Traffick (13 page)

The pros and cons

of emancipation.

Pro: You can enter

into contracts without

a parent's signature.

Con: You can be sued

if you violate said contracts.

Pro: You can also sue

someone, if that's a priority.

Yeah, me? Sue who?

Con: Cannot drop out

of school without written

permission from

the school board. No problem.

I want to be educated.

Pro: Can go to the doctor

of your choice and parent

doesn't have to okay

treatment. Wonder if that

includes mental health.

And just FYI: Still can't vote

until age of majority; can't drink

till twenty-one. And worst

of all, can't marry without

parental consent until eighteen.

To Andrew. Everything seems

to. Six months ago, I believed

we would marry as soon as I

turned eighteen. Yes, I knew

that was young to make such

a momentous decision, but

the overwhelming love we felt

for each other trumped common

sense. Now, I don't know if

even the deepest affection

can overcome the reality

of who I am, what I've become.

This isn't a romance novel,

not that I've ever read one.

Mama would have gone off

the deep end had she ever

found me in possession

of a steamy confessional.

Wonder what she'll say when

she finds out what's become of me.

If she suspected Satan's handiwork

in my relationship with Andrew,

she'll have no doubt at all that

he's holding court inside me

once she's privy to why I'm here.

Who stares back at me, and I see

something in her eyes. Something

dark. Hidden. Something like

a secret. Suddenly I know. “You

were in the life once, weren't you?”

No hesitation.
Yes, Eden, I was,

although the circumstances were

somewhat different from those

of most of the girls here. Once

upon a time, I was a world-class

gymnast, used to having all eyes

on me. After a horrible fall,

I could no longer compete or

perform, but I still had a great body,

and I was only nineteen. I did get

a few TV commercials and stuff,

but not enough to cover the drug

dependency I'd developed after

the injury and beyond. Someone

suggested escorting with a high-

priced service. Believe it or not,

many failed athletes end up there,

and celebrity has its advantages,

including the level of clients who

are willing to pay top dollar for it.

She's so open about it, it's scary.

Why didn't I suspect it before?

“How long did you do it? And

what got you out? And why are

you here?” So many questions!

Sarah takes a deep breath.

I escorted for a little over three

years. I can't say it was an awful

experience because, like I said,

the men who pay upwards of

a thousand dollars an hour for

your company tend to be looking

for exactly that, with fringe benefits,

of course. For the most part, they're

respectful, even kind, if a little kinky.

What got me out was two things.

The first was my boyfriend, who

found out what I was doing and

issued an ultimatum: Stay where

I was, or stay with him and he

would support me through rehab.

The second was watching younger

and younger girls being moved into

the business, and really coming to

understand just what was at stake.

Which doesn't exactly explain

how she ended up here. “But why

did you get involved with Walk

Straight? You were already an

adult when you started escorting.”

Yes, and there was some rather

ugly lobbying being done by adult

sex workers who don't like the term

“sexual exploitation” because they

say there's no coercion involved.

But I saw teens who were promised

the world and forced out on the streets.

Maybe not where I was, but nearby.

I decided to get my degree in social

work and lobby on the other side.

I glanced at her left hand, find

no telltale ring, ask the question,

though I'm afraid of her answer.

“So, what happened with your

boyfriend? Are you still together?”

No. But I'm with someone different

now. He fell in love with me despite

knowing about my past. It's all about

the man. But trust me, you can't hide

from the truth. It's persistent.

Once, I believed it possible

to hide lies behind a wall

of plausibility, but the facade

always crumbles. The only way to

help

rebuild any semblance

of trust's to come clean and

plunge into apology, hoping

you don't drown. I've always

managed to float, but that's

me

and the depth of Cody's

deception is hard to reconcile.

When the details first became clear,

I thought it would be impossible to

find

the compassion to go on

caring. But when I saw him

leaning into the opened arms

of death, a fierce sort of

forgiveness

surfaced, transcending anger

and resentment, buoyed

by the tenacity

of my indestructible love

for him.

Love is still possible

for a creature like me?

It's not just the half-man

that I've become who's

undeserving of the devotion

of someone like Ronnie,

or anyone at all. It's the person

I already was—the one

responsible for the rest—

whose right to even exist

I question. He's a liar.

Cheat. Hopeless addict.

Always seeking the easy

way out, and unable to admit

the horrible mistakes he was

making, despite the evidence

mounding right under his nose

and stinking like dog shit.

