A Bitch In Time (Marina: Part One: Naughty Nookie Series) (4 page)

Jenna was the first prostitute
I’d ever met.  And I mean
ever
.  In Mona’s building of all
places, the one currently being eaten alive by starving flames.

I met her after a visit to
Mona’s.  Jenna had been beaten up pretty badly.  Her eyes swollen,
puffy and bruised.  Her lips bleeding, her nose a raw wound.  She’d
walked with a gait that said her ribs had been fractured or broken.  Her
arms wrapped around herself as though that could stop the agony.  I’ve
fallen off a horse way too many times to count and I’ve hobbled around just
like Jenna had that day. 

Mona had just moved in and I’d
been helping her unpack as well as trying to convince her she couldn’t live in
the dump of a building she’d rented.  But after her divorce, that shack
had been all she could afford and she wouldn’t accept money from either Eddie
or myself.

We didn’t know it, because the
crappy furniture had come with the rental, so I’d stood outside the elevator
waiting for it to arrive, when Jenna had stumbled past me on her way to the
stairs. 

Her voice had been filled with
pain as she’d whispered, “The elevator’s always broken.  You have to take
the stairs.”

I’d been taken aback at the
extent of her injuries.  She’d been battered.  I’d never seen such
wounds.  And back at my family’s ranch, I’d seen guys chewed up by
bulls!  The ferocity of the attack the woman had endured beggared belief. 
I wanted to say something,
do
something, but what could I have
done?  Save gawk at her? 

I’d made my way to the stairs,
my step almost three times faster than hers and passed two floors, when I’d
heard a cry.  It had been a weak mewl and I might not have heard of it,
but I had and I’d known it to be her.  I’d run back up the stairs, hoping
to be of help, thinking she’d hurt herself again.

New York isn’t a place where
neighborly aid is frequently offered.  But I’m not from New York, I’m
Montana born and bred.  Help thy neighbor is a way of life, not something
you pick and choose to dole out.

I’d made my way back to her
and found a man, standing over her, his leg arched back at an odd angle and I’d
known he’d been on the brink of kicking her in the gut.

My arrival had shocked him and
he’d been standing there, like a dumbass, as though he’d been frozen to the
spot.  I’d used his hesitation against him.

 Jerking my arm back, I’d
shot the edge of my wrist upwards and broken his nose.

Blood had gushed out. 
His screams had filled the landing.  Literally gurgling with blood, he’d
spat some of the liquid at me as he’d snapped, “You bitch!”

I’d come at him again, with
the same move and this time, the pain of it had him tilting backwards and
slamming into the floor.  Luckily, a foot or so away from Jenna’s
trembling body.

“Is this your
boyfriend?”  I’d asked, bending down to help her up. 

It had taken all of my
strength to get her back on her feet.  Any time she’d placed pressure on
her bones; her eyes had grown dazed as though she was on the edge of
consciousness.  It had seemed as though she were mere inches away from
fainting.

By the time I’d gotten her
standing, she’d managed to grit out, “Yes.  He’s my boyfriend.  And
yes, he’s the reason I’m like this.  T-thank you for coming to help me.”

We’d made it down the six
flights of stairs to the ground floor without any incidents and without another
word spoken between us until I’d led her outside and asked her if she wanted to
go to a doctor’s clinic.  To which she’d shaken her head and mumbled, “I
can’t afford it.”

I’d refused to take notice,
knowing that she needed medical attention.  After forcing her into a cab,
I’d directed the driver to take us to the nearest clinic.  I’d sat with
her for hours in a smelly waiting room filled with bawling babies, red in the
face from the fury of whatever was wrong with them.  Their bedraggled and
exhausted mothers bouncing them on their knees, as they hoped it would stop the
endless tears.  Some of the patients had sat slumped in their seats as
they slept off their ‘drunk’.  Others had stood, jittery, shaking, waiting
for their next fix.

The receptionist had looked at
Jenna as though she were a turd and spying that, I’d wondered if she was more
than just a battered girlfriend and I’d asked her if her boyfriend was also her
pimp.  I could have minded my own business, probably should have done, but
the question had burnt a hole in my tongue and I’d needed to know.

