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going.”
    “Don’t be silly. Then, when she decides, I’ll call and say, Aunt Elner, guess what? Baby Girl has just flown into town as a surprise. That way Aunt Elner can be surprised.”
    Macky offered another suggestion. “Why don’t you just take Baby Girl over there, knock on the door, and
really
surprise her?”
    Norma looked at Macky in utter disbelief. “Macky, are you thinking with your elbow? You can’t just go up and knock on a ninety-three-year-old woman’s door and yell
surprise!
She could have a heart attack and drop dead right there in the doorway and wouldn’t that be wonderful for Baby Girl to come home and kill her aunt, just like that, right off the bat. That would just be a wonderful vacation for her, wouldn’t it? How would you like to have that on your conscience for the rest of your life?”
    “Well, at least she’d be in town for the funeral.…”
    Norma looked at Macky and shook her head. “You know, Macky, sometimes I worry about you, I really do.”

I Did What?
    New York City

April 1, 1973
    The luncheon went well. Extremely well. There were times today when Dena was smiling and shaking hands that she really cared about what the other person was saying. Sometimes it seemed the worse she felt, the nicer she became. A twinge of guilt. What if these people had seen her a few hours ago, sloshed to the gills? They would have been horrified. But although she was standing there looking calm and relaxed, emotionally she was crawling on her hands and knees. She had been lucky because the luncheon had not ended one minute too soon. At about 2:45 all the aspirin, Alka-Seltzer, Valium, and the two Bloody Marys she had managed to drink had started to wear off and she could feel that big, dark, pounding headache looming in the background, ready to hit her like a herd of buffalo. Her stomach started to burn again and every muscle in her body felt as if she had been dropped from a ten-story building. Only in the last ten minutes had she begun to sweat ever so slightly and noticed a tic beginning in her left eye. But she made it through.
    She got into a cab and said, “One thirty-four West Fifty-eighth, please.” Smiled and waved good-bye. When the cab made a left turn out of the park and she was out of sight, she almost collapsed withrelief. It was over. She could finally stop smiling. Now she could go home, take more aspirin, another Valium, drink an ice-cold beer, and get in bed and sleep. All she had to do was just hang on a little longer.
    But hanging on was not made easy by this cab driver. He drove in short spurts, slamming on his brakes and whipping one way then another. She leaned forward.
    “Sir, do you mind not jerking the car. I’m just getting over a hip operation.”
    The driver paid no attention except to give her a dirty look and mumble something in a foreign language. He continued to oversteer and to jerk and slam on his brakes. She could feel the herd again closing in on her head. She tried again, “Sir, would you please—”
    She could tell he was ignoring her. She gave up, sat back, and tried to hold on as best she could. Jesus, was there a cab driver left in New York who spoke English? Not only did this guy not speak English, he was mean, surly, and obviously hated women. His body odor was strong enough to strip paint off walls. She got out on the corner of Fifty-eighth and Sixth because she didn’t have the energy to try and explain to him how to go around the block. After she handed him a five-dollar bill for a $4.70 fare, he gave her another dirty look, grunted something, and held out his hand for a tip. She said, “Listen, buster, if you expect a tip you better learn to drive, to speak English, and learn some damn manners while you’re at it!” The driver screamed at her in his native tongue, whatever it was, threw her change on the ground, and spit at her. As he squealed off, he yelled the one English word he did know: “Faggot!”
    Dena gave him the finger and