Twisted (24 page)

‘Shit, I forgot I had a fight with my father.’ He rolls his eyes and continues, ‘You know, nothing serious. The old man is just trying to prove his point and we all know that the only way he can make me listen is to cut me off from the manger.’

He closes the wallet and puts it back into his pants pocket, frowning. ‘I hate to ask you, Jul, but could you please get this one? I will pay you back as soon as I’ve sorted things out with my father … in a few days max.’

I nod sure and pick up the bill without hesitation.

He leans over the table and kisses me on the lips. ‘Thanks, you are the best!’

* * *

Hi my Poppy-seed!

How are you keeping? I haven’t heard from you lately. What’s going on? I am worried about you big time
.

Guess what? I think Natalia is in love!

She met this Russian guy who serves in the French legion. He is a very handsome guy with a great personality and an awesome black Audi TT. He took us on the Gardon River where we had a picnic and did some canoeing. Had great fun.

You know Natalia, she is all cool, and keeps saying that it is not serious, but I think she is totally smitten by this guy, and that he is planning some serious moves on her.

I am so tired – this champagne-drinking for real is exhausting. We have another two weeks before the end of our contract. Can’t wait to go home. Natalia is making plans already for expanding and improving the salon.

Waiting for your reply …

xxx

Fuck.

The next day the same thing happens … and the day after that.

Ali asks me if I want to go out, chooses an expensive place and then bullshits me with his father story when it comes to the bill, adding a stupid-excuse smile when he sees the disapproval on my face.

Every night we go out to luxury places with fancy food and well-trained waiters who remind me of circus animals and who bring me the bill. In return, I get cheesy kisses over the table with a you-are-the-best-I-will-pay-you-back from Ali.

I know that he needs my help. I am sure he will repay me as soon as he fixes his relationship with his parents: but, what the fuck? I worked hard for my money, which now is melting away at an enormous speed to maintain my ‘boyfriend’s’ lifestyle.

Before long, I realise that grocery shopping is my expense and that Ali sometimes goes into my purse, without asking me, when he calls the dealer or goes out with his friends for a drink.

Less than two weeks later, we’ve pretty much eaten and sniffed up all the money I managed to make during three months of whoredom in Istanbul.

Shit! My sisters are making money and I don’t even know what to do? Again, Natalia is swimming in the chocolate with her super-cool Russian boyfriend, while I am wasting my time and my money on some good-fuck-flop, and proving to myself that she was right!

I gently try to point out the problem to Ali, suggesting that now is the best time to get back together with his father. ‘Baby, I know your relationship with your folks is not easy, but my money is almost finished and you need to do something about that.’

‘Don’t worry, Jul. I will sort it out.’ He waves me off.

That’s it? ‘I will sort it out’?

The next day is Friday and Ali comes back from university quite late and already tipsy.

‘Beautiful, I am going out with my friends for a couple of drinks. It’s Zafer’s birthday. Could you lend me two hundred bucks?’

He kicks his shoes off. They fly in different directions. He heads towards the bedroom, probably to get changed. His drunken voice is irritably happy-go-lucky.

‘I am sorry, but you know I have only three hundred left and we still have to try to stretch that … until you make up with your father.’ I answer loudly so he can hear me from the kitchen and add as much sarcasm as possible to my last sentence, trying to make him understand that I do not buy it anymore.

He comes back to the living room with a bull-like stare. ‘Did you just say no to me?’

I am very surprised by the striking change in his mood. Before I say anything, his eyes narrow and he hisses, ‘If you are having such money difficulties, maybe you should stop being lazy and go earn some? I could make a few arrangements with my friends … of course, they are students and can’t pay you $200, but you will be a smash hit for $50 per night, I promise …’

He is distant and cold. The scorn splashes out like he is a spitting cobra.

‘Are you fucking serious?’ I am stunned. I can’t believe my ears.

‘What, Victoria?’ He pauses to watch my reaction. ‘Is there a problem? In fact, I could call my buddies now and ask if any of them want – tonight, after our little party – to check if I was right about your sucking skills or to nail your little hooker pussy, which, honestly, I am tired of already. That would help us to stretch the money, right?’ He relishes every word, filling each one with pure disgust.

‘So, are you a pimp now?’ I calmly taunt him. I am even more surprised by my self-possession than he is. Usually this kind of shit would hurt me and turn me into a screaming, weeping hysteric.

Oh crap! Don’t tell me I am getting used to all the shit that keeps happening to me!

‘Why don’t you go and let your friends fuck you in your ass instead?’ I throw in the same calm way, while heading to the bedroom. ‘I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome here; time to move on. Oh … and I assume there is going to be no repayment, you little swollen-headed prick?’

‘Get out of my place, you fucking whore! I am done with you!’

I don’t even listen when Ali tags along and jumps into the bedroom, shouting offensive stuff at me. I silently pack my suitcases and leave.

Again.

Luckily I left before it was too late.

I still had some money to hire a cab, find a cheap hotel in Aksaray and not worry about living on the street – at least for a couple of days.

Unbelievable! I am in deep shit and still find the positive side of my situation!

