Tricks

  I mean, the sex isn’t good,

  but it’s fast, and all things

  considered, the pay scale

  isn’t bad. Fifty bucks for

  under ten minutes’ work?

  Three hundred an hour!

  Shit, girl, that’s attorney

  wages, and you don’t have

  to go to school—

  “Stop it! We don’t need money

  that bad. I’ll get off the rag

  and we’ll go back to stripping.

  “Lydia can have her cut. We

  were doing okay like that,

  weren’t we?” We were, damn it!

  Finally Alex deflates just

  a little. Sit down. Please?

  There’s stuff you don’t know.

  Like how she knew all about

  Lydia’s escort service before

  we ever got here. Like how Lydia

  never invited her to “come stay

  any time.” Like how when we

  talked about running away, Alex

  called Lydia and set the whole

  thing up. Like how Lydia

  promised to keep her mouth

  shut, as long as Alex went

  to work for her. Like how

  Alex’s not-stepdad did call,

  looking for her. But Lydia

  denied knowing a thing.

  So Alex owes her, big-time.

  Alex Goes to Shower

  But not before promising

  again, It will just be for

  a little while—just until

  we can save up enough

  to blow this freaking city.

  I love you, Gin. Stay cool.

  I love her, too. And I can’t

  stand the idea of her being

  with a bunch of stinking, nasty

  men. If I could bring myself

  to do it too, we could save

  up even faster. But I don’t think

  I could. I’d be no better than

  Iris. Would I? Did she ever

  think, Just for a little while?

  The room still wears evidence

  of Alex’s recent encounters.

  I go to open the window. Notice

  Ms. Heroin going through

  her door again. Followed by

  another guy. Not her father, either.

  A Poem by Cody Bennett

  Door

  I once heard an old

  saying about things

  going all to hell.

  It went, “When

  a door

  closes, somewhere

  a window opens.”

  If so, when a train

  slams

  into a Volkswagen,

  does a BMW materialize

  down the tracks? If you

  remember your undies

  in your

  dreams, do you wake

  up naked? Okay,

  maybe the logic fails.

  But hey, let’s

  face

  it. Logic doesn’t really

  apply to old sayings,

  either. Does it?

  Cody

  Logic?

  What’s that? If it ever applied

  to my life, my choices, those years

  (days?) have vanished from memory.

  I am spinning. Spiraling. Clinging to

  the eye of the tornado. If I give up,

  give in to the mad desire to just

  let go, I know I’ll die. But death,

  close by, might be preferable

  to this dizzying ride. How did I get

  here? How did things go so wrong,

  so fast? Left? Right? Whichever way

  I choose, one thing is very clear—

  I can never turn around, never

  go back. Twisters only move in one

  direction—full speed ahead.

  Like Dorothy Gale, I ran from safe

  haven, searching, despite the storm

  gathering strength behind me.

  The Chiefs Kick Off

  In about an hour. Still time to place

  a small bet. I log on, check out the point

  spread. Awesome! So, okay, maybe

  a little larger bet. I can pay Lydia back

  later. Fuckers better step up to the line

  of scrimmage and play fricking ball!

  Guess I’ll call Ronnie, if only to hear

  her voice. My cell phone blinks—

  did she call me? But when I retrieve

  the message, it’s Misty, grating my ear.

  Hey, cutie. How about a double

  date? And can you bring smoke?

  Misty is the skank who hooked

  me up with Lydia. Okay, maybe

  I shouldn’t look at it that way.

  She did me a favor, or at least

  we both thought so at the time.

  Her boyfriend plays poker

  with Vince. One night he was

  way too buzzed to drive home,

  so he called Misty. I had pretty

  much lost my shirt that night,

  and when she showed up, I was

  looking miserable. Chris still

  had a sleeve or two left of his

  shirt, and while he was busy

  losing those, I invited Misty

  to smoke some bud. We got to

  talking, and the more we smoked,

  the more I confessed, which made

  her open up to me. Yeah, money

  sucks, but you can’t live without

  it. I’m paying my way through

  UNLV with a little sex-on-the-side.

  She let that sink in, and it took too

  long. You know … escorting?

  “You mean you get paid to …?”

  I studied her closer. She looked

  like a college student. Nothing

  more. Certainly not a whore,

  especially not the type I see hawking

  their wares from the sidewalk.

  Yeah, and it’s not so bad, really.

  I mean, if you’re going to have sex

  anyway, why not earn a little extra

  cash, you know? She took a big drag.

  Held it a long while, as if it helped

  her think. I won’t trick forever.

  I had never once in my life thought

  about having sex for money. Could

  finding enough cash to help myself

  out of debt be that easy? I asked for

  details, and when she mentioned

  working for an established escort

  service, it almost sounded legit.

