Shella (3 page)

She woke me early in the morning. Soft, just rubbing against me. Asked me, didn’t I want to finish what we started just before her man came into the room? I thought about what Shella told me once, how it’s evil to hurt someone’s
feelings, just to be doing it. How it’s worse than a beating, makes you feel like nothing. So I didn’t say anything to Misty. Never even untied her. She acted like it made her feel good, made little noises in her throat, went to sleep right after.

I didn’t know what to do.

I had to find Shella.

In daylight, she looked older. I untied her so she could use the bathroom—there was no window in there, nothing she could do.

She came out wrapped in a couple of towels, hair all wet. Sat down on the bed next to me.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You let me go, you’re afraid I’ll go back to the block?”

“Your man’s not dead. He’s not gonna go to the cops. You go back there, he’s gonna thank you for saving his life, you tell him the right story.”

“You don’t know him. He likes to hurt me. He doesn’t need an excuse.”

“So?”

“So I can’t go back.”

“All right. You stay with me a few days. You got friends in Baltimore? Make some calls, find out if anything’s going on?”

“Just a couple of girls at work. They’d know, maybe. But they’d rat me out in a minute, there was money in it. They’re mostly junkies anyway, always getting busted. I couldn’t trust them.”

“You got money?”

“Yes. In my suitcase. You want me to get it for you?”

“No. It’s enough, get you someplace, start over?”

“Yes.

“Okay. We’ll do that, couple of days.”

Misty couldn’t drive, said she’d never learned. Shella was a good driver, but kind of wild—I always had to watch her, especially on the highway. I took the wheel all the way past Philadelphia, found another motel near Trenton.

I didn’t tie her up that night. Prison teaches you to sleep light, even with the door locked. One guy, he dropped a dime on this shakedown gang, took a PC lockup, thought he was safe. They filled a plastic bottle with gasoline, squirted it in between the bars, dropped in a match. The guards couldn’t get close enough to open his cell. By the time they got a hose down the corridor, he was gone. They never got the smell out.

Misty was still asleep when I woke up in the morning.

I asked her again if she had enough money. Made her show it to me. She had a few thousand. Holdout money. Shella never did that with me. I told Misty I’d drop her at the bus station, or she could come along as far as Newark, catch a plane.

She told me she had no place to go, asked me where I was going. I told her Chicago.

She said she always wanted to try it there, said she heard it was good pickings.

I told her I was going alone. She asked me, did I have a girlfriend.

I made her stay in the bathroom while I took a shower.
I could see her through the cheesy plastic curtain. She took off her clothes and we had sex when I got out.

On the road to Newark, Misty was quiet. I thought about it. I don’t look like much—even if she described me, it wouldn’t help the cops. But the car, the license plate …

I’m not a good thief, don’t even know how to hotwire a car. We had to get a car once, in a hurry, me and Shella. She broke in, got it started. She thought it was funny, I didn’t know how to do it.

Misty looked at me like she knew what I was thinking. “You don’t like to hurt girls, do you?”

“I don’t like to hurt anyone.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean …
like
to hurt them. For fun.”

“It’s not fun.”

“Maurice liked to hurt me.”

“Don’t go back.”

“I’m not. I’m good, you know. Real good. Everybody says so. I’m good. I look better when I’m dressed up. I could go with you.”

“Why?”

“To
be
with you, okay? I can make money. Dancing, whatever you want.”

“I don’t want anything.”

She started to cry then. Soft, to herself, not putting on a show. It reminded me of something, couldn’t remember what.

I drove through this long tunnel from New Jersey. It let us out in Times Square, long blocks lined with hookers. They looked used.

There’s a hotel there, right near the highway. I put the car in the lot, checked us in for a week.

It didn’t take long to unpack. Misty bounced around—she really liked the room. Took a real long shower. When she came out, I was lying on the bed, feeling the room.

“How come you keep it so dark in here, honey?”

“I was resting,” I told her. I always rest inside myself when I’m not working, but I couldn’t explain that to her.

She crawled on the bed, nuzzling between my legs. “Can I buy some clothes tomorrow, Daddy? I left most of my stuff back in Baltimore.”

“I’m not your daddy.”

“Yes, you are. My sweet daddy. You’re gonna take care of Misty, aren’t you?”

I shifted the muscles in my back, sat up. “I’m nobody’s daddy,” I told her. Quiet and nice. “You want to buy clothes, you got money. I’m not taking care of you.”

“I know I have money, baby. I showed it to you, remember? I was just … like, asking permission.”

“It’s yours, you use it the way you want, understand?”

“Im sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry about,” I told her, and let her do what she thought would make me happy.

She stayed up with me all that night, doing things. I listened when she talked, working my body around to a new clock. Where I had to look, I could only do it at night.

We finally fell asleep. When I opened my eyes, it was after one o’clock. Misty was sleeping on her belly next to me, my belt wrapped around her wrists, looped over the bedpost. I touched a spot in her neck and she came around.

“What’s all this?” I asked her, pulling on the belt.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, baby. So I tied myself up. I know it’s stupid … I mean, I could get out of it and all … but I thought you’d feel better if you got up and saw me like this.”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “You don’t need to do that anymore.”

She smiled. A big smile, like I just gave her something.

She took another long shower. Put on black stockings with seams down the back, spike heels. Did a couple of turns in front of the mirror.

“You think my legs look longer in these?”

I told her they did. She shoved herself into a push-up bra, put on a little black jersey dress. I watched her from the bed.

She took the hotel key, went out. Came back in a half-hour or so, had a little paper bag with cigarettes and some cosmetic stuff, couple of newspapers. I read one of the newspapers while she made some calls.

I closed my eyes, listening to the purr of her voice on the phone. When she hung up, she put some stuff into a little purse, dabbed some heavy perfume between her breasts.

“I got an audition at four—I’m not sure when I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be working tonight … okay?”

“Okay. Leave the key with me. Tell the desk clerk you need another one for yourself, slip him ten bucks. It’ll be all right.”

She kind of posed in front of me. “Do I look sexy?”

I told her she did.