A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles

by Nikki Turner

  “Okay, listen. You’re a customer. This pussy, this is my product. Now, I’m trying to run a business, and right now I have another paying customer on his way. All those feelings and shit, they don’t mean a thing to me. I told you that before. If you keep this up, I’ll have to tell Madam C. to get you somebody else.”

  “No, don’t do that, Abie, please.”

  “Then cut out all this love shit. You know how this works. We fuck, you pay, and then you go. That’s it.” Abie’s tone was frank and crass. She walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her, making sure she had her cell phone in hand. The linoleum tile was cold under her feet and she wished she’d thought to bring something to walk around the hotel suite in. She wrapped an oversized towel around her, compliments of the Candlewood Suites and Hotel, where she’d been servicing her clients since about six p.m. Her reflection in the wall-sized mirror indicated that she needed to freshen her makeup and comb her hair. The councilman was her second client of the evening, and she still had two more to go before finishing for the evening. Two thousand dollars for four hours of work wasn’t bad, and after she paid Madam Celecia her portion, she’d take home $1,000. She couldn’t make that type of money working a regular nine to five. And she definitely couldn’t do it working two days a week.

  Abie had been the first to join Southern Girls’ Escort Service, a brothel of about twenty girls who worked around Richmond and the surrounding area, and she brought in the most money. The majority of the clients requested her, and sometimes there was a waiting list. The business was a discreet one, since prostitution was illegal in Richmond. What made the business more distinct was the fact that the woman in charge kept her identity a secret from the women who worked for her. They talked to her on the phone and she handled their business affairs, but none of them had actually met her. They didn’t even know if Celecia was her real name. Uncle Brick was her assistant and the liaison between her and the girls. With that amount of secrecy, it was also much easier to protect the clients’ identities. All the women lived together in a fully renovated, three-level eight-bedroom Victorian farmhouse in Charles City, a small town right outside Richmond. The sprawling home featured a wraparound porch, double chimney, and oversized windows, and it sat on five acres amid sprawling farmland. In the town it was known as a halfway house and shelter for young female runaways. Charles City residents had no idea that the women they saw coming and going there were prostitutes. During the day, the women were attending classes, doing housework, or relaxing on the grounds. Their courses were training them to be independent. All the women were between the ages of seventeen and twenty-three, with the exception of Abie, who was twenty-five. Madam Celecia viewed Abie as her prize possession, the one who’d helped build an empire in which she grossed close to $30,000 a week. Her program trained the women in a trade, and they saved enough money so that when they left her business, they could live on their own. The situation was different from the normal brothels, where the women waited on lounge chairs in lingerie for their “gentlemen friends.” Madam Celecia had a different vision for her women—to use what they had temporarily until they were able to go out on their own. Most of the women who’d been at the “shelter” for a while already had enough money saved to live on their own. However, since they were all mostly runaways, women who were hiding from someone or something, they found solace at the house, where they were surrounded by women they considered family.

  None of the women serviced their customers at the house. They all took care of their clients at hotels in the city or one of the surrounding counties. That was one of the rules: Never bring a customer to the house. Never bring a male friend to the house. The house was strictly for the tenants and Uncle Brick, who stayed in an in-law suite that was detached from the house but only a stone’s throw from the front door.

  Abie pulled back the shower curtain. She grabbed the white bath mat and placed it in front of the tub beneath her feet. Unzipping her cosmetics bag, she pulled out her shower gel and deodorant. She sat on the toilet, waiting for the steam to fill all the empty space in the bathroom. The knock at the door took her away from her thoughts, and she was a bit perturbed that the councilman was still there.

  “Abie?”

  “Councilman Big Daddy, what are you still doing here?” She watched as the locked chrome doorknob twisted back and forth.

  “Abie, can I just see you for one minute, please?”

  She sucked her teeth and leaned over to open the door. She didn’t bother getting up. Sullivan, now fully dressed in a black suit and crisp white dress shirt, stared at her naked body. The butterfly tattoo on her inner thigh was in full view since her legs were wide open.

