SAJJA'S POPSICLES

(a story still in need of revision-- ASSIGNMENT: Suspense, Key, Social Worker)

Who knew that crazy skinny white girl would get under my skin in only four months? I was caught off guard this morning by the panic I felt when she didn’t show up for our weekly appointment. Maybe it was because at our very first session she said, “Myra Meeks, if I ever miss an appointment, I mean EVER, it’s because the BTD finally got me.” I found it oddly endearing how she always used my full name and I was fascinated with how this barely twenty-one-year-old managed to spew the most outlandish garbage with a kind of prophetic truth. She always appeared strung-out, this scrawny pink-haired scarecrow with a pale freckled face, sucking on her Juul like it was a lollipop. She seemed to be playing the part of an addict half the time. Everyone else in the clinic called her Loopy Lindsey, but I learned quickly not to underestimate her. Lindsey O’Neill had a clarity in her eyes and a lucidity in her logic that always had me questioning how she got on my caseload in the first place.
So this morning when Lindsey didn’t come to our appointment, and didn’t answer my texts, her ominous first session words rang in my ears. I still didn’t know who BTD was though after a couple of months meeting with Lindsey I did know that he was wealthy and he was powerful, and she had some kind of hefty goods on him because she lived rent free, “payment for my silence, Myra Meeks.”  I often questioned whether he was pimping her, she always said, “No” with a lingering “not me” at the end of her sentence every time.
Lindsey was referred by NYU Langone after her best friend and roommate Gina Tozza threw herself off the top of Bopst Library. Not long after, Lindsey downed a bottle of Vicodin that’s how her file landed on my desk. “Caucasion female, college dropout, confirmed opioid addiction, estranged from single mom in Arizona” was about all I knew of Lindsey on paper. But I learned a great deal more in our sessions.
We started with in-homes so I could assess her environment. Lindsey and Gina’s apartment was a sweet third floor walk-up on Bleeker Street, just above Bo Thai Cafe. Pretty prime real estate, so whatever in the world Lindsey was holding over this “BTD”, it was hefty enough to rank the kind of apartment a social worker like me could only dream of, or marry into. Deep shiny walnut floors, two spacious bedrooms with private baths. I joked that I was going to move in. “Myra Meeks, I’d totally have you, but ol’ BTD won’t let me replace our Gina.” There were pictures of Gina and Lindsey all over the apartment. She and Lindsey on Spring Break in Cancun, smiling in parkas on a ski slope, standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial. That first day, and every time I came to the apartment,  Lindsay pointed to the 8x10 on the mantle. It must have been Gina’s high school senior photo, her head tilted and her long brunette curls falling on her shoulders.  “That’s our Gina, Myra Meeks.” And she would always add, as if it were Gina’s surname, “My Dead Roommate.” Then she’d kiss her two fingers and point first to her heart, then to the sky and say “Gina, always you, me, and Truth popsicles, R.I.P.”
As I hustled out of the clinic to walk the six blocks to Thai Bow my breath caught in the back of my throat. I saw Gina Tozza My Dead Roommate’s familiar face smiling from the Daily News at the stand on the corner of Mercer and Third. Gina, in a gold sequined tube top dress sat on the lap of another eerily familar face, current GOP candidate for president, Ted Dean.  “What Did Teddy Know?” I checked my phone, no texts from Lindsey. I quickened my pace.
It was only last week when Lindsey and I went downstairs to the cafe and ate spring rolls in celebration of Lindsey’s “100 days clean”. I remarked about how good it smelled as we came down the back alley into the restaurant kitchen. “Gina said it made her want to barf when she was pregnant.” And then Lindsay high-fived all the kitchen staff hugging the owner Sajja as he guided us to a small table in the corner of the cafe. Then Lindsey plopped down in the caneback chair as if she hadn’t just dropped that juicy piece of information into my head like a bomb. I just needed to slot that away in my Loopy Lindsey file, because that was the end of the conversation. When I went to hand Lindsay back her apartment key, since our in-homes were concluded, she closed it back into my palm, “Myra Meeks, you need to keep that, woman. In case I ever relapse.” She air quoted “relapse” and then spoke very softly leaning across the wobbly table. “Myra Meeks, keep it mad subtle, but look over my right shoulder, you see a fat Greek man chowing on Pad Thai?” I nodded slightly. “If I ever o.d. and you see him anywhere in the vicinity, you need to know I didn’t o.d. You keep the key.” And then another abrupt end of sentence.
I felt the teeth of Lindsey’s key dent into my palm now as I clenched my fists.
About two blocks away, I could see him, the fat Greek man sitting on the bench in front of the restaurant. My chest tightened. I had to consciously think of breathing. Still mixed in a sea of people, I slid down the alley toward the back of the cafe texting Lindsey one last time. No response. My next call was to my cousin Shereen at the 9th precinct. “Can you send Jameel or someone to Bow Thai, on Bleecker, tell him to come around the back? No lights.” I didn’t know why I had this pit in my stomach, but I wasn’t about to take my chances with fat Greek guy. I was consciously trying to slow my breath. I started to say, “Be alive. Be alive. Be alive.” The coconut spiciness of Tom kha kai pricked my nose. Sajja was on the stoop smoking a cigarette. It was as if we both had different Lindsey nuggets to the puzzle, because when he saw my face, he immediately stamped his cig, and followed me up the backstairs. I pounded on the door. “Lindsey! It’s Myra!” I looked at Sajja, he was biting his lip and started banging. I put the key in the lock.
I have had similar scenes seared into my mind before. The needle in the arm, the listless body, blue lips. The deafening silence. I almost reflexively yelled to Sajja to call 9-1-1 but then remembered Greek guy. “A blue Explorer is going to be around the back. He’s a cop. Jameel. Get him!” And I was already fumbling in my purse for the Narcan spray. “Be alive. Be alive. Be alive.” I rolled Lindsey to her side, cradling her small head in my lap. I pumped the spray, hoping time was on my side. Eternal seconds passed, then the gurgle, the cough. Never was I happier to be barfed on. Lindsey looked up at me, weak and slurring, “Hello, Myra Meeks.” She let out a wheeze. I heard footsteps coming down both ends of the hall and froze. Lindsey’s eyes grew wide.
“Stay still. It’s my friend Detective Johnson.” But it wasn’t. Fat Greek guy was standing in the doorway.
“Step away from her.”
“Not on your life.”
But as he tried to approach us Jameel and Sajj came running in. Jameel flashed his badge and his gun, “Thanks very much, big guy, we need someone like you to help get her down the stairs.” And just like that, Lindsey’s almost murderer carried her tiny body to the Ford Explorer. Jameel flashed his eyes at his partner who had gotten out of the car and immediately started reading Greek guy his Mirandas
Lindsey lay in the back, her head on my lap her voice was weak, but she still managed another “Myra Meeks,” then another wheeze, “tell Sajja it’s time for popsicles.” Sajja heard her and ran back into the kitchen returning with a large box of mango popsicles.
“Lindsey, you don’t need the whole box, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“They aren’t popsicles, Myra Meeks.”
I slowly opened the box and inside was a plastic bag of some kind of giant blod clot.
“Lindsey, what is this?”
“Oh, just Big Teddy Dean and Gina’s baby.”

