CALENDAR GIRLS
JUSTINA IRELAND
Alyssa posted up on her corner and watched the late-afternoon foot traffic with feigned disinterest. Friday was her busiest day. Saturday was decent, no doubt, but Friday was lit. Folks were still full of hope that they could somehow fix their busted-ass week by getting lucky. TGIF and all that shit. By Saturday most folks had a hangover and were broke. Unless you wanted a bunch of ankle biters, smashing cakes cost a lot of money. So Friday, that was Alyssa’s best day.
Everyone liked to be prepared for the weekend.
Whether it was textiles, monthlies, or squish, Alyssa had it. She’d owned this corner since the Dvorah Sisters went down a couple of months back, and she’d been making bank. People in the Financial District liked to fuck, but not a single one of them wanted a baby.
Alyssa’s greatest asset was that she was pretty. That made her approachable, and it had kept her business safe and booming even though she was slight and young. She wasn’t like the Sisters, who’d successfully held on to their turf through brute force. Alyssa knew to give the cops their cut and to dress nicely enough that no one suspected she was anything other than some schoolgirl waiting for the uptown bus. Her hair was neat, her skin was moisturized, she smiled at strangers, and she always helped the older women on and off the bus.
A man in a pricey suit wearing a fedora paused to tie his shoe near Alyssa, dropping a hundred-dollar bill as he did so. “Textiles?” he muttered, his eyes skidding left and right.
Alyssa grinned and languidly bent over to pick up the money, the beads on the ends of her cornrows clacking together as she did so. These hedge-fund bros had no fucking chill.
“My man,” she said, picking up the cash and depositing the condoms in the man’s waiting palm in a single smooth move. “Don’t use them all in one place.”
The man gave her a single panicked glance before he scurried off. When the siren whooped, Alyssa knew why he’d been so nervous.
She’d been set up.
“Hands up!” the cops said, vaulting out of the car and drawing down on her, like she was one of those Christian terrorist cells instead of a slight teenage Black girl wearing a high school uniform.
“What’s going on, Officer?” Alyssa asked, widening her eyes and holding up her hands. She’d already dropped her bag and kicked it over toward the wizened old woman on a nearby bus bench. It was only possession if they caught you holding.
She recognized the officer who grabbed her hands, spinning her around as he cuffed her. “Damn, Findley, if you wanted a bigger cut you could’ve just said so.”
“It’s out of my hands, Lyss. I’m sorry,” he said, running his hands over her body in a way that was perfunctory, not perverted. She appreciated the small mercy. This wasn’t her first arrest, but at least this one wouldn’t leave her feeling like garbage.
He plucked her cellphone out of her sweatshirt and pocketed it, along with a couple of packs of monthlies and a handful of shiny foil textile packets.
And then she was hustled to the police car, no rights read, no identi-chip scanned. The other officer just watched her through narrow eyes as Findley put her in the back of the car. “Damned harpies,” he spat.
As the car pulled away, a small Asian girl ran up to grab Alyssa’s bag, taking up the spot that she had just vacated.
Alyssa couldn’t help but tilt her head back and laugh.
* * *
—
They didn’t go to the city jail or even county. Alyssa had been to both of them, and she knew what to expect. They’d book her and send her to the juvenile wing. There was a reason younger girls like her ran the corners. By the time she was an adult, her rap sheet would be expunged and she’d be taken off the streets, sent to work somewhere else for someone else, a job that looked legit, a life that was mostly hers. That was the promise, and so far the Matriarchs had kept every single one.
But now the plan was in flux. They didn’t head to the county lockup; instead, they drove to the highway. And kept driving. Everything had been copacetic when Alyssa thought she knew the script, but once they started down a tree-lined drive in an unfamiliar part of town, she began to fidget.
“Hey, where we headed? Where you taking me?” Alyssa asked.
“Shut up, bitch,” said the officer on the passenger side, the one she didn’t know. Findley said nothing, and Alyssa couldn’t see his face from where she sat behind him. When they’d thrown her into the car, they secured the handcuffs to a loop in the door, and Alyssa leaned as far to the right as she could, trying to get a glimpse of Findley’s face. She knew him. She’d babysat his kids, all nine of them, and kept his wife in a ready supply of monthlies. Findley had been red-faced when he’d asked for the contraceptives, confessing that the wife had threatened to go celibate otherwise. He’d seemed less like a killer with a badge and more like a regular guy, a good guy with too many kids trying to get by in this world, like so many folks.
But he was also a cop, which meant nothing good at all.
The police car turned down a small cobblestone road that led to a guard shack. Findley pulled the car up alongside the small building. A huge Black guy with skin the color of a moonless night stepped out, his bald head glinting in the late-afternoon sunlight.
“Yeah,” the man said, glancing at Alyssa in the backseat and dismissing her. There was a gun holstered under the man’s suit jacket, and she wondered where the hell they were. Who needed a handgun in the middle of the fucking woods? Dude didn’t exactly look like he was going after Bambi.
