Fallen Too Far (2 page)

They both laughed and blotted their eyes, wiping their faces as best they could.

“I’m going to just go on here, Jessica. I’m in too deep to back out, okay?”

“Go for it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It took about two years for Momma and I to stop missing Poppa with an ache. It settled down to a throb; but we learned how to laugh again.” She looked at her friend, and away from her memories. “Both your parents, they’re still alive, right?”

Jessica nodded.

“It will be
hard
, Jessica.”

Jessica’s lips were tight as she nodded.

“Everything fell apart in my second year of Grad School. I was in a six year program, to become a psychotherapist.”

“What happened?”

“It started when Momma got sick.” She looked away, back to the past. “God, that was over six years ago.” Her voice got soft. “It started with unreasonable outbursts of anger. I wrote them off to grief at first. Then, after about six months or so--it’s kind of blurry in my memory--she began to call me ‘Angie’.”

“Who’s that?”

“Her dead twin sister. Angie died two years before Momma met Poppa of brain cancer.”

“Oh.”

“So I had her tested, and she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s…” Annik’s eyes filled again. “Oh God, it was horrible to watch. She lost so much of herself so fast. Her memory was all over the place, her temper was completely unpredictable…” Annik started to sob. “
And she didn’t know me anymore.
” She bent forward again, sobbing “Momma” over and over.

Jessica sat still on the couch. The sorrow and grief coming from her friend was an invisible cloud of cold steam, rolling over and through both of them in its hollow emptiness.

When Annik sat up again, her eyes were clear. Her voice was almost monotone.

“She had to go into a nursing home. She had severe behavioral issues, she was incontinent, and she became a wanderer. I couldn’t take care of my Momma, and even full time nurses weren’t enough.

“I found not a good one, but the
best
nursing home in the city.” She shook her head. “It’s ironic—Momma wasn’t even aware that I had moved her, she had slipped that far. Thank God we had the money—it cost almost a hundred thousand dollars a year.”

“Holy shit.”

Annik laughed. “Not back then. Not yet. Back then it was a drop in the bucket. Our income
after taxes
was fifty thousand dollars.” She looked at Jessica. “A month.”

“Holy stinking shit.”

“No, it was clean money.” Annik’s mouth twitched in a smile.

“With that kind of money, why did you become an Escort then?”

“Let’s use the proper word, Jessica. I appreciate the euphemism, I use it myself. But the right word for a woman who has sex for money is
whore
.”

Jessica stayed silent, her eyes alone reiterating the question.

“We were robbed.”

“What?”

“Every penny. Cleaned out. Overnight.”

Jessica’s eyes bulged.

“Our investment guy—the one Poppa, then Momma trusted with our lives; he’s still in prison, gets out next year was Conrad Neiterman.”

“Oh shit.”

Annik nodded. “Yep. The Canadian Bernie Madoff. Four billion dollar swindle, including the Dandridge family fortune.” Annik’s voice had steadied. It was easier to tell of the crime than of Momma not knowing her.

“Overnight, we had to sell the house. Which was okay. After expenses, we had some serious equity, enough to pay for Momma for more than four years. I moved into a one bedroom apartment, and started working as a server in a restaurant. With my looks and smarts, I was doing okay. Still in school with only a year and a bit to go.”

“But the money ran out. It took four years, but it happened.

“I can remember the night when I turned my first trick…” her voice faded.

“Oh Annik…”

They looked at each other.

“Annik, what do you need me to say right now?”

That’s why she was her dearest friend. Jessica knew, when she didn’t know.

“I need you to tell me to go on, I think.”

“Go on, Annik.”

Both women sat up straight in their seats, steeling themselves for the next part.

“I saw the bank account shrinking.” She shook her head. “Shit, I was buying lottery tickets every week, hoping God would cut me some slack. Cut Momma some slack.” She looked at her friend. “He must not have got the voice mail; I sure left plenty, believe me.

“But nothing was coming in. I had been late for a payment, and I was told by the Home that if I didn’t come up with five hundred dollars in twenty-four hours, they would be forced to transfer Momma to a public home. To a warehouse, Jessica.”

She sighed and continued.

“Anyway… I was at work at the restaurant, serving an out of town businessman who kept hitting on me. He was drunk and offered me five hundred dollars to go with him to his hotel room. I was twenty-five and wasn’t a virgin. So I went to his room.

“It was horrible. He didn’t pay me up front. And then wouldn’t, until he’d done it twice. But I was able to keep the wolves at bay.”

With a shudder, she recoiled at the memory of that first time, still seeing the pig’s face when he told her to strip. She felt dirty all over again remembering. The smell of his boozy breath mixed with sweat. Then refusing to pay until he got a blowjob. And she had to swallow. She learned a lot that night.

“But it was five hundred dollars. I needed to make almost a hundred thousand dollars a year
after
taxes, and I was only a Grad Student, you know? Shit, my professors didn’t make that kind of money. So I put an ad in the paper. And that’s how it started.”

“I figured I’d do it until either Momma slipped away, or until I could finish school and establish a legitimate practice.”

“What happened?”

“I got arrested.” Annik leaned forward and patted Jessica’s knee. “I’m a convicted criminal. I got caught in a sweep, took a plea, and have a conviction on my record. I dropped out of school the day my case was settled.”

“Why did you do
that
?”

“Jessica… any decent job is gone for me. In our brave new post 911 world,
everyone
gets a background check. I can’t even get a job driving a cab, let alone as a therapist.” She sat back. “You know, it’s ironic as hell. The guy who stole our money gets out of jail next year; I’m doing a life sentence.”

