Selling Out (16 page)

Henri was out there searching for me. Philip was waiting for
me to fail so he could take what he wanted. And now my father was out there
too, with actions unknown and repercussions that could run deep.

Suddenly Luke’s hesitance didn’t seem bad at all. It sounded
downright heavenly. The gun might be another wedge between us. He wouldn’t want
me to use it. Hell, I didn’t want to use it either. But I would. With Ella’s
neck on the line, I would. With my honor against the wall. I wasn’t selfish,
despite what my father had said. Maybe this was the final test. The last gift,
and then what? I’d do what money hadn’t done for Allie. What innocence hadn’t
for Ella. I’d save us all, and then I’d finally prove my father wrong.

Inside Philip’s house, I skated around the kitchen and
living rooms, hoping to avoid any contact with anyone. Instead I went up to the
conservatory, where I dozed into a mindless coma. It didn’t matter whether my
eyes were open or closed. They were still blanketed with black and dotted with
stars. I could still taste the sour night air through the double-paned glass.
Such were the dreams of a hothouse flower, imagining she knew freedom in a
cage, reaching for the earth at the bottom of her pot.

“Shelly?” came a whispered question. Then again, closer.

If I didn’t say anything, Ella might go away. And spend the
next quarter of a century searching the whole damn house. I sighed. There
really was no rest for the wicked.

“What do you need?” I called, knowing my voice would reflect
off the glass around us.

“Where are you?”

“Climb the stairs in the far corner.”

A few minutes later, she crawled into the loft sectional.
“Hey, this is nice. Peaceful. Kind of private.”

“Yeah,” I said drily. Private.

She nestled among the pillows beside me. “Oh, did you want
me to leave?”

I didn’t, really. I liked her chattering presence, her
unflagging spirit, her undeserved devotion to me. She filled the void that
Allie had once occupied, sharing herself in a way I never could.

“You can stay.”

“The house is just so big. And empty. Where do you suppose
Philip went? Do you think he’s coming back?”

“Probably. Don’t go looking for him, okay?”

“Okay. I get it.” She fell silent, but the air still buzzed
with her energy.

Maybe I had gone about this all wrong. I had asked question
after question, receiving very little back. If I offered answers first, she
would… What, trust me? I rolled my eyes in the dark. Love me? The lost little
girl who needs everyone to love her.

Pathetic.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, “about what we talked about,
about why I didn’t leave. Or why I didn’t leave successfully.”

“Yeah, the poison.” Her voice grew cautious, as if she
expected me to pounce.

Not yet, though. First I needed to spin my web, using the
strongest net I knew. No words held more power than the truth. I would speak a
few honest words tonight, in the hush of twilight, in the presence of
innocence, and my only purpose was to draw out something useful in return. This
wasn’t for me. There weren’t enough prostitutes in Amsterdam to offer me
absolution.

“It’s not about where we end up. It’s about where we came
from. Prostitution was always in my future. I just figured I’d be fucking one
old guy for money instead of several and that we’d be married.”

Her voice lilted, uncertain. “Why not make your own money?”

“This is my own money. You mean, why not put on a pinched
suit and sit in a cubicle for ten hours a day? We have very few choices in
life, but one thing we can do is pick our poison. I’ll take a couple of sweaty men
over a marketing department full of them any day. Except…”

“Except?”

“I thought about changing, once. That was when I met you. I
was completely out. Until I wasn’t. I’m still not sure how it happened. At the
time, I thought it meant Henri was too powerful to deny. But now I wonder if it
doesn’t go further back than him. Like maybe someone above him is pulling the
strings.”

“You mean God?”

I laughed. “I meant my father, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind
your assessment of the situation.”

“What does your father have to do with it?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, probably. But if he does, if I’m
right…then all this shit really was preordained.” I laughed again. “Like God.
Like fate. Just another fool on Fortune’s Wheel.”

Her throat worked audibly. “You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry,” I said, contrite. “I’m not the best company right
now. You should probably go.”

Her hand fumbled for mine, burning where it touched. “It’s
okay. You can tell me.”

