Authors: Ellen Hopkins

Tags: #General, #Adolescence, #Family, #Social Science, #Human Sexuality, #Novels in verse, #Family problems, #Emotional Problems, #Psychology, #Social Issues, #Prostitution, #Fiction, #Juvenile Fiction, #Women's Studies, #Families, #Emotional Problems of Teenagers, #Dating & Sex, #juvenile

Tricks (28 page)

either. Not that she cares,

I'm sure. Well, I'd better go.

See you.
Poof. She's gone.

465

The Clothes Are Still Spinning

So I take a minute to duck

out the door, watch where the girl goes. Not sure why.

Her room is kitty-corner from ours, across the parking lot and on the ground floor. Wonder

who she lives with. Guy?

Girl? Relative? She can't be

out on her own, can she?

What is up with me? Why do

I care who she lives with?

Shit, I really am bored, aren't I?

Bored and bleeding. Sounds like the name of a book:

Bored and Bleeding in Vegas.

Okay, Alex, you'd better get

home soon, or I'll turn into a bored, bleeding, babbling loon.

466

Early Evening

And Alex still isn't back yet.

Where the hell is she? I call her cell, but the canned voice

that answers informs me that

she's unavailable, meaning

she's out of prepaid minutes.

Guess I'll have to be patient.

I fold the clothes, put them

away. Treat myself to a Lean

Pocket. Turn on the aged TV.

Half listen to
Jeopardy!
while

I go to the window, hoping

to catch a glimpse of Alex, coming up the sidewalk.

I don't see her, but I do see

heroin chic going into her room, about six paces in front of a guy.

He's older. Balding. Her father?

My guess is no way, or if he does happen to be her father, it's a definite case of incest.

467

Is Every Girl

In this nasty, stinking city

turning tricks? Young, old, at least as old as you

can get without dying of some incurable sex

disease? I swear, I will never

do that, never sink as low as my mother. My pretty

heroin chic neighbor.

My beautiful best friend, who I love so much it hurts.

And I swear, as soon as

I can, I will find a way out of this place. Will Alex come?

Or have I lost her to the night?

468

She Stumbles In

Around nine. Worry turns to relief. Then I take another

look at her--hair mussed,

makeup smeared, clothes

wrinkled and buttons undone.

Relief explodes into anger.

"Where the fuck have you

been?" I sound like a crow.

"You scared me shitless."

Alex remains placid.
Been

taking care of business is all. Someone's got to.

It's more than a little bit

obvious that the day's

"business" included more

than stripping. The smell of sweat and sex hangs in the air, a storm cloud.

"Alex, what have you done?

You're not turning tricks like some hooker, are you?"

469

A strong memory of Iris

stumbling in after dark, perfumed in sex, surfaces,

swims into blurry view.

Goddamn it, no! "Please,

Alex, tell me you didn't."

But she doesn't deny. Won't

say I'm wrong.
It's okay,

Gin.... It's not so bad, really.

I mean, the sex isn't good,
but it's fast, and all things

considered, the pay scale

isn't bad. Fifty bucks for
under ten minutes' work?

Three hundred an hour!

Shit, girl, that's attorney

wages, and you don't have to go to school--

"Stop it! We don't need money

that bad. I'll get off the rag and we'll go back to stripping.

470

"Lydia can have her cut. We were doing okay like that, weren't we?" We were, damn it!

Finally Alex deflates just a little.
Sit down. Please?

There's stuff you don't know.

Like how she knew all about

Lydia's escort service before we ever got here. Like how Lydia

never invited her to "come stay

any time." Like how when we

talked about running away, Alex

called Lydia and set the whole

thing up. Like how Lydia

promised to keep her mouth

shut, as long as Alex went to work for her. Like how

Alex's not-stepdad
did
call,

looking for her. But Lydia

denied knowing a thing.

So Alex owes her, big-time.

471

Alex Goes to Shower

But not before promising

again,
It will just be for a little while--just until

we can save up enough
to blow this freaking city.

I love you, Gin. Stay cool.

I love her, too. And I can't

stand the idea of her being with a bunch of stinking, nasty

men. If I could bring myself to do it too, we could save up even faster. But I don't think

I could. I'd be no better than

Iris. Would I? Did she ever

think,
Just for a little while?

The room still wears evidence of Alex's recent encounters.

I go to open the window. Notice

Ms. Heroin going through her door again. Followed by another guy. Not her father, either.

472

A Poem by Cody Bennett
Door

I once heard an old

saying about things

going all to hell.

It went, "When a door

closes, somewhere a window opens."

If so, when a train

slams into a Volkswagen, does a BMW materialize down the tracks? If you

remember your undies in your

dreams, do you wake up naked? Okay, maybe the logic fails.

But hey, let's

face

it. Logic doesn't really

apply to old sayings, either. Does it?

473

Cody Logic?

What's that? If it ever applied to my life, my choices, those years

(days?) have vanished from memory.

