When you've been wandering around, hungry, and dirty for a several weeks, it's surprising how much a bath and a meal can wipe you out. Pearl introduced me to Mina, an older lady who, according to Pearl, acted as the head of their group. Pearl explained that Mina wasn't around all the time and that the girls mostly helped each other out. Most were asleep or still with customers, so she said she'd introduce me later. Then she showed me to a dimly lit room with heavy drapes and a big, soft-looking bed. I was asleep almost instantly.
I must have slept all morning. It seemed I had been doing a lot of that lately—sleeping. But this time I slept soundly and without interruption almost for the first time since Papa had died. When I woke it was dark, but a quick glance outside told me it was just the dark of a stormy day. It was still raining. I sat up and spotted my clothes hung out to dry in the adjacent washroom. They would never be the same, but for now they were still wet. There were some clothes laid out for me, and I put them on gratefully. Then I headed downstairs into the lounge, where I heard voices.
"Katja!" a familiar voice startled me, and I saw a dripping Spot standing near the fire talking to Pearl. He crossed the room in three swift strides, wrapping me in a wet bear hug and crushing me to his chest.
Something inside me snapped. It was so much like what Antonio had done, and I felt the wild, desperate need to be free of the arms around me. I needed to run away. I was being crushed into a ball. The world was contracting around me, and I felt trapped. I began thrashing and shrieking, and Spot let me go in surprise.
"Damn," I heard a female voice mutter behind me. I couldn't make meaning of the sound, though, as the panic that had risen in me continued to assert its dominance over my mind. I backed to a wall, frantically shoving at invisible enemies as my legs gave way.
"What the hell? Cat, it's me" I heard a voice say, but I couldn't respond to it. I felt the male presence moving toward me, and I needed it to stop. I crouched down, squeezed my eyes shut, and clamped my arms over my head to protect myself. A hand touched me, but I swatted it away. The crushing feeling in my chest was threatening to overwhelm me, causing me to curl into an even tighter ball.
"Spot, STOP!" The words were uttered with such force that the whole room froze. I don't know that anyone had ever spoken to Spot in that tone, and the unfamiliarity of it all caught everyone by surprise except the speaker. She stepped into my field of vision, effectively blocking out the rest of the room as she knelt in front of me. I was wheezing, trying to get air into my lungs and to escape that intense crushing feeling. The dizziness slowly subsided, and I recognized Emma.
"Cat, I'm going to touch your arm," she said, and I nodded. The moment she touched me, I felt calmer. The ice in my veins was still overwhelming, but my peripheral vision was slowly returning. "Sweetie," she continued, "can we go upstairs to your room?" I nodded, and she helped me stand from the crouch I had taken. I heard rustling behind me as if people were moving as we headed up, but Emma gestured something and the person or people stopped. She half-led, half-carried me back to the room and sat me on my bed.
"I'm going downstairs to get you some tea. Sit here and relax for a bit. Nobody will come in here except me, okay?" I nodded, and she left. She returned a few minutes later with tea. By this time I was feeling a bit calmer, even if I didn't really understand what had caused my desperate need to flee the room. I was confused, and to be honest, more than a bit embarrassed by what had transpired. Emma regarded me calmly, then spoke.
"Sweetie, you told Pearl you've had sex." It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded anyway. "Did you want to?" she asked, and I finally looked up in my confusion.
"I—I mean, I—I couldn't really say no to him," I stammered. "I had to do what he said, right?"
Emma nodded.
"Where was this? We've all been wondering where you were," she said. I was confused by that; had she come by? Hadn't Spot told her where I was?
"I was at Mr. Santorelli's like I was supposed to be. Well, until a few weeks ago. I didn't like it, so I left," I said-at least, I think that's what I said. My mind was so garbled by this point that I can't say for sure.
"You've been on the streets since then." It was another statement, but again I nodded confirmation.
"So why are you here now?" she asked gently.
"I needed a job," I said, confused. "I thought I could do this one. I didn't expect to see Spot here is all," I said, hoping desperately she wouldn't turn me away. I needed the job.
