by Destiny Moon
This information disgusted her. I tried to convince her it was a good thing. I told her that neither one of us ever had to worry about starvation. I told her about the woman in the congregation who was half the age of her rather repugnant husband. I told her what I had overheard some years ago. She had been alone and desolate when she’d met him, and she’d pretended she’d been travelling and had been robbed of her passport, money and luggage. He’d stopped for her on the old dirt road where she was walking and had taken her in for the night. Now they were married and, even though she did not seem particularly happy, she was obviously well fed.
I pointed out that we knew many men just in and around our property, and if we were willing to go into the world, we would undoubtedly find more. Men were the easiest key to survival, but Faith didn’t understand.
My story did nothing positive for my sister. She was daunted by my suggestion. She told me I was wretched, sordid and filthy and that she didn’t want to have anything to do with someone who would even consider using her God-given beauty in such a lewd way.
“Suit yourself,” I said. I vowed never to feel sympathy for her in all of her self-righteousness.
“I’m marrying Tommy,” she announced. Her tone implied that she meant for this information to sting. It didn’t. I would have taken care of her out of the sense of responsibility that older, smarter siblings inherently have towards their inferior younger ones, but I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to.
“Congratulations.”
I went upstairs and packed my clothes. I took my mother’s wedding ring in my palm and studied it. It had meant so much to her. I didn’t understand it. There was a sombre emptiness in my stomach, but also a sense of adventure and freedom greater than any I’d ever known. I said a prayer for my mom. I left the ring on Faith’s pillow. Taking one last glance at the house that had been my home for all of my twenty years would have been a mistake, and I still have no regretful sentiment that I did not keep a picture of that day in my mind.
I was twenty by the time I left. I would have gone earlier if I’d had the money. After five years of saving my meagre weekend earnings, hidden, I had accumulated enough to buy a ticket to the coast and to stay in a hotel for two or three nights. It had been my plan to do that, then to meet a rich gentleman—like the ones that pulled in at the weekends to buy produce, only richer and urbane. I wanted to leave and not come back until I had made something of myself.
It wasn’t long before my feet grew tired from walking. I had been on the dirt road for hours and dusk had set in. It was time to placate myself with reminders of how I would succeed and how this summer would be the turning point I needed in order to grow. I had everything I could possibly need to survive—right there with me as I walked.
It was the loneliest I’d ever felt, and the most reverent. Emotions always present themselves best with their antithesis. This was the culmination of every feeling I’d had in years. I was despondent as well as determined. I had to look forward.
Chapter Two
The Road
I spent the first night in an abandoned barn, using my other dress as my blanket and the hay inside the almost crumbling building as my insulation. The air was warm. Sounds of mosquitoes kept me awake for quite a long time after dark. Then my fears set in. I was so tremulous that I could not move, so I closed my eyes and slept. I was glad that I could experience this kind of fear alone and live through it. My rational sensibility that I was safer in that abandoned barn than any other place I could have ended up that night kept my vision focused and I assured myself that I didn’t need to rely on anyone else—I had a great relationship with myself and I would nurture and take care of myself from then on, and do it proudly.
Idaho had served me well. But it was all I knew. A couple of years ago, my dad had hooked up a salvaged satellite dish that, to our collective surprise, had worked. So, without knowing anything about California but what I had seen on TV, I had made up my mind that San Francisco would be my city. It would be the place where things would happen for me because they had happened for so many other people.
I made my way to the nearest town in the county, Old Cliffe, by hitchhiking. I had been there many times. It was a good junction to go to because it had a bus depot and I could catch a Greyhound there. Of course, I soon realised I’d have more money to spend once I got to San Francisco if I afforded myself the company of strangers.
Hitching was effortless. Men stopped for me and each of the rides out to the coast gave me more insight into the male psyche. They wanted to know me in exchange for the ride they were giving me, and they all learned that I didn’t work like that.
I was such a temptress then. I could get a man to drive me in the opposite direction to the one he had been headed merely by batting my eyelashes and crossing my legs in his direction. Men are simple creatures and I had learned basic manipulation tactics long ago. During the trip, which took the better part of a week, I practiced my skills. I read faces, gestures and rhetoric. I could tell who was Christian, who was a father and who was a scared pervert too nervous to take advantage of me. And I worked on the conscience of each of them. Most of them gave me money when I told them I had run away from my abusive home life in search of a grandmother I’d only heard of and never met. And I made sure to tell each of them how vital they were to my success and I convinced them that helping me was the one thing they wanted more than anything else. I slept in a hotel room every night on somebody else’s dime. I was surprised and delighted with myself for making the journey work that way. Had I been sceptical of my ability to seduce people into doing nice things for me, that trip would have assured me I was exactly the seductress I’d convinced myself I could be. But then it was all still so new.
