by Amber Lin
He grunted and stuck his tongue into my cleavage. His sweat-sheened head filled my vision, and I swallowed bile.
Shit, I wasn’t ready to go back. I never would be.
I had to. It was a miracle Henri had let me off so easily. The least I could do was bear my punishment gracefully.
But my new boyfriend’s face felt slimy. I felt slimy.
I’d only been out of the game for a few months. Maybe more, if I didn’t count Philip, which was debatable. Still, there was no reason to freak out over a simple groping. I’d made it through much worse.
Just let him. Let him.
Let him touch and grab and pinch. Let him slobber. Let him treat me like I was a piece of meat, no thoughts, no feelings. Let him treat me like this was all I was good for. Do it for long enough, and I might start to believe it. Lord knew I already did.
Think of something else.
Not him, the man on my speed dial I never called, not while I did this. I didn’t understand why it hurt him to see what I was when he met a dozen other hookers in his daily work, each worse off than me, but it did. I couldn’t think of my best friend Allie or her daughter either, because to imagine them in this position was a weight too heavy to carry.
His fingers were inside me, pumping away. Thank goodness I’d lubed up, or this would really hurt.
It still hurt. God.
Philip, now he understood me. He wouldn’t mourn for me or feel guilty. We did what we had to and didn’t waste time on remorse. But I’d told him I was done with the life. I’d promised I’d let him know if I needed help. I needed help, needed…
“Stop,” I gasped.
He froze and then gently rocked his fingers back and forth, like a child testing his boundaries.
I lowered my voice. “Wait, lover. I just need to freshen up.”
He raised his head and blinked, confused. “You look pretty to me.”
My stomach twisted at the compliment. He looked so earnest, his eyes slack with lust and his mouth covered in his own spit. This wasn’t a guy who got off on hurting or humiliating. He just didn’t know how to deal with people, wouldn’t know how to please a woman if he tried. Hell, maybe he was trying.
“Thank you.” I choked on the words. “I want to look good for you. Make it good for you. Give me five minutes. Please.” Because if he didn’t, I would freak. If he didn’t get his thick fingers out of me and off my skin this very second, I was liable to do something really stupid. Like leave and to hell with Henri and his hired fists.
The guy backed up, though. His face contorted into an uncertain composition of wounded lover and dissatisfied customer, but he released me, stepped back. I attempted a smile, ignored the pounding in my ears. I wanted to tell him that I would be right back, that everything would be fabulous, but how could I when I didn’t believe it myself?
I’d forgotten how to lie. In this business, I was as good as dead.
I pushed off the wall and stumbled my way down the hall. I passed the sitting area, catching flashes of rumpled suits and one lace-clad female body straddling a guy probably twice her age. What was her name? Jenny, Janey, what the fuck ever because it was all a lie. All fake.
The bathroom was empty—thank God for small favors. The sound of the door slamming cracked loud in my head, even though surely it wouldn’t be heard above the music. I locked it anyway, turning the little knob. So flimsy, an illusion of safety.
I rested my palms on the counter and stared at myself in the mirror. Blonde hair that I’d straightened this afternoon, sleek and shiny. Makeup—perfect, even though lover boy had slobbered down the side of it. Waterproof stuff, cum-proof stuff—never let them see you sweat.
Even my eyes were steady. Clear. Empty.
I searched my appearance for something, any sign of weakness—none. This was what strength looked like, then. Oh, I had confidence aplenty. I strolled and drawled and acted my fucking heart out, but that was the secret. For me, it had never been an act. I hadn’t been hiding what was inside me. There was nothing inside me.
So what was one more empty promise? If he really cared, he would be here right now. He would have protected me from this. What was one more trick? If the life was all I had, I might as well live it.
I touched up my makeup, just because. My hand trembled only a little, but my face came out flawless, like always. And then there was nothing left to pretend, no way left to stall.
The hallway was still empty, and I started to head back to the sitting area. I heard a sound over the pulse of the music: a muffled cry. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end; my heart began to race.
No big deal. Of course there would be those sounds at a party like this, where women were paid to perform, to endure. Probably she had faked it on purpose. But I knew she hadn’t.
Still, don’t get involved. That was the first rule of staying alive. Even that pitiful kid from yesterday had instinctively understood how it worked: look away, pretend you don’t see, don’t start trouble.
But there it was again, that sound. It curled sharp nails into my gut, signaling danger. Get away.
I was twenty-four, had stayed alive for six years by keeping to myself. Those latent self-protective instincts were still there, still honed, and yet I couldn’t walk away, couldn’t leave her there without knowing.
I crept down the empty hallway and paused at one closed door. At first there was nothing. I almost turned away, left, but then I heard a moan. A female moan of fake pleasure, and that was fine, just fine. Time to go.
A thud sounded from the end of the hall and then echoed in my chest. Inexorably I walked to the last door, knowing through instinct or experience exactly what was happening here. It didn’t matter the men or the woman; it was always the same. Too much, too fast, too hard. I didn’t know, wasn’t expecting. Too late, bitch.
A tear slid down my cheek. It was more than just my safety at stake here. Get away.
