Being a hooker ain't so much different to being a cop. Both work a beat. Both get paid a little money for doing something that can get them killed. And both are hated like they've done something wrong. Turnaround is fair play, so being a cop ain't no better than being a whore who gets paid for fucking.
Sex and murder, irony at its best. I'd like to tell Kate that and see how she takes it. But that would mean she'd have to drop by again so I could, and she's scared away my business enough this past month. A girl's gotta survive somehow and I'm just trying to live like everybody else.
I drop my cigarette to the dirt, grinding it dead with the spike of my high heel. My legs are exhausted, but I've gotten used to the burn, just like I've learned that looking up at the moon circled by smog, instead of who I'm letting inside me, makes things easier.
Not a whole lot easier, but easier just the same.
//"What are you doing?" Kate kept on asking her, night after night, as she pulled the car to the side of the road. "This is crazy. You're going to get yourself killed."//
I hope that bitch cop doesn't show up tonight. I can't stop working just because a civil servant is having a mid-life crisis or something. This is what I do best. This is what I HAVE to do, whether or I want to or not. Professor Sidel made things perfectly clear that long-ago day when I walked into his office, fresh-faced and eager to be in the same room with him. He was my hero, my mentor, my teacher; I was broken when he said I didn't have the brains for physics and I didn't have much of a body either, so I'd have to figure out something to do besides modeling or being smart.
I didn't believe him. Not really.
He decided to make the choice for me. Every now and then, I still wake up screaming, fighting him in my nightmares, as he holds on tightly and slides the needle into my arm.
The cop calls me *Fred* when I hate the name, says my parents are wondering where I am. That I've been missing for an awfully long time, and wouldn't it be nice to tell them where I was and how I was doing?
//"What? Maybe I ought to tell 'em what I do for a living, is that what you're saying? If so, you ain't as smart as you look." Winifred slicked her shoes over the pavement, kicking a stone. She watched it fall into the cracks. Stones always behaved like that. Dropping away and getting lost. //
I blink away the memory, pulling out another cigarette, and wrap one arm around my waist to keep myself warm. Cancer hangs between my lips. The flame flares up from the lighter--blue in the center--as I light the tip.
Inhaling sharply, I give my stomach a squeeze and turn my gaze back toward the streets. They're wet from recent rain and the chilly air bounces off the water, hanging in the air. Waiting is the hardest part. What if I don't make enough money tonight? What if Johnny gets angry again? It won't skate if I screw up again.
Traffic is slow. Not many people out on a Sunday night. Normal jobs to go back to Monday morning. I think of sleeping in. Taking a bath. I think of dropping a toaster into the water and frying my ass straight to hell. I can calculate how many seconds it will take to kill myself.
Still smart, but it doesn't matter anymore. It didn't matter to Sidel and it doesn't matter to anyone else either. I can't fight this. Nearly five years and I still can't fight this.
// "I can help you," Kate insisted, reaching for the door handle. Winifred stepped off the sidewalk and held the door closed. Kate's eyes, intense and maybe a little angry, burned blue up at her. "Just let me help you get out of this place." //
Damn cop, like looking into the mirror all the time. I know my reality, but I'm not one to stare at my own reflection. All it does is remind me of what I'm doing and how it will never be right but I CAN'T. STOP. Sometimes, when I'm not being careful, I catch my own eyes in the glare of lamplight on the window of a bar and peer at the red light blinking over my shoulder. I don't look so much like a hooker with my back turned to the street. Sometimes when that happens I think about packing a bag, or none, getting out and getting gone.
But then there is the fear� I shiver, thinking about the cold and how it worms its way through my nylons and under the band of my panties. Cold gets everywhere, just like the dirt. Dirt covers everything I own.
// "She's a pretty one," Johnny said, clutching Winifred's chin cruelly and turning her face from side to side. Inspecting her like a horse on the bidding block. "Damn, Sidel, she's got all her teeth too. 'Course, I could always knock a few out for her, if the customers like." //
There's yet to be a night when I haven't gotten a customer. But sometimes there are only a few and I'm forced to take money from their wallets so Johnny won't be mad. I always make sure they are passed out fully on the hotel mattress before I sneak into their things. More than once, I've come across a picture of my latest customer cuddled up with his family and wanted to puke across the shiny surface. Sometimes I do throw up, but I've learned to fight against the sick rolling of my gut at such a time.
