“Marika was saying—your manager Mr. Cassidy will negotiate a ‘rematch’?”
Dawn Dunphy shrugged. “Yah. Maybe.”
“D’you think this will happen? Any idea when?”
“Prob’ly won’t happen.”
“But why not?”
“They know I will beat Aya next time. And it won’t be as much money with me as with someone else.”
“But—don’t title-holders have to fight contenders? Won’t Aya’s manager have to negotiate with you?”
“Have to?—no.”
“There are other ‘champions,’ I think? In ‘WBL’—”
“‘WBA.’”
“—maybe they would negotiate? With your record . . .”
“They know I’m too good. I can win, and I can hurt people. It’s too risky for them.” Dunphy paused, frowning. “If they make me quit I could go to nursing school like my mother did.”
“Oh—why’d they make you quit?”
“If I lose the next fight. If I can’t keep going.”
“But—until last night you were undefeated . . . Everyone says you are a wonderful boxer, Dawn.”
You are crude, and you are clumsy. But you can take a punch.
“Yah. Bullshit.”
“Last time you told me, you were fighting for Jesus. Is that still the way it is?”
“Jesus has had enough of me, maybe. Sometimes I think so.”
“But—why?”
Dawn Dunphy’s eyes moved restlessly about as if seeking the ghost-figure of Jesus in this very room.
“Don’t know. Just a feeling.”
“Would your mother like you to quit boxing?”
“Yah. I guess.”
“She worries about you getting hurt . . .”
“Nah. She doesn’t. I don’t think so.”
“Did they take you to a hospital last night?”
“Some kind of clinic. They put in the stitches.”
“Did they take X-rays?”
“I don’t know.”
“But—how do you feel? Does your head hurt?”
“After a fight you hurt all over. No matter if you win or lose.”
“Dawn, I don’t like to tell you what to do, but—you should see a neurologist. You might have been concussed last night. When you fell to your hands and knees . . .”
“When was that? I didn’t fall.”
Dawn Dunphy spoke contemptuously. Naomi realized with a thrill of horror that she’d forgotten.
“ . . .wasn’t never out, and didn’t fall. Ernie would’ve told me if I had.”
“I think you should have a brain scan. In case of a hairline fracture. You should insist.”
Naomi was speaking rapidly, in a lowered voice. In a corner of the room Marika continued to talk on her cell phone, aggrieved and angry, oblivious to the interview.
“There’s a doctor in Dayton. They take me to him.”
“Oh but—what kind of doctor? Is he—actually—a doctor?”
“There’s some diploma-like, on his wall. He gives me medications.”
“What kind of medications?”
“I don’t know.”
“D’you think—steroids?”
“Don’t know.”
“Maybe you could show me the medications, sometime. I could see what they are.”
“How’d you know?”
“I’m a doctor’s daughter. What I don’t know, I can look up.”
Dawn Dunphy considered this. For a moment she seemed about to speak, but did not.
Naomi said, “You should see a more reliable doctor. I could take you.”
“How’d you do that?”—Dawn smiled, disbelieving.
“How? Why not?”
“Who’s gonna pay for that?”
“I will.”
“You will!”
Dawn laughed, almost jeering.
Naomi persisted: “I can. I could pay for it.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because I would want to.”
“Why’d you want to?”
“Because—you need better medical treatment than you’re getting. That’s my feeling.”
“But why’d you do that for me? You don’t know me.”
“I would do it for anyone who needed it . . .”
This was untrue. Naomi spoke quickly, feeling blood rush into her face.
“Your father? Your father is a doctor? Is that who I would see?”
“No. Not my father.”
“This doctor they take me to, he’s OK. I’ll be OK. Even if you win a fight you hurt like hell for a long time.”
“Do you pass blood?”
“Nah.”
So quickly Dawn answered, with an embarrassed frown, Naomi knew that there must be blood in her urine.
“That’s a kidney injury. That needs attention.”
“Nah it’s OK. Never mind.”
“Look, please. I will pay for it. Are you driving back to Dayton today? I can check, and see who is available in Dayton. There’s a network of doctors, they know one another and recommend one another and I can—I can check for you. I could call, and make an appointment. I could do that, in Dayton. I wouldn’t even need to be there—though I could be there. If that was necessary.”
“I’m OK. I said.”
Dawn was becoming irritable. Naomi knew she must not press the issue. But she was feeling excited. Reckless.
The night before, she’d written a message to Dawn Dunphy. She’d been unable to sleep in the unfamiliar hotel bed, and writing a message to Dawn Dunphy had been soothing to her. She had not believed that she would actually give this message to Dawn Dunphy—of course.
But she’d brought it with her this morning, neatly folded inside her bag.
Stubbornly Naomi said, “I’ll look into it, Dawn. I’ll find a doctor. And I’ll take you.”
“Jesus! Why’d you do that.”