“But…”

“But nothing. First of all, I’m thirty-two, almost thirty-three, you know. What good man would want me?”

“Tom is crazy about you.”

“Ha! Tom’s a John. You know that.”

Jessica nodded. She had met Tom at the same place, the same time actually, where she struck up her friendship with Annik three years ago. They met at the adult club, Pandora’s. Jessica was there with her beau, Craig Forsythe. Craig and Tom were good friends and the four of them had enjoyed many good times together—both at Pandora’s and in the vanilla world.

Craig and she were serious about each other. Two years earlier, when they had just begun to date, they had hit a rough spot. Annik had taken it upon herself to step in and straighten Craig out.

Jessica owed so much of the joy of her own life to this woman.

“Look, Annik, I understand that there’s a
business aspect
to your relationship, okay? But I also can see just as clearly, that Tom’s really crazy about you.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Damn right. I can see that just as clearly as you saw how Craig felt about me. And you called him on it.”

“Well…”

Jessica leaned toward her. “And furthermore, girlfriend, I can see how
you
look at him when he’s not looking at you. Give me a break.”

Annik went still and looked straight ahead, avoiding her eyes.

“Let me ask you a question, Jessica. And be honest.”

“Okay…”

“Tom and I can’t be anything more than we are right now—a John and his whore. And I’ll prove it. You and I, we’re both only children, right?”

“You know that, yeah.”

“Okay. Now imagine you have a brother—younger, older, I don’t care. But you have a brother. You’d love him to death, right?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Now how would you feel if your brother came home one day and announced that he was going to marry a whore, have kids with her, and grow old with her? What is your heart saying right now, Jessica?”

“But…”

“Jessica! Answer the damn question.”

“Fuck you.”

“What?”

“Fuck you. I really mean that. Go fuck yourself. If my kid brother came home with a woman like you, I’d be so proud of him, I would bust. You think I’m that shallow? Really? You do? Fuck you.”

“Do you really mean that? You’re just being nice, and I love you for that…”

They both started to cry again. Together they stood and held each other as sisters sometimes might, and as best friends always would.

Jessica pulled away and cupped Annik’s face in her hands.

“You know, you were right.”

“About what?”

“I don’t look at you the way I did when we first sat down, Annik.” She kissed her cheek. “I love you even more now than I did an hour ago. I love you for your strength, and for what you would do for those you love. I am so blessed to be loved by someone like you.”

Chapter 2

Paul opened the side door of the dilapidated farm house he called home. He strode to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap to rinse his bloody hands. The whore tonight had been older than the others.

He dried his hands on the greasy dishtowel and trudged up the creaky wooden stairs to his room.

****

Tom Eldon stood on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking Central Park, savoring his victory. He had risked a lot to land this deal, and he’d won. The five year contract was in his briefcase. Along with the check for the first ninety days. It contained a shitload of zeros.

They had been dicking around on this deal for six months and it was time for Targay to shit or get off the pot. He had insisted that he be the last guy through the door. He didn’t give a shit how tired everyone would be. He showed up alone, carrying his briefcase. No entourage, no spear carriers like all his competitors no doubt had brought in for their presentations.

Calling out the CEO with a veiled challenge to make up his damn mind worked like a charm. The room cleared in less than a minute. So what if Targay was more than a thousand times the size of Tom’s company? Tom’s employees earned twenty times more on average. The two men sat down as equals, and in forty five minutes made a deal. The CEO (‘Call me Greg, Tom’) was actually a little grateful to get this project finally off his desk.

Everything. Every flyer, store sign, shopping bag, TV ad, newspaper ad, credit card insert, every single thing that Targay wanted to say to the world would now go though Tom’s shop. For five years. Five Christmas seasons of television commercials alone was going to put about ten million into his pocket. Forget about Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Thanksgiving, Spring Clean up…

He called the office when he hit the street after the meeting, and gave everyone the next day off. They were probably still in some bar or restaurant celebrating on his dime.

He celebrated alone.

He ordered room service so he could watch the evening slip into night as he ate.

Christ, it was beautiful. The golden sunset made the buildings flanking Central Park glow. He ate his supper during the period of about twenty minutes when everything was a flat gray.

He had been standing at the balcony watching the lights—those beautiful, sparkly city lights. First the ones in the buildings peeked out. They were always there, but appeared more intense as darkness fell. Next were the streetlights. In groups of two or three they flickered on. He loved watching them march north. The pathway lights in Central Park must have been on a longer delayed switch; they came on last.

He glanced at the sky. From twenty-seven stories up, the strongest, the most powerful stars shone, nearly invisible if one were at the brightly lit, street level. The moon was full as it rose over the horizon, yellow orange.

Eventide in New York City. Forty five minutes of wonder every night. All you had to do was look up.

The biggest night of his life and the only person on the planet he ached to share it with was a hooker. He laughed out loud at the absurdity.

“Not a hooker, Tom. Not an Escort, call girl or even prostitute. Let’s call a spade a spade. I’m a whore.” She had said that to him over two years ago, on their second meeting.

“So I guess that makes me a John?” he had asked.

She had nodded. Silently, but with her chin set. They were lying in bed sharing a bottle of wine. He had just complimented her. Not on her ability to get him to come; that was a given. He had complimented her on how she was such a professional. She laughed out loud at him. And told him exactly what she was.

He replied that she better get her opinion of herself out of the gutter; because it reflected on him. He spent the next hour giving her a crash course in marketing professional services. He told her that if she treated her occupation with the same level of respect as any lawyer or doctor would, she’d command top prices and be as busy as she wanted to be.