Strangely, I believed her. Or maybe I just needed it to be
true.

In history class, we learned that each new civilization
plows over the existing one. Archaeologists cut through rock and measure the
years based on the layers within. Pottery shards of one culture sit only yards
above, feet above the broken pieces that came before it. That was what our
neighborhood in south Chicago did.

Some big-shot community development folks bought up a
rectangle right in the middle of the projects, razed it down, and built a
handful of million-dollar homes. The poor, run-down houses surrounding the
gated neighborhood were the murky waters of a moat, something to be crossed
between the castle at home and the freeway.

Except for the kids. We were all zoned to the same school
district, and since dear old Dad didn’t see fit to send me to private school, I
got to mingle with the commoners. The rich and the privileged usually dominate,
but not there. There the strong and the fearless would—and did—cut an uppity
white kid and take his iPod.

Luckily I’ve always had a pretty face and a nice rack. Or maybe
not so luckily, since men tended to notice, and the kind of men who notice such
things on a thirteen-year-old aren’t very good. Like my father. He touched me
and had sex with me, and what are you going to do? Even then, I knew better
than to bite the hand that feeds me. Even then, I knew what I was.

I wasn’t bitter about what my father did. It was the way of
the world.

I also learned that Cleopatra’s daughter was only fifteen
years old when she was forced to marry an older man, and I imagined myself an
exotic princess fulfilling her birthright. Some Egyptian royalty married their
relatives, even. The analogy fit, because my mother had been beautiful and
selfish, leaving her daughter to face the world alone. Not that I was bitter
about it, but life went on, for me at least.

The important part of this story began when I left home.
That day I approached his office.

I knocked.

The long wait indicated how annoyed he’d be at the
interruption. “Come in.”

I slipped inside and stood before his desk. “Hello, sir.”

He didn’t look up, rifling through papers on his desk. His
hair was rumpled, shirtsleeves rolled up. “Speak,” he said.

My stomach sank. I had hoped for a good day, when he took me
on his lap, took what he wanted, and then asked what he could do to make me
happy. “Can I come back when you’re free?”

“I won’t be.” He slammed the papers with his fist, finally
looking me in the eye. “This is what I do, Shelly. I work so that you can live
here, wear the clothes you wear, so that Juanita can clean up after you. Now
what is so important that you had to disturb me?”

Deep breath. “My friend. Allie. You may remember her. She
came over a few times when… Anyway, she’s in trouble.”

An eyebrow rose. “Trouble?”

I flushed. “She’s pregnant.”

“I see.”

If he thought she was a bad influence, he wouldn’t help. “It
wasn’t her fault, I swear. She said no. He wasn’t even her boyfriend. He just—”

“Quiet.”

I stilled, stomach churning.

He got up from his desk and strolled over to the window. “Do
you know what I see when I look out there?” He glanced back at me. “At the
rattraps that litter our lawn, where your friend no doubt lives?”

I licked my lips. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

“No,” he said. “I doubt she does. Which is what makes her an
animal, only acting on instinct and fear. Those rotting apartment buildings are
the cages we keep them in, like unwanted pets we’re too soft to kill. So what
does that make me?”

Failure tightened my throat. “Sir…”

“Come and see, Shelly.”

My leaden feet carried me to the window. I stared at the
jagged landscape of concrete and flesh, of rust and blood, while he brushed my
hair aside and kissed my neck.

“What does that make you?” he whispered.

Cold air slipped under my skirt. His fingers bruised my
hips. A sharp burn before I blocked out everything physical, pushed away
anything warm and feeling and human. I was an animal, only acting on instinct
and fear. I heard his footsteps as he returned to his desk and the rasp of pen
on paper.

“Come here.”

He handed me a wad of cash. Five thousand dollars, I counted
out later.

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.

“After this, I don’t want you to see her again. A girl like
that could be a bad influence on you.”

I took a cab to the county hospital, where the uninsured
were allowed, where two other pregnant women shared her room, and sat at
Allie’s side, the folded wad of money in my purse burning a hole in my gut.

