I’m safe.”
Ben bought it, hook, line and sinker—which was a ridiculous expression to use in the desert.
She checked the meter—he
was
being honest with her—and then she got her cell phone, and, bracing herself for tragic news because it had been that kind of a decade, she dialed the number on the letter.
L AS V EGAS
M ONDAY , M AY 4, 2009
Neesha didn’t need to take the bus back to the mall.
It was easy enough to walk, since this time she wasn’t supporting a boy who was nearly half again her weight.
She didn’t know a lot about diabetes, and Ben’s explanations as he stuck himself with a needle didn’t help educate her all that much further. But still, it was clear that he was ill. That couldn’t have been an act, nor was his puking into the bathtub.
Still, going into that apartment with him, even though her heartwas pounding …? And then, actually
telling
him even the little that she’d told him …?
It was a huge step for her. And a necessary one, ever since she’d determined that she would not be able to get the help she needed on her own.
She’d decided, weeks ago, that she needed to find a friend. Someone she could trust—and would trust—with her very life. She’d been cautiously increasing her contact with one of the ladies who worked at the library before Ben dropped into her life.
But Ben’s sister, who bore the name Eden, was an entirely different matter. She was younger than Neesha had expected, and was far more beautiful than Neesha had expected. And that, plus all of the glittery, exotic costumes Neesha had found in the lower drawers of Eden’s bedroom dresser, convinced her that Ben’s sister worked in the sex trade.
And it was possible that, not only would she have no sympathy for Neesha, but she could well know Mr. Nelson and Todd, and would be more than willing to earn a bonus by turning Neesha in.
So Neesha had run, taking the bag with the clothes that Ben had given her.
She was hungry when she finally got back to the mall—it had been a while since that McFlurry, and she’d refused Ben’s offer of a snack. Still, she went to the bathroom first, to change her shirt in one of the stalls.
There were five different tops in the bag Ben had given her. They were in a variety of colors and prints, each more beautiful than the last. She picked the blue—the plainest one—since her goal was merely to be clean and not draw attention to herself. Besides, she would probably forevermore associate fancy clothes with the vast myriad of clients who’d passed through her tiny room, with its pink-trimmed furniture and collection of dolls and picture books that were locked behind glass.
Right up until the end, she’d refused to dress herself unless it was part of the services rendered—part of the show. This meant that everytime a “visitor” came to call, the stern-faced women with their rough hands and pinching fingers would enter Neesha’s room without knocking, and dress her in whatever outfit was required. Only rarely was it the kind of shiny, flashy, sexy items—thongs and bra tops—that she’d found in Eden’s drawer. Instead she often wore a gymnast’s leotard—that was a big favorite—or a schoolgirl’s uniform, or a pink shapeless baby-doll dress with ankle socks and shiny black shoes.
The women had learned to wait to dress her and do her hair until the client was in the building. And even then, one of them would sit with her until the door opened.
But that was over now.
There were elastic hair fasteners at the bottom of the bag—large enough to hold her heavy mass of hair up in a ponytail or even a bun. Neesha unfastened her braid and combed her long hair out with her fingers, wishing yet one more time that she had a pair of scissors so she could cut it all off.
She’d tried using a plastic knife from the food court.
It hadn’t worked.
She put her old shirt into the bag and exited the stall, giving herself only the briefest glance in the mirror.
Ben bought it, hook, line and sinker—which was a ridiculous expression to use in the desert.
She checked the meter—he
was
being honest with her—and then she got her cell phone, and, bracing herself for tragic news because it had been that kind of a decade, she dialed the number on the letter.
L AS V EGAS
M ONDAY , M AY 4, 2009
Neesha didn’t need to take the bus back to the mall.
It was easy enough to walk, since this time she wasn’t supporting a boy who was nearly half again her weight.
She didn’t know a lot about diabetes, and Ben’s explanations as he stuck himself with a needle didn’t help educate her all that much further. But still, it was clear that he was ill. That couldn’t have been an act, nor was his puking into the bathtub.
Still, going into that apartment with him, even though her heartwas pounding …? And then, actually
telling
him even the little that she’d told him …?
It was a huge step for her. And a necessary one, ever since she’d determined that she would not be able to get the help she needed on her own.
She’d decided, weeks ago, that she needed to find a friend. Someone she could trust—and would trust—with her very life. She’d been cautiously increasing her contact with one of the ladies who worked at the library before Ben dropped into her life.
But Ben’s sister, who bore the name Eden, was an entirely different matter. She was younger than Neesha had expected, and was far more beautiful than Neesha had expected. And that, plus all of the glittery, exotic costumes Neesha had found in the lower drawers of Eden’s bedroom dresser, convinced her that Ben’s sister worked in the sex trade.
And it was possible that, not only would she have no sympathy for Neesha, but she could well know Mr. Nelson and Todd, and would be more than willing to earn a bonus by turning Neesha in.
So Neesha had run, taking the bag with the clothes that Ben had given her.
She was hungry when she finally got back to the mall—it had been a while since that McFlurry, and she’d refused Ben’s offer of a snack. Still, she went to the bathroom first, to change her shirt in one of the stalls.
There were five different tops in the bag Ben had given her. They were in a variety of colors and prints, each more beautiful than the last. She picked the blue—the plainest one—since her goal was merely to be clean and not draw attention to herself. Besides, she would probably forevermore associate fancy clothes with the vast myriad of clients who’d passed through her tiny room, with its pink-trimmed furniture and collection of dolls and picture books that were locked behind glass.
Right up until the end, she’d refused to dress herself unless it was part of the services rendered—part of the show. This meant that everytime a “visitor” came to call, the stern-faced women with their rough hands and pinching fingers would enter Neesha’s room without knocking, and dress her in whatever outfit was required. Only rarely was it the kind of shiny, flashy, sexy items—thongs and bra tops—that she’d found in Eden’s drawer. Instead she often wore a gymnast’s leotard—that was a big favorite—or a schoolgirl’s uniform, or a pink shapeless baby-doll dress with ankle socks and shiny black shoes.
The women had learned to wait to dress her and do her hair until the client was in the building. And even then, one of them would sit with her until the door opened.
But that was over now.
There were elastic hair fasteners at the bottom of the bag—large enough to hold her heavy mass of hair up in a ponytail or even a bun. Neesha unfastened her braid and combed her long hair out with her fingers, wishing yet one more time that she had a pair of scissors so she could cut it all off.
She’d tried using a plastic knife from the food court.
It hadn’t worked.
She put her old shirt into the bag and exited the stall, giving herself only the briefest glance in the mirror.
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