Lucky(43)

“Hello. Welcome to Priscilla’s Place. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for somewhere to stay,” Lucky said.

“You’re currently experiencing homelessness?”

Lucky nodded.

“How long?”

“A month.”

“Name?”

“Jean Fantine.”

“I’m Sharon. Do you have any identification, Jean?”

“No.”

“Are you able to read and write?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m going to give you these intake forms to fill out. Then I’ll process them and get you inside.”

Lucky nodded again, then took the clipboard and pen and sat down. She looked around. There were two security cameras in the room, and a photo of Priscilla standing in front of the house, cutting a ribbon and grinning.

After the intake process was complete, Sharon led Lucky through the house—which was divided into a large kitchen and eating area, and a living area and recreation room—and out into the yard.

“You’re in unit twelve,” Sharon said, handing Lucky a key. “It’s a single. Get yourself settled in, okay? And dinner is at five, which is soon. Tomorrow, a few appointments are required. Counseling with me, and Priscilla likes to meet all the new intakes, if her schedule allows it. But that might be at dinner. She’s out walking her dog right now, but she’s around tonight and planning to make an appearance.”

Lucky’s stomach dropped, but she maintained her smile. “Thank you,” she said. “See you later.”

“See you later, Jean.”



* * *




Lucky stared at her food: butternut squash soup, salad, and fresh bread. It looked good, and she hadn’t had a proper meal in days—but she couldn’t eat a thing. She kept waiting for Priscilla to walk in. Her colored contacts made her eyes feel like they had sand in them.

“I’m Janet,” said the woman sitting beside her. She had short hair, turned orange from bleach, and saucer-like blue eyes. One of her hands was shaking, but she still managed to spoon soup into her mouth.

“Jean,” Lucky said, smiling once before looking back down, hoping her message was clear: I don’t really want to talk to anyone.

“Cool. We have similar names.”

Lucky didn’t respond.

“It gets easier, I swear. This is a safe place.”

“Thanks.” Lucky forced herself to eat a tomato from her salad. She spooned a little soup into her mouth. Janet looked satisfied with this. Then the conversations in the room paused for a moment, as if a vacuum had been turned on. She raised her eyes and saw Priscilla entering. Her dark hair was shorter now, not swept back severely the way she had worn it years before but feathered around her face. She had on jeans and a cable-knit and homey-looking sweater. She turned in a slow circle, smiling at everyone in the room, meeting their eyes, nodding encouragingly at the shy ones. You are Jean Fantine. She doesn’t know you. You have to believe that. A dog barked outside in the yard.

Lucky realized she was gripping her spoon so tight her knuckles were white.

“You okay?” Janet asked.

Lucky put down the spoon. “Sure. Totally fine.”

“I see a few new faces,” Priscilla said, addressing the diners. “Welcome to Priscilla’s Place. As some of you know, this is a safe haven for women experiencing homelessness in Fresno and the surrounding areas. Every woman here is treated with kindness and respect. And, of course, we ask that you do the same with each other. Understand, this is a family.” Priscilla continued to speak, walking slowly among the tables. “The theme of tonight’s talk is dignity,” she was saying. “And what it means to you.”

“She does a speech every night?” Lucky whispered to Janet.

“Not really a speech. More like… a sermon?”

“A sermon? Seriously?”

“She’s great,” Janet said. “Just listen.”

“The dictionary definition of the word ‘dignity,’?” Priscilla was saying, “is ‘the quality or state of deserving honor and respect.’ I make no secret of the fact that I wasn’t always the kind of person who deserved any honor at all, let alone respect—do I, ladies?” Some laughs and murmurs.

You can say that again, Lucky thought.

Janet leaned forward and whispered, “Did you see the documentary about her transformation?”

Lucky shook her head, gritting her teeth.

Priscilla continued, “There’s a second part to the meaning of ‘dignity.’ It’s about taking pride in yourself, respecting yourself. And that’s a hard thing to do when you don’t have a means to provide yourself with even the most basic of necessities. Shelter, especially. Food, of course. But, ladies, there is no shame in that, okay?” Her voice was rising, evangelist-style. “I’m here to tell you there is no shame in asking for help.” She was standing near Lucky’s table now, and Lucky could smell her perfume, the same scent she remembered from years gone by: Poison.

“She’s so fantastic,” Janet whispered. “Truly an incredible person.”

“Yeah,” Lucky whispered back, thinking about the dictionary definition of incredible: “difficult to believe.”