Harlot

by Tracie Podger

I spun around. “How...?”

  “Lucky guess, and now you’ve just confirmed it.” He gave a half salute before walking away.

  “Prick,” I called out to his retreating back.

  By the time I returned from my shift at the diner, had sat and eaten yet another mystery dish concocted by Kieran, the front door had been repainted. There was no evidence of any earlier graffiti, and for that, I was thankful.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I walked into the apartment to see the dark red leather chair left haphazardly in the center of the room. Obviously, the keys I’d taken from Beau weren’t the only set available. I didn’t have the energy to rearrange the room, so I just sat and thought. I needed to show Damien that I wasn’t scared, nor was I ever returning. Would that be enough, though? To say I wasn’t scared to confront him would be a lie, but I didn’t know of any other way.

  I also had to think of a way to physically return. Whiteling was way too many miles for me to walk back, and as I’d discovered, there was no public transport. The slow realization that I’d have to take up Beau’s offer of help, even if just for a ride, dawned and with it, another sigh. I scrubbed my hands over my face, scrunching my nose at the smell of bleach on my skin. I growled out an expletive with frustration.

  “My name is Charlotte Kenny. I’m nineteen, however, it’s my twentieth birthday in a few weeks’ time, I think. I don’t actually know my real date of birth; my grandmother decided the day I was left on her doorstep with a note, would be my birthday. It’s very probable I’m already twenty. I don’t know my mother, or my father. And I don’t know why my grandmother had no relationship with her daughter. I do know she was very young when I was born,” I said, when Beau answered the call.

  “Well, Charlotte Kenny, probably twenty-years-old, does this mean you are looking for my help?”

  “Don’t be an ass. I need a ride, nothing more.”

  “You know I can’t just drive you back to wherever you came from, sit around and wait for you to take on a dirt bag, then drive you back, don’t you?”

  “I don’t want to involve you any more than necessary.”

  “That’s very honorable of you, but not happening. Now, I’ll be there in ten minutes and you can tell me the rest.” He cut off the call. If I didn’t need the cell to be able to know the time, I’d have thrown the fucking thing across the room.

  I rose from the chair reluctantly, since it was the most comfortable thing I’d sat in, and filled the coffee machine with water. I scooped some ground coffee in and set it to brew. I wasn’t going to tell Beau about Philip, I’d be out on my ass in an instant if he thought he, and his aunt, were about to be caught up in that level of trouble, but I had to come up with something. More lies started to form in my head.

  “Can you please at least knock before you come in? I do have a formal arrangement with the owner of this property, someone that isn’t you,” I said, when Beau strolled into the apartment.

  “Since I get left this, that arrangement is partly with me.”

  “Not so. And I mean it, knock next time.”

  He gave me just one nod of his head. I already had a cup of coffee but I waved my hand toward the machine, he could pour his own. I walked to the chair and sat.

  “You like the chair? I remember my uncle sitting in that every day before he died.”

  “Where are your parents?” I asked, somewhat randomly.

  “Dead, to me.”

  “Oh…I’m…”

  “No need. Now, shall we get down to business?”

  “What I’ve told you is true. However, on the night you picked me up, I was running…”

  “Obviously.”

  “Obviously. I was running because Damien had wanted me to show his new friend a good time, at a cost, of course. I didn’t want to, I didn’t like the guy, he scared me, so I didn't show up. I knew Damien would be fucking furious and the mood he’d been in, I’d take a beating. I’d had enough, I packed my things, and I ran.”

  Beau stared at me, his brow furrowed and his head slightly cocked. A smirk played on his lips.

  “Tell me about the friend?”

  “I think he was a drug dealer, big time. I’d heard some awful things about him. He bought girls, some were never seen again. I didn’t want to be one of those girls.”

  The only part that was a lie was me showing Cody Groves a good time. He existed, he was a drug dealer, and rumor had it, he abused then disposed of woman all the time.

  “Do you know his name?”

