Working Girl (7 page)

So I don’t.

“UGH, THAT WAS THE MOST
disgusting sex I’ve ever had.” Chrissy plops into the empty chair directly to my left and opens my stash drawer. “Thank God you’ve restocked,” she chirps as she snatches a nip.

Before she slams it shut, I grab the handle reaching in for my own self-medication. Chrissy raises an eyebrow.

“What?” I ask. “I can live a little every now and then too!” Knowing that Chrissy is judging me, I open the bottle and suck back the not-so-smooth liquor. Holding back the coughs, I slam the empty container down on the desktop and look to Chrissy. As the warm liquid slips down my neck and into my stomach, I can feel my cheeks flushing. I was never much of a drinker.

“Bad lay, huh? You know that wouldn’t be an issue if you actually chose who you slept with.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a sip from her bottle. “It’s just sex. You make it out to be a bigger deal than it actually is.”

I chew on my bottom lip. She’s right. Unlike her and the rest of the girls who work for Big Earl, I think sex should hold some meaning. How have I come to that conclusion? I don’t really know. Maybe it’s because of all the books I’ve read. Or perhaps the fact that I hate the life that I’ve been given. It might even have something to do with my knowledge, and knowing that sex isn’t always about the good. Sex can be evil. It can bring down a world of hurt on people, leaving a path of destruction in its wake.

And it scares the shit out of me.

Any idea I have about sex lives in that shaded grey area. It’s unpredictable and dangerous. The point is it’s neither here nor there. It doesn’t really matter why I feel how I feel about sex, I just know that for me it means more than anyone I know will ever be able to understand.

“Jesus, Presley, you just need to let it go.” Tilting back her nip, she finishes off the rest of the liquor and winces.

“Let what go?” I ask, my throat still burning from the liquor.

“Your damn V-card.”

I shiver at her statement. “You mean my virginity?”

She nods. “Seriously, though, you were born into the wrong life.”

Anger boils deep in my stomach and I glare at her. We’ve covered this a million times growing up, and revisiting it just pisses me off. “No shit, Chrissy.”

Knowing she’s hit a sore spot, she throws her hands up in surrender. “Relax. No need to bite my head off. I was just stating the obvious. It’s fine. I mean, you’re just different than the rest of us.” She pauses, gets up from her chair and sits on my lap. Wrapping her arms tightly around my neck she presses her forehead to mine, her eyes boring deep into my soul. “And that is why I love you.”

I want to be pissed at her, to hold a grudge because she knows better, but I can’t. Chrissy is the only friend I’ve ever known. Both of us were born into this life—playing the hand we were dealt, so to speak. She’s my Aunt Mimi’s daughter. Although, she wasn’t really my aunt; more like just another one of Big Earl’s sad girls. I’m sure you can connect the dots. Anyways, we were the only kids who grew up in “Menses Mansion.” We were born and raised in the brothel life. We took care of each other. Made sure we both made it to the bus stop every morning. We held hands on our first day of school. We protected each other as we walked the scary halls of high school. I have just chosen a different course than Chrissy. It all boils down to the age-old argument: nature or nurture?

I guess it doesn’t really matter. Because here we are. Both of us stuck in this shitty life.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, she leans back and smiles. “Ya know, Presley. I think even if we’d been born into another life that you and I would be the same as we are now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m the loose cannon. The girl who can’t be held down. But you . . . you’re my anchor. You’re the one who keeps us both from drifting away.”

Squeezing her, I let out a sigh. “Love you too, Chrissy.”

Her lips press gently against my temple before she jumps out of my lap to take the seat next to me. “Now, let’s be serious for a minute.” I look pointedly at her, waiting to see what comes out of her mouth next. “What has got you all in a tiff?”

“Nothing.”

Shaking my head, I direct my attention back toward the books that so desperately need my attention. My eyes focus on the words, hoping for them to transport me someplace else. Fast.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Presley. Something’s up.” I attempt to ignore her, but she closes my book, forcing all my attention on her.

“Spill.”

“Fine, but not here. Can we chat on the way home instead?” I ask, hoping that will placate her for now. I’m also banking on her getting trashed off nips in my drawer so that she’ll forget about my bad mood, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, it better be good,” she lectures, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

It’s at that very moment that Momma pops up to the window. My stomach drops, and I can tell that I’m moments away from losing my dinner all over Big Earl’s new carpet. Biting back the bile, I force a smile and stand up, walking toward her. “Hey, beautiful,” she says, as though her presence and this situation is nothing at all. “Joe in Room #2 is all set. He wants the works.” Briefly my eyes meet hers and I silently plead with her. ‘The works’ is the worst thing a Joe could want to do with my momma. Lots of bodily fluid will be shared. With those two little words I know that she’s putting it all out there. Joe in Room #2 is about to risk his whole life, just so Momma can make a dollar. Just so I can continue to go to college.

And for what?

I’m not sure. I thought I knew. College was supposed to be my ticket out of this place, but now, with lives at risk, it doesn’t seem so important.

