Sub Rosa, page 5
After so many nights outside I had learned to identify the moon’s different faces. By the size of it I guessed there’d be at least ten or eleven days before it was full. I remember telling myself I had better be out of the Dark before the moon was full. It was as subtle as that—I looked up at the moon and my plan shifted from running off at the first available chance to earning that $500. I wanted back into Arsen’s big bed, or even in the back seat of his car. I let myself daydream about him, my legs relaxing toward the ground as I imagined his silk bedding when he tucked me in. And I visualized the money I was supposed to be making too; five brown bills with prime ministers’ faces etched in raised pixels and Canadian geese trapped, mid-air.
I suppose I should have hated him. Hate, however, would have done nothing to improve my situation. In the Dark you take whatever comforts there are. Even though it was him that stuck me there, I still wanted him. I was comforted by want. The lack of light and city sounds made for vivid musing. When I wasn’t chock-full of fear, the Dark became a void for my thoughts to empty into. It was simply easier to desire. I imagined the home that I had been promised, plotting out elaborate floor plans and expensive furniture. I made lists of the gifts First said I would receive—chandelier earrings and cut flowers, maybe my own TV. Glimpses of places I’d been appeared in my imagination; I’d return to them wearing a fancy dress in my daydreams. Always Arsen would arrive to carry me off. I could almost feel the warmth of his hands through the sheer cloth of my make-believe dress. Would he sling me over his shoulder or hook his arm under my knees? Sex was part of my imagination for the first time, although I still didn’t have enough experience then to conjure specific pictures or words. Instead, sex entered me as a series of undeveloped sensations. It crept up my spine in shivers. It warmed me so I could forget about the cold concrete permeating through the makeshift plastic seat where I sat.
When I opened my eyes there was a man lumbering down the street toward me. He zigzagged up the sidewalk, slipped off of the curb, and, with deliberate effort, lifted his leg with two hands and put himself right again. I smelled the beer before I could distinguish any other feature about him.
“Looks like you’re having a rough night,” I spoke up, though he was only several paces away. Drunks need to be spoken to slowly and loudly.
“Nah,” he bellowed back. “It’s a good night. Every night is a good night.”
“Yeah. Betcha I can make your night even better.” He was not the gentleman I was waiting for. He was the only person I’d seen in hours. Isolation had greatly lowered my prospects.
“That’s why I’m here.” He held his hand out. I watched it wobble mid-air for a short while before I shook it. He smiled at me with the same smile all piss-drunks have. A watery smile, as if his face had turned to liquid and the corners of his mouth were treading water. I knew this routine, I reminded myself. I knew the languid passions of alcoholics. This one embodied all the characteristics: his eyes, unfocused, fell off me, then struggled back to me again; his legs trembled as if negotiating with gravity; he smelled worse than other drunks, more like a corpse.
We didn’t leave the blue-light building. I made him give me the money there so I could count the meagre forty dollars in the dim light. All fives. The chilly air nipped at my already cold hands as I handled the blue money. I leaned him up against the steel wall and lowered myself. The ground was sharp with broken glass, so I knelt on his shoes. Pressing my body tight to his legs, I wrapped my arms behind his knees, the vice-grip of blowjobs. He was easy. Banged his head on the steel wall a couple times, hard enough to have a lump in the morning, and then his body went slack. I released him back into the night. I couldn’t help feeling a little proud at how quickly I turned him over.
Another two lurked around me; maybe they had picked up a scent. Like the one before, they came trembling along the sidewalk on foot. Their eyes stumbled the same way, loose in their sockets. There was no introductory greeting, no bartering or flirting. Drunk, each of them. Soiled fingers, stubble-soiled faces. Each reached into his button-down shirt to retrieve crumpled money in small bills. They had the distinct death stink of the first guy. The hardest part was swallowing my gag reflex.
One more arrived, or maybe he was the first one coming back for another go. It was hard to tell them apart in that light. I barely made out a few more standing in the darkness, the same hunched stance. One by one I latched onto them as they tripped into my boudoir of blue light.
