Double D

The dated landline phone’s insistent blinking red light greeted Sarah as she opened her tiny office in the back of the homeless shelter. She sighed, took a sip of coffee from her travel mug, and hit play.

“Hey Sarah, it’s Amy from Bridgeport Hospital. The police brought Deedee in last night.”

Sarah dropped her bag on the desk and called the hospital emergency department.

“Hi Amy, what happened? How is she?”

“Same old. She’s looking pretty rough but refusing rehab. She’s medically ready for discharge, but,” Amy continued in a singsong tone, “there’s a problem.”

“Don’t say it!” Sarah pleaded.

“Yep, you guessed it – the empress has no clothes.”

“Nothing? No shoes?”

“Nope, just the hospital gown and slippers. There’s nothing in the room, no explanation in the chart, and Deedee doesn’t remember a thing.”

“Okay,” Sarah sighed. “I’ll see what I can figure out.”

The homeless shelter had an emergency stash of donated clothes but she doubted any of them would fit Deedee, who was about 5’9” and at least 350 pounds. People usually gave away clothes they outgrew. Thin, petite homeless women could go on a shopping spree, but Sarah couldn’t even find a men’s XXL tee shirt.

She braced herself and called Deedee’s court-appointed representative payee, Attorney Joy Cross, who lived up to both her names. You never knew if you would get the affable Joy or the humorless Cross.

“Good morning, Joy.”

“What now?” Cross asked.

“Deedee is at the hospital again and ready to be discharged, but she has no clothes to wear.”

“What happened to all the clothes I bought her?” Cross demanded. Sarah noted that Cross didn’t ask why Deedee was in the hospital. Attorney Cross was randomly court-ordered by the judge to handle Deedee’s meager finances, her monthly disability check of $458. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she often repeated about the assignment.

Sarah refrained from saying, “I told you so.” The previous week, Joy, who was almost as big as Deedee, took Deedee on a lively shopping trip for her summer wardrobe. Sarah cautioned against the excess but was overruled by Joy’s good mood and Deedee’s enthusiasm. Sarah cautioned Joy to at least remove the tags, as Deedee quickly secured the shopping bags under her arm. Deedee, who was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder from her childhood, cocaine dependence from her adulthood, and a borderline personality disorder to break the camel’s back, sold everything she wasn’t wearing before sunset. All the proceeds went up in crack pipe smoke.

“I’m in court all day. Can you pick her up a few things, and I’ll reimburse you?”

Sarah took a quick trip to Walmart for the basics, grateful it was simpler summer attire. She knew Deedee’s size and style from previous excursions. Deedee wouldn’t like the neon green sneakers, but that was all they had in size 11 wide. Sarah couldn’t find a size 40DD bra. Although desperately needed, the bra would have to wait.

Sarah peeked around the partition at the hospital and found Deedee waiting on the bed, arms folded. The right side of her head was still lined with neat cornrows, while the left was wild and free, giving her a lopsided look that matched her hangdog yet pouty expression. As expected, she rolled her eyes at Sarah’s selections and looked for the tags Sarah had removed but managed to grumble, “Thank you.”

“I have to go to court,” Deedee volunteered. “Disturbing conduct.”

“Disturbing the Peace or Disorderly Conduct?”

“The conduct one, I think,” she said, scratching her head. She checked her bare left wrist and asked, “Am I missing the soup kitchen? I'm starved. They didn’t feed me anything.”

“Disorderly Conduct is a more serious charge,” Sarah said, sounding concerned but internally calculating the opportunity it presented for a mandated treatment program.

Deedee’s court date arrived a month later, but following another binge, and despite numerous reminders, she didn’t show up. Deedee now faced the added charge of Failure to Appear, which judges often seem to take personally. Again, in the silver lining, Sarah saw the potential to get Deedee off the streets, away from the dealers, and on stabilizing medication.

That afternoon, Deedee limped into the shelter with an air cast on her right foot.

“I fell last night on Main Street, where they’re fixing the sidewalk,” She explained. Apparently, she had not seen or ignored the large orange barrels and yellow tape warning her of danger.

Deedee’s injury clipped her wings for a while. It was more challenging to run the streets and hustle with a cast. Her injury would give her time to level out before entering the treatment program Sarah envisioned. Intervention plans might finally fall in place.

Sarah drove Deedee to her next court date and sat with her until the young, nervous-looking public defender motioned Deedee to come stand beside her and across from her older opponent. Deedee looked back at Sarah, who nodded her support and privately crossed her fingers for a beneficial order from the court.

The prosecutor scowled and cleared his throat before announcing the charges.

The balding judge looked at Deedee over his reading glasses and confirmed she understood the seriousness of the charges against her. “Why did you not appear before this court as ordered?”

“I couldn’t make it, judge,” Deedee said, shaking her head from side to side.

“You couldn’t make it? And why is that?”

“I couldn’t come because I fell in a hole," Deedee said. "A big hole," she added with her eyes and arms wide.

The prosecutor burst out laughing. He clamped his hand over his mouth like he was trying to hold it in with all his might, but his shoulders shook, and his head bobbed until the judge called his name. The prosecutor wiped his eyes and tried to regain composure, but when he looked at Deedee, she held up her now filthy cast and he lost it. Deedee looked at her defender, who shrugged as fits of stifled titters infected the whole courtroom.

“That’s it. Charges dismissed,” the judge barked and rose. “We’ll take a 15-minute recess.”

“All rise,” said the bailiff, appearing amused.

Deedee walked back up the aisle to Sarah. She checked her nonexistent wristwatch and said, “Did I miss the soup kitchen? I’m starving.”