Armando remained silent for the remainder of the ride. Slamming the car into park, he bolted to the passenger door and flung it open. He reached in and yanked Maggie out by her arm. As they entered the house, the other hookers stopped and watched as Armando pushed Maggie up the stairs, berating her the entire way. They all knew she was going to get it from him.
Up in the bedroom, Armando took off his belt and started whipping Maggie. “What the fuck did I teach you, girl? Huh? How old are ya?” he screamed.
“Eighteen,” she managed through sobs.
“Who do you live with?” he yelled.
“My boyfriend,” she blubbered.
“Take your fucking clothes off,” he said, seething.
Maggie practically ripped her clothes off. His anger made her anxiety skyrocket; she didn’t want to go back into the box in the closet. “I’m sorry, Armando. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know that I’m staying here with you. Please don’t hit me anymore,” she whined.
“Get on the fuckin’ bed,” he roared.
He beat her with his belt until she passed out. Then he waited until she woke up and had sex with her to make certain she knew he was the boss.
The next night, she was on the streets again with Trinity when a teenage boy with bloodshot eyes, strung out on drugs, approached them. “Hey man, you got any money you can spare?” he asked.
“No! We ain’t got no money for your sorry ass. Keep on walkin’ before I knock the shit out of you,” Trinity threatened.
As the boy walked away, Maggie stood staring at Trinity in wonder. “Who the hell are you eyeballin’, girl?” Trinity demanded.
“No one,” Maggie said, dropping her gaze to the ground.
“Listen,” Trinity said. “You gotta learn to protect yourself out on the streets. People ’round here know I don’t take shit from no one. I don’t care who you are. You ain’t gonna survive out here by bein’ nice. So you need to learn to get tough, or these motherfuckers will eat you alive. You understand me?”
“Yeah, I understand. How long have you been a…doing this?” Maggie questioned.
“What? You were gonna call me a hooker? Well, that’s what I am, and so are you. I’ve been out here for a lot of years. Been ’round long enough to know that there ain’t no body gonna take care of you but you. Just like you, I had to learn how to survive out here. Ain’t nobody gonna teach it to ya, either. Gotta learn it for yourself,” Trinity said with pride.
Trinity’s words of wisdom left Maggie feeling alone and unprepared to face life on the streets. Maggie had hoped that over time, Trinity would grow to like her, but there were no signs that Trinity felt anything but obligation to keep Maggie with her. It was her job.
Maggie decided to be more observant of how the other prostitutes acted. She listened to the things they said and watched them chase off men who wanted sex for nothing or tried to rob them. It appeared as though most of the girls had a sixth sense for the men who would cause them trouble. Maggie worried that she would never fully understand how to deal with the dangers of being on the street every day.
For the remainder of January, Trinity set up all of Maggie’s tricks. Trinity had Maggie working continuously, giving regular sex as often as possible, in order to earn the maximum amount of money. Because of this, Armando and Rock were quite pleased with the work Trinity was doing, and this made her happy. She had always wanted to be in charge of the girls, and Maggie was her stepping-stone to becoming the boss on the streets. This title, given only by Rock, would bring special privileges and power.
Maggie, on the other hand, was exhausted. She felt weird cooing at men as they drove by. Her life was degrading. But she didn’t know how to escape without getting herself and others killed. So Maggie did and said everything she was told. But inside, there was a slow burn, a desire for liberation. She longed to see her family again and fantasized about their reunion. She wanted to be returned to life as she knew it before John William had taken her from the mall.
Over time, Armando began to trust Maggie, allowing her to roam the house freely, as the other girls did. The house was a total shit hole, the armpit of the earth. Right inside the front door was a large, open room that was once a formal living room. The chandelier and sconces were long gone, but gaping holes in the plaster revealed where they once hung. Two floor lamps lit the gloomy room. Instead of furniture, there were old, worn-out mattresses where the girls partied and slept. A wide hall led to the main living area. This room had leather beanbags and recliners reserved for the men who ran the house. The girls were prohibited from sitting on them or even entering the room without being invited.
To the right of the front entrance was the kitchen. The cabinets and refrigerator were secured with chains and padlocks to keep the girls from eating whenever they wanted to. The girls were provided with one meal a day. One of Rock’s men supervised a couple of the girls to put out food. The girls found their other meals on the streets by asking johns for a slice of pizza or occasionally buying a hot dog from a street vendor. Just off the kitchen was an old laundry room where Rock had installed a shower. All twelve girls used it; the upstairs bathrooms were off-limits.
When Maggie was in the house with the other prostitutes, she made it a point to keep to herself. She didn’t like the other girls. They were hard and callous to each other. She understood their anger, and felt much the same, but she couldn’t understand why they took it out on one another. As much as she wanted an ally, she didn’t trust any of them. They were constantly fighting over men, cigarettes, and drugs. These arguments often turned into fistfights and hair pulling, which broke out at a moment’s notice.
While the others fought, Maggie found a quiet corner in their living space and thought about Seth. She wondered if he was OK and if Thelma showed him any kindness. Rock visited the house where Maggie lived several times a week, and she was tempted to ask him about Seth, but she knew better. Rock and his men told the girls what they wanted them to know. She had learned that asking questions was a sign of insubordination.
By early February, Armando allowed Maggie to walk the streets alone. On her first night out, she wandered down Kensington Avenue, smiling at men and asking them if they needed a date. Men were attracted to her, and she had no problem earning her nightly quota. Because she was able to lure men in without much effort, she only offered hand jobs, and no one at the house was the wiser because she was able to do double the number of men to make up the difference in money. In a short time, Maggie became the most desired harlot on Kensington Avenue.
Then, on her travels up and down Kensington Avenue during her second week alone, Maggie noticed something that made her heart soar with hope. It was a sign at Kensington and Indiana Avenues; she followed the arrow and within minutes, she was standing in front of the McPherson Square Free Library.
This was the first time in a very long time that Maggie had something to look forward to. Her biggest problem was how to sneak away long enough to spend time at the library without being caught. She’d figure something out, she told herself. No matter what happened to her, it was worth the risk.