9
“Why are you still here?” I ask angrily, trying to hide the spark of excitement I feel against my will.
“I thought you might like to rub up against my back again on the way to university,” he smirks and runs his fingers through his unruly hair.
“Oh, you’re so disgusting.” I arrange my bag strap on my shoulder and turn away.
“You can’t talk like that to your boss,” he mocks.
“Then fire me.” I start walking and he turns on the motorcycle. “I tried.” He blocks me with his motorcycle. “Really. Several times, if I’m not mistaken,” He smiles, and once again I feel this warm tingling sliding down my back. “Come on, get on.” He hands me the helmet. “I promise not to say anything about your perversion.”
“What? What perversion?” I ask shocked.
“You know…” he stares at my chest and bites his lower lip. I turn pale and he bursts into a fit of laughter.
“That’s not funny.” I move aside and he catches my wrist.
“You’re late.” He points at his watch and I look to the sides, desperately hoping I’ll find a taxi to save me. None is in sight. I fume and slide behind him, moving my hips slightly backward. He turns around, places the helmet carefully on my head and once again there’s not a trace of the beastly side of his face. I take advantage of every second to gaze in awe at the angelic side until he turns back and starts driving.
I try to pretend that his back isn’t there throughout the drive. That muscular back, those broad shoulders….damn. It’s easier when I close my eyes and run through a long and complicated formula that we've learned in a classical mechanics class. It’s amazing how quickly my body cools down and my brain warms up when I enter my magical parallel world.
The motorcycle stops at the entrance of the campus and I get off quickly.
“Thanks,” I hiss while returning the helmet. He smiles. “I’m going now.” I start walking away, then stop and turn around. He’s still sitting there smiling. “Unless… you have some other stupid comment you want to say to me.” I pull my braid down my back, ensuring that no stray locks have escaped.
“No,” he says, still staring at me.
“So I’ll see you tonight.” I sigh.
“Don’t come back tonight,” he says, not smiling anymore.
“Are you firing me again?” I ask angrily.
“No. But I’m asking you not to come back.”
“So I’ll see you tonight.” I turn and run toward the auditorium.
I'm sitting in class. Johanna is sitting next to me, not saying a word.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask and yawn.
“You didn’t come home last night again,” she lashes out at me. “I sent you a million messages and you didn’t even answer one.”
“But I told you that I have a new job.” I can’t understand why she’s so upset.
“What kind of job makes you not come home two nights in a row?”
“Just a waitressing job,” I try to avoid answering.
“Fine, then tonight I'll come to see where you work,” she says irritably.
“No!” I exclaim.
“Why?”
“Just because.” I tap my pencil on the squared paper pad in front of me just as the Professor takes his place.
“Why?” she whispers, and I shake my head, motioning her to be quiet. Within thirty seconds I'm deep into the lecture.
During the break between classes, I avoid her and go to the library by myself. I go over the emails I’ve received from professional magazines I subscribed to and see that I have a message from Professor Sawyer’s Teaching Assistant. Our first meeting is in an hour. All my frustration from the last two days vanishes and is replaced by excitement. Today I’ll start working with Professor Sawyer on his new research study. Today I’ll take another important step towards my dream.
I knock once on the wooden door and go inside. Two juniors are sitting on the sofa, together with the TA. Professor Sawyer smiles at me and indicates that I should join them. Everyone looks as excited as I feel.
“So, as you’ve already understood from the last article I published,” Professor Sawyer starts, “our research will focus on the subject of light pollution and how it affects the visibility of Milky Way stars to the human eye.”
“How is this research different from the last one that was published in the ‘Science Advances’ magazine?” asks one of the students, and I am shocked by his audacity.
“Don’t worry, it will be completely different.” The Professor seems amused. “Their research is very serious and comprehensive, but it concentrates on the macro aspect. We’re going to focus on the micro.”
My God… I am so lucky! I can’t wipe the smile off my face as he continues. He explains the different aspects of our research and the wheels in my mind turn continuously.
“So, to get up to speed, I suggest that you go to the library and find all the studies on this subject from the past ten years, and each of you will give me a summary at our next meeting in a few days.” He hasn’t even finished the sentence and the two students are already pushing towards the door. “The race to the library,” the professor laughs, and they nod in embarrassment and leave the room.
I yawn and stand up slowly.
“Aren’t you worried they won’t leave you any books?” he asks me kindly and I roll my eyes.
