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“I don’t even know what to say.” The emotions that cascade through me are overwhelming because there are so many variables to what is going on.
Elise’s friend is a fool, and a naive one at that, but Roxanne stands out as such a predator that it makes me want to be sick. She’s clearly recruiting young women, just as they become legal adults, and offering them a large sum of money to be escorts for her. These girls, some of them at least, could need money desperately, and the offers would be too good for someone to dismiss. It’s such a simple first step into sex trade, but who knows how long they would stay?
“That’s not all,” Elise continues. “Patricia is being hired because she’s a virgin, and a client of your ex requested an eighteen-year-old virgin for tomorrow night.”
My stomach rolls and I stop in my tracks, staring dumfounded at my sister as she continues texting. “You have to be joking?”
Instead of responding, Elise turns her phone around and lets me read the text messages myself. Patricia had been approached by Cassey herself who explained the deal that Roxanne was offering to a single eighteen-year-old for a one- night gig. Once I finish, Elise takes her phone back, soaking up my reaction.
“I don’t even know how she’s going to do the deed, you know what I mean? Patricia is so anxious and shy. To think that she’sgoing to have sex for the very first time with a stranger is so freaky!”
“Why don’t you just ask her?” Dan chimes in. “Make sure she knows what she’s getting herself into.”
Elise does just that. To keep myself from losing my mind, I clean up the takeout, throwing it into the refrigerator even though I’ll be out of the apartment tomorrow. Anything to keep myself busy. I try not to listen for the vibration of my sister’s phone, signifying a reply, but I still notice it the moment it comes in.
“Oh. Well, that explains a lot,” Elise says. “There’s no sex going on, apparently. Roxanne made the guy sign a no-sex clause, or something.”
I clench my teeth, taking a deep breath to try and center myself. “But that’s bullshit, right? If the guy didn’t plan on fucking her, then why would it matter she’s a virgin or not? Roxanne could have sent an escort she already had on the payroll and justliedto the guy about it. She has to know the guy is going to try to pull something.”
Elise shrugs. “I have no idea. Patricia seems pretty sure, though.”
I can’t help but shake my head. “She’s just walking into the lion's den, and she doesn’t even know it. Did you tell her she’s being naive as fuck?”
“In not so many words, yes, but Patricia needs the money, so there’s nothing I can say to talk her out of it, anyway.”
I barely know the girl, having only talked to her once at my birthday when she was standing next to my sister and Elise decided to introduce me to her, but I feel almost absurdly upset about the situation she’s putting herself into. It seems like she has no one there to protect her or explain how things would really be as an escort to her. Instead, Roxanne had found her, and her head was already being filled with these dreams of bigpaychecks, but in reality, she would just spend a bunch of time being used like a toy. There is no amount of money that could possibly be worth it, but Roxanne apparently found an offer high enough to catch a few girls who don’t know better.
It makes me think of Elise. If Roxanne and I had never met, then it could have easily been my own sister that Roxanne was trying to lure into escorting. Of course, Elise would never have fallen for such a farce, but this situation has made it terribly clear how close to my family Roxanne’s horrifying business could get. I’m sure it isn’t just Roxanne, either. There are dozens of businesses that provide girls for the red-light district, and the more those agency owners and pimps normalize and glamorize that lifestyle, the easier it will be to lure young women into.
“I need some space,” I tell Elise and Dan. My sister looks mildly amused, but Dan looks annoyed. If I wasn’t about to explode, I’d have stayed to see what’s going on with him, but that just isn’t an option right now.
It feels like miles that I have to walk before I can shut myself in my bedroom, and once I do, seeing nothing but my bed in the center of the room makes me even angrier. I was fleeing this apartment to get away from a woman who is so unbothered by our split that she’s actively seeking out barely legal girls to escort for her. Roxanne herself might not be escorting anymore, but if this is what she’s spending her time doing, it’s even worse.
I had planned on just coming into this room to catch my breath and get my emotions under control, but my phone is weighing me down like a brick in my pocket. I’m just a few finger taps away from speaking to my ex herself and getting the answers that I want. Not only that, I can feel the words I want to say to her burning like acid on my tongue. I want to tear her down and make her feel like shit, just like I do right now. But if I call her, then she’ll know how much she is bothering me, and how close she still is to the top of my mind.
To avoid calling, I grab a half-full notebook from one of the packed boxes and try to write. I’m going through so much with the move, my struggle to stop drinking, and my breakup, so I should be able to write about all those things I have to overcome. With all the chaos in my mind, writing should be a way for me to bleed some of that chaos out into something beautiful and meaningful. Instead, those terrible feelings aren’t tangible to me. They are slimy and hard to grasp, and without being able to fully grasp my feeling, I just can’t write them out. It’s like trying to hold smoke.
I’m supposed to be a poet. Pain and heartache are supposed to be my bread and butter, the catalysts for brilliance, but everything I’m feeling seems so ugly that I don’t want my hands to even shape the words. I hate this, and at the same time, it makes me hate myself.
“Fuck it,” I breathe to no one but the room.
I toss the notebook aside and pull my phone out. After all this time I haven’t fully blocked Roxanne’s number, so it’s easy to just open my contacts and call her. Doing so makes me feel just as dirty as sneaking a drink would, like I’m giving into my addiction while hiding it away from everyone else. I’m only human, though, and this would be a one-time mistake if I had anything to say about it.
I can’t stop thinking about Patricia, and the problems that are sure to come if she follows through with the gig. I try to picture myself at eighteen, because imagining my own sister is too painful and unsettling, showing up to sleep with a total stranger. It makes me feel nauseous, and even panicked. Patricia can’t go through with this! She’ll never be able to get back what she is potentially about to lose. Not just her physical virginity, either. She’d be giving up her dignity, self- respect, and innocence.
Roxanne had told me, after I confronted her, that there was no way I could understand what it was like being poor, or in need of money to live, and while I’ve never been in that situation personally, the answer to such a problem can’t possibly be whoring yourself out.
I’m reaching the breaking point, and I know I have to do something, or I’ll never be able to live with myself. There are two options in front of me: call Patricia and try to talk her out of everything, or call Roxanne and tell her to drop this whole virgin escort nonsense. I have a better chance of convincing Patricia, if she’s really as timid and soft-spoken as Elise makes her out to be, but I also have the unfortunate personal connection with Roxanne that may give me some sway. If I had more time, I’d arrange a meetup with her for coffee or lunch, no matter how awful it would make me feel, just to be able to see her face to face and present my argument. I’d make that sacrifice for one of Elise’s friends, no hesitation. But there is no time for that.
I barely know Patricia, so the obvious choice, no matter how distasteful, is to call Roxanne. I’m seething, and while tearing into her immediately might make me feel better in the moment, it won’t solve any of the problems that need to be solved. I know she’s probably still desperate to talk to me, so getting her to answer won’t be a problem. It’s just keeping my temper in check.
Mind made up, I pull up Roxanne’s contact and call. It’s almost comical that I’m doing so in the room where we first had sex, but there’s basically nowhere in this apartment I can escape the memories of her anyway.
She answers after a few rings, and it’s then I notice that I’ve broken out in a sweat.
“Andries...?” Her voice is soft, cautious, yet achingly hopeful.
“Roxanne,” I respond, trying my damnedest to keep the emotions out of my own tone.
