Memoirs Aren't Fairytales (32 page)

The Johns I was used to doing on the streets never asked if I had any STDs. Big Teddy must have some big paying clients.

She threw the gloves in the trash, and I crossed my legs and cupped my tits with my hands.

“I'm going to give you the night off so you can get yourself cleaned up,” she said. “But you're working tomorrow night.”

Once she left the bathroom, I snorted a few bags and got in the shower. I scrubbed the dirt off my skin and washed my hair twice. I didn't think I'd be able to get the street smell off me, but I did. I put on the shorts and t-shirt and went downstairs, taking a seat next to Emma on the couch.

The TV volume was really low, and Suzette was in the kitchen, answering the non-stop phone calls and typing on her computer. I whispered to Emma, “Taking the night off?”

She had short, black, choppy hair with eyelashes so long they curled up to her eyebrows.

“I'm on the rag,” she said. “That's the only time we're allowed to take off.”

“You like working for Big Teddy?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Better than being on the streets, I guess.”

I agreed. Suzette was a little bitchy, but the house was nice, and the dope she'd given me was better than the dirt I bought from the dealers in Roxbury.

“How long have you worked for him?” I asked.

“About a year,” she said. “I want to go back home to New Hampshire, but I don't have the money for a bus ticket.”

Didn't she just say she worked every night except for when she had her period? If Big Teddy supplied food and drugs, then why didn't she have fifty bucks for a bus ticket?

“Does he charge you rent or something?”

She'd been staring at the TV, but she finally looked over at me.

“Once you start working, you'll catch on real quick.”

“What do you mean? Do you—”

“Nicole,” Suzette said from the kitchen. “Come in here now.”

Emma took off down the hall, and I went to the kitchen. Suzette, still typing, asked me to pour her a glass of gin. I filled the glass with ice and booze and set it in front of her.

As I was about to walk away, she grabbed my wrist. “If you've got questions, you ask me, not Emma.”

“I wasn't—”

“This isn't the streets, you do as I say and don't you ever talk to the other girls. Got it?”

Her fingers tightened around my wrist.

I nodded.

Suzette reminded me of Miss Piggy, but her voice was deep and her face wasn't cute.

“I know all about you,” she said. “All it would take is one phone call, and your ass would be back in jail.”

With my mug shot being on the front page of the paper, I guess I was kind of famous now. But couldn't I say the same thing to her? She ran a whorehouse and handed out drugs to her hookers. I decided to keep my mouth shut. I went to my room, sniffed a bag, and got into bed.

After everything Sunshine had taught me about pimps, I never thought I'd be working for one, living in a whorehouse and taking orders from a madam. But Emma was right. This was better than being on the streets. I could hide out here and skip my court date and avoid Richard and jail while I saved some money and came up with a plan. And even later that night when Big Teddy climbed on top of me and humped me until my crotch felt raw, I still thought living here was the best place for me.

Suzette came into my room the next night and told me to get ready for work. She was going to start me on the street, and if I hustled and impressed her and Big Teddy, she'd promote me to an escort where I'd work in hotels. She gave me an outfit and makeup and products to do my hair. When all the girls and I were ready, we got into Big Teddy's van, and he drove us to the track. The girls got out and went to their spots, and Big Teddy pulled me aside. He handed me condoms and told me where to stand and how much to charge. He said I wasn't to take anything less than the prices he set or I'd owe him the difference.

I did what I was told, standing at the corner with my skirt hiked high and my boobs spilling out of my tank top and waving at the cars driving by. It didn't take long before a white pickup pulled over and the John rolled down his window. He had golden skin and talked with a Spanish accent, asking how much I charged for a blowjob. Big Teddy was standing not too far behind me, and I could feel his eyes on my back while I leaned into the window. I told the John forty bucks, and he said to get in. He drove to a side street and parked in the lot behind a hair salon. I asked for the money up front, and when both twenties were tucked inside my bra, I put on the condom and sucked as hard and as fast as I could.

Sunshine and I had only charged twenty for head. But even though I was charging forty, I was still making the same because I had to give Big Teddy his cut. At least that was how I thought it worked.