Momma breaks eye contact with me because she knows that I’m trying to silently plead with her. She knows I want her to stop, that she
needs
to stop, and deep down she knows I’m right. Joe in #2 probably has a family, and he is about to chance it all for one night with her. She plays with her fingernails and I sigh as I get the paperwork together and run the transaction.

I pass it all over to her, and she grabs it without looking at me. “Thanks, baby,” she mutters before turning on her heels and heading off to work it. My shoulders slump in defeat and tears sting my eyes. Swallowing my pride, I turn to Chrissy, my lips quivering with the effort to hold back all the conflicting emotions I’m feeling.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says before standing and putting her arms around me, letting me bury my nose in her neck, and although I can smell her last Joe’s cologne on her skin, her touch is soothing. Tears spill from my eyes while Chrissy rubs small circles onto my back. “What’s going on?” she whispers.

Sniffling, I lift my head and lean closer to her ear to ensure that no one hears me. “It’s Momma,” I whisper. “Her screen came back positive. It’s HIV, Chrissy.”

Chrissy gasps, her hand covering her mouth as the shock takes a grip of her. Watching her, I can see the wheels start to turn in her head and I know what she’s thinking. She’s wondering what I’m going to do, just like I am. “We’ll figure it out, Presley. Somehow, we’ll make this work.”

IT’S THE FIRST DAY I’M
able to sleep in. Fridays equal no class for me, and once I realize that I have all the time in the world, I start to settle back down in my comfy bed. But my bliss is short lived when my door flies open with such force that it bounces off the wall.

“Get up.” Chrissy’s voice bellows from the hallway and I open my eyes. She’s standing there, looking at me expectantly. “We’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?” I ask groggily, turning over and pulling the covers tightly around me.

“Yes, shopping. We’re going to act like normal twenty-one year olds for the day.”

“So where are we going?”

“Where do all twenty-one year olds go to waste an entire day?”

Not feeling up for her games and proverbial pretend, I glare at her, totally unimpressed.

“Get the fuck up,” she commands. “We’re going to the mall.”

It takes me little time to get myself ready, mainly because I just don’t give a shit. I’m not in the mood to be social, and to be honest I was just really looking forward to spending the day sleeping in my bed. But I have to hand it to Chrissy, she’s a good friend—looking out for me when I’m unable to do it myself.

She’s ripping on a cigarette as we wait for the bus stop before she finally speaks again. “Presley, it sucks, but it could be worse.”

“Really?”

She shrugs.

“I don’t think it gets much worse than knowing your mother is dying, infecting more people every day, on the verge of losing her job, all the while wondering what will become of your own future.”

“Okay, so it’s pretty shitty.”

The bus pulls to a halt in front of the stop, and Chrissy throws her cigarette to the ground, using the bottom of her flip flop to snuff it out. Luckily we’ve missed the morning rush and the bus is fairly empty when we make our way on to find an empty seat, piling in next to each other.

“So what are you going to do?”

The million-dollar question. I wish I knew. Having a smidgen of an idea would really set my mind at ease, but I don’t have a fuckin’ clue. I shake my head and look up at her helplessly. “I dunno, but Big Earl is gonna have a field day with this.”

Her lips press together in a hard line because she knows just as well as I do that this is the perfect ammunition for him to finally get what he’s been wanting for years. “Fuck him,” she scoffs.

“He’d like that too much,” I joke, but the mere thought of him, his greasy hands touching me, sends chills down my spine. We sit in silence for the remainder of the drive, both of us lost in thought. It’s not even her problem, but I still know Chrissy is trying her hardest to figure out something for me.

In reality, we both know it’s hopeless. It’s only a matter of time before Earl finds out, and then Momma will lose her job. Without her working for him, I don’t know where we’ll stand. Obviously I’ll keep doing the books for him, but in order to make enough money I’ll probably have to start pulling doubles, which would make keeping up with school work damn near impossible. The next thing you know, I’ll be dropping out and flushing my hopes and dreams down the toilet.

Now isn’t that a thought to warm your heart.

The bus pulls to a stop in front of the mall and we hurry to get off, Chrissy lighting up another smoke as soon as our feet hit the pavement. I glare at her. She smirks between drags and holds the pack out for me. “Want one?”

“No thanks, I’m all set with the cancer sticks.”

With a deep chuckle—no doubt brought on by her incessant need to smoke those things—Chrissy changes the subject, asking me about classes and homework. It’s a welcome break to think about something other than Momma, and we manage to casually chat as we make our way into the mall. The shops are bustling with activity and I immediately lose myself in people watching, while Chrissy fawns over outfits. I’ve never been much for clothes. I liked to keep it simple. Jeans, T-shirts, sneakers. The only times I actually dress up is when I have to work the window, and even then I keep it to a minimum. Dress slacks, sweaters, and loose fitting clothing. I never want to be mistaken for a girly girl—or to give Big Earl any more ideas. Lord knows he already has enough of them in his mind as it is.

Chrissy is blathering on like a fool about some skank-a-tron dress as I turn around and roll my eyes. She’s such a girl. The fact that she hasn’t even noticed I’m not paying attention says that she didn’t actually
need
me to come with her; which makes her gesture all the more sweet.