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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

“She got along just fine with the other girls. A little shy at first, I think she’d been through some pretty rough times, didn’t like to talk much about her past. I mean she was just a little thing, young and all, but her face had no innocence left, if you know what I mean. I thought I was giving her a break, when I, you know, hired her, so young and all—and an orphan at that. She worked out real well. The other girls, well, they’re just precious, and they made her feel real welcome. I didn’t have any idea at all that Angelina would give me any problems here at night. But then, I guess, well, young girls have their temptations, don’t they?

“Anyway, Becky was out of work flat on her back for six months. It was six months full before she came back to work. By that time, of course, Angelina didn’t want to give up her shift, so Becky started back daytime. But Becky wanted her night work, so she’s the one who discovered what-­all Angelina’d been doing at night, and then told me about it. The other girls had been covering for her, I guess, because apparently she’d been at it a while, and I’d never had a clue.”

16

16

During the night shift I worked steadily, with no breaks. I answered calls, tallied the day’s totals, re­freshed and updated client information, spoke with lonesome clients and drunk clients, answered burglar alarms with calls to the police, dealt with emergencies of different kinds—all in a state of frenzied activity, worry, and self-­restricted movement. I kept my emo­tions drawn as tight as the draperies and avoided too much talk with the customers.

I felt the dawn rather than saw it—the pull relaxed, I eased my grip on reality, and began to breathe again. I had passed through another night—had beaten it one more time.

I was exhausted every morning.

At six o’clock, another girl, usually Theresa, joined me at the switchboard. Together we would make the scheduled wakeup calls, start the coffee for Mrs. Gardener, tidy the boards, and make ready for the onslaught of incoming calls.

Theresa was a lively redhead who was forever fighting with her boyfriend and then staying up all night to make up. I enjoyed her rather remarkable reminiscences over her first cup of coffee. Her very presence enlivened me; I saw in her the complete embodiment of daytime: sunshine, health, happiness, love. Even her terribly puzzling relationship with her boyfriend brought light to the room.

At six-­thirty Judy arrived, and by then the board was lighting up with calls. This was the home stretch, and with the daylight, my humor was much im­proved. At eight, Suzanne came in and relieved me. I punched my time onto a card, stored my headset, filed my daily report, and left, exhausted.