Have Mercy

by Siobhán Béabhar

  "Arthur's a father," she blurted out. Arthur was Penelope's ex-husband and the father of her children. Of course he was a father; there really wasn't any need to proclaim that. "I mean that he and his—" She stopped, licked her lips, and added, "bimbo had their baby."

  If my attention hadn't been focused on her face, I wouldn't have witnessed the subtle shift of her emotions. Despair. Anger. Resentment. And, finally, acceptance. It was the tightening around her eyes, the tenseness around her lips. I didn't think her separation from Arthur had been real until that moment.

  "Is this your first grandbaby?" Albertine asked. She hadn't been watching Penelope, so she wasn't aware of the emotional turmoil our new roommate was dealing with.

  "No, Arthur is her ex-husband," I answered on Penelope's behalf. She was stabbing at the little pieces of sausage on her plate. Maybe the sausage was a proxy for Arthur's penis.

  "How old is your ex-husband?" asked Melia. Her fork hovered near her mouth as she waited for Penelope's response.

  Penelope mumbled, "Sixty-three."

  Red's eyes opened wide. She blanched as she looked at Penelope. "Is your ex-husband Senator Harrison?"

  Snatching the napkin from her lap, Penelope wiped her lips. "Indeed, he is," she said in between gulps of wine.

  Red was alarmed. Ah yes. The long history between politicians and prostitutes. I was curious. Was Penelope's ex one of Red's clients? My goodness, wouldn't that make for a cozy living situation.

  Silence descended again over the kitchen. My mind was racing with questions I wanted to ask Red. How long had she been an escort? How many clients had she had? Did she sleep with Penelope's ex-husband?

  Albertine was using a piece of bread to mop up the last of her sauce. Penelope pushed away her plate and began working on her third glass of wine. There was a touch of awe on Melia's face as she watched Penelope's movements. Red looked as if she wanted to run away from the table. As soon as she made her dash, I was going to corner her.

  Melia lurched from the table, causing it to shake from her movement. She picked up Albertine's plate just as the wren was about to help herself to seconds. Melia and Albertine exchanged a look. Albertine's eyes widened as she read the message. I guess the two of them were still concerned about their weight.

  "We are going to see a movie," Melia announced from the sink, where she was rinsing their dishes. "Would anyone like to come with us?"

  I shook my head. I had a date with Red. I placed my hand on Penelope's shoulder and said, "Maybe you should go. It might be a good distraction."

  No words came. Instead, she left her seat, taking her plate to the sink. She handed the plate to Melia, who washed it off and placed it in the dishwasher.

  "We should meet tomorrow and talk about a chore list," I said to everyone. I spooned more lasagna onto my plate as I watched Melia, Albertine, and Penelope grab their things and walk out the door.

  I waited a few heartbeats before I turned to Red, startling her as she sipped her wine. "We need to chat, you and me."

  "Sorry, but I'm all chatted out."

  I shook my head. Wiping my lips with my napkin, I prepared an apology in my head. I wasn't sure that I was going to offer her the apology, but at least it would be there, ready, in case I needed it.

  "I talked to my supervisor at Family Universe and she says it may be six months before the store opens again. The essential staff will be paid during those months, but she didn't have much to say about the non-essential staff. I guess we're on our own while the store is closed. I called unemployment and I'll need to submit a claim. They will verify my status with Family Universe. It could take weeks before I see a nickel from them."

  Her eyes softened a bit, the tension around her mouth diminishing. "What are you going to do while the store is closed?"

  "I don't know, but I have a plan," I said, scooting my chair closer to her. I wasn't quite sure why I dropped my voice, since we were the only two people in the house. "Tell me more about what you do?"

  "Why?" she asked. She scooted her chair away from me. She looked ready to bolt.

  "It's not what you think," I began. "I am curious, you know? Do you like what you do?"

  She cocked her head to the side as she considered my question. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "There are good and bad moments, but the money is good."

  "Have you ever been arrested?"

