by M. N. Forgy
“Ha!” I blurt, turning to leave.
“You gotta any better options?” Mick hollers, catching me in my step.
“You’re telling me we use our bodies and don’t get a dime?” I question, my tone hostile as I turn around furious. “Then I say. Fuck. You,” I spit.
Done. I am so done with this whole thing.
“Then go. Work the streets alone without my protection. I’ll send dead roses to your funeral-”
“They won’t have a funeral. Ain’t nobody know they here. Look at them,” Margo adds, standing and waving her finger up and down as she points at us.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jayden steps up to Margo, her fists clenched, ready to throw down. I follow her lead, ready to have Jayden’s back. This Margo chick is starting to get on my last nerve.
“That’s my bottom bitch,” Mick informs, serious.
“Your what?” I can’t help but laugh.
“You know, bottom bitch. It means she’s been around since day one, my most trustworthy bitch,” Mick explains, smiling big at Margo.
“I’d back off,” one of the men standing behind Mick seethes, his chest puffed out. I kind of forgot they were even here; they’re so still and quiet.
I close my eyes, conflicted with what to do.
“Look, how about for the first week, I’ll give you a percentage depending on what you make. That’s the best I can do. You don’t like it, then bounce. But I either get both of you or neither,” Mick offers, and I can’t help but scoff. Accepting his offer will back us into a corner. We won’t have any money to leave if we ever wanted to, because he’ll have it all.
“Don’t be stupid,” Margo whispers, catching mine and Jayden’s attention.
“I’ll take care of you girls, so you won’t have to worry about your next meal. You won’t have to worry about how to pay for a doctor when you’re sick. You’re mine,” Mick pleads his case. His hands steeple as he trails his eyes over us. He knows where we’re weak, knows what we need, and he’s using it to the point we would be stupid to decline his offer. The way he watches my face, my body after every offer he puts on the table, after every word he says, he’s looking for a way to hook us, to hook me.
“We’ll figure it out,” Jayden mutters, grabbing my hand. I look from our joined hands to her gray eyes. She’s been hooked. I can’t resist this offer. What will I do if Jayden or I get sick, or hurt? We can’t afford a hospital.
Our worries of surviving are over if we accept.
“Like you didn’t use me? You took that money without any problem.”
“You’ve already whored yourself out. Why fight who you are?”
Chasen’s words echo in my head. This is what I do. I have sex with men, then take their money. There’s no better path for me. I can’t bail on Jayden. She needs me. We need each other.
“Fine,” I mumble softly.
“Excellent. You start now. Margo, dirty these girls up,” Mick instructs, not taking his eyes off his cigar as he twirls it between his fingers.
“You got it, baby,” Margo coos, opening the office door.
“Oh, and ladies,” Mick stops us. Jayden and I turn, waiting for him to continue. “You try and stiff me on my money, you won’t like the consequences.” His nostrils flare with rage, his eyebrows narrowed with promise. I swallow hard and nod.
“Okay,” Jayden mutters, her voice cracking.
TEN
CHARLIE
Following Margo, I notice the blue paint is chipped along the motel, and the concrete beneath our feet is cracked. Looking across the way, I see half-naked girls – prostitutes – waiting outside their doors, smoking a cigarette and eyeing Jayden and me.
“This is us.” Margo points to an off-white door with the number 1 on it.
Inside the room, there’s a bed with nothing but white sheets and a shitty air conditioner under the window blowing warm air into the room that smells of stale cigarettes. A black fridge, dresser, and chair are the only pieces of furniture apart from the bed.
“Seems Daddy Mick just loves you, huh?” Margo props her hands on her hips and glares at Jayden.
“I, uh,” Jayden stutters.
“Strip,” Margo instructs, kicking her heels off. “I need to see what I have to work with,” she clarifies, heading toward the closet.
“Do you always dress Mick’s new girls?” Jayden sasses, taking her top off.
“I do whatever Daddy Mick asks of me, as you should, too. He’s saving you, ya know?” She turns her head, looking over her shoulder, her tone snarky.
“How so?” Jayden laughs.