The John held my hair with one hand and my boob with his other. While I was bobbing on his dick, he made these weird coughlike noises, and when he came he neighed like a horse. I got out of the truck and Big Teddy met me at the corner.

He stuck out his hand and I pulled out one of the twenties from my bra and put it on his palm.

“You only charged twenty for head?” he asked.

“No, forty like you said.”

“Then where's the rest of my damn money?”

His money? I pointed at my bra.

“Give it to me,” he said.

“I thought I got half?”

“You thought wrong. Hand it over now.”

Just because he put me up and fed me didn't mean he deserved all the money I made. Twenty bucks was my cut, and I wasn't going to give it to him.

“No,” I said.

He grabbed my arms and threw me against the brick building. “I'm only going to tell you this once, you keep five bucks from every trick you turn, and I keep the rest. There's no negotiating.”

“That's not fair,” I said.

He released one of my arms and slapped me across the face with the back of his hand.

I tasted blood on my lip.

I didn't care how much dope Big Teddy gave me. I didn't need him. I'd find another pimp who would take care of me and let me keep half my earnings.

“I'm not giving you shit, and I'm not working for you anymore either,” I said.

His knuckles slammed into my jaw, and my head bounced against the brick before I fell to the ground.

He stood over me and pointed with his finger. “It doesn't work like that, once you're mine you're mine until I let you go.” He kicked my side with his black shiny shoe. And then he kicked me again. I rolled onto my stomach and dug my nails against the pavement, trying to crawl away from him.

A red car pulled up to the curb a few feet away and the door opened. From the corner of my eye, a pair of sneakers was moving over to me. I lifted my head to see who it was, and Big Teddy stomped on my back.

I screamed from the pain.

“Touch her again and I'm calling the police,” a man said from behind me.

His voice sounded familiar. But my back hurt too much to turn around and see who it was.

Big Teddy laughed. “She's my whore and I'll touch her whenever I damn well please.”

Someone's fingers grazed the skin on my throat and I winced, waiting for them to hurt me. But they didn't hurt me, they checked my pulse. “Cole, I'll get you out of here in a second.”

Cole? Michael was here? Michael's fingers were touching me?

I rolled over to my back, and Michael was crouched next to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Just hang tight,” Michael said.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Big Teddy said.

“She's coming with me,” Michael said.

Big Teddy reached his hand into his jacket, and the head of his gun poked out from his inside pocket.

“Michael, watch out,” I shouted. “He's got a gun.”

Michael reacted fast, drew back his arm and clocked Big Teddy in the nose. Big Teddy staggered back a few steps, and blood dripped down his mouth and onto his jacket. Michael punched him again, but this time his fist landed on Big Teddy's stomach. Big Teddy leaned over like he was trying to catch his breath, and his hand disappeared into his pocket again. He pulled out the gun and stood up straight, aiming it at Michael. And as Michael tried to grab the gun from his hand, it went off. The bang echoed in my ears. Michael collapsed, falling over on top of my legs. Blood soaked through his shirt and pooled onto my jeans and the pavement.

Big Teddy reached for me. “You're coming with me,” he said. He yanked at my arm, trying to pull me out from under Michael's heavy body.

“Leave me alone,” I screamed. I bit his hand, sinking my teeth deep into his flesh.

He kicked me so I'd unclamp his fingers from my mouth and said, “Come with me or I'll kill you too.”

I released his hand and he looked around at the crowd that was gathering behind us. “Get in the van now,” he said.

“Call the police,” I yelled at the people around us.

Big Teddy pushed through the crowd, waddling over to his van and driving away.

I pulled my legs out from under Michael and sat behind him with his head on my lap. “You're going to be okay,” I said. “Does anyone have a cell phone?”

No one answered and they all started to move away from Michael and me.

I searched Michael's pockets and found his cell, calling 9-1-1. I told the operator my brother had been shot and he was losing a lot of blood and gave him our location.