  “I thought about it and I’m going to talk to Madam Celecia. I’ll pay triple, just so she can save you for me. I don’t want you with any other men.” The wrinkles on his forehead and his graying hair told the story of a man who’d fought his way from community activist to councilman over a twenty-year period. But tonight, he was willing to throw it all away over a piece of pussy. Abie stood up and pulled him into the steam-filled bathroom. She stood on her toes so she could kiss him on his cocoa-colored cheek.

  “Go home, Councilman Big Daddy. Your wife is probably looking for you.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ll give it all up to be with you.”

  “If you give it all up, how will you be able to afford me, huh? This is just business. That’s it. I’ve told you that over and over again. Go home.”

  “Why won’t you let me be your man? I can take good care of you.”

  “What if I told you I already had a man? Huh?”

  Sullivan’s eyes transformed. He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the same way you go home to your wife, I go home to my man. Do you still want me all to yourself?”

  “You think this is a joke? A game? I’m standing here telling you that I’d give up my whole world just to have you in my life and all you can do is mock me?” Sullivan grabbed Abie’s upper arm and twisted it. She noticed a vein popping out of the side of his neck. She’d never seen him this angry before.

  “No, I don’t think this is a joke, but you need to get your fucking hands off me. Then you need to stop taking this whole thing so personally. Look, I’ll have to call Uncle Brick if you don’t leave now.”

  Sullivan pushed Abie with just enough force for her to hit the door—face first. She grabbed her cell phone from the bathroom counter and held it up in his face, taunting him. He was becoming more and more aggressive with her, and she needed to let Uncle Brick and the madam know.

  Sullivan nodded in defeat and left the hotel room quietly.

  What Happens in the Dark

  The sound of Abie stirring in the darkness woke Rachida. From the side view of Abie’s silhouette, Rachida could see her shoulders going up and down quickly, indicating that she was crying.

  “Abie?” Rachida asked.

  She heard a loud sniffle and then Abie said, “Go back to sleep.”

  Rachida squinted at the clock on the nightstand. It was after four a.m.

  “Abie, are you crying?”

  “No, ’Chida, now go back to sleep.”

  Rachida reached in the darkness until she felt the antique lamp on her beechwood nightstand. She closed her eyes briefly so they could adjust to the light. Focusing on Abie, she noticed bruises on her arm, and the side of her face was red and swollen.

  “Abie, what happened to you?” Rachida quickly pushed the down-filled comforter from her body and jumped to her feet. The hardwood floors creaked from the impact.

  “ ’Chida, go back to sleep!” Abie said again. Rachida ignored her, turning Abie’s face toward her.

  “Who did this to you? Huh? Who? Did the councilman hit you again?”

  Abie, always the strong-willed, boisterous one, sat on the edge of her bed and sulked. She had defeat in her eyes.

  “Abie, tell me what happened. Do you want m
e to go get Uncle Brick?”

  Abie jumped to her feet so fast she startled Rachida.

  “No! You can’t say anything to Uncle Brick or Madam. I’ll deal with this myself,” Abie snapped.

  “But, Abie, if someone hurt you, you know you have to tell Madam.”

  “What did I say?” Abie yelled. Rachida raised both hands in defense, looking like she was under arrest. Based on Abie’s tone, Rachida knew she had to leave the situation alone, even though she was concerned.

  She went back to her side of the bedroom. Before turning off the lamp, she stared at Abie for a moment, hoping her friend would open up to her. But Abie quickly turned away, not letting Rachida’s eye contact affect her. Rachida turned off the light and though she could see very little in the darkness, from the sound of it, Abie was putting on her pajamas and getting in bed.

  “Abie, I’m worried about you. If the councilman is beating you, you need to say something.”

  “Maybe I have already. It doesn’t matter. All Madam cares about is her goddamn money,” Abie said. Rachida reached to turn on the lamp again.

