Fox Girl (19 page)

“Sick,” I grumbled, wiping my neck. “Get the lamp.” I heard the strike of a match, then light flared, piercing the shadows.

Lobetto turned the wick, softening the firelight. “Why are you worried about what my mother thinks?” he asked.

“I'm not,” I blustered. “I just, it's just . . . I want her to know that this is just business. That I'm working. That's all.”

“I'm sure she'll figure it out,” he sighed, backing out of the tent. “Get ready.”

“Lobetto!” I grabbed his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“Ow, ow!” he complained. “Get your claws off me.”

Loosening my fingers, I tried to sound nonchalant. “What a baby.”

“I'm going to work, try to get something set up for you.” Lobetto rubbed his shoulder. “That is, if you still think you can do a job.” He mocked me, but his eyes—shuttered and serious—questioned.

For some reason, I felt like crying. I shrugged and forced a laugh. “Let's make some money,” I said. “Set up something big.” When Lobetto left, I curled in on myself, closed my eyes. I felt the heaviness of the birthmark across my cheek and willed the dark stain to spread. I imagined the blackness creeping over the rest of my face, erasing all that I was.

I fell asleep waiting for Lobetto to come back.

“You're supposed to be ready!” Lobetto panted, rushing into the tent and pulling me by the arm.

Dazed, I rubbed at my eyes, touched my hair. “I am.”

“What?” He scowled, eyeing my wrinkled shirt. “You should have borrowed something from my mother.”

I sniffed, wanting to imply that nothing his mother had would fit me. Though her dresses were tight enough on her to make her resemble an overstuffed sausage, they would have hung on me. I might as well have draped Lobetto's tent across my shoulders.

“Never mind,” Lobetto grabbed at my shirt and tugged at the buttons.

I smacked his hands. “What are you doing!”

“Take your clothes off,” he snapped. “Hurry!”

We wrestled over the shirt. “Stop it, Lobetto! I thought I was going to work!”

Lobetto yanked and the last few buttons popped off. “You are, dummy!” he said. “But you can't wear this.”

“Oh.” I let him take the shirt. “Don't look at me,” I said, fingering the button of my pedal pushers. “You have something for me to wear?”

Turning his head away, he muttered under his breath.

“What?” I asked. “What did you say?”

Groaning, he raised his voice. “I said: yeah, I have something for you. It's in my mother's room.”

Stripped down to my panties, I crossed my hands over my breasts. “Bring me the outfit,” I hissed.

Lobetto swore and threw his hands in the air. “Get over there! You're late.” Grabbing my arm, he dragged me out of the tent and toward the apartment door.

The open air bit at my nipples as I hustled after Lobetto and into the cover of the apartment. I scanned the room. “Your mother isn't home, is she?” I asked. My voice sounded small and shaky.

“I sent her to the clubs tonight,” he said.

When we approached the closed door, I heard a man's voice, then laughter. “Lobetto,” I balked, digging my nails into his wrist. “No. I changed my mind.”

Lobetto turned on me, his eyes glittering. “No?” he snarled, twisting his arm so that he was the one gripping my wrist. “You told me you wanted this! I busted my ass landing this job, and it's a big one. I got the money up front and I'm not giving it back.”

I backed away, trying to break free of his hold and cover myself at the same time. “Lobetto, I thought I could do this, but I can't. You were right.”

“Hyun Jin,” he said, his voice quiet and almost sad. “It's too late. Please do this job; it's really important. Look—” His words rushed out, more forcefully, “it's nothing you haven't done before. Just do what you did with Sookie's Joes and you'll be fine.”

“I didn't—” I started to say, but by then Lobetto had yanked the door open and was pulling me in after him. Keeping my head down, a veil of hair shielding my face, I closed my eyes and bit my lip to keep from screaming.

“Hi, GI! Hello Joe!” Lobetto blustered into the room, smiling and waving his thumb. His other hand held my wrist so tight that I would sport a bracelet of bruises for over a week. “Got a good-time girlfriend for you.”