“No man who knows you’re with Mick will touch you out of anger. You won’t go hungry ever again. You need air in your apartment? Mick will get it. You need clothes? Mick will take you shopping. He is your savior,” she explains, throwing out a slew of dresses. She makes Mick sound like a god rather than a pimp.
I give a tight-lipped smile and glance around. Jeez, it’s as if I just walked into a dress shop with all the clothes, shoes, and makeup displayed everywhere.
I spot a bright red dress on the bed and smirk. “Hand me that red dress,” I instruct Jayden, my fist clenching with anxiety. She grabs the dress and hands it to me while smiling. She’s happy. She feels safe, knowing our worries of surviving are over, and that makes me happy.
“Oh, you’ll need these.” Margo turns and opens a dresser drawer, pulling out something and tossing it on the bed.
“Fishnets? Isn’t that a little cliché?” I giggle, looking at Jayden who’s laughing, too.
“Embrace ya’ stereotypes, baby. These men, they want that taboo feeling of being with a prostitute. The back of cars, dirty motel rooms, that’s what sells around here,” Margo advises, tossing Jayden a pair of stockings.
“Let’s do it then.” Jayden nods, undoing the tangled stockings.
“Rules,” Margo starts, sitting on the bed while Jayden and I dress. “If your trick is fat, you compliment him on his hair. If he took the time to brush his teeth before seeing you, you tell him how sexy he is. If a man reeks of body odor, you ignore it. You don’t ever say anything about it. If a man has greasy hair or dresses lousy, you never say anything. If they say they love you, you tell them you love them back,” Margo rambles, talking as if she’s reading from a handbook.
“Why?” Jayden shrugs.
“Because we’re the trick’s escape from the nagging wife, the bitchy boss, and every other judgmental person in their life. It’s why they keep coming back. You get repeat customers, you get praise from Mick.” Margo looks at Jayden with narrowed brows as she explains. I can tell Margo is head over heels for Mick. He is the sun to her world. “It’s all about acting, really. Make the trick feel like a king.”
“So, what do we do if they smell to the point we can’t—”
“Pretend he smells of roses, hold your breath, and suffer through it,” Margo states matter-of-factly.
I snort, then laugh. I can’t help it.
“That funny?” Margo asks with laughter of her own.
“A little. Especially when I think of Jayden stuck under some smelly guy,” I respond. Margo rolls her eyes at my humor. What a bitch.
“You’ll always wear a Jimmie,” she continues, her tone on the edge of irritated.
“A what?” I question, shifting in my dress. This thing is way too short. If I bend over, my ass will show. It dips between my breasts, and there’s a cut-out right around my belly button. Lots of skin shows, and I can’t help but feel self-conscious. I guess I don’t have to worry about the dress giving me a wedgie, considering I don’t think it has enough material to reach the crack of my ass.
“A Jimmie, you know, a condom. Always use one, and make sure it’s from your stash. I’ve seen some desperate men out there looking for a reason out of marriage.” Margo shakes her head, digging in her purse.
“What do you mean?” Jayden asks, running her hands down her gray dress. It covers her breasts and her crotch with the ent
ire middle and back open.
“Men will poke holes, or say they don’t have one,” Margo responds, lighting a cigarette.
“Jesus,” I mutter, pulling on a stocking, my toes getting caught in the holes.
“No, baby, Jesus isn’t with you. Not in this game.” Margo puffs on her cigarette, looking at me to disagree.
I sigh and sit on the bed to put on some fuck-me heels.
“What do we do if a guy doesn’t pay? I ask.
Margo lifts a brow. “I suggest you don’t let that happen. Hit the fucker over the head with a lamp if need be.” I flinch from her harsh tone. “You follow those rules, you’ll be fine, babe,” Margo comforts, rubbing my back.
“Why did Mick split us up?” Jayden asks, sitting next to me.
“Probably because he knows we’re trouble together,” I tease.
“Does it matter? What – you two seeing each other? Because if so, Daddy Mick will charge double for that kind of show.” Margo throws her head back and laughs. Jayden glances my way, her lip curled in disgust.
