I never did find out what happened to Rita.
CHAPTER TEN
One night several months later, the police came through to round up all the girls working the streets. Though Moses had told me I’d likely be arrested at some point, I’d had no idea what to expect, and I wasn’t prepared to run. I was put in a wagon with the other girls and women who hadn’t been able to get away.
After a stay in the crowded police station holding room, we were locked up in a large caged room with women from all over Manhattan. I could feel the looks of disdain as the police officers looked us up and down, watching our every move through the chain-link cage. There was no privacy, and nowhere to sleep but steel benches. Even the toilet was right out in the open in a corner of the cage.
I spent a restless night trying to sleep on the unforgiving benches. I was trying to think about anything but what Moses would say and how mad he would be. I did wonder if he was worried about me and where I was. But there was nothing I could do except sit and wait to hear my name called to go before the judge.
After what felt like hours, I was chained to the other women and driven to the courthouse at 100 Centre Street. By then it was early in the morning, and we had to march by all of the square people who were on their way to work or going about their lives. I could feel their stares and almost read their minds, and my cheeks were burning. It was as if someone were yelling to the world how dirty and disgusting I was. I just wanted to shrink into myself until I became so small that no one could see me anymore. All of a sudden I didn’t care about belonging; I wanted nothing more than to scream out, “I’m different than them. I am not a whore! Don’t look at me like that!”
We were taken to another large holding cell in the courthouse. A few of the women in that jail cell were junkies, heroin addicts. They were lying on the floor, sick from lack of drugs. I watched as they huddled in a corner and kept to themselves, their noses running as they made frequent, embarrassing trips to the communal toilet to relieve their cramping stomachs. They didn’t seem to care that everyone could see them. Because of the constant sound of liquid, I thought at first that they were urinating, but then winced as I smelled something else. Apparently, diarrhea was a symptom of withdrawal.
To the left of me were a couple of women who seemed to know the ropes. These women sat calmly, waiting to be set free, talking quietly among themselves. It was obvious that they had been locked up before and were not worried at all about what would come next. The lines on their faces showed through their heavy makeup. I wondered how old they were.
On the right, several black prostitutes stalked back and forth, shouting and waving their hands. Every woman in there was pissed, but these women’s rage burst from every movement of their bodies. They were pissed that they were in jail. They were pissed that they would probably be beaten when their pimps found out that they didn’t have any money. In general, they were just pissed at the world.
I was terrified. Just like at Bon Air, my fair skin and my golden-blond hair made it hard not to notice me. Worse, I was young and well dressed in the expensive clothes Moses had bought me. I tried to keep my eyes down and disappear into myself, chanting numbers in my head: One, two, three, four, five. It had gotten me this far, and I hoped it would work again.
Unfortunately, there was nowhere to hide. The angry women noticed me in the corner and quickly searched me, methodically robbing me as they had other vulnerable women in the cell, patting me up and down and taking my money away, even the few dollars hidden in the toes of my boots. I was grateful they didn’t find the last bit of money I had thought to hide in the lining of one of my boots.
The fake name I had given the police was finally called. As Moses had taught me, nothing I had told them was real; they didn’t know I was just fourteen years old. Of course I never had any identification on me, either. I didn’t even have a social security card.
I went into the courtroom and stood before the judge. Even though I had never been arrested before, I knew the drill; Moses and the other girls had told me what would happen. Each woman would be assigned a court-appointed lawyer who presented her information to the judge. The charge was always loitering for the purpose of prostitution, and generally, the court would just let her go without a fine. If a girl was arrested too many times, then she might be sent to Rikers Island. I’d heard all about that place from the other girls on the track. It sounded scary, a place where people took what they wanted from you and where girls like me were looked down on by the other women. I was terrified that I would end up there someday.
That first time I answered a few questions and was let go. I was so thrilled that I wouldn’t be taken to Rikers Island that I lost my head. I took out the last twenty-dollar bill I had hidden away and found one of the little hot dog vendors that sold food and soda in front of the courthouse. I bought a hot dog with sauerkraut, and it tasted amazing, like freedom in my mouth.
I flagged a cab, paid with my last few dollars, and went back to the hotel room where I was staying with Moses. Tiptoeing into the room, I was more than relieved to see that he was still sleeping. I did my best not to make a peep.
But he heard me and woke up, and his green eyes pierced me even in the darkness. “Ho, that you?”
“Yes. Go back to sleep.”
“Where the hell you been at, bitch?”
I sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the bed as I took off my boots. All I wanted was to take a long, hot shower and go to sleep. “I was in jail. I just got out.”
I had hoped and prayed that Moses wouldn’t be angry. I’d hoped that he was even worried about me. Instead he smiled, all catlike. “That’s the life. You gotta pay to play, bitch,” he said. “Where my money at?”
I should have known it was too easy. “Moses, I had to pay the cab, and some of the hos in jail took my money. I mean, your money. There was nothing I could do,” I said. I smiled shakily at him, hoping he would give me a pass this time. Wasn’t I his special lady? Surely he would be mad at those women who robbed me, and maybe he would try to go get even. I hoped he would.