Money never smells so bad as when it comes to me that way.
I sniff to keep my nose from running and take a long drag off the cigarette as a vehicle drives past me. I eye the woman in the front seat who is carefully not looking in my direction. It's a silver mini-van that I've probably fucked her husband in. Shrug it off. I don't have anything against people who do that. Once upon a time, I'd have done the same thing if I were in her position.
Once upon a time, I almost was somebody. Now I'm standing on the other side of the glass, wishing I could go back to that careful ignorance and turn my head away from the whole thing. Not happening.
The woman is forced to stop at the blinking red light and look both ways. She's tense, like I'm gonna break into the van and rob her. I'm glad when she turns her vehicle around the corner and is gone from my sight. I hold the cigarette loosely between my fingers, letting the haze of smoke obscure my vision. There is nothing like seeing someone clean to make me feel dirty. Shaking my head, I look down the opposite side of the street, where a car with shaded windows drives slowly on the road. Slower. Swerving in a gentle turn, it drives right up to me.
I hold my breath. Good and bad, always that feeling of disgust and triumph swarming through my chest like a hive of honeybees.
The window rolls down and I bend at the knees to see who is at the wheel, hoping it's only one person tonight. I hate doubles. A young white man sits in the driver's seat, all short-cropped hair and yellow tips. He smiles charmingly and for a brief moment, my stomach flutters and I imagine I'm Julia Roberts and things are gonna be better.
Paging Richard Gere, it's time to make things okay, please.
"How much for a night?" he asks. And the image vanishes. I feel my smile crystallize, hardening into hungry diamonds. No such luck, huh? Well, I didn't really expect Richard Gere anyway. This boy's much too pretty to play the part.
"For you?" Give him a quick once over. Lick my lips convincingly. "Baby, you can have me for a couple hundred." The price is a little higher than usual, but tonight hasn't been my most busy night, and I need the cash.
"There's cheaper," he replies snidely, like there can be bargaining on something I once considered precious. And there can be, but money is money, and there's been a lack of it lately.
I toss my long hair over my shoulder in a practiced move, revealing a smooth, unblemished shoulder. "And I'm better than them. But hey, if you don't want the whole package, I can give ya' a blow for fifty."
His lips tighten and his eyes drift over me as he considers. I decide that no matter how pretty he is, I don't like his eyes. I want this over and done with already, and I haven't even started the play yet.
"Small tits," he mutters, staring down at my tight tank top. My stomach clenches. "Should be cheaper."
"My momma always said you only needed a handful," I snap, stepping back onto the curb. Sometimes the money just ain't worth it. Johnny can beat me till I'm black and blue, but this guy isn't going to touch me tonight.
"Your 'momma' probably had small breasts too." The stranger smirks, eyes traveling back over me again. I don't think, just react, flicking my burning cigarette into his car, forgetting for a moment that I'm not supposed to defend myself unless I'm dying. Only Johnny has the pleasure of killing his girls. The butt lands in his lap and he lets out a howl, jumping around like a hyena and grabbing at his crotch.
A slow burn works inside my throat. Fear. Self-disgust. It's all familiar emotion. In my head, a mantra plays: "Oh, shit. Stupid, Fred, just stupid."
// "Promise me you'll be careful," Kate demanded, as she stared hard at Winifred, who mockingly drew a cross over her heart. "Hookers get killed every day and I don't want to see you lying in the chalk. I like you, Fred. You've got brains. I have no idea how you ended up here in the first place." //
Brains don't matter when someone drugs you and drops you off on a pimp's doorstep like you're just a piece of unwanted garbage. I watch, insides shaking, as the young man in the car grasps the burning cigarette and throws it out the window. It bounces across the street, glowing orange for a brief moment before the still wet pavement deadens its fire. He turns angry eyes up at me, glaring like I've just done something very, very wrong.
"Fucking bitch," he hisses. "No good slut. You think you can do that to me? You ain't worth shit."