“No, we aren’t gay,” I spit. “I don’t like being away from her is all,” I continue, my forehead wrinkling with concern.
Margo puffs on her cigarette, squinting with the rolling smoke clouding her face.
“Daddy Mick can tell your girl needs to be broken in slowly.” She points to me, and I roll my eyes and look at the gray curtains in my line of sight.
“I suggest you get your shit together quickly,” Margo snaps.
“Fuck you,” I sneer, standing up. Jayden stands with me, her fists rolled tightly.
“Honey, you better sit your little ass down.” Margo doesn’t even flinch at my harsh tone. “Coming in here acting like you’re too good, that your pussy is made of gold or some shit.” She licks her bottom lip and levels us with a death glare.
“You don’t know shit about either of us, so shut your mouth, bitch.” I step up to the bed, Margo standing on the other side.
“I suggest you get your emotions under control, because your mommy and daddy aren’t here for you to cry to. This is the real world,” Margo insults, crossing her arms. My nostrils flare and my face burns with rage.
“Like you have room to talk. You’re just being a bitch because you’re jealous of—”
“Jealous of what? You?” She shakes her head and laughs softly.
“Maybe not me, but you’re jealous that Mick took to us so quickly. What – did he give us special treatment that you didn’t get?” I cock my head to the side and watch Margo’s eyes go wide. I hit her soft spot. “Yeah, thought so. Why don’t you get your emotions under control?”
Margo’s upper lip curls, and she slams her half-smoked cigarette in the glass ashtray.
“You better watch it.” Jayden points at Margo with a stare that has me a little nervous.
Margo looks at a small alarm clock on the night stand.
“It’s late. It’s time.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Jayden asks with a shrug.
“The later it is, the more subject to sin men are,” I state. I glance up to see a wide-eyed Jayden and a Margo smiling wolfishly.
“Exactly.” Margo nods approvingly. Standing to leave, she grabs my hand, pulling me back.
“My best advice to you, baby? Build a shell, protect your feelings from getting involved. It’ll save you in the long run. Then you can get a hold of what’s real and what isn’t.”
I nod, my heart suddenly pounding against my chest nervously. I can’t keep up with her ‘bad whore, good whore’ tactics.
“Drugs help,” she mutters, grabbing my hand and pushing something into my palm before walking away. I slowly undo my fist and find a very small baggy with a white powdery substance in it. Coke?
***
“You look good dirty, I must say,” Mick chimes, rubbing his chin while sizing us up in our new attire.
“Thanks,” I mutter, looking down at my red dress and gray heels. It’s a miracle I can even walk in the damn things.
“So!” Mick claps his hands. “Rarity and Margo will hit the streets, learn the ropes, and you, Fancy, will head to room 2.”
I look at Jayden, hating leaving her.
“It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine,” she mutters, nodding.
“She’s in good hands, don’t worry,” Mick states, reclining in his chair and kicking his feet up on the desk.
I watch Margo and Jayden walk out of the office, leaving me to Mick and his men. I feel alone.
“Sex is four hundred dollars. If the trick wants anything oral, it’s one-fifty. Anything else, I’ll handle beforehand. You collect the money before delivery, and get it to me after the deed is done. Understand?” He lifts a thick eyebrow, waiting for my response. I take my gaze from the door Margo and Jayden went through and peer from under my lashes at Mick.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“When you get a customer, I’ll send them your way. Till then, kick back, watch TV, do your nails. I don’t really give a shit,” Mick instructs. I nod and turn to leave.
“Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll have Terris stand outside your room for protection,” Mick adds, making me look over my shoulder at him.
“Who’s Terris?” I question, shaking my head in confusion.
Mick snaps his fingers, and one of the guards behind him steps forward.
“You’ll learn you’re safe with me, girl.” He shrugs, a big smile across his face.
***
Room 2 is no different than room 1. The bed has nothing but white sheets and a few pillows. A black fridge with a small TV sitting on top of it and a dresser and chair are all the furniture. The only thing different in here is there’s a bowl of condoms on the night stand.