The humiliation on her face as
she’d nodded would never leave me.  Somehow, that had made it all the
easier to hand over my credit card for charging the treatment.  After the
six hour wait for her to be patched up properly, I’d helped her back to my
place.

Helping thy neighbor might
have been bred into me over childhood but it had never crossed my mind that I
could have placed myself in danger by inviting her into my home.  

She might have been a thief or
a junkie, willing to do anything to get her next dose of whatever drug she used
to numb the pain of her reality. 

But I’d had faith in her and
she hadn’t let me down.  She’d repaid my kindness by doing nothing to
prove that I was unwise to trust her.

Slowly, we’d become friends
and roommates, when my old one had moved out.  I’d managed to cover the
rent,
just
and Jenna, during her convalescence, had taken to caring for
the apartment.  She’d cooked, cleaned, and looked after me.  When
she’d managed to get herself back on her feet and needed to start earning money
again, knowing what that meant, I’d told her I’d do what I could to help her
and that she could keep on living with me.

Neither of us imagined it
would mean establishing a brothel of my own in the flat that had been my home
ever since I’d moved from Montana to the Big Apple. 

Even now, I don’t know how it
all started.  It just did.  Without much planning, everything came
into being.

Suddenly, I became a halfway
house for girls who’d been beaten by their pimps.  Gradually, my staff had
been complete.  All of them grateful for what I’d done for them, because
I’d paid their medical bills without complaint even though it had put me in
debt.

Eventually, when they’d
returned to their pimps, the meagre earnings they’d managed to save, came to me
to pay for their medical care.  Not one of them had let me down.

The turning point had been
when Lou, somebody who’d come to me with a broken collarbone the first time,
had come to me again, but with a punctured lung that had been minutes away from
killing her. 

Somehow, she’d managed to
stagger to my place.  I don’t know how she did it.  It had been a
medical marvel, but she’d thought of me as her safety, as a haven and she’d
used her last ounce of strength to get to me.

At that point, I knew I had to
do something and I guess that’s why I’ve become what I’ve become. 

I feel no shame in it. 
I’m proud of the lives I’ve managed to save. 

People will probably judge me
for my choices.  They might say I should have encouraged them to take a
different path, to get out of this line of work and I have done.  Just not
in a direct way.

You can’t change someone,
unless they want to be changed.  And when I met these women, selling their
bodies for a wage was the only thing they knew how to do. 

Asking or pleading with them
to stop would have seemed like an alien prospect, when it was all they felt
they were capable of.

As with Eloise, over the
years, I’ve encouraged them to take classes.  To take part in adult
education and help them get the basics they need to take the steps out of this
way of life. 

I’ve accommodated classes and
exams and study time.  Done what I can to ensure they have something else
to support them, taught them they don’t have to just lie on their backs because
that was all they were capable of before.

Now, maybe my fledglings are
ready to fly. 

That they’ll fly alone and I
won’t be there to watch them succeed makes tears burn the backs of my eyes.

It doesn’t matter that I’m the
same age as these women, that Jenna is a year older than me, I’m the
leader.  Their mother hen.

I say as much to Anna. 
“They rely on me.  I can’t just leave them.”

“They’ll have to do without,
honey.  They’ll understand your situation and they won’t want you to be in
any danger.  They’ll be able to cope, because you’ve given them the means
to cope.  You’re not throwing them out without a penny to their names.

“Even Jade who flitters her
wages
on stupid bags; she could sell them and use
the money to support herself.  They’re not the women they once were. 
They can take responsibility for themselves.  We’re talking life and death
here.  The girls will have to understand.”

“How will I tell them?”

“Just tell them the
truth.  That’s the least you can do and as soon as they know why, they’ll
understand what you have to do.  Before you, their lives were filled with
danger.  They’re out of practice, because you’ve provided them with safety
but they know you’ll have to hide out.”

Scrubbing a hand over my face,
I nod, knowing that once again, she’s right.  That doesn’t make it
better.  It’s so unfair.

“What will you do?”  I
whisper, reluctantly coming to terms with the complete shift in my life.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,
Marina.  I’ll be fine.  You’ve done good by us all.  Thanks to
you, we’re all in a position that people like us never reach.  You should
be proud of yourself for what you’ve accomplished.”

