by Ashley Love
"Were you not admitted to the emergency room the morning of November 1st, for the purpose of receiving treatment for facial bruises and the administration of a rape kit?"
I was breathing hard and shallowly. "No," I said again.
"Do you know anything about an agency called 'Angel Escorts?'"
"No."
Arni fell silent. I heard him flip the notepad closed. "You won't help yourself by lying, Miss Green," he said. "And you can't protect Troy Holloway."
I stared at the floor, my heart pounding. I lifted my cigarette with shaking hands, drew off it.
"Fuck this," I heard the detective grumble. He stepped to the couch and sunk down heavily upon it. He reeked of cigarettes and body odor. "You're a whore, and we can prove it," he said viciously. "We've already talked to a couple of your 'clients.' But we really don't give a fuck about them or you. What we want is Troy Holloway. You help us, and you won't have to worry about that pretty little ass getting tossed behind bars."
I didn't say anything. I wanted them to go away.
"You ever hear stories about women's prisons?" he asked. "It's not pretty. Awful lot of hard-edged dykes behind bars, just eager to taste a sweet little thing like you. I hear they make dildos out of anything they can find. Glass, plastic, metal...the bigger the better, I hear—"
"All right, Sam," said Arni. "Jesus Christ, don't be such an asshole."
Sam scoffed. "Fine. Be the nice guy," he said and shoved up from the couch.
"Alyssa."
I lifted my head slowly, looking upon at young lawyer. The grizzled, pessimistic detective was looking at my collection of movies and CDs.
"You knew Sean Jackson."
I didn't say anything. I just stared.
Arni looked exasperated. "Look, we've traced his cell phone records, talked to his wife. We talked to some of his former employees. They had some really good things to say about you."
I noticed the detective making a pumping motion with his hand, pushing his tongue into his cheek as he leered at me. Blood rushed to my cheeks. I flicked ash off my cigarette, stared at the coffee table.
Arni eased down beside me. His hand settled on my shoulder. "We've got a pretty good idea of what happened on Halloween," he said in a soft voice. "And what happened after. Whether you help us or not, Holloway's going down. He's going to go to prison. Now, the only question you need to ask yourself is if you want to go to prison, too."
I trembled, full of fear. I looked up to Arni Detweiler's face. "I don't wanna go to prison," I said, my voice barely audible.
"Then help us," he said in a convincing way, running his hand across my back. "Don't defend a murderer."
I shook as I cried quietly. "Oh, God..."
Fearing 'reprisals' from Troy, Assistant District Attorney Arni Detweiler arranged to put me up in a cheap motel until my appearance at the trial. I had an around-the-clock bodyguard detail of detectives and police officers, who sat in their cars and occasionally checked in on me. I didn't go anywhere; whatever I needed, Arni brought.
Mindful of my education, the attorney arranged for members of his office to meet with my classmates and copy their notes. I took my midterms on a crappy little table in the room that had become my home.
Arni came to see me an average of three times a week as the trial began. I learned quite a few things about him as the weeks wore on, principle among them the fact that Arni was married, and recently so, with a baby on the way, and that he was seriously attracted to me. Not that he would admit it, of course.
I also realized that I was the prosecution's 'star' witness against Troy Holloway. Through repeated depositions and questionnaires, I learned that while Troy, Cleo, and even Mr. Stone had been contacted by Arni's office, I was the only one they had reeled in. That made me both ashamed and strangely fortified. I was the key to their entire case, I realized.
Troy's business practices had been under investigation in civil court for years, with no real satisfying outcome. Now, however, Troy had been indicted under the charge of second-degree murder for the death of Sean Jackson. Apparently, there was some kind of vendetta between the District Attorney's office and Troy. They would get him any way they could.
And I was the pawn.
I hated it. I was being used against the man I loved...and I was letting them. I could have been the martyr, the sacrificial lamb, and bravely stand against the men who sought to take Troy down. I could hold my head up high as I was being escorted to prison, proud in the knowledge that I had stood my ground, anticipating the degradation I would suffer at the hands of bull dykes. I could do that...
