(OOC: My thanks to our hostess for allowing me to write Maria as a primary character and share Beverly as a secondary character. I have another primary character or two in mind, but I will start with Maria.)

[center].....................[/center]

[b]At the condominium, after the blackout but before Naomi's most recent post:[/b]

Maria and Beverly gave each other a tight hug after Naomi departed. The latter told the former, "I'm so glad you're safe."

"Me the same for you," Maria said, immediately saying, "I have to get back to my family's store."

"We agreed to stay here."

Maria shook her head and turned for the door. "I can't. If I'm not there, the store'll get broken into and looted."

"You told Naomi you couldn't stop that if it happened, remember?"

Maria shrugged, then pulled a small revolver from her jacket pocket. "My father bought it for the store, for the nights I was alone." 

Beverly was obviously shocked, just staring at the gun with wide eyes. As Maria turned to leave, Beverly said, "Wait! I'll go with you."

"You sure?"

"No, I'm not! We should stay here, like Naomi said! But ... you're going, so, I'm going, too."

Beverly went to her new lover's closet, pulled out a casual, comfortable coat, and put it on. While she stood inside the walk in closet, she saw a bag for baseball equipment. She considered taking one of the aluminum bats for protection. But she turned away without it. She didn't know whether she could actually hit someone with what was essentially a club, even if they were threatening her.

"Let's go," she told Maria back at the door. She flashed an actual, traditional key. "I found this in a drawer while I was snooping. It fits this door. The power is out, so the keypad doesn't work. We need to ask the doorman if the key will get us in and out of the building."

The pair of friends headed downstairs, where the doorman told them that the key would get them in and out. But then he added, "I'm sorry, Miss, but if you leave, I won't be able to let you back in, not without Mister Deering's approval."

Beverly started, "But I have permission to--"

"Sorry, Miss," the doorman said, shrugging. "Rules. You leave ... you leave until Mister Deering says you can come back again."

"Stay here," Maria said immediately. She took her friend's hands, squeezing them. "It's safe here. And when the power comes back on and you can call or text your boyfriend--"

Maria was using the word boyfriend rather freely. Beverly had only met Robert Deering a week ago, had coffee with him once after that, and then had their one magnificent night of dining, partying, and fucking. She saw Beverly smile at the use of the word, too. Looking to the doorman, Maria continued, "Then he will be able to tell ... what's your name...?"

"Peter," the doorman said. He tapped his nametag. "Peter Jackson."

"The movie maker," Maria said. They shared a smile. She looked to Beverly again. "Peter will keep you safe in here, and everything's going to be fine. The power will come back on in a couple of hours, maybe sooner. And tomorrow, which is actually today, you and me and Naomi will all sit down to espresso and scones and laugh about how scared we were over all of this silliness."

Beverly tried to argue for Maria to stay again. But after another hug and a whispering reminder about the revolver, Maria headed out. It was less than a hundred yards to the bodega. Despite the number of people on the street, Maria was there in no time at all with no problems at all either. She unlocked the door, entered, and quickly locked it again. She looked at all the vulnerable windows. When the family bought the store, Maria's mother had suggested security gates to prevent looting. Her father had been for the idea. The local ordinances were against it, though. Roosevelt Island wasn't Bushwick or Crown Heights or even Midtown, each of which had been horrifically looted and even burned during the 25 hour long July 1977 blackout of New York City.

Maria strolled about the bodega. She considered how the power outage would affect the store's contents. The refrigerated units were deenergized, obviously. Some of what was in them would go bad. Some of it would survive for days and still be marketable. That was, of course, if it was still here when the power came back on.

She began assembling candles and those little tourist lanterns and lighting them all about the front of the store. She wanted potential looters to know that someone was their to stop them. When she finished, the bodega had a rather homey, traditional feel to it, Maria thought. 

There were a lot of people on the street. That concerned Maria, of course. But often, passersby would see her in the glow and wave to her. Several asked if she was okay. Most of those who did were locals she knew as bodega customers. One asked if he could buy candles for his own place. Maria was hesitant to unlock, but she knew the man well. She sold him candles, then gave him a big cloth bag full of refrigerated food and ice cream at half price -- cash, of course, as the card machines didn't work.

Tiring, Maria eventually sat in a chair near the front door and fell asleep. She figured being visible but asleep to potential troublemakers was still better than not being visible at all. But that sleep didn't last long. A solid rapping at the door awoke her. Maria was afraid at first, grasping at the pistol in her coat pocket. Then, she was flooded with joy at seeing her father pressing his face to the glass. He was already using his own key to get in. As soon as he was, Maria's arms were clutching him in a desperate bear hug.

"Where's mama? Where're my siblings?" she asked. It was silly asking

"She's at home, watching over your brothers and sisters," her father answered. They locked up again, and after half an hour of discussing the situation, he told her, "Go to the back and get some sleep."

Maria didn't argue. She was exhausted. There was a cot in the back for nights when one of the family members worked so late that going home wasn't worth it. She laid down, pulled the blankets up tight to her head, and was asleep within seconds.