“I can recite your last article in my sleep.” I stifle another yawn. “And while they were waiting for your instructions, I had already checked out all the books that seemed relevant.”
“I knew that I made the right choice.” He looks at his TA and she nods in agreement. “Who knows, I might even advise you on your thesis.”
“Sometimes dreams do come true,” I say excitedly and my eyes lock onto his masculine, impressive face. The almost complete symmetry between the left and right sides of his face give him a perfect appearance. All the beauty and brains in one person.
“So, did you get the job?” he suddenly changes the subject and the blood drains from my face.
“Yes,” I say and avoid his eyes.
“Teaching? Research? Lab work?” he asks curiously, and I lean over to pick up my backpack and turn my back to him.
“Kind of a lab work,” I mumble, “and kind of research on the macro level,” I blurt, and run out of the room.
My next classes pass quickly, and Johanna goes back to being my close, well-mannered friend. She doesn’t ask any more annoying questions and she goes on about her new date who she just met in class, and the restaurant he’s taking her to. I try to show interest in what she is saying, sometimes I even say something myself, but my body insists on remembering the tingles that went through me this morning on my ride with my unusual boss.
“Go on, don't be shy.” She throws some leaves at me and I realize that I have been so deep in my thoughts that I haven’t heard a word she said. “Well, one orgasm or more?” she repeats the question I missed, and I look at her in confusion. “Elena!” she giggles, “have you ever managed to have more than one orgasm during sex?”
“Oh,” I pull myself together. “I don’t think so.” I wrinkle my forehead, attempting to remember my bedroom encounters from the last few years. “But I did have an orgasm,” I say proudly, “and according to recent studies I’m definitely in the minority.”
“Right,” she sighs. “I only do occasionally, and only when I help myself.”
“How did we ever get to talk about this?” I ask horrified. “Haven’t we got more important things to talk about?”
“I think that this is very important,” she says, and I hear in her tune that she feels insulted. “Do you not think that we can, and should, also talk about things other than molecules and quantum all the time?”
“Not really.” I laugh.
“Elena,” she groans. “Do you not feel that we live inside a sterile lab? That there is an exciting life outside and we’re not a part of it? Aren’t you bored?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask in amazement. “Look!” I point at the faculty buildings. “That’s as exciting as it gets.” I take my cellphone out of my backpack and my smile vanishes. My mother has called me five times today. There’s no escaping the conversation I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. “I have to get to work.” I stand up and brush the grass off my jeans.
“If you continue to work all night and study all day, you will collapse,” she says concerned and stands up next to me. “Maybe you should…”
“I have to go,” I cut her off and hurry toward the exit. I get into a cab and dial my mom.
“Elena, where did you disappear to?” she asks angrily.
“I’m really busy with school, mom.” I manage to keep my cool. “I’ve been accepted to a new, important research study.”
“Good.” I can hear that she is still angry. “And I see that you're still in denial regarding our new situation.”
“Not at all.” I stuff a stray lock of hair into my braid. “I’ve found a job and I’m working and studying all together.”
“A job that pays thirty thousand dollars?” she asks contemptuously, and I start to lose my patience.
“No, mom. But I can pay in installments, and I’ll work hard and make the money.”
“Elena,” she says, and I can picture her tapping her foot. “Stop thinking only about yourself. I need to leave the house next week. I’ve sent your father to rehab and I even had to go out and get a job.”
“Wow, Mom, good for you.” I am trying my best to keep our conversation positive.
“Good for me?” she says, and I just know that now she’s scraping her manicured fingernail on the mahogany banister. “A woman of my age, who has never worked a day in her life, must now be a receptionist at a used-car dealership. But you don't care. You're too busy with your stupid research.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath and exhale. “You’re only fifty years old. Plenty of women your age work. I think it will be good for you. And if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to my stupid research now.” I disconnect the call and throw my cellphone back in my bag. It rings and I ignore it. I’ll never understand how you can go through life when the only thing that interests you is what people think of you and how you look. But that’s my mom. You can love her, you can hate her, but you can’t ignore her. Right now I pretty much hate her, but that’s not anything new.
I get out of the cab, say hi to the bouncer at the entrance and go inside. The three partners are sitting with Carly at the round table. Charlie is setting out wine glasses on the shelves and the girls are sitting together at some of the tables. My entrance doesn’t draw any attention, everyone continues what they’re doing. I go to the restroom and wash my face.