Her brown hair splayed across the pillow, her face was damp
with sweat. Pain wrenched her sweet features, but she smiled weakly at me. “I
wondered where you’d got off to.”

“Had to stop at the bank,” I said lightly.

My best friend for years, she knew what that meant. Not the
specifics, of course. There were some things better left unshared. But she knew
that my father was a bastard.

Her forehead creased in worry. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not the one in labor. How are
you? What are they saying?”

“Any minute now.” She grimaced. “That’s what they said nine
hours ago.”

“There’s nothing they can do? I’ll talk to the nurse.”

She caught my hand. “No. I just want you to sit with me. Can
you?”

So I did, crawling into the bed beside her. The cold steel
of the railing bit into my side, but I needed the contact as much as she did,
maybe more. I needed the hard, contracting bump on her belly, the mysterious,
elusive hope born of a nightmare, to make me forget.

The woman on the next bed began to cough, ragged and thick.
I held Allie’s hand, pretending this was normal and okay and a perfectly safe
environment for her child to be born into. A child, when we could barely take
care of ourselves. What would she do? Her dad had sent her two hundred dollars
when she’d called him. That was all the money she had. And now my five
thousand.

If I told her. She would take that money, spread it thin,
and make it last. Then what would she need me for?

She clenched and keened as a contraction hit, and I rocked
with her through it, wincing as she squeezed my hand. It wasn’t enough to
distract me from the ache lower down my body.

“Have you thought about where you’re going to live?” I
asked.

She frowned. “You know I can’t afford to move out.”

“Yeah, I guess… I mean, you’ll probably get a job or
something, right?”

“I already talked to Rick. He’s going to up my hours at the
bakery.”

“Oh. Who’s going to watch the baby? I mean, a decent day
care will be expensive.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I know. But I’ll make it work. I
have to, right?”

Forgive me, Allie
.
“And what about when she gets sick? They don’t let sick kids go to day care.
You’ll have to stay home and take her to the doctor. Rick isn’t exactly the
lenient type. Plus paying for the doctor… Is your paycheck there really going
to cover all that?”

A tear fell down her cheek. “I don’t know. What can I do?”

“I’m just worried about you. I want to help.” Five thousand
dollars wouldn’t last forever, but it would be a good start. Something to
comfort her. But what about me? I couldn’t go back. Something had snapped.
What does that make you?
A pretty bird
in a gilded cage, its wings clipped for its own health and safety. “I’ll stay
with you. I can help with the baby and with money. You’ll see. We’ll do it
together.”

She blinked wetly. “What about your dad?”

“He’ll understand. I’m an adult now. It’s time I left the
nest.”

She knew better. “Will he let you go?”

“He doesn’t have a choice. There, now. Don’t worry.” I
pressed my lips to her forehead. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

I placed an ad online and met up with a few average johns
before Henri called me up. He was exceedingly polite over the phone and brutal
in person. A few weeks later, I was earning four times as much on his payroll.

For two years, I played babysitter by day and prostitute by
night. A few times I had tried to leave the life, but something always dragged
me back. Usually money. Occasionally the rough hands of Henri’s men. Every
time, a small part of me sighed in relief. At least I knew how to do this. This
way, I was wanted.

My complacency had been a fool’s gold. I had worked the
upper echelon of Chicago’s sex trade and never run into my father. He ran in
the same circles as these men, the rich and the cruel, but it was a big city.
There were plenty to go around. Or had he been avoiding me? He said I’d always
be his little slut.

It spun a silvered web in the shadows of my mind. Henri had
targeted Jenny as revenge over her boyfriend’s shady business. He ripped each
dime right out of her skin and gained face in the process.

What does this have to do with me?

Maybe nothing.

But it was everything. How had Henri known to contact me? I
had always assumed that call had been random. It wasn’t. I knew that now,
certain to my bones. For some reason, Henri had contacted me, worked me over,
and offered me a job. Payback for some business deal gone wrong with my father?
Maybe. Either way, I had never despised him more.