Distorted Lines (Blurred Lines Volume 2) (3 page)

Chapter 5

“Do you still have my money?” I blurt out the question after two cups of coffee and a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese smeared thickly on both sides.

She scoffs, blusters. “Yes,” she says, but there’s a hint of deception in her voice. From between her mattresses she pulls out a wad of cash. Tosses it on the counter. “Here you go.”

There’s a lot of ones, fives, and twenties. I gave her hundreds. I slowly organize them, counting as I go. When I’m finished it’s clear she spent most of it. “This is it?” I ask, and try not to let my emotions get the better of me. Tears have clouded my eyes, but I blink them away.

“Yeah, Cade. I thought you were dead, and I needed some pick-me-ups.” Her face is sad, but she grits her teeth. “I fucking thought you weren’t coming back.”

I nod. “I know.” I tuck the remainder of the money into my back pocket. “It’s no biggie.”

But it is a big deal and I’m devastated. At this rate I’ll be able to go to college when I’m fifty.

“Sorry,” Jessica says.

I try to discreetly wipe at my eyes. “It’s okay. I gave you the money. It isn’t your fault.”

She frowns, but perks up suddenly. “At least Fileze-the-fucking-Sleaze isn’t your pimp any longer. You can do what you want, when you want, and with whomever you want.”

“Right,” I agree.

“Did you hear Fileze got his ass kicked? He’s still in the hospital. He may never walk again.” She pulls her
frizzy blond hair into a ponytail. “At least that’s the word on the streets.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Jessica goes over to our grungy plaid couch and sits, then flips on the old TV with tin foil on the antennae.

“
Wanna watch 90210 reruns with me?”

“Sure.” Why the fuck not? I’ve got nothing better to do. It’s going to ta
ke years to earn enough for college. No bank will loan me the money and the government won’t approve any federal aid. I’m royally fucked. It was a stupid dream anyway. Girls like me aren’t supposed to go to college. I never would’ve fit in.

Whore turned businesswoman
, I think with a snort.

It definitely wouldn’t have worked.
And in a few hours I have to put on my hooker clothes and go out. The prospect doesn’t excite me.

I lean my head against the couch and close my eyes. John
Cruze’s face is there. His brilliant eyes and gorgeous smile light up my insides. It’s his fault I don’t want this job anymore. It’s his fault I want more.

Damn you, John
Cruze
.

“John
Cruze is so hot,” I hear Jessica say. My eyes pop open. How did she know I was thinking about him? She staring at the TV and I look. A slightly younger John Cruze is playing a hunky young love interest. He’s cocky. One of the actresses says something and he responds with a smile, flashing his dimple.

My dimple
, I think, and then internally kick myself.

“I’d forgotten
he guest-starred on this show before his career really took off.” Jessica makes kissing noises.

I
chuckle, sit up. My eyes are glued to the TV. “Yeah, me too.”

I’m mesmerized as John
Cruze saunters closer to the girl on the screen. My body responds. The characters are going to kiss, and every ounce of me wishes it was me instead of that damn actress.

“Did you hear he was caught with some prostitute? He took her to the hospital. All the tabloids say he beat her.”
Jessica is talking to me, but she’s still staring at the screen.

While she’s talking my face heats
up with embarrassment. “He didn’t beat her,” I say quietly.

“How do you—” She starts to giggle. “
Oh. My. Fucking. God. You’re the prostitute he was with, aren’t you?”

I’m sure my face is the color of beets at this point. “No,” I say, but it’s obvious I’m lying.

She scoots closer so she’s practically in my lap. “Tell me everything. How was it? Does he have a teeny dick? Please tell me that totally hot man has no weaknesses.”

I scoot back. “Jessica, he was good.”

She snorts. “Good? Fuck that. He was either a rock star or a total weeney. Which is it?” She pulls a menthol cigarette from a pack sitting on the messy coffee table and lights it up. Sucks in and blows out.

“I so need one of those,” I say and light up one of my own. After I’ve taken a couple of drags and am happily feeling the buzz, I look at Jessica. “His cock is huge and he fucks like a champion.”

Jessica bursts out laughing. “You’re such a cunt. You always get the good ones. Did he pay you?”

