Tricks (31 page)

Any paramour of Carl's
is a paramour of mine, right?

516

Before I Can Answer

He is all over me. Hands.

Mouth. Ugh. Tequila.

I push him away. "Wait

just one fucking second...."

I step back, look at Carl,

*

but he's into the game.

Refereeing, in fact.

No need to be rude to our guest. He's here by
invitation. Understand?

*

"Invi--" Carl wants me to be with this creep?

What happened to our

"exclusive relationship"?

"No. I don't understand."

*

With fine diamond clarity,

Carl explains,
I enjoy a bit of variety from time
to time. I expect your whole-hearted

participation.

*

He pushes me, and not

gently, toward Brett.

Now apologize to my

friend as I hope you

would apologize to me.

517

He Does Not Mean

With words. And he doesn't

exactly mean solo. They

move in unison, and I am sandwiched between them,

Carl behind me, moving

*

sensuously, while Brett dares

kiss me again. I hold my

breath against the assault of gin at my back, tequila in my face. A strange tongue

*

in my mouth. Now Brett

rests his chin on my shoulder, and he and Carl are kissing.

It's a cobra dance, and despite what it means, I am charmed.

*

Seduced by sensual motion.

Behind me and in front of me, both men grow hard, and for some horrifying reason,

I respond in like manner.

518

I Have Never Considered

Three-way sex. How would...?

Oh. No way will I let one of them take me like
that.

Like Loren, Carl has always

played the feminine role.

*

But unlike with Loren (who

insisted on using condoms), with Carl (who refused to),

I set limits--"Carl, you know the rule." My rule: hands or

*

mouths only. He stops

kissing Brett, but neither

man quits moving, writhing like mating hooded serpents.

We're playing by my rules,

*

remember? But don't worry.

I only expect you to give.

For now.
From somewhere, he extracts a condom, hands it to me, keys to the kingdom.

519

Don't rush,
he orders,
and don't you dare

close your eyes. I want
to see how much you like
it.
He moves in front of me,

*

strips Brett from the waist

down, pushes him onto his hands and knees. Then he drops his own trousers.

Come on,
he urges, positioning

*

himself inches from Brett's face.

Shaking, I move behind Brett, grab his shoulders. Carl's hands

cover mine. Brett moans as I...

Oh my God! I am damned.

*

But I don't stop and I don't

rush. Carl's eyes never once

leave mine. Finally I beg his permission. "Now? Please?"

He nods and I do. We all do.

520

A Poem by Whitney Lang
Don't Stop

Don't look behind you.

Something is chasing

you, and if you slow

down, it will catch you. Run!

Faster! Through alleys.

Tunnels. Underground.

Down there in that dark place, fear is your friend for complacency kills down where

instinct is survival.

Reach. Find your wings.

Fly away from the monsters, hard on your heels.

Don't stop. Only

then can they win.

Run!

521

Whitney Fighting "Night Time"

Pretty name for the hideous pukes and soaking sweats of withdrawal.

I understand I have to go through it.

Die if I don't. Maybe die if I do.

*

I don't want to die. Do I? Fuck, what if it's better than living half in, half out of this world? Goddamn Bryn!

Bastard turned me into a zombie.

*

So why do I sit here, crying to see

him? Why do I love him so much?

He cheats. Lies. Lied about everything, from start to now. I know it. Don't care.

*

I want to be with him. Want to make

love with him. Even though that means

waiting my turn. He has other girls.

Other zombies. Killing time in cheap

*

rooms like this one. Sometimes he comes, rewards them like he rewards me, with junk and beautiful sex. Sometimes

other men come. That sex is never

522

beautiful. It is selfish. Needful.

Fueled by sick desire to get off. Get

even. Get over someone who has

hurt them by symbolically impaling

*

someone else. So Bryn's zombie girls

stay stoned. Out of our heads

messed up. Eyes closed, we can

be anywhere. Italy. France. Australia.

*

Jupiter. Hell. Doesn't matter, as long as we're not
here.
As long as we can

pretend we're still pretty. As long as we

can make believe Bryn still loves us, too.

523

I'm Not Stupid

I know I'm addicted. Damn it all, despite the many promises I made to myself, I mainline now. A needle in the vein delivers Nirvana

*

so quickly! And in those first few

minutes, when all the pain is lifted,

I see what Bryn saw in me that first

day at the mall--naïveté. I was stupid.

*

He knew it. I was crazy hungry to fall in love. He saw it in my eyes.

And then, when I called him, stinging at rejection, he so had me. He is very

*

good at what he does. Recruiting

girls, feeding them a steady diet of lies and drugs, then starving them until they submit to his demands.

*

He is a pimp, plain and simple.

A fucking gorgeous, sweet pimp, who I'd do anything for. Including

advertising my body: For Sale. Cheap.

*

He'll come to me soon. I need the Lady

bad and he knows it. Can't send me

out on the streets like this. It isn't pretty.

Probably couldn't even give myself away.

524

When Bryn's Key

Finally turns in the lock, I'm huddled in a corner, covered in goose bumps, shivering through the sweat. At

least I'm all puked out. He takes

*

one look, nods.
Poor baby. Don't

worry. Daddy has presents for his beautiful little girl.
He comes over, sits beside me. Pulls a dime bag

*

from his pocket like it's made of gold.

