Debt
Bella woke up, not exactly happy, but content. Not anxious. No one had disturbed her sleep in the church basement over the last week, each girl allocated a small space made private with a partition. The mattresses were thin, but it was comfortable enough. The other girls were kind, and thrilled when they realized Bella actually knew how to cook.
She'd taken that on as her contribution to the group, and went shopping daily for them, with Zeb. On the first day, she'd almost cried, when he stopped at a department store, saying, "figured you'd want more than the clothes on your back. Maybe a toothbrush, too." He'd smiled, patting her on the back, seeing the emotion there. When she hesitated, taking only the most basic of things, he'd sighed and said, "girl, you know how guys always tell you they hate shopping?"
She'd looked at him, nervously, not saying anything.
"It's true," he chuckled, "and I don't want to have to do it again soon, so get what you need. It's OK."
She'd been modest still, in her purchases, but it was enough not to have to do laundry more almost a week.
Breakfast made, Bella sat down with the other girls to eat, smiling at Sally, who was making a face at her eggs.
"I'm not that bad a cook," Bella said softly.
"It's not that," Sally said, "sorry, I just—I never liked scrambled."
"Gotcha," Bella said, "I'll remember that."
"Thanks," Sally said. She was about fifteen, as far as Bella could tell. Small for her age, and timid too. She evoked all Bella's protective instincts.
Zeb's van rumbled up outside the back of the building, but when he came in, it was with a load of backpacks in his arms.
"Moving day, folks."
"What?" one of the older girls asked, "Where?"
"You really wanna live in a church basement forever? No one want an apartment and a job? A bathroom to share with only three other people?"
There were smiles all around. One of the bigger drawbacks of sharing the space with twenty or so other girls was that there were only two bathrooms, and one shower.
"OK," he smiled, handing out the bags, "pack your stuff, and I'll let you know where you're going, and who you're going with."
- 0 -
Sally and Bella stared at the front door of the house a little nervously. It was a well worn affair with peeling paint, and a porch that tilted precariously to the side. "I know," Zeb had said before he drove away, "trust me. It's good. Nice girls here. Place is way nicer on the inside."
The door opened, and a curly head poked itself out, "You gonna stand there lettin' lunch get cold? Come on!"
As promised, the space inside was better, but not as much as Bella had hoped. It wasn't a house that was loved. Rented for use, and used hard.
The four girls inside ranged in age from their late teens, to their mid-twenties, as far as Bella could tell. She and Sally were the youngest ones there.
"Come on, eat," the curly-headed one said, "we all got to get to work soon. You too."
"We do?" Sally asked.
"Yeah, what did you expect? A free ride?"
Sally shook her head, and they sat down to eat. Quickly. No one else spoke, or introduced themselves.
It made Bella anxious in the extreme.
The dishes were tossed into the sink, and when Bella went to wash them, one of the other girls said, "don't bother. We'll get them later. We gotta get ready. Thought you guys would be here earlier."
They were led into one of the bedrooms, where Bella was disappointed to see more mats on the floor. She chided herself for her snobbishness. It was still better than living with twenty people. She was being helped, with a job and housing and food and clothes. She had nothing to complain about.
"Here, this should fit you," the girl said. She held out a scrunched ball of black fabric.
Taking it, the folds undid themselves and revealed a very short, very tight black dress.
"These too," the girl said, handing her a black bra, and hose.
None of the other girls were leaving to change in private, so Bella stripped down, putting it on, as did Sally, in a similar outfit. It stretched to a bare inch below her bum, with a v neck that revealed the midpoint of her bra.
No one had said where they were working yet, and as they marched out the door, Bella more awkwardly than the others, in heels she was unaccustomed to, she made note of the street and house number.
Their walk was short, about ten blocks to a nondescript building, an unlit neon sign advertising dancers.
"In here," one of the older girls mumbled, opening up a utility door at the back.
They were immediately greeted by barked "you're late!"
"Sorry Mac," the curly-headed girl said, "new girls arrived late."
Mac's burly form clarified itself, moving out of the club's dimness, and into the light of the outside, still streaming in from the doorway.
