The Schwarzschild Radius (17 page)

ne experience had taught Rachel that she could become inured to almost anything: witnessing a human dissection at Albert Einstein College of Medicine where she had done a summer internship in her freshman year. It was the body of a homeless man. That smell―a mixture of formaldehyde and rotting flesh. If abandonment had a smell, that was it. Half the interns had to excuse themselves to vomit, even the boys. Rachel decided that she was going to stay no matter how her mind and body rebelled against her will. Her blood pressure tumbled at the sight of the thorax being split open by a saw; her back pressed against the wall for support as the chest cavity was exposed by the retractor. The next day, she reviewed the notes she had taken. They were fragmented and undisciplined. One day she would go through that again and take notes that were calm, coherent, and rigorous. That’s what she had to be now, even if it was she who was being dissected.

She sat in her booth for a moment before going out into the loud music again.

It was the third day of her new profession and sadness competed with anger. Anger at having failed, at having to leave this place empty-handed after all the sacrifices she’d made. What was there to lose now? She wanted to feel disgust, shame, embarrassment, revulsion. These were the vital signs of decency. Anything less was to embrace this. One more day.

During her dinner break, she went to the ladies’ room.

“That your money layin’ there?” asked a voice. Rachel didn’t know there was any one else in the bathroom. The stranger jerked her chin toward a wad of crushed bills sitting on the sink. “Well, you better stick that in your shoe or some other crevice. You a cherry, ain’t you?”

“If that means am I new, then yeah, I’m a cherry.”

“Tishy.”

“Lisa.”

“You look like you in trauma, Lisa. Nothing you don’t do for free at home. Half the time, they as nude-ass as you.”

“So I’ve seen. How long have you worked here?”

“Six weeks. Up from Atlanta. You?”

“New York.”

“Not too friendly here. Not much esprit de corps, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“How about a friendly bite to eat?” asked Rachel.

“Sure. Lot of the girls just call it in, but I like to get out. Cross the street, a Tex-Mex place, or passes for one. ‘Cept you can’t tell what’s in these urban fajitas. Italiano at the other corner. Some New-Age, holistic, spirit-of-the-Andes burger place over yonder.”

“That’s sounds about right.” They stepped into the street. “I never thought I’d call this fresh air, but that’s what I think now,” said Rachel.

“I see ya’ll want to put some distance between you and your job, but slow down and smell the roses,” said Tishy.

Rachel perused the menu at Quantum Leap. The BLT with soy bacon sounded interesting.

“Next time we’ll go Italiano,” said Tishy, still looking at the menu. “This is some rarefied shit to me.”

“You live far from here?” asked Rachel.

“Two blocks thataway.”

“Well, the commute’s good.”

“It would be if this was a job. The shit you see, you don’t get on any other job. Like the guy―I call him Trenches―he comes in my booth twice a week and cuts farts that violate the Geneva Conventions―it comes through the tip slot and I’m overcome. The only redemption is that he gives me fifty bucks for my troubles―I’ll have the soy burger with lots of onions.”

“Ever meet anyone dangerous?”

“They’re out there, but they don’t act that way in the place. They wouldn’t last a minute. Isaac, the black bouncer? He’s real irritable, especially when he’s hungry. I heard once he crushed a man’s balls for giving him confusing directions to a pizzeria.”

“Perlman is creepy,” said Rachel.

“They say he was in Israeli intelligence,” said Tishy. “Was one of the guys who went around the world killing the Arabs who killed the Jews in the Olympics back in seventy-two. Sword of Gideon or some shit.”

“Nice guy. Fits him to a T.”

“Yeah, I heard he did some heavy shit. One mean motherfucker.”

“He ever hurt any of the girls?”

“He don’t do shit himself. He retired from the heavy lifting if you know what I mean. Just follow the rules and you be fine. Rule One: never date a customer. Never even give them your real name.”

“I’m already on to that. I’m really Rachel, by the way.”

“Savannah.”

When they returned to the Pleasure Palace, a girl called from across the room. “Tish, have you seen Julia? I have a client lined up and promised him two girls. Dayna just had her period, so I need a sub.”

“She’s out today. Family issues.”

Rachel glanced in the direction of the voice. It was Sonia.

onia was already approaching two other girls and Rachel had to make a decision fast. Where would the show be? What would it involve? When would they return? By the time Rachel walked over to the girl, she had decided.

“Hi, I’m Rachel, you mentioned there’s a job.”

“You new?”

“I started this week.”

“Ever do a private show?”

“No, but I could use the cash. But just dancing, right?”

“That’s it. “

“‘Cause I don’t do anything else.”

“It’s two bills for two hours. Eleven tonight.”

“I’m available if it’s not too far.”

“Brooklyn.”

“That’s okay. I could really use the money.”

“Okay, but don’t get shy on me. You gotta get balls-ass naked.” She got on her cell phone.

“Jack, this is Sonia. We still on? Dayna can’t make it, but I’ve got someone else. No, just dancing. Don’t worry about it. Okay. See you later.”

“We go after my shift ends. You got any Victoria’s Secret?” said Sonia.

“Ah, not with me,” said Rachel.

“Get some. He likes that and he tips good.”

At break time, Rachel tallied up her earnings. Three-hundred-ten dollars cash. No wonder girls did this.

A couple of blocks away, she bought a Sexy Little Things black lace thong and Sexy Satin Kitten thigh high stockings with a push up Miracle Bra. Sixty-seven dollars. These were somberly paid for at the register, trying to feign a smile at the overly friendly sales lady. And then the lady said precisely what Rachel was dreading she’d say.

“Oh, he’s going to love you in these.”

At nine, they took the L to Brooklyn.

Sonia quickly braided her hair in pigtails and brushed her bangs out. She had washed off the heavy makeup at the Pleasure Palace and now looked a lot younger.

“You look good with the straight hair,” observed Rachel.

“Our client is partial to the wholesome little girl look.”

“What do I need to know about this client―besides his taste in lingerie?” asked Rachel.

“He’s loaded.”

“What does he do?”

“He does real estate now, but he made his money stealing from ATM machines a few years back. Was making like forty grand a day before he got caught. He did some jail time, but he never gave back the money.”

“How old is he?”

“Forties, I guess.”

“Anyone else going to be there? This isn’t like a bachelor party is it?”

“Just him. I don’t do bachelor parties. Just clients I know or come highly recommended.”

“So is he a highly recommended or do you know him?”

“Recommended a few months ago. What are you worried about?”

“I’m nervous.”

“Just do your job, you’ll be fine. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“You’re fourteen.”

“Huh?”

Sonia put Rachel’s hair in pigtails and held them with scrunchies. She brushed out the bangs and fluffed out each tail. “Perfect. Fourteen.”

“And what’s with fourteen?”

“Our client’s a pedophile. They all are.”