Bound for the Outer Banks (11 page)

After church the next day she knocked on her best friend’s door and asked if she’d like to take a walk along the trail to the estuary. BeBe grabbed her net. She’d already changed out of her church clothes and put on her shorts and a T-shirt, in accordance with Hadley Beatty’s rules for Sundays. On the way down the trail out of ear shot from anyone else, Harmony began to cry. BeBe didn’t notice at first as she was charging ahead eager to see if they could catch any crabs for supper. Harmony finally stopped walking and began crying uncontrollably. Harmony told BeBe every horrible part of what had transpired the night before.

BeBe was furious, “I’ll kill him. I’ll get Daddy’s gun and I’ll shoot him! I’ll sneak into his house and pour gasoline on him while he’s asleep and I’ll set him on fire!”

“No,” Harmony whimpered. “Then you’ll go to prison.”

“He likes me. I can pretend to like him back and then hit him over the head with a frying pan or something and say he tried to force himself on me. I can at least tell the police or somebody what he did and have his sorry ass thrown in jail!” BeBe was walking back and forth in a crazy rage creating revenge scenarios in her head.

“No BeBe,” Harmony said weakly.

“We have to do something!” BeBe shouted.

“We are,” said Harmony. “We’re going to forget that it ever happened. It’ll be our big secret. My Momma ran off with a salesman, BeBe. My family is as poor as dirt. Do you really think anybody’s gonna believe me? They’d just say I was a lyin’ whore like my Momma and that I probably made it up to try to blackmail the Goodsons to try to get some money.”

As badly as BeBe hated to admit it, Harmony was right. Harmony’s accusation would never hold water on Roanoke Island. The Goodsons could create an alibi for Grant in a skinny minute. The one thing BeBe knew was that no matter how much Jackson and Hadley wanted her to date Grant Goodson, there was now about as much of a chance of that happening as a person peeing up a rope. The rest of BeBe’s senior year consisted of nothing but fights erupting between her and her mother, Hadley. Her father would lock himself in his study claiming to have work to do. The Goodsons had called Hadley several times inviting them to have dinner at the country club in New Bern. Both times Grant was in attendance hoping to see BeBe but she had feigned illness at the last minute and flat out refused to go.

Hadley Beatty had become irate at the situation and told BeBe if she did not go out with Grant Goodson she would be disowned. That is why Blythe Beatty, after her commencement from high school that morning and before the gamut of graduation parties that night, slipped off to Atlanta to pay her own way in the world instead of spending one iota of time with Grant Goodson. BeBe didn’t even tell Harmony where she was going, although Harmony would know exactly why she was doing it. BeBe hated Grant Goodson but she hated her mother more for trying to force her on a man she’d made clear to her mother she despised.

BeBe Beatty became a topless dancer at the Kitty Club in Atlanta under the stage name Hadley. She rented a tiny studio apartment in midtown and put herself through Georgia State. By attending summers she graduated less than three years later with her journalism degree Summa Cum Laude.

Ella picked up the computer again determined to pursue her dream with the same resoluteness as her mother. After she scrolled through the final screen of nursing jobs and more cross country trucking jobs she saw it - TEMPORARY SEAMSTRESS NEEDED. “O.K., It’s not a fashion designer’s dream job but it will pay the bills for a while.” Ella clicked on the link and was so glad she did.

Coming soon to Biloxi

HARD ROCK CASINO AND LUXURY HOTEL

The Hard Rock Corporation is looking for a seamstress to alter waiter, waitress, and dealer uniforms for the Casino Staff. Position will begin June 1st

“Shit!” thought Ella. “That’s two weeks from now. And I won’t get a paycheck for probably two weeks after that!”

Ella continued to scroll down until she came to an ad that said, “Vee Vant Your Blood!”

Ella got the whole vampire accent thing but she was curious why this phrase was listed on the jobs board. Ella shrugged and clicked on it. Ella had blood. As a matter of fact she was O positive, a universal donor. The ad was for Taliant Plasma Services, a company specializing in the production of medicines derived from human plasma.

MAKE UP TO $200 per MONTH!

MUST BE 18 – 65 YEARS OLD

Ella said aloud, “Check.”

MUST WEIGH AT LEAST 110 POUNDS

“I’m 125. Never thought I’d be so grateful for that!”

MUST SHOW PHOTO I.D.

“Check. Where do I sign up?”

Ella grabbed a sheet of paper from the hot pink nightstand she’d helped BeBe paint several years before, and wrote down the address to Taliant Plasma Services. Tomorrow she would sit on her ass in a chair and score forty bucks, but tonight she would apply to the Hard Rock Casino to be an old fashioned seamstress.

