“What’s your name?”
She just stares at me. For a minute I wonder if she can hear, but when she turns away, I ask again, “Hey, what’s your name?”
In a voice so soft and tremulous that I can barely hear her, she whispers, “Olivia.”
I squat down on my heels so I can look into her face. “That’s a beautiful name. Would you like to come inside, Olivia? I don’t have much in here, but I think there are some potato chips in my desk, and we’ve got plenty of things to drink.” I wait, but she just sits, so I stand and motion toward the building. “So come on. Let’s find you something, okay?” She stares for a couple more minutes, then stands. I try to let her go in front of me, but she trails behind.
Once we’re inside, I can really smell her, and in seconds I’m enveloped in the stench. God, it’s horrible. There’s no telling when she last had a shower. I go through the desk and pull out a half-eaten bag of chips. Handing them to her, I wait, but she doesn’t reach out, so I place them gently on the desk. “What do you like to drink? I’ve got all kinds of things, sodas, beer, orange juice. I think I may even have a little lemonade out there at the bar. What’ll it be?” She shakes her head. “You can have anything you like. What do you want?”
No sound comes out when she mouths water. Her face says she’s terrified out of her mind.
“Sure?” She nods. “Okay, one ice water coming right up.” I head out to the bar, grab a glass, fill it half full of ice, and run filtered water into it. When I go back, she’s still sitting in the same spot, and the potato chips are still lying there, untouched. “Don’t you want the chips?” She shrugs. “I like them pretty well. You can have the rest. I don’t need them anyway!” I laugh, slapping my stomach.
She opens her mouth and asks quietly, “What do you want?”
It takes me a second or two to figure out what she means. “I don’t want anything, honey. What I really want is to see you eat something, that’s all.” She shakes her head. “Really. Just eat them. Please?”
“I can’t take things I don’t pay for. That’s stealing.” She says it like it’s a final edict and there’s no arguing.
“Okay, well, do you have some money?” I know she doesn’t by the looks of her. If she had any, somebody stole it long ago. Sure enough, she shakes her head. “Then you can’t pay me because you don’t have any money. Problem solved.”
What happens next will forever be etched in my mind. She stands and turns away from me. I watch as she slowly pulls off her jacket, then pulls her top off over her head. I’m terrified that I know where this is going, and I’m not wrong. She drops the oversized sweat pants she’s wearing, and between them and the top, I find she’s wearing nothing underneath them. She steps out of them, walks slowly to the desk, and puts her hands on the surface, then spreads her legs apart and waits. My heart very nearly stops. It’s not just what she’s doing. It’s the sight before me.
Her body is covered in bruises, scratches, cuts, and scars. And there are fresh burn marks on her back and buttocks, something round and most likely a cigarette. Here and there are patches of dried blood, but some of the marks appear fresh. It’s easily the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, simply horrifying. There are rope marks on her wrists and ankles, and some kind of ligature mark around her neck. Totally at a loss, I don’t know what to do, and I stand there, stupefied and motionless, frozen in fear and disgust, trying to put rational words together.
When I finally collect myself, I walk out of the room and go straight to the lady’s locker room. Trish’s locker is there, but her padlock is on it. And that’s when I lose it. I pull out my phone, gasping for breath, and dial Clint’s number. He answers on the second ring. “Hey! What’s up?”
“Clint, where’s Trish?”
“What’s wrong? She’s right here. Dave, what’s going on?”
“I need to borrow her. Please, god, bring her down here to the club as fast as you can. Please?”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
I bellow into the phone, “Please, Clint, JUST DO IT!” And I hang up. I can’t talk anymore because I’m too busy trying hard not to break down and sob. I look toward the door – I’ve got to go back down there. What the hell do I do? What do I say to her? I run out to the common room, grab the largest towel I can find, and head back toward my office. She’s still standing there, spread eagle, head down, hands on the desk, waiting for me to do whatever it is that so many others have obviously done to her.
