I borrowed a note pad from Bernie, on which I made up a list of probable license plate numbers.

“Good luck getting through the line,” Bernie added after she gave me directions to where her car was.

After snarling my way through the protesters, I found Bernie’s car and drove it back to one of the many vacant parking spaces. Then I wandered around the lot, pretending to check tag numbers, every once in a while scowling at the protesters. After re-parking my car, I sat on its hood, the guardian of the lot. Every car that pulled in, I asked what their business was. Politely, of course. I didn’t want to scare away any more of the patients than already had been. Any of those that wanted or seemed to need it, I escorted into the building. I sent a few right-to-life reinforcements out into the cold, cruel world of parking in the street.

By late morning, the sun was beating down, making the sunny side of the street a toasty place to be. I was perched on the hood of Cordelia’s car, which was parked in a comfortably shady corner of the parking lot. The right-to-lifers, not an attractive crew to start with, were looking boiled and bedraggled. God makes the sun shine, I thought merrily.

A car drove into the lot, pulling alongside Cordelia’s.

“Hi, Micky,” Alex said as she got out.

“Oh. Hi, Alex,” I replied.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“The anti-choice forces are clustered…”

“Not them. They’re old hat. What are you doing hanging out in the parking lot?”

“Guarding the forces of light against the evil of bigotry,” I answered.

“Uh-huh, that’s about what I figured,” Alex replied.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were here,” she bantered.

“Right.”

She leaned against the hood.

“I’m trying to find out what everyone seems to not want to tell me. C.J. called me last night and arranged a lunch date, with her there’s-something-you-need-to-know voice. Then Joanne called this morning just after I got to work, also wanting to meet me for lunch and asked me to put Cordelia off. So I called C.J. and she said it was a good idea for me to see Joanne first. Then she suggested dinner tonight. Anyway, Joanne just called saying she couldn’t make lunch, how about dinner, in her serious, we-must-talk voice. So you want to go to lunch and tell me what’s going on?” Alex asked. “I could even get sandwiches and we could have a picnic in the parking lot,” she added.

“Uh…thanks, Alex, but us guardians of justice must never relax our vigilance.”

“Not even for an oyster po-boy?”

“Besides,” I said in a more serious tone, “You should probably talk to either Joanne or Cordelia first.”

“Oh, no, not you, too,” Alex moaned. “But you know what’s going on?” she queried.

“Well…yeah.”

“Actually, you’d probably be the best person. C.J. and Joanne are both likely to be too serious about the whole thing. You and I could probably put it in the proper perspective.”

“Oh, Alex.” I shook my head.

“Don’t worry. I’m not carrying a small pearl-handled revolver in my purse. I’m not even carrying a purse. You’re the ‘other woman,’ aren’t you?”

“Oh, shit, is it that obvious?”

“No, but given Joanne’s schedule, the list of possibilities wasn’t very long. Besides, I was kind of hoping it would be you.”

“Hoping?” I looked at her incredulously.

“Well, yeah. Let’s be adults. I always figured the two of you would have to sleep together or start throwing punches. I’m glad it’s the former and not the latter.”

“I don’t know what to say, Alex.”

“Then let me talk. I’m good at it. Can I ask a question? How is she?”

“Joanne? Okay, I think. It’s hard to tell. Angry. At times.”

“Yeah, something’s gotten to her. But she won’t talk to me. I care about her…” Her voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I never meant…I’m the fuck-up here,” I finished.

Alex put her hand on my shoulder.

“Remember, we’re supposed to be adults,” she said. “Besides, I sleep with Joanne Ranson. I know better than to fall for that ‘Micky Knight is an evil Donna Juana’ shit. You’re not the villain, I’m not the villain, and Joanne’s not the villain. If there is a villain, well, I think we’d have to go a long way back to find him.”

“Meaning?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s one of those things Joanne doesn’t talk about. But…one day my mother was over. My mother knows all about me and is happy that I’m with a respectable officer of the law.”

“Yeah, you could be with a scruffy semi-employed P. I.,” I couldn’t resist adding.

“In which case my mother would be happy that I was with someone who is independent enough to follow her own path. My mother is that type of person. Anyway, she was over visiting us, being my mother. I think she and Joanne ended up talking about why we don’t live together. What impact being found out could have on our careers, particularly Joanne’s. My mother was her usual, wonderful, sympathetic self. After she left, we went to Joanne’s.

“Late, after eleven, the phone rang. I picked it up. I thought it was the wrong number, a slurred, drunken voice. Until she demanded to speak to Joanne.”

“Her mother.” I could see where this story was going.

“Uh-huh. They talked for about fifteen minutes, Joanne’s expression getting angrier with every minute that passed, her replies terse monosyllables. Until she said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ and slammed down the phone. Then yanked the plug out of the wall. I made some offhand comment about don’t forget to re-plug it in the morning. Joanne started yelling that she’d plug her phone in whenever she felt like it and didn’t need me to tell her how to run her life, and so on. I did realize that she wasn’t really angry at me; I just happened to be there.”

“Lucky you,” I broke in.

“Usually she flares for a minute or two, then gets control. But this time she didn’t. She continued, finally going at me for my pampered existence. No drunken moms in my family.”

“That’s not fair to you.”

“Those little hurt girls never go away, do they?”

“No, I don’t guess we do,” I answered, remembering my yelling match just a few days ago with Aunt Greta.

“Joanne started drinking. One after the other. Sometimes she’ll have a drink or two, but she’s strict about it. She was getting drunk. I ended up leaving. I hated leaving her in that state but…I’m not very good at dealing with that kind of anger. Joanne was right, my family never fought like that. That’s why I’m glad she’s with you.”

“Alex, that’s a non sequitur,” I commented.

“I think right now she needs someone who understands the anger. I don’t gather your mother is likely to take you and Joanne out to dinner on her birthday, like mine did.”

“No, not likely. Not at all likely. Hell, she won’t even get drunk and call me up.”

“Would it be prying too much to ask what happened?”

“She left. When I was five. Found something better to do than hang out in the bayous raising a kid.”

“I’m sorry, Micky.” Alex put her hand on my shoulder, then she rubbed the back of my neck.

“Hey, life goes on.” I shrugged it off. Alex continued to rub my neck.

“So they say,” she answered.

“What now? Do we meet at dawn to duel?”

“Sounds good to me. Witty repartee at ten feet?”

“Barbed comments at five?”

“What do we do?” she said quietly.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I would like Joanne back. But I don’t know if that’s up to you or me or even her. In the meantime, take good care of her.”

“That’s it? Aren’t you…?”

“Jealous? A bit. I’ve always wanted to have an affair with a really tall, dark, good-looking woman. But no, I get tea and conversation with Cordelia James. Joanne does have a lot to answer for.”

“But, Alex, Cordelia’s tall and good-looking.”

“C.J.?” Alex paused to think about it. “I suppose, but by tall I didn’t mean giraffe.”

“She’s not that much taller than I am.”

“No, but you’re a lot cuter.”

Alex let her arm drop so that it was around my waist.

“Alex,” I kidded her back. “Don’t flirt with me. You know I’ll sleep with anything that has a vagina.”

“Anything?”

“A few minor exceptions.”

“Good. Glad to know you have some standards. On the serious side. I love Joanne. Enough to let her go if need be. I just want you to know that. And enough to want to be friends with the people who care about her. Okay?”