Nine

by Jennifer Raygoza

  “What’s the plan? Do we just soak up sunshine, drink Pina Coladas, and screw away the days until the money runs out.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “I’m serious.” I frown.

  Trig sits up straighter and turns in his chair toward me.

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “You have?”

  He places his hands together.

  “If you could do any profession, what would it be?” he asks.

  I think about it for a few seconds, and then I shake my head.

  “Anything,” Trig pushes.

  I shake my head again.

  “There has to be something. Even little kids want to be a million things growing up,”

  “Not me. As a little girl I just wanted to be safe.”

  He looks at me with sad eyes, and then he takes a swig of his beer before putting it down.

  “What are you good at?”

  “I’d show you, but you always like to be in control.”

  “Besides sex,” he says. “What is something you’re passionate about?”

  “Can we just talk about something else?”

  “You brought this up, so no.” He leans forward.

  I look out at the pool water.

  “Pick a job. It can be anything. What do you like?”

  “Nothing. I’m not good at anything. I have no skills,” I finally snap.

  Trig reaches over and grabs my hand.

  “It’s getting late. Come on.”

  He nods toward the walkway. I grab my drink and then we both get up and start walking back to our room. It’s a quiet trip until we reach the hotel door. I think both of us are in heavy thought. As soon as we get inside I plan to tell him what I’ve been thinking, but I know this won’t end well. Before I can say anything, he speaks.

  “Do you remember that day at the cabin when you came out of the bathroom? You had this really tight outfit on, and your face was covered in makeup.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your confidence beamed through that room.”

  “That’s because I knew who that girl was.”

  “And who was she?”

  I lift up my sunglasses and stare at him.

  “Just your local whore.”

  “Don’t say that. You just need to pull that confidence out, and use it to start a new profession here.”

  “Look, Trig. I don’t know what my role is. Who is Angelina Krackle? Do I play the wife, girlfriend, or friend role here? Because I don’t know how to do any of that, let alone try to choose an occupation outside of what I’ve been doing since I was eighteen years old. It’s hard for me to function without a plan set in stone.”

  “So, what? You want to sit down and make up who we are over here. Life isn’t like that.”

  “It is for me.”

  “Fine. Then what do you want to do here. Choose any career within means.”

  “I told you I don’t know.”

  “You’re telling me you want to plan your life here, but yet you have no clue on what you want.”

  “I didn’t say that. I know what I want to do. It’s something I’m familiar with.”

  He looks at me confused and then it finally hits him.

  “Please don’t tell me you want to start escorting again.”

  I turn away from him.

  “I can’t sit here in this hotel like I’m on a vacation. I just lost everything back in Vegas, and it feels like you want me to press the restart button and pretend as if nothing happened. You want me to forget that Jenny died and that everything I worked so hard for with her is gone.”

  “What the fuck did you have in Vegas that was so damn important?” Trigs eyes are almost bulging out he’s so mad.

  “I had her,” I yell, and look at him.

  “I’m sorry she is dead. I really am, but I can’t do anything about that. You, on the other hand, you looked me dead in my eye that first night we were here and said you weren’t going to be with any other men while you were here with me.”

  “What do you even care what I do? All we do is fuck and fight anyway.”

  I give my back to him. Trig walks closer and spins me around.

  “Fucking, fighting, watching paint dry. It’s all the same. I’m next to you.”

  I stare at him quietly. My expression is indifferent, but only because I’m forcing it. I can see Trig growing frustrated with the look on my face. I throw in an eye roll to really bring it home.

  “Fine.” Trig walks over to the black duffel bags. “Obviously I’m doing something wrong, so let me approach you in a new way, maybe something that you’re more familiar with.”

  He picks up one bag and brings it over to the bed. He dumps the bag of cash on top of the comforter. He then proceeds to grab each bag, one by one, and does the same, until all four bags are emptied and the bed is covered with money.

  “How much does it cost to keep you here? How much do I have to pay to keep fucking you?”

  Trig starts picking up money and tossing it at me.

  “A couple hundred? No. How about a couple thousand? No. Still not good enough. Take it all.”

  He scoops up a bunch of cash and throws it down at my feet.

  “I guess it’s true, you can’t turn a hoe into a housewife,” he ends with the final jab. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and puts it up to his lips.

  It feels like someone just lit a match inside me.

  “Fuck you, Trig. I don’t need your money.”

  I grab my purse and dash for the door. I’m running down the hotel hallway. Those words stung like venom. Why does it hurt the way it does? I take my shoes off once I get outside. I take a minute to catch my breath, and then I jog toward the beach. My feet are on the sand and the cold water is hitting against my ankles before I know it. Trig’s words circle in my head, and I’m filled with hate. I keep walking, and with each step, I just become angrier and angrier. I’ve probably already walked about a mile when I run into a young group of guys drinking.

  “Where’s the party scene around here?” I ask.

  A few of the guys rush me. “If you keep walking you’ll run into a strip of bars at the end of the beach.”

  “Any suggestions?” I force a smile.

  “Hit them all up,” one guy slurs.

  “Thank you,” I say, as I turn to leave.

