April 15, 1997
“I thought you didn’t want to know the sex of the baby.”
“I changed my mind,” Cheryl answered drowsily. “I don’t really care; I was only wondering.”
The doctor looked down at the teenager and she thought she saw uncertainty in his dark eyes; prompting her to warily tell him: “Dang, Dr. Nehru. Don’t worry, there’s no chance in hell, I’m changing my mind. You and your wife can keep the baby. I’m only curious, is all.”
Dr. Nehru nodded, but indecision still creased his face. A few seconds passed before he pulled a chair close to the hospital bed and sat down. He took one of her hands in his and gave what looked like a forced smile before finally speaking. “Cheryl, you do realize you made the right decision, don’t you? After all, you’re still a child yourself; there’s no way you’d be able to take care of this baby.”
The anesthetic she’d been given for the caesarian birth was almost totally worn off, and Cheryl began to feel a little soreness, causing her to grimace as the doctor continued to speak.
“My wife and I can give—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Cheryl interrupted him. “Listen, can I have some kind of painkiller or something?”
“Sure.” The doctor nodded. “I’ll have the nurse come in and give you something in a minute. But I wanted to assure you that—”
“Hey, I only asked if it was a boy or girl; don’t freak out,” Cheryl snapped. “Make sure I get the rest of the money you owe me, okay?”
“Absolutely!” the doctor said.
“It was a simple question; I don’t know why you’re making a freaking federal case outta this. It’s not like I even really care,” Cheryl mumbled loud enough for the doctor to hear. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “It’s a boy. We haven’t decided on a name yet, though.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Cheryl snapped. “It’s your kid; name it what the fuck you want.” Her facial expression softened almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve all that.”
The doctor stood up and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve gone through a lot, and you’re bound to be edgy. And of course, you did say you need some painkillers, right? I’ll have the nurse give you a shot of morphine.”
The sharp aches were worsening, and Cheryl could only give a weak smile and nod in response. The nurse was in the private room less than five minutes after the doctor left, and injected a shot of clear liquid into the IV attached to Cheryl’s arm. Thirty seconds later, Cheryl drifted off to sleep, and to dream about the events that had brought her to this point.
“Look, you need money, I can use some extra cash; the plan makes sense,” Jackson said urgently. “This cat is going to lay down ten stacks for the privilege of popping your cherry. Hell, ain’t that better than giving it away for free to some knucklehead in the backseat of some car?”
Cheryl hated Jackson. Had hated him from the first time she met him, only a few months after her father died and he started dating her mother. And within three years it seemed her hatred was justified. With Jackson’s encouragement, Cheryl’s mother became hooked on cocaine, and went through the almost $2 million her father had left them. After the money was gone, Jackson was gone, and Cheryl’s mother then turned to crack and alcohol.
Cheryl was fifteen by then, and desperate to come up with money to pay the rent. She had to drop out of the prestigious private school she’d been attending before her father’s death and attend public school, but she was also forced to take over as head of the household since her mother was absolutely useless, and was only interested in scoring her next hit, and next drink.
They were evicted from their swanky Upper East Side apartment for not paying the rent, and now the rent on their tiny Harlem apartment was three months’ overdue; not knowing what else to do Cheryl had decided to resort to shoplifting. She ventured into Bloomingdale’s on Lexington Avenue, stuffed a couple of dresses in her bag, and headed out the door; but almost peed her pants when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“So you’ve decided on a career as a booster, huh?”
Cheryl whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Jackson. “What are you doing here? Get offa me,” she snarled, yanking away from him.
“I should do exactly that, but I’ma do your little uppity-ass a favor.” Jackson gripped her by the arm and propelled her to the back of the store and to the ladies dressing room. “Now get in there, and unload.”
“What?”
Jackson stepped closer to her and said in a low voice.“You little idiot. If I saw you putting those dresses in that bag, you think I’m the only one who did? And even if no one else did, the security alarms would have gone off as soon as you walked out the door.”
Cheryl looked at him without saying a word, and disappeared into the dressing room. Jackson was waiting for her when she came out.
That’s when he made the proposal.
“I know I left you and your mom in a bad way, so let me help you out,” Jackson urged. “Look, the cat is offering ten stacks, but I bet I can get him up to fifteen. He’s got lettuce like that. We’ll split it.”
I hate him. He ruined our lives. If I had a gun I’d shoot him, is what she said to herself, but out loud she could only exclaim: “Fifteen thousand?”
Jackson nodded. “I think I can get that much out of him.”
“And what would be your split?” she asked suspiciously.
“I’m not greedy. I wouldn’t even ask for any of it, but I’m in a little bit of a jam, too.” Jackson acted as if he was giving it some thought. “How about I take two thousand, and you keep the rest?”
Cheryl’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you. How do I know you won’t keep the whole thing?”
Jackson grinned. “Moi?” he said, pointing to his chest. “You don’t trust moi?”
Cheryl sucked her teeth and started walking away. Jackson quickly grabbed her arm again. “Look, you might not trust me, but I trust you. So how about this? The guy pays you, then you give me my cut. Okay?”
Man, Cheryl thought, with thirteen thousand she could pay off the back rent, buy school clothes, and maybe even pay for her mom to go into some kind of rehab program. But, still, she wanted to save herself until she got married. But, wow, thirteen thousand.
“Now, here’s the thing,” Jackson said, interrupting her thoughts. “If we’re going to get him up to fifteen thousand, there’re a few things you’re going to have to do.”
Cheryl’s eyebrow and suspicion rose. “Things like what?”
“Well, you’re fifteen, right? The younger the cherry, the more men are willing to pay. You’re kinda flat-chested, so if you would, well, shave down there, we can probably pass you off as a twelve-year-old.”