  “I don’t, and I’m not sure why that’s important.”

  “I guess it’s not. So, that’s why you ran?”

  “Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

  “Of course, but why wait all this time?”

  He stumped me then. I bit down on my lower lip, gently sucking it into my mouth; it was something I did when I was caught out, something my grandmother called my ‘lie detector fail.’

  “Honestly? I don’t know. I was scared of him for such a long time. I was caught between staying and taking my chances with the drug dealer, or running and hoping not to get caught. I did the latter.”

  “And now you want to go back to show him what?”

  “That he can’t scare me anymore. That I’m not afraid.”

  “And when the big bad drug dealer knows you’re back, bearing in mind he may have already paid for you, do you think just telling Damien you’re a big girl now and have moved on, will be enough?”

  I slumped down in the chair and let my head fall against the backrest.

  “Then I guess I need a ride to the airport. I think I have enough money for a flight.”

  “Where to?”

  “I don’t know! For fuck’s sake, Beau. I can’t stay, I can’t confront him, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Is Kenny your real name?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “And Damien is his real name?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, instead I let out a large sigh.

  “If you don’t believe me, just help me get to the airport. I’ll figure it all out from there.”

  “Damien Kenny, from Whiteling, drug user, dealer perhaps, pimp and trafficker,” he said, more to himself than me.

  I had no idea what a trafficker was, but nodded anyway. Beau gulped down his hot coffee, placed his cup on the coffee table, and then stood.

  “Okay, get some things, you’re staying at mine. Although you did leave your panties and bra on the counter.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Get your things. I’m not asking, Charlotte.”

  “You know, you act like my fucking father.”

  “I’d be thrilled to have you as a daughter, although I’m not old enough, Miss ‘I Think I’m Twenty Years Old.’”

  It was clear that was sarcasm and I added that to the list of comments that stung.

  “At this rate, I’ll need an anti-histamine,” I said. By the look on his face, he didn’t get my meaning.

  As I walked to the bedroom, I called over my shoulder, “How old are you?”

  “Possibly eight years older than you.”

  “Twenty-eight. Sheesh, life has been hard on you, hasn’t it? I’d have put you at way more than that. No wonder you’re single, no woman would put up with your style of cheerfulness.” Satisfied my parting shot had caused him to huff, I closed the bedroom door while I grabbed a few things.

  In reality, I was surprised he was only twenty-eight. I thought he might have been early thirties. It was as I sat on the bed, I thought on my earlier comment. Cecelia had told me his girlfriend, had run out on him, causing him great pain.

  “Shit,” I said, quietly so he couldn’t hear. I really needed to think before I spoke.

  I packed a few clothes and then headed to the bathroom to gather some toiletries. I stood in the living room, waiting for Beau to lead the way. As he walked to the door, he snatched his set of keys from the counter. I waited until he was near the door before opening a kit
chen cupboard and picking up one of my cash bundles.

  “Not the best hiding place,” he said.

  “Best I’ve got. Shall we go?”

  “Get the rest of your money, if your douche of a cousin breaks in here, you’ll lose the lot.”

  “Turn around then.”

  “Really? Just get your fucking money, Charlotte.”

  I grabbed the other three piles and stuffed them in my backpack, cursing him under my breath as I did.

  Beau directed me to the bedroom I’d slept in before. I left the backpack on the bed and joined him in the kitchen. Sitting proud on the counter were my panties and bra. I stuffed them in my jean pockets as I sat on a stool.

  “Now, plan of action. You stay here, you go to work, and act as normal as possible. But, you don’t go out at night, you don’t do the late shift, and you sure as fuck keep a look over your shoulder so you don’t lead anyone back here, okay?”

  “What if I need to go to the store?”

  “Then I’ll take you.”

  “What if you need to work, or whatever it is you do?”

  “I work when I want to work.”

  “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Any other questions?”

  “Why are you such an ass to me?”

  He fell silent; I raised one eyebrow waiting for his answer.

  “Because I don’t like you.”