And now. Now there's no way

to turn back the clock and

choose another path, let alone

fix what he's done to his family,

his beautiful girl, his so-called

friends. Himself. All ruined.

Mom walks through the door, and

for once, all smiles. In fact, she's

humming. “What's up with you?”

She comes over, kisses my forehead.

Your social worker has accomplished

some magic. Apparently, Jack's

medical insurance is still in force for

you and me, and with Nevada expanding

Medicaid under the Affordable Care Act,

your bills here are pretty much covered.

Plus, she found a rehab hospital

with some charitable giving “angels”

willing to take care of whatever costs

insurance won't cover. You can move

there and start your rehab as soon as

your doctors say you're ready. It's

supposed to be an amazing place, and

I hear the food is a lot better, too.

She laughs as if that's the funniest

thing ever. Hate to burst her own

bubble, but, “What if I don't want rehab?”

Her mouth snaps shut, and suddenly

she looks about seventy years old. “Can't

you just put me in a home or something?”

Yes, she can. Your
own
home, but not

till after your inpatient rehab. After

that, there will be more rehab, so shut

your mouth and for God's sake, quit

feeling sorry for yourself.
Ronnie stomps

into the room and across the floor,

looking every bit the part of a pissed

little girl. Man, she is something.

Why did she have to come into my life

just as it was ending? She reaches the bed,

nods once at Mom, and plops her cute

little behind right down on the mattress.

It strikes me that she and my mother

have never met, except for in passing

at Jack's funeral. “Mom, this is—”

Your mom and I have met,
interrupts

Ronnie.
In fact, together we have

formed the Cody Bennett Fan Club

and Two Woman Cheer Squad.

Our mission is to get your ass out

of that bed and on your feet again.

Changes to smug.

I really don't get it.

I will never stand on

my feet again. My

head begins to twist

side to side. “Not

going to happen and

you know it. Why

don't you just leave

me alone? Go find a real

man. Someone who'll

love you the way you

deserve to be loved.

Seriously, Ronnie. I'm

a sinking ship. Don't

go down with me when

the lifeboat is empty

and waiting for you.”

Ronnie turns to face

me straight on.
Last

time I looked, assault

was a crime punishable

by jail time. Consider

yourself lucky I'd rather

not experience lockup,

or I just might slap you.

Instead, I'll do this. . . .

With zero regard for

my mom's presence,

Ronnie leans into me,

covers my mouth with

hers. Her lips are sticky

with cherry-flavored gloss.

The kiss is a slow ride

to heaven, and transports

me back to the post-funeral

afternoon we spent in bed,

sponging comfort from

the heat of our intertwined

bodies. If Mom wasn't

watching, I'd try to assess

the boner I must be wearing.

Muscles have memories,

right? Hey. What happens to

a catheter when your dick

gets hard? The sudden

thought makes me pull away.

Still, I say, “Thank you.”

In her eyes, and her face grows

taut in response.
Thank you?

That's the best you can do, Cody?

I know exactly what she wants

to hear, but if I say it, if I make

it real, I'll just open us both up

to disappointment. Mom looks

almost as eager as Ronnie for me

to admit it, and that makes it harder

yet. “Mom, could you please give

us a few minutes alone?” Her nod

is reluctant, but she leaves the room.

Once she's retreated, I hold out

my hands and Ronnie takes them

into her own. “Veronica Carino,

you are the most amazing girl

in the entire universe. And the fact

is, I fucking love you more than life

itself, which is why I want you to

find the person you deserve, and

that is so not me. . . .” She tries

to interrupt me again, but I shake

my head vehemently. “Listen to me!

It's not just because of my legs.”

I pause to gather the courage

to continue the sordid confession,

and Ronnie actually sits there

patiently, not saying a word,

eyes glistening. “Please don't cry,

or I'll never be able to do this.

Look, it isn't just my ‘condition.'

it's the stuff I was doing that

resulted in my being here. I told

you things that weren't true, and

didn't tell you things that were true,

and all I did for months was lie to you.

I didn't mean for any of it to happen,

but I was gambling, and couldn't stop,

and when I tried to dig myself out,

the only way I could come up with

was . . .” Goddamn it, how can I tell

her this? Fuck it. Just go for it. Push

her totally away. “The only way I could

come up with was working for an escort

service. That's what I was doing when . . .”

I let my voice trail off, certain I've said

more than enough to make her run.

Instead, she looks me in the eye.
I know.

Her acknowledgment is a complete

surprise, as is her calm acceptance.

“How?” Does Mom know, too?