“I couldn’t have done all of
this without you, Anna.  You know that, right?”

I rest my head against our
joined hands.  If I’ve been the girls’ mother hen, then this woman has
been mine.  She’s clucked and cosseted me, urged me to eat when we’ve been
so busy; food has taken a back step.  Through it all, she has cared for me
and now, after four years of security, although it was of an unusual variety,
my life is disappearing about my feet.

The friendly faces of my staff
would no longer be a part of my day.  My world is changing and I don’t
like it.  Call me stubborn, but I don’t want it to.

My voice is garbled, a messy
mixture of tears and rage and fury all mashed together as I bite out, “I hate
them for this.  Why did they have to ruin everything?”

With her free hand, Anna pats
my knee.  “Sometimes, honey, good things just have to come to an
end.”      

Four days
later

Chicago is a place I
love.  I’ve come to associate it with Nathan and our dirty weekends
together, but now, alone, I hate it.

The so-called Windy City isn’t
windy enough.  After surviving New York’s heat wave, to have to endure
another one is just bad luck and I’m pissed off enough without feeling like a
mop bucket all the damned time.

I’ve been here for four
days.  After I told the girls on staff and asked them to spread the word
to the rest of the team, I’d hopped on to a plane and flown to O’Hare. 
The idea of having to tell twenty women the sad truth had been too much,
especially after having shared it with Eloise, Millie, Rosalie and Jenna. 
That had been torture in itself.  I’ve never cried so much in my life.
 My ribs are bruised from being hugged so many times.

No, I couldn’t have stood telling
all of my girls.  Not in person.  I’ve called them, wished them well
and told them I’m always here for them, if they ever need me.  But times
are changing, the world will go on and we’ll drift apart.  It’s that, more
than anything that saddens me.

On top of that bundle of
misery, Mona is pissed off at me.  And I’m talking mega
annoyed.   Not for the reason she deserves to hate me either. 
She doesn’t know it’s my fault her home is no more.  The instant I
registered in the hotel Nathan and I always use, I called her.  When she’d
asked if she could stay at mine, I’d had no choice but to refuse.

Christ, my friends have never
known what I do for a living.  I lived on-site at Papillon; she couldn’t
have stayed there anyway, but now?  After her place has been destroyed
thanks to the business associates from hell, the last thing she needs is to be
anywhere near me.

I can handle her sulking, so
long as she’s safe.

I can only hope to God she’s
not picking up, because her cell is switched off.  Not because the
Russians have her.

The thought sends chills down
my spine and I grab my cell and press the speed dial for Eddie’s phone. 

When she picks up, her
cultured voice barrels down the line in what Mona and I call her sexy secretary
tone.  The instant it hits my eardrum, I’m filled with relief.  If
Eddie’s safe, it’s likely Mona is too. 

“Handel & Bros
corporation, this is Edwina speaking.  How may I be of assistance?”

Up until now, I haven’t told
Eddie that I’m out of town.  Hell that I’m out of state!  I’ll have
to eventually.  Either that, or tell her I’m going back home for a
while…  It wouldn’t be a lie.  That’s where I intend on going. 
As soon as Nathan gets here, I want him to take me back to the ranch.

I don’t
need
to wait
for him.  It’s my bloody ranch, after all.  But I want to talk things
through with him.  I need to tell him the truth.  Papillon has been a
huge secret.  One I’ve never shared with anyone.  I need to tell him
the truth, need him to advise me.

Nathan is used to
danger.  He was a filmmaker in his past life.  Not staid Hollywood
movies, but award-winning documentaries.  His topic had been Man. 
Man at play, Man in the jungle, Man in the tundra.  He’d completed about
twenty such documentaries, when he’d settled on Man
at
war, Man
of
war and Pirate at Sea.  He’d survived Man
at
war and
of
war,
but with Pirate at Sea, fate had turned against him. 

Caught up in a firefight
between Somali pirates and the Combined Taskforce sent to protect the shores
from piracy of which the US was a member, the battle had deteriorated into
explosives being blasted, when the Somalis had tried to capture the US
vessel.  Twelve pirates had lost their lives, some of the crew from the
destroyer on which Nate had been posted had also died, but Nathan had lost his right
arm.  He’d nearly lost the left and returned to the US in a blaze of
outraged publicity.