I twisted the knob and pushed the door open a crack, exposing just a sliver of the scene. The face of a girl, her face contorted in fury. The grin of a man. Hands holding down arms. The low sound of laughter. A little slice of hell, and what was I supposed to do about it?
I could do nothing.
This wasn’t a young girl on an empty street corner who could be cured with a fast-food burger and a lifetime of therapy. This was one of Henri’s girls, off-limits for me and mother-fucking-hen Marguerite Faust. No one could help her, just like no one could help me.
I saw her body jerk with purpose. Heard the crack as her kick landed on someone’s skin. The laughter grew louder, more combative.
Shit. She was going to get herself killed that way. Beaten, at the least. Didn’t she know that? Didn’t she care?
But Henri didn’t do hand-holding. Had he recruited this girl fresh out of high school? Given her money she desperately needed to get away, to help her friend, only to indebt herself to him forever? Dumped her at this party without any training or knowledge or a goddamned thing?
This wasn’t about me. I told myself that, but it didn’t help.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Four guys, not counting the ones out in the sitting area or my erstwhile boyfriend.
I smiled and set my hips to sway. “Hello, gentlemen. I see you’ve started the party without me.”
Three of them shifted their attention to me, though one kept struggling with the girl. And she kept fighting, clearly too panicked or just stubborn to let me take the lead.
The one with an earring in his eyebrow grinned and patted his knee. “There’s always room for one more girl.”
I trailed my finger across his jaw as I passed him. “Always, honey, but not before the big show.”
“The show?” another one asked, his voice breaking. Jesus, younger and younger.
“Didn’t you know about that?” I paused in my contemplative pose, often applied to men who liked to kneel, to pretend submissiveness while I spanked their behinds—at least until they turned the tables. “
I wouldn’t want you to be late.”
I stopped by the bed, where both the girl and the guy half sitting on her were watching me with bemusement. They actually made a cute couple if I ignored the whole sordid violence routine. It was always the handsome ones.
With a wink for the good-looking asshole, I leaned over the girl and skimmed a finger up the middle of her belly and between her breasts, hoping it would cause her the least discomfort. Then I kissed her, soft, gently, for show, not pleasure. Never that.
The tension prickled at my skin as the men in the room held their breath. Without asking, the man eased up on her, more interested in seeing where this would lead than expressing his dominance.
I frowned slightly, a little slow on the uptake. “We had it all planned out. Practiced it just to show you. But I guess if you’ve already started, we don’t have to do it.” I straightened and tugged at my dress, all businesslike. “We can just get it over with, if you want.”
Before my words were even out, the girl was released and practically thrown at me. They wanted to see it, they assured me. Please, they asked so nicely. Yes, absolutely, whatever you wish. I’m at your command, but give us a moment, just a moment. The men obediently trooped out to the sitting area, almost tripping over each other to nab a good seat for the nonexistent show.
The girl yanked her shirt on, still shaking. “Who the hell are you?”
My eyebrows rose. “Your fairy godmother. Who do you think?”
“I think you’re just a dirty prostitute. Like the other girl out there.”
Her voice caught, but the unspoken words hovered in the air. Like me.
I softened my tone. “Look, hon. It won’t be that bad. I’ll take the rough ones for myself, and—”
“Fuck you. I’m not doing that.” Her words were angry, but fear radiated from her.
This night was going from bad to worse. A sigh escaped me. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Go to hell!”
I took in her wide eyes, her flared nostrils. She looked like a pixie—a pissed-off, belligerent, terrified pixie. Selling her body for possibly the first time was a big drop, but she couldn’t get off the ride at the top of the hill.
“You’ve at least had sex before, right?” I asked.
“Of course I have!” she squeaked.
Ah shit. There was definite glistening happening in her ocular area. And that annoying snuffling sound. Apparently it was contagious, because now my insides had gone all quivery as well. This was exactly why I didn’t do people, why I didn’t do touching, at least not without the cold accompaniment of currency.
I forced down my emotions, pushed back my own revulsion and anger and fear, and patted her shoulder, proud of myself for managing it. There.
She swung around, and before I could blink, her fist connected with my face. Surprise and pain forced me back, and I fell against the wall.
Goddamn, that skinny little body packed a punch.
By the time my vision had cleared, she was gone, with only her footsteps giving away her run down the hall. I grabbed my purse from the table where I’d dropped it and ran after her the best I could in my heels and slinky dress.
The men in the sitting room hadn’t noticed her passing by, but they sure saw me.
“Hey,” the handsome one called. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Change of plans,” I called out, but he’d already caught me by the elbow. I winced, unable to smother the reaction when the right side of my face ached, but he didn’t hit me. Instead, he towed me back to the group like a recalcitrant child, and I stammered just like one. “It’s…her. She has a little problem.”
The silver-ringed eyebrow of the other guy lifted. “What kind of problem?”
Think, damn it. I could have come up with some sort of “show” on the fly, maybe a little girl-on-girl action with Jenny. This wouldn’t have been a problem. But if I was the fairy godmother, then my Cinderella had just fled the ball. The only thing she would get up to with a torn, skimpy outfit and a bad attitude was trouble.