Growing up with farmhands around me, I’d learned to eavesdrop on conversations for information about the real world outside Glendale. I knew that big cities offered advantages to girls like me, and that all I had to do was find the right woman to teach me and take me under her wing.
* * * *
San Francisco
I asked one of my drivers to pull over and wait while I went to the ladies’ room and, as usual, my command was obeyed. Inside by the pay phone, I saw a stand with newspapers. I looked for the alternative free distribution kind and leafed through the back pages. High rates for beautiful young girls, minimal nudity, full discretion, please call. Between the ads for massage parlours were ads that girls had posted themselves. Even if my biggest dreams didn’t pan out right away, I wouldn’t starve. I left through the back door without thanking the ride that had taken me the final seventy miles of my journey. I had made it to San Francisco. I had plenty of money tucked in my backpack and a mind full of dreams.
I kept the newspaper with all the ads, for future reference. It was early afternoon and I was embarking on the most exciting part of my journey.
Walking through the streets felt like magic. There was something about the momentum of the city that exuded hope and newness. The boredom of my past was over. This was the beginning of everything.
I’d spent the past week trying on various personas for my drivers and I needed to recuperate. Enough lying. I was here to find myself and make it big. I thought I would start by walking up and down the busy streets, stepping in and out of coffee houses as I pleased. I would be whimsical about my accommodations, find the part of town that suited me and settle in.
I started to feel as though I was in the wrong neighbourhood when men ogled me with their overly familiar stares. The looks in their eyes were anything but respectful. You wait, I told them in my head, you just wait. I could play along for now—I was a nobody, a complete stranger to this world—but it would not take long for me to become the kind of woman who commanded a whole different kind of attention. I turned on my heels and headed for the financial district.
It was around dinnertime when I settled into the Side Bar, the first place with a name I recognised from the back pages of the newspaper. I followed a bunch of executi
ves in suits who were talking about the day’s earnings and how they were going to grab some drinks and hang out with the Friday night girls. Inside, the place was a little grim. It was like what I had seen in old black and white movies—a smoke-filled room with stern-looking waitresses, male patrons and jazz.
The hostess who greeted me seemed confused. I guessed this wasn’t the type of place women came to alone, so I played along.
“I’m meeting someone. Could I get a table for two?”
“Oh, sure.” She looked me up and down, searched for a couple of laminated menus and told me to follow her. “You wanna be able to see the dancers or not?”
“Yes, please.”
I was seated around the corner from the bar, at a small round table. I ordered a martini because I’d never had one and I needed to rectify that. When the bartender asked for my ID, I told him I was twenty-five and, shockingly, he believed me. I also got potato skins, my one homage to my past life.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the girls on the stage. There were two of them doing a wild set of moves. They seemed so free. I couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to have so many people’s attention at the same time. They seemed to enjoy it until their kissing scene, when I saw one of their faces and she looked drab, completely emotionless, like a machine. I wondered if she had been doing it for too long, or if she had just never enjoyed it. Maybe she wanted to be kissing her friend, just not in public like that. Whatever the reason, her eyes haunted me. She seemed distant and uncommitted. But everything I questioned only made me question myself. How would I like it? How would I feel? And, especially, what good did it do to sit in an audience and speculate? This was not where answers could be found.
The other woman on the stage had the gift. She was sultry and gorgeous with expressive eyes and a body she worked like a ballerina. She was totally in control. Her confidence was intoxicating.
Not long after the number, the gifted girl came out. She was stunning, dressed in a tight, black dress with long, black, shiny boots. Her long, dark hair was complemented by her amazing dark lips. She seemed to be every man’s fantasy and they all turned to watch her as she walked up to the bar. There was just something about her, something magical and enticing.
What did I know? I questioned myself. I didn’t even know her. I didn’t know anything about this kind of place. I had come out to the big city looking for adventure, and what could I possibly know about her life? Overwhelmed by the place, I was almost sure I didn’t want what she had. I was convinced that there was something about it that she didn’t like, either.
Several men approached her at the bar and seemed all too eager to buy her drinks. She graciously accepted a glass of red wine, which made her look even more seductive. She sat down at the bar, ignoring the man who had paid for her wine, and watched the rest of the show. The same girl she had kissed on stage came out again in a different costume, this time alone, and started strutting back and forth across the stage. She swung herself around the pole and my brunette started laughing and cheering and lit up the room with her enthusiasm.
Part of me didn’t expect her to be nice to me. I wondered why I had such preconceived ideas about her, and whether they would be proved right. I approached her and she smiled at me. We said our awkward hellos while watching the stage and taking careful sips from our drinks. I must have looked interested because she told me the place was hiring.
“I am looking for work,” I said, “but I’m not sure if this is it.”
“Usually when a hot girl comes up to me it’s because she wants me to introduce her to the manager. My mistake.”