  “Do any guys work there?” My

  stupid little brain glommed onto

  a picture of lonely middle-aged

  women paying for an evening

  of companionship, plus some fun.

  A coupleM, she said. Lydia calls

  them her “boys,” but I think they’re,

  like, in their twenties. Why?

  She winked. You interested in

  a little paid action? I can introduce

  you to Lydia if you want.

  “Let me think about it.” Wow.

  Sex for money. I still hadn’t

  considered the possibility of it

  meaning having sex with men

  when I asked, “Oh. One thing.

  How much does it pay, anyway?”

  Her Answer

  Surprised me. Thrilled me. Who

  knew you could make a hundred

  bucks an hour (after the service’s

  cut) for screwing? I thought it over

  for at least a day, and even made

  a written list of pros and cons.

  Pro: Work one hour, get paid more

  than eight hours at GameStop.

  Con: What if the old babe was really

  disgusting and wanted, like, oral?

  Pro: My insurance had already

  Lapsed
, and I had no way to pay it.

  Con: If Mom ever even suspected,

  she’d flip her fricking wig!

  Pro: If Mom ever found out about

  the credit cards, she’d lose all faith in me.

  Con: People who have sex for money

  might end up with some awful disease.

  Pro: With enough cash to place the right

  bet, I could win enough to fix everything.

  Con: What if having sex on the side

  meant I couldn’t get it up for Ronnie?

  Pro: I didn’t have many choices left.

  Result: I picked up the phone, called Misty.

  She Introduced Me

  To Lydia, who outlined the rules

  and regulations, not knowing

  I still had women in mind. When

  I finally mentioned that, her smile

  slipped a little. But only for a second.

  You’re envisioning American

  Gigolo. Sorry, but that kind of

  escorting is rare. Something you

  see in the movies, really. Generally,

  when I get calls for young men,

  it’s older men doing the calling.

  You ever been with a man?

  “A man? No!” What? Did I look

  gay or something? Sex with men?

  Not even a hundred bucks an hour

  was worth that. At least, not then.

  “So every one of your ‘boys’ is gay?

  Because I’m, like, totally straight.”

  Lydia shrugged. No one is one

  hundred percent hetero. We are

  all bi to varying degrees. It all

  comes down to necessity. Turned

  out the statement was accurate. Took

  about a week to see things her way.

  Sometimes Misty and I

  Do have “two-fers” with confused

  guys. But not today. “Sorry,” I tell her.

  “I’ve already got a client lined up.”

  In fact, I’d better go. I hang up, pop

  a Valium, “borrowed” from a bottle

  in Ronnie’s medicine cabinet. Fuck.

  Stealing pills. I suck. But I’m glad

  I have something to push away

  the pain, stash it in a compartment

  of my brain I don’t visit very often.

  I cruise slowly, noticing cars

  prowling for street-corner hustlers.

  Twenty bucks for a backseat blowjob?

  At least I haven’t sunk that low. Yet.

  No! That will not become my future.

  Then again, if someone would have told

  me two months ago I’d be selling myself

  to men, I’d have said they were full

  of shit. Necessity is a motherfucker.

  And if they would have said I might

  even like it, I’d have kicked their ass.

  The first time I offered myself up, turned

  myself into meat, I ran to the bathroom,

  heaved. That guy laughed and laughed.

  Lydia said it would get easier.

  The first time is always the worst.

  Just remember you can always

  say no, if something doesn’t seem

  kosher. Somehow I doubt many

  rabbis would bless “Cody meat.”

  But Lydia was right. The second

  time wasn’t as bad. At least I managed

  to make it through without losing

  my breakfast. Every time after was easier

  still, except for the guys who needed

  a shower. B.O. is a definite bitch.

  Once in a while I get really lucky,

  when a dude decides he’d rather talk

  than screw. They’re paying me for

  my time. If they want to complain

  about their significant others, hey,

  I’ll listen for a buck fifty up front.

  But I don’t have to like any of it.

  Shouldn’t like any of it, and getting

  off is just plain crazy. I do this because

  I have to. Not because I want to. I need

  a good, healthy dose of Ronnie. Only

  what if she doesn’t turn me on now?

  I Pull into Valet

  At the Riviera, not the nicest casino

  in town, but not the sleaziest, either.

  Not that it matters. What I’m going

  to do is more than sleazy. It’s sick.

  But I’ll leave with enough money,

  even after Lydia’s cut, to give Mom

  a hundred toward the bills. And,

  depending on how generous the guy

  feels after, I just might have enough

  left over to place a small bet on

  the Chiefs. If those bastards do right

  by me, I could maybe skip a date

  or two. “Date.” Why don’t I just call

  it what it is—a trick. I’m turning tricks.