  “ ’Chida, just let it go, please. I’m so tired of this. This whole life. I’m just tired. Nobody cares about me. Everybody just uses and abuses me. All for the money. Turn off the light and go to sleep.” Abie rolled over so her back was to Rachida.

  “Abie …”

  “ ’Chida, let it go. I’ll be fine. Go to sleep.” Rachida did what she was told. She hated to see her friend upset, but what could she do if Abie wouldn’t let her in?

  Risky Business

  The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed, indicating that it was four p.m. Today was Wednesday, the day all the women at the brothel huddled around the speakerphone in the large parlor as Madam Celecia gave them their assignments, made special announcements, and filled them in on highlights of the past week’s events.

  The parlor, with its oversized columns, hardwood floors, and antique furniture, had an eighteenth-century flair with twenty-first-century amenities. The madam’s taste was far from contemporary, and the entire house boasted pricey antique furniture, expensive wallpaper, and original Persian rugs. The parlor was one of the biggest rooms in the house; it had been designed that way when the home was renovated. The wall between the living room and dining room had been removed to expand the parlor, which had enough room to seat about twenty comfortably on various sofas and chairs that circled an oval table in the middle of the room.

  The women filed into the parlor slowly, all of them chatting with each other, except for Abie. She wore dark sunglasses to cover her swollen eye, and she’d done a good job covering her bruise with makeup. Rachida walked in behind her, still unnerved by the sight of the bruise, which Abie refused to discuss. That wasn’t normal, because they were tight, tighter than sisters, and they shared everything. Rachida was concerned.

  The sound of the speakerphone ringing was the women’s cue to be quiet and start the meeting. They all shuffled to their seats, and before Uncle Brick pressed the TALK button on the phone, he held a finger to his lips.

  “Hello, Madam,” he answered.

  “Good afternoon, Brick. Good afternoon, ladies.” All the women responded with hellos of their own.

  “Is everybody doing okay?” Madam Celecia’s southern drawl was thick and syrupy, like one of those southern belles from Mississippi during the Civil War era. Rachida noticed that Uncle Brick’s eyes went immediately to Abie before he answered.

  “Everybody is doing fine, Madam. Old business first?”

  “Good. Well, I first wanted to commend you all for doing an amazing job last week,” the madam said. “All your clients had nothing but good things to say about you. One thing to note: Since the seasons are changing, you need to be sure you’re all taking your vitamins and drinking plenty of water to keep your skin hydrated. Brick told me a couple of you had a few minor breakouts, so the dermatologist is scheduled to come in tomorrow at ten.”

  “Old business—we have two ladies who are eligible for the transition program,” Uncle Brick said. “Both of them have done outstanding work while in the program, and are ready to transition into independence, and I’ve approved their release. Zakia and Jasmine, congratulations!” He motioned for them to stand as the remaining women—except for Abie—applauded. Uncle Brick gave Abie a look, and if looks could kill, she would’ve been dead on the spot. Rachida was beginning to think that Uncle Brick and Abie were at war over something. Their scowls weren’t evident to anyone but Rachida, and she made a mental note to get to the bottom of it. As Uncle Brick put his finger to his mouth again, Rachida noticed several scratches on his arm. Could he have been behind Abie’s injuries? But why?

  Then Abie, who’d been unusually quiet, spoke out of nowhere.

  “Madam, I need to talk to you privately.” Abie’s abruptness startled everyone in the room, and the celebration was swept under the rug like dirt.

  “Is that you, Abie?” The southern voice spoke through the speaker.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Well, there are no secrets here. Whatever you need to say to me, feel free to discuss right here. We’re all family, you know.”

  Abie looked around at the other women, all of whom had puzzled looks on their faces. Abie was always the vibrant leader of the pack, keeping the women in order, teaching them the business, leading them as they progressed. They all put her on a pedestal and considered her, along with Uncle Brick, Madam’s right hand. Today she was different—cold and aloof—and they didn’t know what was wrong with her.

