Durable Goods

by Patricia Hale

  Elizabeth laughed. “Ruth’s a joke that Isaac doesn’t find funny.”

  “What’s her role in the business?”

  “There isn’t one. She runs the store, plays go-for, handles the farm workers and keeps her mouth shut. Isaac has as little to do with her as possible and vice versa. As far as he’s concerned, I’m his daughter, not her.”

  I left my sheets in a pile in the middle of the room and went to gather from the other bedrooms. I’d milked all I could from Elizabeth. If I kept questioning her I ran the risk of her mentioning something to Isaac. Rose was another possibility, but I was leery of her too. Her age was already against her, she couldn’t risk giving Isaac another reason to dump her if he found out she was talking.

  Most of the girls were in the living room so I was surprised when I walked into a room to find someone in bed. It was the girl whose drink I’d tipped over with the vacuum, the girl with the auburn hair and welts on her back. She rolled toward me and winced as she did.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I need a wet cloth from the bathroom,” she said. “Warm.”

  In the bathroom, I ran a face cloth under the hot faucet, wrung it out and brought it to her. She lay on her stomach. “Put it on my back,” she said.

  I lowered the blanket to her waist and groaned when I saw the welts up close. They were fresh all right, pulpy and oozing. Patches of dried blood mapped her back. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Eve.”

  I started to wipe it and she flinched.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t wipe it. Lay the cloth over my back. When it cools get another one.”

  “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

  “He always asks for me.” She whimpered, like the child she was.

  “Can’t you tell Isaac what’s happening?”

  “He knows.”

  “And?”

  “When I complained he said I was ungrateful. He said the client is one of his best and pays a lot for me and that he can always send me somewhere else. Someplace where I won’t have it this good. The client strips me naked, beats me, and then he’s done. No sex. Isaac’s right. I should consider myself lucky.”

  Her warped assessment brought tears to my eyes and I heard myself saying the same thing to Amy twenty-five years ago. It was Christmas and I hadn’t gotten the pony I’d asked for. In fact, Santa had missed our house altogether. Amy presented me with a plastic Pinto with a thick black mane and a white tail that fell past its hooves. Real or not, it was the most beautiful pony I’d ever seen. I fell asleep feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

  “Do you want something to eat?” I asked Eve. My offer sounded futile, worthless given the stakes, but I wanted to help her in some way. I wanted to take the surrender out of her eyes and relieve the pain of a girl who believed luck was getting beaten instead of raped or a plastic pony instead of a mother’s love.

  “Toast,” Eve said. “And a glass of whiskey.”

  In the kitchen, I buttered the toast and carried it on a tray into the living room. I poured a tumbler half full of Jack Daniels and set it beside the plate of toast then I poured one for myself.

  I set the tray down beside Eve’s bed. She reached for the tumbler and downed it then picked up a piece of toast and carefully turned on her side, leaning up on one elbow. “Thanks,” she said.

  I gathered the sheets from where I’d left them on the floor. “I have to do the laundry,”

  “Will you bring me another one when you come back?”

  I took the tumbler from her outstretched hand and left her with a fresh compress on her back. But before heading to the kitchen, I took a detour into my bedroom. As I hoped, Elizabeth was gone and I grabbed the moment to text Griff. These opportunities were few and far between. I went into the bathroom and took the cell phone from its hiding place in the closet.

  No info on Kira. 9 girls. One sold. “Lucas” is the middleman. Girls work at Bennett’s Market. Stebbins involved. Big party Friday night. Lots of clients. Will send the details.

  I added the descriptions of the three girls I’d seen earlier, and included Rose and Elizabeth asking that he check runaways and missing persons, hoping for a match. Then I told him I was safe and that I loved him. And then I threw up. Maybe it was because my body wasn’t used to booze for breakfast, or because of the description Ruth had given me about Isaac’s parties or because Isaac had promised to come back for me today. Maybe it was all three.

  GRIFF

  John’s phone rang three times before Griff got an answer and then it wasn’t what he’d hoped to hear.