"Oh, sweetie, didn't you know he came over here for you?" she said.
"That makes no sense," I said, my mind trying to process what she was saying. After a long pause, I added "So do I have to go back down to him?" She said he was here for me. I had no idea if Spot was supposed to be a client, but I was too confused and embarrased to ask outright. I didn't think so, but I was so confused by this time that anything was possible. Mostly I was afraid, though-afraid of the violent reaction I'd had, afraid to be turned away, afraid of this new life that had somehow found me, afraid of Spot's judgment and anger, afraid of the police . . . .
"Not if you don't want to," she said, then paused for a bit. "I need to see to things downstairs-make sure they're all okay down there. There seems to have been some mix up. Drink your tea, and I'll come right back and we'll talk some more, okay? You didn't do anything wrong."
I nodded and she disappeared again. I was confused. What had happened? Why was Spot here? What was I going to do? A few moments later I heard a yell and what sounded like a heated argument, but I couldn't make out any of the words. It subsided, but it was still awhile before Emma returned.
"Cat, Spot told me a bit about what happened. How you went to live with your boss and suddenly disappeared. Was it your boss who hurt you?" Emma's voice was gentle.
"He didn't hurt me. At least, not that much. He just wanted something in return for keeping me safe. I mean, it hurt, but it's supposed to, right?" I said.
"Did you love him?" she asked.
"No, of course not!" I exclaimed vehemently.
"So you didn't want to have sex with him?" Emma pressed, and I shook my head.
"No. But I had to. He was protecting me, and he said it was only fair since I couldn't pay him," I explained. "So it wasn't like he forced me or anything."
"Oh, honey," Emma said. "That's not how it works."
"But I just—" a sharp knock interrupted me.
"Cat, please let me come in," came Spot's voice from beyond the door.
"He really wants to talk to you. Do you want to see him?" Emma asked me earnestly.
"I—just to talk?" I asked, flushing.
"He's pretty perceptive. He saw you panic down there. He won't touch you," she said gently. "Do you want to talk to him?"
I wasn't sure. I had missed him so much, but I was afraid—of my reaction, of what he might think of me, of so many things. But I couldn't avoid him forever. I took a deep breath to steady myself, then looked at Emma. "Yes. I just don't want him to hug me." I said, and she nodded.
"I'll be nearby," she said, and I smiled gratefully. She opened the door, but before Spot could rush in she stopped him with a hand to his chest. She murmured into his ear for a few moments, and he listened intently, even though his eyes stayed on me. Then he nodded at her, and she brushed past him into the hallway, swinging the door mostly but not completely shut. Spot took a deep breath, then sat down on the chair opposite the bed where I was sitting.
"Cat, thank God you're alright," he said softly. "We've been worried sick."
"Why?" I was surprised. I thought he wanted me to stay hidden at Antonio's. I'd even sent him letters, and Antonio gave him regular updates. Why would he worry?
"You bolted from your job, then quit showing up to work. What happened?"
"I was hiding out like you told me," I said, confused. "Antonio said the police were still looking for me and that they kept searching work and the lodging house, so I had to lay low. He said you wanted me to stay there and hide out. I even gave him letters for you."
"I never got them. We had no idea where you were. I even went to his apartment, but nobody was there. I followed the man home every day for weeks and had newsies stationed outside the building up until a few weeks ago. We were looking everywhere for you."
"You didn't know where I was? I didn't leave that upstairs apartment at all. He came home every night and . . . It was awful. It smelled bad, I missed Papa, and I missed you all so much," I said, my voice shaking.
"Why didn't you come to me?" he asked.
"I couldn't. I didn't want to bring trouble for you or the boys if the police were looking for me," I said. "I was doing what you told me to do-hiding out. He told me you kept wanting me to stay a bit longer. He told me it wasn't safe to leave the apartment."
"What made you leave?" he asked, his voice strained.
"I didn't like it. I was scared all the time, and I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know how much longer I had to hide out, but I couldn't do it anymore, so I left. I couldn't stay in Brooklyn. But I couldn't tell you. I didn't want you to be mad at me for leaving," I added, staring at the carpet. I had defied him, and he was sure to be angry.
