A Summons to New Orleans Read Online Free Page B

was something to be endured. But she didn’t think this really set her apart much from the rest of the human race.
    But now, as she made her way down Bourbon Street, deflecting the glances of strange men, men of all ages and sizes and degrees of inebriation, she wondered if she could even contemplate dating. What would that look like? A guy would call her up and ask her to dinner, and she’d hire a baby-sitter and explain the situation to her kids, and then she’d go with him to some cheap Italian restaurant and they’d pretend to love the linguine with clam sauce and talk about their upbringings and what they majored in in college. They’d talk about their failed marriages and their kids, and maybe they’d take a walk down the street and have ice cream, and they’d pretend to feel all young and carefree because they were eatingmint chocolate chip, which they claimed never to indulge in, and they’d talk about how much better music was in their day and maybe, later, at her front door, they would kiss. Oh, God, what would it feel like to kiss? She hadn’t kissed a man in years. She and Cliff did not kiss anymore. Occasionally, their lips would collide, their faces sliding away from each other as they struggled to make love. And they did struggle toward the end, pursuing it like some tiresome but necessary exercise. It was like the Lifecycle at the gym. You dreaded it, then liked it a little, then finally it was over. And when it was over, she appreciated the sweat and the effort and she felt noble, as if she had gone to church, done a good deed.
    Finally settling on a bar, she ordered a hurricane, the city’s must-have drink, and sipped it, standing on the street, watching people go past. The atmosphere reminded her of college, or Easters in particular. Sometimes when she thought of the Charlottesville of her college days, it seemed like a completely different place than where she lived now. She felt disconnected from the UVA students now. They all seemed so young and serious. Was she like that? Did she ever take college seriously? She did her work, she made her plans, she was responsible. But serious? She was serious about everything now, it seemed. Particularly her children. She didn’t miss them, she realized, as she stood there watching the revelers. She needed a break from them, needed to escape the feeling that they were her sole purpose in life. There was a whole entire phase of her life when children didn’t enter her consciousness, didn’t influence her at all. She had had one abortion in college (not thanks to Cliff, nor anyone in particular, just some guy), and she never thought about that child, never mourned its loss, didn’t even think of it as a child, in fact. Thought of it as a bad weekend.
    Was she evil? Was she bad not to think of her dead child?
    The drink went right to her head, and she decided to walk back to her hotel. She wanted to get in the bathtub and feel sorry for herself. She walked until she reached St. Ann, and she turned down it and started toward her hotel on Chartres. There was one stretch of street, beyond the hotels, that was quiet and empty. And just as she approached it, she saw two men walking in her direction. Her heart sped up and she thought she might die. She thought about crossing the street but it was too late. They were upon her.
    “Excuse me,” one said, “do you know what time it is?”
    She looked around and could see no one near her. How stupid is this, she thought, turning a corner and walking into this kind of danger. I have children at home.
    The men looked harmless, barely twenty, black, clean-cut, and she thought, All criminals probably look harmless. She recalled a self-defense class she had taken that had instructed her never to respond to a stranger’s question, particularly if it was about the time. That was an old trap. She crossed the street, but they crossed it with her.
    “Did you hear me?” one of the men said. “We wanted to know if you had