Ordinary Girl

by Pamela Gossiaux

  Near the end of that show, I heard the doorbell. Gracie knew the doorbell meant strangers, which she didn’t like. She scurried under the couch.

  I saw Mom hurrying back into the living room to answer the door.

  “Heather, mute that for a minute,” she said. She was a bit out of breath from cleaning.

  Mom opened the heavy front door, and I saw a look of shock on her face. I got up and quietly walked over to stand beside her. She was staring out the front door but hadn’t made an effort to open the storm door.

  There were two policemen standing on our porch They had their hats off and were holding them in their hands.

  “Ma’am,” one of them said. His voice sounded muffled through the glass.

  Mom swallowed and pushed the storm door open. “Can I help you?” Her voice had a tremble.

  They asked to come in. She let them. Mom had grown very pale.

  “Ma’am, we have some terrible news,” one of the officers said.

  And that’s when they told us Daddy died.

  He was running and apparently had a heart attack. A driver found him beside the road, near Forest and Park. The driver called an ambulance, but Daddy was already gone. They needed for Mom to come and identify the body.

  That’s the day my entire world changed. I thought it was the worst thing that could happen to me.

  I am crying when Tommy comes to pick me up. It’s only 2 a.m., but I’ve made my quota for the day. He’s drunk. I can smell it on him and see it in the way he staggers to the car. He doesn’t ask why I’m crying or what’s wrong. I mean, what isn’t?

  He drives me back to the house, but the other girls aren’t home yet. I drag myself into the shower and wash the nastiness off of me, then crawl into bed without even drying my hair. I’m still crying. Not big tears. Just little, silent tears.

  After a while, Tommy comes into my bedroom and closes the door. He walks over to my bed and lays down with me, something he has never done before. He pulls the covers up over us both, up to our chins. He’s only wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts.

  He frees his hands from the blanket and lights up a joint. I’ve learned to identify some of the drugs by smell, so I can tell that it’s pot, but he always has something else mixed in with it.

  I am lying, curled on my side, watching him through eyelids half-closed. I pretend I’m asleep so maybe he’ll leave me alone. I’m not sure what he’s doing here.

  He’s quiet for a few minutes, taking long, slow drags on the joint. Then he hands it to me. “Here,” he says. He’s high. His speech is a little slurred, and his eyes are half-mast.

  It’s never a good idea to refuse Tommy, so I reach for it and take a few drags.

  Then he rolls over to face me and starts kissing me gently on the face. He takes the joint from me and sets it on my nightstand.

  Then he makes love to me.

  — — —

  I don’t know what I think about sex. It’s not an act of love for me. It’s a job, one I don’t have a choice in, and it usually involves pain. But with Tommy, somehow, it’s different.

  “Do you love me?” he asks, as we lay there together, smoking the joint again.

  I don’t know what that means. Of course I don’t love him. I hate him.

  “Yes,” I answer. Because that’s what he wants to hear. And because my feelings about him are confusing.

  “My old man called me today,” he says. “It’s my birthday, and I thought maybe for a minute, he remembered. But he wanted money. I haven’t heard from him in six years, and he called because he wanted money.”

  Tommy takes another drag on the joint, and I think he’s finished talking. My head feels floaty. I look up at the curtains covering the bars on my window, and I am almost asleep when he says, “I thought I got rid of him years ago. But today he calls. Today, of all days, and doesn’t even remember.”

  Tommy swears. He cusses his dad from here to tomorrow. His anger is starting to scare me when he turns over to look at me. His eyes are red. “He used to beat me senseless,” he said. “Beat my mom senseless. She was so stupid for staying. Then he left us when I was fourteen. Do you know how hard it is to grow up without an old man?”

  I do, but I don’t say that out loud.

  There’s a tear on Tommy’s cheek. He brushes it away. Then he lays his head on my chest.

  “Do you know how hard it is to grow up without an old man?” he repeats. He lays there for a while, and I lay still, not wanting to break up the moment. I hear him sniff a little bit and rub his eyes with the back of his hand. Then, after a few minutes more, he falls asleep. I know this because I can hear his breathing change. He has passed out.

