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Panda placed her finger down the center of her bra and wiggled it around the soft furrows.
Damn! I know I put the damn money there. Oh shit, Joe is gonna be pissed.
Thoughts raced through her head. Maybe she wouldn't go back to him. Maybe she'd go somewhere and start a new life.
Shit, maybe I'll just shoot the bastard.
A strange smile crossed Panda’s face as she reached inside the soft red leather bag dangling from her shoulder. Her fingers gently caressed the handle of the tiny pistol, while beads of cool sweat poured from her temples. A surge of excitement penetrated her being when the cold metal of the gun kissed the warmth of her fingertips. She shivered in the heat of the noonday sun.
Realizing she had walked past the apartment, Panda turned and stared back up the street. The buildings were all different, yet there was one facade glued together with cement. The city engulfed her, cement, stone, asphalt, automobiles with noisy engines and blaring horns, fire, police, ambulance sirens screaming in an annoying cacophony, exhaust fumes mingling with hot dogs and sauerkraut - all pervading her senses at once. Manhattan, the core of the apple, well this morning it's the pits.
The hands on the old clock jutting out from the corner building both hovered over the numeral XII as Panda walked back up the street glancing at her reflection in the barred windows. She slowed her gait, musing. Whenever did she start looking so much like her mother and whatever possessed her to wear these clothes - her mother's clothes? Her figure, not fat or thin but full and curvaceous, exuded an aura of sensuality that was dramatically enhanced by the clinging white crop top, tight, shiny-black miniskirt and bright red spiked heels.
Panda hesitated at the bottom of the cement stoop, trying to shut out the wild thoughts. Weak-kneed, her feet wanted to turn and run, but something compelled her to go on. Like a swimmer, diving headfirst into the icy water, she quickly ascended the steps and opened the first set of doors. Inside the alcove Panda hit the bell three times, resting her other hand on the cold brass knob of the inner door. A loud buzz told her the door was unlocked and she quickly slipped inside the bare marble hallway.
Leaning back on the closed door, she fished through her bra again. Nothing. Her hand clutched at her stomach and she felt a chunk near her waist.
"Damn," she exhaled aloud, "here it is! Now I won't have to put up with any of his bull."
***
Down the hall the last of the three apartment doors stood open. She could see the small foyer with its green striped wallpaper. At least he wasn't standing there waiting.
"Did you have to slam the door?" he asked, walking from the small alcove that was the kitchen.
"You're effin right I did!"
The new bills were rolled tightly and wrapped in a thin rubber band. The roll hit him in the chest and bounced to the floor. He reached down and picked it up.
"Great, slam the door, throw the money at me, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"I had a bad night, all right? I'm having a bad life. I'm sick of this shit, out working all night while you hang out doing nothing." Her olive black eyes stared at him, while she pulled her long brown hair back behind her neck; "I've had it Joe. I'm quitting."
"Yeah sure," he laughed. Sauntering over to the wet bar, he poured some Chivas into a pony, handed it to her, then poured his own.
She swallowed the liquor in one gulp and felt it burn the back of her throat as it went down. Her head felt warm and light, and she heard his voice drone on.
"You can't quit. You've lived this way since the day you were born. You're not going to be any different from your bitch mother, and you're gonna end the same way she did - dead in an alley!"
Panda could feel a rage building in her head as she watched him reach for the scotch bottle.
He poured two more drinks, smiled and started toward her. "Unless you stick with me Babe. I can take care of you."
She glared at him. "I don't need you, Joe. The only person who's going to take care of me - is me." The warm scotch danced around her in her head. She reached into her open bag, her hand nestling alongside the cold metal.
She watched the glimmer of the blue steel barrel as her hand passed under the lamp. Her arm straightened as she brought her left hand up to steady the gun, its barrel pointing at Joe's lower abdomen.
***
Joe was right. It was all she knew. All her memories were filled with Mother and her men. It seemed as though the men were always there, coming in and out all the time, she couldn't remember a time with just her and Mother.