  “Don’t leave us yet,” another guy yells. “The party can be right here, baby.”

  I ignore them and head toward the party zone. It doesn’t take too long to get there. I walk across the sand and toward the street. I can see plenty of bars and restaurants. I slide back into my black heels. I randomly choose one bar that has music blaring out of its door. I step inside and the place is crowded. I immediately weave in and out of people and work my way over to buy a drink.

  “What can I get you, honey?” the tattooed bartender asks.

  “Corona is fine,” I reply.

  I watch as he pulls out a cold beer and slides it to me.

  “That will be two-fifty.”

  I reach inside my purse and groan. All the money is back at the hotel.

  “I forgot my money. I’ll have to—”

  “I got you.”

  A man slides over and hands the bartender twenty dollars. I look up to see an older attractive gentleman, maybe forty-five years old. He’s dressed in black slacks and a blue long sleeve collared shirt. It takes all but five seconds for me to dissect him. He’s money, for sure. I can just smell it.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  I’m not sure what to say for a second. Storm, Angelina or…

  “Nine,” I reply.

  “As in the number nine?”

  I nod and smile. I can feel her coming out to play.

  “That’s a very unusual name.”

  “I’m a very unusual girl.” I slide my hand over his.

  “I’m Frank. It’s nice to meet you.”

  We shake hands and then he stands up and nods to
the corner of the bar. A black light is the only thing that’s keeping that area lit up. He holds my hand and leads the way. We both sit down at the same time.

  “So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing all by herself?”

  “Just getting a drink. A day like this demands it.”

  “I have something much stronger if you want it.”

  I stay in character, but I’m not sure what he means.

  “Do you really? Lay it on me, cowboy.”

  Frank looks around the club and then pulls out a vial from his pocket. He turns the vial over and taps it against the side of his thumb. I watch as a white powdery substance makes a crooked line on his skin. He bends down and snorts it all up his nose. His eyes become watery and then he slides me the vile. My heart quickens as I pick it up. I’ve never in my life done anything except weed. I’m nervous, and just as I’m about to hand it back to him with a clear no thank you, Trig’s words pop in my head. “How much does it cost to keep you here? How much do I have to pay to keep fucking you? You can’t turn a hoe into a housewife.”

  I’m reminded of what I am, and exactly my worth. Trig has been playing me since day one. I angrily tap the vile against my thumb just like I saw the man do. The powder is now lined up on my skin. I quickly bend over and snort it up my nose just the way he did. My nose burns and my eyes water. Instantly I can feel something dripping down the back of my throat, and I’m filled with an unnatural amount of energy.

  “This will have you feeling on top of the world. Trust me,” he says.

  It takes a moment for it to all sink in and he’s right. I don’t feel a fucking thing. We are now sitting there twenty minutes later laughing and tossing drinks back. I love that I don’t have to think about pain, love, or death. This drug is exactly what I need. Frank takes another line from the vile and passes it to me. He puts his hand on my leg and squeezes my thigh. I push it away.

  “What? Do I have to pay momma so she’ll come play with daddy?” he asks.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Don’t be shy. I know what you do. I can spot a hooker from a mile away. They call me the pussy whisperer.” He laughs. “I’m also a backdoor expert, if ya know what I mean.”

  What the hell am I doing in the bar with this jerk? I can’t stand the way this guy looks at me. I’m just a piece of meat to him. The pussy whisperer. How gross can he be? I can hear the guy mumbling now about going back to his place and how tonight he is going to blow my mind.

  I look down at the vial in my hand. I’ll just self-medicate until everything is better. I open the tiny bottle and line the powder up on my thumb and just as I’m about to bend over I feel somebody smack my hand away.

  I look up to see Captain Save-a-Hoe standing above me.

  “What the fuck are you giving her?” Trig yells at Frank.

  Frank bolts upright and jumps back to assess the situation.

  I stand up completely off balance. It’s not until now that I realize just how jittery I am.

  “You don’t get to do this,” I yell, and push at Trig’s chest.

  “Shut up, Nine,” he shouts, and shoves me back. He returns his attention to Frank.

  “There must be a mistake. That young woman there is with me tonight.”

  “The hell she is,” Trig shouts.

  “I’m leaving with him, Trig,” I say, just to piss him off.

  “You heard her.” Frank smiles. “Now, go on and get out of here.”

  Trig turns and looks at me and then over to the man, and within seconds, Trig’s fist is whaling into the guy’s face. The customers in the bar spread out and circle around us. I’m pulling on Trig’s arm, but it’s useless. This man’s face is a bloody mess. I just know that his nose and jawbone are broken, probably in separate places. If Trig keeps this up, the guy will be dead soon.

  “Trig, stop! I’ll leave with you. Just stop, please,” I scream.

  It takes a few more hits, but he ceases. He’s breathing hard and his knuckles are covered in blood. The man on the floor is moaning in pain. Trig grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the bar and down the street. He stops right as we get to the sand.

  “What the fuck, Nine?” he yells.

  “You’re asking me that question?”

  “Hell yeah, I am. Look what you caused me to do.”