But rage flashed in his eyes as he leaped out of bed, slapping me over and over until I cowered in the corner.
“Damn bitch,” he muttered as he left the room, shaking his hand in the air as if it were stinging. “You such a dumb bitch, I hurt my hand. Now change them clothes, get back out there now, and go get my money straight.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As the months passed, I started to feel a tingle of resentment and rebellion growing inside me. But what could I do? I hated Moses when he called me names or beat me, but it felt good when he told me he loved me. He was always so happy when I gave him the money I had earned each night; I felt like I had accomplished something when I saw how proud he was and heard him brag to his friends how much money I made. Sometimes I thought he beat me only because I really needed the discipline and rules.
And Moses took care of me; he fed me, clothed me, housed me, and made all of my decisions. I didn’t know how to do anything by myself, not even how to buy my own clothes, or how to cook food or do laundry. Life without Moses was almost impossible to think about, and far too scary to imagine. I had nothing without him. I was nothing without him. Just a dumb ho.
He reminded me of this fact on a daily basis, but I didn’t need him to say a word. Every night in the life was a reminder, every one of those hands that seemed to be rubbing me completely out of existence. I had been with so many strangers that over time they became a blur of bodies, hands, penises, and dollar signs to me. Any slight act of kindness from a customer was shocking, and I responded with disdain. I didn’t trust anyone; I knew that I was a worthless whore, and that no one but Moses would ever love me or take care of me.
Moses told me that all the squares would hate me. He said that even my own family would hate me because of what I had been doing in New York. I thought of the look on my parents’ faces if they ever found out about the life, and I knew in my heart that he was right.
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***
Still, sometimes I was desperate for a break. One night, after I had been with Moses for a year or two, I tried to hide from him in the little West Side apartment where he had moved me. When I heard him putting his key in the front door, I jumped into the bathtub without really thinking. I suppose I thought that he wouldn’t think to look for me there, and I could get a few hours of peace. Maybe I could have one night without all the tricks pawing at me with their greedy hands.
He walked into the living room, and I heard him coming toward the bathroom. I slid down lower in the bathtub and tried not to breathe. There was a tiny brown spider crawling along the side of the tub, and I was worried that it might bite me. But a spider bite was better than getting bitten by Moses.
I heard him unzip his pants. He farted as his piss hit the water in the toilet. I remember thinking that even perfect men like Moses could fart like a pig. I held my breath and waited for him to leave.
He flushed the toilet, but then slowly pulled the shower curtain open, a sinister smile sliding over his face as he stared down at me. He must have seen my shadow on the wall.
“What the fuck you doing, you crazy bitch?” he asked in a quiet voice.
When Moses used that voice, I knew to be terrified. The quieter he was, the worse the beating would be.
“I’m tired,” I said, hands already up to protect myself. I started babbling, “I’m sorry, Moses. I just didn’t feel good, and I thought if I lay here, I might feel better.”
“Dumb bitch,” he muttered as he grabbed my arm, his long fingers digging into my skin. He slapped me hard in the face. My ears were ringing from the blow, but I heard him say, “Get to work, bitch.” Then he pushed me out the apartment door.
***
Two weeks later, I pulled a girl I knew from the track down into the marble caverns of Grand Central Station and asked her to do me a favor.
“Come on, Alicia, just come with me for a minute.” I grabbed her by the hand and hurried her down the long, winding hallway toward the women’s bathroom.
“But why? Oh my God, if my man finds out I left the track, I’ll be in big trouble. What the hell do you want?”
At that time of night the station was pretty much deserted, and the large stalls in the ladies’ room were empty as well. Our platform shoes echoed on the shiny gray floor.
“Hit me in the eye. Just punch me.” I stood close to Alicia, looking into her eyes, willing her to hit me and closing my eyes in anticipation of the pain. I could see our reflections in the big mirrors that lined the bathroom walls; just two pretty blond teenage girls, dressed alike in short red hot pants and high platform shoes. If you didn’t look too closely you might not have noticed all the makeup that didn’t seem to mask the sadness in our eyes.
“What? Are you crazy? Why would I do that?” Alicia backed away and started to walk out of the bathroom.
“No, wait!” I begged her. “Please just do it. I can’t take it anymore, and I want to go home. But I didn’t even break luck yet, and I know I’m not gonna make enough money tonight. My man is gonna kick my ass. Maybe if I tell him a trick robbed me, he won’t be so mad.”
I couldn’t take the regular beatings that Moses gave me for any number of reasons, from not making his rigid quota to breaking any one of his numerous, ever-changing rules. I was tired, so tired; I just wanted to go to sleep. But I knew Moses wouldn’t let me come home early unless I had made enough money.
“Come on, Alicia. Just hit me right in my eye. I won’t be mad, for real. Please just do it.”
Alicia frowned and balled up her small fists as she pulled her arm back and punched me full force in my right eye.
The punch caught me off guard even though I’d just begged her to hit me, and I almost crashed to the marble bathroom floor. I held on to the cool surface of the nearby sink and checked my face in the mirror. I could see the damage to my eye forming already; my eye was swelling shut, and the skin was turning red and blue all over the right side of my face. But I felt happy.