  Can I really have sunk so low?

  I’m having sex with men—often married

  guys, trying to figure out why

  they’re attracted to boys—for cash.

  I’m not gay! Before a few weeks ago,

  I had never even checked a guy out,

  let alone thought about doing one.

  So why isn’t it harder? Why am I

  heading into the elevator, going up

  eight floors, to room 822?

  Two Quiet Knocks

  Nothing. Two more, louder. Footsteps

  toward the door. It opens. “Dan?”

  The guy nods, steps aside to let

  me in. The room is obsessively neat,

  and a familiar scent perfumes the air.

  Gingerbread? Like Ronnie’s shampoo.

  Dan is fortyish, short crewcut

  graying slightly at the edges.

  He wears no shirt, and his muscles

  are tanned. Toned. Jesus. He could

  be an underwear model. Why does

  he need to pay for it? Whatever.

  As long as he has the cash. “So, Dan.

  What can I do for you?” I know the drill.

  Lydia coached me in the art of paid

  seduction: Strike the deal up front. Never

  give them more than they pay for.

  Collect before you start. No COD.

  No cash on delivery, because after

  you’re finished, they might say you

  didn’t deliver. I’ve done this for

  a month now, and so far, not one

  has made that claim. Customer

  satisfaction guaranteed. God!

  Dan Has Done This Before

  You can take me around the world.

  He reaches for his wallet. One fifty,

  right? He tries to sweeten the pot. Dan

  will pay extra to go without a sleeve.

  He talks about himself in the third

  person? No wonder he pays for it.

  No condom? It’s not the first time

  I’ve had the request. I’d kill for

  the extra cash, but I’m not taking

  a chance on AIDS. “Sorry. No can

  do. Cover up, I’ll take care of you.”

  I pull my T-shirt over my head, watch

  him strip off his jeans. His waist

  is narrow, his hips straight. Beautiful.

  Stop it! What’s wrong with me? He’s

  down to his skivvies. I should have

  charged more. He’s built like a fucking

  bull. “Holy crap, dude, I don’t know….”

  What’s wrong, kid? Never done

  it with a real man before? His voice

  falls, cold and heavy as hail. You want

  me wrapped? Do it for me! He pushes

  me to my knees, comes around in front

  of me. My heart thuds in my chest.

  I open the foil pouch, remove

  t
he thin latex protection. You ever

  seen a ramrod like Dan’s? I shake

  my head as I roll the condom down

  over it. No, of course you haven’t.

  Let’s see just how good you are.

  I close my eyes, fight not to gag at

  the taste of lubricant, not to choke

  on his thrusts against my throat.

  I think about Cory, locked up

  in juvie until a judge decides

  he’s been “rehabilitated.”

  Dan decides he’s done with Europe.

  He pulls me to my feet, moves behind

  me, drapes my back with his chest.

  His muscles are thick cables, but his skin

  is smooth and cool as snake skin. Check it out.

  The little boy likes that. He reaches down

  between my thighs. Look how hard he is.

  No! How could something so messed

  up turn me on? Whatever he does, I won’t ….

  His lips brush the back of my neck

  and, still folding me into him, he moves

  me toward the bed, urges me facedown.

  The sheets smell of bleach. I picture

  Mom, waiting tables at Denny’s. Jack’s

  life insurance put off the foreclosure.

  But not forever. And those fucking

  bills just keep piling up. Her meager

  tips won’t pay them. Something has to.

  Down go my boxers. Oh my. What

  a sweet little bottom. Dan’s hands,

  moving over my skin, are soft,

  and when he lowers himself over me,

  a cloud of cloves and apple sinks

  around me. Reminds me of … Ronnie.

  God I love her. She is my spark

  of sanity. My light against the darkness,

  closing in. She knows things are bad,

  but not how bad. If she even suspected …

  this. What I’m doing. What I’ve already

  done, she’d never speak to me again.

  Dan is in for a real treat, isn’t he?

  He presses up against me. I brace

  and he pauses. Do you think it will hurt?

  Let’s see. He pushes, but only a little.

  A test. Oh yes, I’m afraid it might.

  And after Dan, nothing else will do.

  I Bite Down

  On a strange metal taste—a metal

  taste of emotions. An odd blend of fear

  and …. excitement For some fucked-up

  reason, I’m excited. I can’t want

  this! Adrenaline firecrackers through

  my body. Blood pulses in my temples.

  You make Dan happy now, hear?

  Pain! Oh my God! Nothing

  has ever hurt like this. I tense, beg

  him to stop. But he doesn’t stop.