  "No," she said with a secretive smile. I waited, hoping she would elaborate. Grinning, she added, "I had an ongoing thing with a police commissioner once. Many people in town knew about it, but as long as he wasn't using city funds to pay for my services, no one objected. Publicly at least."

  "How long have you been doing it?"

  Her lips quirked; her eyes narrowed. "Is this for some kind of school project?"

  I shoved another bite of lasagna into my mouth. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts. "I've been doing some thinking..."

  "Oh yeah?" she interrupted, her tone sarcastic.

  Narrowing my eyes, I shot her a scathing look. "I'd like you to set me up on another... uh... job."

  Her face went blank. She said nothing as she began to tear a piece of bread into smaller pieces.

  I prattled on, awkward in the face of her silence. "Would I have to do anything kinky? I'm not sure that I could do whips and chains or anything like that. Maybe I could just go on regular dates?"

  Shaking her head, she said, "What the hell is this about, Mercy?"

  "I know this is going to sound insane, but I was thinking about the money you gave me. When I worked at Family Universe, I could bring in about two hundred fifty dollars a paycheck. That was for forty hours of work over a two-week period. It was shit pay. I hated working there, but I thought I was making easy money."

  I set my fork down on my plate and moved it to the side as I continued. "You gave me four hundred dollars for three hours. I like to think that my time is worth more than eight twenty-five an hour. I paid my mortgage up for the next two months. My account is nearly empty, except for the money you gave me."

  "Have you conveniently forgotten about your reaction last night? How you thought they viewed you? You're talking about the money, Mercy, but you're saying that you are willing to be the 'diseased whore,'" she said, her tongue rolling over the syllables. I cringed, listening to my words thrown back at me.

  I understood why she questioned me. Only that morning, I was seething and moping because I felt ashamed that a bunch of strangers thought I was a prostitute. It was a quick turnaround, but money can be a good scale to weigh your convictions on.

  "I was wrong for saying that. I'm an asshole. I wish I could take back those words," I said, my thumbs drumming the table.

  "I don't get it. You acted like it was the worst thing possible for people to think you were a sex worker. And now you're telling me you want to jump into it? This is ridiculous, Mercy," she said, pushing away from the table.

  She dumped her dishes in the sink and turned to me. She took a step towards the table, but then she stopped and retreated. Running her fingers through her hair, she glanced at the ceiling. "I don't know what's worse - your judgment or your damn quick about-face." She smacked her hand on the counter before she marched out of the room, leaving me alone in my nicely remodeled kitchen.

  I lost my appetite for the lasagna. Grabbing my plate, I scraped the leftovers into the trash. I dumped my plate in the dishwasher and started the cycle.

  Why would I want to do it? Why would I want to sell myself to the highest bidder? Quick, and seemingly easy, money was the prime reason. I could use the money to pay off my creditors. I could finally take a three-week vacation in Europe or Latin America. I could live my retirement years as if I was actually retired.

  But I had to be honest with myself. It would also mean that men would look at me with desire again. I could experience the feeling of male skin pressed against mine.

  Opening my wine cabinet, I grabbed a bottle and poured myself a glass. I walked to the living room, intending
to stretch out on the chaise lounge. I sat in the dark room, thinking about my next steps. I was suffering from a severe case of ennui; could this be something to break me from the endless rut?

  "If you are seriously considering this, I want you to meet some friends of mine," Red said, appearing at the doorway.

  Her voice carried through the darkness, pulling me from my thoughts. I sat up and switched on the floor lamp behind the chaise. The dim light illuminated the richness of Red's hair.

  "I know you're mad at me," I said, "and I understand why, but I just want you to know that I'm sorry for judging you." She shook her head, her eyes focused on the rug.

  "Why, Mercy?"

  "Why I changed my mind? The money, but that's not all. I kinda liked feeling desired. I liked feeling pretty. I liked being seen," I explained, my voice fading into a whisper. "When?"

  "Tomorrow evening. The cab will be here at six o'clock," she said, turning away from me.