She’s been trading her body for food. I’m just your average middle-class white guy and I know homeless people exist, have even had some contact with a few, but not like this. This is something I really don’t have the expertise, nerve, or stomach to handle. I walk up behind her and drape the towel, more like a bath sheet, over her back, then try to help her stand. She shakes my hands off. “No! I’m hungry! Just do it, please? Just hurry? I’ll be still, I promise.”
My heart is so broken for her that I don’t think I can even swallow. I try my best to hide my emotion when I speak, but I know she can hear it. “No, honey. It’s not like that here. I want you to wrap this towel around you and sit down and eat these chips, you hear me? I don’t want that from you. I just want you to eat, that’s all. Please? Please sit down?”
I can feel her relax a little, and she lets me help her straighten up. I wrap the towel around her from the back, my stomach rolling from the stench of body odor, stale sweat, urine, feces, and general filth coming off her almost-naked body. Once she’s holding the ends of the towel clutched tightly to her chest, I pull out the chair and motion to it. She finally shuffles over and sits down. I move the chips over in front of her, scoot the glass of water over to join them, and tell her again, “Please, Olivia. Just eat the chips. And then I’ll help you a little more, okay? But eat first.” When I finally see her reach out a tentative hand, I say, “That’s a good girl. Go ahead. I’ll be right back.”
I can’t get to the reception area fast enough. I manage to make it through the inner door and I’m on my hands and knees, wailing. I’m still in full-blown meltdown mode when I hear the front door open and Clint’s voice rings out. “What the hell . . .”
All I can manage to get out is, “Oh, god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh, Clint, oh my god.”
“What? What the hell? Are you okay?” I shake my head.
I hear the door open again and Trish’s voice says, “Sweet mother of god! What’s going on?”
“I need your help.” I manage to sit up on my heels and wipe my face with my hands. When I finally get a look at both of them, I realize they’re terrified. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I swear. But I need your help, please! Please, Trish.”
“You know I’ll do whatever you need me to. What? What do you need?”
“Come with me.” I start off back into the common area and wind past the bar and down the hallway, both of them trailing me. I stop right outside my office door and put my finger to my lips, then whisper, “She needs a shower. Some clothes. I’d like to get her some medical attention, but I think we’ll have to take it slow. But please, try to act as normal as possible and help me out here, please?” They both look at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I step into the room with them right behind me.
The chip bag is empty, and half of the water is gone. When Olivia looks up and sees the three of us standing there, she skitters out of the chair and down into the corner by my bookcase. There’s a whine that comes from her throat, something almost animal-like, and the fear in her eyes takes my breath away. I hear Trish fail in her silence when she whispers softly, “Oh my god.”
Thankfully, that’s when the Dom in Clint rises up and he takes over. He leans into Trish’s ear and whispers, “See if you can get her into the shower. You’ve got stuff in your locker, right?” Trish nods. “Okay. Clothes? Got any in there?”
“Um, maybe. I’ll have to look.”
“If you don’t, get a look at her while she’s readying for the shower. See if yo
u can guess a size and I’ll go buy her something real quick.”
“Yes, Sir.” Trish walks timidly toward Olivia and squats in front of her. “Hi. My name’s Trish. What’s your name?”
She whispers back, “Olivia. Olivia Warren.”
“What a lovely name! Okay, Olivia, I have some shampoo and soap and things like that in my locker. Would you like to shower?”
Olivia leans conspiratorially toward Trish and whispers, “Will you stand guard?”
Trish is fighting tears when I get a look into her eyes. “Yes, I promise I will. Besides, neither of these guys will hurt you. That one is Dave, my father in law,” she says, pointing at me. “And the other one is my husband, Clint. He’s a very good guy. No one is going to hurt you. Will you let me hold your hand?”