"Fine," he mumbled. "Get goin'," he said, jerking his thumb behind him, leaving Bella and Sally standing there. "Either of you waitressed before?"
Both shook their heads, and he rolled his eyes, mumbling a quiet "fuck," under his breath. "Names?"
"Bella."
"Last name?"
"Swan."
"A bird, perfect. Birdy. You?" he barked, looking at Sally.
"Sally Starek," she whispered, clearly intimidated by Mack.
"Twinkie," he said. "Those'll be your working names. Don't tell the clients your real ones when they ask. You'll be taking drinks to tables then." He picked up a notepad from a table, kicking the door stand with his foot, letting it slam shut. It was like being entombed, the darkness of the space so encompassing. After a moment, their eyes adjusted, and he began explaining the numbered layout of the room, and the same pattern for the tables. The codes for drinks were listed on a chart by the wall, which he pointed them to. "Memorize it. You've got about an hour, and then you're up."
Sally began to hyperventilate.
"I don't memorize stuff, Bella. I can't—"
Bella turned to her. "Just do your best, OK? We'll do this together."
Looking around, Bella found a marker, and some scrap paper, and made quick flashcards for them to use. They practised for the whole hour, and when Mac returned, he nodded in approval of the cards. "Leave 'em here. Might work well for our new girls."
As they moved onto the floor of the club, Bella and Sally stared. There were dancers, alright, just not the kind they'd expected.
"Never seen a strip club, before?"
Both of them shook their heads, and Mac chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Then he slapped Sally on the ass, and walked off. "Gloria," he called, "new drink servers."
An older woman, maybe in her thirties, came over, dressed similarly to them. "Here," she said, handing them trays. "Servery is there," she pointed, "they'll call your orders up by table. You handle one through twenty," she pointed to Bella, "and you, Twinkie, twenty one through forty."
Bella nodded, trying to settle her stomach. Trying to remember how to walk without tripping in heels.
"Can I um, practise first, Gloria?" she asked. "I haven't' done this before," she whispered.
"No time," Gloria said, pointing to the bar. "Your first order's almost up."
Bella tripped towards it, hearing a snort behind her.
"Table two," the bartender said, "corner one. Expensive stuff," he said quietly. "Guys there expect to get handsy. Watch the drinks."
"And if they do? Get handsy?"
"Don't spill the drinks," he frowned, as if this was obvious.
The tray held some ten different glasses, and Bella could barely lift it with two hands, holding it in front of her like a cafeteria tray.
"Shoulder girl," the bartender muttered. "Gezus, haven't you seen a waitress before?"
The glasses slipped and clinked dangerously as she hefted it onto her shoulder, arms trembling under the strain.
Then she started what felt like a gauntlet, dodging other servers and people who could clearly move more nimbly in general, and in heels.
She was sweating when she reached the table, a crowd of suited men there, watching the dancers on the stage.
Moving the tray from her shoulder down to the lip of the table, one of the men, muttered, "oh good," and then slid a hand up the back of her dress.
She startled, her foot sliding over on the heel, and the entire tray went with her balance, tilting sideways and landing with a crash of sloshing liquids and breaking glass.
There was so much swearing she couldn't quite tell from who, but was struggling to stand, hissing on a piece of broken glass, when a fist in her hair made her stand up against her will.
"Sorry boss," Mac's voice came, "new girl."
There was more muttered swearing, but Bella was watching the men carefully now, taking in the expensive suits, and the angry looks. It wasn't much past two, and these men were well lubricated. Their table was already littered with empty glasses.
"Not the kind that does well on her feet, then," one of them said, wiping off his trousers with a napkin.
Mac chuckled.
The hairs on Bella's neck stood up.
"Gotcha boss." He hadn't let go of Bella's hair, and turned her away with his grip, walking her towards the back.
"I'm sorry," Bella said, realizing her voice was shaking.
"You'd better be." He said nothing else, still pushing her. When they reached the back area, he let go of her hair, picking up a phone and dialing. "Yeah, Julie. New downstairs crew...Just one so far….sure, if you want more." Then he put it down, calling, "Hey Twinkie, you're with me too."
