Tricks (27 page)

Bryn didn't join in the dragon chase.

449

A Week After

My first sweet-bitter taste of smack,

Bryn has talked me into indulging

again four or five times. I don't

want to get hooked, and I'm sure

*

I won't, as long as all I do is smoke a little every now and again. I have to admit I like the way it makes me

feel--like I'm on top of the world.

*

Bryn never indulges.
I can't

get it up if I do, and I want this to be all about you.
So why does he keep asking me to do things

*

that seem mostly all about him?

Things like performing dirty

acts on pay-per-view webcam?

It won't be forever, I promise.

*

Just long enough to save up some serious bank. I've got my

eye on a really nice place. It's

pricey, but you're so worth it.

*

When I'm high, I don't mind.

But when I touch back down,

I start to worry. Is this the same

Bryn who valued my almost-virginity?

450

I Also Worry

About him spending more and more time away from me.

Talking more and more about

"the girls," and I'm starting to

*

wonder if the girls he's talking about are really pageant hopefuls.

If he's getting paid to photograph

models, he's not getting paid well.

*

Our money seems to come in spurts, and some of that seems to be from the webcam spurting going on.

He doesn't want me to work, though,

*

except for private webcam spurting.

Some guys like to watch girls

getting off all by themselves.

Make it look good for the camera.

*

I was never into touching myself, but it isn't so bad, especially when

I'm high. Besides the occasional

H, Bryn supplies me with bud--

451

mediocre seeded Mexican-- and prescription downers. Not sure

where he gets them, and I really

don't care. As long as I'm buzzed,

*

the things he asks of me are easy to do, and hey, anything's better than wasting away in Santa Cruz.

God, if I were there, I'd be starting

*

my junior year of high school.

High school is so not me anymore.

Wonder what Paige is doing.

Wonder if she hooked up

*

with that guy after that night at

Lucas's party. Shit! Why did I have to think about him? Wonder if he likes it in San Diego. Wonder... stop

*

it. Fuck. Where the hell's my stash?

I locate it under the coffee table. Two

tokes of half-ass pot, a bigger question

hovers: Where the hell is Whitney?

452

It's Almost Midnight

When Bryn comes in. He's not

alone. The guy he's with is Latino,

I think. Olive-skinned. Dark-haired.

Okay-looking. Dressed well.

*

Bryn comes over, kisses me.

Hey, babe. This is my buddy,

Oscar.
He nods toward the stash

box, sitting on the coffee table.

*

Oscar's been very good to us, if you get my meaning. Now

I want you to return the favor and be very, very nice to Oscar.

*

Very nice? Does he mean what

I think he means? Play hostess.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Oscar.

Can I get you something to drink?"

*

Maybe after.
Oscar comes over, touches my face.
You're right,

Bryn. She's very pretty. Tight

little body, too. Yes, she'll do.

453

His hands slide over my front, reach up under my blouse.

The skin of his fingers, seeking

my nipples, is calloused. Cold.

*

"No, wait. I can't. You're not

serious... Bryn?" He can't want

me to do this! I jerk away from

Oscar, turn to Bryn. Search his eyes.

*

They are deadly serious, and so is Bryn when he says,
Yes, you

can. And if you love me, you will.

You
do
love me, don't you?

*

"Of course I love you! But this

isn't..." Isn't right, is what I want to say. But what
is
right, anymore?

Is this really what loving him means?

*

Bryn's hands press down on my shoulders.
Do this for me,

Whitney. Do this for us.
He kisses

me. But it is the kiss of a stranger.

454

I Beg for a Buzz First

Pot won't do. It has to be

smack, and three long pulls of the acrid smoke barely take

me to the place I need to be.

*

Oscar watches. Waits impatiently for the H to kick in.
You should

use a needle. Smoking the Lady is a waste of good dope.

*

Fear-queasy, I stumble down the hall, into the bedroom.

Oscar follows, shedding clothes.

His body is lean, muscular.

*

Another time, another place,

I might find him attractive, but attraction is about choice.

I have no choice here but to

*

take off my own clothes, lie on the bed, wait for him to come, and do whatever it is he has paid to do. I hate you, Bryn. I hate you.

455

Within Seconds

I hate Oscar, too. He breathes

beer, sweats onion, and there is no

love, no kindness, nothing but greed to his sex. He grabs my wrists,

*

holds them over my head so I can't

move when he bites my neck, and lower. I'll wear his teeth marks for days. "Stop. You're hurting me."

*

You think that hurts? You ain't

seen nothing yet.
His teeth close

even harder and his hand squeezes

my arms like a vise and now

*

his knees force my legs apart and there is no pleasure to what he does down there. Only pain.

Bruising pain. I give myself to

*

the morphine shroud, denying the pounding between my thighs.

Something makes me look toward the door. Bryn stands there, staring.

456

A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Staring

Into the midnight sky, starlight defeated by the scream of neon, truth is hard to discern.

Does it sparkle?

