by Lexie Ray
“Sol,” I said. “But your sister called me Pumpkin. And I called her Cream.”
“Cream?” Terry repeated, snorting as he flopped down on the couch. He snorted again, and it turned into a laugh. He was howling with mirth, but I couldn’t see the humor in it. Then, I realized he was crying.
I looked down at the glass of water, feeling useless and hopeless and cowardly.
“I’m sorry,” Terry said. “I’m sorry. I just—this is my fault.”
“No, no it’s not,” I said quickly, sinking down on the couch next to him. “This was the fault of a monster. Nobody’s fault but that man on the TV.”
“Did he really do it, Sol?” Terry asked. “Did it happen the way they said?”
“I’m going to tell you exactly how it happened,” I said, and I did.
Terry said nothing as I talked, just breathed slowly, in and out, and occasionally balled his hands up into fists. I made it all the way to the end, telling him how his sister had saved my life, how strong she’d been while Andrew was breaking the door down.
“She asked for you, as I was jumping out the window,” I said. “She asked me to find you. Cream—Belle—told me all about you. How you’d raised her, protected her when she was just a kid.”
Terry shook his head brokenly. “I didn’t protect her,” he said. “Look at this. Look at what happened.”
I swallowed and spoke the truth. “If not for you sister, I probably wouldn’t be here. I would probably still be there, being tortured by Andrew Steele. In fact, I would probably be dead. We had started to fear for our lives.”
“I should never have gone to the Army,” Terry said. “She’d been pushing me, trying my patience by bringing home whoever she wanted, sleeping around. She was better than that, I always told her. She was better than any of those losers.”
“You were just trying to help,” I said. “She told me. She worried about you, about what had happened to her. She didn’t know where to turn to.”
Terry shook his head. “She left the apartment I gave her,” he said. “I found out I’d just been sending money to my old boss at the diner, not her. For all of my efforts, for everything I did, it never helped her a bit. I should’ve stayed here. I should never have left her. This wouldn’t have happened.”
This was the kind of thinking that Jasmine warned me about.
“When I came back,” Terry continued, his eyes far away, “when it was safe enough to transport me back here, she was gone. I didn’t know where she was. She didn’t leave a note with my boss, or a note in the apartment. She’d vanished. I didn’t know where to look. I had the awful feeling that she’d wanted to get away from me. I thought maybe I shouldn’t look for her, and I didn’t.”
Terry finally broke down. I realized I’d been waiting for it. It was almost a relief to put my arms around him and let him cry himself out.
“She needed me,” he sobbed. “She needed me and I wasn’t there for her.”
He cried, and I filled the void of silence with stories about Terry’s sister. How beautiful she’d been. How she loved clothes and shopping and fashion. Maybe he didn’t want to hear it, but I also told him how well loved she was. How the customers at the nightclub we used to work at always asked after her. How loving she was, always ready to give of herself to people.
I just wanted Terry to know that his sister had been a gentle soul—not the woman the media was portraying. They’d called her a sex worker, a live-in prostitute, and a sex slave. Maybe she was those things, in some senses. But above all, she was Cream—Belle Nocton, my friend, the strong woman who’d given up her own life in order to save mine.
I told him all of this, still talking long after he’d stopped crying.
“Why did you come here, Sol?” he asked, drawing back to look at me. “What are you here for?”
“She asked me to,” I said. “She asked me to find you, and I did.”
“The papers say you’re going to testify,” Terry said. “Are you? Are you going to help bring that motherfucker to justice?”
I thought about how I’d felt, just seeing Andrew on the TV screen. I’d been terrified. How could I hope to even be in the same room as him in court?
“I was going to,” I said softly. “But I didn’t realize how afraid I was until he was on the television. I don’t know that I can go through with it.”
“You can because you have to,” Terry said, taking my face in his hands. “You have to make this bastard burn, Sol. For Belle.”
I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes. “For Belle,” I repeated.
“If you think it would help, I’ll go to the trial,” Terry said. “I’d been thinking about it. I wanted to look the fucker in the face. But if you think it would help to know that I’m there, to see me if you think you’ll be scared, I’ll go for you, instead, Sol.”
His words lifted me up inside. “I think it would,” I said. “I think it would help me be strong.”
We’d both lost Cream. We’d both lost a sister, in a way. She may not have been my blood, like she was Terry’s, but we’d been bonded through circumstance. She was as close to my blood as could be.
Ahead of the trial, Jasmine worked around the clock to see that I got the things that I needed, doing things she’d normally delegate to the rest of the staff at the aid organization. She was going to procure an apartment for me, but didn’t think I should stay alone.
“I hope you don’t mind one noisy little roommate.”
I’d been sitting in Jasmine’s office, reviewing a list of psychiatrists that she’d recommended to me, when I heard the familiar voice behind me. I whirled around to see Blue, holding a precious little girl bundled up in a tie-dye snowsuit. Winter had come to the city, and I was seeing Blue’s little angel, the girl I’d helped save.