  I must pass out, too, because later, when Reg comes in, I wake up, and Tommy is gone.

  “We need some new clients,” Tommy says the next day. Instead of driving us to the motel, he takes three of us to a street corner. Serena stays behind to go somewhere else with one of Tommy’s men.

  I’ve learned that he has other girls. His “wifeys” is what the thugs call them. The girls stay in other houses, and he travels around pimping them out. I have no idea how many of us there are, but he must be making a lot of money off of us.

  We don’t see a penny of it.

  The street corner he drives us to is in a run-down part of the inner city. I’m still not sure which city we are in, but I think it’s somewhere in New York because most of the cars I do see have New York plates. And it’s definitely somewhere that there are four seasons. It’s warmer outside today, and I wonder what the date is. I’ve lost track of time, but I think I’ve been here about a month.

  I’m wearing a red low-cut dress and heels. Reg and Chloe are both in black. Chloe has fish-net stockings on.

  Tommy hands each of us a business card with the name of a hotel on the front of it. “Have them take you here,” he says. “The room number is on the back.”

  After he leaves we compare cards. We all have different room numbers.

  Chloe gets picked up first. A white man wearing a dark blue suit coat. Maybe in his forties. He has a wedding ring on.

  “We should leave,” I say. But Reg is busy lighting her joint. Instead of replying, she takes a long drag off of it. Then she hands it to me.

  I inhale and give it back to her. “I mean, what’s to stop us?”

  Reg shrugs. “Where would you go?”

  I look around. The buildings are all boarded up. There are some shady looking guys standing across the street in front of a closed party store. They are wearing colors that I’ve learned to associate with a gang. One sees me looking at him and whistles. I quickly look away.

  She’s right. Where would I go?

  I’m starting to get cold. It’s warmer outside, and the days are getting longer, but my dress is sleeveless, and my heels are open-toed.

  Spring means the prom. I wonder if Brittney is going, and if she chose that dark blue dress she was eyeing at Bingham’s department store.

  Prom and high school seem like another world ago. Did I ever belong to that world?

  — — —

  I remember the last time I stood on a street corner.

  It was last fall, and we were raising money for prom decorations by holding a car wash. Brit and I were part of the fund-raising committee. We started early in the year so we could have a really rad prom, and we hit our budget by January of this year. The car wash took place in the parking lot of our mall, and they let us stand on the corner holding up signs to advertise. There were a lot of cars coming in.

  It was a warm day in September, and all of us girls wore our bathing suits. Principal Make-it-So said we couldn’t wear bikinis, but some of the girls did, anyway. They wore tiny little shorts to cover the bottom part, so I guess it was good. Besides, the principal never showed up. He was probably at his own kid’s soccer game or something.

  So there we were, Brit and I and a few other girls standing on the street corner. Brit and I were in a one-piece, but we were still causing a st
ir. I mean, what young guys wouldn’t want to get their car washed by a bunch of senior girls clad in their bathing suits? We got a lot of whistles when cars drove by, and we laughed and waved them in. I remember how fun it was at the time to be noticed by the guys. We felt sexy.

  It was a fun day, and we got into water hose fights, and at the end Brad Simmons dumped a bucket full of soapy water over my head.

  We raised $300 that day.

  Now, I can make that in an hour.

  — — —

  A car has stopped in front of us. The man is driving a sporty Lexus, and I wonder how he dares to bring it into this part of town. I guess he figures he can outrun anybody who tries to chase him down.

  He rolls down his window. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says. He’s talking to me. “Why don’t you get in?” He’s wearing a polo shirt, and I see golf clubs in his backseat.

  I reach for Reg’s joint and take another long drag of it. Then I open his passenger door and climb in. I hand him the card with the hotel address on it, and as he pulls away, I can feel the drugs lifting me up into that world of I don’t care.