I had to make a quick decision about what to do next and the only realistic option that came to me the night I left Ali’s apartment was to go back to business as a floozy, but not a call girl. The arrangement is simple: I go out dressed like a normal sexy chick. Then, usually on the dance floor or at the bar, I hook up with a male. For a few drinks I play I-am-horny-and-I-want-to-be-your-girlfriend with him, making sure that at the moment I tell him about the fees involved if he wants to take it further, he is aroused enough for ‘no’ not to be an option.

You would be surprised to know how many men feel relief, after slight disappointment, when they find out that the girl they have met is a pro. They don’t have to go to too much effort to try to impress me and to get to fuck me. They get a fun evening and guaranteed sex, so they can relax and be themselves.

Inna had told me about the disco bars at which the only girls were
filles de joie
. The male clientele attending them were mostly aware of that, visiting the bars to get laid. The problem was I didn’t know where those places were. I had no one to ask. That is why for the last few days I’ve been hanging out in a dodgy bar next to my dodgy hotel. I managed to convince a few guys to buy my services, but their appearance and financial status were very much below average. I sucked their skanky cocks to earn just enough to pay for the hotel room and to sustain my romance with the stimulants.

I am surprised, but I don’t feel too heartbroken about Ali. I am really fine. I guess lately I am always fine as long as I maintain my high.

Obviously, I don’t want to admit to myself that my attachment to the powder is now beyond manageable. The tricky part is that I know that I am fucked up already, that I can no longer control myself to stop or at least cut down, even if I wanted to. But nowadays my brain obeys and serves only my addiction. It plays tricks on me – convincing me that I could end it as soon as I make my mind up to do it, and that I continue because I just don’t really want to stop yet, making sure that I will supply my body with the next dose in time.

So I didn’t even notice the loss of my greatest passion and affection for Ali – simply because my brain decided not to make a big deal out of it so that it didn’t distract me from getting my next hit.

‘Would you like to have some fun?’

I turn towards the voice. There is a short but handsome and well-dressed man standing next to me.

Here we go … that’s exactly what I need right now!

Without waiting for my answer he orders a vodka Red Bull and ‘whatever this pretty lady wants’ while pointing at me. Despite me being loaded already, I shout through the loud music, ‘The same, but double.’

I am finally in one of those places that Inna was talking about. It’s a sizable nightclub, with an up-to-date DJ and stylish interior, promoted over time by its owners from a regular disco bar to a well-known spot for always-available ladies of pleasure.

I light a cigarette and point at the drinks that the bartender, rushed off his feet, has just dropped on the counter in front of us.

‘Is that your idea of fun?’

I flirt excessively, lifting my right eyebrow and giving my best hooker smile, making sure that the only message he gets from my body language is ‘eminently interested’.

He laughs, throwing his head back. ‘Wow, you are fun already!’ Then he pulls a sealed little plastic bag, with some champagnecoloured blocks in it.

‘Is that what you have in mind?’ A wide smile frolics on his face as he teases, shaking the bag then quickly hiding it back in his pocket.

‘Now we’re talking,’ I say quietly and look away at the same time, trying not to give away too much of my excitement to my potential employer. I take a generous sip and turn back to him, putting my hooker-in-action face on again. ‘My name is Julia, and yes, I would like to have some fun …’

He throws out his hand for a shake.

‘Nice to meet you … Mehmet.’ He steps closer without taking his eyes off me, and continues, while gently tossing an intractable lock of my hair from my face. ‘I am throwing a little party tonight for my friends, and I am looking for a few beautiful girls like you, Julia.’ He smiles smugly, but doesn’t sound arrogant at all. ‘Two hundred bucks, what do you say?’

I finish my drink showily, take my little shiny black purse off the stool, and lower my voice to lubricity and business at the same time. ‘I’m in. Where to?’

We walk out of the club, breezing through the crowd of overdressed and over-painted girls who are rocking the dance floor, moving as seductively as they can.

Poor men! The humane way would be to put a billboard at the entrance, something similar to those black and yellow warning signs with a skull and crossbones, with the heads-up underneath it: Danger! Hunting in progress!

When we reach his black BMW with darkened windows, he opens the back door for me and helps me to drop down onto the seat.

A wave of overpowering fear strikes my insides when I see the other men, two in the front and one on my left. All three of them are silent, with brutish smirks and rudely evaluating stares. My body shakes from the sudden overdose of adrenalin that fills my lungs with the heavy air of danger. Even my slow, intoxicated brain grasps it – it’s not going to be a fun ride. I jerk in the hope of getting out of the car but the only exit is blocked when Mehmet possessively gets inside and sneers, ‘She is perfect for tonight, a skinny and loaded little whore’.

They all grin. The car takes off.

‘Where are we going?’ I’m freaking out, but still try to keep my voice untroubled. ‘Where are the other girls?’

Before I finish my words the elbow of the one on the left flashes in front of my eyes. The piercing pain from his strike to my face knocks me out.

The rude dragging brings me back to consciousness. The one who’d hit me throws me over his shoulder as if I were some gazelle he’d just wounded while hunting. I try to understand what is going on. I struggle to open my eyes. The first thing I’m able to focus on is the trail of drops of my own blood on the streetlamp-lit paving. The pain and fear surges back, reminding me of what a fuck-up I’ve got myself into.