She feels threatened by you—she told me that a bunch of times. She doesn’t like the way you look at her. This is for you. Do you understand? This way you can make some money and go on with your life.”
She nodded.
“If anyone asks, you ran away,” Ed said. “That’s what we’ll say, too. Do you understand? We’ll even file a report with the agency people and the police to make it official.”
She nodded.
“So don’t even think of turning yourself in,” Ed said, showing his yellow teeth. “Don’t forget, we still have that special ‘sister’ of yours. You wouldn’t want any harm to come to her, would you? Like sending her back so you’d never find her again? You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“No.
“Well, neither would I, kiddo.”
Ed left her standing there in her dress and sandals while he and the tall man went through a door behind the desk. In a few moments, Ed came back out patting his breast through his jacket, as if he’d just put something there. She saw the corner of a thick white envelope as he passed by her. He said, “Take care of yourself, kid,” and left.
“What’s your name?” the tall man asked after the door closed and Ed went home with his pile of money.
She couldn’t bring herself to speak. Her legs felt weak and her mouth was dry.
“Can’t you talk?” the man asked her.
“Yes.”
“Then what’s your name? Don’t worry, we can always change it.”
She refused to say the name Voricek, or use the name they’d called her.
“April Keeley,” she said.
“Nice,” the tall man said. “And you’re what, eighteen?”
She was confused. “No, I’m . . .”
The man stepped forward shaking his head. “You’re eighteen,” he said with finality. “You just look younger. You have nice legs for your age, you know. And a good face. You need a manicure, though. We’ll take care of that, don’t worry.”
She quickly hid her hands behind her back.
“That’s a good look,” the tall man said, “it makes your breasts stand out and makes you look all innocent.” Then he chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders.
“We’ll take good care of you here,” he said. “We take good care of our girls. Ask them if you don’t believe me. You’ll be part of the family. And we take care of our family.”
A door on the far wall opened and a man came out, adjusting his tie. He was heavy and his face was flushed. When he saw her, he stopped and looked her over.
The tall man said, “How was everything, Mr. Davis?”
Mr. Davis said, “Fantastic, Geno. Great as always. And who is this fresh-faced young flower?”
“Meet April Keeley,” Geno said to Davis. “She’s just joined the family.”
Davis said, “Welcome aboard, April.” Then to Geno, “They just keep getting younger, don’t they?”
FOR THE FIRST WEEK, she lived with the women in their rooms upstairs, which were nothing like the rooms down the hall from the reception area. Upstairs, the sleeping rooms were cozy, messy, personal, and feminine. There were posters of rock and rap bands on the walls and stuffed animals on the beds. During the daytime, they were a kind of family. They cooked for each other, went shopping, gossiped. Two of the women took a particular liking to her and bought her clothing and ice cream. One of them, a beautiful tan/black woman named Shawanna, did her hair and nails and told her to insist on protection no matter what and to never back down on that despite what the man said or offered or threatened.
“You’re a sex worker,” she told her, “you’re not a whore.”
Geno took fully clothed photos of her for the Internet site. He told her to wet her lips like Ed had and to pout and to pretend she was hungry. Shawanna urged her on, and the photo session was kind of fun as long as she didn’t think ahead to how the photos might be used.
On the night of her debut—they called it her “debutante ball”—she wore a tight maroon dress and new high
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