Does it burn? If a weightless moment

transcends the gravity of time, what proof is there of its existence?

Does it infuse

every

tick of the clock, each blink of an eye?

Which is harder to bear--reality, or a lie?

457

Ginger Our Own Place

Wasn't easy to come by. Most

landlords prefer their tenants to be over eighteen. We finally

*

found a weekly where the lady in the office didn't look too hard at our application. The four weeks

*

up front probably helped with that.

The room at Lydia's was nicer.

But the drive into the city got old.

*

At least, that's what we told Lydia

when we said we were moving out.

In reality, living with her was getting

*

old. She could be a real bitch, and she was pushing us to do

stuff besides strip.
You could make

*

a lot more if you'd treat a few
of your clients to a little touchy-feely.

Not all of them, of course.

*

Just think about it. Getting

paid for something most

people give away? No-brainer.

458

She Pushed Hard Enough

That Alex has actually considered

doing it.
It's not such a big deal, as long as they use condoms.

*

The thing is, Lydia wouldn't have
to know. I could do it on the side, and not give her a cut We could

*

save up enough money to blow

this city. Go somewhere pretty, like Portland or San Francisco.

*

When she talks like that, it makes

me think about Iris. How turning

tricks has used her up. How she

*

tried to let it use
me
up. Why

couldn't I have a real mother?

Why did she have kids at all?

*

Iris used to talk about moving

somewhere else--somewhere

exciting, like New York City.

*

Oh yeah, I can just picture

Iris in Manhattan. Cruising

Central Park. Hustling johns.

459

When I Think About Iris

I can't help but think about

Gram. She must be worried about me. I should probably

*

try to send word that I'm okay.

Alive, anyway, "okay" being a relative term. But how can

*

I let her know without giving

away where I am? Letters have

postmarks and phones can be

*

traced. I just hope she's taking

care of the kids. Keeping them

safe from Iris. Most of 'em are

*

back in school. Except Sandy.

He's still too little. Hope he's all

healed up, chasing balls

*

around again. Just not in the street. Oh God, why did

I have to think about them?

*

A Mack truck of guilt crashes into me. How can I be homesick, when I don't have a home?

460

I Start to Pace

North and south, across the grease-stained beige

carpet. Guess the last tenant

*

kept his moped in the living

room. The carpet was steam-cleaned

when he moved, but some

*

black marks can't be excised.

Alex went to the store about an hour ago. I would have

*

gone along, but my period

this month is major. I'm close to bleeding out, I think, and

*

I've downed enough ibuprofen to kill a horse. But I've still

got cramps. Maybe that bastard

*

who raped me made me pregnant and God was gracious enough to let me miscarry. Whatever

*

the problem is, it has definitely

put the brakes on shedding

my clothes for strangers.

461

Which Means a Couple of Things

One, Alex is the only one

working, so our income is cut in half right now. Plus,

*

she's going out by herself, which scares the crap out of me. I know she can take

*

care of herself and all, but still... Ah, can't think about the downside of that.

*

If anything bad ever happened to Alex, I'd go crazy. Except

Gram, Alex is the only good

*

thing I've ever had in my life.

She lifts me, like a double shot of espresso. I wish she were here

*

right now, to lift me out of this

black pit of boredom. My indoor

hike carries me past the bathroom,

*

where the laundry basket

overflows dirty clothes. Might as well wash them as keep

462

walking by 'em, I guess.

I gather them up, grab some

detergent, and shovel quarters

*

into my pockets. The laundry

room is downstairs and in the other building somewhere.

*

This will be my first trip there.

Jeez, man. For almost October, it's still hotter than hell. Maybe

*

ninety in the shade. By the time

I locate the short bank of washers,

I am dripping sweat. Lovely!

*

Hopefully, the person pulling her own clothes from the dryer

won't get close enough to smell me.

463

Her Back Is Toward Me

And just in case my ripeness

doesn't precede me, I say,

"Hello," so she knows I'm here.

*

She jumps about three feet.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you." When she

*

turns, I can see she's a little

younger than me. Wow, her posture made me think

*

something different.
It's okay,
she says.
Guess I was off in

Never-Never Land. Don't use

*

that washer...
She points.

Someone's pen exploded in it. There's ink all over.

*

"Thanks." As I put my dirties into the other two washers, she starts to fold her clothes.

*

I can't help but stare. The girl

would be beautiful, except for the dark circles under her eyes.

464

She reminds me of those

models--what do they call

them? Oh, yeah. Heroin chic.

*

I know squat about heroin, but my guess is she's using

something. Or it's using her.

*

Eventually she notices me

observing her and jumps on defense.
Something wrong?

*

"Oh, no. Sorry. You just, uh...

remind me of my sister. I haven't

seen her in a long time."

*

Not totally true (Mary Ann

resembles her only slightly), but it works. The girl exhales

*

(was she holding her breath?), and her shoulders relax.
Oh. Okay.

I haven't seen my sister in a while