Chapter Nine - Maddie
I’m just minding my own business, walking past the living room to the laundry room on the other side of the house to grab a clean t-shirt so I can jet out of here and be early for work instead of late—for once—when I see Annie pacing outside in the front yard.
Well… front yard is a stretch. You don’t have grass in Nevada unless it’s fake or you’re super-rich because it’s the fucking desert and trying to grow grass in the desert is just stupid.
But it’s a yard. And Annie is walking back and forth, talking on her phone. Then she starts screaming. You know, the kind of phone screaming that involves holding it at arm’s length you so can blast the person on the other end with your anger.
What the hell is going on?
Then she does that poke thing to end the call—hanging up on people was so much more satisfying in the old movies, right? You get to slam that handset down with a bang. But now it’s just a poke. She looks up at the sky, hands balled into fists, and screams at it.
God, maybe. She’s probably screaming at God.
She comes inside and since I’m still standing in front of the window, she quickly realizes her little temper tantrum didn’t go unnoticed.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, fuck the world, fuck Caroline, fuck Diane, and most all fuck…” She stops. “Whoever’s left.”
She stomps past me and is about to reach for the handle on her bedroom door when she whirls. “You know what I don’t understand?”
Annie doesn’t lose her shit often. But this is the second time in as many weeks that I’ve seen her falling down. And even though I’m not really interested in her personal life, I’ve fallen down myself. Plenty of times. And I know where it can lead if you don’t pull yourself back up real fucking fast. So I say, “What?” and actually mean it.
“What’s the point?”
“Of…?” I’m confused.
“Life, Maddie. What. Is. The fucking point?”
“Ummm…” I have to stop and consider this for a moment. Because I think we all know, there is no point, right? You’re just here. You do shit. And then you’re not here. “Get rich?” I say.
She frowns, then busts into a laugh I didn’t expect. “Get rich,” she repeats. “It’s as good a goal as any, right?”
I shrug. “Why not? I mean, at least when you’re rich you can stop worrying about stupid things like rent.”
“And new tires for your car,” Annie adds.
“And food.”
“And how to pay back your pimp.” She sighs.
I walk over to her and take her hand. “Is that what this is about? You owe Kimberly money?”
Annie swallows hard and shakes her head. “No. Not Kimberly.”
“You have another pimp?” I ask.
“It was supposed to be a step up, right? This guy, he runs some really high-class girls in all the best hotels. I just figured… at least I wouldn’t end up at the edge of town calling you to come pick me up, right? It would be safer. And swankier. And sweeter.”
I make a face at that last part.
“Kimberly set me up with him.”
“What? How’s that work? I mean, do pimps lend out their girls like that?” I’m not really up on hooker etiquette.
“These two do. That’s the whole reason I took the job with Kimberly in the first place. It was as a stepping stone. I didn’t really lie when I told you I was a high-class call girl. I just… fast-forwarded my life a little.”
I’m so out of my league right now. There are stepping stones in the prostitute business. Who knew? “So what happened?”
“I have to pay him rent, right?”
“Oh, like me and the stage fee. Sure, I get it.”
“Well, I walked out on a customer a few nights ago, so they docked me that night and gave me a penalty.”
“Penalty? Is that legal?”
“Who gives a fuck if it’s legal? I owe them two grand and I don’t have it.”
She sighs heavily and then disappears into her room. Not with the slam she surely intended before her little impromptu confession. Just a small, sad click.
My angel pops up on my shoulder.
I know right where this is headed.
You should give her that money, Scarlett. She needs it.
“I need it,” I say back. “And stop fucking calling me Scarlett.”
You need it more than she does, Maddie, my little devil says. You earned it, chick. You sucked—
“Yeah,” I say, brushing them both away and walking towards the laundry room to get my t-shirt. “I did earn it. And I do need it. So both of you can just shut the fuck up.”
But the whole time I’m getting ready for work I’m thinking about that money. Like… it’s far from the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but it has consumed my thoughts. Taken over my week. And made me think about that guy—a fucking customer, for Christ’s sake—to the point of distraction.
And at the same time, it did save my ass. I paid my rent to Raven and my rent to Annie. I don’t even have two grand left, ya know? I bought groceries, and gas, and—
And now you have what you need, my angel says. So give the rest to Annie. Because she needs it or bad things might happen to her.
Bad things? My devil laughs. She’s a fucking whore. Of course bad things are gonna happen to her. And it’s not like she can’t get another job. She’s an engineer, right? If she doesn’t want to have sex for money, she doesn’t have to. Just go be an engineer.
The angel and the devil are now arguing past me. Like I’m not even here. Little bastards.
She barely graduated, says the angel.
So we’re supposed to give a fuck, just because she’s stupid? the devil says.
I interrupt, “She’s not stupid, she—” The angel ignores me and continues.
She has the degree, but not the skills, or the contacts, or the résumé.