  I leapt from my seat. "Any details? Is it casual or formal? How many people will be there?" I asked her departing form. I followed her out of the room, but she continued up the stairs without answering my questions.

  I returned to the living room and resumed my seat on the chaise. I made a list of things to do before our ride arrived. I needed to do something about my hair. Maybe I should get a facial, perhaps a chemical peel. How much did that cost? My eyes drifted closed as I thought about buying a new dress for myself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was ten minutes to six and I stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Red to leave her room. She had slept in that morning. I had dashed out of the house, squeezing in a few beauty treatments and some shopping before I returned home for that night's date. I went to a hair stylist who trimmed inches from the mess on my head, adding texture to my wavy hair. She finished by tousling my hair and adding holding spray to keep the style intact.

  For that night, I chose a simple, green pencil hem dress. I went through my jewelry chest and found a gold chain to complement the outfit. I was dressed simply, but I felt elegant and poised.

  Hearing Red's door open, my eyes sought her out. I fought back a snort when I saw what she wore. She was in a blue hoodie and a pair of faded blue jeans. There was a plopping sound as she ran down the stairs in a pair of flip-flips. She had no makeup on, and she had pulled her hair into a ponytail and covered it with an ugly baseball cap.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  I shook my head. "Tell the cab driver I need five minutes." Sliding out of my shoes, I bent down to pick them up. Red grabbed my arm, stopping me from returning to my room.

  "Don't change," she said.

  I looked down at her and then at myself. She shrugged. The cab driver blared the horn. Red grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the house.

  Maybe she had misunderstood my request. Maybe she thought I wanted to be set up on my own date, without her, but I wanted to do a double date. Oh, for fuck's sakes, was I about to be pimped out?

  She opened the cab door and I slid onto the seat. She crawled in behind me and gave the driver the address of an old hotel located on Dupont Circle. He adjusted the mirror, glancing at my bare legs before he pulled out onto the street. I hid a grin, pleased at his glance.

  When we pulled up in front of the hotel, the attendant opened the door and reached out his hand to assist Red. She grasped it, stepping out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. As she paid the driver, the attendant offered his hand to me.

  "New girl?" he asked. His question caught me off guard. He winked, and with a knowing smile, he escorted us to the entrance. The hotel lobby was a cold, pristine place with white walls and ivory floors. We walked past the concierge desk and into a small lounge area at the back.

  There weren't many people in the room. Two middle-aged men sat at the bar, but Red walked past them. She continued to the back of the dim lounge, moving towards a table obscured by large plants.

  As we approached the table, I noticed the presence of three other women. I looked at Red. She nudged my side, directing me towards an empty seat. When I had envisioned this whole escorting thing, I thought I would be dating men. I needed to set some ground rules about the type of requests I would accept.

  "Mercy, I'd like you to meet some of my friends. This is Dee." Red motioned to a woman in a severe black dress. Dee was a dark, exotic beauty. Her bobbed hair was cut to graze her shoulders. Her heart-shaped face was smooth, with minimal wrinkles. Her dark eyes were round, tilting upwards at the corners. "Welcome, Mursee," she purred. Ahh. That one's gotta be French.

  Placing her elbow on the table, Red pointed towards a Black woman dressed in a white suit. "This is Callie. Callie, meet my friend Mercy." Callie nodded her head slightly in my direction. I didn't know how, but Black women can smell out other Black women. Judging from the dismissive look in her eyes, she found me wanting for some reason. Her bright red lips contrasted with her espresso-colored skin. She was thin. Her hair was natural, and cut extremely short. I couldn't tell her age, but I thought she was the youngest woman at the table.

  That left the oldest person at the table. She had faded blond-and-gray hair pulled into a braided knot. She was on the plump side, reminding me of a doting Grannie who made gingerbread men for her favorite grandchildren. She wore a blue paisley dress and a white sweater. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose. Her blue eyes twinkled as she said, "I'm Shelly, my dear."