Olivia nods and we watch as she slowly rises from the floor and then, clutching the towel to her front, she reaches for Trish’s hand. The instant she clasps it, I feel a flood of relief wash over me. Watching as they leave the room and head toward the locker room, I can’t take it anymore. I collapse in one of the chairs in front of the desk.
Clint takes the other one and reaches a hand to my shoulder. “You okay?”
“No.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I found her out by the dumpster, looking for food. I brought her in, offered her those chips and some water. And . . . and . . .” I don’t think I can force out the words.
“What?”
A big shuddering sigh escapes my lips. “She pulled off her clothes and assumed an anal-entrance position at the desk.” Clint’s eyes go wide. “And she’s covered in scars, bruises, cuts, scratches, dried blood, and burn marks. Burn marks,” I repeat, trying to forget the sight. “Fresh burn marks. And ligature marks – wrist, ankles, and throat.”
“Dear god.” Clint shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want to even think about what she’s been through. Has she been hanging around out back very long?”
“I’ve been seeing her for a couple of weeks on and off. This was the first time I’ve opened the door and she’s been close enough that she couldn’t run. Son, she was terrified of me. I can’t turn her back outside. I don’t know for sure what to do, but I can’t just pitch her back out the door.”
“I think you should call the police. Maybe they can get her into a homeless shelter somewhere.”
I nod. “Yeah. Maybe that would be a good idea.” Phone in hand, I dial nine-one-one and wait.
A female voice answers, “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“Yes, it’s not really an emergency, but I do need an officer.”
“What’s going on, sir?”
“I have a young homeless woman here who needs some assistance.”
“Give me your location, sir, and I’ll send a cruiser.” As soon as she has the club’s address, we end the call and I sit there not knowing quite what to say or do.
Trish appears in the doorway. “She needs some ladies sweats, extra-small, top and bottom. I’d say a thirty-two B bra and panties in an extra-small. Maybe some size seven tennis shoes and some plain white socks. Dave, do you still keep a supply of that lice stuff?”
“Yeah. Bad?”
“No head lice that I can see, but she’s got a raging set of crabs. I need a razor for her and shave cream if you’ve got it. And you’re going to lose a towel. I hope that’s okay.”
I hand her the lice stuff, a razor, and a can of half-full shaving cream, and she disappears again. “I can’t leave. The cruiser will be here in a few minutes.”
Clint nods. I walk him to the front and, before he can get out the door, a black and white pulls up outside. When the officer walks through the door, I feel something shift in the room, and I don’t like whatever it is. To my dismay, I feel Clint stiffen beside me; he’s picked up on it too. I’m trying to figure out what it is when the officer starts to speak, and I try to answer his questions as best I can when Clint interrupts. “I’m going to get the things we talked about. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Call if you need me.” I nod and the door closes behind him as the officer and I start again.
In a matter of seconds, Clint comes back through the door and there’s a look on his face that I’ve seen before, but I can’t figure out what it means. “Forgot something. Be right back.” He disappears into the hallway and we try one more time.
The cop makes a few more notes before he looks up. “So let’s take a look at this woman and I’ll see if I can find out more about her. Where is she?”
“Back here. My daughter-in-law is helping her get cleaned up.” For reasons I can’t explain, something feels off.
We head into the common room, only to almost run headlong into Clint. “Be right back,” he says, that weird look still on his face, and jets out the front door.”
We start down the back hallway to my office and I notice that the light is off in the locker room, so I turn it on and call out, “Hey! Trish? Where are you?” I march on into the locker room, but there’s no sign of the two women. My office is empty, and I go from private room to private room, checking through the monitor windows; no Trish or Olivia. That’s when I notice it: The back door is propped open. I work through it all in my mind. Clint’s odd look. The two women gone. The back door open. Something is wrong, and I can’t figure out what it is, so I decide I’d better smokescreen until I can find out what the hell is going on. “She must’ve bolted on Trish. You guys should probably go look for them.”
