American women have a higher standard of living than most people. They are in good health, live in nice houses, and are treated like prizes. Citizens of Eastern Europe face starvation and the possibility of freezing to death every night. We should be more concerned with their health and safety.
—Comment from the Global Reporter message board
Besides a few bathroom breaks, Mia was never alone. Her makeover took hours. They waxed the hair from her body and spent over an hour painting her face. Her dirty, broken fingernails were covered with beautiful artificial nails and her short hair was transformed into long locks that hung down her back.
“How will I take these off?” Mia asked. She picked up a piece of her new hair.
“You don’t,” the girl said. “They’ll grow out eventually; when it starts to look bad we’ll put new ones in.”
Mia tried to keep her eyes on the pair of scissors one of the women had brought. They were on the top of a box. Mia needed to swipe them. If she could hold them next to Dalmy’s neck it might be enough to barter for Andrew and Carter’s lives.
A new woman entered the room. She hung a garment bag and walked out. Mia tried to sneak her hand out and grab the scissors but at the last second the worker picked them up again and started cutting small pieces from Mia’s hair.
“Why are you cutting my hair if you just put it on?”
“To make it look more natural,” she said. “You’re cleaning up very nicely.”
One of the girls went over to the garment bag and pulled the zipper. Hanging was a long red dress. It was strapless, with a corset-style top that would pull Mia’s waist tight. The skirt had a giant slit so her leg could pop out. One of the girls moved the dress and Mia saw a faint design in gold glitter shimmer across the fabric.
“They’re going to fight over you in this tonight,” a girl said.
“Why would I want them to fight over me?” Mia asked.
“Relax,” a girl said. “You’ll do great tonight, and you’re so pretty.”
“Why do you do this?” Mia asked.
The girl shrugged.
“I have a roof over my head; they treat me nice,” she said. “It’s not a bad way to live.”
“So you’re all here by choice?” Mia asked.
“Aren’t you?”
“You live in a free country; you can do anything you want,” Mia said. “I don’t have that option.”
“I want to work here,” the girl said. Her tone became defensive. “Don’t judge me.”
“Sorry,” Mia said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You Americans never do,” she said.
“So you’ve met other Americans? Dalmy made it sound like we’re rare down here.”
“You’re the first female,” she said. “There’s a decent amount of males. They work below and come visit us on their nights off sometimes.”
Carter and Andrew were now in those ranks. Mia doubted her men would ever participate in any goings-on around here.
“What work are they doing down there?” Mia asked.
“They help out around the town,” she said. “With Joseph’s business.”
“Dalmy mentioned soldiers,” Mia said. She hoped nobody reported that lie back to her warden.
“They act like they’re soldiers, but the only war I’ve ever seen them fight is guarding deliveries.”
“Some of them think they’re so important,” another girl chimed in. “Like working for Joseph is such a great honor. They call themselves militiamen and think they’re going to lead Mexico in some rebellion. But I say, what rebellion? The people are happy down here.”
The girls all had a laugh at that. “Brainwashing”; she remembered Riley using the term. Whatever they were doing to the men down there to make them so compliant, it was wrong. Mia watched the girl walk away from her, scissors in hand. She would love to get her hands on those. Mia watched as the girl tucked the scissors away with her other supplies.
One of the girls held up a mirror so Mia could see herself. She was shocked at the reflection looking back. Mia looked perfect. Her makeup was dramatic, the long hair was held away from her face by a gold headband, and curls flowed down her back. She hadn’t looked like this since the night she met Grant. The memory of her vanity came crashing back and Mia looked away just in time to see the case carrying the scissors leave the room.
Like a gift, Mia’s attention was drawn toward a clatter. She turned her head to see a pair of stiletto heels on the floor. They were gold with red-jeweled straps. One of the girls picked them up.
“I didn’t notice these earlier,” she said. “They’re beautiful. You’ll be stunning tonight.”
Mia smiled. She had what she needed to rescue her friends.