  He’s pacing back and forth.

  “Me? You don’t have the right to do what you just did back there,” I say.

  Trig looks at me and snorts. He runs both his hands down his face.

  “You still don’t get it, do you? This is me, fighting for you, but I can’t keep fighting for someone who doesn’t want to be fought for.”

  I look at him, and I can’t even speak.

  “No words?” he questions.

  I remain silent.

  “Fuck it all then,” he grumbles. “Do whatever you want.”

  Trig turns to walk away.

  “You hurt me at the hotel.”

  He stops and swings around.

  “So you run off to a bar and start doing lines with that asshole in there?”

  “I was hurt, Trig. I panicked.”

  “No. You wanted me to give you a reason to go. So I did, and you took off the first chance you could.”

  “You don’t know anything. You have no idea how hard this is for me.”

  “You really think I don’t know? I listen to every word that comes out of your mouth. I know.”

  “You don’t know shit,” I yell.

  He puffs his cheeks out, exhales, and then covers his mouth with both hands briefly.

  “I know you can’t tolerate the way you feel when you’re around me. It’s not because you don’t like it, it’s because you do like it. You sit there trying to find reasons why you shouldn’t feel this way, and I know it’s only because no one in your life has ever loved you more than me. No one.”

  My entire body feels God-smacked and I just stand there looking at him. In this fit of rage, he just admitted he loves me. At least I think so. I am still totally high out of my mind.

  “Rewind. Did you just…” I start to ask.

  Trig is still fired up.

  “I’m not repeating it again, woman.”

  I stand there and digest what he just said. There’s no other meaning.

  “I said what I said back at the hotel just to piss you off. I was hoping it would snap you out of it. I didn’t think it would send you back into an escort relapse. Jesus. I thought you were stronger than that, Nine.”

  “It still hurt me to hear those words.”

  “I would be worried if it didn’t.”

  “Trig, do you really lo—” I try to ask again.

  I feel my stomach turn and the acid rise up. I vomit all over his shoes. I collapse to the ground and continue vomiting. I might have had too many shots in there.

  “Shit,” I hear him say under his breath.

  I feel him pull my hair back as I keep heaving onto the sand.

  “Please tell me this is your first and last time doing lines.”

  I nod as I try to catch my breath.

  “You have no idea how long it took me to find you tonight. I’m so furious with you right now,” he says.

  I don’t respond. He reaches his hand down and pulls me up.

  “What do you want to do, Nine?”

  My eyes are glassy and probably the size of saucers.

  “I want to go back to the hotel with you. I want to go home,” I say, as I grab his arm.

  The word home sinks in at the same time for both of us. This place is our new home, and we still need to figure out what that means exactly for the both of us, but not tonight.

  He takes my chin and tips it up.

  “Don’t ever in your life pull the shit you did tonight. I won’t deal with it again. I don’t care how I feel about you. I won’t do it. The escort talk, tell me it was bullshit.”

  “It was bullshit. I wasn’t going to sleep with that guy in there. I guess I just felt like I needed to
get back to who I was, and how I see myself and how I thought you see me. I’m not good at anything else, but I don’t want to sell my body, Trig. I don’t want to do it. I’m just so tired.”

  I break into a slight cry, and as dumb as I feel, I can’t help but be emotional. Is this what coke does to you, because I don’t like being this way.

  “Take my hand then,” he demands. I do.

  We walk along the beach and I slowly start to feel some of the nervous energy wear off from the drugs. The only sound I hear is the ocean waves. After walking what feels like a million miles I can finally see our hotel close by.

  “I want to hear you say it again,” I say, as I stop my feet dead in the sand.

  “Say what?” he says.

  “Tomorrow, both of us will wake up and it’s going to be a new day, and maybe we’ll blame it on the moment. I just want to hear you say what you said back there at the bar. Please. I need to hear it again, even if it’s a lie.”

  Trig licks his lips. He knows what I’m talking about.

  “No one has ever loved you more than me.” He steps closer and twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. “Today, tomorrow, and even next week. It’s all the same, girl.”

  I grin and turn to walk, but he stops me.

  “Your turn.”

  “What?” I say, flustered.

  “I said, your turn.”

  “Oh no. I’m not in the right state of mind to be telling you things.”

  “You’re in the perfect state of mind. Liquor and drugs are truth serums. Now go.”

  He stares a hole through me.

  I fumble with the right words and then I decide that there is no perfect way to say all this.

  “You’re right. I hate the way I feel about you, and what’s worse is that I love every minute of it. It’s not easy for me to understand that at all. Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve put overtime into these thoughts. And they all circle back to one thing.” I pause. “It’s so damn easy to be Nine, because she’s everything I wished I was growing up. She’s confident and in control, but with you, I’m just Storm, and I can’t understand why you make me feel good about being a weak little girl who I left on the front steps of Albuquerque, New Mexico. I can’t stand that you do that to me. It makes me feel out of control. My heart is hanging by a damn string and for the first time in my life I think I love someone, and I’m not sure if I know anything about love, but if what I’m feeling is it, then I do.”