Page 19 of Scarred King
“Stop talking about my body as if it’s merchandise,” I say angrily. “And stop examining me as if I’m for sale.” I take the top from her and stuff my arms in.
“Your body’s worth a lot of money,” she says and zips up the top. “If you’d stop hiding it, you could make a pile of money.”
"Are you crazy?” I answer angrily, “I’m not going to show my body off here so that the horny customers can throw dollar bills at me.”
“I wasn’t only talking about that.” She gets hold of my hips and lifts me up onto the counter as if I were a doll. “If you learn to use what Nature gave you, you could get things much easier. Including money,” she concludes, and I make a disgusted face.
“I don’t need to use this,” I point at my body. “I use this.” I put my finger next to my head. “All the crap you do here, selling your bodies to those pathetic men for a few dollars – it’s shameful and humiliating to all womankind.”
“Don’t judge.” She raises a threatening finger and I fall silent. “You have no idea why any of us are here or why anyone will do what she does.” I think I hear a hint of pain in her voice. “You’re also here because you need money, and you never know where you’ll end up.” She puts a large makeup bag on the counter and takes out some brushes. “Don’t insult any of the girls here and don’t make yourself any enemies. This is a special place.” She starts applying moisturizer to my face and asks me to close my eyes. “One day, when you’re a bit older, you’ll realize that everyone has a price. And the price isn’t always a pile of cash.” She stops talking and concentrates on applying my makeup.
“I don’t,” I say defiantly, and she sneers.
“Sometimes it’s something you’d be willing to do for a cause that means a lot to you. That’s a price, too.” She strokes my shoulder and I open my mouth to answer. “We’re done,” she announces and I close it again. I open my eyes and see her inspecting me and thinking. “Now we have to do something with that braid.” Her hand approaches my hair and I jump off the counter and stand up in front of her.
“Don’t touch my hair,” I exclaim and she flinches backward, “No one touches my hair.”
“But you can’t go there with that braid.” She says firmly. “Take it out.”
“Absolutely not.” I insist.
“Why?” she won’t give up.
“Because! And if you don’t stop insisting, I won't go at all.”
She takes a step back, looks me over and finally sighs. “OK, then at least roll the braid into a bun. You can’t walk out of here with the braid. It’s ridiculous.” She gives me some bobby pins and I do as she says, still looking at her angrily. When my long braid is rolled up, she smiles again. “Almost perfect,” she says and pulls a pair of narrow black stiletto shoes out of another bag. She bends down and slips them on my feet. I stand up and start swaying, she laughs again. “You’ll get used to them. Everyone does.” She turns me around to the mirror and I stifle a shout.
10
“Oh My God!” I blink over and over again. I look exactly like my mother. Except my mother has never worn such heavy makeup and that red lipstick…. “Carly,” I say in a trembling voice, “I can’t go out like this. I look just like…”
“A hooker.” She rubs her hands, so satisfied with the outcome. “But a gorgeous hooker.” She’s standing behind me, a head taller than me, and she smiles at me in the mirror.
“My breasts are hanging out.” I try to push them back inside the tight top but fail. “And my stomach is showing.” I touch it uncomfortably. The tight leggings and the tank-top leave no room for imagination. Every curve of my body is emphasized by the skimpy black leather. I feel cheap. I’m terrified.
“Don’t forget that it’s all only an act,” she turns serious. “Everyone knows it’s just an act, no worries.” She opens the door and leaves, I follow her with small steps. I am wobbling on my high heels and she holds out her arm. “Keep steady and hold your head up,” she says kindly and I really try. “But don’t stand up so straight,” she says confusingly. “I’ve never met a hooker who walks so arrogantly.”
“I can’t help it,” I answer, stretch out my neck, and straighten even more if that’s possible. We pass the girls, and they fall silent and stare at me curiously. Finally we reach the round table.
All three men stand up and look at me amazed. I hang my head feeling uneasy and embarrassed.
“Wow!” Mike says first, “How did we miss all this?” He asks sounding shocked. “Carly, look at those tits.” He raises his arms and tries to touch me and I flinch back in horror and almost fall.
“What are you doing?” I demand angrily.
“Sorry, I just don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything as natural as those before,” he answers mildly, as if we’re not discussing my own private breasts. “They're really moving like they've got a life of their own,” he’s still staring. “Not like with my girls,” he laughs. “No matter how much those girls move, their tits stay right where they are.” He sits down, but his gaze is still on me. “Believe me Elena, you should come work in my place. You’ll be the most popular stripper there.”
“Ignore him,” Tommy fusses with his bleached hair and moves his head from side to side as his eyes scan my entire body. “The big money is upstairs, in my place. And I’ve got some clients who’d pay very handsomely for you.”
“I’m going to change back into my own clothes,” I announce hysterically and try to shake free of Carly’s arm without falling over.
“Will you all just shut up,” Scarface growls at them. “Elena,” he addresses me and softens his voice. “Don’t pay them any attention. They seem to have forgotten their manners.” He motions Tommy to sit and he sits down after him. “Go and have a drink at the bar until we leave. It won’t take long.”
I pause for a moment, trying to figure out if I can get out of this, but Carly drags me to the bar and I sit down. She comes back to me after a minute, holding a cellphone. She opens one of the apps. “Play this game for a bit.” She presses a silver ball and releases it toward some other balls. When it hits they explode and disappear. “You need to look as if you’re doing something else during the meeting.” She puts the phone down in front of me and returns to the round table.
I am in a brothel and I look like a hooker. I’ve just been told to play a game meant for three-year-olds. So someone please do me a favor and kill me now. My head is spinning, and I can’t look at myself. The only thing that can soothe me now is my parallel world. I go over to where my backpack is, take out a book and go back to the counter. I open up my book and start reading. Or rather, I start photographing the pages in my head, page by page. Sometimes I take a break to think about the data, I close my eyes and absorb the letters, the words, the sentences, the formulas and equations. And then I go onto the next page.
“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Scarface’s voice makes me raise my head from the book and see the scars adorning his face.