Calling Maggie May (17 page)

Thurs, April 2

Some girl came by the apartment just now looking for Shawn. He told me not to open the door for people who come by (his neighborhood is not the greatest), but this girl kept knocking and calling his name through the door. I thought it was
probably the same girl he was arguing with the other night, but when I opened the door, it was someone different.

I told her Shawn wasn't there, and she was like, “I see that. Who the hell are you?”

So I told her I'm his girlfriend, and she started laughing. She said, “Yeah, I've heard that before. Has he got you working the streets yet?”

She left after that, but I can't stop thinking about what she said. She made it sound like Shawn is my pimp or something. But it's not like that. It's not like he has a whole stable of girls. Obviously I am the only one living here. And I'm not working for him. We're both working to pay the rent and support ourselves. Right? I don't know. I'll feel better after I talk to Shawn about it.

Thurs, April 2, later

Shawn and I just had our first fight. I asked him about the girl at the door when he came home. He told me it was another ex-girlfriend. I didn't say anything right away, but he could tell I wasn't totally happy, so he asked me what was up. I wasn't sure what to say, exactly, so I tried to keep quiet, but he kept pushing and saying I should tell him what's wrong, so finally I asked him: “Is she an ex-girlfriend or an employee?”

He didn't answer right away, so I pressed harder.

“And what am I?” I said. “Am I your girlfriend or your employee? Am I the talent?”

“Don't do this to me,” he said. “Don't act like that. You know I love you. And working the park was your idea, remember? I didn't force you into anything. You volunteered.”

“You're right, I did,” I said. “But what about your other girls? Did they volunteer?”

Shawn looked hurt at this. “I don't force anyone to do anything,” he said. “I'm not like that. It's not my style.”

After that I shut myself in the bedroom with my journal to think for a while. I don't like how this looks or how it sounds. I don't want to believe it, but at the same time, I wonder how I could have been so stupid and naive. Of course Shawn is a pimp. Look at all the signs: his willingness to let me work the street, his insistence that he handle all the money, all the other girls he's always talking to at the park, plus his lowlife pimp friends. . . .

And he's right. I agreed to it. I walked away from Miss Irma and fell right into his business.

So what now? The thing is, I'm upset . . . but am I upset at Shawn? Or at myself for thinking our arrangement was something other than it was? I could leave him now, but where would I go? And why would I be leaving? Pride?

He never outright lied to me. He never said I was the only girl he was managing. I just assumed it. I knew I was hooking
to earn money for him and that he was my protection when I worked. It just never occurred to me that that's basically what a pimp is.

But now that I've woken up, what does that change? Should I leave? I don't know what other options I have, except to go back to Miss Irma. Between Irma and Shawn, at least I trust Shawn more. At least now I know what my cut is, instead of it always being a mystery with Irma.

This isn't ideal, and it's not what I dreamed, but maybe it's what makes the most sense for me right now.

Fri, April 3

I sat down with Shawn and had a long talk about our situation.

I was angry at first, but more than that, I was concerned. All I could think about was what Miss Irma had said about competition. She made it pretty clear that she didn't look kindly on her employees turning around and setting up their own businesses.

But Shawn had that all figured out. He's being smart about it. He's not going after Irma's customers, and he's not using her talent. Except for me, but that's why he paid off my debt to Miss Irma. He says he went to her office and paid up the debt, and now they have an agreement, fair and square.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that. It sickened me a little to
think Shawn bought me like a piece of meat. But he said it was a little late to get picky about that sort of thing. Fair point, I guess. He says he did what it took to get Miss Irma off my back, and that's what I wanted, wasn't it? It's no different from what I was trying to do for Ada.

I asked him why he was doing all this. Setting up his own business, I mean. Why not just stay with Miss Irma? But he turned eighteen this year, and just like Beth said, he noticed his client list drying up as Miss Irma stopped referring people to him. You don't get fired, he explained. You just get called less. And it gets harder and harder to support yourself, until you are driven to supplement your income by other means.

“Miss Irma likes to keep tight control over everyone in her stable,” he said, “and once they become adults, she worries they'll start asking too many questions, become difficult to manipulate. So we're basically disposable to her.”

Shawn was afraid of what would happen to him once he lost her backing, so he started watching her closely and taking notes.

“I want something bigger for myself,” he said. “I don't want to be just another two-dollar rent boy. I want what Irma has, and I think I can make it happen, if I work hard.” He took my hands in his. “If you help me,” he said, “we can have it together. And when we run the show, we can treat people right and make it a decent business.”

