Chapter Eleven

In early spring, Tuffy sat cross-legged with an orange HB pencil angled in the centre of a blank page, like a fancy sports car taking up two parking spaces at the mall. He stared at the page, his eyebrows slightly raised, a smirk on the right side of his mouth.

I smiled, hoping to ease any anger he might feel toward me. “Hi, Tuffy. What are you working on?”

“I have to write an essay on what I’m doing here and what I hope to accomplish.” He yawned and stretched hard, his arms behind his head, his T-shirt lifting slightly.

“That sounds terribly boring.” I smiled and pretended to yawn.

“What are you writing about?”

“I’m writing about how my boyfriend makes me feel.”

Tuffy uncrossed his legs and sat up straight. “Sounds lame to me. Happy writing.”

Whenever I looked at Tuffy, things tangled up inside me like I was doing something wrong. It was all sweet and baby pink if I kept Blue locked out of my thoughts. But he always crashed through and made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of love. If I were a decent, committed person, Tuffy wouldn’t make random appearances in my daydreams. But he did. And I hated myself for it.

I struggled for five minutes trying to find the Microsoft Word icon. No way would I ask Tuffy for help. Sounds lame to me. His perfect face and bitchy tone. Maybe I should have told him I was sorry he got caught running from the church. That Lavoy had seen him, and that I didn’t rat him out. Maybe as a peace offering, I could write his essay for him. I wished I didn’t care whether he was mad at me or not. I didn’t understand why I did.

I googled how to find the Word icon and spent fifteen minutes digging through opinions and commentary on Word until I found instructions to guide me. I typed WORD in the search bar, and a bright white page popped up, ready for my musings.

And then I just sat there.

At 4:30 p.m., Mr. Lavoy breezed into the room wearing gym shorts and a sweaty grey T-shirt. “Almost forgot about you two. How are you coming along with your projects?”

Tuffy ignored him and returned to what looked like doodling on his page.

“I have writer’s block,” I said.

“Oh my!” Mr. Lavoy raised his eyebrows. “That must be very challenging.”

“It is. I can’t think of anything to write.”

“Maybe because the subject is unworthy,” Tuffy mumbled.

“What do you know about Blue, Tuffy?”

“All I need to know.”

Mr. Lavoy spoke over us. “Chanie, do you have your copy of Les Misérables with you?”

“I do.” I pulled my tattered book from my bag.

“Read over some of the passages you’ve highlighted. The ones that inspire you. And then try again.”

“And what if there’s still nothing?”

“Then write the first sentence. And then the next sentence. And the next.”

I nodded and opened Les Misérables.

Tuffy put his pencil down and looked at Mr. Lavoy. “Why does she get to write about her boyfriend, and I have to write about my goals?”

“I didn’t tell her to write about her boyfriend. I told her to write about what moves her. For Chanie, it’s her boyfriend.”

“So, if there’s something that moves me, can I write about that instead?”

“Absolutely, Tuffy. Let’s go over to the room next door so I can show you the tricks I shared with Chanie. We can leave her in peace to work through her writer’s block.” Mr. Lavoy winked at me.

After they left the room, I sat quietly and closed my eyes, hoping for an opening line. I flipped through Les Misérables but couldn’t draw a parallel between any of the highlights and Blue. I assumed the personal strain and torture of trying to be brilliant explained why writers and artists were chronically withdrawn and bitchy. I figured Victor Hugo had to have been a huge Grinch. I looked at the clock. I only had twenty minutes left to produce some words. How does Blue make me feel?

I thought about how he’d held me against him in the hallway when I’d come home from the hospital, beaten, bloody, and bandaged. I remembered falling asleep in his arms and dreaming of copper owls and monochrome trees. How he’d helped me bathe and picked me up from the police station. The way he’d arranged stolen garden flowers in a Big Gulp cup and left them at my bedside. His Gordon Ramsay imitations when he baked frozen foods. The night he threw Brenda’s purse down the hall and then imitated her to make me laugh. My beautiful bracelet and our future in the mountains.

I typed the first words: When I think of you …

I sent Ginger a text on my way home.

I silenced my ringer. It always hurt so much more when women betrayed me. I’d worked with so many “best friends” who’d turned into instant enemies when it came down to the two of us and a dollar. Alliances didn’t exist on the street when eight girls competed on a weekday winter night for the infrequent die-hard customer. Maybe it wasn’t much different in the real world. We just competed for something else.

