Page 182 of The Sun Sister

‘I feel, like, very exposed,’ I said as we walked out of the entrance.

‘With cheekbones like yours, I don’t think you’ve got any need to worry.’

‘Thanks. So, where’s the car?’

‘I don’t own one – who wants to drive anywhere in this city?’

‘So how do you get around? By limo?’

‘Nope,’ Miles said as he put out an arm to flag down a yellow cab. One screeched to a halt and he opened the passenger door for me. ‘Your carriage awaits, m’lady,’ he said as I climbed in and did my best to fold my legs into the cramped space. ‘Welcome to my world.’

Miles shouted out an address through the glass partition and the cab set off.

‘I guess it’s a while since you’ve been in one of these, and you’re honoured, honey, because I only take these on special occasions; most of the time I’m on the subway.’

I turned my head away from him and stared out the window so he couldn’t see the shame on my face. To be fair, I’d only been sixteen when Susie had whisked me off to New York. One of the original stipulations Pa had insisted on was that I would always have a car to take me to any meeting across town. Things had carried on from there, with the occasional yellow cab taken with the other models I’d lived with in an apartment in Chelsea. The subway remained a subterranean world that I’d never entered.

‘You know, Electra, I’ve been using the subway for years and I’m still here to tell the tale,’ Miles commented.

I hated that he seemed to be able to guess everything I was thinking. But I supposed I kind of liked it as well.

‘So, tell me more about the drop-in centre,’ I said as we sped uptown.

‘A lot of the volunteers are either parents who have lost kids to drug addiction, or ex-addicts themselves. Problem is, since we lost our funding last year, the centre is struggling to pay its bills.’

‘Is it, um, safe here?’ I asked nervously as we arrived twenty minutes later in a street full of walk-ups and brownstones.

‘Better than it was, yeah,’ Miles said. ‘There’s still some no-go areas, but a lot of it was re-zoned by Bloomberg and gentrified. Harlem’s becoming a cool and expensive address these days. Times were when you could buy a brownstone for no more than a dollar round here. I only wish I’d had that dollar,’ Miles grinned. ‘So, we’re here.’

We stepped out of the cab and I tried to dust the smell of stale coffee and fried food from me. Miles walked up to a battered blue door sandwiched between a bodega and a building that was boarded up and covered in graffiti tags. Above the blue door was a small hand-painted sign, indicating it was the ‘Hands of Hope Drop-in Center’.

Miles pressed buttons on a keypad and pushed the door open. He led me along a dark corridor, then into a long narrow room lit only by skylights. A number of worn melamine tables and plastic chairs were dotted around it.

‘This is it,’ Miles said. ‘A cousin of a cousin of mine let us build this extension in his backyard for no more than the concrete it took. It’s nothing special, but it’s made a difference. You want a coffee?’ Miles indicated the stainless-steel contraption that sat on a counter at the back of the room. ‘The refrigerator’s broken and we’ve got no more money to repair it, so it’s that or a warm soda.’

‘I’m good, thanks,’ I said, suddenly feeling as privileged as the spoilt little rich girl I was.

‘On top of that, we got an eviction notice a couple months back – some developer has bought this brownstone, along with five others on the street,’ sighed Miles. ‘I know it doesn’t look much, but it was a safe place for the local kids to come and get support, advice and a real bad but free cup of coffee. It’s a tiny project, but even if it’s saved one life, then for me, it’s been worth it.’

‘So, how much does a place like this cost to run?’ I asked.

‘How long is a piece of string? I give my services for free, as does everyone who works here, but in an ideal world, we’d have trained counsellors, a twenty-four-seven helpline so the kids can talk to us anonymously, a health professional and a lawyer who’s here every day to give on-the-spot advice, and enough space to house them all.’

‘Right, well, I want to help if I can,’ I said, ‘but I need to think about how we could raise the funds. I’ve got money, but I guess the kind of place you’re talking about could take, like, millions of dollars.’

‘I’m not asking you to fund us, Electra, but to maybe use your profile to help it happen. You get what I’m saying?’

‘I think so. I’m sorry, Miles, I have zero experience in this kind of stuff, so I need you to guide me.’

‘I was hoping you could get some network coverage for the centre,’ he said. ‘I could ask some of the kids who’ve come through these doors over the years if they’d be prepared to be interviewed alongside you and say how it’s helped them.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ I agreed. ‘I’m up for anything.’

‘Good. Now, come on, let’s go. This place depresses me right now.’

As we walked outside, I could hear the sound of rap being played on a tinny radio in the bodega next door.

‘So,’ he said, looking at me as we stood on the sidewalk, ‘you wanna go take a look at where your pa found you? We can walk it from here.’