Chapter 10
TEN
Jesse
Age sixteen
The guy in red has been watching me since I walked past his table. He sneaks glances while talking to his wife, his finger rotating his ring around like he’s trying to remind himself that he’s married, but the way she talks at him tells me that they’ve been married too long.
When he looks at me again, I give him a smile and lean back a little in my seat. His eyes linger and I give him a nod toward the bathroom.
I saw the car the guy drove here in. I can see the Rolex on his wrist, the way her jewelry shines in a way that tells me it’s not fake.
What does it say about me that I’ve learned how to pick apart a person so I know how I can use them?
But if I didn’t, if I tried to live out here honestly, what would it get me?
When I was first thrown out at fifteen, not a damn person would hire me.
And now at sixteen, everyone wants parental consent, which I sure as fuck am never going to get.
I know I could go to a church or find help, but I can’t get myself to go.
This is better. This is what I deserve. To be treated like a rich person’s toy and thrown away the next day. I’ve always been thrown away.
The guy excuses himself from the table and heads toward the back where I’ll join him in a moment. I start to get up, but a body blocks me.
“Don’t do that,” a man says.
I look up at him, confused why this guy thinks he has any say in what I’m doing. Is he some asshole about to preach at me? Or does he want me for himself?
“I know that man,” he continues. “He will treat you like absolute shit and won’t bat an eye doing it.”
“What’s it matter?” I ask.
The guy, a clean-cut man in his late twenties with dark brown hair, shakes his head. His vibrant blue eyes watch me closely. “Because you’re worth more than being a plaything for some asshole who thinks you’re going to give him head in the bathroom.”
“You going to pay for my meal?” I ask.
He pulls out his wallet and tosses down a fifty. “If you’re homeless, there are better alternatives for a kid your age.”
I ignore him and stare at the fifty. “What do you want for it?”
“I want you to not treat yourself like shit, but I have a feeling that’ll take a whole lot more than fifty dollars.”
“Sure as fuck would.”
“Well, we’ll start there,” he says, then he opens his wallet again and tosses a hundred on top. “There’s a cheap as hell motel down the road from here. It’s like twenty bucks a night if the lady owning the place feels bad for you. Go try your sob story on her.”
“Are you meeting me there? I feel like someone like you would prefer a place much nicer than a twenty-dollar motel room.”
“Nope,” he says before he heads out the door.
I watch as he gets into a nice car, much nicer than the other man’s car, and drives away.
For a moment, I stare after him, and then look back at the bathroom where the married man is waiting.
I grab my check and pay for my meal before hurrying to the motel he’d directed me to.
A part of me assumes he’ll be waiting there for me, and another part hopes he is so he can just keep on paying.
I have no idea what kind of man he is and I’m not sure I even care. He might kill me for all I know. Or he might save me from this hell.
A week passes before I see him again. I can’t help but question if it’s a random encounter or if he staged it, but no part of me cares. He’s drinking coffee alone, so I park myself in the seat across from him.
He lowers the book he’s reading and raises an eyebrow. “I see you’re still around. Why didn’t you go find some help? Tell a teacher or something.”
“What’s your name?’
“Whitaker. Yours?”
“Jesse.”
“Would you like me to buy you a coffee?”
“Sure.”
He hands me his credit card and I stare at it. “Get whatever you want.”
Is he really going to let me take this? I could memorize the number and charge whatever I wanted to it before he gets it canceled. Is this man naive or is he testing me?
Without hesitating any further, I head up to the counter and order a sandwich and a coffee along with some cookies that I tuck into my jacket before returning. I sit down across from him and slide the card over before savoring my lunch.
“Have you tried getting a job somewhere?”
“Of course I have. Without a parent’s consent or a license, I can’t get shit.”
“Do something under the counter.”
“I have. You know how much mowing lawns or raking leaves gets you? Not as much as blowing some rich guy in the bathroom.”
“I’ll pay you to mow my lawn and I promise it’ll be enough to cover your room. How about that?”
“Is that code for sex?”
“It most certainly is not. I am as straight as one can get. I have thirty minutes left of my lunch. I can drop you off and Zach can get you settled in.”
“Who is Zach? Is Zach the one who’s going to dice me up or are you?”
Whitaker laughs. “I don’t think either of us are going to, but you can remind him not to. Come or not, I don’t care,” he says, and off he goes.
Of course I follow him, I get right into his car, even though I don’t know where I’m going and am aware that absolutely no one cares or would ever worry about what happened to me if I never made it back.
He doesn’t talk much as he drives, just taps his finger to the music on the stereo. And when he pulls up to a large estate with a gate and a huge yard that definitely doesn’t need to be mowed, I realize I’ve hit the jackpot… or am about to die.
Whitaker parks and honks the horn. A young man a year or so older than me comes over to the car.
“What’s up?”
“This is Jesse. He’d like a job here. Have him mow the backyard so he can prove that he can properly mow the front.”
“Oh like… you’re being serious, I’m mowing this?” I ask, wondering why the immaculate yard would need to be mowed again.
“I’ll be back after work,” Whitaker says, ignoring my question.
I get out and he drives off, leaving me in an odd state of confusion. Zach doesn’t even hesitate, just points to the back where a lawnmower awaits me.
For two months, I do everything Whitaker says.
I mow the lawn, I clean the house, I run errands and get groceries.
And then one day, I find myself not leaving his estate.
He has so many rooms that I just decide that I might as well stay in one of them, and when I’m still here at ten o’clock at night, he doesn’t throw me out or seem to care that I’ve just helped myself to a room.
This goes on for a few nights before Whitaker waves me over.
“Jesse, could you do something a bit… unorthodox for me?” he asks.
“I’m sure I could figure it out.”
“A friend of mine, she thinks her boyfriend is cheating on her with another man. I want you to flirt with him and send him to this hotel room. If he shows up, we’ll know he’s unfaithful.
Just… lie, tell him you’re eighteen, act cute, promise to meet him there and send him on his way.
That’s all I need. I’m not asking you to have sex with him or kiss him or do anything. ”
“Yeah, I don’t care,” I say. “That’s simple—”