Chapter 12

The next morning Ella walked into downtown Biloxi, slowly sipping on a mug of iced tap water. Ella never drank bottled water. Besides paying for something you could get from your tap, she knew that laws for the purity of tap water were more stringent than the laws for bottled water. Plus she hated the thought of all those bottles being placed in a landfill somewhere.

If she was going to have all the plasma sucked out of her blood she figured she’d better hydrate, plus she wanted her veins nice and fluffy so the technician wouldn’t be poking around trying to find a vein with the large gauged needles used in the process. Plasma was the portion of a person’s blood that contained all the goodies like antibodies and clotting factor.

Ella saw the sign on the edge of the road in front of a run-down strip mall – TALIANT PLASMA SERVICES. She began pondering what type of people would sell their blood for money. Realizing a fairly entitled SCAD graduate raised in New York City would probably not be Taliant Plasma’s typical client, Ella became a little nervous. She walked across the pocked, dark asphalt. It was almost nine o’clock in the morning but she could already feel the heat rising from under her feet.

“Oh shit,” Ella said aloud to no one in particular. Outside, down the edge of the strip mall was a line with no less than twenty people. Most were black, but there were a few white folks and a couple who appeared Vietnamese. There was a large population of Vietnamese in the area since they would agree to get paid by the pound for the crab they could pick off the shell instead of getting paid by the hour.

The line seemed to be self-imposed and self-enforced. Ella took her place at the end. She imagined it might possibly be a deadly proposition if a person tried to enter when the doors of Taliant opened without respecting the pre-formed line down the side of the building. The lady in front of Ella was most certainly a prostitute Ella thought. She hated to pre judge, but even BeBe would have agreed. The woman had bleached platinum hair to her bra strap, but she was African American. She was wearing a black lace bustier and had on a ruffled, tulle short skirt. Underneath, she had on a pair of red satin panties with FOXY written in black across the ass. The identifier that clenched it for Ella was the pair of red, patent leather five inch stilettos the lady was wearing. The woman was leaning against the building clutching her small black purse in one hand and taking long drags off a cigarette with the other hand.

“Good morning, Buckhead Betty,” said the lady. Ella had no clue why this person had just addressed her as Buckhead Betty. Being only quasi Southern, she didn’t know that it was a nickname for a preppy Southern girl named for an exclusive section of Atlanta.

Ella gave the woman her most sincere smile and without missing a beat answered, “Good morning, Miss Foxy.”

Ella decided to show Miss Foxy that Buckhead Betty was no puss. Miss Foxy smiled and said, “I see you been reading my fancy personalized panties.”

“Guilty,” Ella responded looking Miss Foxy straight in the eye, reminding herself not to show any weakness as if the woman might be likened to a wild or rabid animal.

“You don’t look like nobody that needs to sell their blood for money.”

“I wasn’t aware that poor had a specific look to it. I can assure you I need to sell my blood as badly as anyone else here.” Ella’s countenance became serious.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Foxy apologized. “You just look like you’ve got to be from some nice family somewhere. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“They’re all dead,” muttered Ella. “And the only one that is still alive is a bitch.”

Miss Foxy laughed, “I gotcha girl! I know how that is. You gotta watch out for those bitches.”

The doors to Taliant opened and the line stayed perfectly intact as everyone entered the building. Inside, the lines were divided into those who had donated plasma before and those who needed to register. There were only two people besides Ella who were first timers.

Ella filled out all the questions regarding blood transfusions and a history of STD’s among more general health questions. Then there were questions regarding recent tattoos or piercings, travel to other countries, number of times you’d been incarcerated, and if you were feeling well in general.

After turning in her paperwork, Ella was escorted back to an exam room. A sweet older nurse named Maggie came in and checked her reflexes, weighed her, listened to her heart, and took her blood pressure. Ella was secretly jealous of Maggie who’d probably gone to some two year junior college R.N. program and would make more money than Ella ever would. Maggie pricked Ella’s finger drawing up the blood in to a tiny capillary tube. Maggie excused Ella back into the waiting room where it was standing room only. Miss Foxy waved to Ella and pointed to a vacant seat beside her.

Ella took her place on the cheap, black vinyl seat. Miss Foxy turned from her small romance novel and smiled at Ella. Ella’s eyes were transfixed on the title of the book “Loins of Lust.”