"No," Bella said, "think I'll find my own job, thanks."
"Pardon?" Mac said, looking perfectly innocent.
"Thank you for the chance—"
He didn't let her finish.
She was pushed up against the wall, half into an upturned table, its leg protruding painfully into her back. His hand was at her throat, and the thought flickered, that perhaps the world she'd known before was just a cover for an ugliness to be found everywhere. Had Phil done this to her mother? Charlie? Would she have found Billy or Jacob Black's hands used in violence if she'd stayed?
"Chance, girl? This isn't a chance, it's you repaying your debt, how, and where we decide you do. And you're going to do it how we say."
She was too shocked to say more, and walked where she was shoved, downstairs to a large dressing room.
There were women in various states of costume, some for stage, and some for street. Very particular street wear.
"Patty, fresh ones. Get 'em ready." Then he turned and left.
A woman stood up from one of the stage mirrors, ringed with lights, and jerked her head towards the back of the space.
"Find some clothes there. It's all sorted by size," she pointed. "I'll show you the makeup when you're done."
Already shaken by what had transpired upstairs, Bella shook out a "I can't dance."
Patty laughed, and when she saw the girls' stricken looks, laughed some more. "Oh my God, you really are new, aren't you?" When she recovered a bit, she said, "No one's expecting you to dance, girls, unless it's on your backs."
Bella didn't even say anything, she just turned and walked back towards the door. It was locked. She looked around. The windows were caged, and the one other exit, lit from above in red, also resisted the turning of its handle.
Patty was kinder with her words. "It's OK," she said, "it's not that bad. They make sure we're safe."
Sally had simply sat down, looking like she'd expected this. Bella's breathing was readying her to fight, or flee, and it was too fast, panic rising.
The sharp slap from Patty didn't help much. "Nu-uh, I don't have time to deal with that. Get dressed." She pointed again to the back. "Or should I get Mac down here to motivate you?"
Bella shook her head.
All the underwear had snaps or velcro in the centre. It made her start shaking again just to put it on.
Just sex, she told herself. Condoms. Being careful. Running away if she could. Somehow.
The most modest clothes available left her midriff exposed, a thin band passing for a skirt. There were garters and thigh high stockings, and bras whose tight lace cut into her skin. All of it prized show over comfort.
"No, not those shoes. Get some from the pile there."
The heels were higher, thin stilettos that allowed for the most careful gait.
"Don't get the clothes dirty, if you can avoid it. They don't like you changing mid shift. Alley walls are gross, so try to get inside if you can—if they want it quick, that is."
Sally looked down, while Bella stared.
"Make'em wear a condom. Mac'll back you up if they give you any trouble. He'll want you close by here, so don't be afraid to yell if someone gets difficult. But don't cry, no matter what. No one wants to feel shitty fucking someone, 'specially when they've paid for it. Bank on one bathroom every four hours. They want you to aim for at least three or four customers a night. Got it?"
Bella's body felt locked in place. She wasn't sure she could move her lips, even if she tried.
Air in, and air out, she told herself.
She felt detached, somewhere in her mind commenting that she was probably in shock.
The shake that started seemed to originate in her toes.
Mac lined Bella and Sally up in the back of the club with the other girls, where they were told to wait. They weren't allowed to sit, but could lean against the wall.
Men came and went, and girls with them, returning usually within half an hour. Some sooner. Others later.
When one of them pointed at Bella, she couldn't move.
"Birdy, you. Hurry up." Mac called.
Still stuck in place, Mac lurched over, yanking at her arm.
"I can't," she finally managed.
Mac leaned close, "you can. And you will. Either here, or after you wake up on a boat to God knows where. Your choice."
She whispered the next words out. "I've never done this before."
He laughed, lessening his grip. "Expect you haven't."
"Ever," she clarified.
His tone shifted abruptly, and he stood up, "really?" Then he looked back at the man who'd selected her. "Sorry man, she's not available tonight." Then he pulled Bella over to one of the rooms to the side, knocking. "Jim?" It opened.
"Yeah?" a balding head said.
