere to be found. There were several other signers working the island, but Shawna balked at the thought of interrogating another stranger about the elusive Leia.
That night, when she and Otto were eating at Weird Fish in the Mission, she told him about her abortive search, knowing already that he would question her motives.
“Is this about your writing?” he asked.
“No. I mean, it could be eventually, but it’s not about that now.”
“Then what?”
“I dunno. I just feel like . . . I’m supposed to find her. I know how fucked-up that sounds, but . . . she’s in my consciousness now.”
“What was it? Her sparkling personality?”
She shot him a peevish look.
“Hey, I’m just trying to nail this down. You should’ve told me earlier.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw her this afternoon. Down at the Civic Center.”
“You’re kidding? What was she doing?”
He shrugged. “Trying a case at the courthouse.”
“What?”
He smiled like a naughty little boy, then popped a French fry into his mouth. “You gotta learn to tell when I’m teasing.”
“No. You gotta learn to not be full of shit. Where was she? What was she doing?”
“She was sleeping in a cardboard box.”
“Seriously?”
“Well . . . as seriously as you can sleep in a cardboard box.”
Now she was really exasperated. “Why are you making light of this?”
“Because, ladylove . . .”
“Don’t call me that. Not while you’re being an asshole.”
“Shawna . . . listen.” Otto’s tone remained calm, maddeningly enough. “I think you’re getting a little ooga-booga about this. I see these people every day, and most of them are seriously loony and dangerous. It’s not as quaint and Dickensian as you think.”
“Did I say that? Did I say it was quaint and Dickensian?”
“Okay. Fine. Sorry.” He held his hands up in placid surrender. “Want me to show you where she is?”
She was surprised by the offer, until she realized the reason for it. “You don’t want me going down there on my own.”
“That’s right. I don’t.”
“Okay.” She gave him a half-smile to show that he was back in her good graces. “I can live with that.”
“When do you wanna go?”
“When do you think?” she replied.
THEY FOUND PARKING ON GROVE Street, not far from City Hall, then cut across the plaza toward the library, passing the organic garden that Mayor Newsom had installed to demonstrate his support for sustainable agriculture. The rustic split-rail fence around the garden stood in ludicrous contrast to the grim-faced granite buildings in every direction. In the daytime, the plaza struck Shawna as a black-and-white movie; at night, even the shadows seemed to have shadows.
“What were you doing here, anyway?” she asked Otto.
“There was a matinee up at the Opera House. Sammy and I were working the crowd outside. We came down to Burger King afterwards.”
It unsettled her when he spoke of the monkey as if they were a couple, but she never let herself say that. Sammy, after all, was why she had fallen for Otto.
“By the way,” she said, “they call her Leia. As in Princess Leia.”
Otto looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh . . . the woman, you mean?”
“Yeah. It’s her nickname on the street.”
“Did she use to wear her hair like that or something?”
“Who knows?”
“Well, it’s appropriate.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Otto melodramatically, “I am about to take you to a galaxy far, far away.”
They followed Grove past the library into the heart of the Tenderloin, entering an extended hellscape of junkies and whores. This was always a shock to Shawna. You would never guess that some of these streets stretched all the way across town to Russian Hill with its cable cars and postcard views of the bay. To make the two-mile journey from there to here was to witness firsthand the gradual degradation of a city’s soul.
Instinctively, Shawna moved closer to Otto. “I thought you said she was in the Civic Center?”
“Well . . . two or three blocks away.” He turned and looked at her earnestly. “Do you wanna call it off?”
“No. Do you?”
Otto just smiled dimly and kept walking. Ahead of them, on the corner, was a vacant lot with a low wall of concrete blocks on two sides, presumably to keep people from parking there. To Shawna it looked like a deserted construction site, or maybe the rubble-strewn remains of a demolition. A billboard on a neighboring building depicted the eyes of an elegant dark-skinned woman gazing over the rim of a whiskey glass, with a tagline that read THE NIGHT KNOWS WHAT IT WANTS. The cold white light from the billboard made it easier to spot Leia’s box, but, mercifully, stopped just short of it.
The box wasn’t huge—refrigerator-size, Shawna guessed. There was certainly room enough for someone to lie down in there, though who that someone might be was currently obscured by a layer of black garbage bags. Shawna stopped about ten feet from the box, wary of frightening the resident, and shot a quick glance at Otto.
“What should I do?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Say hello, I guess. You’re asking me?”
Otto was obviously pouting, but she didn’t have time to humor him. She had already noticed several scary-looking knots of men on the other corners. The Orpheum Theatre was just down the street, reassuringly armored in neon, but this was one of those neighborhoods where you knew to stride briskly, eyes fixed straight ahead, if you had somehow made the mistake of passing through. And here they were, stopping.
“Excuse me,” she called. “Leia?”
There was no response. The garbage bag didn’t stir.
