Chapter Thirty-three
Virginia said, "Do you have any idea what time it is? I was sound asleep."
"I just wanted to make sure you were all right," Karen said, looking out at the skyline of Chicago.
"Where are you?" Virginia said.
"In a safe place." She picked up her drink, sipped Stoli on the rocks, her second, trying to relax. "How's Mother?"
"That little blonde killed Fly."
"What're you talking about?"
"Fly and O'Clair showed up while you were gone. Fly's dead."
"My God," Karen said. She was confused. What were Fly and O'Clair doing there?
"I loved him," Virginia said.
"You were afraid of him," Karen said. "And now you're better off without him." She decided to tell it straight, not sugarcoat it.
"You should talk," Virginia said, anger in her voice. "The winners you've been involved with."
It was true. Karen's taste in men was as bad as her sister's. Maybe worse. "Tell me how Mother is."
"You brought some excitement to her life," Virginia said. "To say the least."
"Is she all right?" Karen walked across the room and sat on the bed.
"It depends what you mean by all right," Virginia said.
Karen said, "What do you think I mean?"
"Well she's not hyperventilating anymore," Virginia said.
"What…?"
"She was breathing into a paper bag," Virginia said. "That's what can happen when someone gets shot right before your eyes."
"I tried calling her," Karen said. "Where is she?"
"Aunt Jean came and picked her up," Virginia said. "She didn't want to be in the house alone after what happened. Can you blame her?"
"I'm sorry, I tried to keep you out of it," Karen said. She could see cars ten stories below, cruising along Lake Shore Drive.
"Mom's worried about you."
"I'm worried about me too," Karen said. She'd have to talk to her mother and try to explain things.
Virginia said, "You going to tell me where you're at?"
"Chicago," Karen said. "If two Arabs in barber shirts show up looking for me, tell them I left the country."
Virginia said, "Are you really going to?"
"Yeah, but I need my passport," Karen said. "Will you try to find it and send it to me?"
"It's the middle of the night," Virginia said.
"Not now," Karen said, "in the morning. FedEx it overnight Priority. Send it to—"
"Wait a minute," Virginia said. "You think I sleep with a pen in my hand?"
Karen heard her put the phone down, and heard her open a drawer and rattle what was inside.
"Okay," Virginia said back on the phone.
"Drake Hotel, 140 East Walton, Chicago, 60611. I'll send you some money. I'm sorry I woke you," Karen said and hung up.
It was strange Karen was waiting for the passport again, like the passport was bad luck, a bad omen—holding her here, preventing her from leaving. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was 1:20 a.m., Chicago time. She'd stopped at a twenty-four-hour Walgreens on the way to the hotel and bought a Clairol Nice 'n Easy hair coloring kit, chestnut medium brown. Karen knew she had to do something. Her hair was like a neon sign. She went in the bathroom and opened the box and read the directions, which were in English and Spanish. She had never colored her hair. Why would she?
Karen wrapped a towel around her shoulders and got her hair wet and dried it till it was damp. She put on the rubber gloves and poured the colorant into the activating creme. She put her finger over the tip and shook the bottle. The directions told her to part her hair in even sections using the colorant nozzle. She started at her hairline and squirted the stuff through the length of her hair and then rubbed it in with her hands until the red was gone and she was a brunette.
Her eyebrows didn't look right so she rubbed a little brown through each one. There were splotches of color on her forehead and temple. She wet a washcloth and wiped them off. She let the dye set for ten minutes and got in the shower. The kit came with a conditioner. She rubbed it through her hair, waited a couple minutes and rinsed.
Karen dried her hair and looked in the mirror. She barely recognized herself. How would anyone else?