“You’re her honorary godmother, you know,” Blue said, handing me her little girl. The tot had her mother’s eyes, cerulean, round and curious. She grabbed at my nose and chortled in the way only a child can. Holding that little girl was balm on my soul, she healed me more than anything had so far.
It was good to be among family—with Blue and little Sandra. Blue’s fiancé, Dan, was a gem, understanding that I couldn’t be alone at a time like this. It helped me greatly to be around little Sandra. It was impossible to be sad or scared around her, I found, laughing at her antics and the paces she put her parents through.
As the trial date approached, I started seeing a kindly psychiatrist. Talking to her was good. I even felt comfortable enough to discuss the ideas of all the different Pumpkins with her.
“Is that how you felt while you were Pumpkin?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I felt like there was a Pumpkin for every situation.”
“And now that you’re Sol?” she asked. “What now?”
What now? That was the real question, wasn’t it? Now I was hanging in limbo, waiting to testify against Andrew, trying to stop crying, and trying to find some way to reclaim some semblance of normalcy in my life.
I started meeting with Terry several times a week, too. He said that it helped him to get out of the house and away from the television. There were some days when he didn’t feel like putting on his legs, so I would push him around town. I liked that, and I didn’t think he minded it. We talked about Cream a lot, and then one day, we talked about Afghanistan.
“I kept going because of her,” Terry said, looking at the place where his feet were supposed to be. “I wanted to give up, but I didn’t.”
“You didn’t,” I agreed. “And now you are doing something for her—helping me be strong.”
After we’d talked about Afghanistan for a while, I started telling him about East Harlem and growing up with the female contingency. I told him the story about my family shaving the guy who’d wronged them and tattooing him with a penis. Terry laughed as much as Cream had, throwing his head back and scaring a flock of pigeons in Central Park.
The night before I was to testify at the trial, Jasmine thou
ght it’d be nice to do something to distract me. She and her husband, Nate, hosted a dinner at the gorgeous condo they shared. Blue, Dan, Sandra, Terry, and I all rode over together. I was surprised and delighted to see Cocoa and meet her husband, Liam. She was heavy with child, she told me with a laugh, and about ready to pop.
At one point, everyone held their glasses up and toasted to me, though I didn’t understand why they would.
“To Sol,” Jasmine said, beaming at me. “And for her courage.”
“Here, here,” Blue cried.
Terry took my hand at one point during the night.
“Sol, I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done,” he told me. He looked so nice, his face shaved, his skin looking a little better, the bags under his eyes not so heavy. He’d even put his fancy legs on—the ones with dress shoes attached—for the occasion. He walked remarkably well with them, but it took concentration, he said. More practice and he’d have it down pat, he promised.
“For everything I’ve done?” I repeated incredulously, shaking my hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I wanted to testify at first, but I became so scared. That day we first met, I decided that I just couldn’t.”
“You’re going to do fine,” Terry said. “But I wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“After this is all over, is it all right if we still keep seeing each other?” he asked. “You give me a reason to stand up and walk, Sol.”
That simple statement made me choke a little on my drink in shock, but Terry was completely sincere.
“I would love that,” I said, laying my hand on his arm. “I really would, Terry. You give me a reason to keep going at all.”
When I took my place in the witness stand, I looked out into the crowd first. I found Jasmine, Blue, and Cocoa, all sitting next to each other, giving me small smiles. I knew that Dan was just outside, holding Sandra. And there was Terry, standing tall in the very back of the courtroom, which he said he’d do so I’d know exactly where he was.
Finally, I turned my eyes to Andrew.
“Tell us what you remember the most about the time you spent with Mr. Steele,” the lawyer said.
Andrew’s face was expressionless, his black, lifeless eyes staring at me, daring me to tell them. He’d wanted to kill me. He still did. He wanted me dead. And he’d very nearly had his way.
“Miss Ramirez?” the lawyer prompted gently. “What you remember most?”
My eyes found Terry’s at the back of the courtroom and stared at him for a long time. He nodded at me.
“What I remember the most is Belle Nocton,” I said, my voice loud and clear. “She was my friend, and she gave her life to save mine.”
I told my story to the world that day, all news outlets agreeing, in the end, that it was my testimony that had put Andrew Steele away forever.
After the verdict was handed down, several weeks later, I felt better than I had since I made my escape. The psychiatrist suggested that it was because I’d brought justice down for Cream, and my heart was telling me that it was okay to move forward now and heal.
I would never have gotten this far if it hadn’t been for my new family. Jasmine, Cocoa, and Blue were all strong women who had survived. Through sheer will, they’d given me the tools to become one of them, one of the lucky ones.
I hoped one day, as I walked hand in hand with Terry through Central Park, that I’d be able to give that same gift to someone else who needed help.
There had been so many of Mama’s girls. I was just one of them.
~ END of SELFLESS ~
RELENTLESS
Chapter One
“Cops! It’s the cops!”
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been waiting to hear those simple words. I knew they had to come sometime, especially with the way everything had been going.
And, let’s face it. I knew perfectly well that what we were doing was illegal.
