by Peggy Kern
Who’s up there, on that ride? Can they see me?
Devon’s shiny car. Doors locked. Kat up front, smoking a cigarette. Devon rolls down the window. I grip Baby’s hand. She smiles and chews her gum and hands me a piece. I take it in my fist and stare out the window.
The street is very wide. I search the signs. Surf Avenue. 27th Street. A school, a playground, more tall buildings, taller than Pink Houses, taller than anything in Strawberry Mansion. Tall like the buildings in the city. But the streets are the same kind of quiet as North Philly. Deserted except for the corner stores and the boys who stand outside them, mothers rushing their kids home before it’s too dark. There’s a woman on a corner, shuffling slowly, scratching at her arm. Her body slightly tilted, like she’s being pushed by an invisible hand. She looks like Mom.
Chuck must be outside Boo’s by now. Does he know I’m gone? Has he noticed?
Kat hands me a bottle of orange juice. “Drink,” she says. “You don’t look so good.”
I take a sip. This time I can taste something else. Like bitter metal. I spit it back into the bottle. My heart punches at my chest bone, like it wants out.
“No, thanks,” I say, and give the bottle back.
“You’re not gonna pass out, Peach. It’ll just calm you down. You look like you about to jump out the window.”
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“It’s just medicine. Like from a doctor. See?” Kat takes a big swig and hands it back to me.
I take a sip. Then another. My heart slows down.
We make a right, past a block of empty houses, past buildings as long as an entire city block, with garbage trucks lined up along the curb.
Then we turn again.
A hotel. We stop at a hotel. The Litehouse.
A small gravel parking lot. Guys leaning up against cars, smoking, watching, nodding to one another. Devon steps out. Complicated handshakes. Throbbing music. Devon barks into the night, a sound like a wolf or bear, and the other men bark back. I shiver, keep my head down, and follow Kat, her skirt swaying as she walks through the lot and up the rusty staircase to the second floor, where there are two other girls perched outside the open doors of hotel rooms. Baby waves, walks down the outside balcony to the last room, and disappears.
Wait. Please. Not yet.
Kat leads me into Room 5. The walls are a sick yellow, the color of rotting teeth. There are two beds, a limp pillow on each, and an old dusty TV plopped on a chair in the corner. It smells like smoke and salt, like a filthy ocean.
“A’ight!” Kat claps her hands once—loudly—like a coach. “This is how we do. Tricks don’t pay us direct. They pay the daddies outside so we don’t gotta deal with no money, which is good because tricks always try to get over. Not the regulars, ’cause they know how it work, and they know they’ll get their ass beat if they try to scam. But the tricks we don’t know? Those the ones you gotta watch.”
Kat talks at me, fast and clear and hard. Her hands too. Pointing to the bed, explaining. She fishes in her silver bag. A small knife. She puts it under the mattress. More talking. She pulls out two pills and a bottle of orange juice. She swallows one, breaks the other in half and hands it to me.
“Here. You need to calm the hell down.”
She blots my face, shakes the front of my purple shirt. It’s wet beneath my armpits, dark like a bruise.
“What is it?”
“It’ll help you maintain. Anything goes wrong, we yell for Daddy. He and his boys’ll be up here in a second. Girls out there on the track, they ain’t got no daddy lookin’ out, not really. Once you in a car with a trick, he can do whatever he wants and nobody gonna help you. Up in here, though, we covered. Shit goes wrong, you just yell.”
I don’t understand what she’s saying.
What do you do if you’re in trouble?
I want to go home.
No. Not home. Just somewhere else.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
Kat steps toward me.
“You straight?” she says.
I shake my head. No.
“I gotta go,” I say.
“Sit down.”
“No. I want . . .” I glance at the door. Outside, someone laughs. A girl.
Where’s Baby?
Kat grabs my wrist. “C’mere.”
She drags me to the window, shoves back the curtain so I can see the parking lot.
“You see those guys out there? They all Bloods. This whole damn town is Blood. Every red shirt you see, every red sneaker. They run shit here. You do what you told, they’ll kill for you.”
Kill for me. Like Grandpa. There are at least ten guys out there, all bigger than Calvin. Bigger than Mama. Bigger than anyone who’d ever try to mess with me again.