My phone vibrated again and again, buzzing like a bee in a Pepsi can.

“Jesus, Ginger!” I snapped.

“Chanie, don’t be pissed. It’s not like we were gossiping about you. We just got to talking the night we ran away from the church. We were all worried about where you’d gone, and the subject just kind of, well —”

“Who’s we? You, Tuffy, and Jeremy?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I just told them what they needed to know.”

“Needed to know?”

“Yeah! They need to know that you’re living with an unpredictable meth head who’s in bed with that crazy bitch pimp of yours.”

“That’s not true! He hates Brenda as much as I do. And he’s only come home high a couple of times. We’re working on it.”

“Be that as it may, the only reason I told the guys about it is because we need to build a little army for you, because, one day, we’ll have to come and save you.”

“Save me? From what?”

“Come on, Chanie. There’s never a positive ending when it comes to meth heads and pimps.”

“I can’t talk right now. I’m hanging up.”

When I got home and opened my apartment door, something grey ran across the suite and tucked all but its skinny, ringed tail behind the dresser. I let out a quick scream. I looked at the door to make sure I had the right suite and hadn’t opened the wrong door, like I had after a few too many housewarming drinks the night I’d moved in. It couldn’t be a rat, but what else could it be? The building was a dump, but rats? I pushed the door open slightly with my phone’s flashlight ready to capture a glimpse of the rodent. No movement, but a squeaky meow rang out. I laughed so hard he sucked the rest of his scruffy tail behind the dresser.

I walked over and kneeled close by. “What are you doing in here, little guy?” I took a picture of him and texted it to Ginger.

I heard Blue trying to put his key in the door, but I rushed over to open it for him.

“Who’s our new friend?” I said, beaming.

“I found him behind my construction site, baby. He’s so tiny and helpless. I brought him home for you to love.”

“Oh my God! I love him already.”

The kitten crept out slowly. I leaned down and picked him up. His little ribs stuck out under dusty grey fur. A big white teardrop dripped down from the top of his nose and branched out into a blob-like moustache over his tiny cheeks. White whiskers splashed outward from his face. He grunted as though he were a fat gerbil while he waddled around the apartment. I think my heart grew three times bigger watching him try to get up on the bed.

“What should we name him?” Blue said.

“Hmm … Nelson? For Nelson, B.C.?”

“Nah. Too big a name for a little shrimp.”

I held the kitten up in front of me. His tiny body hung long and limp, like a sock. A white stripe streaked down his belly and expanded down his legs, pouring over his feet like bobby socks.

“His front legs look like those old-timey baseball socks,” Blue said.

“Oh yeah!” I laughed. “Why don’t we name him Socks? But let’s spell it S-O-X.”

“Sox it is, Chanie. He’s your cat, so call him whatever you like.”

“Does he have food and cat stuff?”

Blue shook his head. “Let’s head out to the pet store.”

“I’m short on cash.”

“No worries, baby. I can pick up the tab for my girl and her kitty.”

“Thanks, baby!” I set Sox on the floor and wrapped my arms around Blue. “I love you. Thank you so much.”

We got to Dollarama ten minutes before it closed. We bought cat food, litter, dishes, and a bunch of toys. The cashier rolled her eyes when she saw the full basket. Blue drove us home singing along to Redlight King’s remix of “Old Man.” I looked forward to a great night at home with Blue and my new kitten. My text tone rang out, and the phone vibrated on the dash.

Blue stopped singing. “Who’s texting you?”

“Ginger.”

“What does she want? Does she need help with her homework?”

“No. She wants to meet Sox.”

“Not tonight.”

“You’re tired from work?”

“Yeah, I’m tired from work and rescuing kittens.”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence, my mind on the fuzzy little creature waiting at home.

When we got home, Blue lit candles in lanterns and made us Kraft Dinner Deluxe. I fed Sox and showed him his litter pan. He scratched around in the sand and peed. I kissed his tiny head and told him he was a good boy. I gave him a couple of toys, ate my dinner, and the three of us snuggled up under the blankets to watch CSI. Sox wriggled his way onto my chest and purred himself to sleep.

---

MY HEAD WAS STILL at home with Sox while I walked to school the next morning. Tuffy stood on the school stairs with Jeremy and Ginger, waiting for me to show up. Jeremy pointed at me and yelled, “Hey, Chanie. Why do you look so tired? Big dick night at your apartment again?”

“Yes, Jeremy! Notice how you weren’t invited?”