Clean rigs, too.
Let Daddy fix it for you.
He cooks up a perfect spoon, loads it, plunges it between my toes.

*

Bryn gives me wings. The sting is luscious, the awful rush all I need.

No, not all. I need Bryn. And he's here, all mine right now. His lap is warm,

*

inviting. I climb into it, slip my arms around his neck.
Thank you. Better now.

Oh, so much better. Soaring. Up here in the clouds, the air is dry. I kiss him,

*

suck his tongue into my mouth, seeking

moisture. It curls over my own tongue, sensuous as smoke. Time slows.

Make it stop! Make it stop with me,

525

here in Bryn's arms. I want him.

Want him to take me higher. Want sex as it was meant to be, as only Bryn can

ever give it to me. "Make love to me."

*

He pushes me to the floor. My head

spins, dizzy with anticipation. My brain

screams, kiss me! Kiss all those special

places, just like you used to. I know

*

he will, but... But what? Why is he stopping? He reaches into a back pocket. What is that?

A rubber? No. We don't need that.

*

I'm on the pill. It was one of the first

things we did when we got to Vegas.

"N-no." Is there mud in my mouth?

I can barely cough out, "Why?"

*

He stops fiddling with the wrapper, but doesn't answer right away. Finally he says,
Never know what kind of gift

one of your customers might have left.

*

What? My face flushes, hot from the skag, hotter still with an overdose of anger. Always, with no exceptions,

"My
customers
use condoms."

526

I Try to Push Him Away

But even if I were perfectly

straight, my stick-figure body

would be no match for his toned

physique. And I'm not straight.

*

My vision is blurred, like looking through a fishbowl, and my muscles

feel like steel cables--much too heavy to drag around. And the weirdest

*

thing about all that is how great it feels. I'll nod soon, and that's when the pain vanishes. So hell, he can screw

me, if that's all it means to him.

*

He boosts himself up over me.

Tries to look down into my eyes.

But I stare at the wall. Will myself to go limp. Familiar one-act play.

*

That's it,
he soothes.
No need to waste a perfectly good boner

In. Out. In. Out. I close my eyes.

Float. Pretend I'm with a john.

527

When I Surface

From my lake of dreams, Bryn is gone. He left a note:
Stashed the bag and fixings in the usual

place. Same price. Tomorrow.

*

How have I fallen so low? I knew about junk, even told Bryn no way.

Then I let him talk me into it. Love is more than blind. It's brain-dead.

*

My brain screeches,
Fix! Fix!

Quick, before I make you heave.

Quick, before I give you the runs.

Quick, before I start remembering.

*

Remembering I once had another

life. Hated it then. Might still hate it now. But more than I hate this?

Hate what I've become? No matter.

*

This is all I've got. I cook up a spoon.

Oh yes. That's good. So good.

Clock. Where are you, clock?

There you are. Evening already?

*

The boys are out, scamming for play. Shower. Hurry. Night's

tick-tocking away. And I've got

bills.
Same price. Tomorrow.

528

Skin Tight Men's Club

Is hopping tonight. Boys go in.

Stay a while, watching pole dancers and cocktail waitresses, shaking their boobs for tips. Boys come out,

*

horny as hell. Some go home to beat off or bug their wives.

Some look for girls like me, loitering in the shadows where,

*

hopefully, cops cruising beats

won't notice them. Bryn taught

me the ropes.
Act interested, but don't push. The girls who

*

get busted are in-your-face.

Dress sexy, but leave some up
to the imagination. Sexy schoolgirl.

That's the look you want.

*

Ask what they want up front, and collect before you take

'em home. Wouldn't want to do all that work for nothing,

*

and believe me, plenty of guys

got nothing, especially if they

overspent inside. And if some

dude seems hinky, say no.

529

I've said no a couple of times.

It wasn't because they were fat or bald, but because of what I saw in their eyes. More accurately,

*

what I didn't see in their eyes:

life. Sharks, that's what they were.

Dead cold scary. No way was I

chancing a swim with them.

*

Most johns are more mackerel than great white. Cold slimy bait

fish, quick to jump into the net, especially when what they're

*

jumping in after still looks fresh.

Don't know how long that can

last. Hooking uses you up fast.

Figure in hyping, I'll look thirty

*

before I turn seventeen. I turn

sixteen day after tomorrow, not that one single person in the world gives half a damn.

530

Why Did I Have to Go

And think about that? Damn!

If I were still in Santa Cruz, I'd be

planning my Sweet Sixteen party.

Daddy would insist. We'd have it

*

at the club, and we'd have a band, and Paige would be there and maybe

even Kyra.... Oh my God. What

have I done? Daddy must think...

*

What? I'm dead? Mom hopes I am.

But not... Daddy. I'm sorry. Shit!

I sit down hard. Sidewalk cement bites into my butt, which is naked beneath

*

a short denim skirt. My head tilts against my knees, and my eyes trickle

tears. Heavy. My head is so heavy.

The H wants to take me away

*

and I want to go. Away. Far. Where

nothing hurts. Nothing... Eyes on me. Are there eyes? Don't look. Have to.

To know... Who? Can't lift my head.

*

Roll it sideways.
Are you all right?

The eyes are talking. No. Not eyes.

Lips. Stupid. Eyes can't talk.

Do you want me to call 911?