And they kept coming. Circling closer. “One at a time,” I said just before two of them were on me.
I was soon buried in limp-bodied men. I felt my little purse squished beneath my left shoulder as I struggled, and was simultaneously relieved and terrified that it wasn’t my money they were after.
My face was forced to the ground in such alcoholic slow motion that I could distinguish each nick and callous on the hands that held me down. Careless fingers pushed into my mouth to block my screaming. A thumb in my eye.
My legs were pulled open no matter how wildly I kicked. The fight was useless, but I struggled until exhausted anyway, until the only thing I was able to move was the wheezing breath inside my chest. More than two pairs of hands worked over me. What sounded like a small crowd of feet scratched at the sidewalk.
I waited to be raped.
I had always expected that this would happen to me. I had spent so much time secretly scared of rape that in that moment I was hardly even afraid anymore. Or rather I had moved on to my next fear—what happens when it’s over? Would I be left there, alone? Injured? Or worse? A set of knuckles clunked against my thighs, over and over. A set of teeth bit my breast through my dress, failing to find my nipple. A man dry-humped my face; his belt buckle caught my hair in clumps. They couldn’t seem to connect, failed to enter me, grunting and cursing at my body.
I heard one say, “I’m gonna rip. I’m gonna rip …” My skin raked and pounded on. “I’m gonna rip,” I heard again, and, in my mind, I filled in rip into you, rip you in half, rip your heart out. But the speaker never finished his sentence; maybe he didn’t know who, or what, he was tearing at. I could have been anything at the bottom of their heap.
The drunk latched onto my head released me to undo his pants. He let out a series of yips like he was the first man to discover his penis. A second man stood up to do the same, then a third. I saw them grab themselves as their pants slid around their knees. I squirmed toward the opening this made in the fence of hands. I managed to flip over to my stomach, kicking and shouting, making sounds I’d never heard myself make before. Loud and deep sounds that seemed to erupt from the centre of the earth. Another man let go of my arm to grapple for my face and silence me. I bit down hard on his finger and he reeled back, lifting me upright as he jerked away. I found my feet beneath me and ran, almost tripping on the first step as I discovered my right boot had been removed. I went on running, desperately clacking the pavement with every other stride.
That was when I spotted it in the distance: a light that appeared to have no source, like a reflection bouncing off water or a mirror. The light was encouraging enough, but then the glints and sparks fused together and took the form of a girl. I didn’t bother thinking this was an impossibility. I decided this shining girl was there for the sole purpose of saving me. She would save me from the drove of men. I ran toward her and she shone even brighter. I followed her around the corner, then another corner. Her beacon illuminated a break in a chainlink fence, and I eagerly went through it. Her light ricocheted off twisted iron and rusted metal drums. She led me through some sort of scrap yard to a row of jumbo tractor tires leaned against one another.
“Hide here,” she whispered in a low vibrato. The junk metal around her chimed as she spoke. I climbed inside the tractor tires, crawled to the third one in and curled up, fetal. I soon heard the men’s voices, the chainlink fence rattling; one man vomited close enough that I got a whiff of beer-turned-rot.
Long after the noises stopped completely, and early morning started to usher in small scraps of pale purple, I peeked outside for my glowing angel. Bits of muted dawn littered the scrap yard; there was not one inch of smooth sheet metal or unbroken glass. Everything was covered with rust and jagged rifts. As Second had said, there was nothing around worth being lit. I eased back into the tractor tire. I tasted blood, tonguing the cuts inside my mouth. There was a slice inside my lower lip where my own teeth must have cut through the flesh. My fingertips looked ink-stained. My sock was completely black. I tore it off to find the skin underneath black too. “Foot, where are you?” I asked out loud. My voice sounded so unfamiliar then. I peeked outside the tires again to see if someone was out there. Empty.