“Thanks, girl! I owe you one!” I hurried out of the bathroom and rushed outside, a faint hope in my heart as I held my hand over my eye and jumped into a waiting taxi.
I figured I would tell Moses a trick attacked me and stole all my money. That way I wouldn’t have any trouble with him when I came home with nothing. It hurt, but the pain would be worth it if I got out of work.
But Moses actually laughed when I showed him my face. He rolled his eyes. “That all you got, bitch? You think you can trick me?” He reached back his fist, and before I could even think to stop him, he had punched me in the temple just above my other eye. He laughed and shook his fist in my face. “You want to be hurt? I’ll show you how bitches get hurt!” His next blow was harder and hurt a lot more.
“Please, Moses.” I trembled, fresh blood dripping down my face. “I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. Let me go to work and make it up to you. I’ll bring lots of money home.”
“Lying bitch,” he said to me as he turned and walked away. “You’d better. The next time you lie to me, you know what’ll happen.”
And I did know.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Finally I found an escape—heroin.
I had done heroin a few times since coming to New York, and Moses had given me some to snort when I first met him. A lot of girls who worked the street did drugs. Some of them started using to try to forget what they were doing. Others started working the street to get money for a drug habit they already had.
When I had been working for him for a few years, Moses left for Texas for several days to buy a car. That night I met April, a drag queen who invited me to come uptown to Harlem and do some heroin. I was grateful for the chance to take something that might help numb my mind and body. And I didn’t have to worry about Moses for a few days, so I told her yes.
She brought me to a dark, smelly place, like some kind of rodent den crowded with tiny rooms packed full of junkies. The lights kept going off randomly due to faulty wiring, flickering bursts of light into the junkies’ faces. It made them look even more ghostly than they already did.
You could enter the building and visit a room for a fee. There was a person at the top of the stairs, behind what looked like a bank teller’s window. People passed money through the window, and they were given a ticket like at the carnival when you wanted to ride the roller coaster.
We got our tickets and walked down a dark hall to a closed door. Nothing happened when we knocked, so April pushed the door open. There must have been fifteen people stuffed in that room, everyone in some stage of getting high. No one paid us any attention.
Seated on the floor was a guy with huge bloody abscesses all over his thigh, probably from shooting up hundreds of times. I watched as he stuck a needle right in the middle of a raw-looking hole on his arm, trying to find a vein. There was hardly any air in the little room, and the smell was deadly: a nasty combination of putrid flesh, unwashed bodies, burnt matches, and cigarettes. I felt sick to my stomach. I just was looking for an escape from Moses. There was no way I’d ever turn out like the man on the floor.
Because I had no idea what I was doing, April had to fix up the dope for me. She pulled a metal cap off a soda bottle lying on the floor and put part of a cigarette filter in the cap. Then she opened a bag of heroin and dumped it all in the cap. After that, she went to the small sink in the corner and drew up some water with the needle. She squirted a little water in the soda cap and asked me to light a match and hold it under the top until the drug made a fizzing sound.
After it was ready, April drew up her shot first and got off. She immediately started to nod out, and I frantically poked her so she would wake up. I had played around with syringes while I was in the detention center in Virginia, but this was different. I wanted to do it right.
The first thing I felt was a strong heat coursing through my entire body. Every worry I had was gone, and my world felt right. I felt a warm rush of affection for the junkie
s around me. All the ugliness disappeared; the little room looked so beautiful to me. I felt the sense of peace I had been searching for ever since I had first been abused as a child.
Smokey Robinson was coming from a radio somewhere in the room. I kicked my shoes off, and April grabbed my hands and started to dance with me. No one looked at us except an angry dope fiend in the corner.
“Where’s your man at, girl? He know what you’re doing up here?”
April stopped dancing. “Oh no, you didn’t just ask her that. What business is it of yours, motherfucker?”
He frowned and shook his head. We didn’t hear anything else from him, and I danced so hard that night that when I finally got home my stockings were ripped to shreds, and my feet were black with grime from the filthy wooden floor.
***
The next night I found that when I was high on heroin, I could work faster than ever; nothing got to me. April and I stood on a corner on the East Side so we wouldn’t run into any of Moses’s other girls. I was afraid they would tell him I was high.
Working together that night, April and I quickly became friends. Since Moses was still out of town for a few more days, I invited her to come over to my apartment.
The apartment was on the Lower West Side in a three-floor walk-up over a small neighborhood bar. Even though the apartment wasn’t really mine—it belonged to Moses—I had tried to make it seem like it was. I loved bright colors, and I had painted the apartment with black and red semi-gloss paint I found at a nearby store. I’d even hung matching bead strings between the kitchen and the living room.
Sometimes I would hide a little money from Moses if I wanted to buy something for the apartment, or I would ask a regular customer to buy what I wanted. I remember going to a store in Times Square to buy a black cat clock whose tail moved to tell the time. It had big rhinestones for hour markers. Moses didn’t seem to notice; maybe he thought it was a gift.
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