I look down at my fingernails, wondering what would have happened if Jesus had gotten me back. It's hard to say. But I think I can safely guess that I wouldn’t have liked it. I'm lucky Evan came for me.
“What do you want to watch?” I look up at him, leaning against the counter top across from me. The way he's leaning puts particular emphasis on his... Um, yeah. I cast my eyes to his face, which is serious almost to the point of sullen, and that helps me laugh, because he looks ridiculous. He grins, and his grin reminds me of a lazy dog. Just chillin'.
“Stop laughing at me.” He lunges to punch me lightly in the arm, then turns his body so his shoulder bumps into mine. “What do you want to watch?” he asks me.
His handsome face is so close to mine that I can hardly breathe, much less answer.
He bumps me again, and I swallow back my nerves. “What about old Southpark re-runs?” Evan narrows his eyes at me. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “I like Southpark, except the few where they make fun of religious stuff.”
He laughs. “Of course you don’t.”
“Why of course?” I scrunch my eyebrows. “Because you have a hard time believing I’m religious?”
“It's just...” He frowns. “You're not lying to me, are you? You, right now, are the real Meredith?” He shakes his head. “I guess that sounds crazy…”
I think I get it... “You're wondering if I had to be someone else when I worked at a brothel in Vegas, or when I was some drug lord's beard. Or if I’m being someone else now, so you won’t know how messed up I really am.” I press my lips together. “It's an understandable question, but yeah, I'm me. The brothel work was furthest from my norm, but I had a specific role I needed to play for my primary client. It probably wasn't anything like what you'd think.”
He doesn't say anything, and I wonder if it bothers him, that I used to mess around for money. He reads my mind, drumming on the counter as he says, “I just can't picture it.”
The microwave dings, and I slide a glance his way as I step past him to get it. “Dare I ask what part?”
He grabs some paper towels and I get two Cokes from the refrigerator, and we head into the living area. “The you as someone's call girl part. Whether it's a pimp or a client or a kingpin, you just don't seem like that to me. You have your college degree, right?”
“Yes.”
“You used to write for newspapers.”
Yes. Damnit. Before now, I hadn’t been sure exactly what he knew about me, but… “Did you read my columns?” My cheeks are hot again.
“Yeah. Pageant participants as cattle.” He smiles as my discomfort. “So tell me what happened.” He crooks an eyebrow, giving me a look that's surprisingly intimate.
I plop down on the couch and hold the popcorn bowl tightly in between my palms. “Sometimes things don't turn out the way you plan. Or is your life exactly the way you meant it to be?”
23
Cross
I WANT THIS to be a fun night for her. It’s pretty ridiculous; as if a fun night with her former john’s son will make up for being sold into slavery.
But still, I’m wanting to kick myself for going down this road. I don't need to talk about this shit with her, and I already know that. Some things should stay unsaid, and her involvement with my father is definitely one of them.
I flip channels, watching the images flicker on the massive flat screen as I wrestle with myself—but I already know the outcome. Now that I've peeled back the skin on this, I'm going to dig right in. I can’t help myself. “I told you my sob story.” I say it like a challenge. “Let's hear yours.”
She rearranges herself on the huge leather couch, sitting the popcorn bowl between us and drawing a pillow into her lap. She balances her Coke on the pillow and frames it with her hands. Her long, pale red hair has fallen like a veil between us, but as she taps a frenzied rhythm on the Coke can, I can see her face. I can see the struggle on it.
She sighs and takes a long gulp. Then she tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at me. Her mouth is set into a grim line. Her beautiful green eyes are flat. “Just after college, I dated this guy who put me in a really bad situation, and I had to leave Atlanta, where I was living. At the time I was researching for a freelance article on escorts in Vegas. So I went to Vegas.” She huffs her breath out, causing the wisps of hair around her face to dance. “I guess I kind of ran away to Vegas.”
My mind is reeling, wondering what could have happened to make her run away; wondering why the police wanted to question her. I remember something I read online back in Napa, at the library: about how the police in Atlanta wanted to question her in relation to some guy; I think his name was Sean something. I must be making some kind of pissed off face, because Meredith shrinks away a little, pulling the pillow closer to her chest. She traces the rim of the Coke can with her fingertip, and I want to tell her not to. She might cut her finger.
“When I got there, out to Vegas, I ended up getting to know the manager and owner of this brothel on the Strip. I was working on my story, but I ran out of money, so I ended up crashing there. I wasn't sure what I'd do...” She bites her lip, glancing at me and then down at the floor. “Because of the...circumstances, I couldn't go back home. I was going to get a job waitressing or something. I'd even put in some applications. And then one day, I was on my way to the gym when a client saw me, I think, and it wasn't long after that the owner told me that this guy felt I fit the bill for what he wanted.” Her eyes, on her Coke can, flick to mine. She watches me carefully, waiting for my judgment.
I'm gritting my teeth, so I try to relax my jaw and calm my mind. Do I hope this client was my father, or someone else? The possibilities seem equally awful.
“In what way?” I choke out. I swallow so what I say next doesn't sound so fucking ragged. “How'd you fit the bill?”
She shrugs, like we're talking about the rain. “The client wanted someone young who wasn't seeing many or any other clients. And he wanted a Vegas girl, so I became his Vegas girl.”
And there it is. It's all out on the table. Meredith was my father's Vegas girl.
I nod, keeping a lid on my feelings, and then without meaning to, I'm up, striding into the kitchen. My heart is pounding and my mouth feels dry. I turn a quick circle, careful not to look at Merri. But from where she’s sitting, she might be able to see my face. And if she sees my face, she'll know. I wheel around again and jerk open the refrigerator. I grab the first thing I see—a bottle of beer—and curse as I realize I can't twist the damn top off. Not with one hand.
I stand there, breathing hard and staring at it, and Merri's soft footsteps whisper across the stone floor. I don't want to see her but she stands in front of me. She has her arms folded over her stomach and her pretty little bow of a mouth is pinched into a sour face.
“You know, you asked.”
“I nod.” I do know that. I just didn't plan to feel so fracking jealous. I pop my jaw, and Meredith's eyes widen. She takes the beer from me and twists the top off. She takes a long swig and hands it back to me.