If I had the strength.
But being raped once was enough.
As a further indignity to my house arrest (they called it 'protective custody'), my twentieth birthday was approaching fast and I had to face it alone. The room's telephone had been disconnected and my cell was taken from me. The only time I got to talk on the phone was when Arni or Detective Clay or one of the other detectives who stood watch let me use their cell phone.
I spoke with my parents and Mya, each about every other day. I could tell them the basics, but not where I was, and the calls never lasted long. My mother was practically hysterical when I told her I was the material witness in a murder case, but got used to it over the course of subsequent conversations. She wanted to know how I had gotten myself in such a position, and I had to make something up. I hated lying to my mother, especially when the truth would come out during the trial. But I just didn't have the heart to tell her that her little girl was a prostitute.
Mya, of course, knew the entire story, and while there was a hint of 'I told you so' in her voice, she was supportive and encouraging. She also told me that some tall, stoic guy had found her on campus one day and asked where I was. From her description, I knew it was Logan.
There were times when the claustrophobia of my confinement took its toll, and I screamed and ranted at Arni, Detective Clay, and my other 'chaperones.' I was given my MP3 player and the room had cable, but such creature comforts helped little. Of course, I couldn't have my laptop. They didn't want to risk me sending any emails.
But I did watch the news, and there was some mention now and then about the case against Troy Holloway, beginning with the indictment against him toward the end of May. News reporters caught him outside his office and home, and while he refused to talk, the look of anger and betrayal on his face was telling. I winced at seeing the pain I was causing.
But the worst was when Jenny was interviewed briefly, having been caught in a cafe parking lot one day as she headed to her car.
"Whoever this supposed witness is..." she said at one point, after describing how her family's life had been "torn apart" by the investigation and trial. She stared right into the camera, right at me. "She doesn't know my father as well as she thinks she does. She's not going to get her fifteen minutes of fame by spreading lies about him. All she's going to do is ruin her (bleep) life."
I never felt lower than I did after watching that interview. I wasn't just hurting Troy, I was hurting Jenny, and Troy's wife, and everyone associated with them. And for what? Because he'd had the man who raped me killed? Troy may have acted impulsively, calling in Mr. Stone to do his dirty work, but what he did, for whatever reasons, he had done out of love.
For me.
But to recognize that meant sacrificing years of my life, enduring pain and humiliation in a woman's prison...I was too frightened to take that risk.
The day before my birthday, and the trial was already in full swing. I was becoming more and more nervous and apprehensive about appearing in court, about facing Troy and admitting the truth...the truth that would destroy him. And save me.
I agonized over what my life had become. It wasn't fun anymore. I wasn't a carefree call girl or cock-sucking teenager anymore, cheerfully exchanging my body for a handful of money, living out my hottest fantasies and having a parade of men tell me how gorgeous I was.
Now I was a material witness in a murder case.
My parents would be devastated. My friends would abandon me. And the man I loved would be going to prison for the rest of his life.
"Alyssa, pay attention," Arni said that afternoon as he was practicing his cross-examination with me. He was prepping me well, going over the specific questions he would ask in the courtroom when I took the stand. He wanted me to act a certain way, have certain expressions, even say particular words in ways that supposedly had the most impact. It was a scene we had played over so many times that it read like a script to me.
"I'm tired, Arni," I said, not looking at him. The creaking chair beneath me was uncomfortable. "We've already gone over this—"
"And we'll keep going over it, babe, until I—"
I snapped my head up, giving him a vicious look. "Stop. Calling. Me. Babe!" I yelled.
Arni met my look and matched it, striding toward me with a pair of long steps, stopping just before me. "Now get this straight, little girl," he snarled. "I'm not gonna lose this chance because you're 'tired.' We're gonna keep at it until—"
"Fuck you!" I snapped. I crossed my arms and huffed, looking away. "Go to Hell."