“But you try to take off? They’ll beat your ass ’cause you’ll get us all locked up. Understand? Every single one of them. If you lose your shit and go runnin’ out that door lookin’ for fuckin’ Batman to come up in here and save your ass, you gonna get beat. And then I’m gonna get beat for not beatin’ you myself.”
“Bloods?” It burns between my legs.
“Yeah. Bloods. You ain’t got gangs where you come from? You see red on a guy? Blood. You hear them do that howl? Blood. They’re everywhere. And they know who we are. We run with them. We’re Blood too.”
She pulls me back to the bed and takes my hands. “Take the pill. Drink your juice. In five minutes, you won’t feel so scared.”
Kat’s eyes burn into me. Small beads of sweat dot her forehead. She grips my shoulders and kneels in front of me. “Please.”
“I ain’t a junkie,” I say, staring at the pill.
“Me neither,” she snaps.
I swallow it, gulping down the juice. Kat sighs deeply, rubs her forehead, and glances at the door like she’s making sure no one heard us. Like we’ve just escaped something terrible.
“Good girl,” she whispers, and arranges my braids, her eyes full of relief. “Good girl.”
Warmth. I begin to float away. Drift all soft and cozy. Like a hug. Kat here with me. I did a good job.
She looks like a cat. The way she walks.
Do I look like a peach?
I laugh and lie back on the bed, pull down the blanket, smush my face into the pillow.
“Will I remember?” I ask.
“Yeah. But you won’t mind so much. Sit up. And do what I do.”
Outside I can hear voices. Chuck and Little John sitting on their chairs. There’s a knock at my door. And I grin.
Grandpa’s coming.
12
2700 SURF AVENUE, APARTMENT 6B CONEY ISLAND, NEW YORK
June 30
She acts like a doctor, but she doesn’t look like one. Her hair is short, braided into uneven cornrows. She’s old—older than my mom, and fat. Behind her left ear is a red star tattoo. There’s another tattoo on her chest, peeking from underneath her white tank top. A saggy bug—maybe a bee—and two faded words I can’t make out. Devon leans against the doorway of the bedroom, watching us.
She uses her hands to examine me. My teeth, my tongue, my arms. I lift my shirt. Take a deep breath. She presses the bruise on my thigh.
“That hurt?” I shake my head no.
“Good. Lie down.”
She pushes my knees apart and looks between my legs. Devon types into his phone, a toothpick in his mouth. I fix my eyes on the ceiling, wishing she’d stop or I could just disappear. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want her looking at my body.
“Anything hurt?”
I shake my head no. She lifts an eyebrow.
“You sure?”
I nod.
From her suitcase she pulls out a small plastic bag. Inside is something that looks like a bracelet, but soft and wet.
“I’m gonna put this inside you. Like a tampon. After three weeks, take it out and you’ll get your period. Understand? I’ll bring a new one every month. If you feel sick, or if you don’t bleed when you shoul
d, tell your daddy and he’ll call me. Deep breath.”
Fingers. Hold still. Where’s Baby?
“You know how to put on a condom?”
I shake my head no. Kat tried to show me last night, but I wouldn’t look.
“A’ight. Well, you gotta learn. Kat’ll teach you. Always use one, so you won’t catch nothin’. Understand? Tricks hate ’em, but too damn bad. They wanna freestyle, they can drive themselves down to the track. All done. Sit up. Take this.”
I swallow another half a pill and wait for the warmth.
Devon smiles. “All good?”
“All good,” she says, and grips his hand, their chests touching as Devon brings her in for a hug.
“Queen Bee,” he says with shining eyes.
He’s not wearing a shirt. On the left side of his broad chest is a red star. “Kat needs a re-up on Oxy.”
“A’ight.”
“C’mon,” he says to me. “Ink’s waitin’.”
I lie on the couch, the man’s sweaty face just inches from my chest, the buzzing needle tight between his fingers. It digs into my skin, burrowing like an insect. Buzz, buzz. Stop. Wipe. Buzz, buzz. Stop. Wipe. Dip. Buzz. Buzz.
