Memoirs Aren't Fairytales (14 page)

When the rush hit me, my mouth went dry. I needed to get a drink or my lips were going to stick to the condom when I gave him head. Sunshine was still in her stall, so I told her I'd meet her at the bar and asked the bartender for some tap water. My legs were wobbly, and I sat on a stool, sucking on the end of the straw.

Damn. The nod came fast. And I couldn't help but follow it. I was so warm, and the leather seat was like silk on the back of my legs.

I felt someone lift me up, and I bounced in their arms as they walked. I didn't open my eyes to see who it was. The dream was so beautiful, I was in a boat and the water was calm and sparkly.

I heard a noise, and the sound was so loud it vibrated through my body and wind swished across my face. Then I heard my name. The voice was familiar, and my eyes opened. I was sitting on a bench near the platform of the train. There were a set of legs underneath mine and arms wrapped around my stomach. I turned to my left and saw Michael.

Michael?

And there was a girl sitting to my right.

“What the hell—”

“I found you,” Michael said. His face was only inches away. “You were sleeping on a stool in the bar.”

“What were you doing at Ted's?” I asked.

“What are you doing dressed like this?”

“Who are you?” I asked the girl.

“I'm Whitney,” she said. She was so pretty. Her long chocolate hair was curled around her face and her lips were plump like sausage links. There were tiny freckles under her eyes and her skin glowed like it was covered in glitter.

“Are you his girlfriend?” I asked.

She looked at Michael. From the corner of my eye, his face looked so serious and a little red, and he shook his head no.

“Do you remember seeing me in the bathroom?” she asked. “You bumped into me after you washed the blood off your wrist.”

Michael grabbed my wrist and flipped it over, so my track marks were staring right at him. “I can't believe it,” he said. He pulled at my other arm, which looked the same. “We had our suspicions but… Cole, let me get you some help.”

“They're not what you think.”

“Eric died from this shit, I'm not going to lose you too.”

“I'm not Eric.”

“That's right, you're still alive,” he said. “You're coming home with me.” The approaching train overpowered his voice, so I couldn't hear what else he said.

I didn't want to stop using smack. There wasn't a reason for me to stop. I wasn't sick and I wasn't dying. People took painkillers and antidepressants, and instead I did heroin. If I wanted to take a day off from dope, I could. I didn't need help to do that.

“You're going to check yourself into rehab,” he yelled.

Rehab? First my parents had turned against me and now him too? Michael had always taken my side when I was younger, and now he wanted to put me in one of those places like I was some messed up, helpless kid?

“Why are you trying to punish me?” I shouted.

His arms loosened from around my stomach and fell to his sides.

“I haven't done anything wrong,” I said. “If you think you're helping, you're not, you're only pushing me further away.”

His eyes turned red and watery. “But you're—”

“I hate you,” I screamed. “You're fucking dead to me.”

His chin dropped to his chest, and his body went limp, leaning back against the bench.

This was my chance. I bolted from his lap and ran down the platform.

“Nicole! Nicole! Please stop!” Michael shouted.

When the train door started to close, I slid inside and it shut behind me. I turned my back so I wouldn't see him on the bench and sat in an empty seat.

The next train stop was about a five-minute walk to Ted's. I hoped Sunshine would wait for me before doing both guys by herself. I wanted to feel a man's arms around me and hear them tell me how good I was.

I didn't need rehab. I needed money and heroin.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After I left Michael in the train station, I called Sunshine's cell. I'd woken her out of a nod, and she was still in the went outside and found the guys waiting behind the bar. I told her to keep them entertained and I'd be there soon.

When I got there, the three of them were trying to decide where we should get it on. The men had ridden their motorcycles to Ted's, so we didn't have a car to use and they didn't want to pay for a hotel room. Sunshine said the alley was as good as a car, and the guys were fine with that.

We moved in the alleyway, in between Ted's and a nail salon, and separated into couples. I stood still, waiting for him to tell me what he wanted, and he bent his head and kissed me. He hadn't spit out his wad of chew, and I tasted bits of tobacco when I licked my lips. I tried to keep my lips in a tight lock, but he opened them with his tongue, moving around in my mouth like he was brushing my teeth.