Fishing through the purse First packed for me, I retrieved a wet-nap. Frantically, I rubbed from toe to heel with the damp cloth until it broke down into shreds. My skin was still masked in black. I pulled my foot up to my chest and held it like a baby. No one heard me sing a little lullaby; I’m not even sure how I knew the words to the song, but they fell unconscious out of my mouth. I was tired enough to fall asleep in my rubber cradle.
When I next looked out, it was the same—purple and just as dark. The clouds were thin inky wisps waiting for the sun to get itself up. I heard First calling my name. My plan to run off was an official failure. There was no rich trick, no getaway car. I had less than when I came, a missing boot, a torn dress. I didn’t move. Let her worry that I’m dead, I decided stubbornly. Arsen chimed in with his choirboy voice. There wasn’t a hint of distress or anger as he called; only a steady baritone note echoing, “Little, Little, Little.” His voice reminded me that I was hungry and sore, and I certainly didn’t want to stay where I was. I tumbled out of the tires toward the street and slipped through the same hole in the chainlinks. The frayed fence caught my lace dress. Arsen found me cursing and tugging my sleeve from a snare of curled metal.
“Baby girl,” he said, scooping me up in his arms. I heard fabric tear as he lifted me. “Another minute and I woulda been worried.” He was almost worried. His hands almost touched my bare skin as he lifted me. First rushed in, pressing herself into us for a group hug.
“Dear Lord, what happened to you, Little?” she asked and squished me firmly. “We’ve been lookin’ and lookin’.” I imagined she was being melodramatic. But they truly had been looking for me all day. It was two in the afternoon when they found me. Daytime never reaches the Dark. After such a long search it was little wonder First was so flustered. She squeezed and cooed at me. She rocked me in her arms. Just when I was about to give in to her comforts and relax a little, her face twisted up and she eased away. I slid down from between Arsen and First to the ground. They both took a step back. First held my hand in hers, tightly. The two of them stared hard at my blackened fingertips.
“Let’s get you home,” said First. She turned and marched, dragging me behind her. Arsen walked, without a word, beside us.
First put me in the front seat of Arsen’s car. A pink cardboard and cellophane box filled with tiny powdered doughnuts was sitting on the dash. Arsen smiled weakly as he offered me the box. I tore into them, white icing sugar dusting my dark fingertips.
“What’s with darling in the front?” Second asked as First squashed herself into the back beside her. “Is she half dead or something?”
“What the fuck do you care,” I said with a mouth full of doughnut. Arsen smiled a real smile at this, that quasi-embarrassed grin that appeared each time I swore. He laid his palm, face up, on my knee and I was quick to put my hand in his. He rubbed at my fingertips. A tickle of pins-and-needles spread through my hand.
“Yeah,” First said, long after the moment had already passed. “What the fuck do you care?” Outside, the scenery was less threatening then I imagined it would be. Rows of brick and rusted metal and grimy glass, buildings so sad it was no wonder the sun skipped over the place.
“I bet she didn’t even break, eh, darling?” Second started in again. First cleared her throat to cue me. She kicked at the back of my seat. Second laughed an artificial laugh, then quit and still no one said anything. “You dumb bitch, break means did you make money? Meaning, last night I broke four times, I had four tricks, I got paid four times,” Second finally said, sounding exasperated.
“You broke five times,” First corrected her.
“Nah, ah. Four. And I broke for a bill a go. Didn’t even have to drop my drawers.”
“Oh my, what big money, and no pussy,” First faux-exclaimed. “I’m still sure I seen you follow that Eddie Junior through the back door of No’s Smoke Shoppe. By my calculation that’s five.”
“Shut up, Candy.”
“Oh, that’s right; he don’t pay you, do he? You just love that boy so much, you give it away.”
“It ain’t like that,” Second said, raising her raspy voice.
“Eddie from the Smoke Shoppe. You sure, Candy?” Arsen pulled the car to the curb, left the motor running like a drum roll.
“Oh, they been goin’ on for a while, as far as I can tell.”