"This one's completely fresh."
The balding man eyed her, as Mac pulled her into the small office.
"You sure about that kid. Or you just nervous?"
"I'm sure."
He leaned back in his chair, "OK. Set her aside. I'll see if I've gotta taker. Maybe check the other one, too."
Mac pulled her out of the room, leading her down the dim hall to another room, this one furnished as a small bedroom, the queen bed taking most of the space. There was a chair beside it.
"Wait here," he said, and then closed the door. She heard the door lock from the outside.
Body parts, she told herself. Just body parts. Meeting.
She wasn't sure of the time, or how long she waited, shoes off, curled up against the headboard, but the rattling of the handle made her stand up, sliding the pinching heels back on.
"Here," Mac said, throwing a granola bar on the bed, and then holding out a pill.
"No thank you," she said quietly.
"I'm not offering. Take it."
Paying off a 'debt' she could do. Getting hooked on drugs. No.
She shook her head.
"Do you need me to help you take it?" he asked.
She wasn't even sure what that meant.
Then she was.
He'd spun her around, one meaty arm bracing her chest, the other stuffing the pill in her mouth, and clamping it shut, his fingers pinching her nose, and the heel of his palm keeping her lips from opening.
After a minute he released her, and she stumbled forward, tears stinging her eyes. The pill had dissolved to nothing in her mouth.
He wasn't angry when he spoke, but simply blunt. "You take what's offered. No questions. You do that, and you'll be fine. Go wash your face. He'll be here soon. You'll feel nice and relaxed by then."
Then he turned and closed the door, locking it behind him.
Not taking any chances, she did as he'd instructed, and then opened the granola bar wrapper, taking necessarily small, shaking bites.
Half of her wished she had some paper in front of her. A way to trace out the descending lines of her life, to plot an upward course again. The other half didn't even want to think about it.
The police, even if they didn't want her for other reasons, would be no help. She'd read enough of the news to do that. If she could get away—run away—far enough, they wouldn't pursue her. She wasn't that valuable. Desperate girls were cheap, she was sure, from what she'd seen. But how far? Back to Forks? Was it far enough? They had her name. They could look for her there. The thought of entangling her only acquaintances, the Blacks, with what was clearly some very well organized crime, made her shiver. She wouldn't bring that trouble to their door. The homeless shelters were watched, obviously, and the social worker was useless. She was on her own.
Then the door opened, and Mac stepped aside to let another man enter.
- 0 -
"Shit," Patty muttered, watching the group approach. She and the other girls were outside, hugging the corner of the building, Mac having deemed the cool April weather warm enough. "Fucking college kids."
Bella had seen them, but assumed they'd walk by. Now that they were closer, she could see nervous jabs exchanged between them, most of the group a tight knot, one lagger trailing behind.
Patty moved closer to Bella and Sally, "if they pick you, try to stay close. The richer they are, the shittier they are."
Bella had found Mac at the start of her shift, quietly asking if she could have a pill.
He'd chuckled, and held one out, "I'll add it to your bill, sweetheart. Careful, though, they're habit forming."
She could see why, and was glad to have them.
The scenes from the night before were playing out in her mind, but now at a distance, buffered by the dull edge of the drug. Everything was there, just bearable.
The thought of what these boys might want was bearable, too.
She listened to their mutterings, watching them negotiate with Zeb.
Then one of them, the lagger, pointed, and clearly, without any indecision, said "her." He was paler than the winter sun would make someone, eyes jet black, with messy hair that spun up to coppery tips.
"Sorry, taken," Mac said. He'd warned her she'd been reserved.
Long white fingers flicked up a set of crisp bills.
Mac's eyebrows went up with them.
"Double it and we're talking."
"For the night?" the black eyes asked.
"Your money, man."
Mac took the proffered wad of cash, nodded, and waved Bella towards him. "Enjoy your night Birdy."
There were catcalls and whoops from the crowd of men, which her buyer ignored, hailing a cab. As one pulled up, he asked, "what's your name?"
"Birdy," she almost whispered, not trusting him with her real one. "And you?"
"Edward Cullen."
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.