“Didn’t notice ’cuz I don’t care, hooker. I don’t have to pay for it.”

“For a guy with a tiny dick and an empty wallet, you sure have a big mouth.”

Jeremy smirked and flipped me the finger.

Tuffy walked along with me. “Are you doing detention today?”

“Sadly, yes. How’s your essay coming along?”

“Better than your Harlequin romance.”

“Whatever, Tuffy.” I rolled my eyes. “See you later.”

I enjoyed morning meditation class. Annie Pema started the class with a reading from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo. It was a tall, narrow book with pastel colours and a pink lotus flower on the cover. I’d bought myself a used copy online because the cover was so pretty, and many of the messages resonated with me. Sometimes, I would contemplate Nepo’s daily devotion during my practice, but more often, I’d use the time to think about other things, like Blue and now Sox.

Annie Pema came in and took her place at the front of the room. I closed my eyes and counted backwards from fifty, counting only on the exhales. I got to twenty-six and slipped away … I’m standing in a doorway at a roadside motel. The parking lot is bare. A shadow walks out of the sunset. I feel him before I can see him, and I can tell he’s beautiful. My silky pink nightie falls to my feet, and he pulls me against him. I greet him with my mouth, his lips cold and fresh, like raspberries in the rain. His skin is like cinnamon, his hair black like coal. We are making love. Pale pink feathers fall from the periwinkle sky, and I am his. But suddenly, there’s Blue! His eyes are red, and he’s standing over us. He tosses a match and begins dancing in the flames.

“Wakey-wakey,” Ginger whispered, nudging my shoulder. I shook my head a couple of times. Tuffy looked over, but I looked away.

Annie Pema’s gentle voice brought me into the moment. “Today, we are going to name our breath and use something I learned from Thich Nhat Hanh. Take a deep breath in and then name your breaths as follows: calming, smiling, present moment, perfect moment.” She waved her hand back and forth like a maestro.

I followed along for about two breaths, but my brain veered off to the image of Blue dancing in the fire, as though warning me to keep a faithful mind. Calming, smiling, present moment … I’d work even harder on my piece of writing for Blue to prove that my silly fantasies meant nothing. Motels and feathers falling from the sky. Really, it all seemed so crazy.

Later in the day, I asked Rie, “What does it mean when a person fantasizes about, say … another life in their dreams?”

“What kind of life?”

“Maybe not so much a different life, more like being with a different person.”

“Hmm. It could be a number of things, like abandonment issues, or the feeling that there’s something missing in your current relationship.”

“So, yeah, like abandonment issues. So the fantasy person could just be a symbol of my abandonment issues?”

“Yes. Or it could be —”

“That makes sense then!” I smiled. “Let’s move on.”

At lunchtime, Ginger and I sat at a picnic table sharing poutine, salad, and chocolate cake. I held Les Misérables in one hand and a forkful of fries in the other.

Ginger licked chocolate icing from her fingers. “Which of these dickheads would be Jean Valjean?” She scanned her finger over the crowd of students.

I laughed. “Mr. Lavoy.”

“Not a teacher. A student. Maybe Jeremy?”

“Oh no! Definitely not. It’d be Tuffy. He’s got a big chest and sturdy shoulders. He walks strong, like a soldier.”

Ginger nodded. “What about Bishop Myriel?”

“Pastor Josh is the best candidate.”

“Given the slim pickings here, you’re probably right.”

I took a piece of cake and shoved it into my mouth. “Back to the actual book, though, I think Fantine sounds beautiful.”

Ginger popped a Xanax. “Yes, she does. Even her name — Fantine. It’s like a whisper. Like a Chanel commercial with some woman wearing golden sparkles and wings for a dress flying through the galaxy to meet her date. Some dark, sexy guy like Tuffy in a tux!”

“Wow, Gin Gin. Someday you’ll write for the big screen.”

“I’m not just looks, baby.”

“Fantine seemed so innocent. Listen to this: ‘But Fantine was a good girl … We’ll only say that Fantine’s was a first love, a unique love, a faithful love.’”

“Holy fuck, Chanie. That’s deep. Doesn’t it also say somewhere she was ‘ravishing, perfumed and sparkling’?”

“Yeah, something like that. She sounds so flawless and innocent — in love with a total douchebag who messed her over. What a puke! Hugo said he wasn’t even hot, just charismatic. Poor Fantine. She had bad taste in men. That’s why she ended up being a hooker.”