He dropped his pants, and his fingers pushed down on the top of my head. I opened the condom Sunshine had given me and slid it on. As I gave him a blowjob, I smelled the stench from his pubes. Sweat and dirt, mixed with something sour like stale milk. The condom tasted like antibacterial gel. My mouth was dry from the latex, my jaw was sore, and my lips were sticking, not sliding.

He grabbed both sides of my face and pulled me in for some deep throat action. I choked on him. That was when he pulled me by the hair and slammed me against the wall of the building. He told me he wanted it from behind. I hiked my skirt to my waist and spread my legs. I wasn't wet and I'd sucked all the lubricant off the condom, so I licked my fingers, trying to drench myself with saliva. But I still felt the burn when he rammed into me.

His thrusts were rough and every time he buried his dick, my nose hit the wall. I protected my face with my hands and counted the strokes to keep my mind off the pain.

Eight. Nine. Ten strokes.

Sunshine was about a foot away, and I stared at the side of her face, the wrinkles around her eyes and the gray roots that needed to be bleached. She'd been doing this for thirty years? That seemed like a long time and this was only my first day.

Sunshine moaned and said, “Deeper, baby.”

I hadn't said a word, not even a groan. She looked over at me and winked. Her guy was much louder than mine and sounded like he was really into it.

“Give it to me harder,” I said and Sunshine smiled.

He gave it to me harder and moaned.

“Faster,” I said.

He moved faster.

Sixteen strokes. Seventeen. Eighteen.

I matched his grunts and shouted, “I'm gonna come.”

Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

He let out a long moan and leaned into the side of my face. “You've got a nice, tight pussy,” he said.

As I pulled my skirt down, he slid off the condom and threw it on the ground.

Sunshine's guy had finished too, and after they zipped their pants, they gave us a hundred bucks apiece.

“See, it ain't so bad,” Sunshine said on the way to the train station. “The moaning gets them to bust quicker and that's the secret to turning tricks real fast.”

I took a seat next to her on the train and it hurt a little when I sat. If I did this again, I'd have to buy some lube. But Sunshine was right. It wasn't so bad, and I'd made more money in ten minutes than I had panhandling all morning.

I met our next door neighbor, Claire, a few months later. I'd just gotten back from panhandling, and she walked in behind me, carrying all these bags of groceries. The bags looked too heavy for an old woman to be lugging up the stairs, and I offered to carry them for her. She thanked me and gave me all the bags from one of her hands. I followed her to the fourth floor, and she stopped at the room next to mine. I was surprised I'd never seen her before.

“Did you just move in?” I asked, setting the bags by her kitchen sink. “I live next door and haven't seen you around.”

“Oh no, honey. I've been here for years,” she said.

“I'm Nicole,” I said. “Sunshine's roommate.”

She shook my hand so gently I barely felt it. “She's such a nice gal, that Sunshine,” she said. “I was just going to fix some supper, do you want to join me?”

Considering we'd just met seconds ago, I thought her invitation was odd. But I accepted. Hell, was there such a thing as odd anymore?

What struck me the most about Claire was how motherly she was. She made me a cup of tea and a plate of cheese and crackers before she started cooking, and told me to make myself comfortable. I sat on the couch, drinking my lemon tea and flipping through the photo album on her coffee table. Most of the pictures were cracked and faded. The photographs showed her as a young woman and with her were a little boy and a man I assumed was her husband because the kid looked just like him. But as the boy grew older, his father disappeared from the photos.

“That's my son, Henry,” she said, standing next to the couch. She used her wooden spoon to point to the pictures.

Over dinner, I learned she was seventy-eight and widowed, and Henry was in prison, but she didn't say what for. After her husband died of cancer, she got her first job as a baker in a café, and when she retired ten years ago, she moved into the hotel.

Claire washed the dishes, and for dessert, she served homemade cookies with milk. I was so full. I hadn't eaten this much food since Jimmy's Fourth of July party in Cape Cod, but the cookies smelled so good and they were right out of the oven. The chocolate chips were melted and the dough was gooey. I devoured three cookies and as I reached for my fourth, Claire asked where I was from. I told her my story—minus the cause of Eric's death and what Que and Raul had gotten arrested for, and that I used heroin, because I wanted to be invited for dinner again.