  “What,” John’s voice came across gruffer than usual.

  “I wake you?” Griff glanced at his watch. It was three in the afternoon.

  “Sort of.”

  “You at the precinct?”

  “I’m home. You hear from Britt?”

  “That’s why I’m calling.”

  “What’d ya got?”

  Griff knew from the sound of John’s voice and by the fact that he was home at three o’clock on a Thursday that he was off the wagon. “You drinking?”

  “A little. Tell me what you have.”

  “I’ll tell you in person. Get in the shower.”

  Griff disconnected and slipped the phone into the pocket of his wool sport jacket and walked toward his SUV. He didn’t have the patience right now to pick John up from a fall and he’d tell him so when he saw him.

  The shower was running when Griff let himself into John’s two-story cape. He stepped into the living room to wait. The room hadn’t changed in years: same curtains, same furniture, and even the arrangement hadn’t differed. The stack of wood in the fireplace had probably been there since Kira disappeared. He glanced at the photographs on the table beside him. Alexis looked back. John had one arm around her shoulders and the other around Kira’s. They were sitting on a blanket on some sandy beach, turquoise water in the background. Kira was around ten years old in the photo. They all looked so happy. Griff shook his head and set the frame back on the table. They had no idea that within the next six years cancer would steal Alexis, Kira would disappear and John would succumb to his demons. Griff let out a sigh. How could he blame him? But he did.

  A door upstairs opened.

  “Hey,” Griff yelled.

  “I’ll be right down.”

  Griff picked up the bottle of Dewars from the coffee table along with the tumbler and carried them both to the kitchen. Pouring what was left in the glass down the sink drain, he looked at the bottle, debating.

  “Just set it down. I’ll take care of it.”

  Griff turned to face John. “What brought this on?”

  “You did.”

  “Don’t blame me for your decision to drink.”

  “I thought you were gonna pull Britt out.”

  “What made you think that?”

  “What the hell would you have thought after our last conversation?”

  “So you get shitfaced? That’s your solution? No wonder you haven’t found Kira.” Griff regretted the statement as soon as it left his mouth.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Damn right you shouldn’t have. Where’s Britt?”

  “Still there. I’m not pulling her out, at least not yet.”

  John didn’t answer. He took the bottle from Griff’s hand and tucked it into an overhead cabinet then he filled the coffee pot with water and began measuring beans into the grinder. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

  “Stebbins is involved.”

  John turned and looked at Griff raising his eyebrows. You sure?”

  Griff shrugged. “It’s what Britt said. She must have seen something. It’s hard to get into detail on a text. Girls are taken to Bennett’s Market at night for the local’s pleasure. Someone named Lucas is a middleman. It was all pretty vague, but Bennett’s having a party tomorrow night. And we’re going in.” />
  “Kira?”

  “Nothing yet. She did send descriptions of a couple of the other girls in the house. I’ll text them to you. Maybe you can take a look at missing persons when you get to the office. I assume that’s where you’re heading?”

  John looked at Griff. “Yeah, that’s where I’m heading.” He picked up a used Starbuck’s to-go cup from the counter, dumped the old coffee into the sink, filled it with his fresh brew and snapped the plastic cover on.

  “I’m sorry,” Griff said.

  “For what?”

  “For making you think I was pulling Britt out. I was just upset.”

  John nodded and grabbed his coat off the back of a kitchen chair. “Me too.”

  “I need you on your game,” Griff said. “We’re going into Bennett’s tomorrow night. You better have your head on straight.”

  “I hear ya,” John said. “It will be. I’ll get in touch with the department in Fort Kent. It’ll be their shindig. We’ll just be along for the ride.”

  “Getting Britt out of there is all I want. They’re welcome to the rest of it.”

  “Just don’t be a cowboy.”

  Griff glanced at John. “I’ll do whatever I need to.”

  “Now who needs to get their head on straight?”

  OK

  THURSDAY

  I stuffed sheets and towels into the mouth of the washing machine and was just pouring in detergent when I heard the basement stairs groan. Through the dim light I saw Isaac descending and my stomach clenched.

