by Paige Dearth
“You did pretty good tonight,” he said, taking the money from Trinity and counting it on the way back to the car. “Tomorrow, I wanna see ya do better. It costs a lot of money to keep ya happy. Ya already owe Rock ten thousand bucks for buying you out of that whorehouse you were livin’ in,” he explained.
“But no one told me I had to pay Rock back. I didn’t even know how much money he had to pay,” Maggie stated sheepishly. She had no idea how she would ever be able to repay ten thousand dollars. Then she spoke without thinking.
“Maybe my parents would pay Rock for me. I could call them and ask,” she offered, with a glimmer of hope that she could speak to them again.
But as the words passed Maggie’s lips, she realized it was the wrong thing to say.
Chapter Forty-Five
Armando remained silent for the remainder of the ride. Slamming the car into park, he bolted to the passenger door and flung it open. He reached in and yanked Maggie out by her arm. As they entered the house, the other hookers stopped and watched as Armando pushed Maggie up the stairs, berating her the entire way. They all knew she was going to get it from him.
Up in the bedroom, Armando took off his belt and started whipping Maggie. “What the fuck did I teach you, girl? Huh? How old are ya?” he screamed.
“Eighteen,” she managed through sobs.
“Who do you live with?” he yelled.
“My boyfriend,” she blubbered.
“Take your fucking clothes off,” he said, seething.
Maggie practically ripped her clothes off. His anger made her anxiety skyrocket; she didn’t want to go back into the box in the closet. “I’m sorry, Armando. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know that I’m staying here with you. Please don’t hit me anymore,” she whined.
“Get on the fuckin’ bed,” he roared.
He beat her with his belt until she passed out. Then he waited until she woke up and had sex with her to make certain she knew he was the boss.
The next night, she was on the streets again with Trinity when a teenage boy with bloodshot eyes, strung out on drugs, approached them. “Hey man, you got any money you can spare?” he asked.
“No! We ain’t got no money for your sorry ass. Keep on walkin’ before I knock the shit out of you,” Trinity threatened.
As the boy walked away, Maggie stood staring at Trinity in wonder. “Who the hell are you eyeballin’, girl?” Trinity demanded.
“No one,” Maggie said, dropping her gaze to the ground.
“Listen,” Trinity said. “You gotta learn to protect yourself out on the streets. People ’round here know I don’t take shit from no one. I don’t care who you are. You ain’t gonna survive out here by bein’ nice. So you need to learn to get tough, or these motherfuckers will eat you alive. You understand me?”
“Yeah, I understand. How long have you been a…doing this?” Maggie questioned.
“What? You were gonna call me a hooker? Well, that’s what I am, and so are you. I’ve been out here for a lot of years. Been ’round long enough to know that there ain’t no body gonna take care of you but you. Just like you, I had to learn how to survive out here. Ain’t nobody gonna teach it to ya, either. Gotta learn it for yourself,” Trinity said with pride.
Trinity’s words of wisdom left Maggie feeling alone and unprepared to face life on the streets. Maggie had hoped that over time, Trinity would grow to like her, but there were no signs that Trinity felt anything but obligation to keep Maggie with her. It was her job.
Maggie decided to be more observant of how the other prostitutes acted. She listened to the things they said and watched them chase off men who wanted sex for nothing or tried to rob them. It appeared as though most of the girls had a sixth sense for the men who would cause them trouble. Maggie worried that she would never fully understand how to deal with the dangers of being on the street every day.
For the remainder of January, Trinity set up all of Maggie’s tricks. Trinity had Maggie working continuously, giving regular sex as often as possible, in order to earn the maximum amount of money. Because of this, Armando and Rock were quite pleased with the work Trinity was doing, and this made her happy. She had always wanted to be in charge of the girls, and Maggie was her stepping-stone to becoming the boss on the streets. This title, given only by Rock, would bring special privileges and power.