As I hung up, Michael's eyes were closing, and I shook his head. “Michael, open your eyes.” His eyes opened and closed and opened again. I knew the pain he was feeling. I'd been shot in the chest too.

“Just wanted… help you…” he said.

I put my ear closer to his mouth so I could hear him and cradled his chest in my arms. “I know you did.”

“I left you. Outside. Starving.” Blood came out of his mouth. “Sorry, Cole.”

“I'm fine, Michael, you did the right thing. Do you hear me? I'm just fine.”

His eyes closed again and I shook him so he'd stay awake. “You're going to be okay,” I said. “You just need to stay with me and keep your eyes open.”

The sirens from the ambulance got louder and louder, and when it pulled up next to us I had to cover my ears. The shrieking sound and all the blood was just too much.

The paramedics lifted Michael from my arms and put him on a stretcher which they put in the back of the ambulance. I jumped inside and sat next to him. The paramedic moved quickly, hooking him up to machines and an IV.

I held Michael's other hand.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked the medic.

He was speaking to the driver, using medical words I didn't understand.

“He's coding,” he said to the driver.

He put a balloon-like machine in Michael's mouth and pumped it. Then he started pushing on Michael's chest. “One, two, three,” he counted and squeezed the balloon.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“One, two, three,” he said and pumped the balloon again.

I'd seen CPR done only once before and that was when I was a kid, swimming at the lake and a lifeguard had saved a little boy from drowning. But the little boy hadn't made it. He died on the beach in front of his whole family.

“Is he going to be okay?” I shouted.

“What's the ETA?” he asked the driver.

“Thirty seconds,” the driver said.

“One, two, three,” he said again and pumped.

“Please, answer me,” I said. But he didn't. I kept squeezing Michael's hand.

At the ER entrance, the driver opened the back door and pulled the stretcher onto the ground where a group of nurses was waiting. They wheeled Michael into the ER, and I followed until a nurse stopped me. She put on a pair of gloves and held my face with her hands, checking out my busted lip and bruised jaw. She said she'd get a doctor to check me out, and I told her I was fine, and I just wanted to see Michael. She told me to sit in the waiting room and they'd keep me updated.

I still had Michael's cell phone and dialed my parents' number. It was after midnight and when mom answered, she sounded like I'd woken her. “Is everything alright, honey?”

“It's Nicole.”

“Why are you calling from Michael's phone? What's going on?”

After all these months of not talking, I could only imagine how strange it was for her to hear my voice.

She asked again if everything was okay. She had to know something was up.

“You need to drive down here and hurry,” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Michael's been shot.”

“Steve, wake up,” Mom screamed. “Michael's hurt.”

“Give me the phone,” Dad said in the background. “Who is this?”

“It's Nicole.”

“Where is he?”

“We're at Boston Medical,” I said.

He told me they'd be here as soon as they could and hung up.

I watched the clock in the waiting room. Every time the second hand moved, there was a loud ticking noise, the same noise as when Big Teddy cocked his gun. The sound made my skin hurt.

Michael was going to be fine.

The doctor rounded the corner of the waiting room. He moved slowly and with no expression on his face.

“Are you related to Michael Brown?” the doctor asked.

I moved to the edge of my seat. “Yes.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Michael didn't survive…” The doctor continued to talk, but I didn't hear anything else he said.

My brother was dead. It didn't seem real.

I squeezed my hands together and pierced my skin with my nails. I was totally numb and couldn't feel anything. I felt like I was outside my body, looking at myself.

Heroin. This was all the heroin's fault. But it was my fault too, my fault for trying it and continuing to use, not letting my parents take me to rehab at Eric's funeral, or Michael when he found me in the bar and all the times I'd gone to his apartment for money. It was my fault for leaving rehab with Dustin, getting arrested, skipping my court date, and agreeing to work for Big Teddy. I'd gotten Michael killed. And Michael wasn't the only person I'd lost from this drug. Eric and Claire and Heather were dead too. Raul had gone to jail and so had Dustin. Smack had affected everyone around me. It had ruined me, destroyed my body, killed my baby and now my poor Michael too.