— THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND VULGAR LANGUAGE. It is fictional and does not depict real people or events. — Call girl, Angel, believes there's nothing nothing more to life than what she is doing now. But when she falls in love with an undercover cop, and things get heated between her and her pimp, Angel searches for answers. Is this really all she is destined for? Could she escape if she wanted to? Would the outside world accept her if she left this lifestyle behind?
Chapter Six: The Prey
Angel spent another three nights at the motel. She received no break from clients. Rich came to pick her up after nearly a week of work. He took her back to his house. He let her relax in front of the TV for the day. Two other girls came and kept Angel company. But it wasn’t much company. What little talking there was, was about the current TV show. There was no friendly giggles or secret sharing or even smiles. Angel craved to have friend. She longed for the comforts of companionship. But she would not get it here. Nor in the motel, or club, or on the streets. Angel had no place to go to find companionship either. Her family was not interested in taking her in, and she wouldn’t even know how to find them. The friends she had stayed with during her absence on the streets had since moved on with no forwarding contact. Rich, Frank, these girls, the clients, the streets…it was all Angel knew. This was her home.
Angel had to remind herself that it could be worse. She could have nothing at all. She could be living in a cardboard box in an alley. She could have to steal food and never have a chance to bathe. It could be worse. It could always be worse.
Rich ordered pizza for the house to share. They sat around the TV, eating off of paper plates.
It was funny to Angel. Rich was by no means a poor man. In fact he could throw money away and still be better off than ninety percent of the population. Yet here they were, the four of them, cramped in a small two-bedroom house on the wrong side of town, eating off of paper plates. Angel glanced over at Rich. A shiny Rolex watch on one wrist, a silver and no doubt expensive chain bracelet with the words “fuck off” on his other wrist. His black pants were not faded, and his white t-shirt bore no stains. Angel had no doubt his clothes were only ever dry-cleaned. Rich wore brand new Nike brand tennis shoes, and a gold chain around his neck. She watched as his manicured hands reached for another piece of pizza. Rich was a well-trimmed, clean-cut man, and could hold a steady, well paying job if he truly wanted to apply himself to such. But why bother? Why bother working a nine to five job every day when you have a whole herd of girls willing to do anything for you, including sell themselves as sexual lust items? They fork over the money without question or concern. Why would anyone work when each girl hands you over a thousand dollars a night? What’s the point? Shouldn’t people hold themselves and others in a higher respect? Shouldn’t it be more rewarding to earn your own money? Shouldn’t it be more gratifying? But what was respect in a country where its own leaders paid for cheap sex? In fact, people like Rich were glorified in this country. Every rap artist and their brother had written about how wonderful it was to use and sell women. There was a good handful of TV shows about it and even more movies. All selling a beautifully fake façade of this life. Beautifully fake. America didn’t care how a person got their money or pleasure, just as long as they had it. And if that meant the less fortunate, such as Angel and the other girls, had to suffer for the pleasures of the majority, then that’s the end of it. There was no asking questions in this country. There was only acceptance for the fact that this was how things were, and this was how it was going to be. No changes would ever be made, because no one ever cared enough to ask why things were the way they were. Everyone always assumed that they were only one person, and couldn’t change something on their own, so they stay silent. Angel knew this. It was all something she had mauled over a million times in her head. But Angel had no choice but to accept things as they were.
Rich had finished his pizza. The other girls were slowing on their last few bites. Angel hadn’t eaten much, but she wasn’t very hungry. Her thinking had ruined her appetite.
Rich snapped at her and pointed to the floor between his legs. Angel obeyed his command, kneeling in the directed spot between his legs. He ran his fingers through her hair a bit, thinking silently to himself. After a moment, he sighed and instructed “upstairs” as he stood.
Angel stood and headed upstairs with Rich right behind her. He ordered her to his bedroom, where he lifted her skirt and tugged down her panties. He examined her ass. He gave it a slight slap and a good grope before being satisfied. “Good. You’re healed. You’ll be at the club tonight. Shower and freshen up. Be ready to go in two hours.”
He then nodded his head at the door, signaling her to leave. She obeyed.
Angel had been working for a few hours at the club. She sat behind the stage in one of the few chairs. She looked around at the ever familiar sight of about ten to twelve girls applying make-up, reapplying, dressing, undressing, pulling wads of money from the crevices of their bodies, massaging aching feet and metal burns from the stripper pole, and applying oil to their skin. That’s when Angel’s eyes fell on a young girl, just inside the door. The girl was terribly out of place. Her dirty blonde hair hung just past her shoulders, her hazel eyes were timid and scared. She wore faded jeans and a grey t-shirt. Her shoes were worn and dirty, and she carried a faded green messenger bag over her shoulder and across her chest. She held one arm with the other, no doubt uncomfortable about her surroundings. She was young. Too young. Angel guessed she was no more than sixteen.
The girl looked around the room uncomfortably. Angel watched her a bit longer before standing and walking over to her. Their eyes met for a quick second before the girl looked away. In her boots, Angel stood a bit taller than the girl. She guessed the girl was a little over five and a half feet tall.
“You can’t be back here” Angel warned the girl “this is for the dancers only.”
Ever so softly, to the point where Angel could barely hear her, she replied, “Rich told me to come back here.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”
Angel about growled. How low could Rich sink? A minor? He was preying on minors now? Granted, Angel was a minor when Rich got a hold of her, and even younger than that when she was with Frank. But Frank no doubt preyed on minors, and Angel assumed the only reason Rich accepted Angel as a minor was because she had already been in the life. This girl, however, was obviously new to all of this. After years of being with Rich, Angel had subconsciously held him to a higher standard than a kiddy predator. This was most likely not the first minor Rich had gotten his hands on, since Angel. If he could prey on both Angel and this girl, there had to be others. He was smart though, to keep them away from Angel. She would have given him an earful without thought if she knew. Rich was sick, that Angel knew, but now the realization of how sick he actually was, was staring Angel right in the face…or at least standing there uncomfortably in front of her.