// "I'm only trying to help you," Professor Sidel murmured in a silky voice. He rubbed a hand up and down her thigh as Winifred's head lolled to the side, the drugs clouding her system. "You and your crazy ideas about physics were going to get you killed. My friend Johnny will take *good* care of you, so stop being so ungrateful." //
Johnny's taken GREAT care of me, I think bitterly, as the look on this stranger's face makes me turn and start running. My heels make it difficult. Cheap and breakable, I have to be extra careful that they don't catch me up and leave me lying face first on the sidewalk. Hear the click of his door opening and run harder, feet aching from a long night of waiting to be picked up.
I'm not stupid. Hookers get killed for less than burning someone's crotch and I'm not about to be the next in line. Breath thrashes through my lungs, out of my throat, and his feet sound loudly hitting the cement behind me. This isn't happening. I'll kill him before I let him lay a hand on me. The knife feels heavy in my purse as it slaps against my side. Just as I'm about to reach my hand inside the bag, the glint of moonlight off a familiar vehicle catches my eye and I nearly believe in God again.
I let out a huge sigh of relief, slowing to a steady walk, as the man behind me curses and pivots in the other direction. The vehicle is slowing. I never thought I'd be happy to see *her* eyes peering seriously at me through the windshield.
Panic abating, even though my heart still pumps blood furiously in my chest, I give her a half wave. I picture a band marching behind my ribs, the drum vibrating up my spinal cord. No wonder I have the shakes like a heroin addict. I nearly smile at Kate as she draws near, but it turns into a terrible grimace that sticks on my face at the last moment. I admit I've forgotten how to REALLY smile. I can only fake it now. I've been faking my way through life for a while.
The squealing of tires itches in my ears, but I won't give that bastard the satisfaction of turning around to see him leave. I know he's gone. Fear isn't tickling the back of my throat like a feather intent on murder. Now I only have to deal with Wonder Woman. I wrinkle my nose and watch Kate pull her car over to the side road just a few feet away. Time to gather my bravado. Swinging my hips with an attempt at careless gaiety, I walk to the edge of the curb, standing near the passenger's side of her vehicle.
Kate opens her door and gets out unhurriedly, eyeing me like she's afraid I'm gonna fly away. I'm not Batman, I think of saying, but keep my mouth closed as she shuts the door behind her. I cock my head to the side and wish I had a cigarette left. I smoked the last one a minute ago, wasted it on that asshole who probably would have killed me. I'm already chewing my bottom lip to shreds and that kills the image. I'd rather Kate not know anymore about me than she probably already does.
"You've got a problem?" I bite out, crossing my arms over my chest. Give her one good derisive look. Kate returns my stare, but wearily, like she's been tired for a long time. Well that's cops for ya. Always obsessed.
"Get in," she orders sharply, putting her hands on the roof of her car. Her jaw tightens like a string has been pulled, when I merely raise a casual eyebrow and let out a harsh laugh. "Right now. I mean it Fred, don't make me arrest you."
My laughter cuts off abruptly on an inhalation of dirty air. I nearly choke as I struggle not to show my shock. I knew this moment would come. Cops are all the same. They try to care but they just can't deal with it in the end. I don't blame them, just like I didn't blame the woman who couldn't look at me, but I don't have to like it. The system is the system, whether it's Kate or Old Finney dragging me into the precinct, wearing handcuffs.
I wish I was still laughing, but it just ain't in me. I feel more like crying and I'm not sure why. I lost the ability to shed tears a long time ago.
// "Don't you get it, Kate?" Winifred hissed at Kate, who was leaning her head out the window, driving slowly, following the hooker down the street. Fred stopped walking, slicking her finger over the tops of her nearly revealed breasts. "This is what I have. This is *all* I have anymore. You do it once, you do it a million times, it don't matter. There ain't any going back. You're a hooker and that makes you different." //
"So that's how it is." I bite out, nodding shortly and dropping my arms to my sides. I don't care, I tell myself as I toy with the broken nail on my right hand, where I've chewed it off. Another nervous habit that I just can't seem to shake. I'm gonna have to stop doing that. Johnny keeps telling me that I just DON'T. LEARN. So he says. And Johnny is always in the right. So he says.
