The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress by Ariel Lawhon Page B

sensitive areas farther down.
    “Can you tell me about your monthly cycles. Are they regular?”
    “Rarely. They come and go as they please. It makes me hopeful that I’ve finally gotten pregnant. But I always start.”
    “Do you have pain or bloating throughout the month?”
    Maria pondered. That was like asking a woman if she had breasts. Pain and bloating seemed to come with the territory of being a woman. “Yes. But it usually doesn’t stop me from working.”
    “You’re quite thin. Any troubles with appetite? Or fatigue?”
    “I work two jobs for very demanding employers,” she said. “I don’t have a choice but to be fatigued.” The expression on his face was troubled enough that she asked, “Is something wrong with me?”
    “Not necessarily. But I would like to do an internal exam just in case.”
    Maria tugged at her waistband. “Will I have to …?”
    “Yes. I’ll need you to disrobe.”
    “My husband is the only man who’s ever seen me naked.”
    “Would you like me to get a nurse?”
    “If you don’t mind.”
    In many ways, Dr. Godfrey looked like her father. His hair had once been dark but was now run through with silver and receding, and his eyes were a translucent gray. He looked kind and tired and old but truly concerned.
    “That woman just now …”
    “You heard that?”
    “I wish I hadn’t.”
    “Yes. I suppose it must seem horrible for a woman in your position to hear another ask me to induce miscarriage.”
    She looked at her feet and whispered, “It doesn’t seem fair.”
    Dr. Godfrey opened his medical bag and set it on the table next to her. “It rains on the just and the unjust, Mrs. Simon. That’s the first thing you learn in my profession. There is no fair. Nor is there the ability to help everyone.”
    “You wouldn’t help her.”
    He sighed. “Have you ever watched a woman bleed to death?”
    “No.”
    “Or die of sepsis?”
    She shook her head.
    “Well, I have. And apart from the health risks, I’d lose my medical license just for writing the prescription—not that she could even get it filled. Fem-A-Gyn induces a severe uterine hemorrhage. It’s unsafe. And illegal. I sympathize with her. Truly, I do. But I am forced to pick and choose every day who I am able to help. Besides,” he said, “I have no doubt she will find what she’s looking for. They usually do.”
    “Can you help me ?”
    He drew a stethoscope and a small metal contraption from the bag. “I hope so. But I’ll have to do that exam first. Are you comfortable with me performing it today?”
    His clipboard sat on the empty chair. It held a thick pile of forms. Hers rested on the top. “Yes.”
    “Good. Why don’t you undress, and I’ll go fetch the nurse.” He pulled a sheet from the shelf on the wall and handed it to her. “You can cover up with this.”
    The moment Dr. Godfrey left the room, Maria jumped off the table and grabbed the clipboard. She found exactly what she was looking for on the form beneath hers: Sally Lou Ritz’s personal information. She took the paper and stuffed it in her purse. Then she set the clipboard back on the chair.
    When Dr. Godfrey returned, Maria lay on the table, the sheet covering the lower half of her body.
…
    RITZI took the No. 9 subway at 168th Street and settled in for the ride back to Midtown. She had chosen Columbia Presbyterian Hospital because it was so far removed from everyone and everything she knew. Or at least that’s what she’d thought. But now she had a failed errand and Crater’s maid to deal with. It was supposed to be a simple appointment. Nothing to worry about. She’d assumed that if the doctor on staff wouldn’t provide the medicine, then he’d refer her to someone who would. It happened all the time. Three of the girls on the show had bragged about getting Fem-A-Gen suppositories that year. They would know where to go, but Ritzi couldn’t ask them. She couldn’t let anyone know she was pregnant. Not yet. They’d