Chapter 4
"Look, I just can't hire someone without the right credentials. I mean these photos are great, but you have no degree. How do I know you're reliable?"
"Please, just give me a chance, you won't be disappointed!"
"I'm sorry Miss Daurier, but I can't."
It had only been two weeks since her parents had cut her off, and Michele's life had taken a turn for the impoverished. It was time to be a big girl and get a job. If only she could stop this never ending soundtrack of 'I can't.' This was the fourth paper this week that had turned her down as a photographer, staff or otherwise. Because she didn't have a degree, they couldn't use her.
As she exited the office building, she was accosted by a hobo in what appeared to be army fatigues. "Hey pretty lady," he said, a smile revealing a missing front tooth, "why don't you follow me to the back, show me a good time." She flashed him a look of disgust, and hurried down the stairs. "Hey!" He yelled after her angrily. "I'm a veteran! It's the least someone could do for me!"
As she ran, she didn't realize how close to the street corner she had gotten. A Bentley sped by, splashing muddy water all over her pants suit - her only one to speak of. "Watch where you're going, sweetheart!" Yelled the driver sarcastically, then laughed heartily. "ASSHOLE!" She screamed, her voice shaking with welling tears.
She crossed the street, taking a seat on a granite fountain ledge. She was lost, and had no idea where the nearest subway station was, nor money to pay for it. She took a deep breath and swallowed, running a hand through her long blonde mane. It was getting dark, and she was alone in a crime-infested city.
I read the news today oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph
He blew his mind out in a car
He didn't notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They'd seen his face before
Nobody was really sure
If he was from the House of Lords.
Somewhere, in a lonely taxi cab across town, Max sat, sitting, thinking about Michele. When he was without her, out of the apartment, something felt wrong. He sighed, wondering if perhaps she was thinking about him.
Woke up, fell out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up I noticed I was late.
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke,
and Somebody spoke and I went into a dream
Oh, I'd love to turn you on
Michele sighed, then peered around the block. There were only unfriendly businessman, no one she could ask for help. Well, she thought, I guess I should start walking.
She wandered up and down the streets, peering inside of buildings, looking for a friendly face. Slowly, the buildings became abandoned, the faces even less friendly, and the streets darker and meaner. She heard what she thought was a gunshot. Another hobo, this one even less friendly than the first, shouted an insult at her, trying to grab the hem of her pants. She let out a tiny yelp, then broke into a run. A man, large and covered in tattoos, jumped out in front of her.
"Need a little help, beautiful?" He asked, his teeth bared in an awful smile. He pulled a gun on her, and she backed away. "Give me all your money. In fact, just give me that purse."
Michele began to cry. "Please, I don't really have any-"
"And that camera too, while you're at it," he held out his hand in a 'gimme' fashion, "now, or you'll be eating lead."
With a little sob, Michele handed over her purse and her life, her precious camera. "Thanks kid," said the mugger, then turned and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.
Michele wandered farther and farther, clutching her arms. It was getting cold now, and to her, it felt like ice. Eventually, she came to a strip club, its neon lights and music blazing. Gritty and horrible men stood outside, eyeing her greedily. Her eyes moved upwards towards the sign: Kat Skratch Klub. Normally, she would have avoided this place at all costs, but right now, she needed a phone more than anything else.
She staggered inside, peering around for a pay phone. There were only women, what seemed like hundreds of them, sliding up and down metal poles in skimpy clothing and sitting in the laps of those gritty men that waited outside. The women smiled at them, allowed them to touch, but their eyes were stone cold and dead. Michele shivered.
She stepped timidly to the bar and flagged down the bar tender, a hard looking man with a handle bar moustache, not unlike the one that had just mugged her. "Um...excuse me? Do you have a phone I could use?"
He stared at her for a moment, taking a drag off his cigarette. "The phone's for customers only. You uh...looking for a job?" He smiled that terrible smile she had seen too often today, giving her the up-down scan. "You have nice tits. You could make plenty of money."
She scoffed, flashing him the evil eye. "As if I would EVER lower myself to working in this hell hole. Thanks for all your help," she yelled angrily, turning and heading for the door. As she emerged from the club, another man outside smiled at her, reaching for her breasts. She rushed back inside, realizing what kind of neighborhood and predicament she was in, and also, that she needed to vomit.
She pushed to the back of the club, rushing into the women's restroom, her brow sweating profusely. She knelt on the dirt floor and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She peered up at the flourescent bulbs, flashing on and off as if they were ready to burn out at any moment.
You know it's gonna be alright
It's gonna be alright
She wiped the sweat from her brow and rested her head her in hands. She sat there for a moment on the filthy floor, formulating a plan that would somehow help her stay alive tonight. There was nothing she could possibly do but take refuge in this bathroom and hope that someone would come and find her. Maybe by the grace of God, Max would come and find her, and scoop her into his arms and tell her that everything was going to be alright.
She slowly stood up, pushing open the stall door that wouldn't lock. She staggered over to the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Pale as a ghost. She splashed some water on her face, and cleared the vomit from her nose. She took a deep breath and leaned on the sink, a tear finally falling down her cheek.
The bathroom door swung open and her trance was broken. Two women, who she could only presume were strippers, came limping into the bathroom, their stiletto heels in their hands.
"Girl, I'll tell you what, if that jive turkey come in here and put his hands all up on me again, I swear I'll just...oh.." the stripper had caught sight of Michele, who was doing everything she possibly could to not make eye contact. "Honey, are you alright? You looked like something the cat dragged in." She was an older African-American woman, but thin as a rail, with large brown eyes that used to sparkle, but didn't anymore. Her long fingernails were painted green, which matched her bra-miniskirt combo.
Michele looked up at her. "Hmm?" She asked, looking around. "Are you talking to me?"
"Of course we're talking to you. Ain't nobody else in here."
The other stripper, a red head with a boyish pixie cut, laughed at her joke. She wore something similar to the other woman, but in white, and was one of the tallest women Michele had ever seen. Her face was sharp, and her muscles her well toned. She almost looked like...a man. Yeah, she was a man.
"I'm Vanessa," said the black woman, "and this is Candy." She gestured to the transvestite.
"How do you do?" Asked Michele with a sad smile. "I really must be going." She tried to push through them, but Candy stopped her.
"Honey, women don't come down here unless they work here or they're in serious trouble. And your pantsuit tells me that you sure as hell don't work here."
Michele started to cry all over again, telling them about the horrible day she had had. They listened to her with sympathetic ears, patting her shoulders lovingly. She told them she was stranded without cash, that she had been mugged, and that she was utterly unemployed.
"Well," said Vanessa, placing an arm around her, "there's no reason I can't help you get home. I got a few extra dollars in tips tonight - I can pay for another subway ticket."
Michele's head snapped up. "Really?" She asked, then stared down at her hands. "I mean, you don't have to do that. I mean...if it's gonna be too much trouble..."
Vanessa laughed. "Where have I got to be tonight? Nowhere. And I always got to help a sister in need. And sister, I made quite a bit of money tonight, and I'm feeling generous."
Candy laughed, then added jokingly, "If you could make all that money, think of what pretty Miss Michele could make."
She and Vanessa laughed up a storm for quite some time, but Michele did not. She merely stared at the floor, thinking.
When they had stopped laughing, she asked, "Exactly how much money do you make?"