From the lap of a man old enough to be her father, Jenny stared at me uncomprehendingly. Her pose was relaxed, her eyes glassy. Flying high, probably.
“Drugs,” I said. “The girl, um…Ella—she’s having a bad reaction.”
A round of curses filled the air.
“We don’t have any drugs,” said Prince Charming, sounding disappointed.
“Right, well. Perk of the job, I guess.” I waved my hand, ergo… “But the last thing we need is her passing out in the hotel, cops asking questions. Then the reporters… They’re like vultures over sex stories. But hey, I can round her up. Take care of it for you. Fair enough?”
They agreed and thanked me profusely. By the time I was unceremoniously shoved out the door, they had already cranked the music back up. Briefly I felt regret for leaving Jenny behind. But I couldn’t save all of us. In fact, odds were high I couldn’t save any of us.
I leaned against the wall. What the hell had I done? There hadn’t been any ambiguity or wiggle room in Henri’s instructions. Work the party so I didn’t end up facedown in an alley. I had done this before, so how had this gone wrong so quickly?
Ella, I’d named her. Oh, fabulous. Because of course all she needed was a pet name and a muzzle for that right hook and I could bring her home with me. I allowed myself a small smile and started down the hallway.
* * * *
It was too much to hope that she’d caught a cab and been halfway across Chicago by now. Instead, the whispers between the front desk staff pointed me to the back offices, and then the ruckus in the back kitchens drew me like a homing beacon.
I found Ella in the back room, wrestling with a member of security. He was armed only with a walkie-talkie, it appeared, but he used it furiously, shouting into it as he gripped Ella’s arm with his other hand.
“There you are,” I accused.
She subsided in his grip, looking relieved. It was a sad state of affairs if I had to play knight in shining armor.
The guard looked me up and down with a faint curl to his lips, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether to permit a sneer. Young woman in a sexy dress with a fresh shiner—I could have been a rich bitch housewife with an abusive sugar daddy. Sadly, no. My sugar daddy had cast me out, both for my betrayal and for my own good.
“Ella, I’ve been looking all over you,” I chided.
She raised her eyebrows at the made-up name. Well, I could hardly have called her Princess without him assuming we were strippers. And the other names I called her in my head were even less flattering.
“You know Daddy doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” I added.
On that note, the guy released her. Anyone named Daddy who had two girls like us answering to him was either scary or crazy, probably both.
“She dropped this,” he said, holding up a sleek leather wallet that she must have lifted from one of the men upstairs while grappling with them.
A little impressive, actually.
“I assumed it wasn’t hers,” he added, seeming less certain now.
I sighed. “Really, Ella? Wrecking the Mercedes wasn’t good enough? Now you have to steal something? Where’d you pick that up—the hotel restaurant?”
Ella crossed her arms, teenage angst at its finest. “Bet Daddy didn’t even notice I was gone.”
She fell into the game so smoothly I almost cracked a smile and ruined the whole thing.
“So…you know her?” the guard asked, clearly a bit confused as to what he should do.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said. “We’re family.”
“You’re not my real mom,” she said hotly.
“But you’re stuck with me, darling,” I said with saccharine sweetness.
“Right, well,” the man stammered. “I don’t want to get involved with a domestic dispute.”
“Oh no,” I said. “It’s too late for that. She stole something. Isn’t that like, a felony?”
; “I don’t know.” The guy flipped through the wallet, flashing several hundred dollars. “It looks like it’s all here. No harm, no foul, I say.”
Ella smirked. “Guess not every old guy falls for your fake boobs.”
“They’re not—” I clasped a hand to my very real boobs. “You can’t just let her go. Call the police. She needs to be locked up. She’s horrible!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said with glossy patience.
He seemed much more comfortable now, dealing with a bitchy guest rather than the lowlifes that we were.
“It’s hotel policy not to involve the authorities unless there’s been property damage, and since I’ve recovered the wallet, I’m afraid I’m going to have to release her into your custody.”
I turned to her, dismissing the man. “I’m telling Daddy. He’ll cut you off.”
“Bite me, mother.”
I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down a hallway. Who knew where it went, didn’t matter. I chanced a look behind us. The guard was shaking his head as he spoke into his walkie-talkie. Never mind. Silly rich people.
“You little brat,” I said, partly to complete the charade and partly because my face hurt like hell. “I can’t believe you hit me. I was helping you.”
She snorted. “Yeah, helping me whore myself. No, thanks.”
Her words jolted me. It was one thing to accept the life for myself, but why would I ever have tried to ease her into it? Ah, right. Because we were both dead if we didn’t.
“Jail won’t be any better for you, sweetheart. Not if Henri’s pissed, and he will be once he hears you bailed on the VIPs.” A sideways glance showed her pouting profile. “Are you at least going to tell me your name now?”
“I’m Polly-fucking-Anna. Pleased to meet you.”
Oh good, because more sarcasm was exactly what my life needed. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’m calling you Ella.”
She yanked her arm out of my hold. “Whatever you want.”
“Sweetheart, if you’d said that twenty minutes ago, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”