“Maybe not,” he says, “but I have a confession to make. I do want to help you. But I also need your help.”
My laugh comes out unsteady, almost breathy. Afraid. “I bet you do. I bet you have a very big, very serious problem that I could smooth right out for you. Soften you up.”
He doesn’t crack a smile. “Honey,” he says with warning.
But it sounds ridiculous. The name is ridiculous. His low, serious voice just makes it worse.
I laugh then, for real. I think this is the funniest thing I’ve heard in days, or weeks. Or months. It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, this fake name and fake smile and fake relationship I can’t have. And help? That’s not real either. That’s a story he’s telling, whether he knows it or not. You know what’s real? Sex. That’s all I have to offer him.
I might become a little unhinged as I sit there laughing. I expect him to get all serious and angry, but then something crazy happens. He starts laughing too. First it’s just a quirk of his lips and a soft exhale of breath. But then he chuckles alongside me, shaking his head.
His smile fades. “You don’t belong in that place.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “And why’s that? My tits aren’t big enough? I don’t use the right songs?”
“You keep thinking it’s not going to hurt,” he says gently. “The dancing. The fucking. You’re still surprised when it does.”
Pain is a wide chasm in my gut. “What do you know about dancing?”
“Not much,” he admits. “Just what I see. I see you expecting the best from the men that come through there. It’s a kind of suicide, sweetheart. It hurts just to watch you.”
“You’re wrong.?
? Anger is cold as ice, numbing all the other feelings. “I’m exactly right for this job. Because I don’t give a fuck.”
His smile is sad. “Then tell me your name.”
My lips tighten. “Never.”
He nods once. “I’ll see you on Saturday, Honey.”
“And I’ll suck you off,” I warn, though it’s the strangest warning I’ve ever given. “That’s all.”
“We’ll see.” He drops a twenty on the table and stands to leave. “Take care of yourself until then. This isn’t a safe part of the city.”
* * *
Watery daylight breaks over the city just as I reach the extended-stay motel.
Not quite as run-down, not quite as terrifying as Candy’s building, but still depressing. Red brick faded to pink. Iron bars on the windows. Palm trees in the courtyard do little to make the place more tropical or cheery. Neither do the Christmas lights wrapped around them. It’s a colorful prison.
Heavy curtains in my room’s window block my view inside. I pull out the key card and slip it into the reader, already looking forward to a long day’s sleep to help me forget what I did at night. Clara. The name is on the tip of my tongue, ready to call out in greeting. But some deep-seated instinct keeps me cautious.
I struggle with the heavy duffel bag that has my work clothes and shoes. The heavy door is like a rat trap, trying to snap closed, jarring my shoulder in the process.
The motel room is dark.
And the little Madonna statuette stands in the window.
It’s a figurine made of thin plastic, with a white cord attached. It’s designed to light up, but the lightbulb inside has long since died. It was actually in the motel room when we got there. Clara fished it out of the trash and put it on the window. She claimed it would protect us. And it has. It’s our way of signaling that something is wrong. If we’re ever found out, if the room is compromised and one of us is forced to run, we’ll take the Madonna out of the window. It’s a relief to see it each night, standing small and gaudy and proud in front of the drapes.
I am cautious, looking left and right before using the key card. I am always cautious, because if someone tracked me here and really wanted to hurt me, I’d be screwed. My only saving grace today was that Kip hadn’t tracked me all the way home. And that he hadn’t wanted to hurt me.
No, he just wants to fuck you.
All the lights are off, even the bathroom. “Clara,” I whisper.
No answer. I step farther into the room, and my eyes slowly adjust. I can make out the two beds and the table in the corner. And a dark bundle in the center of one bed, almost hidden in the shadows. I cross the room and gently shake her shoulder.