The Whore of Babylon, a Memoir - By Katrina Prado Page 0,39

of us are left to our own thoughts.

As I scan the street, I find my mind wandering to the time when Robyn will have completed her treatment. What will she be like? Will we do all those mother-daughter things I read about in my magazines? Will she and I be exchanging things like blouses and shoes?

All of that though seems as far away as the stars and after twenty or so minutes, realize that I’m on the edge of my seat, every muscle tensed in anticipation as I peer through my window. I realize suddenly that I am exhausted. This is the most energy I’ve expended since my surgery. I also realize belatedly, that I’ve forgotten my medicines. I let out a silent breath of exasperation and reach for my bottle of water.

I sit back in my seat and check my watch, just after ten thirty. I keep my eyes on the activity of the streets. People continue to come and go. The Phoenix Hotel is a very busy place and through the window I can hear music coming from the bar at the hotel, which must be deafening inside. Ten thirty turns into midnight, which slides uneventfully into one forty-five, and still no sign of Robyn.

I stifle a yawn and pull out the brochure on Peaceful Acres and peruse the captions beneath the colorful photos by the glare of a nearby streetlight.

“You been there before?” Freddie asks. His eyes are looking at me looking at the brochure.

“No,” I say. “But it seems like the perfect place for Robyn. And they told me our insurance would completely cover her stay there.”

“It sure doesn’t hurt to have good insurance,” Bart says.

Freddie lets out a snort. “The better the insurance, the more enthusiastic the treatment facility.”

“It does seem like a nice place, though,” I say.

Freddie nods once. “Better than most,” he says.

I meet his gaze in the mirror, but he looks away, out his driver’s side window.

“How do you know?” I ask.

Bart looks at Freddie, but his face remains angled away from both of us. Bart looks down but says nothing. The streetlight makes Bart’s graying sideburns glisten silver.

“He had a daughter,” Bart says, almost beneath his breath. “On the streets; on drugs.”

I am caught by the word ‘had’, but say nothing.

“That’s how we met,” Bart says.

I nod. I find myself wondering what happened to Freddie’s daughter and if this is why he is helping me tonight.

“What’s her name?” I ask.

Freddie’s eyes stay fixed on the activity across the street. “Amanda.”

The mood inside the van is suddenly somber. I can’t think of a single thing to say. Minutes flit by like schools of fish.

“So,” Bart begins. “This horse walks into this bar.”

Freddie gives Bart an inquiring look.

“And the bartender says to the horse, ‘why the long face?’”

I laugh in spite of the ridiculousness of the joke. And then Freddie laughs too and now everything feels okay; at least on the surface.

I take another sip of water, hoping to settle my stomach that’s beginning to knead with irritation, and twisting the cap back onto the bottle feel my mouth release into yet another yawn.

Bart looks back at me.

“Did you hear the one about the policeman, the priest and the rabbi?”

I shake my head. “Please, not another bad joke,” I respond.

“So the policeman says to this priest—”

“There she is!” Freddie says.

He is out the door; calmly, smoothly, making his way across the street towards the trees in front of the hotel. My heart leaps as I stare at my daughter, and it’s as if I can’t get my fill of her; and though she is dressed in typical hooker garb, and her hair looks ratted and messy, it is my darling Robyn.

“You stay put,” Bart says, exiting the van.

Suspense crawls up my throat as I watch events unfold.

Freddie angles away from Robin about twenty feet down the block. He takes a position behind one of the trees and in his dark clothing is nearly completely hidden. Bart continues forward at a saunter in the general direction of the hotel. His hands are in his front pockets. He stops on the corner and leans casually against a stand of newspaper dispensers and then pulls out a cigarette from his front breast pocket. Lighting it, he makes eye contact with Robyn. He gives her an informal hailing nod. She looks away and then back at Bart and licks her lips. From the glare on the window and my distance, I can’t get a read on her