“Ed was warning me about the cops. They were parked down the street from the shop. I was gonna tell you later when there weren’t no little ears listening,” said Second.
“Cops around Sub Rosa,” First balked. “Haven’t you figured out yet you’re not in the skids no more? Do you even know where you are?” Arsen continued scouring my fingertips with his. I watched the black wear away, my fingers underneath turned red from the friction.
“Ed seen them. You can ask him.”
“First is right.” Arsen turned around to face Second. “Glories never have to worry about police. And Eddie can come to me if he thinks he sees something.”
“You keep away from him,” added First.
“We was only talking.”
“You have me to talk to, Second, honey. You don’t need nobody else.” In the rear view mirror I saw First’s hand on Second’s shoulder like a C-clamp.
“Tell me something good, Little,” Arsen said, changing the subject. “You make any money last night?”
“Arsen, please, it’s her first night,” said First.
I opened my mouth to tell him no. Before I said anything a series of images funnelled out of my head: a stiff jean zipper, coarse stubble on a chin, then nothing but the blank underside of pavement. I palmed my forehead as a migraine shot up between my eyes.
“We don’t expect you to break yet,” First said quietly.
“Two hundred and ten,” I said. I wasn’t sure where that figure came from, but when I opened my purse, dug around for the filthy money, and counted it, the total was two hundred and ten, exactly. I was ecstatic. I wanted to toss it in the air like a Hollywood actress.
Second expelled an “f”, like she was about to curse, then sighed instead.
“Girls always blank their first few Dark Days,” First told me.
“Everyone blanks,” said Second.
“Everyone but my Little,” said Arsen. “My little hero.”
Arsen took up my hand again, gave it one last squeeze, and plucked the money from me. I knew it would be like that. That I would simply pass over the money. What would I have done with $210, anyway? Get a room at a rooming house for a week? Find a new bar that served buck-a-beer? I would have felt ashamed to go back to drinking and moving around from place to place. I bet I would have forever heard Arsen’s voice asking, “Why put yourself through this?” Even though it was Arsen who sent me into that darkness, I still wanted to impress him. It was almost worth it to have him call me his little hero. I crumpled the empty, sugar-lined doughnut box.
I fell asleep in lukewarm dirty bath water. First woke me by reaching into the tub and pulling the plug. Water emptied with a gurgle.
“Arsen says you can come in the bed with us.” She laid a towel on the bathtub rim. “Or you can sleep on the sofa if you like.” Arsen had dropped Second off at their apartment; First claimed she was too worried about me to go with her. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to take care of me or if she just didn’t want Arsen to.
“You two don’t have to share the bed with me,” I said.
“Yes, of course we’ll share, Little. There’s plenty of room. Arsen don’t stay in bed long, anyway.” The last of the water drained from the tub. I gave First a polite smile, but she didn’t leave the room. I held the towel in front of me like a screen as I stood, then wrapped it fully around my body as I patted myself dry.
“There’s no reason to be shy with Mommy,” she said, reaching around me to dry my back. I was motionless as she wrung the water from my hair. “You’re going to have some good bruises when you wake up. Your back is one big scratch. Not deep, thank God. Whatever got at you didn’t go deep.” She took the towel and ran it up and down my legs, making me dizzy. I don’t know many hours it had been since I’d slept.
Out of habit, I folded my arms in front of my chest; the scratched skin on my back itched with the simple movement. I’d been punctured. There were holes in me that weren’t there before. My memory was just the same—scratched and full of holes. An image or two raced through my head. But they were only fragments of the night, uncertain as the things I’d imagined darting around my peripheral vision in the Dark. “I can’t remember what got me,” I said, sleepily.
First wrapped me in her arms, suddenly. The towel had dropped to the tile floor. I was stiff and naked as she hugged me. “It’s all over now. Even your foot’s fine now, see?” She jerked my foot out from under me to show me. “You’re fine. Just fine,” she repeated.