When I look in the mirror, I see that one of the stalls is open and the tall brunette is sitting on a closed toilet seat, leaning over a stainless-steel surface attached to the wall. She uses a rectangular card to arrange two lines of powder, takes a rolled-up dollar bill and snorts them up her nose.
“Want some?” she asks with a smile and sniffle.
I shake my head no.
“Too bad, this is good stuff.” She sniffles again, closes her eyes and leans back.
“Do you like it?” I hear myself asking and then fall silent.
“Sure.” She puts her hand on her neck. “It’s great stuff.”
“Not that,” I can’t stop myself, “…being with those men.”
“Oh…” she sits up straight and open her eyes. “I like it the way I like it when a mosquito gets into my room at night and sucks my blood over and over and over.” She laughs at my shocked face and stands up.
“Then why do you do it?” I pull at the sides of my T-shirt to stretch it so that it won’t cling to my body.
“Because I need money to live and this stuff is expensive, too.” She shows me the transparent capsule with the white powder inside.
“But you don’t have to use that,” I insist.
“That’s the only way I can get through the nights here.” She shrugs and approaches the mirror.
“I just don’t understand it,” I mutter and look her over. “That’s so screwed up!”
She turns her head to me quickly with a furious look on her face. “You don’t get to judge anyone here.” She says angrily. “If you want to feel superior, go do it somewhere else.” She pushes past me and leaves.
Damn it. Me and my big mouth. Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut for once? Why do I care if her excuse is one of the most idiotic things I’ve ever heard in my life. She’s not my friend, and I really don’t care what she does or why she’s so stupid.
I go back out to the bar and when I pass the girls, they stop talking and one of them hisses “Bitch,” at me. Great, that’s just what I needed. Enemies in Hell.
Charlie puts three bottles of beer and a glass of wine on the counter and asks me to take them to the round table. I take the beers, serve them and place a paper napkin by each bottle.
Scarface looks concerned and doesn’t even say hello.
“Those Frenchies,” says Mike, scratching his red hair. “They've always been and always will be whores. I told you they can’t be trusted.” He drinks some beer and slams the bottle down on the table. “Let’s go there together, I’ll get that son of a bitch and say ‘neek ta mar’ - ‘Go fuck your mother.'"
“ Nique ta mère ,” I correct him with the correct accent and giggle. I rearrange the napkin he moved and when I look up from the table, they’re all looking at me.
“You talk French, too?” Scarface asks, circling the bottleneck with his thumb.
“Not by choice,” I reply and return to the bar. I take the wine glass and go back to the table.
“I have an idea,” Scarface says and stands up. Carly thanks me as I place the glass in front of her. “If all three of us go there now, it will be the end of us cooperating together, and it will take us a long time to find new suppliers. But if I go alone and figure out their scam, I can make them give back the two kilos they cut off our last delivery.
“Oh, and they’ll just give you the info?” Tommy asks mockingly.
“No, but if I go with a hooker who just happens to speak French, she can tell me what they’re talking about when they think that no one can understand.”
“Do we have a hooker like that?” Mike asks, and Carly elbows him in the ribs and laughs.
“It’s a brilliant idea,” Tommy says and leans back. Now everyone is looking at me.
“What?” I ask uneasily.
“You’ll come with me this evening to the meeting with the Frenchies.” Scarface smiles at me smugly.
“I’m the hooker?” I speak so loudly that the girls get quiet and look over at us curiously.
“Not a real hooker,” Scarface is still smiling. “Pretend that you’re acting in a school play or something.”
“Oh, I get it now.” Mike smacks his forehead and laughs. “Elena will be the hooker because she speaks French.”
“Shut up,” Carly nudges him angrily. She probably realizes that I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“I can’t,” I shake my head and take a step backward. “No one will believe…. I can’t.”
Scarface looks at Carly. She stands up in front of me. “Elena,” she says in a motherly tone, “We gave you a chance to work here even though we really shouldn’t have. Now we need your help, just for one night. Don’t let us down.”
“But what’s that got to do with my job as a waitress?” I refuse to give in to her emotional blackmail. "I’ll do a great job tonight. Here.” I turn towards the bar and Scarface approaches me.
“Don’t you also start.” I sit on the barstool and arrange the napkins in three equal piles. “It won’t work on me!”
“Fine.” He gives me a wide smile. “Then I’ll just tell you that if you won’t go with me tonight, you’re fired.” His smile disappears and I'm shocked to see that the hideous side of his face has taken over.