Fear tried to rise up, but she shoved it down. As long as she could play at being chill, everything was cool. She’d been in worse jams.
Maybe.
“Our captain sent us. She’s a harpy,” the cop in the passenger seat said. “Fucking baby killer.”
The man from the gatehouse looked at the car once more before returning to the guard shack. He picked up a phone, a landline, and had a brief conversation before coming back.
“Sit tight a sec. I’ve got some troopers who are going to run down here to grab her.”
“We could take her up,” Findley said, a strange tone in his voice. Regret?
That wasn’t good.
The other car pulled up, a fancy black town car with tinted windows. Another guy in a suit—this one white, with a head full of brown hair gelled to within an inch of its life—got out.
“You can uncuff her; we’ll take it from here,” he said. He wore sunglasses, but Alyssa still had the feeling that his eyes were scanning the area for potential threats. It creeped her all the way out. There was no way she wanted to stay here, in these pretty woods full of danger.
But she didn’t exactly want to spend any more time with the cops, either.
Findley got out and opened the door, unlocking her cuffs. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again. “I really had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, even when they tell you there isn’t,” Alyssa answered, voice equally low. Findley made to hand her the cellphone and contraband, but she only kept her phone, pushing the textiles and monthlies back into his hands.
“Keep them. You’re going to need them more than me.” She threw back her shoulders and strode to the town car, refusing to show even a smidgen of fear.
Whatever fuckery was about to unfold, she would meet it with swagger.
* * *
—
When Alyssa was eight years old, her mother died in childbirth.
It was completely preventable, the aunties said at the funeral, their voices hushed as they cast sidelong glances at Alyssa. In another time, they said. Maybe in another place. There, Alyssa would have a mother and there might be some sadness at a lost son, but there would be a chance for more kids.
But there was no other time or place. The doctor had told Alyssa’s mother that she would die if she trie
d to carry the child to term. The law ensured that there were few other options, not without a trip to the border and a lot of money to get a Moses to take them across. The Matriarchs might’ve been able to help earlier on; there were ways to keep from getting pregnant and ways to fix mistakes if you were desperate enough, but Alyssa’s mother believed in the law, believed in a country built on freedom and justice. So she did the right thing, the good thing, writing to the state board for permission to end her pregnancy in light of her health and young daughter.
The men in the state capital denied the petition.
Alyssa’s mother died three days later, laboring futilely in a city hospital while state senators argued over whether or not to lower the marrying age for girls from fourteen to twelve.
It was the first time Alyssa understood that being a woman was a curse.
* * *
—
They drove for a short while, Alyssa and the dudes with all of their firepower tucked up under expensive suit jackets. A house appeared after a turn, and it was like a terrible revelation. The building sat on sprawling grounds that were impossibly green considering the drought. The entire thing was made of bricks, and Alyssa couldn’t help but think of all those people laying each piece, one on top of another, until a monstrosity of architecture had been born. She’d never seen a house so big, hadn’t even considered that such a thing could exist.
At this point she was certain of two things:
Someone with money or power or both had paid the cops to snatch her from her corner, and
She was fucked in the worst kind of way.
The suited security guys gestured for her to walk up the stairs to the front door, which opened as if by magic. An Asian man wearing a gleaming white polo shirt and pressed khakis opened the door with a smile.
“Ms. Pearson, so glad to see you looking well. I’m Brian, Senator Gaines’s personal assistant. Please, come in.” Alyssa schooled her face to blankness, refusing to let the man see how intimidated she felt.
She was maybe mostly successful.
He stood back from the door to allow Alyssa to enter. She stepped forward, all of her bravado draining away. The foyer was opulent, marble and dark woods and paintings conspiring to make her feel insignificant. She had the momentary urge to take her shoes off or apologize for her presence, before she managed to take a deep breath. She thought of her mother, the same way she always did whenever she felt scared or small. It made her feel strong.
Angry.
“How do you know who I am?” Alyssa asked. She kept her voice neutral, picking her words carefully, the same way she did when speaking to a teacher. This was uncharted territory.
“I’ll let the senator explain that to you,” he said, leading Alyssa through the house and to a sitting room not far from the foyer. She’d only snatched glimpses of the rest of the mansion, and that was enough.
She didn’t belong here, and the sooner she could figure out what this was about and get out, the better.
Brian offered to get Alyssa a drink, which she politely declined. Without another word he exited the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her alone.
She didn’t have much time, so she pulled her phone out of her pocket and tried to text her contact within the Matriarchs. But her phone just kept on displaying her home screen, a picture of her mother from before Alyssa was born.
“No use in trying to use that. I’ve got this system that blocks all signals except the ones I choose. Neat gadget.”
Alyssa looked up from her phone. A middle-aged white man walked into the room, his smile perfect and gleaming and utterly fake. “I’m Senator Gaines, Ms. Pearson. And can I just say it is a pleasure to meet an entrepreneur such as yourself?”