  A waiter approached and began pouring water into our glasses. "Hello, ladies. Sorry I'm running a bit behind, but there was a slight emergency." He laughed, rolling his eyes towards the kitchen door. "What can I get you this evening?"

  "How about sangria?" Shelly asked, looking around the table. Red and Dee nodded and the waiter scurried away.

  Okay. I doubted these ladies were looking for a date. I sipped my water as the three women looked at me. I could feel them picking apart my appearance. I fought the urge to flip them the bird.

  Dee leaned onto the table and folded her hands together. "So, Red says you want to join the industry?"

  My eyebrows rose in silent query. I set my glass of water down. A hand shot over my shoulder and placed a large pitcher on the table. It was filled with a peach-colored liquid with chunks of peaches, strawberries, and mangoes floating in it.

  Callie handed glasses out, and she began to pour the sangria. Snatching up my glass, I stalled in answering her question. My gaze roamed around the group as they stared at me, waiting for me to stop drinking. Setting the glass down, I used a spoon to fish out a slice of peach. The only sound from the table was the clatter of my spoon against the glass's edge.

  "I thought it would be helpful if we share some of our experiences," Red said, breaking the silence. I sat back in my chair, sipping my cool beverage. In my mind, this was the second time she had led me into a situation for which I was not prepared.

  There was a buzzing sound. Callie reached down and grabbed her purse. Opening it, she pulled out her bedazzled phone. She swiped at the screen, grimaced, and returned the phone to her purse. "What is she expecting to get out of this?" Callie asked.

  Red shrugged. "She needs the money."

  Shelly glanced at me with a sympathetic look and said, "Oh, dear. Don't do this if you're in it only for the money."

  "Why not? Isn't that why most women get into it?"

  Shelly leaned toward me. The gentle, nurturing look in her eyes was replaced with a keen directness. "Some do, but I'd rather those bitches find another job to make ends meet."

  My eyes widened, reacting to the switch in her demeanor.

  She gave me a sly smile before she added, "Thought I was a sweet old grandmother, didn't you?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, people see what they want to see," she said. "Look, my dear, I don't begrudge you wanting to make money. The money is great; it allowed me to travel the world and have a wonderful life. But you have to like what you do in this business; otherwise, you'll come out of it even more damaged than before. Do you know how m
any women looking for a quick easy buck find themselves regretting their choices and then broadcasting to the world how all of us are victims?"

  She sat back and folded her hands on her round belly. "When I was eighteen years old, my father introduced me to his wealthy boss. No, don't think that my father pressured me into anything, because he didn't. This boss, I'll call him Mr. Bucks, was worldly, handsome, funny, and extremely intelligent. I had never met a man like him before. I had never met anyone who had been to the places he had been."

  She smiled as her eyes went out of focus, recalling her memories. "Mr. Bucks never initiated anything with me in spite of my numerous flirting attempts. I was a young, foolish girl who offered him nothing except my virginity and pretty face. I went off to college, never forgetting Mr. Bucks. I met other men, even became engaged to one, but he didn't have the things that Mr. Bucks could offer me."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Red shift in her chair, crossing her long legs. She shot me a glance, but my attention remained focused on Shelly.

  Shelly continued. "A few months after I graduated from college, my father died, leaving me a good-sized inheritance. Instead of settling down with my college beau, I decided I was going to travel to the places that Mr. Bucks visited. A year into my travels, I was lucky enough to stumble across him."

  Her eyes focused on me, returning her to the present. She licked her lips then took a sip of water. "The next time I made an advance towards him, he responded with interest. We struck up an ongoing relationship that lasted three years. He paid for all of my expenses, bought me a small condo, leased me expensive cars, and gave me pretty gifts. I was under no illusions regarding our relationship. I never expected a ring or a fairy tale ending. It was a mutual agreement."

  "So you were a paid mistress?" I asked.

  Shelly nodded. "I was. After our arrangement ended, I met another man who I became involved with for another two years."