FEEDBACK FROM NYC MIDNIGHT JUDGES:

''SAJJA'S POPSICLES'' by Leslie Patient -   WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY - {1964}  There is a vibrant, chaotic narrative voice propelling this story along at breakneck speed, which suits its tone and works within the genre of suspense. Lindsey is reckless but likable, thanks to Myra's endearing portrayal of her friend.  {1919}  Sajja's Popsicles has engaging prose and excellent attention to detail. The characters are nuanced and well-developed, right down to Lindsey's endearing habit of calling Myra by her full name. The great pacing and solid plot development make this a truly compelling suspense. Well done.  {1955}  I like the section that describes Lindsey calling Gina her "dead roommate" and the little ritual that follows. Good characterization.

The plot thickens when Myra sees Gina Tozza on the Daily News. This made me curious to read more.

Nice description: “I felt the teeth of Lindsey’s key dent into my palm.”

The story includes good sensory details, such as the “coconut spiciness of Tom kha kai” followed by the cigarette smoking.

Eww . . . that ending. It made an impact.  WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - {1964}  The investigative quality of the story is incredibly interesting and the conclusion could be a satisfying end; however, the popsicle box with the blood clot that is Gina's baby is confusing. There is a slight disconnect between scenes - even in moments when Myra is attempting to enter the apartment and suddenly is turning Lindsey over - that seem to skip over connective moments in the plot. The writer might consider using more of the allotted word count to supplement these disjointed beats with more expository detail.  {1919}  You might consider elaborating on what Teddy Dean knows regarding what Lindsey knows. He's obviously aware she knows about the pregnancy since he's paying her rent and keeping her under close watch. But does he know about the fetus in the freezer?

It seems like Lindsey would have to have told him something about it for her to successfully blackmail him. Otherwise, he could just deny any accusation by her as a lie. If he does know about it, or at least know she has some kind of physical, tangible proof, why didn't the Greek guy ransack the apartment when he drugged Lindsey? If Teddy was willing to have her killed, wouldn't he also take the precaution of destroying any evidence linking him to Gina's pregnancy? Tying up this loose end will help strengthen the resolution of this great narrative.  {1955}  Even though the ending was a surprising twist, I didn’t understand why Sajja had the blood clot/baby. And why Lindsey wanted it. Consider clarifying to avoid confusion.

Consider fine tuning the formatting for easier reading by keeping body language and dialogue of one character in one paragraph and starting a new paragraph when switching to a different character.

Example:

Never was I happier to be barfed on. Lindsey looked up at me, weak and slurring, “Hello, Myra Meeks.”

Sample revision:

Never was I happier to be barfed on.

Lindsey looked up at me, weak and slurring, “Hello, Myra Meeks.”

[Since the indentation feature doesn’t work here, the line space designates two separate paragraphs.]