“I guess you just live off the fat of the land.”
Rigger gave up. “I suppose so.”
He returned his gaze to the little face framed in yellow curls and smiled as the girl silently admonished Barbie about something she apparently said without asking the girl’s permission.
I wonder if her hair is naturally curly. If not, someone spent a lot of time on it. Unusual for street people.
The woman sipped her chocolate, licked her upper lip, then took a big drink. She followed Rigger’s gaze to her daughter, who tried to catch a marshmallow with her tongue.
Ten minutes later, outside Hannibal’s, Rigger watched the two of them walk away. The girl hung on to the bottom edge of the pea-jacket as the woman shoved her hands into the pockets. Only the Barbie doll, cradled against the girl’s shoulder, looked back at him. He waved goodbye to Barbie, sighed, and went the opposite way. As he walked toward the drug store, he took the doctor’s prescriptions from his coat pocket.
On the following Tuesday, the day after Christmas, Rigger walked the streets. He really had no reason to return to Hannibal’s Café; he just wanted to taste the chocolate again.
He caught his breath when he saw the two of them across the street from Hannibal’s, working the busy lunchtime crowd. They wore the same clothes as last week. He hustled through the traffic while they watched a gaggle of stockbrokers in pinstripes waddle by, half of them with cellphones grafted to their ears, hands attached. The rest of them had Bluetooth earbuds. All of them chattered a bit too loudly and waved their hands in the air, very much full of themselves.
“Hi there,” he said, coming up on their blind side.
The woman jerked her head around toward him, almost smiled, but then took on an expression that could have said, I was actually expecting someone else.
The child had a new sign, “Please help. Mommy lost job.” The girl’s face was stony as before, but her eyes welcomed him, and she turned Barbie his way. The doll gave him a blue-crayoned smile that wasn’t there last week.
He returned Barbie’s smile, then spoke to the mother. “How’s business?”
An urge to grab her shoulders to keep them from shrugging rose from his pectorals and tingled down to his hands, creating an awkward gesture. But she surprised him, and for an instant he thought he saw an unguarded sign of relief in her eyes.
“Not bad.” No shrug.
“You two had lunch?”
“Nope,” she said.
“I’m on my way to see what Hannibal has on today’s special. Wanna join me?”
She glanced down at the girl. “You hungry, Mama?”
The child nodded vigorously.
“Well, then, let’s go.”
Rigger stepped around the woman and picked up the girl before either of them could change their minds. She was light as a new kitten in his arms. Without hesitation, she put her arm around his neck and held on.
They threaded through the traffic, and he opened the door for the woman to precede him into the cafe.
The waitress told them the day’s special was liver, and Rigger noticed an expression of yuck on the child’s face. They ordered from the menu, and the waitress scurried away to the kitchen.
Rigger spoke to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Rachel. I’m in the Bible, you know. This is Henry.” She held the grinning Barbie doll out to him.
“Hello, Henry.” He shook the outstretched plastic hand and felt the texture of her coral and rose pinafore—three doll-sizes too large. “I’m glad to meet you, and I must say, that’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing.”
Rachel stared at Henry, listening for a moment while adjusting the garment over an exposed shoulder. “She likes yours, too.”
Rigger studied the girl’s face. Rachel—Appearance – 10, Likability – 10, Attitude – 8, Usefulness – 2.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” the woman said, without warning.
Rigger and Rachel looked at her. So did Henry.
“We’ll clean your stupid apartment, but it’ll cost you fifty bucks.”
The girl and Henry looked at Rigger, expectant expressions on their faces.
He savored the moment, feeling some sort of perverse victory over the woman. Had he penetrated her icy facade and touched a warm current of femininity?
Street Woman; Appearance – 8, Likability – 1, Attitude – 0, Usefulness – 6.
“Sorry,” Rigger said, thinking he might persuade her to lighten her attitude. “My maid came back from vacation.”
“Let’s go, Rach.” She grabbed the girl’s arm, pushing her to the edge of booth.
“Wait.” He was no match for her. “Kidding. I was only kidding.” He reached for her wrist to keep them from leaving.
She glared at his hand, then wrenched away hers and settled back to her place. “Don’t fool with me, Rigger. I don’t play jokes.”
“All right, I’m sorry…” He stopped, confused for a moment. “I just wanted to see you smile.”
“I don’t do that either.”
He looked down to see Henry slowly turn her smiling face toward him.
“Okay,” he said. “No jokes, no smiles. I got it.”
The woman held her hand out to him, palm up.
“What?” he asked.
“Payment in advance.”
“Yeah, right…” He saw one eyebrow go up. “Okay, okay. Payment in advance. No jokes, no smiles.”
When his checkbook came out, she shook her head.
“American Express?” Rigger had reached a point where she was either going to take a joke or they were going to end this mercenary affair.
“Actually, I can do American Express.”
“Didn’t she say no jokes?” he asked Rachel, then looked the question at Henry. They both nodded.
“You have to add ten percent,” the woman said. “We do it at Punky’s Pawn Shop, over on Forty-third.”
“Seriously?”
“You don’t think a street woman can do business?”
“Oh, I think you’re a businesswoman all right. A very good businesswoman.”
He took some currency out of his wallet, riffling the new twenties to separate them. When he passed two twenties and a ten to her, he looked up to see the waitress glancing from the money to him to the woman.
She shrugged and asked, “Meatloaf?”
He made room for her to set the plate before him. She placed the chicken-fried steak in front of the woman, dropping it from a height that made an annoying clatter, but not quite enough to break the plate. Rachel got a hamburger with a side order of M&Ms, gently.
Henry sat down on the table, with her legs splayed out. She watched Rachel pick out three green candies. One went into Henry’s lap.
Rigger picked up his fork and stared at it as if he’d forgotten what he was going to do with it.
When did I tell her my name?
Chapter Three
Rigger’s apartment on Central Park East, facing Sheep Meadow.
Rigger roused himself from semi-paralysis and reached for his remote control to pause the Mozart. He hit the wrong