“I met you down by the freeway last week. I gave you some money.”
“There’s nobody there,” said Otto.
“You don’t know.”
“If she’s sleeping, then I wouldn’t disturb her.”
Shawna moved closer. “Leia?”
“Don’t, Shawna.”
She was reaching for the garbage bag when it flew back of its own accord, fanning a rotten-sweet stench into her nostrils. The person whose home she’d just invaded sprang up like a crazed jack-in-the-box, making Shawna yelp. It wasn’t Leia, though; it was a pockmarked Hispanic guy in a stocking cap.
“Shit. I’m so sorry. I was looking for Leia.”
He propped himself up on one elbow. “What you want with her?”
“Just to help.”
“She’s down the alley. I’m saving her place.”
Shawna shuddered to think that this wilted cardboard coffin required “saving” for anyone, but she knew the guy was telling the truth. She had just spotted Leia’s YOUR MAMA WOULD GIVE A DAMN sign in the weeds behind the box.
“Which alley?”
asked Otto, stepping forward.
The man pointed across the street. “Over there next to the blue beer sign. But don’t go down there.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t.” The man lay down again, pulling the plastic bag over himself.
Shawna turned to Otto. “We have to.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Well, I am.” She strode across the lot, stepped over the concrete-block wall, then turned back to Otto. She realized she’d put this peace-loving guy in a terrible spot, and, most of all, she didn’t want it to look like she was testing his loyalty. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be careful. I just wanna look.”
She crossed the street and walked half a block to the mouth of the alley. She could hear Otto’s footsteps behind her—or what she assumed were his footsteps—but she didn’t look back for fear of engaging him again. This was her craziness, not his.
The alley was barely ten feet wide and lit only by a window in the neighboring residence hotel. Even from out on the sidewalk it stank of piss. Someone halfway down the alley was sitting on the ground under a blanket, rocking rhythmically back and forth. In the far distance another figure, this one only in silhouette, was pressed against a wall with odd formality, like someone about to be executed. His stillness was mesmerizing; it took Shawna a while to notice that someone was kneeling in front of him.
“She’s got a trick,” whispered Otto, slipping his arm around her waist.
“Jesus!” She jumped more than she would have liked.
“That’s good. Your reflexes still work. C’mon.”
“Wait.”
“I mean it, Shawna. No more of this. I’m manning up here.”
She turned to him with a crooked smile. “Really?”
“If you wanna get killed over a blow job in an alley—”
“Shhhh.” She took his arm to silence him. “We’re leaving, okay? We can wait for her back at the box.”
“We’re not waiting anywhere. We’re heading straight back to—”
The end of that thought was amputated by a scream from the alley.
“Fuck,” murmured Shawna, swiveling to look down the murky passageway. The silhouetted figures at the end had now become a single writhing mass. The person under the blanket was yelling “shut up” repeatedly, like a mantra, still rocking back and forth.
Then came another scream, even more horrible than the first, prompting Otto to sprint down the alley toward the sound. “Wait,” yelled Shawna. “Be careful.”
I dragged the poor guy here, and now he’s going to be killed.
She headed into the alley, though more cautiously than Otto had. “We’re calling the police!” she yelled. “Leave her alone!” She hoped this wouldn’t further inflame the situation, but it was all she could think to do. Then she heard the abrasive clatter of an overturning garbage can and watched as a man bolted into the street at the other end of the alley. To her abject horror, her boyfriend was running after him. “Otto, don’t!”
For one eerie moment Leia was nowhere to be found. Then Shawna rolled away the garbage can and saw the figure lying in the shadows. She knelt next to it and listened for signs of life, taking the woman’s hand in hers.
“Leia?”
A guttural groan.
“Are you all right?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Never mind. Just a friend. Can you sit up?” She slid her hand under Leia’s back only to hit something syrupy and warm and yank it away again.
“Owww,” screamed Leia.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The carrion stench of the woman was going straight to the pit of Shawna’s stomach. “Just lie still, sweetheart. We’re gonna take care of you.”
Shawna dug her phone out of her coat and dialed 911.
“I have a woman here,” she told the operator. “She’s been stabbed, I think.”
“You think?” growled Leia.
“And what’s the location?”
“Oh . . . shit . . . I don’t know. It’s an alley in the Tenderloin. It’s off of Hyde Street. Please hurry.”
“I’ll need a name, ma’am. Is there someone there who can—?”
“Cocksuck,” said Leia.
“Hang on, Leia . . . Operator, maybe I could meet them out at—”
“Cocksuck Alley!”
Shawna looked down at Leia. “Seriously? That’s the name?”
The woman grunted in the affirmative. “The cops call it that, too.”
“Okay . . . great. Operator, apparently it’s known on the street as Cocksuck Alley.”
Silence.