“Not bad,” said a man who came to stand in front of me. “But a little small.” Knocking away the shield of my arm, he cupped my breasts and jiggled them in his palms. “Mmm, mmm,” he smacked his lips. “Hel-lo Jell-O.”

I heard chuckling and, closing my eyes, whimpered.

“What's wrong with her?” a second voice said.

Shocked at hearing more than one Joe, I snapped my head up and saw that there were three of them, and that they were white. I shot a glance at Lobetto, realizing why he seemed so insistent, so desperate I do this job; to pull in these fish meant that he was poaching outside of his territory. He was trespassing, crossing over to the white sections of America Town.

The man who was fondling me, the meanest-looking of the three with small, quick-moving eyes and hard, calloused fingers, released my breasts and grabbed my face, tilting it to the light. “Hooo, boy!” he spat at Lobetto. “She dog. Bow-wow, understandie?” He squeezed my cheeks. “You cheatin' us?”

My teeth cut the inside of my mouth. I twisted my neck, trying to bite his hand. He shoved my head back so hard I bit my tongue instead.

“No, no cheating.” Lobetto, a smile pasted on his face, tried to reassure the men. “She's really, really good. The best.” Lobetto pinched my arm, in warning. “Keep a good attitude,” he hissed at me in Korean. “Smile!”

Tasting bile, I swallowed what I wanted to say to him: go to hell.

“What you say, boy?” the man asked. “You giving me a hard time?”

“She looks young,” said the man who had asked what was wrong with me. Glancing at him quickly, I saw him hunch his bony shoulders. He looked young himself, his rounded eyes and protruding ears making him seem unsure and vulnerable. His gaze skittered away, refusing to meet mine. “I don't know about this,” he mumbled.

“Them Orientals all look young,” said the man I already hated.

I looked at the boy man, and at the third man—a pudgy, older man with curling red hair—who sat on the bed. I let my eyes fill with tears. I shook my head at the red-haired man. His gaze dropped from my face to my breasts, and the pale skin between his freckles reddened.

The skinny boy man moved toward the door. “I don't think she's into this,” he said, reaching for the doorknob.

Lobetto dropped my arm and moved to block the door. He waved his hands at them. “It's her act,” he said. “She always does this. Makes it more exciting for you.”

The young GI frowned, unsure, and looked to his friends.

Lobetto spoke fast. “I give you guys a good deal,” he said. “One thousand won for all of you. Three for the price of one.”

The man who touched my breasts started laughing. “Why not?” he said. “We don't need to look at her face.” He sneered at the boy. “Don't be a sissy, Remmy. You heard the guy: this is her act. She probably done this a hundred times afore now.”

“Right, right,” Lobetto agreed quickly. “You have a good time, tell your friends. No one better than her, she love to fuck you anyway you like.”

The red GI shrugged. “I think it's their culture or something; they cry so they won't feel guilty when they enjoy it.”

“Okay, then,” Lobetto said, turning to leave. “It's a deal.”

“Wait!” I yelled. “Don't leave me here.” I tried to run out with Lobetto, but Lobetto pushed me back in.

“Don't mess this up.” He gritted his teeth in a fake smile. “This could be the start of something rich. It's a new market; these white
miguks
wanting to try something from the other side. Besides,” he added, “it's not like you haven't done it before. After the first, it doesn't matter how many you have.”

“Lobetto,” I cried. “It is my first time! I haven't done honeymoon before.”

He stared at me.

“What's going on?” The GI looked from me to Lobetto. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“Why didn't you tell me before it got to this point?” Lobetto hissed. “I could have gotten more money for you.” Glancing at the GI, he said in English, “Yeah, yeah. It's a deal.”

The GI slammed the door on Lobetto's face. “Go on then, boy. We'll let you know when we're done.”

The mean GI swung me over his shoulder and whacked my ass. I kicked.

“Are you sure she wants this?” one of the men said. I think it was the baby-faced one.

“No!” I yelled.

“She's just fucking with us.” The GI threw me onto the bed. “It's part of the game. You too much of a faggot to play?”