Flecks of blood hit my cheeks.
“Damn, yo. This girl can bleed. She get high last night?”
Devon shrugs.
The man looks annoyed. “Can’t hardly see what the fuck I’m doin’ here.” Wipe, wipe. Buzz. Buzz. “Fuck. Don’t get ’em high before you call me, D. They be bleedin’ all over my shit.”
There are four locks on the door. Four bolts, one that needs a key.
Devon flips on the stereo. Music thunders in the room. He opens my book bag, searches it, pulls out my school ID, and slips it in his back pocket.
Baby peeks over the shoulder of the man tattooing me.
“Aww,” she says, and her forehead scrunches up.
“Show her yours,” Devon says. Baby pulls down her white tank top.
There is a red heart. And underneath, in dark, flowing letters it says, “Devon’s Baby.”
Devon looks at Kat. She stands up, rolls her eyes, and pulls down her shirt.
There is a black paw print. Devon’s Cat.
Mine will be a peach.
Devon’s Peach.
Buzz buzz buzz. Stop.
The ink shoots into my skin, but it’s like he’s draining me. With each sting, I feel less and less. Like the morning after Reek. Like last night at the Litehouse. A little more of me, leaking on the floor, on bedsheets, on this table, till I am empty as a vacant house. My roof is caving in.
There are four locks on the door. Keeping me inside. Keeping out the world.
Devon comes over and gathers my face in his hands, his eyes bubbling with pride. “You a good girl, Peach. You one of us. You get to work, you make your money, and you got a life.”
A kiss on my forehead. I fill up a little. I smile.
Devon cranks the music.
Kat holds my gaze for a moment, then fixes her shirt, turns, and begins to dance.
Devon unlocks the front door.
“You must be hungry,” he says, pulling twenty dollars from a fat roll of money in his hand. “Go get us some dinner. You and Kat. You like Chinese?”
I stare at the door. It’s wide open.
“Go ’head.” He types into his phone, nods at Kat. “Boost’ll meet you there.”
Down the humid stairs, through the heavy metal door, into the parking lot. Two guys linger out front, one in a red hat, the other in a sleeveless red basketball jersey. Across to 27th Street, make a left onto Mermaid Avenue.
Follow Kat. She takes big steps, her shoulders back like, Bring it. Up ahead there’s a line of stores. An old woman shuffles past, pushing a cart stuffed with laundry. We pass a guy on the sidewalk. He’s tall, with thick arms and clean red sneakers. He nods at Kat, who lowers her head. Then he traces me with his eyes. I put my head down, too, and hurry behind her.
We stop at the Chinese takeout. Two guys linger beneath a dirty yellow sign that says HAPPY DRAGON. The taller one, with black shorts and a red jersey, steps toward us. “Kitty Kat,” he says, slapping her hand.
“’Sup, Boost,” she says, arching her back a little. I remember him from last night. He was in the parking lot, howling with Devon and the others.
He steps toward me and pulls down the front of my shirt. The tattoo is slathered in Vaseline. Kat shoots me a look that says let him see, so I do. I do what she tells me. I do what Devon says. I let them tattoo me. He looked so proud.
Boost leans closer and squints. “That an apple?”
Kat takes my hand. “It’s a peach,” she says. “C’mon.”
Inside, a blurry man stands behind the thick plastic window that runs the length of the small room. It’s splattered with grease and scratch marks, a stained menu taped to the front. The air hisses with steam and heat. The tile floor is stained and gritty. I don’t know what to get, so Kat orders me the same as her. Shrimp fried rice. Devon likes lo mein. Baby likes sweet and sour chicken. A pint of each, slide the money through the small square opening.
Outside again, past Boost, down Mermaid Avenue. A siren wails behind us. The same old woman is pushing her laundry, the wheels squeaking creepily, her head bundled in a white scarf.
Through the heavy metal doors, past the boys outside. Up the stairs.
Our footsteps echo. Kat speaks softly. “Remember, they all wear red. Understand? The tattoo, it tells them you belong here.”
Night.
Room 5.
I take the pill and drink the juice and wait for the warmth to swallow me. Kat takes hers, too, and we sit together on the edge of the bed. Waiting.