“See! You and Fantine have more than one thing in common.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “I think I convinced Blue to let you come over next week sometime.”

“Oh my God! I’d love that. I can’t wait to meet Sox!”

“Sox is the best thing in the world,” I said, scrunching up my nose. The thought of his cute face and rumble purrs always made me giggle.

At the end of the day, I rushed to the computer lab to finish my letter for Blue. I needed my writing to convince Blue of my truth, my commitment to us and our dreams of Nelson. That the fantasies that trespassed in my head meant nothing. I read it over and over, using the Word synonym finder to sweeten the message, to make it more evocative, like through my words I could touch his heart and change his life.

Tuffy came over to my desk just as I’d printed my letter. His eyes looked sad. Not high-school-drama sad, but forlorn, like he’d walked a million miles in a war only to find his family gone.

“Is it all finished, Chanie?”

“Yes. Are you coming over here to make fun of me again?”

“Nope. Just want to say good luck with the final product. Ginger showed me your kitten. He’s cute.”

“Thanks! Good luck to you too.” I walked to the printer at the front of the room to get my paper for Blue. When I came back, Tuffy was gone.

On my way down the school stairs, Jeremy yelled out, “Hey, Chanie. Did ya hear? There’s another dead whore. Strangled and dumped by a garbage bin. Maybe ya wanna rethink that career of yours, eh?”

I scowled at him but kept walking. I redirected my thoughts and pictured Blue reading my letter. I envisioned tears in his eyes, him gripping my hand, and then gently folding the page and tucking it away in his pocket before giving me a tender kiss.

Blue looked sombre when I came in. The Nelson can was on the floor, empty. Sox stalked the can and leaped in and out of it a couple of times.

“Hi, Blue. What are you guys up to?” Sox came over and rubbed against my leg. I bent down to pick him up. I hoped Blue would explain the empty can so I wouldn’t have to ask.

Blue pointed to Sox. “Hangin’ with the cat.”

“I couldn’t wait to get home to you guys tonight. I have a surprise for you. I’ve been working on something for you.”

“That’s nice. But we need to chat about a couple of things.”

My heart dropped to the floor, and I slumped down cross-legged.

“What is it?”

“We got to figure out how you plan to match me dollar for dollar in this coffee can. I can’t be the only one contributing.”

I glanced at the can. So, zero for zero? “I know that, Blue. I thought we could figure some stuff out.”

“We already did! We got a couple of problems here.”

My heart fluttered. “What do you mean a couple of problems?”

“We got Brenda and Milos breathing down our necks here, and —”

“And what, Blue?”

“An empty fucking coffee can, Chanie!”

“Well, what do you suppose I do about that right now?” And how did the can end up empty?

“You’re gonna have to work tonight.”

“No. I have school tomorrow.”

“Chanie, I took an extra job laying a floor this weekend even though I won’t get a day off. My knees are sore, and my back hurts. But you know why I’m gonna do that?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Money?”

“Not just the money. I’m doing it for us. For you. The woman I love. So you gotta work hard to — to support me.”

“I can’t get kicked out of school, and there’s only so many hours in the day, Blue.”

“I get that. But you have to work too. Go get ready. I’ll make you a hot dog for supper, and you can get out to work nice ’n early.”

“A hot dog! Is that supposed to inspire me to go out and suck dick for cash?”

Blue laughed. “It’s kind of symbolic, don’t you think?”

I grabbed my bag and went into the bathroom. Sox followed me, so I made him a cat bed with the bath towel. I ran the shower and sat down with my back against the door. The evening should have been special. I’d had plans. Ideas that didn’t include selling my ass on the street. I pulled out the note and blinked the tears out of my eyes.

My dearest Blue,

When I think of you, I get this smile. It’s your smile because it only shows up like this when it’s for you. Sure, I smile at birds and pets, friends, grey-haired couples walking hand in hand, but when it’s for you it’s all of me, not just a physical action but a spiritual and chemical move that makes me take a deeper breath and open my mouth very slightly, as if I were lightly moaning. My shoulders move up like a shy teenage girl who has been asked to dance for the very first time. It’s more than sexual. It’s God moving through me because nothing else ever feels this sweet — surreal, because in the real world, nothing moves through me like this feeling. Nothing moves me quite like you.

I love you, Blue.