I finger the little baggy of cocaine, my mind racing back and forth with whether I should snort it or not. I’ve never done drugs before. I’m sure it would help me get past the nerves forming in the pit of my stomach, but I don’t think I want to be so far gone I don’t know what I’m doing. Having sex with strange men, I think I should have my wits about me. I stand on shaky legs and toss it in the trash bin.
I lie on the bed, looking up at the ceiling for what seems like forever.
“My best advice to you? Build a shell, protect your feelings from getting involved. It’ll save you in the long run, at least until you get a hold of what’s real and what isn’t.”
“You get repeat customers, you get praise from Mick.”
“It’s all about acting, really. Make the trick feel like a king.”
Margo’s words replay in my mind, haunting my subconscious. I have to pull this off. I have to make the trick want me for a second time, and a third. I have to make them believe they’re everything the world thinks they aren’t.
A firm knock sounds at the door, making my heart beat with such force I feel light-headed. I inhale deeply, preparing myself for what kind of monster walks through that door.
“Com- come in,” I stutter nervously. The door clicks and opens slowly, and a man with curly brown hair, maybe in his late twenties, steps in. His jaw is sharp, forehead large. His brown eyes are friendly with a sense of sincerity as he looks me over. He’s dressed in a black suit, but nothing like the kind Landon wore. This one looks cheap. The buttons look plastic, and there’s string fraying from one of the seams.
“Wow,” he mutters, shutting the door behind him. I clear my throat and stand, looking over at the TV and seeing the music video to “Wicked Games” by The Weekend.
“You were not what I was expecting,” he mumbles, loosening his red tie.
“What were you expecting?” I laugh nervously, brushing a stray of hair behind my ear.
“Not something as gorgeous as you.” He chuckles, looking toward the wall, his cheeks turning a shade of red.
“I’m St—” he pauses, closing his eyes. “I’m Smith,” he continues. It’s fake, but whatever. It’s not like Fancy is my real name.
“I’m Fancy, and you don’t look so bad yours
elf. In fact, you don’t look like you need to pay for sex, so why are you here?” I ask bluntly, tilting my head to the side. I thought for sure I’d have some large guy who sits around playing video games in here asking for me to spread my legs. Definitely not the likes of Smith, who looks like a law student, or real estate agent, maybe a car salesman even.
He smirks, walking toward me, his stride confident as he tears his tie completely off and throws it on the bed. The breath races from my lungs. Shit, this is happening. This is really happening. I’m about to have sex for money. It’s different than before; it’s on purpose this time. There’s no sugar-coating my devious acts. He wants me for one thing and one thing only: sex.
“Are you supposed to ask me that?” he questions, his voice taking on a deep tone.
“Ask you what?”
“Why I’m here,” he repeats, little wrinkles forming on his forehead.
I shake my head, my hands fidgeting with each other. “Probably not.” I laugh nervously.
“I like that. I like that you talk to me like a normal person. That you don’t tell me what I want to hear.” He tucks his hand behind my head, tilting my head upward, and looks me up and down hungrily. My fingers and toes tingle, and my lips part.
“I’m here because my fiancée took the notion of me asking her to marry me to the point we shouldn’t have sex until our wedding night. I’m going on a four-month dry spell, and have eight more months to go,” he explains, his tone dry. His jaw clenches as he surveys me like a piece of meat, and I like it. My body responds to the way he eyes me like I’m the only one he sees, like I’m the subject of sex.
“You’ll never make it eight months,” I whisper, my voice laced with lust. My body warms, surfing with the craving to release its tension of the night. “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Smith?” I ask, running my tongue along my bottom lip, enticing him.
He runs his thumb over my lip, soaking up the trail of wetness my tongue left behind, and leans in to kiss me — but I dodge him. My eyes widen at my sudden reaction, but there’s something about being kissed that makes my current haze of desire dissipate. My mind races to Landon and the way my body came alive when he kissed me. I didn’t realize how alone in life I had truly been until he kissed me that night. It doesn’t matter, though. Whatever I felt from that kiss, Landon apparently felt none of it. I need to protect myself.