Arni grumbled under his breath, wanting to respond as rudely as I had, I figured. He paced for a moment or two before me. I watched him from the corner of my eye.
"I've been in Hell," he said. "Kissing ass and backstabbing the other attorneys in the office. Buying Scotch for the old man and flirting with his middle-aged bitch receptionist to get the best appointments. This is my one chance, Allie. My chance to get out of the rat maze and into the prize box. And you're not gonna fuck it up for me."
I glared at him. "You're just a cocksucker, you know that?" I spat. "Maybe I sucked dick and did a lot more for money, but you do it for pride. You're more of a whore than I am."
He laughed harshly, startled and dumbfounded, staring at me with an incredulous, insulted expression. He finally turned away. "We're done," he said curtly, gathering up his briefcase. He snapped it closed loudly and headed for the door. He paused before opening it. "I know you're good at fucking," he said rudely. "But you try to fuck me over and I swear you'll pay for it."
I seethed with defensive anger. "Go suck your boss's dick," I hissed.
Arni jerked open the door. "Bitch," he mumbled, then slammed it closed after him.
I shuddered with tears.
9
I didn't get out of bed the following day until I heard the pounding on the door for the second time. With an annoyed groan, I got up in my long T-shirt and pulled the door open, not looking at the man on the other side. I knew from the loud, hard thumping he had given the door that it was Lieutenant Detective Clay. I fell back onto the bed and pulled up the covers.
Clay chuckled sarcastically behind me. "Not even a 'Good morning?'"
I gripped a pillow against my cheek. "What do you want?"
"Just want to introduce you to your new chaperone," he said. I heard him talking to someone else: "She's a little stuck up, but don't let it bother you. And no one comes in unless either I or Detweiler gives the okay, got it? Good."
The door shut. I could feel the other man's presence in the room. I didn't turn to look at him. The bed shifted as his weight settled upon it. I frowned, feeling immediately annoyed. What the fuck—?
"Hello, Allie."
I recognized the voice in a heartbeat. I sat up and spun around, staring at his face with both elation and consternation. "Logan!"
He had a slight smile on his face. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt under a black leather jacket. His square face was as stoic as ever except for the mirthless smile. I wasn't sure if I should be glad or afraid.
"Detective Meeks," he corrected me.
I stared at him for a long moment, confused. I searched his face, his small eyes. "Wh-wh-what are you...I-I mean, how—"
"Connections," he said simply, and stood from the bed. He stepped around the room, his eyes darting around like those of a hawk. They finally settled upon me once more.
"What are you doing?"
I swallowed nervously, suddenly unsure if Logan was the man I knew...or a different version of Mr. Stone. "I'm scared," I said.
He nodded curtly. "I know. They've told you a lot of things to make you turn against Troy," he said. His casual use of Troy's first name seemed out of place, belying a closer association than I had always supposed.
"They'll send me to prison if I don't testify," I said breathlessly, on the verge of tears. "I don't want to go to prison."
His chin barely nudged. "So it's you or him, huh?"
I sighed, ashamed. "Don't do this. I feel like shit already."
"You should."
My emotions exploded out. "What the fuck do you want me to do?!" I cried, slapping my hands to the bed. "Give up my fucking life?"
Logan's eyes, his expression, were impassive. "If this was a perfect world," he said, "what would you want to happen?"
I scoffed. "It's obviously not a perfect world."
"But if it was."
I sighed. "I don't wanna go to prison," I bemoaned. "But I don't want Troy to, either."
Logan pursed his lips, nodding to himself. "And, if you could..."
I sobbed quietly. "I'd make it all go away," I said, my choked and strained voice barely audible. I wiped my eyes defensively. "But I seem to have misplaced my magic fucking wand."
Logan didn't say anything for a long moment. "Do you love Troy as much as he loves you?" he asked.
I lifted my anguished face. "He loves me?"
Logan's expression remained hard. "Answer my question."
I sniffed, wiped my eyes with quick moves of my hands. My words sounded strange but true as I spoke. "He's the only man I love."