Xoxo

I let out a couple of sobs before I tore the page to shreds and flushed it down the toilet. I held my head up and stepped into the shower. The old, familiar version of me gnawed at my stomach, not a welcome version of me but the hooker who’d lived the last few years either drunk or sleeping. Part of me had thought I would magically find a way out, like Julia Roberts did in Pretty Woman. Alcohol, Netflix, and avoidance had kept that illusion alive. Mr. Tanji did too, because sometimes he’d do date-like things with me.

I thought back to a particularly cold night in the winter when he’d picked me up and paid me just to hang out. He’d bought us large chai lattes and then took me to watch the airplanes land as giant snowflakes filled the sky and covered the car.

“Jade, what is your name?” Mr. Tanji had asked me.

“It’s Jade.” I giggled.

“Don’t give me that nonsense. What is your actual name?”

“My name is Chanie.”

“What a beautiful name, young lady.”

My cheeks warmed, and I looked away. “Thank you, Mr. Tanji. Now what’s your name?”

“Okay, Chanie. Hazrat Ali Abdullah, but you already know that because, apparently, you watch the news.”

“I just like to hear you say it with your accent. You know, Mr. Tanji, I’ve never told anybody about us — I mean, that you’re on city council.”

“I believe you, sweet girl.”

Sometimes, I wanted to have sex with him but without the money exchange. Just the two of us at a fancy hotel. I’d wear a silky white dress, and Mr. Tanji would wear a black tux. We’d slow dance on the Hotel Macdonald patio underneath a stormy sky, and when the first drop of rain fell, he’d sweep me upstairs to a majestic suite and make love to me in a sudsy hot tub with pink rose petals floating atop the bubbles. We’d drink champagne and talk about things that mattered.

But our reality didn’t include champagne or ballgowns. He only bought me to strip for him or mess around with his friends. Other than the odd lap dance, we’d had no physical interaction.

“Chanie, what do you plan to do with your life one day?” Mr. Tanji asked, taking my hand and squeezing it gently.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have any goals? Dreams? Did you ever dream of becoming something when you were a little girl?”

I’d turned away because I couldn’t answer him. But I knew for certain, I’d never dreamt of becoming a hooker.

Blue pounded on the bathroom door.

“I need a few more minutes, Blue.”

“Get out here and eat your wiener. I gotta be somewhere.”

Blue always acted like he was on a time clock. Brenda too. They thought their time was precious, as though they were in a hurry to make a Doctors Without Borders flight. And yet I was the only one with schedules and deadlines. I wondered what kind of client had placed an order for me through Brenda’s secret Facebook page. I hoped for Mr. Tanji. We could park at the airport and sip lattes. I could tell him about my Hotel Macdonald fantasy, and we’d laugh like old friends. When I came out of the bathroom, ready to go, Blue told me to leave my phone and head down to the truck.

“What do you want with my phone?” I asked, hoping it was all a trick, just a ruse to make me dress up so he could surprise me with a night of dinner and drinks. Then I’d feel awful about tearing up my love note. I’d have to ask him to stop at the school so I could print another copy.

“Because Brenda doesn’t want you takin’ calls from your old regulars behind her back. We gotta change your number.”

“I need a phone. Especially at work!”

“Good point. But we gotta change the number tomorrow. Now let’s go. I’m dropping you off downtown.”

We didn’t say much to each other during the drive. Blue wore his dirty work clothes, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d underdressed for dinner. I held on to the hope he wouldn’t make me go to work.

He pulled over underneath the China Gates. The working girls referred to the Harbin Gate as the China Gates. It was built in 1987 to symbolize the relationship between Edmonton and Harbin. It stood slightly east of 97th Street on 102nd Avenue, surrounded by government buildings, one of which was Canada Place, a pink glass building with a step-style build. One of the hookers told me it was designed to mimic the shape of a Canadian maple leaf. To the north of the gates were City Hall, the Court of Queen’s Bench, the Remand Centre, and the downtown police station. And only slightly to the west, the arts district with the Winspear Centre, Citadel Theatre, and the Royal Alberta Museum. Underneath the gate were the hookers.

The elaborate Harbin Gate had been painted in traditional Chinese red with a customary pagoda rooftop adorned with handcrafted, yellow-glazed tiles. It had been a gift from Harbin, a sister city to Edmonton. It was meant to symbolize friendship and welcoming. On each side sat wide-chested, six-foot concrete lions, gazing down from a pedestal, one giant paw resting on a ball with their mouths wide open. I’d read in the paper that the lions were there to protect and bring good fortune, which, ironically, they must have done for me and many of the other working girls. It was rumoured that if you touched the tongue of the lion, it would bring you bravery and good luck. If you were in on this, it made total sense to see the odd hooker climbing up to stick her hands in the mouth of the lion.

