Chapter Five

Since I’d become a hooker, my reflection disturbed me. I applied makeup mechanically and let my dark hair droop over my shoulders. No posing, no play. Just work. My teenage fascination with clothes, makeup, and models had long disappeared with my cotton-candy dreams of a first kiss, graduation, and wedding gowns. But something about Blue had resurrected a playful curiosity. And for the first time in years, I turned on the Chill Channel and took my time getting ready.

When I was done with my makeup, I stepped onto the balcony to get some air. I looked across the valley and noticed that the Hotel Macdonald had lit up its south walls with magenta spotlights. I’d always been fascinated by the Mac, a seven-storey castle built on top of the riverbank in 1915. One of my regular clients told me that it had been shut down in 1983 due to “a state of disrepair,” and the only reason it wasn’t demolished was because the City of Edmonton had declared it a Municipal Historic Resource in 1985. Three years later, Canadian Pacific Hotels bought it and spent millions of dollars restoring it to its original beauty.

Begin Again was like my Historical Resources Act, like the City’s way of saving “girls like me” from our own personal demolition of tricks and addiction. The school counsellors were tasked with buffing the shards of Jade into the smooth edges of Chanie. My history as Jade would not clean up like a majestic castle. It would never shine like the French-Renaissance beauty with its turreted towers, bold archways, and majestic entryway pilasters with concrete gargoyles perched on each corner. There were no craftsmen who could polish me back to a tabula rasa. There were no protective gargoyles guarding the entryways to my life. But at least, now, there was Blue.

I brewed coffee and fidgeted on the edge of the bed. I tried Netflix. A bunch of football players on Friday Night Lights were pulverizing a truck with baseball bats. I didn’t care. My ears were wired to the sound of the elevator doors opening and closing in the hallway. Every creak, squeak, and bang rippled through me.

The apartment felt cold, like something was missing. It hadn’t felt that way before Blue. Before Blue, I didn’t wait for boys to show up at my door — I hid behind it. My life had switched from street whore to schoolgirl as though I’d been handed a new script. Raped on Saturday night, arrested on Sunday, enrolled in school by Monday. Blue playing the role of the knight in shining armour. And the new me, like a dog, waiting by the door.

Blue showed up around nine o’clock. It wasn’t hard to act surprised because I’d resigned myself to the idea of him being a no-show. I opened the door to find what looked like a weathered James Dean leaning on a rail waiting for a bus. The scent of patchouli fought to overpower the smells of cigarette smoke and leather. He handed me a brown paper bag with a big smiley face drawn on it in black marker and said, “Brought you some Captain Morgan.” Then he walked in, kicked his shoes off, and reclined on the bed.

I took the bag into the kitchen and looked for clean glasses. “Thanks, Blue. Maybe I should be buying you drinks for all the favours you’ve done.”

“Don’t worry about it, girl. One day, I’ll need something from you.”

I turned off the coffee pot. There wasn’t enough ice in the freezer for two drinks, so I mixed a big one for us to share. Pastor Josh would say the inconvenience was God trying to tell me not to drink. P.J. had his ideas, and I had mine.

I carried the drink over to the bed. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“Not much to know.”

“Are you from here?”

“I’m from out East. Came here because my mom got sick. Says she has fibromyalgia.”

“I see,” I said with a slow nod, like I knew all about it. I made a mental note to google it — if I could spell it.

“She’s slowed down quite a bit. Old party girl, that one! Mind you, she still drinks a little, but thank God she hung up the miniskirts and thigh-high boots. She stays home and sits on the porch my asshole dad didn’t finish building in that flea-bitten trailer park she calls home.” Blue rolled his eyes and chewed one side of his bottom lip.

“Does your dad live there too?”

“Nope! Dead at forty-two. Lung cancer.”

“That’s terrible.” My eyes trailed to his top pocket, where a pack of du Maurier cigarettes peeked out.

“Does your mom smoke too?”

“Yeah! Why?”

“No reason.” I figured if I had to explain the logic, it had already escaped him and his mom. “Do you want to listen to music?”

“Sure. I’ll plug in my iPhone, and we can listen to my playlists.”

I took a quick trip to the bathroom. By the time I’d returned, Blue had dimmed the lights and refilled our drink. April Wine filled the air with playful lyrics and promises of love. I’d heard “Tonite Is a Wonderful Time to Fall in Love” in a trick’s car about two weeks before. He’d insisted on singing along while I blew him, which made me break into fits of laughter. He told me if I couldn’t take him seriously, he’d kick me out of the car. I said, “I take you very seriously, American Idol.” And then I walked home.