“You can’t do that,” I say angrily.
“Try me,” he replies coldly.
“So basically, what you’re saying is that if I won’t be a hooker tonight, I’m fired?” I grind my teeth until they nearly crack.
“No, what I’m saying is that if you won’t pretend to be a hooker tonight, you’re fired.”
That’s pure blackmail, and not even the emotional kind. “That’s illegal.” I carry on putting the napkins on top of each other in their piles.
“Then press charges.” A small smirk plays over his face.
My head spins with thoughts and I close my eyes.
“So…” he urges.
“Be quiet! I’m thinking,” I answer angrily and disconnect myself, my mind. I’m no longer at the bar. I’m not surrounded by prostitutes and my boss is not trying to make me play a scary and dangerous game. Instead, I’m standing on the stage in the auditorium, looking at the whiteboard, holding a blue marker in my hand and drawing a table on it. On one side I fill in all the reasons to run from this place: drugs, perverts, police raids, and the shame. There are so many reasons. On the other side of the table I need to write down all the reasons why I should give in to his threat. I write down one line: graduated bachelor’s degree in physics with honors.
Damn it. I open my eyes and see that he is staring at me.
“What did you just do?” he asks quietly. “It looked as if you were concentrating on solving the atomic theory.”
“No. That’s already been solved,” I answer calmly. “I was thinking.” I point at my head. “You know, some people do that sometimes.”
“And what did you decide?” He looks tense.
“That you’re my boss, so I’ll come with you tonight. But you have to pay me for the shift I’ll miss.”
“Of course.” He sighs in relief and puts his hand out to help me off the barstool. “Why don’t you ever call me by my name?” he asks once I am standing. “You don’t have to call me boss. We aren’t formal around here.”
“I’ve formed some strong opinions of you in my head,” I answer honestly. “It’s still hard for me to shake them off.”
“Interesting,” he smiles, and once again I see that angelic side of his face that makes my stomach clench. “Maybe you can tell me about them on our way.”
“Maybe not,” I reply shortly and walk over to Carly. “I’ll do it. So get me some makeup and I’ll fix myself up.”
She bursts into laughter and the two men join in.
“Even I wouldn’t think you’re a hooker,” says Mike as he takes a sip of his beer and burps. “And I think all women are hookers.”
“You need more than just some makeup,” Carly explains and starts walking toward the door that connects to the dance club. She opens it and I get a quick glimpse of the neon lights and a split second of loud music. The door closes, and I sit back down on the barstool at the counter.
“Don’t look so miserable,” Charlie tries to cheer me up. “Look at it like an adventure.” He pours me a glass of wine and I shake my head no. I don’t need alcohol now. I need to be sharp; I need to look after myself inside the chaos that they’re drawing me into.
Carly comes back, holding two large plastic bags. She signals me to join her and we go into the restroom as she closes the door behind us.
“Strip,” she asks and pulls black leather leggings out of a bag.
“That won’t fit me,” I protest as I look at the thin straps.
“Don’t worry,” she dismisses me, and I take off my jeans and try to squeeze into the tight leggings. They get stuck over my backside and she bends down, pulls them up and arranges the top part over my stomach. “You have a great ass.” She feels it and I hold my breath, fearing that if I inhale the leggings will rip apart. “You know that there are girls who get plastic surgery to make their asses bigger?” she asks seriously, and instead of answering I exhale in small puffs. “But none of them look this good.” She pats me on my ass and looks up at me. “Breathe normally!” She orders jokingly, and I take a deep breath just before my face starts turning blue. “See?” she smiles. “It’s perfect.” She takes a cropped leather vest out of the bag, and the shocked expression comes back to my face. “Come on…” she points to my shirt and ignores my horror.
“So turn around,” I demand embarrassed, and she laughs.
“You think you’ve got something I haven’t seen before?” she mocks. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.”
I peek at the door to make sure it’s closed and quickly take off my shirt. “Wow!” I hear her exclaim and I cover my breasts with my hands. “Let me see.” She pulls my hands away and inspects my breasts in awe. “So big and juicy.” She screws up her eyes and comes closer, I try to pull myself away but the sink is behind me. She pokes my right breast with her finger. “Real, too,” she says, and I smack her finger away, shocked.
“What are you doing?” I cover myself up again.
“Why do you wear a bra?" She asks me irritated, “you should show those off, not cover them up in more fabric.”
“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.