Miss Foxy asked Ella if she was having a petit mal seizure since Ella was blankly staring at her book. Then she said, “What? Did you think I didn’t know how to read?”

Ella shook herself from her gaze. “Oh, not at all. I was just thinking that Miss Foxy came much better prepared than Buckhead Betty. It looks like this is going to take a while.”

“You’re right about that. You can’t even leave and go get anything either. If you leave the premises you have to come back another day and start the whole process over. I’m not sure what exactly they consider the premises but Miss Foxy’s ass don’t leave the chair after she’s been checked in. I guess they’re worried you might run off and bonk some person with the Hiv, or get your tongue pierced or run off to another country and get the mad cow disease.”

Ella laughed. She liked Miss Foxy, “Thank you for saving me a seat. That was sweet.”

“We ladies gotta watch out for each other. I could see you were as green as a lizard. And let me tell you something else. You better hope your skinny ass has enough iron in your blood cause if you don’t, they won’t let you give and they’ll send your weak ass home for the day after you’ve been waiting three hours. It happened to me on one of my big money days and let me tell you I was pissed. I down a can of spinach every night now before I come to give my blood.”

Ella said a little prayer that the black bean quesadilla she’d made herself the night before would give her enough iron to pass the test. “What exactly do you mean by your big money day?” Ella said inquisitively.

“Buckhead Betty, I’d a thought a smart looking girl like you woulda done her research. If you donate twice in seven days you make more money the second time. That’s the big money day. You get forty dollars the first day and the second time that week you get sixty dollars. The only catch is you can’t do it two days in a row. I guess they think you’ll drop dead or something. I get a hundred dollars a week for sitting up under their air conditioner studying my professional development text.”

Ella took a long glance at the cover of “Loins of Lust.”

Miss Foxy tilted her head and stuck her chin out toward Ella. She shook her head from side to side at Ella’s naiveté. “Those men want me to talk dirty to them and I have no idea what to say. My whole life talking dirty meant telling my good for nothin’, mean ass drunk of a husband to put the fucking dirty dishes in the sink. These books are great for dirty talk and I’m getting them free at the library. And don’t even look at me like that while I’m sitting here selling my blood to folks. My blood is clean as a whistle. I’m a safety girl. Ain’t nobody sticking anything in Miss Foxy without wrapping that rascal.”

Ella stared at the woman in amazement. She admired her survival skills. Although Ella never planned on resorting to prostitution, she wasn’t going to judge anyone else for it. “You’re a smart woman Miss Foxy,” Ella said with a heartfelt tone.

Miss Foxy laid “Loins of Lust” across her lap, looked Ella straight in the eye and said, “Thank you Buckhead Betty,” Miss Foxy spoke as if no one had ever told her she was smart before or given her a compliment of any kind for that matter.

After waiting another two hours, Ella was finally escorted back to a room lined with oversized chairs. The chairs were lined up along each wall so the donors sat facing one another. The phlebotomist, Secretia, asked Ella the last four digits of her social security number. She informed Ella that she had barely passed the hemoglobin test, and told Ella to eat a can of spinach next time the night before she came. Secretia then rubbed iodine on Ella’s arm. The stick of the needle was not as bad as Ella had thought it would be validating BeBe’s constant harping that worrying was an exercise in futility because nine times out of ten things weren’t as bad as you thought they’d be.

Since Ella had not come prepared with anything to entertain herself, she watched as some of the black men flirted with Secretia and the other phlebotomists. Some of the donors talked politely among themselves and some clearly did not want to be disturbed. Ella noticed one donor in particular who had a high and tight haircut and clearly looked like he was a military veteran with sergeant stripes tattooed on his right bicep. He had a vacant stare. Ella wondered what types of things he’d seen during his service to his country, to Ella’s country, and if he had somehow fallen through the cracks in a great nation who did not do nearly enough for the brave men and women who voluntarily signed up to defend her for very little in return.

After the needle was removed from Ella’s arm, she stood up and felt slightly lightheaded. That feeling soon subsided when the financial attendant at the office window handed Ella forty dollars in cash. Ella filled her cup with tap water from the restroom and happily sipped on it until she arrived back at the little yellow bungalow. She waited two days instead of one for her body to recover before her “big money day.” She went to the grocery store with her forty dollars and bought several eighty nine cent cans of spinach. The next time Ella went to Taliant she brought her sketch book and pen and a Mary Kay Andrews novel that the last tenant of the bungalow had left in the night stand. After the financial attendant handed Ella sixty dollars in cash, Ella smiled broadly and the fear she had felt when she first arrived in Biloxi subsided.