I pause, thinking about what I want to say. Finally I decide on the truth. “I fucked him by mistake.”

“You did what?” Her face lights up with shock. “How is that possible?”

I tell her about the text, about meeting John
at the Bel Ayre, about how amazing he was. When I’m finished, she sighs.

“You’re seriously the luckiest person I know. And the stupidest.”

“Stupid? Why?” I ask, putting out the butt of the cigarette on an ashtray. I’m watching the television again. John Cruze’s character and the female are in bed. Talking. Laughing. I can’t help but feel jealous. I want to be in bed with him. I want to talk and laugh with him.

Just the idea
makes me happy and angry at the same time.

“I would’ve stayed. Better to fuck him than fuck some random client
, don’t you think?”

I turn to her. She has a point. The problem with that thinking
though is I like him. I want him for more than a client. But I can’t tell her that. Instead I say, “No, I don’t fucking think so. Otherwise I would’ve stayed.” A part of me wants to kick myself. I should’ve stayed. But it’s too late for second-guessing my decisions. No sense dwelling on it.

I light up another cigarette.

“So what are you going to do now?” Jessica pats my knee.

I sigh and stand. “I guess get
my ass back to work.”

Chapter 6

I’m wearing a short black mini, my red platforms and a red spaghetti strap top. My hair is up in a high ponytail and I’ve got an inch of makeup on.
I don’t look half bad. Jessica is wearing pleather hot pants, black heels, and a white halter. She straightened her blond hair and lined her blue eyes in glittery blue-blue eye shadow.

We’re across the street from the
TCL Chinese Theater. It’s lit up, old and beautiful, except for the scaffolding surrounding part of it. The city is refurbishing the building, turning it into a giant movie theater.

That’s life though.

Everything changes.

Jessica and I are in front of a
tattoo parlor. There are papers scattered all over the sidewalk. People amble by, some whistle, some ask how much, but my heart isn’t in it.

Jessica takes off with a client and I’m left alone.

I cross the street and walk over to Marilyn Monroe’s shoe prints, permanently engraved in the concrete. My feet are bigger than hers. Marilyn had tiny feet.

“Hey,
you selling?” Someone asks.

I turn around. There
’s a tall young man, early twenties, dark hair and darker eyes. He’s standing in front of me. Watching me. His features heavy with lust. It’s obvious what he wants.

“How much?” he asks, moving closer.

I grit my teeth, steel myself. “Depends on what you want.”

He whistles low. “I want to fuck, whore. What’s that
gonna cost?”

“Fifty bucks,”
I say, wishing I could be anywhere but here.

“Sold,” he says and grabs me by the arm. I walk with him to his car. Once he’s shut the door and is sitting in the driver’s seat
, he turns to me. “I’ve got a room down the street.”

“That’s fine,”
I say, touching his thigh, pretending I’m so excited to be with him.

As soon as he closes the door
to the room, I open my mouth. He needs to pay me first. And I want to tell him my rules. Before I can, the asshole pushes my on the bed and lifts my skirt. I’m wearing a black thong. He pushes it to the side.

“Condom
,” I say trying to turn out of his grasp. I have my rules for a reason.

“With
pleasure. I certainly don’t want to catch anything.” I hear a wrapper tear. Seconds later he slams into me. His dick isn’t very big, thankfully.

I bury my face in the disgusting
smelling comforter, grinding my teeth together. He goes for a long while but I finally feel his body tense.

Soon
, I think and let out a moan, hoping that’ll hurry the dirty business along.

He has his orgasm. Pulls out
and pushes down my skirt.

“Thanks
, whore.” I hear his pants zip. Then he grabs my wrists, puts them behind my back and cuffs me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to get a handle on
what game he’s playing.

“You’re under arrest, whore. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can
and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“What?
Is this some kind of game? I don’t mind playing, but I need to know what’s going on. I need to know the rules.” Shock racks my body. My arms hurt.

“This is no game. You are under arrest. And if you say anything about what just happened in here, I’ll make sure you don’t live to see another fucking day. Understood?”

“Yes,” I say, fighting back angry tears.