Yeah, the devil says, and whose fucking fault is that? Dumbass Annie’s. Maddie here was the goddamn salutatorian of her high-school class! Probably coulda come outta college summa cum laude—or at least magna! But life fucked her right in the ass! And not in the good way! None of the shit that’s happened is her fault! So why should she have to pay for someone else’s fuckup?
“Guys,” I try to interrupt.
You’re cruel, says the angel.
Yeah, no fucking shit, you ignorant twat, I’m a devil. Christ. You’re as stupid as that cunt, Annie.
“Hey—” I try again. But they’re on a roll.
Have you no compassion? Annie has had to prostitute herself to survive, sings the angel.
Oh, boo fucking hoo, the devil chimes in. Life’s been so hard for poor fucking Annie the Whore. She’s stupid and her pussy hurts. Wah, wah, wah. Fuck her. If that’s the worst thing she ever has to deal with—
It’s not a competition! the angel shouts.
It better not be! screams the devil. ’Cause if it was, chick standing right here would smoke that bitch! Ain’t nobody more tragic than poor, sad, lonely fucking Maddie!
“Shut up!” I shout.
Then I open up my sock drawer and fish around for my cash. I find it, pull it out, count it up. Eleven hundred and seventy-two dollars.
I stare at it.
I did shameful things for this money. Things I never thought I’d do. Things that make me feel bad about myself. Things that would make my parents wonder where they went wrong and how it’s all their fault I have failed at everything.
It’s not their fault. Everything that has happened to me is because I fell down. Fell hard. Hit my head on the way down that dark rabbit hole of grief and despair and fucked my brain up. And then I just… turned into this. It’s not. It’s not their fault. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.
I sigh, feeling sad, and lonely, and really, really wishing I had it in me to give up.
But I don’t. I’m just one of those fighters. One of those people who loves to punish themselves and keep going. The kind of person who makes it to the top of Mount Everest on tenacity alone, but loses all ten fingers to frostbite.
I take the money and walk across the house to Annie’s room.
That’s right, my angel says. Good for you, Scarlett. Annie isn’t like you. Annie is falling down and she won’t get back up. She’ll stay down in that dark hole forever. You’re doing the right thing. I’m proud of you.
“Go fuck yourself,” I say.
I approach Annie’s door and knock quietly. “Annie?”
“Go away,” she says. I can tell she’s crying. She’s making those little hiccupy sounds.
I turn the handle, find it unlocked, and open the door. “I have some extra money,” I say, holding out my handful of cash. “It’s only eleven hundred, but you can have it.”
She wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at me. Then she shakes her head and starts crying again. “I can’t take it. I’d hate myself if I took your money, Maddie. I know you don’t have any extra. You’re lying. You need it and I did this and—”
I toss the cash onto her bed. “I don’t want it,” I say. “I did something I’m not proud of to get it and I can’t keep it. Not if I want to live with myself. So please, just take it. Use it to pay back whoever this guy is. And then don’t get in that situation again, OK? I worry about you, Annie. I know we’ve never been that close. You and Diane and Caroline have been friends forever and I’m just some new girl who fills up a spare room in your house. But I like you. So take it.”
Annie stares at me. Tears blurring her blue eyes. Filling them up over and over again as long streams run down her cheeks. “He’s engaged,” she finally says.
“Who?”
She waves her hand in the air, like she’s trying to erase that last statement, and then cries harder.
“Who’s engaged?” I ask again.
“My high-school boyfriend.”
“Oh,” I say. And suddenly the big picture comes into focus. “Back in Nebraska.”
“Iowa.” She sniffs.
“Right,” I say. “Iowa. So that’s why you’re so down?” I ask.
She nods, wiping wildly at her tear-stained face. “He called to tell me. He wanted me to know because…” She draws in a deep breath. “Because we dated for four years. I was gonna marry him. But then I decided to go to UNLV for college and he wanted to stay in Iowa, so I left. And we tried to make it work that first semester, ya know? The long-distance thing. But I found another guy, so I broke it off. It wasn’t even him who left me, Maddie. It was me who left him. Twice! What the fuck was I thinking?”
I don’t know what to say. I mean, I do. I want to pat myself on the back. Congratulate myself for not fucking things up with love. But that won’t be helpful to Annie. So I say, “I’ve never been in love. Not true love, at least.”
“Really?” she asks, looking up at me all snotty and blotched, weird hope in her eyes. Misery loves company.
“Yeah. Really. I mean when I was younger I had this—” I sigh, because that’s a long, sad story for another time. “Doesn’t matter. But look, I know loss. Y’know? Like really know loss, so I get it, Annie. Maybe you should just go home one last time and tell him how you feel?”
“Don’t you think I want to?” she says. “But then I’d be the horrible other woman out to ruin his marriage. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. So I’m just gonna stay here in Vegas and deal with the life I’ve made for myself. That’s all we’re doing, right? Me, you, Caroline, Diane. We’re just a bunch of fuckups who have to deal with what we’ve done.”
Her words echo in my head the whole way to Pete’s. We’re just a bunch of fuckups who have to deal with what we’ve done.
Truth.
