After a hair raising ride in which Marisol was sure they were going to greet death any minute, the driver let her out at a library that was close to Central Park. Marisol paid him with a twenty, which she supposed would give him a big enough tip. She wasn’t used to doing such things. When she went out in public everything was done for her. At home everything was done for her. She giggled. She was done with other people doing things for her.
Marisol was cheered by the banner that flew over the door displaying a lion’s head. Surely such regal icon won’t lead her wrong, but she found to her disappointment that the library was closed. Marisol would have to wait to the next day to find her mother’s family. The scent of food wafting from food wagons reminded her stomach that she was hungry.
She went to one of the carts and ordered two hotdogs. She had never eaten a hotdog in her life but they smelled delicious. The cart attendant suggested potato chips and soda and she bought these too. It was a marvelous feeling getting food for herself instead of being served it, and making her own choices instead of eating what was given to her. Marisol was enjoying her adventure.
Marisol took her food and walked into the park looking for a good place to eat her food and collect her thoughts. She looked around and didn’t see any tables to sit at, and she frowned. She walked to the closest tree and sat on the grass. This was different too. In the palace garden in Dalyasia, there were plenty of benches spaced along the walkways to see and contemplate its different beauties.
She ate as she looked around taking in her surroundings. A couple of dark-skinned young men walked up to her, and she smiled.
“Hey, shorty,” one said. “Wassup?”
“Just having dinner,” she said.
“Dinner,” he snorted. “Yeah. I’d like some dinner. And some other things too.” He licked his lips and Marisol understood that the man had bad intentions.
“I think I’d better go.” She stood, leaving her food on the grass, and tried to walk for the gate, but the second man stood in her way.
“You aren’t going anywhere, Shorty,” the first man said as he slammed her into the tree.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mugged
The man’s hands were all over purposefully. He felt the bulges in her jeans and pulled out the jewelry. As he did, the rest of Marisol’s money tumbled to the ground.
“Hey, Julio. Looks like we scored.”
The other snorted. “Nay. Probably just costume stuff, but bring it. The pawn shop might take it anyway. The cash though, that’s good.”
“What else do you have here, Shorty?”
“Leave me, alone,” protested Marisol. “Help!” she cried.
The man put his hands over her mouth.
“Shut up, bitch,” he said.
Marisol didn’t like the taste of the man’s hand in her mouth. It was sweaty and dirty and made her want to gag. In her own fit of anger, she bit the man’s hand as hard as she could and kneed him in the crotch. He screamed and backed away cursing.
At the same time a uniformed man came at them riding a horse yelling at them to lie on the ground. Marisol’s heart beat hard in her chest as she realized this man was a police officer. No way could she let the police find her. They would drag her back to her father and that horrible Prince Tristan. Marisol did the only thing she could.
She ran.
Her legs burned under her as she sought to put distance between the awful men in the park and the police officer. She ran several blocks before she realized that no one was following her.
But by now it was dark. She stopped, sweaty and her lungs heaving. Though she swum laps in the pool at the police, that was a far from a fitness regimen she followed. Now she regretted not doing more. Marisol was pitifully out of shape.
She checked her pockets and while she found her phone and passport there, the jewels, the money and more importantly the credit card was gone. She was tired, hungry and no means to buy herself anything.
Marisol walked down streets not knowing where they led. She held out the hope that tomorrow she could get in the library and find her mother’s family, but her legs felt like lead and she didn’t know if she could move much farther. Ahead of her was a line of people. She should be safe in a line, right? All she had to do was stand there and think through what she was going to do next.
Marisol walked to the end of the line that seemed to snake to the right beside the side of the building at which she stood.
An older woman stood in front of her quietly waiting.
“Excuse me,” said Marisol. “What is this place?”
The woman stared up at her. Her gray hair was scraggly, and her clothes were dirty, but her eyes were kind.
“New to the streets, eh? Had an argument with your parents?”
“You can say that.”
“And no friends to stay with?”
“None here.”
“Your accent.
“I come from France.”
“France. Yeah. I took French in High School, but that was a long time ago, before Billy died.”
“Billy?”
“My husband.”
“Oh, shut up, you old cow,” said a man ahead of her.
“Shut up, Billy,” said the woman.
“Who is that?” asked Marisol.
“My husband,” she replied.
“We ain’t never married and stop telling people that. And stop telling people I died. Someone might start believing it.”
“He’s so cranky when he hasn’t eaten.”
“How long has it been? Since you’ve eaten?”
“Two, three days,” she said with a shrug.
“Shut up, you old bat,” said Billy. “We ate here last night.”
“We did?”
“Yes, we did. Geez.”
“Sometimes it’s two or three days,” said the woman to Marisol. “He forgets sometimes.”
“I can see that,” said Marisol indulgently. This was the type of person her mother would have moved mountains to help. Queen Alonda hated the thought of elderly people without care. She’d set up special homes for the aged funded by extensive fundraisers. Queen Alonda, it seemed, knew everyone and knew what it took to raise money. Marisol’s father said it was her special gift. People loved doing things for her.
“What’s your name?”
“Marisol. Marisol Duv…Morrison.”
“That a very American name for a French girl.”
“I was raised abroad.”
“Oh, but you ended up here.”
“I was supposed to marry someone, but I can’t.”
“Oh. Did he hurt you?”
Marisol shook her head.
“Cheated on you?”
“Oh yes. He’s a terrible womanizer.”
“Probably drinks too.”
“Like a fish.”
“Stop getting in other peoples’ business, Flo,” complained Billy.
“Shut up, Billy. Or you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”
“Good,” he said with a huff.
“So what are you going to do?” asked Flo.
“I have family in the city, but I don’t know where. As soon as I get to the library, I can find their address.”
“Good plan,” said Flo. “Well, you’re probably in the right place, for tonight anyway.”
The line had inched ahead as the spoke and finally Marisol rounded the corner and saw a lighted sign above the door people entered. “Saint Christopher’s Shelter.”
“What is this place?” said Marisol. She knew Saint Christopher was the patron saint of travelers, but this didn’t seem to have anything to do with this place.
“Do they not have places for homeless people abroad?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
“Then there you go?”
“Pardon?”
“This is a homeless shelter. Stick with me. I know the people here. We’ll get you a bed for the night. Me and Billy, we’re here for the dinner. It’s stew night, and they have the best stew in th
e city.”
Homeless. The thought sent shivers through Marisol, but what did she expect? She ran away from her life. And now she had no money and no way to get any.
They walked into the shelter, where was a long counter just beyond the door. A harried-looking young woman stood there handing out little tickets. She smiled at Flo when she gave her a ticket.
“Hello, Flo. How are you doing tonight?”
“Fine. I have a friend here. Marisol. She needs a place to sleep.”
“I can’t guarantee anything. We have a waiting list tonight, so we’re doing lottery tickets for the last ten beds.”
“For summer?”
“It’s supposed to rain.”
“Rain? Pah. A little rain wouldn’t do anyone harm, except for Marisol here. She’s so sweet she might melt.”
“Sure, Flo,” the girl said with a smile. She offered a blue and red ticket to Marisol.
“The blue ticket is for dinner, and the red ticket is for the bed. After we finish serving, we draw the tickets for the beds.”