  Before I’m completely gone, I briefly wonder if Reg will be okay standing there by herself.

  This guy falls asleep right afterwards. As I’m lying there, I start to wonder about my situation. For the first time ever, I’m unguarded. I don’t think there’s anybody waiting outside the door to kill me if I leave. Or waiting inside to beat me. I turn over so I’m facing the man next to me. He’s snoring slightly, sound asleep. I feel a slight thrill in my stomach at what I might do.

  His pants are laying on the floor next to the bed. I wonder if his phone is in there. All I need to do is make one call. Just one phone call. I know Brit’s number by heart.

  My heart starts pounding at the thought. I get up as slowly as I can and make my way around to his side of the bed. He’s still breathing evenly. I quietly pick up his pants and stuff my hand down into the front pocket. Nothing but some tissue and his wallet. I try the next pocket, and there’s his phone. He has it password protected.

  But you don’t need a password to call 911.

  Suddenly Tommy’s voice is in my head. “Don’t let the police catch you. You’re a drug addict now. You’ll get years in prison and a hefty fine, and that doesn’t even include your prostituting charges.”

  But years in prison might be better than this.

  They’ll beat you in prison. Nobody wants you now, Heather. You’re lower than dirt.

  I push the voice aside and press the button that says “EMERGENCY” It opens to the keyboard screen so I can call. My hands are shaking.

  “Hey!”

  I jump so quickly I drop the phone. The man is sitting up, looking at me. “Are you trying to steal my phone?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say. “No. I want to call for help.”

  “Help?”

  He doesn’t seem to understand. I find my dress and shrug myself into it. I’m really scared now. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard, I think it might burst.

  “What do you mean, help?” he says.

  “I don’t want to be here,” I say. It’s now or never. I’ve gone this far, and there’s no going back. Our eyes meet. He looks confused, but then he says something to me that I’ve never heard from another of the Johns.

  “Are you being held here against your will?” he asks.

  I nod and grab the money off of the dresser. I hear him saying “wait!” but I don’t because now I’m terrified. He’s just like all the others. He will only hurt me.

  I open the door and run out, not taking the time to look for men lingering near to grab me. I just run. The rough blacktop of the parking lot cuts into my bare feet, but I don’t feel the pain. I turn down an alley and keep running. My heart is pounding, my lungs start burning from the effort, and I’ve only gone a short distance. I’m really out of shape.

  The alleyway ends on a street, and I look both ways. Most of the shops are boarded up, but there’s a bar to my left and a party store to my right. I choose the bar and make a run for it. There has to be somebody in there who will help me, or a phone I can use.

  I remember people in movies calling cabs from bar phones. Do they even have phone booths anymore?

  And I don’t have coins. But I’m still clutching the $100 bill.

  Suddenly a car stops, and a man jumps out of the passenger side. He’s wearing jeans and a green t-shirt. He has a beard forming on his unshaven face and dark, glinty eyes. I recognize him immediately as one of Tommy’s thugs. It’s not Thug One or Thug Two. I don’t know his name, but I know he’s scary.

  I turn back and zigzag across the street. The bar isn’t far now, only about a half of a gym length from me, but I hear his feet pounding behind me. Fear races through me like a lightning bolt.

  I put everything I have into going faster. The door to the bar opens, and a man walks out.

  “Help me!” I scream, just as I’m jumped from behind. The force takes me down, flat on my stomach, and my chin hits the pavement of the street with such force that I think my neck will snap. Instead, I feel my teeth slam together.

  He grabs me by the back of my hair and rolls off of me, yanking me up into a sitting position.

  “Stupid!” he says. “Now Tommy’s going to kill you!”

  He slaps me hard across the face. The sting brings tears to my eyes. I reach towards the man who has walked out of the bar, but he looks away.

  “Help me,” I say, my voice weak. My lungs are fighting for breath. I feel like I’m about to pass out.

