“Mona? Answer me. What do you know about this?”
“Well, I am really surprised that he went through your purse!”
I stop, my eyes narrowed.
“Hold on. Are you serious? Is that the part that is really surprising for you?”
I can practically hear her shrugging.
“That is pretty terrible, Libby. I am so sorry he did that!”
“He slapped me, Mona. Across the face.”
I can barely get the words out. Just thinking about it clenches at my chest, the humiliation, the utter shock of it all.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Stay right there! I’m coming over!”
“No! You can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I am not home. I’m not home!”
“Wait, what are you talking about? Where are you?”
Now I am so pissed off, I barely want to tell her anything. From the tone in her voice, she is not completely surprised about any of this. What kind of lowlife has she been working for all this time?
“Listen…” I start again, trying to stay calm. “Whatever kind of shit you are involved with at Sweeney’s, you have to get out. Do you understand me?”
She sighs for a long time.
“Libby, you don’t understand. I have to work. Everybody has to work. And things get complicated. Nothing is ever ideal, you know?”
“You can’t stay there! He is crazy!”
“Naw, girl. You’d have to walk a mile in my stilettos to really understand.”
The sadness in her voice is clear. Now that I’m thinking about it, I guess I always knew that there were things she wasn’t telling me. Big chunks of details that she was leaving out. Like the lingerie shows. I didn’t even know what she was doing even though we have been friends for years. I know her period cycle, her favorite flavor of potato chips, and the secret product she uses to make her hair so fluffy and full.
But I didn’t really know any of this. I knew she had to work to help support her family from a young age. I knew it was hard. There must be so much about her life I don’t even understand.
“You could have talked to me, you know,” I tell her softly.
“Meh. You wouldn’t understand.”
I’m starting to understand now, I think but don’t say.
“Anyway, if you’re not home… Where are you?” she starts again. “Are you on the base? I can be there in ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
I think about explaining it to her, but not just yet. One major upheaval at a time is probably the best course of action.
“He has my ID,” I tell her again. “I can’t go home yet because it has my address on it, and I would be alone until my dad gets back. I am not really sure how serious he was about trying to get me arrested, or if that was all just a threat to get me to do what he wants.”
“He is all talk, I promise,” she scoffs, and again I get the impression this is no big surprise to her. “He would definitely not call the cops on you. He doesn’t need that kind of attention. You could have called his bluff.”
“Well, maybe if I had had you there to guide me through this mess, I would have known it was a bluff and called it? If you were there? Because you said you were coming back?”
Pause.