Babylon Sisters by Pearl Cleage Read Free Book Online Page A

of low-slung jeans, a tiny little top, and a brand-new bright pink jacket to return to campus looking rested, gorgeous, and unconcerned, no matter what story was making the rounds. I spent the day poking my head in to offer suggestions and answering e-mail to get a jump on Monday morning. There was no way to prepare for the meeting with Sam Hall and
Miss
Mandeville. They had sent for me. All I had to do was show up and let them make me an offer.
    Phoebe and I shared a dinner of lemon roast chicken, a tossed salad, and fresh strawberries with Louis; then we all went over to Amelia’s for a good-bye toast of sparkling apple juice and headed for the airport. It was sunset. The sky over the freeway was as beautiful as a beach postcard, and suddenly I started feeling sentimental. The summer had spoiled me. I wasn’t going to see my baby again until Thanksgiving, and that was three months from now. Who knew what adventures Baby Doll would have between now and then, or how much time she’d have to share them?
    “Mom?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I’m going to miss you.”
    “I’m going to miss you, too,” I said. “You’re going to have a great year. I can feel it.”
    “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, don’t you, Mom?”
    “Of course I do,” I said, watching a big Delta jumbo jet coming in for a landing above our heads as we neared the airport. “What made you say that?”
    “Nothing,” she said. “I don’t know. Nothing.”
    Interesting answer, but the passenger drop-off lanes at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson airport are no place to pursue such complicated questions, so I didn’t try. A big SUV swung out and I swooped in behind it and pulled up next to the curb. Phoebe was gathering her things.
    “You okay?”
    She leaned over and kissed me good-bye, waving at the skycap nearby for assistance. “I’m fine! I’ll call you when I get there!”
    “You’d better! I love you!”
    “Love you, too!”
    And she was gone. Checking her bags, stamping her ticket, boarding the airplane, ready to confront her demons, romantic and otherwise, and handling her business the way a third-generation free woman is supposed to do. My baby was growing up. Now all I had to do was figure out how to pay for the next four years and she was on her own. If I do my job right, she’ll be ready, and so will I.

8
    When I pulled up in front of Mandeville Maid Services per Sam’s instructions, at just before noon, a young woman in dark blue pants and a white shirt with
Valet
stitched above the left breast pocket took my keys, handed me a ticket, and directed me inside. I was wearing my corporate clothes: gray suit, white blouse, black pumps. If there was a job to be had, I intended to leave here with it. When I identified myself to the female security guard, she told me politely that Miss Mandeville’s office was on the fifth floor and pointed me to the elevator on the far side of a bright, plant-filled atrium that ran from the hardwood floor of the lobby to the stained-glass windows in the ceiling. A small sign pointed to a clinic on the building’s lower level, and another arrow directed visitors to the office of the social services coordinator with a question and an answer:
Got a problem? We’ve got an answer!
    Ezola’s inclusion of a well-woman clinic on-site had garnered a flurry of news coverage, all well deserved. The jobs she was filling rarely included health benefits, although healthy employees are always better for business. So Ezola hired two women doctors, and gave any woman she placed access to the clinic as long as she was employed. She hadn’t been generous enough to spring for hospitalization or maternity benefits, but she was definitely on the right track. The lobby floors were spotless, and the plants were so green I couldn’t believe they were real until I got closer and saw a young woman watering and pruning nearby. It was an impressive setup, and it seemed to be humming right along just fine. What could