“Where do they come from?” I ask.
“Who?”
“The men.”
“The tricks?”
“Yeah. How do they know where to find us?”
Kat stands, checks herself in the long mirror by the door. Dark-blue jeans like tights, ankle-high boots, a white shimmery top draped across one shoulder. She arches her back, like she’s practicing. “Online mostly. Daddy sets it up. That’s why he always checkin’ his phone.”
“How much do they pay?”
“Depends. Daddy takes care of the money. Why you askin’ so many questions?”
I’m starting to feel warm. “Sorry,” I say, and I laugh a little though I’m not sure why. “But we’re saving, right? He said we’re saving money, so we can go somewhere better. All of us.”
She shrugs.
“We’re gonna save up, right? So we don’t gotta do this?”
I picture a big house with grass and food inside.
“Where will we go?”
But Kat doesn’t answer. A shadow falls across her face, sits on her shoulders. They sag.
My eyes are dissolving. The room gets soft, my blood all cozy in my veins.
Knock knock.
Kat draws a smile on her face. Her skirt flips all happy-like as she opens the door.
“Hey, sweetie,” she purrs, and trails her long fingers down his shirt.
There is a man, a white skinny man with baggy light-blue jeans and a bony face that looks like it might cave in. Behind him in the darkness on the gravel by the road, in this place called Coney Island, with its fake moon, are Devon, Boost, Reek, and the others. One of them barks into the night. The others answer.
You see me, Mama? You see me, Calvin? Here I am, circled by guys who want me to be here. Devon wants me here. He put his name on me.
Try to touch me now. I dare you.
“What’s wrong with her? She don’t do nothin’.”
The trick lies on top of me, pressing me into the saggy mattress.
We are naked. I can feel him down there. I don’t look. I don’t move. Just hurry up, please, and get off me.
His hands grab at me. His sticky skin clings to me like we’re glued together. He kisses, licks my face, wiggles around. The pillows smell like smoke and a thousand sweaty men. His breath is rotten
and hot.
Shove. Shove. Shove.
It burns so bad between my legs. It hasn’t stopped, not since three days ago when I had sex with Reek. Hold still. Just hold still and he’ll finish.
“Oh, c’mon. You gotta be kidding me.”
Kat lies next to us, strokes his sweaty back, and glares at me. “She’s just new, baby. She learnin’. C’mere. I’ll take care of you.”
The man peels himself off me and I roll onto my belly, smushing my face into the pillow. My tattoo is raw against the scratchy sheets, still scabby like a wound.
“I ain’t payin’ for that,” he snaps, climbing onto Kat. “I didn’t come here to be no teacher.” And then he’s moving fast on her, her legs up around his back, her mouth saying words—embarrassing words that make me want to hide.
Harder.
You like that?
“Yeah, girl,” the tricks yells out. I close my eyes, but Kat’s sharp elbow hits me.
Sit up. Pay attention. Her mouth keeps talking to him, but her eyes lock with mine and I can see deep inside them, to the tiny corner where maybe she can curl up like I wish I could, away from him. Away from what he’s doing to her.
I watch them, Kat pinned beneath the man’s pink bony body, and pull the sheet over my own.
“You can’t do that again,” Kat commands once he’s gone. “You gotta learn to act the part. Word gets back to Daddy that you ain’t doin’ shit, he gonna come down on both of us. Take another half a pill if you need to. Whatever. Just quit actin’ so sad. Tricks, they want happy. They want girls that smile and know what they doin’. Understand? That’s how we get paid.”
I swallow another half. It fixes me right up so I’m not too scared. Like Kat. I gotta be like Kat.
“He was nasty,” I say. I don’t want him shoving himself into me.
“Yeah, he is. He don’t know what he doin’, neither. But it don’t matter. You gotta pretend, Peach. You wanna get outta here? Then you gotta work. You ain’t gotta like it. You just gotta act like you do. Think I like doin’ this?” Kat pulls her shirt on, kicks the side of the bed with her bare foot. “I hate it. But they don’t ever know that. Far as they can tell, seein’ them is the best damn part of my night. That’s how we do, Peach. That’s how you gotta do if you wanna survive.”