“Will do.” The officer jogs back toward the front of the building and out the door. I notice that there’s another black and white out front, and they talk together for a couple of minutes before they get in their cruisers and drive away in opposite directions. I’m still standing there scratching my head when my phone rings.
“Dad?”
“Yeah! What the hell . . .”
“Trish and Olivia are in the trunk of your car.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain in a little bit. Are the cops gone?”
“Just left. But Clint . . .”
“Trust me on this one. Wait until you know they’re gone for sure. Then go out and get them and bring them back inside.”
I can’t figure out what the hell is going on, but I answer, “Okay. I will. Are you . . .”
“Going to get her some clothes and some food. We’ve got to make some kind of decision when I get back and they’re back inside. In the meantime, make it look like you’re going to your car for something, to look in the trunk for something, and open the lid and tell them that you know they’re there and everything is going to be okay. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
“Okay, son. I will. Hurry.”
“Will do.” With that, he hangs up.
I grab my gym bag and head out the back door. As soon as I open the trunk lid, two anxious faces peer back at me. “It’s okay. I’m pretending I’m looking for something. I’m keeping lookout and as soon as I know they’re gone, I’ll come and get you.” Trish nods at me and I notice she’s got her arms around Olivia, who looks like a frightened child. The younger woman’s face is buried in Trish’s chest and she’s shaking. I wish Clint would hurry up and come back.
Ten agonizing minutes of constant surveillance later, I go out and open the trunk lid again. “Quick! Get inside!” The two of them scramble and run back through the door, Olivia in a long tee that Trish must’ve found in the men’s locker room. Once inside, I turn to Trish. “What the hell?”
“I don’t know. All I know is Clint ran back here and said she was in danger. He found your keys, hit your trunk release, and shoved us in before he took off again. I have no idea what happened.”
The three of us sit in my office. Trish pulls one of the chairs in front of the desk up against the other one, and the two women sit in them, Olivia leaning into Trish. It’s at least another fifteen minutes and I hear footsteps coming through the building. I’m about to close and lock my office door and turn off the light when I hear a voice say, �
�It’s just me. Don’t panic.”
Clint steps through the door carrying two fairly good-sized bags, probably of clothes. He also has a sack from a fast food restaurant in one hand. “Here. Clothes. And something better than potato chips!” He smiles at Olivia, who doesn’t return the gesture. “Baby, why don’t you take Olivia to the locker room and help her get dressed? Then take her to one of the private rooms and let her eat there, okay?” Trish nods and takes Olivia’s hand, then lets Clint load her other arm with bags as they pass him on their way out.
Once they’re out of earshot, I turn to Clint. “What the hell was that about?”
His face is almost gray when he starts to speak. “There was another cruiser out front. When I passed it, the officer was on his phone and I heard him say, ‘Yeah, I’m guessing it’s one of those homeless whores we had that little “party” with last week. We’ve gotta keep them quiet or god knows what’ll happen.’”
The horror starts to sink in and I collapse into one of the chairs. “Oh my god. Do you think they . . .”
“We’ve got to keep her away from the cops. That means no homeless shelter, no social worker, no nothing. We’ve got to handle this or no telling what will happen to her. I bet they’d kill her to keep her quiet. Just one more dead ‘whore,’” he says, using air quotes around the word for emphasis.
“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” I moan, my face in my hands. I look up at Clint and find him looking back at me, just a hint of a smile on his face.
“It’s not you. It’s us. I’ll commit us to helping you and her however we can. Let’s try to come up with something, okay? Steffen and Sheila will be right here with us if we need them – you know that.”
Somehow that doesn’t make me feel one bit better. Boy oh boy. I’ve gotten myself into some fixes in my lifetime, but this one really takes the cake.
“Welcome to casa Adams.” I drop my keys into the bowl by the front door. Olivia follows me in, still clutching Trish’s hand. “It ain’t much, but it’s all I’ve got.”
Incredible Us Page 4