We sat in silence for a while. I didn’t know if that was normal because I’d never been on a date, so I tried to act natural, like my skin wasn’t tingling and my cheeks weren’t burning up. I matched my breathing to his and challenged myself to sit still. When he leaned close and whispered, “I’ve been dying to kiss you since the first time I saw you,” a cyclone swirled in the bottom of my belly as though he’d turned back time and made me thirteen again. Clumsy. Awkward. Innocent.

That was the night I lost my true virginity. Blue made me feel connected, like I was no longer alone in the world. We blended like a striped lollipop, each layer something better than the last. Sweet and sour, creamy and warm, like raspberries and hot fudge on vanilla soft serve. I relaxed into the sheets, my muscles melting like whipped cream. I breathed deep, full breaths, each inhalation taking me to the top of a mountain, each exhalation to the bottom of the sea, before finally drifting away into a snowy dream.

Majestic pines a thousand feet tall circled a pond set aglow by the moon. Snowflakes waltzed languidly down from the navy-blue sky, dusting the trees and the ground with a shimmer. Blue and I skated on the icy pond, our faces pink from the winter air, smiles white like falling snow. We raised our palms to the sky and lifted our faces to the moon, our chests open and expanding as we glided backwards across the multicoloured ice illuminated by Christmas lights. We waved at happy bystanders, smiling and laughing, but a big bang startled me. I shook it off, returning to the winter night, skating and waving, but the banging got louder, more frantic, and my dream pulled away.

“Chanie, open the fuckin’ door! I know you’re in there, probably feelin’ sorry for yerself. Get yer tight ass out of bed and open the door,” Brenda hollered.

Blue jumped up and yanked the door open.

“Jesus H, Chanie!” Brenda rushed in and leaned over me, her spit flecking my cheek. “Tanji’s been callin’ all night. Where the fuck is yer phone, ya little idiot? He called me sayin’ he can’t get through to ya!”

I pointed to my phone on the milk crate next to my bed. I’d turned the ringer off when Blue had arrived to keep Brenda from trying to join the party. She swiped at my phone and knocked it to the floor.

“Pick it up!” she barked.

“You dropped it!” I snapped. Blue picked it up and handed it to Brenda.

She squinted and held the phone up to her face. “Ya got thirteen messages, girl! Did ya think for a minute that I might need ya?”

“Jesus Christ, Brenda! I don’t work for you anymore. What business is it of yours what I do?”

“You little bitch!” she shrieked. “You’ll be done workin’ for me when I say yer done. Tanji wants to see ya, so clean Blue up from between yer legs and get goin’!”

I’d served Mr. Tanji and his buddies for four years. His real name was Hazrat Ali Abdullah. I’d met him when I was fourteen, shivering outside in the deep freeze of winter, when he pulled up in a shiny black car he called his 435. He had greyish-green eyes and wore a gold turban that made him look like a king. His black moustache was so precisely striped with silver streaks, it looked as though it had been hand-painted. He had two Starbucks cups in his cup holders, as if we were old carpooling buddies and he’d picked up a coffee for me on his way to work. He said, “Hop into my car, you poor thing. I won’t hurt you. I just want to take a look at you.” I jumped in and wrapped my frozen hands around the hot cup. “It’s a chai latte. Spicy like me!” he said, winking as he hit the accelerator.

I wrapped the sheet around me and stood up, eager to get Brenda out of my apartment. I wanted her to stop humiliating me in front of Blue.

“I need you to leave, Brenda. You’re not my pimp!”

“Ya need to go serve yer client. And things gonna be changin’ around here, Jade!”

Jade! Like she would always own me.

“You better go to work,” Blue said.

Brenda smirked and crossed her arms. “You heard him, Jade! Get goin’!”

I looked at Blue, but he just nodded at me like an unfamiliar neighbour greeting me in the hall. I reasoned that he wanted me to go to work because he didn’t want me to get in trouble. The only reason. If Brenda hadn’t shown up, we’d still be in bed figure skating under the winter sky.

“I better not hear from Tanji again tonight, Jade!” Brenda yelled and clapped her hands.