  “I submitted my transition paperwork two weeks before Zakia and Jasmine, and I haven’t been approved yet,” Abie said. “I was wondering when I’d be getting my transition package. I mean, I have more seniority than anyone here.”

  The transition package was the official release from the “shelter,” which provided the women with a bonus check of ten thousand dollars to get them started on their own, a key to an apartment in the city, and documents regarding a real nine-to-five job.

  “Abie, dear, I didn’t receive a transition request for you. Brick, did you send me a package for Abie?”

  Uncle Brick stared coldly at Abie.

  “I thought I sent it to you, Madam. You didn’t get it?”

  “No, I most certainly did not.” The sarcasm seeped through the speakerphone. It was obvious to Abie and everyone else in the room that Brick and Madam were playing Abie. But no one could understand why. Why wasn’t Abie given a chance to leave like everyone else?

  Abie sighed heavily. She knew what was happening. They were trying to keep her there because she was Madam’s cash cow. Sure, Abie had saved enough money to leave on her own. But she wanted what Madam had promised her, had promised every girl there: an apartment and the cash, particularly the cash. She’d worked hard, damn hard for Madam, and she deserved everything that was due her.

  “I’ll send it again,” Abie said. “This time I’d rather mail it to you overnight. Can I send it myself?” No one could see Abie’s expression behind the shades, but she squinted as she stared at Uncle Brick.

  “Brick, make sure I receive Abie’s paperwork this time, okay?” the madam said.

  “No problem. Not sure what happened to it.”

  The women listened attentively while Madam listed their assignments for the week. One of the women would be servicing a senator from Washington, D.C., who was scheduled to be at a town hall meeting with Virginia’s governor. Another was assigned to one of Richmond’s delegates, who used the services at least once a month. Abie, who was often requested by some of the elite clientele, would be servicing the co-pastor of one of Atlanta’s largest megachurches, who’d be in town that weekend for a Christian leadership conference.

  As some of the women scribbled notes and others whispered comments to one another, Rachida kept her eye on Abie and Uncle Brick.

  Letting Go

  “You have to let me go, Brick.” Abie moved slowly through his in-law suite, a place that had becom
e all too familiar to her. The one-bedroom apartment was stuffy compared to the main house, and sometimes Abie felt like Uncle Brick’s physique was too big for such a small place. Standing with her back to the door, she closed it softly, staring at his massive collection of Washington Redskins memorabilia. It was obvious that Madam had allowed him to decorate his space himself, because it was a bachelor pad to the fullest extent: oversized matching La-Z-Boy chairs, a coffee table adorned with Sports Illustrateds and various car magazines, and atop a mahogany stand a flat-screen TV and several DVDs and CDs.

  Uncle Brick walked to Abie, towering over her like a skyscraper. He gently touched her cheek before bending to kiss her on the forehead.

  “If that’s my baby, I need to know. Furthermore, I’ll kill that motherfucker for putting his hands on you.”

  “Brick, this is all my fault. I provoked Scoot. I should’ve just, I don’t know.” Abie found a safe place to snuggle in Uncle Brick’s arms. He stroked her hair gently and held her tightly while she cried.

  “Listen, Abie, the best thing for us to do is just cut our losses here and leave this place—together.”

  Abie pulled away.

  “How? We broke the rules. If Madam finds out about us, I could be put out on the street and forfeit my transition package. Then there’s this baby. I just don’t know what to do. I think I need to have an abortion.”

  “Abortion? But that’s my baby, Abie. How could you kill our child?”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You told me you always use protection with Scoot because he’s out there in the streets. I know you use protection with your clients. I’m the only one you go raw with. I know that’s my baby. You know I love you and you know we belong together. I can handle Madam.”

  “Brick, listen. What you did to Scoot today was wrong. You almost killed him.”