Wonkette Presents THE SPLIT: Chapter Nine

In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.

Tuesday afternoon. Lorinda lined up the bottles and glassware at PumpJack’s just the way she liked it. Then she went over the shelves and racks again in an effort to keep busy. When she saw Emmie approaching in the mirror she gave a fake, forced expression of delighted surprise. “Hey, stranger,” she said, turning around, as her friend settled on the corner stool.

She leaned over the bar as if to give Emmie a peck on the cheek but instead whispered, “Thanks for coming. Don’t say anything: the cameras.”

“How many cameras?” Emmie whispered back, trying to look like she was just exchanging a warm hello.

“Two,” whispered Lorinda, rolling her eyes first to the left, then to the right, to indicate their locations. Like every CCSA citizen over the age of seven or eight, Emmie was good at tracking down the nearest cameras and quickly picked them out over the back bar. “I can disconnect them,” Lorinda said. “Hold on a second,” She grabbed a cloth from under the bar and, as if looking for a glass to polish, turned to the back bar and bent down below what she knew was the sightline of the cameras. She quickly found the socket, unplugged the cameras and, as an afterthought, grabbed a bourbon bottle from a higher shelf and placed it on its side on top of the unplugged wire before turning back to Emmie.

"Are you sure about that condom thing?”

Emmie nodded. “Pretty sure. I mean I read it in RN. Which is a pretty dependable journal. They began to get all these reports of women becoming pregnant when they really shouldn’t have been, so they had their contributors all over the country buy a bunch of condoms and examine them. Like I said — not all of them were … fucked with. But a lot of them were. They came that way right out of the box.”

“Unbelievable.” Lorinda looked away. Had she really made this decision? She had. Turning back to Emmie, she said as softly as possible to still be heard, “I can’t have a baby now. I just can’t. It can’t happen. Maybe some time, but not now.” She shuddered with disgust. “I can’t believe our fucking government is sabotaging condoms to” — making air quotes — "maintain the population.”

“Plus,” Emmie said. “I mean, it’s none of my business. But I gather you’re not crazy about having a baby with Brad.”

“Oh, God!”

“Although,” Emmie said. “It’s nice to know he’s got the goods. And so do you.”

“Stop!”

They both laughed. It came as a relief. Lorinda set about mixing Emmie’s usual red drink. As she set it on the bar, she leaned toward her friend and said, again quietly, “So I need to do something. You were telling me about those pills?”

“Yeah,” said Emmie. She sighed. “Well, that’s a problem. It’s like with the condoms. Our lovely government — don’t tell anyone I said this — they’re still putting out fake pills. Placebos. They don’t do anything. And they look exactly like the real ones. They’re packaged the same. It’s really fucked up but there’s nothing we can do about it. Every now and then some good ones show up, but if you need …” she whispered the next two words “… a termination, then you can’t wait for something that might never turn up. I mean, I can tell you if I hear of anything. Medical people are usually the first to know. But don’t hold your breath.”

Emmie took a thoughtful sip of her drink, then patted Lorinda’s hand. “There are things you can do. I can help. I may know someone. And it’s very early. You have plenty of time.”

“I need ….” Lorinda couldn’t quite get through the sentence. Teachers in the CCSA, starting in kindergarten, were supposed to put a great deal of effort into insisting to their students that there was one thing that was the worst thing a woman could do. In fact, the latest standardized national curriculum explicitly contained lessons in every subject — from English to social studies to home economics to math — in which students were to be instructed that it was the worst word in the English language. Many teachers had been fired, and worse, for not hammering these lessons hard enough. “What I need,” Lorinda said with effort,“ is an abortion.”

Emmie winced but nodded. “It’s not impossible,” she said softly.

Lorinda, looking past her, said, “Oh, shit.”

Emmie turned to see why Lorinda was frowning. “Oh, hi, Brad,” said Emmie. “Look who’s here, Lorinda.”

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PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Read The Split every Sunday over at The Split, or every Monday here at Wonkette, except sometimes when it’s a Tuesday.