An hour later, I jumped into Mr. Tanji’s 435. He handed me a chai latte, and we drove in silence. I was grateful to be with him and not some other client. He paid well and didn’t make me kiss him or do nasty things. Most often, he liked for me to strip naked and lie on the bed tied up for him and his friends to “experiment with.” He had his own collection of toys to use on me, but he respected my limits. Tanji liked the show. He wasn’t there for sex.

When we got to the motel, Mr. Tanji handed me the room key. “Here you go, Jade. I’m going to pick up the boys.”

The motel room felt like the last day of fall: lonely, chilly, and sad. The beds were lumpy and dishevelled, as though someone had hurriedly pulled the covers over the dirty sheets. I turned on the TV to break the silence. Britney Spears gyrated on the hood of a red sports car, her sad face singing about some guy who’d left her. I’d left my energy at home with Blue but brought Jade, the shell of Chanie, to get the job done. I hated Jade, but I needed her. And when Mr. Tanji walked in with two young East Indian men, one in a purple turban, the other in yellow, Jade tousled her hair and smiled.

“Meet Amal and Amal,” Mr. Tanji said.

“Hello, boys,” I said as I stepped out of my dress and positioned myself on the bed.

The men were relatively gentle, except one of the Amals insisted on having sex with me again after the others were done. I told him not to kiss me, but he kept trying, which seemed to amuse Mr. Tanji and the other Amal.

“Come on, Mr. Tanji!” I pleaded. “You know the rules.”

“It won’t hurt you, Jade. I’ll throw in another hundred.”

“It’s not about the money,” I whimpered.

“Oh yes, Jade. Of course it is. What else could it possibly be about?”

After we finished, Mr. Tanji offered to drive me home. “Come on, sweet girl. I’ll buy you another chai latte.”

I shook my head and looked away. “I need some air.”

He nodded and said he’d see me soon. The 435’s engine roared, and he left me alone in the alley behind the motel.

A cool breeze stroked my face, reminding me of Blue’s kisses. How would I act the next time I saw him? I’d never really had a boyfriend before, only tricks who paid for my time. I didn’t think any man could want me because Brenda always said, “You’re used goods, Chanie. Nobody wants a used-up girl.”

A light sweat broke out on my face, and I felt like I’d caught a flu bug. My bladder throbbed, but I’d peed right before leaving the motel. The Westin Hotel clock showed 12:23 a.m. I picked up my pace. Figured I’d cut through the alley behind Donicello’s Eatery to save time. I’d need a ton of caffeine to fake my way through school the next morning, especially if I’d picked up a flu. My symptoms worsened, and my legs weakened, but I pushed forward past the gates where the working girls hung out.

Red and blue lights lit up the backstreet. Three cop cars, an ambulance, and two fire trucks blocked the alley. The lights made it hard to see, but a silhouette ran toward me yelling, “Dead! Dead! Dead!” I recognized the straggly teddy bear swinging frantically from his left hand — Schizophrenic Al, our local homeless guy. Al had named the teddy bear Dingo. I’d learned that about a year before, when Al had been beat up trying to save Dingo from a bunch of drunken douchebags out celebrating their grad.

Brenda and I had seen the guys run away that night. We’d found Al clinging to Dingo by the garbage bin, so we called an ambulance. Al screamed and swung at the paramedics, spitting at them every time they got too close. A couple of cops showed up and started roughing him up. That’s the night I began truly hating cops. Al kept swiping at the ground and saying Dingo’s name. I saw the little bear a few feet away, so I picked it up and handed it to the burly female paramedic. And just like that, Al took Dingo in his arms, climbed into the ambulance, and gave the cops the finger.

“She’s dead, dead, dead!” Al screamed in my face.

“Whatever, Al!” I said, certain he was having one of his fits.

“Perry, Perry, Perry!” He jumped up and down, Dingo swinging from his hand.

“What do you mean Perry’s dead?”

“Perry’s dead, dead, dead!”

I ran down the alley toward a group of sobbing hookers, scanning the crowd to make sure I didn’t run into the arms of my enemies. Girls had never liked me. When I’d first come out on the street, the veteran hookers preyed on me, particularly a big blonde named Samantha. She called herself Bunny Hollywood. I called her Samazon. One night, Samazon and her massive tits had jumped in front of me. “You think you’re pretty special, eh? I’m gonna kick your ass!”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, certain her huge fist would split my head open. I waited to hear the crack of my skull on the pavement, but out of nowhere, like a superhero, came black-haired Nikki-Lynn. She said, “Back the fuck off or I’ll cut you!” Nikki-Lynn, Wonder Woman. She even looked like Wonder Woman with her black hair, dark eyes, and superhero body. She’d bought a Wonder Woman costume and wore it the whole Halloween week. She said, “I can’t believe how much these morons will pay to fuck a superhero.”