  I blinked, not expecting that answer.

  “Not for the reasons you think, though,” he said, walking over to the coffee maker.

  “It’s not my fault that I look like her,” I said, quietly.

  I watched as he rested his hands on the counter and bowed his head. Slowly, he straightened his back and turned to me. His features were hard.

  “Don’t speak about her again,” he said.

  “I…”

  By the look on his face, that line of conversation was over. I shut my mouth and slid from the stool.

  “If you don’t like me, for whatever reason it is, why are you helping me?”

  “I told you, Cecelia isn’t well. I don’t want her caught up in all this.”

  “Is that all?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I guess we’re all lying, Beau.”

  With that, I walked to the back door, opened it, and stepped out into his small courtyard. There was a small wooden table with two chairs around it. To one side was a row of ceramic pots filled with dead, sad looking plants. I crouched down and pulled out some weeds. Not that I knew about plants, but those looked a lost cause.

  “Her name was Rachel, we’d been together a couple of years. And yes, you could be her sister, you look so alike. It throws me, brings back memories I’d rather not have. You cause me to lose focus, Charlotte, and I don’t like losing focus.”

  I didn’t answer, not sure what I could say to help. I was naïve, I wasn’t as worldly as I should be, and as much as I used to be proud of my smart mouth and range of vocabulary, I knew I’d just say the wrong thing and inflame the situation.

  I heard the scrape of a chair. “Your coffee is here,” he said.

  I stood and then sat in the chair opposite him. “Thank you, and I’m sorry to hear what happened. I don’t suppose Cecelia should have told me anything, it’s none of my business.”

  “It’s not a secret, the whole fucking town knows. She just left one day and that was it.”

  I wanted to ask if he had any idea why, but I didn’t. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, effectively closing down any further conversation.

  “I’ll deal with Damien,” he said.

  “I don’t want you to. I’ll just leave, Beau.”

  “That won’t stop him coming back here, like I said, Cecelia doesn’t need to be caught up with this.”

  “Then let me speak to him. I’ll tell him I’m going to the police if he harasses me.”

  “You should have gone to the police anyway.”

  “You think that small, hick town police force in Whiteling would believe me?” I laughed, Beau was as naïve as I was.

  “He’s a drug user, is he not?”

  “Yes, so are most of the residents. I don’t have a great reputation back there, Beau. People knew what I did, they didn’t know I was forced to do it, though.” I swallowed down the hurt at the thought of the ridicule I’d received.

  I’d been called all sorts of names, from whore to slut, on a regular basis. I remembered a woman spitting at me once, when she’d caught her husband trying to pick me up. I wasn’t interested in him; I wasn’t interested in any of them. I was forced to do what I did because, for a long time, I just didn’t see a way out.

  “Do you know what it’s like to be taunted every day of your adult life? To be called names, have people look at you with disgust? Do you know what it’s like to be forced to do something that caused you to cry every single day? You can’t ask me why I didn’t run earlier any more than I’ve asked myself. I hate myself, Beau, because I’m weak, because I didn’t do something about my situation earlier. I had no money, no clothes, no friends, I was totally isolated and reliant on him for a long time.”

  “What changed, Charlotte? Something did.”

  “I can’t tell you that. If I did, you’d drag me from here in the blink of an eye. I’m scared to.”

  “So there is more?”

  “Yes. And when I know how to deal with it, I will tell you.”

  “You don’t know that whatever this is might help with getting Damien off your back. So, make your decision on whether you tell me sooner rather than later, Charlotte.”

  I sipped at my coffee and pondered on his words. I thought it had been Damien that had been helping the police with their investigation, maybe I was wrong. I was still convinced he’d been the one to kill him; I just needed a way to confirm that.

  “I have to go,” he said, looking at his watch.

  “What do I do?”

  “Read, watch the TV, whatever you normally do. Just stay inside.”

  “I can at least sit out here, can’t I?” I looked around the courtyard with its high brick walls.