"That's how it is," Kate states harshly, brushing at a lock of hair that keeps falling down from her tight ponytail. So strict, I think, so self-controlled. What's she got in her that I don't? Kate leans against the car, glaring over the top. Something in her eyes that I hate. Pity. Sympathy. Keep it, because I don't want it. I turn my gaze away from the intensity, glancing up at the moon for intervention. It just leaves me hanging like always. "Get. In. Now."
It's always been hard to keep my eyes off Kate's honest ones. I'm drawn back to her clean face and sober expression. Kate. Even her name is crisp and fresh. Something I'm not and never will be again.
God, once the only thing I did wrong was smoke marijuana. Look at how things change when fate intervenes. Maybe I was meant to live in this hell. And it IS Hell. I can't kid myself there. Maybe in every life I live in Hell. No way out.
"What do you want from me?" I beg at last, surprised and angry when my voice cracks. The attitude falls to dust at my feet. "I know my law. Hooking is a victimless crime. You just leave me alone and I'll be fine."
Being dead ain't so bad compared to the constant fear I live in. Maybe I shouldn't have fought that asshole so hard. A little bit of freedom never hurt anybody. I doubt Kate would miss me when I'm gone, and I've been gone much too long from my parents for it to make a difference in their lives.
The only thing that keeps me from slitting my wrists is the fact that my parents might one day find out what I've been doing. I want to be there to keep it from happening. That fear is a constant ghost riding my back. Sweat runs in sickly rivulets down the back of my neck. It's cold out, but fright doesn't play by the rules of the elements.
"You'll be dead is what you'll be," Kate yells, ire rising, tossing her arms up into the air. "Jesus, Fred, you were almost just KILLED. I saw that guy start chasing you. You think he wanted to give you a kiss? No, sweetheart, that isn't how it'd happen. He'd rape you and then he'd kill you. Hookers are dying a lot around here lately. And I'm not willing to see it happen to you."
"What? Am I your pet project now?" I toss my hair back, smiling like the sharp side of a blade. Hoping it cuts deep. Pretty girls don't belong out here at this time of night and I wish she'd just go home and leave me to my life. "I ain't worth helping any more than you could help me if you tried. Zero both times."
Kate's lips firm into a flat line. I'd admire her if she didn't piss me off so bad with that do-good attitude and the look that says: 'Give me your hand, I'll help you up.' "Maybe you *are* my pet project. I just know that when I got a hold of the flyer that said you were missing, and remembered seeing you out here, it made me sick. I haven't been able to think straight since." She pauses on a frustrated breath, shaking her head. "Get the fuck in the car!"
My heart jerks and I flinch nervously at the angry command, taking a few stumbling steps back. Kate's eyes light with warning, but I'm already bolting down the sidewalk. Again. This night just won't end!
I'm going to jail! My breath picks up again, cracking my dry throat. Nerves twine their insipid fingers inside my belly. My parents might find out where I am if I'm arrested again. It's always a possibility. I'll be on record this time instead of getting a night behind bars and a slap on the wrist. God, they'd KNOW!
The windows of rank bars toss my reflection at me, lit red by the glow of motel signs. I'm running like I did from the man with frosted hair. For my life and freedom to keep on living although I'd almost rather die. I nearly fall as the spike of my left heel snaps in two.
A livid growl bursts in my ear as I start to go down and strong arms wrap around my waist, dragging me upright and to a full stop. My organs thrash and I'm surprised my heart doesn't stop at the shock of such an abrupt stillness.
Breasts press into my back and hot breath flushes the skin of my sweaty neck. No, I think, please don't. Kate starts dragging me backwards and I lose my broken high heel on the sidewalk. I stare at it dumbly, while she pulls me, a dead weight, towards her care. Snapping out of my daze, I toss my elbows toward Kate's ribs and begin yelling like I'm being murdered.
Not that anyone cares about a hooker. Not that anyone would come to my rescue, especially at this time of night, especially in THIS neighborhood. I catch my reflection again, this time with Kate's right behind me, her hair slowly but surely falling out of the band that holds it up. Streetlights burn over us, solid yellow that has always made me feel like I'm a black and white type of girl who was stained before she could help it.
"Shut. Up. Fred. Shut up! I'm trying to *help* you."
I wonder why she tries to silence me. It's not like there are people peeking through their curtains to see what's happening. The main rule is to keep your eyes ahead and your mouth shut, if you don't want your gums to start bleeding.