Maggie, on the other hand, was exhausted. She felt weird cooing at men as they drove by. Her life was degrading. But she didn’t know how to escape without getting herself and others killed. So Maggie did and said everything she was told. But inside, there was a slow burn, a desire for liberation. She longed to see her family again and fantasized about their reunion. She wanted to be returned to life as she knew it before John William had taken her from the mall.
Over time, Armando began to trust Maggie, allowing her to roam the house freely, as the other girls did. The house was a total shit hole, the armpit of the earth. Right inside the front door was a large, open room that was once a formal living room. The chandelier and sconces were long gone, but gaping holes in the plaster revealed where they once hung. Two floor lamps lit the gloomy room. Instead of furniture, there were old, worn-out mattresses where the girls partied and slept. A wide hall led to the main living area. This room had leather beanbags and recliners reserved for the men who ran the house. The girls were prohibited from sitting on them or even entering the room without being invited.
To the right of the front entrance was the kitchen. The cabinets and refrigerator were secured with chains and padlocks to keep the girls from eating whenever they wanted to. The girls were provided with one meal a day. One of Rock’s men supervised a couple of the girls to put out food. The girls found their other meals on the streets by asking johns for a slice of pizza or occasionally buying a hot dog from a street vendor. Just off the kitchen was an old laundry room where Rock had installed a shower. All twelve girls used it; the upstairs bathrooms were off-limits.
When Maggie was in the house with the other prostitutes, she made it a point to keep to herself. She didn’t like the other girls. They were hard and callous to each other. She understood their anger, and felt much the same, but she couldn’t understand why they took it out on one another. As much as she wanted an ally, she didn’t trust any of them. They were constantly fighting over men, cigarettes, and drugs. These arguments often turned into fistfights and hair pulling, which broke out at a moment’s notice.
While the others fought, Maggie found a quiet corner in their living space and thought about Seth. She wondered if he was OK and if Thelma showed him any kindness. Rock visited the house where Maggie lived several times a week, and she was tempted to ask him about Seth, but she knew better. Rock and his men told the girls what they wanted them to know. She had learned that asking questions was a sign of insubordination.
By early February, Armando allowed Maggie to walk the streets alone. On her first night out, she wandered down Kensington Avenue, smiling at men and asking them if they needed a date. Men were attracted to her, and she had no problem earning her nightly quota. Because she was able to lure men in without much effort, she only offered hand jobs, and no one at the house was the wiser because she was able to do double the number of men to make up the difference in money. In a short time, Maggie became the most desired harlot on Kensington Avenue.
Then, on her travels up and down Kensington Avenue during her second week alone, Maggie noticed something that made her heart soar with hope. It was a sign at Kensington and Indiana Avenues; she followed the arrow and within minutes, she was standing in front of the McPherson Square Free Library.
This was the first time in a very long time that Maggie had something to look forward to. Her biggest problem was how to sneak away long enough to spend time at the library without being caught. She’d figure something out, she told herself. No matter what happened to her, it was worth the risk.
Chapter Forty-Six
It wasn’t long before Trinity viewed Maggie as her
strongest competition. Her temperament toward Maggie turned foul overnight. Rock had yet to make Trinity the boss on the streets, and Trinity’s competitiveness spurred her to put Maggie down as often as possible.
“Listen, bitch! I showed you how to make money on these here sidewalks. You know damn right well who my regular customers are, and I expect you to back the fuck off my johns,” Trinity told her. Several other hookers were watching, waiting for a fight.
“I’m sorry, Trinity. It’s not my fault. I haven’t even offered to go on dates with them. Your regulars have been asking me. If they’re asking, I can’t refuse. If Armando or Rock found out I turned a john down, you know what they’d do to me,” Maggie explained, hoping for understanding.
“What Armando or Rock do to you ain’t nothin’ compared to what I’m gonna do to ya if you keep stealing my johns,” Trinity spat. Then she shoved Maggie in the chest, knocking her to the ground, and spit on her as she strutted toward an approaching car in her “fuck me” pumps, swinging her round hips from side to side. She leaned into the open car window to show the man her voluptuous cleavage and smiled with all the teeth left in her rotted mouth. “Hey, baby, you wanna go on a date with Trinity?” she breathed.