Still, it was quite a different matter to know something was coming than to actually have it be there, happening right in front of me.
I was in the kitchen when it happened, getting a pot of coffee brewing for myself and any of the other girls who wanted some. At the time, I’d been alone. And to this day, I wasn’t sure who raised the cry. Daisy, perhaps. Or one of the others. It was hard to be sure.
But I didn’t stand a chance since I was in the kitchen. The cops swept through the first floor, first. An angry, wounded roar told me that they’d found Mama sleeping in her office. I wondered if she was using dollar bills as a pillow. I’d seen her do it before.
I heard more commotion—the sounds of many, many running feet—and small cries of panic.
“Don’t move!” a man shouted.
“Hands up!” another commanded.
I found myself rooting for the other girls, the girls who had become my sisters, hoping that as many of them got out as possible.
Why didn’t I run? Maybe in all the tumult I would’ve had a chance—slip out of the kitchen, get lost in the crowd, vanish on the busy streets of New York City.
Maybe if I’d had something to run for, I would’ve gone.
But, in all honesty, I was tired. Tired of trying, tired of running.
When I heard the kitchen door open with a bang, I turned around with something like relief. Finally. My tenure as one of Mama’s girls was coming to a close. It was past time for it.
“Police!” one of two officers said as they entered the kitchen, guns drawn. I pressed myself up against the countertop, putting my hands up. It looked like Mama had given them enough of a fight that they were now extremely wary.
“Don’t move,” the other officer implored, his request echoing in the cavernous kitchen.
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I won’t.” Not with two guns trained on me.
“We need you to come with us,” the first said, lowering his gun but not putting it away.
“I figured as much,” I said. “Is it okay if I get dressed first?”
Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, all I had on was a satiny robe that covered up a tank top and a pair of panties. I hadn’t been awake for very long, either. That was just a part of the life—working until the wee hours at Mama’s nightclub.
The officers glanced at each other.
“I’m not trying to pull anything,” I said. “I just don’t want to be at the police station without any pants.”
“Where’s your clothes?” the first officer asked.
“Upstairs, in the boarding house.”
“Fitch, go with her,” the first officer said, holstering his gun. The second officer did the same, and held his hand out to me.
“Let’s go.”
I left the coffee, still brewing, behind me, and walked out. It became a fitting sort of tribute, being escorted by a cop through the premises, as my last look at Mama’s nightclub.
I’d hoped to leave this place long ago, triumphant and with enough cash to solve all of my problems, but life just hadn’t worked out that way.
The door to the kitchen closed behind us, and I realized I’d never smell the delicious aromas of the chef’s daily specials or our rotating list of tapas. I’d never cook anything in there again, nor come down with some of the girls in the middle of the night to scavenge through the refrigerator.
The door to Mama’s office gaped open like a mouth, and I could see several officers boxing and bagging up whatever items they saw fit to use as evidence. One of them kept setting bricks of money on the desk, one after the other. God only knew how much Mama had been sitting on top of, and how much us girls were entitled to.
That was as much as an ending as anything. I’d never sidle into that office again, asking Mama for a bit of my hard-earned cash so I could go buy a bar of soap or a new color of nail polish. More recently, though, I supposed I’d never tiptoe past the office again, hoping not to wake the drunken, vengeful woman who’d taken to sleeping there. Ever since Cocoa had fled the nightc
lub, Mama had been in a downward spiral, drinking like a fish and counting her money. All of us girls simply tried to stay out of her way.
On the nightclub floor, cops escorted girls out, all in varying states of dress. These were the unlucky ones who’d tried to run but had been caught instead. I felt for them. I really did. Their shuffling feet on the dance floor in the middle of the nightclub made me realize that I would never dance here again—not with customers or my sisters. My mouth quirked up in the briefest of smiles as I thought about the wild nights we’d had. There were several nights a week when a DJ came as a musical act to entertain at the nightclub, and those were always our favorite nights. We’d get crazy, shaking it on the dance floor with whoever wanted to dance, customers plying us with drinks to make us shake it even harder.
The tables where the customers would regularly sit were empty, chairs on top of them. No customers would ever come in here again. I’d worked nights when every seat at every table was occupied, the place full of paying customers. I’d had hope those nights, hope that I’d earn enough money to get out of here, to do what I needed to do to get my life on track.
It was never enough money, I was starting to understand. And with Mama making us keep our earnings in her office safe, I never knew just how much I was making. My mouth twisted in bitter mirth. I’d never see that money. All of my hard work, everything I’d done for customers I couldn’t even remember, gone. Gone.
Toward the entrance of the nightclub, I noticed that some chairs had toppled from their perches on the tables. Maybe that was where Mama, too, had realized that all of this was at an end. I would’ve liked to see what that looked like—Mama trying to fight the cops, knocking the chairs from the tables.
Beyond the entrance, through the heavily tinted front windows, I could see the circus outside. There were dozens of squad cars, their red and blue lights wheeling. Yellow tape cordoned off the area of sidewalk and street directly in front of the building, but a sea of media and curious onlookers waited just on the other side.
