STREET CORNER GIRL

STREET CORNER GIRL

          I didn't have a clue to where I was going that night.  I got in my car and drove.  There was no plan.  I didn't even know what I wanted.  I was going to eat and drive around for a while, that's all.  All my friends had plans so I was left to fend for myself.

          I decided to drive into the city.  Don't ask me what prompted that decision because I couldn't tell you.  I suddenly felt the urge to be around people and the city seemed the logical place for that.  I hopped in my firebird and made the half-hour trek into Providence without incident.  I navigated my way through streets aimlessly, taking in the noises and watching the buildings and lights as I passed by them.  It all felt like a haze.

          Jumbled conversations reached me through my open windows.  I could hear those passing by whispering all importantly, but nothing made sense.  I am about to turn into this dive of an Italian place when I see a young girl standing next to a parking garage.  The grays of the cement loom over her, threatening something.  I stop at the light and watch this young girl stand coltishly on the corner.  She isn't wearing much and I know she has to be half frozen in the October cold.

          I see the red of her skirt only covering a few inches of her shivering, bare legs and I feel sorry.  Her face is thin; as is her blonde hair and her blue eyes stare straight in front of her.  When she sees my car her blank gaze disappears and she waves at me.  The wave carries connotations, but I only have a moment to consider them because a short Mexican kid behind the wheel of a Suzuki sidekick is honking his horn furiously at me.

          I pull away slowly, watching the girl closely in my rearview mirror.  I can see she is disappointed and again I feel bad.  Maybe it was the way her shoulders hunched down that made me turn around.  I'll never know what possessed me.  And I must have been possessed because ten seconds later I was stopping the car in front of her, my right tires hitting the curb.  Before I say anything she opens the passenger door and jumps in.  I stare at her in disbelief.

          She gives me a smile she intends to be sexy, opens her legs slightly so I can see her pink panties and starts in on her sales pitch before I can even say a word.

          "Hiya there.  You feel a little lonely tonight?  Well I'll keep you company if you know what I mean."

          She giggles and blushes innocently, like a ten-year-old.  I sit there watching her in silence, moving my eyes up and down her exposed, chilled body.  My silence puts an end to her giggling spell.  We sit there for a moment, the silence growing slightly more oppressive by the second.  I feel very uncomfortable and sweat begins to form everywhere.  A bead of sweat slides down my inner arm under my shirt and I press my arm in tight to my body so the sleeve would absorb the trickling nervousness this girl was bringing out of me.

          "How old are you?"  I ask after a thirty-second pause.

          "How old do you want me to be?"  She asked, trying to be sexy again.  I frown and so does she.

          "Drop the act; I'm not interested in your sweet talking.  Okay?  Now just tell me how old you are."

          Her blue eyes flash at my comment, a wave of hurt riding over them.  As usual i find the wrong thing to say in a situation.  I felt sorry because she cowered against the seat, her shoulders low like they had been while she stood on the corner.  I looked at her careful and slow, trying to get a sense of her.  The first detail that I couldn't believe had skipped my eyes previous to that moment was she wore no makeup, her natural beauty not needing to be accentuated.  Light struck off her cheek and shined on her forehead, making her look young, so very young.  She hadn't even tried to cover up the bags under her eyes as if to imply seriousness in her trade with a few hard earned rings.  The next thing I noticed was she didn't have a single piece of jewelry on her.  Not a ring, earring, bracelet, necklace, nothing.  She had a plain beauty and none of the frills one normally associates with this girl's profession. 

          "Listen, I have a lot to do tonight, so if you're not interested I'm going to get out."  She issued this threat more than likely half hoping I would not want her to carry it out.  And of course I didn't.  This was as much of an adventure one could hope to find.

          "No.  That isn't what I meant.  Don't be upset.  I just don't need you to put on your act to complete the sale so to speak.  You understand.  I just am out to have some fun and don’t want to treat you like everyone else does.  Okay?"

          "Okay."  She answered softly.  Her pseudo aggressiveness had disappeared.

          "Now let me give you a proposition.  I will take you someplace and we'll talk.  Then we'll see what happens, okay?"

          "I don't care."  She answered flatly.  I could see her wanting to say more, but she stopped herself there.

          "Oh."

          "Yes.  As long as you are paying I will pretty much do anything you say."

          "Well.  Tell me something.  Where do you usually take you’re ...um... let's say clients for lack of a better word?"

          "That is a very rude question if you ask me."  She snapped at me.  The hurt look was on her face again and I felt sorry all over.  I reached my hand for her leg, but she flinched away reflexively.  I quickly pulled my hand back, embarrassed and a little confused.

          "I didn't mean to be rude.  I've never done anything like this before and I don't know where to go.  I'm sorry."

          "You're sorry?"

          "Yes.  I am."

          The hurt look left her eyes immediately and a look of total happiness filled them.  A tear gathered in her right eye and she blushed again.

          "What did I say?"  I asked, a little uncomfortable over her sudden attitude reversal.

          "Nobody ever says sorry to a person like me and I can tell you're sincere.  You don't know what that means to me."  She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

          "Drive up two blocks and take a right.  You'll see a motel.  That is where I usually take my clients."  She smiled at me as I drove, a smile that made her eyes shine with life.