I am spinning. Spiraling. Clinging to the eye of the tornado. If I give up, give in to the mad desire to just

let go, I know I'll die. But death, close by, might be preferable to this dizzying ride. How did I get

here? How did things go so wrong, so fast? Left? Right? Whichever way

I choose, one thing is very clear--

I can never turn around, never

go back. Twisters only move in one

direction--full speed ahead.

Like Dorothy Gale, I ran from safe

haven, searching, despite the storm

gathering strength behind me.

474

The Chiefs Kick Off

In about an hour. Still time to place a small bet. I log on, check out the point

spread. Awesome! So, okay, maybe a little larger bet. I can pay Lydia back

later. Fuckers better step up to the line of scrimmage and play tricking ball!

Guess I'll call Ronnie, if only to hear her voice. My cell phone blinks--

did she call me? But when I retrieve the message, it's Misty, grating my ear.

Hey, cutie. How about a double

date? And can you bring smoke?

Misty is the skank who hooked

me up with Lydia. Okay, maybe

I shouldn't look at it that way.

She did me a favor, or at least

we both thought so at the time.

Her boyfriend plays poker

with Vince. One night he was way too buzzed to drive home, so he called Misty. I had pretty

much lost my shirt that night, and when she showed up, I was looking miserable. Chris still

475

had a sleeve or two left of his shirt, and while he was busy

losing those, I invited Misty to smoke some bud. We got to talking, and the more we smoked, the more I confessed, which made

her open up to me.
Yeah, money

sucks, but you can't live without it. I'm paying my way through

UNLV with a little sex-on-the-side.

She let that sink in, and it took too

long.
You know... escorting?

"You mean you get paid to...?"

I studied her closer. She looked like a college student. Nothing

more. Certainly not a whore, especially not the type I see hawking their wares from the sidewalk.

Yeah, and it's not so bad, really.

I mean, if you're going to have sex

anyway, why not earn a little extra

cash, you know?
She took a big drag.

Held it a long while, as if it helped her think.
I won't trick forever.

476

I had never once in my life thought about having sex for money. Could

finding enough cash to help myself

out of debt be
that
easy? I asked for details, and when she mentioned

working for an established escort

service, it almost sounded legit.

"Do any guys work there?" My

stupid little brain glommed onto a picture of lonely middle-aged

women paying for an evening of companionship, plus some fun.

A couple,
she said.
Lydia calls

them her "boys," but I think they're, like, in their twenties. Why?

She winked.
You interested in
a little paid action? I can introduce

you to Lydia if you want.

"Let me think about it." Wow.

Sex for money. I still hadn't

considered the possibility of it meaning having sex with men

when I asked, "Oh. One thing.

How much does it pay, anyway?"

477

Her Answer

Surprised me. Thrilled me. Who

knew you could make a hundred

bucks an hour (after the service's

cut) for screwing? I thought it over for at least a day, and even made a written list of pros and cons.

Pro: Work one hour, get paid more than eight hours at GameStop.

Con: What if the old babe was really

disgusting and wanted, like, oral?

Pro: My insurance had already

lapsed, and I had no way to pay it.

Con: If Mom ever even suspected, she'd flip her fricking wig!

Pro: If Mom ever found out about the credit cards, she'd lose all faith in me.

Con: People who have sex for money

might end up with some awful disease.

Pro: With enough cash to place the right

bet, I could win enough to fix everything.

Con: What if having sex on the side

meant I couldn't get it up for Ronnie?

Pro: I didn't have many choices left.

Result: I picked up the phone, called Misty.

478

She Introduced Me

To Lydia, who outlined the rules and regulations, not knowing

I still had women in mind. When

I finally mentioned that, her smile

slipped a little. But only for a second.

You're envisioning
American

Gigolo.
Sorry, but that kind of escorting is rare. Something you

see in the movies, really. Generally, when I get calls for young men, it's older men doing the calling.

You ever been with a man?

"A man? No!" What? Did I look

gay or something? Sex with men?

Not even a hundred bucks an hour was worth that. At least, not then.

"So every one of your 'boys' is gay?

Because I'm, like, totally straight."

Lydia shrugged.
No one is one

hundred percent hetero. We are all bi to varying degrees. It all

comes down to necessity.
Turned

out the statement was accurate. Took about a week to see things her way.

479

Sometimes Misty and I

Do have "two-fers" with confused

guys. But not today. "Sorry," I tell her.

"I've already got a client lined up."

In fact, I'd better go. I hang up, pop a Valium, "borrowed" from a bottle in Ronnie's medicine cabinet. Fuck.

Stealing pills. I suck. But I'm glad

I have something to push away the pain, stash it in a compartment of my brain I don't visit very often.

I cruise slowly, noticing cars

prowling for street-corner hustlers.

Twenty bucks for a backseat blowjob?

At least I haven't sunk that low. Yet.

No! That will not become my future.

Then again, if someone would have told

me two months ago I'd be selling myself to men, I'd have said they were full

of shit. Necessity is a motherfucker.

And if they would have said I might

even like it, I'd have kicked their ass.

The first time I offered myself up, turned

myself into meat, I ran to the bathroom, heaved. That guy laughed and laughed.

480

Lydia said it would get easier.

The first time is always the worst.