“Good.” He lifts me and turns me so I’m sitting on the bed. Then he pulls a radio from his jacket pocket and calls in the crime.

I can’t hold back the tears any longer. And when he puts me into the back of his partner’s police cruiser I let them flow.

***

The asshole cop books me and tosses me into a cell with three other hookers.
Two I know. Sylvia and Megan.

I sit on the edge of a bench and they walk over.

“Hey cunt. Nice to see ya in here. You know Fileze is still in the hospital because of your sorry ass,” Megan says.

Sylvia chimes in
. “Yeah, stupid Cadence can’t even fuck the right guy.”

They both laugh.

The third prostitute looks terrified.

“This is Nikki. She’s new. First night and her last, I’m sure.” Megan strokes the girl’s shiny black hair. “Sure
are pretty though. Fileze woulda loved you, prolly even made your ass his pet.”

Sylvia laughs. “Just ask Cadence here.
She was Fileze’s pet. Until she thought she got too good for him and decided to bail. It was good while it lasted though, wasn’t it?”

I don’t
acknowledge her. It was good—at first. Until he started to make advances and think that being my pimp meant he could fuck me anytime he wanted.

Nearly fifty percent of
the girls who decide to become prostitutes end up quitting, strung out on drugs, or dead. You have to be tough to deal with this life. And beyond tough, you have to know how to shut yourself off.

That’s the only reason I’ve survived as long as I have.

Until fucking John Cruze.

“You know wh
en Fileze gets better he gonna to come after you?” Megan says, pulling little Nikki’s hair and making her cry harder. “Yeah, I heard from Amberlee, who heard from Saundra, who heard from Jimmy Stix that Fileze is already planning ways to kill you.”

“Ugh, special,” I say
, feeling a headache coming on.

“Oh, it is.
I have a couple of suggestions as well. Hope I’ll get to share.” Megan pushes my shoulder and I fall back onto the concrete floor.

I stand quickly.
“Don’t fuck with me, Megan. I’m not in the mood.” I walk to the door and shake the bars. “I want my one phone call.”

Detective Small
Prick walks over and unlocks the cell door. He lets me out and walks me down a hall, up some stairs, and through several electronic doors to an office with a phone on the edge of the desk.

He pushes me into a hard wooden chair.
“Don’t try anything, bitch.”

I
dial Jessica’s cell phone number.

The detective is watching me
. He sits down next to me and strokes my knee.

I
try to ignore him. The room is small, quaint. White walls. Empty. A computer sits at one end of the desk. Papers and folders are scattered around. There’s a box of half eaten donuts and a half empty cup filled with coffee near the phone.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up
, I think. My silent pleas go unanswered. I get Jessica’s voice mail.

“Shit.” I hang up.

The detective leans in and whispers in my ear. “Maybe you can work off your bail money.” He peeks around the room and then continues, “There’s an interrogation room over there. It’s available.” His hand moves up my thigh. “We can slip in, slip out. No one will know. In a few days I’ll set you free.”

I shake my head
and try to keep calm, but I’m freaking out. I’m so fucking sick of men thinking they can do whatever they want to me. What the fuck has happened to my life? I’ve got no one to call and no money.

How did
I ever think I could be anything but what I am? It’s all I know.

And I’d be okay with that if I hadn’t had that one night with John and then the next several nights with Zane. For different reasons they both ruined me.

The detective grabs my breast and I quickly dial a number—his number. The number I memorized even though I swore I’d never use it.

“Hello, sweet Cadence. This is a surprise.”

“Um, yes. Hello Zane. It seems I’m in a bit of a jam.”

“A jam, huh? What’s going on?”

I can’t help but sigh. “I’m in jail and I-I…” I bite back a sob. Asking him this is going to make be beholden to him. “Fuck,” I whisper.

“I’ll have you out of there in ten minutes.”

I bite my lip, trying to hold back any kind of emotion. “Thank you, Zane.” I set the receiver in its cradle and stand.

“I’ll be out in ten minutes,” I tell the detective.

He bursts out laughing. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

I lift my chin, but don’t say anything.

The detective leads me by the elbow back to the
smelly jail cell.

And I wait.

For fucking Zane.