"Don't do that," Spot said very softly.
"Don't do what?"
"Don't look down. You didn't do anything wrong. Don't hide from me. Tell me what happened," he said. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up at him.
"What did he do to you that made you prefer the streets?" Spot asked in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
"He just wanted sex," I responded, blushing. Why was I blushing? Wasn't it Spot who had said it was no big deal? "I know you said it wasn't a big deal, but I didn't like it. I tried to do as I was told, but I just couldn't do it. I'm sorry," I added, and now my eyes were filling with tears. I had let him down. I had let Papa down.
"God, Cat, you didn't do anything wrong. That bastard took advantage of you. He hurt you. You were right to leave."
"But I thought—I mean-what?" I asked. Really? I was so confused and had so many questions, and all I could do was babble?
"Cat, sex is no big deal between two people who both choose to have sex. But you have to choose it. You didn't have a choice. That's a big deal," he said, screwing up his face. "Can I touch your hand?" he asked, reaching his arm out with his palm up in a non-threatening gesture. I placed my hand in his and found it oddly comforting.
"But I wanted to do as I was told, like Papa taught me. And I owed him; we owed him money, and he kept me hidden from the police," I said, trying and failing to keep my gaze up.
"Cat, he tricked you. He took advantage of you and lied to you. There were no more raids on the lodging house or the factory after those first ones. I'd bet you could walk into any station in Brooklyn and state your name, and nobody would take note of it. In fact, I'm surprised they came to the lodging house in the first place. I've felt for awhile someone must have tipped the bulls off that you were there. He made up the danger to keep you at home with him," Spot explained softly. "And even if you owed him the moon, he did not have the right to collect in the way he did. Never, you hear?" He squeezed my hand.
"But—" My mind was racing. All of that time he'd been lying? And I -? I was so confused. Something was wrong with what he was saying . . . .
"No," Spot said gently, giving my hand a light tug to snap me out of my thoughts. "You did nothing wrong. You remember that. Nothing. None of this is your fault. Do you understand?" He had that earnest voice—the one with no trace of a smirk, the one that meant he expected me to look at him.
It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but I did it for him. I looked up.
His eyes were the most intense blue I have ever seen, and they were so sad. His jaw, on the other hand, was set like it is when he's angry. I felt like he was looking through me, and suddenly I felt so ashamed; I had let him down, and I had let Papa down. All this time I had been trying to make them proud, and I had accepted Antonio's advances for their sakes—and instead I had let them down. All the emotions I had so carefully bottled up suddenly burst forth.
The awful realization made me feel like my chest was being crushed and I couldn't breathe. There was a block in my throat. I stared ahead, trying to breathe, trying not to think, only aware of this crushing shame. All the emotions I had barely felt since Papa had died—grief, fear, confusion, worry, shame, guilt, panic—they were suddenly all there as well, wrapping bands around my chest and throat, and my mind could not process which one to feel first. I was spinning out of control, aching with feeling and yet so overwhelmed with the array of emotions that I couldn't feel any one of them.
"No, no. Sweetheart, breathe," a voice in the distance said. There was air out there in the distance. I tried to zero in on that voice and the air I knew would come with it. "It's okay. You're okay. Just relax. Everything is fine. You're fine. Just breathe."
I dropped my chin and found the carpet with my eyes. Okay. I took a breath, and I suddenly became aware that I had physically stopped breathing. Spot had moved. He was kneeling in front of where I sat on the bed, and his hands had clasped both of mine.
"We don't have to talk about it, okay? Just relax. It's okay," he was saying.
We didn't have to talk about it. Good, because I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't think about it. I just wanted things to go back to normal. I took all the emotions and shoved them down. I sealed them in a cellar and closed heavy doors over them. And then I looked at Spot, crouched on the floor in front of me, clasping my hands, and I felt just one thing—relief.
"Spot," I cried, dropping off the bed and kneeling on the floor with him. I leaned into him, and he cautiously put his arm around my shoulders. We sat there for a long time, on the floor of that room, with my face buried in his shoulder, until the world righted itself.