// Screaming. God, she couldn't do it. His hand clamped over her mouth, as the drugs seeped into her blood stream and she melted onto the carpet. His knee caught her, digging into her back. Oh God, oh God, what was he going to *do* with her? //
I had promise, I think. A yellow shell now.
"Fuck you!" I scream for all I'm worth. Profanity rolls so easy and so right off my tongue. "You stupid - worthless - cop! I hate you!"
And I really do right now. Struggling like a cat with a singed tail, I want to murder her. What does she know about my life? She's only taking in the sideshow like everybody else.
Her arms clench tighter around me and I suddenly can't scream anymore. Can't breathe. I'm being held too tight, but that is probably the point. Kate doesn't want me to make noise anymore, so she made it happen in the only way she could. Pain is a quick silencer. One arm releases me so she can open the door, but I'm still not strong enough to fight her.
My eyes burn with tears of frustration as I'm pulled back to Kate's car and tossed ungainly into the passenger seat. A sob bursts from my throat and I'm about to jump right back out, when I'm startled by cold metal closing around my right wrist. Looking down, I find myself handcuffed to the door.
// "I like it rough," the man who called himself Daddy said as he rode her. Thighs ached, heart ached, and Winifred tried not to think. Her wrists were held down to the bed, hands clenching and unclenching around them. She felt sick like dead fish and his breath smelled like old pussy. "Slut, you like that?"
Didn't. Didn't.
"Yes, Daddy," Fred replied meekly. Playing the game. She thought about dying. About the slow, sweet way she'd bleed out. //
Kate's palm rests warmly on my arm; I stare at it until it vanishes and the door is slammed shut. My jaw clamps down on the sounds I want to make. Scream. Cry. Johnny is gonna kill me. There isn't a doubt in my mind that if he hears I've been arrested again, he'll tear me apart. That's what he did when another hooker got arrested. I watched him choke her in cold blood while fucking her body into the big, feather-filled mattress. Couldn't do a thing but shake in the corner and think about writing it down in my notebooks. Sick sounds from the throat as she died. Haunting. Closing my eyes against the memory, I swallow down a dinner that doesn't exist. If I throw up, it'd only be water and that was the worst.
I'm nothing, inside *and* out.
Cold burns my left side. Kate slides into her seat, shutting the door behind her; the air is sliced off, leaving goose pimples rising in its wake. I open my eyes again and stare through the windshield at a man as he crosses the street. He's wearing a long overcoat, like he's got something to hide and he keeps his head down. Looking for me? Probably. He seems vaguely familiar, but I'm not too keen on faces. I'd rather forget most of the things I see.
Kate starts the engine and lets the vehicle idle, with her fingers clutching the dangling keys. An air-freshener hangs from her rear-view mirror. Something sweet smelling wafts from it, like vanilla. I love vanilla, but never allow myself to wear it anymore. Too much hope in having something I want.
"I'm not taking you in," Kate murmurs softly. Her eyes slide toward me in the dim lighting. They cut through the air like blue-tinted swords. My stomach starts to tremble like the aftershocks of an earthquake. Why's her voice so damn soft and empathetic?
I wish I still hated her. I wish I still wanted to murder her, but the urge has already vanished. I've never worn bloodlust well.
"Could've fooled me," I reply just as quietly. Just a shimmering of a sigh is Kate's response to my hurt words. I flinch when fingers touch my bare shoulder, jerking away and placing my back to the door, eyes on Kate. The handcuffs jerk my arm to an odd angle but I stifle the urge to cry out, letting the pain pulse through me and then fade away. Kate scoots away slightly in her seat, holding her palms up in a gesture of peace. Or surrender.
"I'm going to take you to stay with me for a few days. Keep you safe." Kate's eyes dance over my face and I wonder if I'm crying. I wouldn't know it if I was. "Don't you want to be safe?"
Safe. What did that word mean again? I think of Johnny. I think of all the men and women that climb in and out of my bought bed and who wouldn't care if I was dead.
"You can't keep me safe," I say, grinding my teeth together. When is she gonna get it? Winifred Burkle no longer exists as she once did. Now I'm just Winifred the whore. Winifred one-nighter. Winifred charges-by-the-hour. "No one can."