          She waited in the car while I got a room.  The motel was a group of separate rooms in a line, each one having a spot for a car.  I parked my car next to the fourth unit.  We went inside and I shut the door quickly, feeling a bit guilty as I shut the world out.

          The room was boring.  There are no other words that fit the room any better.  She sat down on the bed, which was covered with a tan bedspread that was worn in the middle.  There was a television in the right hand corner of the room that didn't work, a nightstand with a shameless lamp on it next to the bed, and a small telephone booth size bathroom.  The room was terrifyingly small, offering no other place to sit beside the bed.  I lay down, rested my head on the pillows and closed my eyes.

          "What is your name?"  She asked.

          "Ryan."  I answered without opening my eyes.  "And yours."

          "Celia."

          "Nice name."  I sat up, pulled my back flat against the headboard and crossed my legs in front of me.  I watched her for a few moments enjoying the way she kept crossing her legs, again and again for my benefit.

          "16.” She said suddenly.

          "Pardon me?"

          "I'm 16.  Be happy because you’re the first person I've told my real age."

          "How do I know it is your real age?  How do I know you’re not 14?"

          "I guess you don't.  You can believe me or not.  That is up to you."

          "I do."

          I lit a cigarette, grabbed the ashtray off the nightstand, all the while I continued to watch her.

          "Can I ask you something?"

          "Sure."  She said. 

          "Why do you do this?"  I asked.  "You're far too pretty for this line of work."

          "For this line of work?"  She mocked in return. 

          She brushed her hair away from her face and paced the room, turning back over the same first footpath repeatedly.

          "I got slapped around a bit as a kid, not to mention other things that I will not get into with you.  My life is a pile of shit.  You ask me why I am doing this.  I'll tell you.  The only difference between my life now and before is that I get paid by my abusers."

          "Do people hit you often?"

          "What do you think?"  She snapped back, a mean level of sarcasm in her voice.

          "You brought it up."

          "Yes.  I did.  And, yeah, most of you bastards like to get rough when you get it on."

          "You bastards?"

          "All men are bastards, abusers and jerks.  The ones who aren't are gay."

          "Guys who hit are bastards, but not all men hit.  I never do."

          "That doesn't mean you're not a bastard.  It only means you don't hit women.  And that's if you're telling the truth."

          "Then why do you do this?"

          "The money."

          "The money?"

          "Yes."

          "Nothing else?"

          "Not really."

          "Why do you risk your life?  A hundred dollars isn't worth the risk of sleeping with a complete stranger."

          "First of all, do you think I really care if I die?  That is quite an assumption, don't you think?  I pray that one of these assholes would just choke the shit out of me.  You assume I want to live.  I don't."

          "What else?"

          "Huh."  She gave me a confused look.  She wasn't even following her own train of thought.  She had upset herself too much. 

"Oh, yeah.  Secondly it is exciting.  Do you even understand that?  There is something erotic about someone you have never met poling you into the wall and leaving cash on the dresser instead of a note with a number that you get at the end of a date.  That is all bullshit; the guy doesn't really want you to call and usually gives you a wrong number. You feel like a prostitute.  They you buy you dinner, maybe take you to a movie and you fuck.  Then there are the promises to call; it's all bullshit.  At least they don't pretend when they are paying you."

          She finished her speech and sat down next to me on the bed.  I knew what was coming, but I didn't know how to avoid it.  She was eager and I didn't want to hurt her.  She took my hand in hers and placed it on her leg.  She massaged her smooth legs with my palm.  I felt excitement crawl its way down my spine, spreading throughout my body.  She looked into my eyes as she rubbed.

          She made me lay down on my back.  She placed her hand on my knee and slowly inched her way up my leg.  I began to shake with anticipation, but she avoided touching me and moved her hand under my shirt.  She moved her hand in a circular motion and slid her hand effortlessly down my jeans, her fingernails touching pubic hair.  I moaned as she brushed her hand over me, with light expert touches.

          She looked into my eyes again and I could see wildness in those blue eyes.  Seeing that temporarily brought me back into reality.

          "Celia.  I can't do this."

          "Why not?"  She asked me.  Her voice was seductive and sexy and low and soft.  She unsnapped my jeans and began pulling them down, never taking her eyes from mine.  She stroked me softly with one finger, tracing over the length of my erection.  After several passes of this I was ready.  I reached over, snapped off the light, and pulled her against me.

         

          The instant I woke up I jumped out of bed, ran to the window and checked to see if my car was still there.  I saw it was and felt relief.  I turned back towards the bed and to my absolute surprise I saw that Celia was still there.  I stood there for a few seconds, not knowing what to do.  I had no idea she was going to still be there in the morning.  I gathered my clothes and put them on as quietly as possible.  I wrote a short note on motel stationary thanking her and of all things leaving my number.  I threw down 250 dollars in cash.  I knew she needed the money more than I did.

          I leaned over the bed and kissed her gently on the forehead.  She moved, but she didn't wake.  I left and I didn't look back.

          I have often thought of that night.  I don't know what type of person I am after doing what I did and frankly I don't care.  Needless to say I didn't hear from her.  She has too much pride to use the number.  I just kind of wish she would call.