  The thug drags me by my hair to my feet, and then he grabs my wrist. In a last effort for freedom, I kick him hard. I’m aiming for his balls, but I hit his knee instead. He howls in pain and throws me to the ground, kicking me hard in the side. The pain is unbearable, and I curl into a fetal position, clutching my ribs.

  But he grabs my wrists again and yanks me back to my feet. He drags me towards the car, which the driver is moving towards us. Then he throws me in the back seat and climbs in next to me.

  I don’t know the man who is driving.

  The thug next to me gets an evil grin on his face. “I wouldn’t want to be you,” he says. “Not when Tommy hears what you did.”

  I realize I’m still clutching the $100 bill. He reaches over and snatches it out of my hands and puts it in his pants pocket. Then he shakes his head. “Tommy ain’t gonna be happy you didn’t get paid for this lay,” he says.

  “But—”

  As I start to speak, he slaps me again. I want to spit in his face, but I’m so scared that I cower down into the seat instead, as far away from him as I can get. I wish I was braver. I wish I was more.

  We soon arrive back at the house. The driver stops in front of the house so the thug can drag me out of the car. He pulls me into the house.

  “Tommy!” he shouts.

  “What’s up, Nash, my boy?” Tommy comes through from the kitchen to the front room.

  The thug, who is apparently named Nash, throws me on the floor at Tommy’s feet.

  “This one was running away,” he said. “I caught her racing down the street screaming for help.”

  I’m lying on my side, clutching my ribs. Tommy looks down at me, and I see the anger in his eyes. “Is this true?” His voice is very quiet.

  I don’t say anything.

  “And she didn’t get paid. That last John got a freebie,” says Nash.

  “That’s not true,” I begin, but suddenly Tommy’s boot kicks me right in my sore rib. I scream in pain.

  “Don’t speak!” Tommy says. He grabs my arm and hoists me up to my feet. “That will be all, Nash,” Tommy says, without taking his eyes off of me. “You’re free to leave. I’ll see that you’re paid.”

  I hear the door open and close. Tommy pushes me up against the wall and presses his body against me. His face is in mine. “You have no rights,” he says between clenched teeth. His breath stinks of garlic, and I gag. “Do you understand? What did I tell
you when you moved in here? That there are only three rules. You have broken two of them. Tell me what the rules are.”

  He takes both of my wrists and pins them up above my head, pressing me closer to the wall. My shoulder blades are digging into the drywall. His body is pressing into mine, his legs pinning mine against the wall.

  “Tell me!” he shouts. I cringe and shut my eyes.

  “The first one is no stealing money.” My voice is shaking. I don’t mention that I took the $100 or that Nash took it from me. I try to remember the other two and they come to me: “I belong to you, so never, ever try to get away,” I say. I swallow hard. “And do what you say.”

  “You do belong to me,” Tommy says. “No one else would want you. I take care of you, Heather. I feed you. I buy you clothes. I give you a home and a bedroom. And this is how you repay me?”

  I turn my head to the side, to escape his breath and his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he says. “But now I have to punish you. You brought this on yourself.”

  He pulls me away from the wall and throws me across the room. The back of my legs hit the coffee table and I fall backwards across it. A sharp pain cuts into my back as I land on it, then tumble to the floor. Tommy is on top of me then, and he slaps me across the face, first on the right side, then on the left. I’m seeing stars, but he jerks me up to my feet and punches me in the jaw.

  The blackness sweeps over me, but he grabs my hair and jerks me upright again. The pain in my scalp pulls me back to consciousness. No hitting in the face, I want to scream. It’ll show. Then he throws me back on the floor and kicks me in the stomach, the ribs, the kidney.

  The kidney kick hurts like nothing I’ve ever known. I remember from one of my science classes that kidney punches often result in peeing blood for a while. I wonder if that’s going to happen to me.

  Tommy grabs my wrists and drags me over to a door I’ve never seen open before. He unlocks it and throws me inside. Before I can catch myself, I’m falling down a flight of stairs. I land at the bottom, protecting my head with my arms, and end up splayed out on cold cement. He shuts the door and leaves me in total darkness.