  He glanced around the dingy room. His eyes fell to the dirt floor and then rose to my face. He smiled. “Did you think I’d forgotten about you, Mary?”

  My heart beat like a percussion band. I didn’t answer.

  He took a step toward me. I took a step back. But with the washing machine behind me, I didn’t get far.

  “At the party tomorrow night,” he said. “It will be all my best clients. You’ll be working. But I like to have my girls first before they get marked up with fingerprints or worse. Fuck me, fuck my clients, that’s the order in which it goes.” He laughed and came closer.

  I pressed myself against the machine. I had nowhere to run.

  Isaac stepped in front of me and brushed the hair out of my eyes. His gentle gesture didn’t last long. He fisted the hair on the back of my head and tipped me backward over the washer.

  I pulled my knee up fast between his legs. Wrong choice. His fist connected with my cheek. It flipped me sideways. I squirmed in his grasp, but he still had my hair. A chunk came out at the roots. He smacked my head onto the cover of the washing machine and held me there. I drew in a breath trying to think of a move that would set me free. But he was quicker and stronger. He flipped my body so that I was bent over the machine, the side of my face pressing against the cold, white metal.

  I heard the buckle on his belt clang and then his zipper. He pulled the red kimono he’d given me to wear up over my back and rammed himself into my unwilling body.

  Pine planks made up the wall behind the washing machine. Stacked edge to edge from floor to ceiling their sides splintered with tiny spikes. Nail heads penetrated two-by-fours set at eight-inch intervals. The untouched wood was veiled in dust. Spider webs stretched like gossamer over the machine’s rubber hoses. The top of my head hit the dial on the washer and tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away and reverted to the scene in front of my face, anything to take me away from where I was. A long black leg emerged from between two of the boards and then another followed by a tiny head and bulbous body. The spider crept across the tapestry hunting for prey. Eight legs twitched anticipating the kill. A meal quivered on the far side of the web. The spider crept. The fly rocked and pulled futilely attempting to free itself. It’s body held fast. One leg then two gripped the fly. Caught in its captor’s hold diligence turned to despair and defiance became defeat.

  Isaac stepped back. I reached for the kimono pulling it down over me, but I didn’t move. I stared straight ahead. Words blurred in front of me, cold, warm, hot, delicate. I swallowed the vomit in my mouth and closed my eyes listening to him dress.

  I didn’t dare move until I heard his feet on the stairs and then the door to the basement closed. I sank onto the dirt floor numb and trembling my body hurt and when I looked down at my nakedness where the robe had fallen open, words like hate, repulsive and worthless came to mind. I ran my fingers over the scars on my stomach, loving them for their honesty. I should have texted Griff to come and get me. I should have told him when Isaac came after me the first time. I stood, steadying myself against the washing machine. Semen trickled down the inside of my thigh. I wiped it with the robe and started to cry. I cried so hard I could barely breathe. I was done. I was not who I’d hoped to be.

  I made it up the basement stairs and across the kitchen. I started to pass the living room, but changed my mind and went to the bar. I picked up a bottle of Smirnoff, turned and headed for the stairs. I felt Rose’s eyes on me and waited for her to say something about getting my work done. I wanted her to. I hesitated, even hoped, because if she had I would have smashed her head in with the bottle. At the last minute, I glanced at her. She was watching me, but didn’t speak.

  My bedroom was empty. I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. I unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow then set the bottle on the floor and stood on the toilet seat. My hands shook as I slipped the phone from the top shelf in the closet. I sat down and took another swig of vodka then I texted Griff. It’s time. I need out. I couldn’t tell him why, not now. Not in a text. I sat on the toilet staring at the letters on the screen. If he came now he might miss Isaac. He wasn’t always around during the day. What if he wasn’t even here when they arrived? But right now I didn’t really care about anything except getting myself out. I’d told Griff about the party tomorrow night. I knew he and John would see that as the best time to come. Isaac would be here with his cream of the crop clients maybe even Stebbins. I reached for the bottle, took four long swallows, draining half and wondered if I could hold out until then. The thought of staying in this house even an hour longer was unbearable. I took another sip. I couldn’t come through with Kira and now my relationship with Griff was as good as over. Waiting another day seemed unfathomable, but it was the one good decision I could make after a cluster fuck of bad ones. If I sent what I’d written Griff would be here within hours. I cried as I read over my text, It’s time. I need out. Can’t do this anymore. Help. It was the truth, but if I was going to walk away from here with even a shred of dignity I’d wait until tomorrow night. I reached for the bottle and swayed as I swallowed. My right thumb hovered over SEND.