Panda had just turned twelve when Mother told her to go with Bill and do whatever he said. It seemed so natural. Bill had been nice to her; he brought her gifts, gave her money and even gave the little Andrea her first little black and white teddy bear - Andy Panda. Bill said it was named for her, and began to call her Panda. She liked that. He was kind and affectionate. There was something about him that made her feel good.
Bill looked older than Mother. His jet-black hair sparkled with bits of silver, and his stunningly handsome face was etched with rugged lines. The lines framed sky blue eyes that twinkled under the long black lashes. Yes, even when she was twelve, Panda liked Bill.
He was kind and gentle and caring even when he loved her - when he taught her to love. She didn't know any other man except Bill until she was fourteen. That was when he said she was ready to share her love, only now he taught her new words for it. She knew the words. She'd heard them shouted when tempers flared, spewed in with other words during normal conversation, screamed from behind closed doors in a mournful passionate agony. Anything Bill wanted, Panda would do. No one ever cared for her in the ways he did, not even Mother. Bill disappeared when Panda was sixteen – and now, ten years later, she still missed him.
***
Joe showed up shortly after Mother died, the winter chill still in the air and Panda's soul longing for a lost warmth. Was it a stroll up the beach with the sun's rays comforting her? Was it a longing for a time she couldn't remember, when Mother would hold her close and hug her? Was it her warped fatherly image of Bill? At first Joe satisfied these wistful needs. He was kind, gentle, caring, and always telling her how much he loved her.
He told how he and Mother had become friends, meeting while Panda was in Palm Beach escaping the cold winds and dirt covered mounds of snow. Strange, Mother wasn't one to have friends, yet Joe knew so much about her and Panda. Joe explained how the two had become close while Panda was in Florida. She had asked him to look after Panda should anything happen to her.
Even before the heat of summer bounced off the steamy pavement, Joe's vile temper spewed hotter than fire from a volcano's belly. Panda's life had become opaque and numb. It was as though she had lost complete control. She was a limp puppet, moving only when Joe pulled the strings.
Joe knew things about Mother's life, but even more he knew things about her death. Sometimes he would say things that would spark a suspicious thought in Panda's mind - but no, don't even think such thoughts Panda, move back into your gossamer web.
***
Now he was staring into Panda's eyes. Suddenly she could see the depths of his soul, and she knew what he was thinking. She was her mother - a clone. She wanted him to feel the same way mother felt the night he pulled the trigger. There was a terror in Joe's eyes and it pleased her.
Panda squeezed the trigger. She watched through a dreamy haze as he grabbed his stomach, the liquor spilling and the drink glasses drifting in slow motion toward the floor. Emotionless, she kept squeezing the trigger.
The sounds echoed through the marbled hallway. There was no one in the other apartments this day. No one heard the resounding screams bounce off the walls, or the sounds of the gunshots as they pierced the silence and slipped out into the street and boldly mated with the backfire of a truck.
The gun was empty. Panda put it back into her bag, and calmly walked outside, into the bright, clear sunlight. The cloud that had enshrouded her life these past few months had lifted.
At the curb, she hailed a bright yellow cab. "LaGuardia," she told the driver as she opened the door and climbed inside.
Inside the cab, Panda leaned back feeling relaxed as the driver casually lunged through the city traffic. Glancing down at the East River as the cab scurried over the Queensboro Bridge Panda thought about the gun in her purse. She would get rid of it at the airport - the trash in the rest room. She was going back to Florida.
There was no remorse. This was the first time in months she had felt like herself. It would be warm in Palm Beach, but the ocean breezes would feel better than the steamy sidewalks. She'd buy the clothes she needed at Royal Poinciana - no - on Worth Avenue. She smiled.
Panda put her finger in her bra and felt the roll of hundred dollar bills. There was more where that came from - it was her way of life, the only way she knew, not good or bad, simply a way of life.