“What do you want?” Alyssa asked. Her voice was steady, as was her gaze, and she imagined her mother looking down on her with pride. After all, Senator Gaines had been instrumental in passing the law that had eventually killed her.
The senator kept his placid smile in place as he sat in a leather wing chair and indicated for Alyssa to do the same. She kept standing. He pretended not to notice.
“Ms. Pearson, I’m sorry to have interrupted your afternoon. But I’m afraid I need a woman of your considerable talents, and I didn’t think you’d answer a polite invitation. Would you like a drink?”
“No,” Alyssa said. Fuck no. She couldn’t trust these people. They’d probably drug her and sell her into slavery in the manner of their ancestors. “Are you going to kill me?”
As soon as the words slipped out, Alyssa swore to herself. She wanted to be cool. But she was terrified, trying to figure out how to get away from Senator Gaines. He was legendary. As a state senator he’d started the Abstinence League, and as the founder of the Senate Commission on Morality he’d pushed through legislation that had severely limited everything from contraception to clothing. Once upon a time people had said he led the war against women, but that was before folks decided that they could live with his legislation. After all, hadn’t he also helped bring back manufacturing and a handful of other industries?
People were willing to give up a lot in order to have a few more dollars in their pockets. It was the price they paid for freedom and the American Dream.
But that was long before Alyssa and her mom, and Senator Gaines had been in office nearly forty years. The idea that there was anything Alyssa could help him with was laughable, and the more she failed to figure his angle the more frightened she got.
“I know you’re probably wondering why I brought you here. After all, pretty girls like yourself go missing all of the time, and for no good reason,” the senator said with a smile. If it was meant to reassure Alyssa, it failed. “The answer is: I need you to help my girl get rid of an unfortunate complication.”
“Your mistress?” Slinging contras required a certain understanding of why people needed them, and extramarital affairs weren’t unusual, despite all of the Morality Laws.
“No, sorry to disappoint. My daughter is sick, and if she doesn’t terminate her pregnancy she’ll die.”
“Sounds like she needs to file an appeal,” Alyssa said.
His eyebrows twitched, but that was the only sign of emotion.
Alyssa didn’t say anything else, just let the silence drag. Her answer was cold but honest. What kind of world did this man live in where he could have the police grab some random girl who sold illegal contraceptives and expect her to act as a Moses, ferrying his daughter to the Promised Land?
Jail was a much better alternative. She’d serve her time and be back on her corner by New Year’s.
The senator gave Alyssa a frustrated smile. “I picked you because I know what happened to your mama,” he said. His pose was still relaxed, but there was now an edge to his words. “Don’t you want to make sure that doesn’t happen to another woman?”
Alyssa shrugged. “I’m good.”
The senator’s smile faded, and a vaguely perplexed expression came over his face. It was like he’d never considered that she might say no, that maybe she worked her corner not because of some greater good but because she just liked the extra cash.
“Well, how about this: You get my daughter to the Dakotas and I’ll pay you. Name your price.”
Alyssa laughed. “Why me? I just sell contras. I’m all about before the fact, not after. This is a whole bunch of mess I’m not qualified for.”
The senator steepled his fingers under his chin. “Which is exactly why I need you. You deal, so you already don’t agree with the Morality Laws. An established Moses would compromise my daughter and is entirely unsafe. I could send her directly, but I can’t take that sort of trip, and I can’t send my security detail—it’s too dangerous for me. So, name your price. I’ll give you a car and two days to get her there.”
Alyssa said nothing. How fucking stupid did he th
ink she was? She might be a dealer, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see bullshit when she was neck deep.
The senator didn’t like her indecision. “Oh, and let me be clear: If you refuse, you aren’t going to prison. Those officers have already been paid off, and my security detail has been informed that you are a known terrorist that I’m trying to negotiate with. Should you refuse, Brian will return and defend me against your plot to try to assassinate a sitting senator. You really don’t have a choice. Now, shall we say a hundred thousand dollars for your time and effort?”
“One fifty and you give me half now.”
The senator smiled, slow and crocodile-like. “Deal.”
For the first time all afternoon, Alyssa relaxed. This was exactly how things were supposed to go.
* * *
—
She was given a car, and a sleeping girl was gently laid across the backseat by Brian and a woman who looked to be the senator’s wife. The girl was bundled in a blanket, and at one point the edge of it fell away to reveal golden skin and curly blond hair. The woman quickly covered the girl’s face again before planting a kiss on her forehead. Alyssa watched it all without saying a word. After they were done, Brian handed Alyssa a card with her name on it.
“This is the account where your money will be. You can use as much of it as you want to get you to North Dakota.”
“North Dakota?” Alyssa asked. Wasn’t that a strange place to take a sick, pregnant girl? When the senator said the Dakotas, she’d thought he was just giving general directions, not an actual destination.
The man didn’t even blink as he said, “Yes. The family has a compound there and a doctor waiting. You have forty-eight hours. If you aren’t there we will find you. Your directions are preprogrammed into your GPS. Do not deviate from the route.”
A People's Future of the United States Page 20