I hate to admit it, but everything that’s happening to me now is my own damn fault. I’ve never wanted to play the victim and blame anyone else for my problems, but on some insidious level, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
I pass by a billboard for a show tonight and wince as I see the date.
Why do I constantly have to be reminded of what the date is? Does the universe think I’m oblivious? Do my parents think I’m oblivious? I know what the fucking date is. I know what’s coming up. It’s burned into my brain like a goddamned brand.
I think I was drunk for eleven days straight, but it might’ve been twelve, or fourteen, or quite possibly an entire month.
All I know is that the world I lived in—the reality I lived in—stopped. Just ceased to exist. Then a new world emerged. The one where my parents moved to France. The one where I was left here in Vegas to half-stumble my way through college, determined to finish no matter what. The one that started this ball of bullshit rolling downhill.
And every year I relive it on the anniversary.
I typically get drunk. It’s like… normal now. Just what I do to cope. But I have to work next weekend, so maybe that will take my mind off things?
Maybe? Hopefully?
I arrive at Pete’s right on time, but that means I’m two minutes late by the time I walk past Raven’s scowling face and enter the dressing room.
“You must really want me to fire you, huh, angel?”
I scowl at her new nickname. Bitch. But then I adjust—the way I always do—and smile. “Sorry, Raven. It won’t happen again.”
She squints her eyes at my retreat.
But what’s the point? Why try to win this fight with Raven? She’s no one, right? She’s not in control of my future. Sure, I need this job. More than ever, actually. But it’s not like there aren’t a million other places in this world where I can take off my clothes for money. Hell, I’m not even close to the bottom of the barrel as far as adult entertainment goes. I’m practically a whore now. I did suck that guy’s cock for money last weekend. I’m one baby step away from becoming Annie.
Maybe that’s why I took up with her in the first place? It’s a way to justify my fall from grace, right? She’s setting an example of how much farther away the bottom is.
“It better not,” Raven snaps. “I’m so sick of your shit. And I told Pete what you’ve been doing.”
“What?” I say, a wave of panic rushing through my body. “What did you tell him?”
“Flashing your pussy on stage. He was pissed.”
I gulp a breath of air. “What did he say?” I ask, serious.
“He said if you do that again, you’re out. If it were me, I’d have shown you the door already. But he’s sweet like that. And I’m not. And he’s the boss, and I’m not. So you get one more chance. One, Scarlett. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say. I should really tip that waitress who covered for me last weekend. If she tells them what I did with the beard guy, I’m fucked. And even though I hate this job, the thought of going out there to find another, equally degrading—possibly more degrading—job like this just makes me feel ill.
“And don’t fuck around in here, either. Get changed and get your ass out on the floor.”
I open my backpack and realize that my last-minute talk with Annie distracted me from my pre-work routine and the only outfit I have is the one from last week.
The fucking angel.
I sigh as I take it out and give it a sniff. It smells.
“Here,” Raquel says, handing me a bottle of her perfume.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m so off my game right now.” I spritz a little on the costume and change, hoping I don’t smell like a whore, but knowing I do.
We’re just a bunch of fuckups who have to deal with what we’ve done.
Still true.
I slip on my shoes, twist my ankle as I rush out of the dressing room, and limp past Raven as I enter the floor.
She shakes her head at me like I’m a total disgrace to this fine establishment.
That’s a new low, I think.
But I ravel up all my loose ends and get to work.
It’s busy, thank you Jesus, and that’s great for me, because I gave all my extra cash away to a friend in need.
It was the right thing to do, Scarlett, my angel says.
“Please suck my dick,” I murmur back.
There’s one, the little devil says. He looks desperate and loaded. Go get him, Maddie.
So I’m heading over there, my focus one hundred percent on emptying that guy’s wallet—because when the devil gives you a tip, you work it, right?—when a hand grabs my arm and pulls me aside.
“Scarlett,” a familiar voice whispers in my ear.
My heart thumps wildly as I recognize who it is.
“Carlos is out of patience. Says you need to pay him tonight, bitch. Or you’re leaving here with me so the two of you can have a little come-to-Jesus moment about what happens next.”
Logan is back.
And he brought a friend as backup.
Where the fuck is Otis when you need him? Oh, there he is. Chatting with the bartender, oblivious.
Great.
“Hey, Logan,” I say, shooting him with my finger. Then I realize that might come off as a threat and tuck my hand away. “How about we talk about this later, huh? When I’m off work. And I can pay you then.”
He shakes his head. Slowly. “No can do, pumpkin. Time’s up. Go get the money right now, or we’re getting in my car, driving out to the desert, and you’re gonna have that chat with Carlos.”
I suddenly get the feeling I might’ve underestimated how invested Carlos is in my fake debt to him.
But it all becomes clear now. Because Logan is pressing a gun to my side.
So I do what all tenacious Mount Everest climbers do. I reach deep, find another handhold in the sheer, rock wall, and pull myself up another inch.
I yank my arm from Logan’s grip and I run.