I do like that idea. And when he puts it that way, it makes sense. I always knew I didn't want to be selling my body for the rest of my life. That wasn't realistic. But without a high school degree, or college, or any real work experience, I didn't know how I was going to support myself. What Shawn's talking about, this is the first plan I've heard that makes long-term sense. Who knows how to run a business like this better than we do? Irma worked her way up from the bottom. We can do it too.

But right now we've got some cash-flow problems, which is why I have to hit the park again tonight.

Sun, April 5

I had a bad night tonight. When I finally got home and crawled into bed, Shawn started to paw at me and I just couldn't stand it. We had a bit of a fight, and I wound up asking him why he doesn't work the park. He just laughed at that, but I was serious.

“We could take turns,” I pointed out. “Or we could make more money if we both did it.”

He shook his head. “I have a different job now. There's better money in managing than working the streets.”

“Long-term, sure,” I said. “And that's what we'll both be doing soon. But just for now, wouldn't it be good to bring in some extra cash?”

Shawn got out of bed.“Trust me, it's not a good idea.”

“I don't see why not.”

“Because,” he said, growing exasperated. “You can't do both. I can't let the people in this neighborhood know I ever turned tricks, all right? They won't respect me anymore. And in this game, respect is everything.”

“But people respect Miss Irma,” I said. “And everyone knows how she started out. And you're expecting me to—”

“It's not the same, okay? Can't you see how it's not the same?”

I didn't say anything.

“It's different for guys,” he said quietly. “The people in the park, the people in this neighborhood, can't ever find out what I did for Miss Irma. Do you understand? People might call a girl bad names if she turns tricks, they might laugh at her, but if people knew that about me, if they thought I wasn't the person I seemed to be, it would be worse. Guys like me get hurt. Guys like me get killed.”

I didn't know what to say to that.

“Do you understand?” he said. “It's important. In here we're the same. We've been through the same shit. But out there you can never talk about what I did. Do you get that?”

I nodded.

“It's like I said before. It's all about playing the role. And to make people believe it, you can't ever break character.”

Mon, April 6

Another long night last night. Then, even when I fall asleep, it's like all I can dream about is climbing into and out of cars in the dark. I wake up more exhausted than when I went to bed.

It's a little too crazy to think that this is my life now. It's hard to believe that less than a month ago I was living at home and going to school like a normal teenager. I wonder what my old friends are doing now. Jenny and Eiko and John. Visiting college campuses, studying for the SAT? I wonder what they would think of who I am now, if they could even believe it. Would they recognize me like this? Would they ever talk to me again, if I went back?

Wed, April 8

I just realized I don't even know how many girls Shawn has working for him. Whenever we're both working the park, I try to circle around in his direction to check up on him from time to time, and he always seems to be talking to a different girl. I can't help wondering, did he recruit them all the same way he got me? Well, obviously not exactly the same way, but who knows? That guardian-angel bit does work pretty well. Maybe he saw them getting beat up by a pimp or a john and swooped in to save the day. Then they start dating, and before long, they're working. And it's on to
save the next victim. Is Shawn more victimizer than savior?

No, it's not like that. Maybe it's not ideal, maybe it's not a perfect fairy tale, but at least Shawn treats his workers like human beings, unlike a lot of the pimps around here. He splits the take fairly, he keeps them safe, and he never gets violent or cruel.

And he loves me, right? I'm not like the other girls. He tells me that every day. But then . . . maybe that's what he told the girl who came before me. What if that were me? What if some new damsel in distress came along and I got downgraded from girlfriend to employee? What if that became my life, and I was just another girl working the park and handing my money over to Shawn, while he took a new girl home to his bed? Would I keep working for him?

I want to say that I would not. But where else would I go at this point?

Sat, April 11 (after midnight)

God, I've really done it now. Why couldn't I leave well enough alone? Sure, things weren't perfect, and maybe Shawn wasn't the hero I wanted him to be, but I was getting by. We were building a life. Then I had to go and ruin everything.

I'm crying so hard, it's hard to see what I'm writing, and the page keeps getting wet and smearing my ink. But I'm scared and
I have to quit my sniveling and stay quiet or else who knows what might happen. So I'm trying to write to calm myself down.

It started at the park, of course. I was supposed to be working, but as usual, I kept circling back to see what Shawn was up to. Lately I just can't stop thinking about the day some other girl wanders into the park with a problem and Shawn turns into Captain Save a Ho again. I tell myself if I can just keep an eye on him, I can stop that from happening, but I don't know how I think that will work. And in the meantime, every time he catches me, he gets pissed that I'm wasting time when I should be earning money.

