There was never anyone sweeter than Geri (who I used to love to call Geraldine!) She always had that smile, that warmth, that sweet sisterly kindness and caring. Visiting her there by Es Vedra was always a special day. Her finca, the kids, the fig tree, the food, the vino! Guitars and the singing, the views and the hot baking earth. No wonder I had to include her in Maggie Scratch. She was part of me then and she lives on in New York, on the pages of my book, and in my mind and my heart. In this excerpt, Maggie has come to New York planning to get impregnated by her old boyfriend, H.G., but, as luck would have it, nature intervened and boomeranged her plan.
The day I left New York, I was riding on a Seventh Avenue bus with Kiki. Across the aisle from us sat a young woman with a baby strapped to her chest. Kiki already has two children, but that day on the bus she told me she was fantasizing about becoming pregnant again. We were as carefree as two teenage girls on our way home from school. Kiki’s kids were somewhere else. We were cracking our gum and riding along in the indigo magic hour with the Christmas lights blinking. We stared at the baby in front of us.
“Not this trip,” I whispered.
Kiki is a cross between a Hungarian gypsy, a Tibetan Buddhist and a California flower child. She sat there and held my hand. “Maggie,” she sighed. “It just wasn’t in the stars.” Blood had spoiled the plan! Nanny Scratch would have said, “It wasn’t meant to be.” Maybe Kiki was right, maybe the blood saved me. H.G. was lonely. Loneliness could be in his genes. It wasn’t meant to be for Kiki either. By the time we got off the bus, she said she decided to get an IUD.