Angel sighed. There was nothing she could do right now. Rich would hear about this later though, and she didn’t care what consequences there would be. Angel didn’t like this. Not one bit. But she knew if this girl didn’t pull herself together and get herself on stage, she would pay for it, with her flesh.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Emily” the girl responded quietly.
Angel chewed on her lip a bit before continuing “ok Emily, come on.” She led the girl over to the counter where the other girls were busy applying make-up. “Sit” she commanded, pointing at the chair Angel was sitting in earlier. The girl obeyed without question. “You can leave your bag back here. I’m going to guess your size, stay put.” Angel left the girl for a quick minute while she went over to a rack of miscellaneous clothes the dancers could wear if they didn’t bring something of their own. She pulled a gold bikini top and a pair of black hot pants off the rack and went back to the girl. Tossing them at her, she then grabbed up a few bits of make-up. “Change into that, I’ll do your make-up.”
The girl looked down at the clothes “here?”
Angel looked over at the girl, almost surprised “yes, here.” Angel didn’t want to be harsh with the girl, but she was going to have to buck up really quick if she wanted to survive in this lifestyle.
The girl timidly stripped and put on the clothes Angel gave her, careful to cover herself with one arm at all times. When she was dressed, Angel helped her tie the top tight enough so nothing would slip out. She then quickly applied make-up to match the girl’s outfit.
“Good” Angel stepped back to get a look at the girl. “Ok, now get on stage.”
The girl looked mortified.
“Listen, just get up there and dance to the music. Just shake your ass a bit like you would to impress a boyfriend. Smile at the audience. They like it when you smile. Take the money they offer you and let them stick it in your clothes. They can’t touch you any more than that, so don’t worry.”
The girl was still mortified.
Angel squatted down in front of her “look Emily, it’s just for show. Ok? It’s like acting. Just act your part. It doesn’t mean it’s the real you, it’s just the persona you are playing. Go on stage and I’ll be outside the door, watching. Ok?”
She nodded. Angel took the girl’s hand and led her out to the main area of the club.
Emily was a bit slow at first. When a couple of men booed, she looked back at Angel, who nodded reassuringly. Once she warmed up though, Emily was able to smile and dance pretty well for a new girl. When the song ended, Emily skipped her way off stage and back towards Angel.
“Look!” Emily exclaimed, holding out the money she had earned. It wasn’t as much as the other dancers usually made, but more than the average new girl.
“Great job Emily! You were great!” Angel ushered her back in the dressing room quickly. She looked up towards the balcony on the second floor. Through the harsh lights from the stage, she could barely see Rich, watching her with stone hard eyes. Angel returned his stare with even colder eyes. If Rich couldn’t guess that Angel would have a problem with Emily’s age, he certainly knew it now.
That night, Rich dropped both Emily and Angel off in the parking lot of the thrift store. It was Angel’s usual part of town, and now she was to show Emily the ropes.
Angel wasn’t Rich’s bottom girl; a term used to describe a pimp’s right hand girl, the one who was above the others, who was trusted to run things if the pimp was unable to, and who was usually in charge of teaching new girls. Angel guessed that Rich wanted Angel to teach Emily, not because she had been in the life longer than any of his other girls, but because he knew Angel would protect her. As much as Angel hated the fact that Emily was so young, she could do nothing about it. She could advise Emily to run away from this life, but it was ultimately up to Emily. And because of that, Rich knew Angel would protect her.
It wasn’t long before a man drove up and motioned both girls into his car. He drove them back to his hotel. He was a well-paid businessman, out of town for work, and staying in a pretty fancy hotel. It wasn’t a five star hotel, but it was by far better than the normal motels the girls usually worked at.
The room had one bed and a couch and sitting area separated with a partial wall. There was a little computer desk, a miniature refrigerator and freezer, a full bathroom, and a kitchen sink. There was a coat closet and another closet back by the bed.
The man instructed they make themselves at home while he took a quick shower. When Angel heard the water running, she sat down on the couch. Emily sat down as well, looking around with wide, impressed eyes.
“Don’t let it impress you. This kind of shit doesn’t happen often so don’t get used to it. Guys like him are usually the worst. They’ll offer you anything you want in exchange for some of the most disgusting things. Take what he says with a grain of salt.”
Emily was taking what Angel was saying with a grain of salt. Angel growled, “Emily!”
But the man returned before Angel could warn her again. The man sat between the two girls, laying out lines of cocaine on the coffee table “for your pleasure girls.” He snorted one line, leaving the others for the girls.
Angel kept away from drugs, especially hard ones. Rich preferred it that way too. A girl on drugs didn’t perform to the best of her capabilities. Drugs would also make a girl lose her outward appearance, and clients would no longer pay for her. Who wants a drugged up girl with no aesthetic appeal to her, to be anywhere close to your genitalia. A girl who couldn’t get clientel, couldn’t get money. And that would not fly with Rich. Besides, a girl hooked on drugs would work solely to get more drugs, not because she wants to or to please her pimp. Rich needed his girls to work for him, not for drugs. It was part of the mental hold he had on his girls.
The man stood up, eager to get on with the dirty deeds. He held his hand out to Angel, who took it and stood up. He began to lead her around the half wall to the bed. Angel looked back at Emily long enough to mouth the word “don’t” and shake her head.