Anyway, I saw him talking to this or that girl during the night, but it all seemed pretty normal until one time I noticed him with one of the usual girls, but they were arguing. And I knew I should just stay out of it and get back to work, but I couldn't help being curious, so I kept drifting closer, trying to hear what they were saying. It seemed like something to do with money, or respect, or both. He was being really verbally aggressive toward her, yelling and telling her not to test him. She kept sort of backing off, but then she would come back after a minute with a new comment, and he was calling her names, calling her a smart-ass, and the other guys joined in, encouraging Shawn and egging him on.

I knew I should stay away, but it really bothered me, the way
he was treating her. I was anxious about him replacing me, but through it all, I had at least clung to the idea that Shawn wasn't so bad, as pimps went. He was a decent guy who didn't fit any of the usual stereotypes. But here he was, enacting them all.

All of a sudden, I was furious—at Shawn, and maybe even more at myself, for falling for his act. Shawn always said that what he did out here was an act and what he did back home was real, but the world doesn't work that way. He might think he was playing a role out here in the park, but none of this was make-believe. And I might have wanted to believe that what we had at home was real, but I was living a fantasy with Shawn just as much as with any other client I've been with.

I couldn't take it anymore. I knew I should wait until we were home alone to talk about it with him, but I wasn't thinking straight. I went right up and told him to leave that girl alone. The other guys in the park hooted and jeered at me, but I ignored them.

Shawn gave me a hard look. “Don't,” he said simply, but I wanted an explanation.

“You told me you weren't like the others,” I said, getting in his face. “You said you don't treat people that way.”

“Don't do this right now,” he said in a low voice. “We can talk about it later.”

And the other guys started laughing again, but this time at
Shawn. Laughing about how he was letting a woman tell him what to do, I guess, but I wasn't paying much attention to them. I just wanted an answer out of him, and I wouldn't back down.

Then, the next thing I knew, there was a loud noise and I was reeling backward. It took a second or two before I even recognized the pain. Before I realized that he had smacked me. I stumbled back in a daze and somehow managed not to sink to the ground. After a few moments, I found my balance and stood up straight. Then, without a word, I turned and walked away from him, out of the park.

“Where do you think you're going?” he called after me.

“I don't know,” I said, not turning around. “Away from you.”

He jogged up and fell into stride beside me. “You can't take off by yourself. It's not safe,” he said.

“Yeah? And I'm so safe here with you?”

“Fine,” he said tightly. “Walk it off, if you have to. We can talk about this later.”

After that he stopped following me and I just kept walking.

I went to the light-rail stop first, but at that hour it would be ages before one came by, and there were too many people around. Too many people who had watched what had happened and were eager to comment on it, offering advice or pity or criticism, or just wanting to stoke the drama for their own amusement. After a minute or two, I couldn't take it anymore
and started to just walk toward our apartment. I figured I could follow the rail line, and it would take me back to our neighborhood eventually.

But after a few blocks, I realized . . . Our neighborhood? Our apartment? That place wasn't mine. It was all his. The apartment was filled with his stuff, and the neighborhood was filled with his family and friends. Without Shawn I was totally isolated.

I was really starting to feel sorry for myself, all alone and friendless on the empty streets of Seattle in the middle of the night, and I was about to just find a doorstep to sit in so I could have a good wallow and cry while I tried to sort out the mess of my life. But then I became aware of a sound. Footsteps. And they were getting closer.

I tried to calm myself down and reassure myself that they had nothing to do with me. It was just another person out late at night, dealing with their own problems, minding their own business. But as I forced myself to focus, I realized I'd been hearing these footsteps for some time.
Click-clack
,
click-clack
. The sound had echoed through my thoughts for the past fifteen minutes without me even realizing it. I was definitely being followed.

I thought about turning around and confronting whoever it was, but I had nothing on me that could possibly be used as a weapon. I thought about breaking into a run and trying to make
it home, but it seemed like a bad idea to let the stalker know where I lived. And I still haven't replaced my phone since that night I got jumped in the park, since every penny I've earned went to Shawn. So I couldn't even call the police.

Not knowing what else to do, I just kept walking, and the footsteps kept following, sometimes a little closer, sometimes a little farther away. At last I saw the opportunity I'd been hoping for: The footsteps had grown more distant, and up ahead of me was a narrow alleyway lined with garbage bins. I slipped in and sank down to sit on my heels behind one of the bins, desperately hoping to lose my stalker. I could make out the footsteps for a little while, but they stopped before they got too close. I heaved a sigh of relief, but I was still too scared to come out.

So that's where I am now. Scribbling in this journal to pass the time and make absolutely sure there is no one out there.

Shit. I just heard it again.
Click-clack
,
click-clack
. It's getting closer.