Chances Are. Donna Hill

choices. But we gotta make a move. And soon. You want me to try to call again? Maybe I’ll get lucky and get past that guard-dog assistant of hers.”

      Garrett blew out a breath. “Let’s give it another day or two. I’m going over to the research library this afternoon, do some more hunting. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find someplace else that meets the guidelines.”

      “I sure as hell hope so.” Jason stood. “Well, I have a shoot at New York University. I’m gonna pack up the equipment and get rolling.”

      “Who’s on the crew?”

      “Najashi, Paul, and Tom.”

      Garrett nodded. “I’ll probably see you in the morning, then. I’ll lock up when I’m done in here. Make sure they give you our check before you guys leave.”

      “I’m getting the check before we start. I don’t want to hear nothing about how ‘the person with the check is gone for the day’ after we’ve done the work.”

      Garrett chuckled recalling the many times they’d been stiffed and had to wait weeks, sometimes months, after a shoot to get paid.

      “All right, I’m out. Good luck with your research.”

      “Yeah.”

      Garrett switched off the lights, checked the studio where they did their on-site shooting and the adjoining rooms, set the answering machine and the alarms and stepped outside to the lukewarm October afternoon. He stood in the doorway of his West Village office space and watched the passersby.

      All up and down the avenue, folks strolled, stopped, peeked in antique shop windows, hugged, laughed. Everyone seemed to have somebody. Someone to experience and share their day with. He watched a young mother laughing with her son, then she bent down and picked him up and gave him a big hug before setting him back on his feet. The little boy looked up at her, a hundred-watt smile on his face.

      A sudden, razor-sharp pain of hurt and betrayal sliced through his stomach. Why wasn’t he good enough to be hugged and kissed from the mother who gave him life to the wife who left him for greener pastures?

      His chest filled. His throat constricted. Most times he didn’t think about those things. His work filled his days, and most of his nights. But this whole business with the documentary and the shelter brought back all the ugly memories. Hey, he’d get through it. He was tough. That’s what he’d been told the doctors said when he’d been found only hours old, wrapped in a sheet, wedged between two garbage cans.

      He swallowed. Yeah, he was tough.

      Chapter 3

      The last of the girls, accompanied by their infants or toddlers, filed into the basement, which had been transformed from the day-care setting to a formal meeting space, the cribs, bassinets and playpens replaced with folding aluminum chairs.

      Everyone tried to find a seat next to their buddy, whispering and speculating among themselves about why they were there.

      “They’re probably going to tell us about the loud music again,” Kisha whispered to Denise. “You know how Ms. Betsy is about music.”

      Denise sucked her teeth. “Pleeze. They wouldn’t call an emergency house meeting just to tell us about no darn music.”

      “Betcha,” Kisha insisted.

      “Probably gonna tell us about curfew again,” Gina said under her breath, knowing she was one of the culprits and hoping she wouldn’t be singled out to have her visiting privileges suspended. She wanted to see her boyfriend on the weekend. But she’d come in late two nights last week and had her toes and fingers crossed that she’d gotten over this time. Her daughter Brandy began squirming and whimpering. Gina stuck a bottle in her mouth and began bouncing Brandy up and down on her knee.

      “If everyone will settle down, we can get started,” Brenda said from the front of the room. “If any of the babies are asleep, or you want to lay them down, take a sheet from the cabinet in the back and put them in one of the cribs or playpens.”

      She waited while two of the girls leaped at the opportunity to put their bundles down. Once they were seated she began again.

      “We have some serious business to discuss tonight and I want all of you to listen carefully to what Ms. Williams has to say. It affects all of us.” She turned to Dione, who moved from the side of the room and took Brenda’s place in front of the girls.

      “An opportunity has presented itself to us. But as Ms. Brenda said, your decision—and it will be your decision—affects everyone.” She looked from one questioning face to the next before she continued. “A gentleman by the name of Garrett Lawrence would like to do a documentary, a short film, about you girls and Chances Are.”

      “A movie!” Kisha beamed.

      “Something like that,” Dione qualified.

      A wave of murmuring rippled through the room.

      “Okay, settle down. Nothing gets settled by talking among yourselves. It may sound exciting, but there are some other things to consider. He’s going to want to interview all of you, and your faces will be on film. I have no guarantees about who will eventually see it.”

      Denise’s hand shot up in the air. “I can’t be on no film, Ms. Williams. I can’t.”

      “Me, neither. None of my friends in school know I live in a shelter,” said another girl in the back.

      “Yeah. Yeah,” chimed a few others.

      “So don’t be in it,” snapped Kisha, looking behind her and giving the whiners dirty looks.

      “Oh, shut up. It ain’t all about you,” snapped Theresa, one of the oldest in the group who’d been the victim of incest and held a blatant distrust of everyone and everything. It had taken Dione months to be able to get her to talk at all. The last thing she wanted for Theresa was a setback.

      Kisha jumped up out of her seat, squaring off for a fight. She was always ready to defend herself or somebody and she was the smallest one in the bunch.

      “Kisha! Sit down. Now!” Dione ordered.

      Kisha blew out a breath and took her seat.

      “Now just settle down. Everybody. Nothing is going to happen without everyone’s cooperation. I know this is a very sensitive issue for many of you. And you know that I’ve always done everything in my power to keep your privacy intact. We’ll put it to a vote.” She looked around the room. “All those in favor of the film being done, raise your hand.”

      Four hands shot up in the air, leaving the majority of six in disagreement.

      Dione sighed, partly in relief, partly in disappointment. “That’s it then. No film.”

      There was a sudden outburst of conversation among the opposing sides, everyone trying to outshout the other.

      “Quiet! Enough. End of discussion.” By degrees everyone settled down. “Thank you all for coming. The meeting is over.”

      There was a lot of scraping of chairs and loud murmurs as the girls started to get up.

      “Wait a minute.” Brenda stepped to the front of the room, her face a mask of barely contained fury.

      Dione put her hand on Brenda’s shoulder in warning.

      “No. They need to hear what I have to say,” she whispered.

      She turned toward the assemblage. “Everybody take a seat.” She waited, tapping her foot with impatience. “I can understand some of you being reluctant about the whole thing for a variety of reasons. Ms. Williams didn’t tell you all everything, but I will.” She cut Dione a quick look from the corner of her eye and could see that Dione was fuming but resigned. “This is the real deal…”

      Brenda told them plainly and slowly about the financial troubles Chances Are was