“Please don’t hang up. This isn’t a prank, I swear.” Desperate, still holding Leia’s hand, Shawna looked toward the end of the alley where Otto had just reappeared, breathing heavily. “What does that sign say?” she yelled.
“What sign?”
“On the wall there. Where are we?”
Otto looked. “Cossack,” he hollered back.
“Like . . . Russian?”
“Yeah.”
Shawna clarified things for the operator, spelling the word for her. “We need an ambulance quick. She’s bleeding a lot.”
Otto joined them, stroking Shawna’s hair while she held Leia’s hand.
“Did he take my knife?” asked Leia.
Down the alley the guy under the polyester blanket continued intoning his evening prayer: “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
Even the sirens, when they came, didn’t silence him.
Chapter 13
A Nibble on the Line
“I have the perfect person,” said DeDe Halcyon-Wilson as she topped off Mary Ann’s wine glass like the gracious hostess she’d been raised to be. “Her office is just a couple of miles away. You could recuperate here, if you like.”
Here was Halcyon Hill, the mock-Tudor manor house in Hillsborough that had been DeDe’s home since childhood. She and D’orothea had recently re-chintzed the furniture and installed pretty green-silk Roman shades, but the house was still very much the way Mary Ann remembered it. Only DeDe herself had changed significantly; the prodigal debutante who’d returned from Guyana so sinewy and serious was now this pleasant little partridge of a woman. Her patrician, finely furred jawline evoked the previous mistress of this house, DeDe’s long-dead mother, Frannie Halcyon. And Mary Ann could well imagine what Frannie would have said about the fountain on the wall of the sunroom: a stylized vagina with water sluicing through petals of smooth pink marble.
“Too much?” asked DeDe, seeing where Mary Ann’s eyes had landed.
“No . . . it’s very subtle, actually. It’s like a Bufano.”
“That’s what it is.”
“You’re kidding?” Mary Ann had prided herself on spotting the sculptor’s distinctive work when she’d lived here—all those faceless penguins and slope-shouldered mama bears embracing their young. “I didn’t know he did . . . people.”
DeDe chuckled. “He didn’t. D’or bought it in a spiritual shop in Gualala. I told her it was a horrid idea, but she’d just taken a Lorezepam and could not be contained.”
“It’s not a Bufano, you mean?”
“God, no. I feel so insensitive, Mary Ann. I should have taken it down before you got here.”
“Why?” Mary Ann gave her a spunky smile. “I get to keep that part.”
Clearly relieved by this offhanded absolution, DeDe managed a laugh. “Leaving in the playpen, as they say.”
“What?” said Mary Ann.
“Our friend Barb had a hysterectomy last summer. She told us: ‘They may be taking out the baby carriage, but at least they’re leaving in the playpen.’ ”
Cute, thought Mary Ann, if not especially comforting, since these days her playpen saw about as much action as her baby carriage. “So your friend is okay?”
“She’s great. Just fine. I asked her to join us today, but she had a meeting of her sustainable-gardening group. You know, it’s the most fixable form of cancer there is.”
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“So they tell me.”
“Are you scared?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Of what exactly?”
Mary Ann’s gaze drifted through the diamond-paned window into the green-and-gold blur of the garden. “That I’ll be different when it’s over . . . or dead. I alternate.”
DeDe, thank God, didn’t try to be a Pollyanna about it. “You’ll really like Ginny, I think. She’s a good egg.”
“The oncologist?”
“Mmm. She’s a serious advocate for women.”
“She’s gay, I take it.”
“Is that an issue for you?”
“Of course not. Please. I was just curious.”
“I can drive you there this afternoon, if you like. I’ve already told her we might stop by.”
Mary Ann felt a rush of unalloyed affection for her old friend. “Oh, DeDe, would you? That would be such a load off my mind.” It soothed her considerably to have someone she trusted take matters in hand like this. She felt so much less alone.
“Ginny says it’s a simple matter to have your records transferred. There are no hard feelings, are there? With your oncologist in Darien, I mean?”
Mary Ann shook her head. “Not yet. I haven’t said a word to him.”
“Guess you’d better, then.”
Mary Ann hesitated, imagining that awkward scenario as she took another sip of her Sauvignon Blanc.
“What’s the matter?” asked DeDe.
“It’s a little too close for comfort. He plays racquetball with Bob at our club.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Of course I didn’t find that out until I was in the stirrups and he asked how good ol’ Bob was doing in Europe.”
DeDe groaned. “No wonder you wanted a new doctor! Jesus, do you think he knew about . . . you know . . . Bob and your life coach?”
Mary Ann shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past Bob to brag about it.”
DeDe absorbed that for a moment. “Let Ginny handle it, then. That’s just the sort of challenge she enjoys. Does Bob know yet, by the way?”
“About what?”
“That you caught him in the act . . . or where you are, for that matter.”
Mary Ann shook her head grimly. “I don’t have the energy for that.”