“Is Trinity that girl over there?” the man asked, pointing at Maggie.
“No, motherfucker, I’m Trinity,” she said in a shrill voice.
“Oh, well then, no. I want a date with that little vixen,” he told her and pulled his car up to where Maggie was standing.
Maggie looked over at Trinity nervously.
The man looked her up and down. “How much?”
“I only give hand jobs. Fifteen bucks,” Maggie told him.
“Only hand jobs? What the fuck is with that? I was looking for regular sex,” he said, annoyed.
“Sorry, baby. Come back if you decide you want a hand job, OK?” Maggie offered.
The man put the car in drive and left. As soon as he was gone, Maggie began to walk in the direction opposite of where Trinity stood. She recognized that her “mentor” was in the kind of mood that would get her a hearty ass-kicking. Maggie was several blocks away, talking to another customer, when the same man came back around and spotted Trinity again. “Hey, you!” he yelled out the car window.
Trinity looked up from lighting a cigarette. Then she strolled toward his car as if she was in no hurry and completely disinterested. She bent down to look at the man. “Yeah, what cha want? I thought you wanted some of that white meat. Now you’re back ’cause everyone knows dark meat is tastier than that nasty, dry, white meat,” she chastised.
“Yeah, whatever. How much for regular sex?” he asked.
“Fifty bucks,” she told him.
“Fifty bucks? Is your pussy made of gold or something?”
“What the fuck? You think you gonna get this shit for free?” she said with a dramatic wave of her hand across her chest and between her legs.
“OK, but I want it to last awhile for that much dough,” he told her.
“Baby, ain’t no man can last long with Trinity. You can move slow all you want. Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop you from blowing a load the minute you’re between my sweet black legs,” she said, trying to be seductive.
Trinity got into the man’s car and they drove down Kensington Avenue. The john parked under the train tracks. Drug addicts and alcoholics stood around, stoking fires in large metal barrels. “OK, let’s get in the backseat. It’s too fucking cold outside,” the man told her.
Six minutes later, they were finished. “I told ya, no one gonna last a long time wit’ me,” Trinity said, beaming in his direction. “Can you drive me back down to where we met, baby?”
“What do you think I am? Your fucking chauffeur? Get the hell outta my car, you crazy whore! You and that other whore, there’s something wrong with both of ya!” he told Trinity.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ us. There’s somethin’ wrong wit’ you!” Trinity argued. “I did exactly what ya wanted me to do, and I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout with the other girl. Ya left her ass and came crawlin’ back to me,” she announced victoriously.
“Ha! Is that what you think happened? Nah, that ain’t it at all. That little white bitch only gives hand jobs. The only reason I came back for your skank ass is because I didn’t want no hand job; I wanted sex. Now get the fuck outta my car,” he hollered.
Without another word, Trinity got out of the car and slammed the door shut. So that’s what the bitch has been doing, Trinity thought as she stomped her way back home. The bitch is selling hand jobs for cheap and stealing all of my business. Just wait until Armando and Rock find out! She reveled in the idea of Maggie getting what she deserved.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Trinity went back to the house immediately. She could barely contain her anger with Maggie and her excitement at being the one to deliver the news to Armando and Rock. She burst through the front door and, with intended drama, swaggered into the room where the men sat. Hearing her loud footsteps approaching, the men stopped talking. They looked over when Trinity stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips tightly together, revealing her annoyance.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Armando asked, irritated by the interruption.
“Your bitch, Maggie, she’s playin’ all of us. A john I was wit’ tonight told me that he wanted regular sex, and she told him she only gives hand jobs. Ain’t no wonder why the ho is meetin’ her quota and stealing customers from the rest of us,” she fumed.