Nobody knew where she’d come from. She just showed up one night. Nothing scared her, not even death. She said she believed in other lives — reincarnation. Claimed it was her only hope to be reborn without the memories of her cursed lifetime. Brenda once tried to tell her she couldn’t work the corner we’d earned the rights ta! Nikki-Lynn said, “Brenda! Do the right thing. Retire and get a job at a hot dog stand so you can continue your life’s work with wieners.”

A few months later, Bunny Hollywood was found wrapped in plastic and stuffed under a bedframe at the Travelodge. Perry and I cried. Nikki-Lynn said we had to be strong. She barked at me and said, “Put them shoulders back, little one. You’re a target for the murderers and freaks out here. They drive by every night and look at us like we’re steaks in a fucking cooler. And they pick the weakest one.”

“What do we do?” Perry shrugged.

“Walk like you got a gun on ya!” Nikki-Lynn made trigger fingers.

“How do you walk like you have a gun?” Perry laughed.

“Like everyone can go fuck themselves! You walk real fast. Stick yer chest out like a schoolyard bully, keep your head up high, and glance around a lot — like yer the one lookin’ to fuck someone up. Makes ’em think twice about picking you!”

Shortly after, Nikki-Lynn went missing. Wonder Woman who taught us to walk like we had a gun was gone.

And now Perry was gone too. I started running toward the pack of people gathered by the garbage bin. The red and blue lights made it hard for me to see clearly, so I slowed myself and edged close to the building wall.

“Oh my God, Jade!” Jenna, an old veteran hooker known for her discount blow jobs, sobbed. She threw her arms around my neck, almost toppling me to the ground. “Perry’s dead. They found her strangled by the garbage bin. Fucking strangled!”

I gagged a couple of times and leaned against the wall. My legs buckled, and I kneeled down on the pavement. Perry had worked for Brenda and Milos too. They didn’t like us hanging out. They said it distracted us from our jobs, as if we needed great focus to be hookers. We had eerily similar stories, both raped and tossed out of our childhood homes and discovered by Brenda. On the streets at fourteen, Perry dead at seventeen.

Perry had broken free of Brenda and Milos when she’d hooked up with an ex-boxer. Once upon a time he’d been a champion. He knew people. He promised to save her. Then he started using her as his punching bag. Messed her up so bad she’d show up at my place begging me to hide her. He found her and threatened to kill me if I didn’t “mind my own fucking business!” It hurt when she chose him over me. I judged her for letting a man come between us, and I thought I’d never understand why she stayed with a guy who beat her.

I stood up and tried to walk away. The voices and chatter pierced my ears like bottle shards. I wanted to throw rocks at all the people gawking at her, snapping pictures with their cell phones. Perry had been my friend. Just a kid. Not a sideshow for Facebook freaks. A white truck slowed down and honked. A ball-cap-wearing redneck leaned out the passenger window and hollered, “Just a dead whore, folks! Nothin’ to see here!”

The crowd shifted. My vision tunnelled, and I could see her body. At first glance, Perry looked perfect: blond hair, rosebud lips, long, bronzed legs in white go-go boots. I blinked hard, and my vision sharpened. A yellow tarp floated down over her body as though in slow motion, the very last seconds I’d see her on Earth. Her purple face, blackened neck, eyes wide open. The terror of her death very much alive and crawling all over me.

I flagged a taxi and checked my phone. Seventeen text messages from Brenda.

“Can you turn up the radio?” I asked the cabbie. He nodded and cranked it up. I turned off my phone and sobbed all the way home.

When I got to my apartment building, Blue was sitting in my living room, compliments of Brenda’s master key. “Why are you here?” I asked, noticing the empty bottle of Captain Morgan on the bed.

“I heard about your friend. Thought you could use a little support.”

I collapsed on the bed next to him. “Please keep Brenda away tonight.”

“I’ll tell her you’re home, and I’m taking care of you.”

“Thank you, Blue.”

He reached for my purse. “No problem. I’ll just run her Tanji cut upstairs.”