  “Yes. And don’t go snooping, most of the rooms are locked up.”

  He walked back into the kitchen, leaving me staring open-mouthed at him. He really didn’t trust me at all. Yet more fucking tears pricked at my eyes. I wanted to hate Beau. For a little while, I’d thought he treated me the same way Damien did, but Beau was worse. He had no reason to trust me, I’d been around for less than a month, but his barbed comments hurt, and the lack of empathy he showed should have me telling him to go fuck himself. There was something about him, though. He was like an onion, he made my eyes water regularly, he was bitter and strong, but there were so many layers that I was sure, if I could peel some back, I’d see a sweeter side to him.

  I laughed at the analogy, sure that he’d be mortified to be compared to something as basic as an onion.

  I fixed myself a second coffee and tested the only other door on the ground floor. I would respect Beau’s home, not that he did mine. I would never go snooping in anyone’s house. The door opened to a small living room. A sofa was pushed against one wall and under the only window. It was a large brown leather one with cream scatter cushions. The opposite wall had me surprised. Row upon row of books was stacked neatly on wooden shelves. I walked over to look. The collection ranged from the slushy romance he’d mocked me for, to crimes and thrillers. There were biographies and travel books. Somehow, I doubted they belonged to Beau; he didn’t seem the reading type. I selected a couple and settled on the sofa. I kicked off my sneakers and curled my feet underneath me. The sofa was comfortable and I snuggled into the corner. I looked around for somewhere to place my cup, not wanting to use the highly polished coffee table. I set it down on the wooden floor, hoping it wouldn’t leave a mark.

  I thumbed through the novel, loving that it had been read many times judging by the creases. It surprised me to see passages underlined in p
encil. Obviously those words had meant something to the reader. I decided that I would read the book and flicked back to the beginning.

  When my bladder had decided I’d had enough time reading, I put the book down and headed upstairs to the bathroom. Although I’d used it once before, I hadn’t noticed the range of female products that were still lined up, in order of bottle size, on a shelf. While I washed my hands I studied them. They were product brands I’d never heard of but looked expensive. I picked up a hand cream and read the label before squirting a little into my palm.

  I hadn’t taken too much notice of my surroundings previously, but when I thought about the bedroom, it seemed to be that Rachel hadn’t been removed from the house at all. I wondered if that meant Beau was hoping she might return. I didn’t know how long she’d been gone, but from instinct, I didn’t think her leaving was a recent thing. Was he still pining for her?

  My stomach grumbled as I descended the stairs. Beau hadn’t mentioned helping myself to food and bearing in mind how particular he was, I decided to text.

  Is it okay for me to make myself something to eat? Or should I pop out?

  Of course it is! Why couldn’t you? he replied.

  “Because you’re an ass who doesn’t actually want me here,” I said to the cell.

  Thank you, I typed, ignoring his question.

  I opened his fridge and pulled out a loaf of bread, a carton of orange juice, and a plate of cooked chicken. It seemed that Beau ate very healthily. There was nothing processed or what I’d consider junk. I made myself a sandwich, washed up the utensils, and poured a glass of juice.

  I sat at the kitchen counter and slowly ate my sandwich. I took in a slight layer of dust on the ridges of the cupboard doors, on some pots that hung from a rack above the stove. I guessed the kitchen wasn’t a room Beau used that often, despite a full fridge.

  When I’d eaten, I headed back to the living room and picked up the book. Despite it being the end of fall, the courtyard was a little suntrap. I pulled off my socks and rested my feet on the chair opposite as I settled at the garden table. I looked at a line of underlined text.

  This is for you, not me, for you, please remember that.

  It seemed an odd line to highlight. I continued to read. The story wasn’t as captivating as other books I’d read. It was a pretty straightforward romance, one set in a small town, two high-school lovers that couldn’t seem to get their act together. It was the to and fro in their young relationship that had me wanting to roll my eyes. I had a policy though, no matter how I had to work at reading, I would get to the end.