Chapter 19
THE NEXT DAY, Maddy directs her newly enhanced mind power toward a small but very important issue.
Maddy has a rough memory of this area. But it has changed a lot since she was a little girl.
Rat-infested tenements have been remodeled into high-end modern town houses.
Art galleries and local restaurants fill previously abandoned shops.
An area that was once a refuge for the poor now houses billionaire masters of the universe.
As Maddy walks quickly through Tompkins Square Park to Belinda’s apartment, she discovers that despite the advancements, the city has failed to make any improvements to Belinda’s building, which is a graffiti-covered mess.
The front door is unlocked, so Maddy has no trouble going inside. The crumbling staircase is littered with needles and shattered liquor bottles. She gags at the smell of stale urine. For a moment Maddy thinks she might not even be able to make it to the second floor, where Belinda lives.
But she does. The front door to Belinda’s apartment is also open.
Maddy thinks that she needs to have a conversation with the girl about personal safety, until she realizes there is no door.
She sees Belinda sitting on the filthy floor, wearing a T-shirt and a pair of men’s boxer shorts.
Next to her is a mattress where a skinny dark-haired girl is sleeping. At least Maddy hopes she’s sleeping.
“So, what is this?” Belinda says without standing. “Visitors’ day in the ghetto?”
“Quite a place you’ve got here,” says Maddy.
“Don’t start,” says Belinda. “State your purpose. Make your case, and then get the hell back uptown.”
Charming as ever, Maddy thinks. But she’s not about to antagonize Belinda. She will state her purpose. She is ready to make her case.
“I want to ask you about the time we spent together under the 59th Street Bridge,” says Maddy.
“Send me an email, and I’ll get to it after I’m done with my stocks and bonds meeting,” says Belinda. But as the girl turns her head to check on her sleeping friend, it’s clear to Maddy that Belinda’s tough composure has been shaken.
“Listen, Belinda, let me get right to it. I don’t have the experience you have.
I don’t have the pain you have. But I have some experience and some pain, and damnit, I want to help you.
But I can’t unless you share something with me.
I don’t mean to throw this all in your face, but I helped you in court.
All I want to do is help you some more. I want the whole story on those girls you’re working with. ”
There is a long pause. Belinda slides her hand under the mattress and pulls out a package of cigarettes.
“Lucky Strikes!” says Maddy, looking at the crumpled pack. “I didn’t know they made those anymore.”
“Want one?” Belinda asks.
“No, thanks,” says Maddy, but even though she refuses, somehow the classic interaction of offering a cigarette warms the room with a sort of trust.
Belinda apparently decides that she doesn’t want a cigarette, either. She slowly stands up and says, “You must be the only person in New York who doesn’t know what goes on under the 59th Street Bridge.”
“Of course I know. I was there with you. I saw drugs changing hands.”
“Oh, yeah,” says Belinda, her eyes going wide with fake innocence. “ That. For shit’s sake, do you really think that’s all that goes on down there?
“Some of those girls go off with some bastard, and they never come back.”
Maddy worried that the girls’ exposure to the seedier side might go deeper than drugs, but she didn’t expect this.
Belinda speaks quietly now.
“I knew them all. Annie, DeeDee, Marla, and this one,” Belinda says, once again sliding her hand under the mattress, taking out a cell phone. She taps the screen a few times, then thrusts the phone at Maddy.
“That’s Chloe,” Belinda says. “She was my best friend.”
Maddy studies the face. It could be a photo for a middle school yearbook, an end-of-summer-camp team picture. A smiling blond girl.
As Maddy studies the picture of Chloe, Belinda explodes with anger.
“Somebody is treating that bridge like a buffet,” she says.
“I can help you, Belinda. I can help.”
But the girl just shakes her head, a deep sadness reflected in her eyes.
“I miss my friend so much, Maddy. Chloe just disappeared. She just stopped showing up. If nobody does anything, it’ll keep happening. It’s going to happen to me. It’s just a matter of time.”
“It’s not,” Maddy argues, shaking her head.
“Nobody cares about us poor girls, the ones who have to do anything to survive. We’re just meat in a grinder, and some sicko figured out he can pick and choose.
I can get busted for dealing because some of my stuff flows up to the rich side of town.
But stuff that happens to people down here stays here, and nobody does a damn thing about it. ”
“Not anymore,” Maddy says.