Claire had a collection of movies and asked if I wanted to watch one. I didn't have anything going on. I had my period so that ruined my plans for tricking. I told her I needed to make a phone call and I'd be back in a little while.

I shot up and after the nod, I went back to her room. Claire was sitting on the couch and there was a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. She patted the cushion beside her, and I sat down.

“I hope you don't mind, but I picked out a movie.” I didn't care what we watched, I just didn't want to make any decisions.

“
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
,” she said. “Have you seen it? It's a classic.”

I shook my head, and she hit play on the remote.

If classic meant old, then she had definitely picked one. The actresses' clothes and hair were from another time, like my mom in her graduation picture. There was an obvious age gap between Claire and me. My classics were
Pretty Woman
and
Dirty Dancing
.

I fell asleep not too long into the movie. When I woke up, I was lying across the couch, covered with a blanket with a pillow under my head. Claire was sitting on the end of her bed with her legs crossed and her hands folded on her lap. Her lips were spread in a grin, one like Eric had when he was stoned on pot.

“You woke up just in time, my dear. That's Marilyn,” she said and pointed to the screen. And then she cupped her hands over her heart and mouthed the words that were being sung.

Marilyn was walking down a set of stairs, wearing a pink dress and matching gloves. She was surrounded by men in suits, singing, “Diamonds are a girl's best friend.” Marilyn shimmied her shoulders and Claire shimmied too.

I never thought I'd like hanging out with someone as old as Claire, especially since she didn't do drugs. She hardly drank either. But the more time I spent with her, the less I wanted to be away from her. Our friendship was easy. There wasn't any drama or jealousy like I had with Renee. The only thing she wanted from me was my company, and she'd always say how much she appreciated having me around. I got this feeling that if it weren't for me, she'd be alone.

Claire reminded me a lot of my mom. They hugged the same, squeezing for an extra couple of seconds when you tried to pull away and always making sure I never had an empty stomach. But Claire didn't ask questions like my mom did. That was probably because Claire didn't know I used heroin.

Mom had been leaving voicemails. Dad and Michael too. I didn't listen to their messages and since my mailbox was full, they couldn't leave any more. I already knew what the voicemails said— they loved me and wanted me to go to rehab, and blah-blah-blah. If I had extra money, I'd get a new cell phone number. But my phone was linked to my parents account, and they paid the bill.

Even though it was fall and the weather outside was cool, I always wore tank tops or t-shirts when I was in the hotel. Smack made me sweat. If Claire saw the track marks on my arms and wrists, she never said anything. When I needed to use, I'd make up an excuse to leave, and I'd go back to her room after the nod.

One morning, while Sunshine was at the needle exchange, I curled up in her bed and did a shot. I heard the door open and slam closed and figured it was Sunshine coming home. But I didn't open my eyes to look. The nod was too pretty.

Someone sat next to me and then I felt arms wrap around me. That was when I knew it wasn't Sunshine—she and I didn't hug. My nose filled with Claire's smell, flowered shampoo and baby powder. Her arms shook, and she was crying.

Did she think I was dead?

I opened my eyes. The needle was still in my arm. The spoon, bags, and lighter were lying in front of me on the bed.

“Claire, I'm okay, don't worry.”

She didn't let go of me.

“Why didn't you tell me you were addicted to heroin?” she asked.

How did she know it was heroin?

“I didn't think you'd still be my friend,” I said.

“Oh honey,” she said and kissed the top of my head.

Most people would have freaked out if they found me in a nod with the needle still in my arm. But Claire didn't. I was expecting a lecture. At the least, I thought she'd use the death card, trying to scare me into being sober. She didn't do either. She continued to hug me and then asked if I wanted some spaghetti.

While we ate the pasta, I told her the truth about Eric's death, and the reason Que and Raul had been arrested. I even told her about Renee and her pregnancy, and how she left me stranded at McDonald's. Claire listened and didn't say anything. And when I finished talking, she told me she was going to make a big Thanksgiving dinner for Sunshine and me. I didn't know if she was upset I'd lied or she just liked to talk about food. Either way, she was an excellent cook.