Not that I’d been aware of
him.  Current events interest me, but I think I’d need anti-depressants if
I read the papers every
single
day.  It’s just too glum and I
prefer to think positively.  So, when I’d met him, not only had I not been
aware of who he was, I’d also not realized he’d lost an arm.  That’s the
kind of guy Nate is, though.  Strong.  So strong that he can take the
weight of the world on his shoulders and not break his back.

And I need that strength, more
than I’ve ever needed anything before.

The ranch that belongs to my
family is no ordinary ranch.  Sure, we’re like most in that we have nearly
four thousand head of cattle.  But the cattle side of the operation isn’t
all that goes down there.  It’s a side juncture.  It funds the
experiments that go on at the ranch, backs the entire community of the
three-hundred strong population that live on-site. 

I need him to advise me. 
I need him to tell me my people will be safe, if I return home.  For
good.  It’s unusual for me to ask.  Normally, I just do.  I
guess that’s arrogant, but I’m a product of my environment.  My parents
didn’t raise me to be meek.  I take charge and act.  In this
instance, I can’t if I’m going to put people’s lives on the line.

“Hello?  Is anyone
there?”  Edwina mutters again and I can hear the beeps as she presses some
buttons, obviously wondering if she connected the call correctly.

Jolted from my thoughts, I
sigh.  “It’s me, Eddie.  Everything okay with you?”

She isn’t to know that
question is double-sided.

Yeah, I want to know if she’s
fine, but I also want to know if a gang of Russian mobsters are ringing her
doorbell.

I can only hope to God the
women, who are like sisters to me, won’t be affected by the mess I’ve made of
my life.

“Marina?” she snaps. 
“You know not to call me at work.”

Ever the efficient PA, Eddie
has rules she likes to abide by.  I’m not sure why, because I think she’s
screwing her boss and he’d probably let her get away with blue murder to get
between her legs.

That sounds horrible, but
Eddie is one of
the
most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.  She could
grace magazine covers, she’s
that
hot.  Instead, she’s behind a
desk.  A snazzy desk, granted.  Her boss is one powerful bastard, but
still… with her looks, she should be behind a camera lens.

That’s the way the cookie
crumbles, I guess.

Mona’s the same.  She
shouldn’t be a cleaner.  She doesn’t have Eddie’s beauty, because those
kinds of looks are a rarity, but Mona is gorgeous in her own way.  She’s
one of those women with curves on top of her curves on top of her curves. 
Unlike scrawny old me, Mona has a killer ass.  That ass is wasted in her
cleaner’s pinafore.

I’m not exactly the ugly one
of the group, but I sit a little in my friends’ shadows. 

My hair is my best
feature.  Chestnut brown, it has golden streaks throughout the
shoulder-length strands and in certain lights, can appear almost auburn. 

With eyes the same color but
made hazel with hints of green and teal, and skin a pale shade of honey, I’m
one of those All-American girls. 

All cheerleading, science-fair
award winning, Prom Queen-ites. 

I’m enough to make most people
sick.

“Look, I needed to make sure
you’re alright.  And to tell you something,” I reply in answer to her
pissed off snap. 

I place the phone on speaker
and set it on the table beside me.  I cross my arms over my chest and cup
my elbows with my hands.  The self-comforting gesture isn’t lost on
me.  I need all the comfort I can get.

“What?  Make it quick,
you know I hate taking personal time, when I’m at work.”

“Has Mona called you?”

Her sigh is brisk. 
“No.  I hate to say it, but she’s being a brat.  It’s unlike her, but
I guess having your house burnt down is likely to make anyone
disgruntled.”  One of Eddie’s parents was British.  She lived in the
UK for a few years as a teenager and sometimes, she comes out with weird-ass
phrases.

“She deserves her sulks,
considering neither of us took her in.  I still feel guilty about that,
but I’m in Chicago.  It’s not like I could get the keys to her.” 
Loosening the grip of one hand from about my elbows, I rub my temples with my thumb
and index finger.  An ache has gathered there and I pull my hair free from
the plait I’d styled it in that morning to let it loose about my
shoulders.  The ache doesn’t abate all that much, but there’s a slight
release of tension and
any
is better than nothing at all.

