“I always am.” I wink as I lie boldly to his face.
I head out and make my way home.
Unable to wait any longer, I reach inside the box and snag a slice of pizza, taking a big bite and risking second-degree burns.
It’s so worth it. Sex, even mediocre sex, makes me hungry.
I eat another two slices before my building comes into view, sating my hunger a little. Closing the box, I tuck it under my arm and hoof it across the grass toward the high-rise in the not-so-nice part of town.
Could I afford somewhere better? Of course, but why would I want to when I’ve made friends here?
On the bench outside the building is Norman, a seventy-two-year-old veteran, who is as cranky as my friend Reese is, without coffee.
“What are you doing here so late?” I ask him, knowing he usually heads to the homeless shelter down on Fifth when it starts getting dark.
Bono, his black lab, lifts his head at the sound of my voice. “Hey, you.” I run my hand over his head before grabbing a slice of pizza for the little guy.
He wolfs it down in a few bites as I focus back on Norman, who hasn’t answered.
That’s when I notice the bruising around his eye. I reach for him but pull back at the last minute, remembering he doesn’t like to be touched.
“What happened?”
“Some assholes jumped me a block from the center,” he snarls.
I sigh and sit beside him, ignoring the pungent aroma wafting from him.
“Wanna come up and take a shower and crash on my sofa?”
“Are you stupid? You don’t invite strange men up to your place.”
He doesn’t know me very well.
“I’m not scared of you, Norman.”
“Well, I don’t need your charity, missy.”
Pride comes before a fall, they say, but I get it. What else does he have if he doesn’t have that?
“All right, keep your panties on. I’m in 5F if you change your mind. I promise to be on my best behavior and not jump your bones,” I tease as I stand and offer him the pizza.
“Here, you can finish this off. I’m stuffed.”
Another lie, but I have cereal upstairs.
“Fuck off.”
I shrug. “Your choice.” I put the pizza box in the trash can, right at the top, beside the bench before offering him a wave as I head toward my building.
I turn with my hand on the door handle and see Norman reach inside the trash can, yank out the pizza box, and hug it to his chest.
I smile despite how sad the whole thing makes me before jogging up the steps.
I’d take the elevator, but contrary to popular belief, I don’t have a death wish. That thing is likely to plummet to the ground any day now, judging from the noise it makes and the infrequency with which it works.
I open the stairwell door to my floor and find Joani closing the garbage chute.
“Hey, Joani, just the woman I wanted to see.”
Tired eyes turn my way. Joani is only ten years older than me, but the weight of the world she carries on her shoulders makes her seem older.
She’d been on her own since she was fourteen, turning tricks and selling the only thing she had left of any worth, until recently, when her pimp was killed.
Timmy had been an alright dude for a pimp. He treated his girls well, offered them protection, and never expected freebies. But he was gone now, and there was a new guy in town trying to throw his weight and his dick around.
Boney G—no joke, that’s his preferred name. Kinda makes you want to know how bad his actual name is if he willingly chose that one. Anyway, the guy is a tool. Most of the girls in the building were reluctant to tie their ribbons to him. Most would, of course, because life is fucked-up, and you make do with the hand you’re dealt. Two of the girls were looking for an out, though. Joani, who had a rough encounter a few weeks ago that never would have happened under Timmy’s watchful eye, and Cherise, who got knocked up by a client that pulled a Houdini on her.
“Everything okay?” she asks, looking around watchfully.
“Everything’s great, thanks, but I do have a bead on a job for you and Cherise if you’re interested. It’s not much, but it’s honest work. The owner is a good guy, and you’ll get free pizza.” I grin.
She shakes her head, but I don’t miss the small smile on her face.
“As long as it’s enough to pay my bills and buy food, I don’t care. I just can’t—”
I step forward and wrap my arms around her too-thin frame. She jolts for a second before she relaxes, used to me by now.
“If you need help, you know I’ve got you. You just have to ask.”
But she won’t because, just like Norman, she has her pride. Pride won’t clothe or feed you, though. It sure as shit won’t protect you from heavy-handed clients.
Lucky for Joani, I have no problem removing tiny little cocks from men with over-inflated egos.
“I’m heading out early in the morning. I’ll pop the details through your door. He’s expecting you.”
“Thanks, Dulce,” she whispers.
“You’d do the same for me.” And the thing is, she would. So many people have preconceived notions based on factless stereotypes.
Someone who sells their body by choice, or by lack of choice, isn’t without conscience. They have hopes, dreams, and aspirations like the rest of us.
Hell, I just fucked a man before killing him. Joani is ten times the woman I am. She does this shit for dollar bills. I do it for fun.
“Night, Dulce.”