"I know what's happened to you," Kate whispers, turning to coat the steering wheel with her forearms. Her hair falls forward over her face, shielding her eyes from me. "Ever since I saw you last month, I've been doing some hard research, and I think I've got solid evidence on Johnathan Marx. You can help me bring him down."
"It goes higher than Johnny," I snort out in disbelief. Tap my long fingernails on my bare thighs and then tug the skirt down across them, trying to keep my crotch out of view. It's easy to feel like filth in Kate's nice car. While I'm wearing a plastic skirt, Kate has on blue jeans and a green sweater. Pretty. Groomed. Clean.
// "You like that, slut? Slut, you like that?" //
"I know. He's tied to a large organization that's benefiting from taking girls out of college and sticking them on the streets." Kate turns to me, pleading with her eyes, and I'm flustered. Kate's eyes are like a kick in the gut, winding me. Always so much in them. Like she really cares. Damn it. If I keep on thinking about this, I'm gonna go through with it. I can only shake my head, and her cheeks redden with burgeoning fury. "Do you want to be doing this? Is that why you won't help me or *yourself*?"
"You think I want to be fucking for money?" I shake my head again. Unbelievable. "I used to BE something. But my mentor decided I was getting in the way and forced me to do this. There ain't no way out but getting dead. Is that what YOU want to happen to me? Stop PUSHING."
Of course, getting dead looks a little better every day.
"If you stay with me while I open an official investigation on him, I promise you I can keep you safe. I won't tell anyone where you are. No one will KNOW." Kate takes a deep breath, like it matters, and reaches over to hold my cold hands. I'm thinking again, looking at a distant spot in my future that seems as dark and bloody as ever. My life is lived in shades of red. "Fred."
// "What's your name, girl?" Johnny asked, while cupping her small breasts. Winifred spit on him. His fist slammed down over her cheek and she fell to the floor, vision going black. Above her, she heard the professor talking quietly. Winifred, he was saying, Winifred Burkle. "What?" Johnny laughed. "Like James Bond or something?" //
"Fred, look at me." When I comply, Kate's face is as earnest as ever. I wonder how she keeps it that way. If it's a mask she wears to bed at night and practices in the mirror. "I swear to you that nothing will happen to you. I can make this nightmare go away. You just have to trust me."
"Trust." My mouth turns down bitterly. "Hmph. Trust ain't in my vocabulary anymore." But I'm looking hard into Kate's eyes. Into SOMETHING that's sitting there like a waiting duck for me to find. I think for a long moment, feeling my heart thud violently, as I get closer and closer�
A streetlight dies, and I know.
I want out. I want this life to end one way or another. And if I'm prepared to die to make that so, why can't I LIVE and make it happen?
"You don't tell my parents I'm alive and I'll help you." Breath suspended, I urge these words out of my mouth.
Kate's eyes flicker briefly, from side to side like she isn't sure she should agree. "Deal," she replies finally, and my chest nearly cracks open from my rush of breath. Then she turns her gaze to the street and wraps her fingers around the steering wheel. "You won't regret this Fred. I promise you I'll make everything okay again."
I can't help wondering why Kate bothers to care about people like me. One dead hooker doesn't matter much in the scheme of things. Keeping quiet, I nod and squeeze my palms together in my lap, tasting the name 'ex-hooker' on my tongue.
It's lemon-sweet. Lemon-sour.
// "You ain't going anywhere," Johnny hissed, as he grabbed onto her hair. Fingers dug into her scalp. "You're just a slut with virgin thighs. I know how to change that." His zipper hissed like a snake as it was undone. Hiss. Hiss. Her tongue was copper in her mouth and blood ran down the back of her throat. //
Wrong Johnny. I'm getting gone. I've got a cop stupid enough to care and smart enough to kick your ass, so I'm taking the way out.
"You like music?" Kate asks, turning on the radio. Music snaps out and I notice her fingernails aren't painted. Mine are blood red and vulgar. I can't wait to get the nail polish off of me and have my nails plain again.
"I like music," I reply, watching her pretty face and wondering about things too quiet to speak, as she navigates the slick city streets. "I like music just fine."
The End