Well, she hadn’t exactly made a mistake, and I couldn’t help but feel flattered that she’d basically stated that I was a hot girl.
“No problem. It looks like a good place to work.”
“Yep. Tips are high. Management is all right. I should know. I’ve been here two years. Time to move on, though.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Retired as of about ten minutes ago.”
“Wow.”
“Not like that. Retired from dancing.”
“To what?”
“Well, aren’t you the curious one? I don’t even know your name.”
“Julie.”
“Veronica.” We shook hands. Our friendship was effortless.
“I was so taken by your presence on stage, I can’t imagine why you’d move on. Forgive me. I’m being so forward. I usually don’t drink. I just mean that you’re really talented.”
I was blubbering like a moron. It was so intimidating talking to such a bombshell. She just ate it up.
“You’re adorable. Let’s get you another martini.”
The night was magical. It was as if we had been separated at birth, the way we finished each other’s sentences and laughed at each other’s jokes. Our connection was further emphasised when various men approached Veronica. She simply said, “I’m chatting with a friend. Another time.”
When I told her it was my first night in town, she laughed hysterically that my place of choice to spend the evening had been the Side Bar.
“What were you thinking?”
“Well, I got to meet you, didn’t I?” I was surprised at how forward I was being with her. I didn’t know what I wanted from her, but I knew I liked her. I also knew I hadn’t ever liked another girl that way.
“So where are you staying, then?” she asked.
“Not sure yet.”
“What?” She was mortified. “Were you going to sleep in the streets? Stay here all night?”
“No. I don’t know. I don’t think I can sleep tonight. I’m so excited to be here.”
“Here?”
“San Francisco. I’ve never been to the coast before.”
“Where are you from?”
“Glendale, Idaho.”
“Well, dang. I’m from Green Hill, Alabama. What do those two towns have to do with each other? Well, nothing, probably, except they both start with G and they’re excellent places to leave.”
We clinked glasses.
“Cheers,” I mumbled. My fourth martini—or was it my sixth?—and everything was dandy. I hadn’t known where I’d been going, but something told me I had arrived.
We left the Side Bar with Veronica kissing and hugging all the girls, while all the men tried to get her attention. She snubbed them all. I guessed after two years the novelty of their fascination had worn off.
“So, Julie, are you telling me you haven’t even seen the ocean yet?”
“I haven’t.”
“Taxi!” She stuck her hand out in the air and put her other arm around me. I felt warm and secure and beside myself with glee. A yellow cab pulled up instantly and Veronica told the driver where to go. Twenty minutes later, we were at a gorgeous lookout point with tons of other cars parked and playing music. She whisked me out of the cab, took my hand and spun me around. Some guys in a Chevy truck up the way saw us, rolled down their window and turned up the radio.
The ocean air was salty and felt clean. I looked out at the Pacific and felt awe in a way I’d never expected. The sounds of the waves beckoned. I wanted to jump in but we were way too high up for that. We were somewhere near Golden Gate Bridge, but I couldn’t see the landmark and it didn’t matter. This was heaven on Earth.
“You want to stay here or go back to my place?”
“No brainer. Your place.” I was too drunk to try to fend for myself now and besides, I would do anything to stay with Veronica.
“Okay, but first we have to have a dance.” She grabbed my hand and we danced together. The sounds of the guys in the truck totally disappeared into background din. All I saw was Veronica and the endless vast ocean in front of me. I felt more beautiful and more alive than ever.
Chapter Three
Carla’s House
The next morning, I woke up on a foldout couch in a beautiful, character-filled house and the sun was shining in on my aching head. I looked around but found no one. I wasn’t
scared at all, just curious. Veronica emerged from the bedroom in an oversized T-shirt, with bed-head and her dark eye makeup streaking down her cheeks.
“Hey,” she said as she walked past me on her way to the bathroom. I heard the water running in her shower and I just sat on the couch with the blanket tucked around me. I wondered if she was going to ask me to leave, or what. When she came out again, her alabaster skin was clean and she had her hair tucked up in a towel. She walked by me completely naked, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. No one did that where I was from. My God, she was beautiful.
“Here. Make coffee.” She handed me some filters and a jar. I boiled water, tried to figure out her system. “So, what are we going to do with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Home. Job. You know. Where do you want to be?”
She was so upfront. She was so candid and open. She was still naked in front of me and I had been cowering, afraid to even tiptoe to the bathroom. There was definitely something about her, because my other companions over the last week hadn’t seen this side of me. I hadn’t even known I had this side. Veronica had had me spellbound from the first moment I’d seen her. I hadn’t believed it possible to be so instantly infatuated with anyone.
“Well, you’re free to stay here,” she offered. “But I have to check with Carla.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Carla?”
“She sort of runs the house. She’s good. Good judge of character, if you know what I mean.”
“Is she your landlord?”