  Knuckles hammered the door. I jumped and the phone slipped out of my hand. I watched in disbelief, unable to move as it skittered across the floor, under the sink and through the bent grid of the heating duct. Hearing only metal on metal as it slid through the vent into oblivion.

  “What the hell are you doing in there?” Elizabeth demanded. “I gotta pee.”

  I picked up the Smirnoff’s and stood, losing my balance my shoulder hit the wall. I reached for the latch and opened the door.

  “Jesus,” she said. “You see a ghost or something?” Then she pushed past me and closed the door behind her.

  I sat on my bed. Had I hit SEND?

  Elizabeth came out of the bathroom. “You look like hell,” she said.

  I didn’t answer and she left me alone. I had no idea if the text was on its way to Griff or not. All I could do was wait and see if they showed up. If they did, it would be over. If they didn’t…it would be over.

  Rose leaned her head in the doorway. “Don’t forget dinner. That’s still your job.”

  “Fuck you, Rose,” I said. Nothing mattered anymore. I was done playing the game. I had just over twenty-four hours at the most. I reached for the bottle.

  “You screw up and he’ll ship you out,” she said.

  “I’ve already screwed up more than you could imagine.”


  “Yeah? Well don’t forget you’ve got it pretty good here. It’s better than a lot of the other houses.”

  I stood up still holding the bottle in one hand. She was a blur in front of me. “Yeah, Rose,” I said. “This is fucking awesome. Just fucking awesome.”

  “It’s your life,” she said and walked away.

  I stood alone in the middle of the room, tears running down my cheeks. I started to raise the vodka to my mouth but stopped halfway and dropped the bottle to the floor. What remained of its contents soaked into the blue braided rug. I needed another kind of relief. The kind I’d used as a child to ease the pain when my mother screamed that she hated me and, why God, had she ever given birth. Why had she ever let that bastard, who was my father, near her? At those times I would go into the bathroom in the hallway on the second floor of our perfect Colonial, in our upper middle class neighborhood and run the straightedge razor that our housekeeper used to clean the bathroom grout, across my stomach. Trying to leech out my worthlessness. Warm, red blood would run down my soft pre-pubescent skin absorbed by my cotton panties and I would breathe a sigh of relief. Go to hell, I’d whisper to my mother.

  I went back into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. There was only a pink, plastic disposable razor. I ran it across my stomach. Nothing. I held it in my fist and pressed the double steel blades as hard as I could against my skin and dragged the piece of shit across my stomach again. Warm, red blood appeared. With each passing stroke I drew more, watching as it trickled down my now adult skin and disappeared between my legs. I took a deep breath, sighed with relief. Go to hell, I whispered to Isaac.

  OK

  FRIDAY

  I fought through my hangover to wake up. Remnants of the previous day drifted through my head like debris on a city sidewalk. I saw myself bent over the washing machine and swept the image aside only to have it replaced by my phone sliding across the bathroom floor, and me too drunk to react as it slipped down the broken heating vent. It had been hours since texting Griff to get me out. He hadn’t arrived yet. That had to mean I’d never hit SEND, which in turn meant he wouldn’t be arriving until sometime tonight. We had no plans in place regarding how he and John would come into OK and today when he texted me to set it up he’d get no response. How he’d react to that was up in the air. He could panic, assuming (rightfully so) that something had gone wrong and come right away or he’d wait to hear from me. The question was, how long would he wait?