Armando watched Trinity closely, trying to gauge if this was a jealous rage or if she was speaking the truth. With that in mind, he tested her. “Well, I’ll look into the matter. But I best not find out that you’re lying to make yourself look good,” he hedged.
“I ain’t no mother fuckin’ liar. I’m telling ya what the man told me. I think Maggie’s the one who’s lyin’ to ya. She thinks she’s better than all of us, including you and Rock. I suggest you go find out for yourself,” she stated.
It was unacceptable for the girls to talk to the men in the house that way. Armando realized Trinity’s outburst could only be fueled by truth. Still, he had to make sure Trinity didn’t overstep her bounds. He stood, walked over to doorway, and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Don’t you worry. I’ll check it out. Let me be clear with you, though. Don’t ya ever talk to me that way again.” Then he shoved the side of her head into the doorjamb.
Once Trinity came to her senses, she left the house and went back out to the street. She began to gossip to the other prostitutes about Maggie. “Yeah, I told Armando exactly what that nasty slut is doin’. She’s gonna be sorry…thinks she’s better than the rest of us…thinks she pretty, too. Fuck that ho bag!”
The other hookers weren’t any more inclined to feel sympathy for Maggie. She was a stunningly beautiful young girl, and they’d all smoldered with jealously watching the johns swarm to her like flies on shit. They hated her for that because it meant they all had to work harder to make their nightly quotas.
A few hours later, Rock stopped at the house to check with his men. Armando repeated the story Trinity had told him. “You get one of our guys she doesn’t know out there to see what she’s really doing. Get back to me, ’cause I wanna know right away,” Rock instructed, boiling with rage at the possibility that Maggie was duping him.
A few hours later, a man approached Maggie on the street. “Hey, honey, you need a date?” Maggie asked enticingly.
“Yeah, how much for regular?” he asked, avoiding all niceties.
“I only do hand jobs. Fifteen bucks,” she stated and batted her long eyelashes at him.
“Only do hand jobs? What kinda whore are you?” he pressed.
“Look, baby, that’s what I do, OK? My man, he wants me to keep it simple,” she replied.
“Well, your man is damn fool then. Just forget it. I ain’t interested in no hand job,” he told her and drove off.
Later
that night, it began to snow heavily, and the wind whipped through the streets. Little white clouds shot out of Maggie’s nose and mouth every time she exhaled into the bitterly cold air. There were practically no cars on the streets, and the foot traffic had nearly come to a halt. Just after two in the morning, with several inches of snow on the ground, Maggie climbed the broken-down steps of the row house that she secretly called the house of whores, slipping and sliding in boots with five-inch heels.
Once inside, the heat of the house hit her ice-cold bare legs and ass, which made her feel as if there were bugs crawling under the surface of her skin. She leaned over and scratched her legs, causing red blotches to appear. Quickly, she went over to the corner where she kept her clothes and put on an oversized hooded sweatshirt she had found in the trash on Kensington Avenue. It hung just below her thighs. Then she pulled on two mismatched socks and a pair of canvas sneakers. Pulling the thin cotton blanket over herself, she settled in to sleep. She was dreaming when the men lifted her from the mattress and stood her upright. Her eyes bolted open, and the first person she saw was Armando.
To her right, Rock leaned on the banister of the stairs. Armando stared at her for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Word on the street is that you’re only givin’ hand jobs. Is that true?” he asked.
“No! I don’t know who told you that, but it’s a lie. I swear,” Maggie choked out, as she began to tremble.
“Oh, OK. So then my man, Jeremy, over here,” Armando said, looking to his left as a man stepped into the room, “he’s lyin’ to me. That’s what you’re tellin’ me, right?” he asked in a belittling tone.
Maggie looked at the man. She recognized him. He was the one she had told that same night that she only gave hand jobs. Fuck, shit, balls, Maggie thought. I’m busted.
She looked to Rock, who had been so nice to her, but he just held a steady gaze, showing no sign of pity. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she struggled to put together a cohesive sentence as panic gripped her. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed through uncontrollable sobs.