"Then why hurt him?"
I breathed out heavily. "I don't have a choice," I said.
"Allie."
I squeezed my eyes shut, shuddering as I tried not to cry again.
"Allie."
"What?"
"Look at me."
I forced my eyes open and lifted my head slowly, looking up at Logan through my pain.
He smiled, then, a slow and soft smile. "You always have a choice," he said knowingly. "There is always a way. You just have to find it."
My tears slowly dried. I frowned. Logan was trying to tell me something. "How?"
Logan's smile remained. "You have gifts. Use them," he said enigmatically, and turned away. Then, as if as an afterthought, he looked back, his thin lips curled.
"By the way...happy birthday."
I hung my head. Had to rub it in, didn't he... "Thanks."
I heard the door open and close as Logan left. I stared at it for a long moment, wondering about his words. And then I saw the little black case he had left on the cracked table by the door.
My lips curled in an understanding smile. You have gifts. Use them.
I stared at myself in the mirror. After six weeks of wearing minimalist makeup and rotating the same wrinkled shorts and T-shirts, wearing a dress again felt almost uncomfortable. Especially this one. Arni had purchased the conservative skirt suit for me, since my wardrobe held only the extremes of 'college student' and 'escort.'
The fabric was heavy and almost coarse, and I didn't like the dull blue color. The buttons were too big, the jacket too square, the skirt too long...
"I hate it, Arni," I said, looking at him in the reflection as he stood behind me.
He shrugged. "That's what you're wearing tomorrow," he said. "I don't want you showing up in one of your hooker gowns."
I glared for a moment and shrugged off the jacket. I had to admit that I did like the blouse. It was practically see-through. The color of my puffies were clearly visible. I noticed Arni's eyes darting to them in the mirror.
"I'm just a cheap slut to you, aren't I?" I asked acidly.
His eyes returned to mine. "Definitely not cheap," he commented, then shook
his head. "Jesus Christ, I don't care how sexy a woman is, shelling out two grand just to fuck? Give me a break."
I turned around and stepped past him on my way out to the room. "I gave them their money's worth," I said.
I heard him chuckling behind me. "Bet you did, sweetheart." I could practically feel his eyes on my ass. "How much of that do you get, anyway? Half?"
I ignored his question, setting my makeup bag on the counter next to the little black case, then stopped by the foot of the bed and faced him. "What does your wife think about you spending every other day for a month and a half with an escort?" I asked challengingly.
His face darkened. "Leave my wife out of this," he said, taking slow steps toward me.
I looked at him directly as I sat on the edge of the bed, spreading my legs just enough. "If I was her, I'd be really worried. Girl like me...who knows what I'd do in this situation."
Arni shook his head. "Don't start that shit," he said. "You couldn't seduce me if you tried."
I lowered my eyes, grinding my teeth. Arni headed past me toward his open briefcase on the table. Oh, no, Arni? I thought. Then why do I see a bulge in your pants? Why did you just sneak a peek up my skirt?
"...Just one last thing," he was saying. I heard the shuffling of paper. My eyes stayed on the floor as I listened. "Schaffer is going to do and say anything to get to you. He's going to try to rile you up. You can't let him."
I sighed. "I know, Arni," I said. "Damn! I know as much about Troy's lawyer as you do!"
He chuckled again. "No, you don't," he said meaningfully. "But you're going to find out tomorrow."
My heart palpitated. "Would you stop saying that?" I asked in a shaky voice.
"Stop saying what?"
"'Tomorrow,'" I said. "You're doing it on purpose, trying to scare me. I know it's tomorrow, Arni. Can we just not...talk about it anymore tonight?"
He was quiet a moment, shuffling papers. I got the impression he was looking at me. But I didn't lift my head. I was counting the individual loops in the carpet.
He snapped his briefcase closed. "All right," he said, his voice sounding more sympathetic. He came over to the end of the bed and sat down beside me, slipping his arm around my shoulders. His cologne was faint, sharp.