Jerking off his pants, the man stood in front of my face. He pressed himself against my lips. “Suckie, suckie,” he coaxed.

Jaw clenched, I swatted him away.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll start this way.” He got on top of me. I shifted under him, trying to turn away from the stench of his body: smoke and stale beer and an animal sourness. He rolled my panties down my hips, opened my legs and entered me, swift and sudden. I arched, crying out in shock and pain, and tried to buck him off. “That's it, sugar.” He grinned at his friends. “She's tight as a virgin,” he said. “Join in.”

“Stop,” I cried, in English and Korean. I tried to focus on the baby-face Joe—the Remmy Joe, the faggot Joe, the Joe who wanted to leave—but the man wedged his arm under my chin to shut me up.

The red GI angled my head so he could shove his penis into my mouth. I gagged, but he moved himself in and out, thrusting against my throat. He called out to the boy man, teasing him, urging him to have some fun. After a short while, the boy man took my hand and placed it on his body. “Like this,” he whispered, folding my hand in his and pumping.

After a while, the men rotated, shifting from one orifice to another, taking turns at the stations of my body. They pumped, grunting and grinding themselves into me while I whimpered and tried to get away. It didn't matter what I did; they pinned me down, moving my arms and legs as if I were a doll.

“Sandwich!” one of the GIs called out.

I thought for a moment they were going to take a break. I knew what “sandwich” was from Duk Hee. Once she had brought home a Spam and egg sandwich from the PX. I remember thinking that the fried pink meat and bright yellow yolk folded between the crusty white bread was the most deliciously beautiful food I had ever tasted. Better, even, than
jajie
dogs.

But instead of leaving me, the men lifted me up so that one of them could slide under me. After the other two positioned me on top of him, one climbed on my back.

I cried out, realizing he was trying to put himself into my anus. Struggling to get away, I twisted and bucked my hips. The man under me moaned and the man on top jammed into me.

I screamed. And then went numb. I could barely hear them above the whimpering, the small animal cries. When I grasped that the inhuman keening was coming not from a cat cornered in the alleyway, but from me, I gave up the struggle of trying to decipher what the GIs were saying. And I gave up trying to hold on to my body, the body that disgusted me with its crying and mess and pain.

I finally understood what Sookie told me about letting the real self fly away.

From far away, the real me watched them open the shell of my body, ramming and ripping into every opening they could. I watched them spread the legs open, splitting the inner lips wide enough to fit two of the men at the same time. I watched them bite at the breasts and
poji
till they drew blood, and saw them shoot themselves into and over the belly, take breaks, then come at it again.

I watched, and, other than a vague sense of pity, didn't feel a thing.

After a while, I realized they were done. I lay on the bed like a stone. I heard them talking and joking as they got dressed, heard them open the door and talk with Lobetto outside the door. When it was quiet, I opened my eyes and, disoriented by the change in perspective, saw Lobetto looking down at me.

“You did good,” he said, awkward in his attempts to pat my shoulder. “Especially for your first time.” Then he wrinkled his nose. “You better clean yourself up.”

I blinked at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to acknowledge myself. I didn't want this body, this lump of meat on the bed to be me.

“Get up,” he said, tugging my arm. “You've been in here a long time.”

My arm flapped, loose and limp, in his grip.

“You know, if you wiggle around and moan like you like it, it'll go a lot faster.” He poked a finger into my belly, steadily pressing the breath from my body. I fought the inhale, refusing the air, until my body kicked and lunged, gulping without permission.

“Fuck you, Lobetto,” I gasped. My voice echoed, flat and far away in my own head.

“Now that's the Hyun Jin that I know and love.” He clapped his hands. “Up, up,” he said briskly. “I'll wait for you outside, come out when you're ready, but don't take too long; my mother wants her room back. She's tired.”

Only the thought of Lobetto's mother seeing me like this, weak and broken, forced me to sit up. I eased my legs off the bed, wincing when I saw the streaks of blood on my thighs. “She's not out there, is she?” I croaked before I realized Lobetto had already slipped away. Grimacing with each baby step, I shuffled toward the kitchen.