Just remember you can always

say no, if something doesn't seem

kosher.
Somehow I doubt many

rabbis would bless "Cody meat."

But Lydia was right. The second

time wasn't as bad. At least I managed to make it through without losing

my breakfast. Every time after was easier

still, except for the guys who needed a shower. B.O. is a definite bitch.

Once in a while I get really lucky, when a dude decides he'd rather talk than screw. They're paying me for my time. If they want to complain about their significant others, hey,

I'll listen for a buck fifty up front.

But I don't have to like any of it.

Shouldn't
like any of it, and getting off is just plain crazy. I do this because

I have to. Not because I want to. I need a good, healthy dose of Ronnie. Only

what if she doesn't turn me on now?

481

I Pull into Valet

At the Riviera, not the nicest casino in town, but not the sleaziest, either.

Not that it matters. What I'm going to do is more than sleazy. It's sick.

But I'll leave with enough money, even after Lydia's cut, to give Mom

a hundred toward the bills. And, depending on how generous the guy

feels after, I just might have enough

left over to place a small bet on the Chiefs. If those bastards do right by me, I could maybe skip a date

or two. "Date." Why don't I just call it what it is--a trick. I'm turning tricks.

Can I really have sunk so low?

I'm having sex with men--often married

guys, trying to figure out why

they're attracted to boys--for cash.

I'm not gay! Before a few weeks ago,

I had never even checked a guy out, let alone thought about doing one.

So why isn't it harder? Why am I

heading into the elevator, going up eight floors, to room 822?

482

Two Quiet Knocks

Nothing. Two more, louder. Footsteps toward the door. It opens. "Dan?"

The guy nods, steps aside to let

me in. The room is obsessively neat, and a familiar scent perfumes the air.

Gingerbread? Like Ronnie's shampoo.

Dan is fortyish, short crewcut

graying slightly at the edges.

He wears no shirt, and his muscles are tanned. Toned. Jesus. He could

be an underwear model. Why does he need to pay for it? Whatever.

As long as he has the cash. "So, Dan.

What can I do for you?" I know the drill.

Lydia coached me in the art of paid

seduction:
Strike the deal up front. Never

give them more than they pay for.

Collect before you start. No COD.

No cash on delivery, because after you're finished, they might say you

didn't deliver. I've done this for a month now, and so far, not one

has made that claim. Customer

satisfaction guaranteed. God!

483

Dan Has Done This Before

You can take me around the world.

He reaches for his wallet.
One fifty, right? He
tries to sweeten the pot.
Dan

will pay extra to go without a sleeve.

He talks about himself in the third

person? No wonder he pays for it.

No condom? It's not the first time

I've had the request. I'd kill for the extra cash, but I'm not taking a chance on AIDS. "Sorry. No can

do. Cover up, I'll take care of you."

I pull my T-shirt over my head, watch

him strip off his jeans. His waist is narrow, his hips straight. Beautiful.

Stop it! What's wrong with me? He's down to his skivvies. I should have

charged more. He's built like a fucking

bull. "Holy crap, dude, I don't know...."

What's wrong, kid? Never done
it with a real man before?
His voice

falls, cold and heavy as hail.
You want

me wrapped? Do it for me!
He pushes

me to my knees, comes around in front of me. My heart thuds in my chest.

484

I open the foil pouch, remove the thin latex protection.
You ever

seen a ramrod like Dan's?
I shake

my head as I roll the condom down over it.
No, of course you haven't.

Let's see just how good you are.

I close my eyes, fight not to gag at the taste of lubricant, not to choke on his thrusts against my throat.

I think about Cory, locked up in juvie until a judge decides

he's been "rehabilitated."

Dan decides he's done with Europe.

He pulls me to my feet, moves behind me, drapes my back with his chest.

His muscles are thick cables, but his skin is smooth and cool as snake skin.
Check it out.

The little boy likes that.
He reaches down

between my thighs.
Look how hard he is.

No! How could something so messed up turn me on? Whatever he does, I won't...

His lips brush the back of my neck

and, still folding me into him, he moves

me toward the bed, urges me facedown.

485

The sheets smell of bleach. I picture

Mom, waiting tables at Denny's. Jack's

life insurance put off the foreclosure.

But not forever. And those fucking

bills just keep piling up. Her meager

tips won't pay them. Something has to.

Down go my boxers.
Oh my. What
a sweet little bottom.
Dan's hands, moving over my skin, are soft, and when he lowers himself over me, a cloud of cloves and apple sinks around me. Reminds me of... Ronnie.

God I love her. She is my spark of sanity. My light against the darkness, closing in. She knows things are bad, but not
how
bad. If she even suspected...

this. What I'm doing. What I've already

done, she'd never speak to me again.

Dan is in for a real treat, isn't he?

He presses up against me. I brace and he pauses.
Do you think it will hurt?

Let's see.
He pushes, but only a little.

A test.
Oh yes, I'm afraid it might.

And after Dan, nothing else will do.

486

I Bite Down

On a strange metal taste--a metal

taste of emotions. An odd blend of fear

and... excitement. For some fucked-up