There’s silence on the other
end of the line.  “Since when are you in Chicago?”

Yeah, I slotted that in on
purpose.  “Since that night,” I lie.  “I got a call from my
uncle.  He needs me back at the ranch and I’m just waiting for one of the
hands to fly over to collect me.”

“You never told me that
before.”

Now she’s pissed at me. 
I grin into the receiver.  Eddie has this thing about liking to know where
we all are.  She’s Miss Anal Retentive 2013.
 
Not knowing where Mona is and my being in Chicago is probably
twisting her gut like a woman wringing a wet dishcloth.

“No.  I didn’t want to
worry you.”

“So, you lied?”  The hiss
has me wincing.

“Yeah.  I know how you
freak, when I have to fly out of town.”  Eddie’s parents were killed in a
plane crash ten years ago.  At eighteen, she was left with a little sister
to care for and her parents’ debts.  Those two reasons are why she isn’t
in front of a camera, but riding a desk instead.

The rough exhalation of air
into the receiver is telling.  “Okay, I’ll forgive you.”

Eddie is terrified of flying
now.  She hates when I fly out of state, which I do every few months or
so.  Both Mona and Eddie think it’s to visit family.  They don’t know
it’s to hook up with my ranch foreman. 

Chicago is a central point
between Manhattan and Blue Ridge Ranch in the depths of Montana, three hours
from Billings and a rocky thirty minute ride to Sheridan; the heart of the Ruby
valley.  Nate has a longer trip than I do, but he says I’m worth it.

The thought of seeing him in a
few hours’ time makes my heart start to beat a little faster, but I make sure
my voice is normal, as I tell her another lie.  “I think he’s ill, but he
won’t admit it over the phone.  I might be there for a while.”

“That’s okay.  You have
to be there for him.  Just keep in touch.  Let me know everything’s
fine with you.”

“Of course, I will,
honey.  I wish all of this hadn’t happened at the same time as Mona’s
apartment building going up like that.  She must hate me.”

“Well, if she hates you,
she’ll hate me too.”

I grimace.  “That isn’t
much comfort, Eddie.”

“No, it isn’t.  I’m sorry
I said it.”  She sighs.  “I’ll have to go, Marina.  Take care of
yourself and thanks for checking in.”

“Don’t be silly.  I know
how you worry.  Talk later.”  Before she can say another word, I
disconnect the call and wipe my brow with the back of my hand.

Not the most ladylike of
gestures, but nobody ever called me a lady.  I’m a rancher, by
nature.  Plonked in the Big Apple and city living thanks to the roll of a
dice controlled by someone up high.

Amazing how the death of a
husband can make you turn your back on everything you knew and loved and force
you on to a completely different path.  

I shrug off the thought, not
wanting to think about Jimmy, because even now, twelve years on and forgetting
his anniversary, I can still weep at the waste of his life. 

The humidity in the hotel room
is hideously cloying, so much so I’ve closed the curtains to stop the sunlight
pouring into the suite and even in what I’m wearing, which isn’t all that much,
I’m boiling hot. 

A pair of short shorts to
cover my dignity and a thin camisole top should be keeping my temperature down;
instead, perspiration slickens my skin and adds to my discomfort. 

I’ve gone without panties, all
so I can get the cheap thrill of the air con wafting up my shorts every time I
pass the unit!  I’d do without the bra too, but I hate that feeling of the
underside of my boobs touching my chest.  Especially when I’m sweating
like a pig. 

With a sigh, I urge myself to
stand and walk over to the window and open it, but it lets more of the damned
damp air in so I shut it again.  I must have tried that tactic four times
this morning: it never works.  You’d think I’d learn!

Pulling a face, I turn to
glare at the room, with its queen-sized bed neatly made by the maid, light gold
walls dotted with paintings and a small cluster of low lounge seats.  A
bubble of claustrophobia suddenly bursts in my brain.  It’s a pretty
prison cell.  No matter who the hotel’s brochure lists as the designer, it
still feels like jail.

It’s a luxury suite. 
Classy, elegant and it should be for the price it cost me.  But the walls
feel like they’re closing in.  I’ve spoken to two people in person
today.  The maid who came in to clean around me and the porter, who
brought me room service.