Some of the girls weaved toward the truck like a bunch of slinky cats, but they turned away when they saw me.

“What are we doing here?” I said.

“What do you think? You’re going to work, Jade.”

Jade!

“This isn’t the deal we had! It was supposed to be online only. I can’t risk getting caught out here.”

“By who? Your teachers? Or the guy who’s killing hookers? He just knocked one off last night, so it’s safe to be out tonight. There’s no way he’ll kill two nights in a row.”

I almost puked. Did ya hear? There’s another dead whore. Maybe ya wanna rethink that career of yours, eh? I reached for Blue’s hand, pleading with him. “Please don’t make me go out there.”

Blue shook my hand away. “Chanie, this isn’t easy for me either. It’s better for both of us if you just get out of my truck and bring back some cash. Like around $250 to put in our can after Brenda’s cut.”

I got out and slammed the door. I walked over and leaned up against the building, legs nice and long, one foot against the wall. “Stand sexy-like,” Brenda used to say. “Keep them shoulders back and push them little titties out.” I pushed my chest out and arched my back. I reached into my bag to pull out my phone. My fingertips bumped the spine of Les Misérables. I pulled it out and held it to my chest.

“Cops!” A shrill voice rang out, echoing off the buildings.

I snapped to attention and lurched off the wall. Five girls scattered in different directions.

“Easy, ladies,” the cop yelled. “Nobody’s getting arrested. Just want to chat.”

I’d seen that cop before. His army-short hair and massive NFL spiderweb-tattooed arms were hard to forget, especially when they’d been the ones that had unfolded the tarp over Perry’s dead body. My heart pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t swallow. I pictured myself in a cell with my hair chopped off and big black rings under my eyes. I wondered if Ginger would visit me. I considered running, but my instincts kept me still. I looked up at the stars and gently stroked the binding of Les Misérables.

“Listen up, ladies,” the cop announced. “As you know, there are three working girls who’ve been murdered in the last few months. If you insist on being out here, be vigilant. My advice to you is to go home.”

“Oh yeah! Good idea! I got some bakin’ to catch up on for my big dinner party,” said a blond girl with a huge ass. Some of the girls laughed.

“Very funny. This is serious. Every single guy who drives by is a suspect. You girls have been out here long enough to know that he’s looked at each and every one of you. This sick fuck is probably already hunting one of you as his next prize. Don’t be the next victim. Go home!” He handed each of us a card. “This is my personal cell number. Call me if you need to.”

“Maybe you and them big spidey arms can come on over and keep me safe,” the big-assed blonde said.

“Get some bear spray, sweetheart,” he replied, nodding to all of us.

I knew a lot of dead girls. That was the cost of my profession. I’d tried to convince myself that Perry’s boyfriend had killed her. It was easier to accept that than it was to believe that there was a psycho actively hunting us. I could put her death in a container and go about my business without fearing every man who approached me. It helped to ease the feeling in my gut that I was always just a second away from being strangled and left by a garbage bin.

I’d met the first of the three dead girls a few days before her murder. A trick had just dropped me off in an alley where she was screaming at a guy in an old Malibu. Turns out, he was her scrawny pimp harassing her for cash. Her real name was Jamie, but I named her You Do the Math.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to make any cash tonight! Look around!” she’d screamed as she spun around a couple of times with her palms to the sky. “Hmm, ten girls, one car! You do the math!”

For the few hours I’d known her, we’d leaned on the wall under the China Gates and laughed at everything. Fun girl, sharp mind. It was a slow night, so we decided to tag-team a rig pig and split the earnings. We used our profits to order a pizza and ate it on the tailgate of a blue Chevy truck that was parked on the street. While we’d been waiting for a john that night, she told me she’d read somewhere that there’s a piece of DNA left inside you from every man you’ve ever been with. Essentially, they transfer their energy into you. That made sense to me. If I’d been absorbing their depraved DNA, part of me was becoming like them. That must have been how it got easier for me to let men brutalize me for money. Four days later, Jamie was found dead on the opposite side of the same garbage bin as Perry.

“Hey, pumpkin pie. Ya need a ride?” a skinny old guy yelled, startling me. He looked like a professor or something.

“Sure, sexy.”

“What’s your name, sweet thing?”

I squeezed the book one more time before putting it back into my bag.

“You can call me Fantine.”