Little Peach Page 7

  Kat’s smart. I’ll try to do what she tells me.

  “Okay,” I say.

  And when next trick comes, I smile really big. So big that Kat laughs. The trick looks at me like I’m crazy, then at Kat.

  “Guess she happy to see you.” Kat grins. And he smiles at us too.

  He turns me on my stomach. I wince. It burns, but not as bad as it did before. I clench my eyes shut and count in my head.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  He keeps going. I try to say the words that Kat would say.

  “That’s good,” I mumble at the pillow.

  Five. Six. Seven.

  I’m gonna be sick. I look at Kat.

  Eight. Nine.

  She looks at me.

  Ten.

  Throw-up fills my mouth. I spit onto the pillow. More of me, leaking out.

  Eleven. Twelve.

  “Stop, yo. She’s sick,” Kat says. But he doesn’t.

  Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

  On and on, the counting drones till I’m slimy with his stink and sweat, my mouth nasty from puke. Even my blood is filthy.

  Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.

  Kat shakes her head, her lips tight and angry.

  Finally, finally, he’s done with me. I don’t move. I am pounded flat. Once he leaves, Kat covers me with a sheet and hands me a cold, limp washcloth.

  “Wipe your face,” she tells me, then goes to the door and yells for Devon, but Boost and Reek show up instead.

  Reek. He doesn’t even look at me.

  “That trick ain’t right,” Kat says, her chin pointed up at Boost, who towers over her.

  “What he do?” he asks. “He hit her?”

  “Nah. He’s just . . . rough.”

  Boost shrugs. “It’s a rough game.” Kat rolls her eyes. Then Baby walks in.

  I sit up and cover myself with the sheet. “Hey,” I say to her, forcing a smile.

  She wrinkles her nose. “You don’t look so good. It stinks in here.”

  “I’m okay,” I lie. I don’t want her to be scared. I try to stand up, but I fall back on the bed. It creaks beneath me like it’s sore.

  “C’mon.” She smiles, and puts her hand on my bare shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

  Then Devon is here, kneeling in front of me. “You good?” he asks, his voice soft like a pillow. I nod.

  “Good girl. C’mon. We done for the night anyway.”

  We drive home at four a.m. Baby falls asleep in the car, her head leaning heavily on my shoulder. My eyes droop, too, the Ferris wheel turning in the foggy distance. I need to sleep.

  Kat showers first. Then it’s Baby’s turn, but she’s already in bed on her stomach, her mouth open, snoring softly, her hand in a fist by her face. I try to wake her, but she won’t budge, so I cover her instead.

  Devon brushes his teeth, spits in the sink, rinses thoroughly. He kisses my forehead and goes to bed with Kat.

  I climb beneath the hot water. It singes the peach on my chest like a wet flame. I plunge into the heat and let it burn me away until I’m clean.

  I wake up at four p.m., hungry and fuzzy and cold. Baby’s still asleep. There’s a towel tacked across our window. Daylight leaks around the edges.

  There’s not much in the kitchen: a bag of Doritos, leftover Chinese food, a bottle of Coke. Kat’s on the couch watching TV. She looks different without makeup. Soft and cozy in Devon’s big sweatpants and T-shirt. She doesn’t talk to me, so I sit on the other end and eat the rice cold from the container. She flips channels and sighs like she’s bored. Or annoyed.

  Devon wakes at five p.m. Baby sleeps till six p.m. I eat more rice, sit on the couch, and try not to bother anyone.

  A knock on the door. Boost strides in with the short, loud boy who called me Little Peach. Complicated handshakes. A paper bag tossed on the table. Music pumps. They plop down on the couch and lean back like they’re home.

  Kat emerges from the bathroom, painted and smiling. She sits next to Boost. I go to my room and close the door.

  We leave at eight p.m., out into the orange fading sky. Baby munches on M&M’s in the backseat, a bottle of Coke between her knees. Devon nods to the music, his phone in one hand. Always.

  Room 5. Kat. Take your medicine. Drink your juice.

  I swallow.

  Wait.

  Warm.

  Smile.

  Knock knock.

  Two a.m.

  It starts with muffled voices through the thin walls of Room 5. Arguing. A girl’s voice rising. Something thumps. Then she starts to yell.

  Kat puts a finger to her lips. The trick is in the shower. We creep to the window and peek out.

  The girl bursts onto the balcony. Boost and Devon scale the stairs. We can’t make out what she’s saying, but her face is twisted up. She lunges for the stairs, but they surround her.

  “I ain’t doin’ this!” she cries, reaching out to Devon, who backs away as Boost slams his palm into her cheek. She hits the floor with a wet thud, a pile of hair and bone. Boost grabs her ankles. Her face drags along the floor, a chunk of dirty meat, and disappears behind the door of Room 2.

  Behind us, the shower switches off. The trick emerges, steaming and hosed off. Kat and I lock eyes. Then we turn, arch our backs, and smile.

  The next morning, Devon comes in and sits on the edge of my bed. He brushes the braids from my face, looks at me with those eyes that say, Hush now, Little Peach.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I pull my blanket tight against my chin. I can still hear the slap against her face, the way she fell so hard against the ground.

  “She would’ve gotten us all locked up. Understand? They would have taken you away. Taken Baby away. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Baby’s dead asleep; her chunky arm hangs limply off the bed.

  No. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. To any of us. But I don’t want the other girls to get hurt, either.

  I haven’t even met the others. Kat knows them all. But to me they’re just the shadows I see when I walk up the rusty stairs to Room 5. They don’t talk to me yet.

  “I had no choice. It’s my job to take care of us. That’s what daddies do.”

  Devon rises, takes my hand. “C’mon. You wanna sleep with me tonight?”

  I search his face. My head hurts. I’m tired. I can’t make sense of this. “He didn’t have to hit her like that.”

  Devon sits on the edge of my bed again. “That girl wasn’t right, Peach. She wasn’t like you and Kat. Or Baby. You girls can hold it together. That’s why you’re here. With me. Girls like her? They’re dangerous. I’m here to keep you safe. C’mon. When I was little, my mama used to let me and my brother pile into bed with her when shit got bad. She called it the puppy pile. I think tonight’s one of those nights.”

  Kat’s already asleep. I climb next to her and press my head against Devon’s chest. He lays his hand on my back, gently, and hums in the fading darkness. It will be dawn soon.

  “Kat says you’re doing good. Next week, you’ll get your own room at the hotel.”

  He’s proud of me. I can tell.

  I close my eyes. His heart beats slow and steady. Thump thump.

  Devon’s voice is soft and warm. It curls into my ear. I sink into the mattress, his hand on my back, Kat sleeping behind me.

  “Someday, Peach. We’ll be outta here. Off to somewhere beautiful,” he says. “The most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.”

  July

  I am alone in Room 4.

  I gulp down my juice and wait for the heat that holds me tight from inside.

  The pill is magic. It helps me not be scared.

  Kat’s in Room 5. Baby’s in Room 3. Papery walls between us. I want to tell Baby to tap if she gets scared. But I don’t think she does. It’s hard to see inside her.

  In the afternoon, at home before we leave, we sit on the couch and watch TV. Baby’s always happy then, h
er eyes wide and sparkly. She eats Doritos and sits on Devon’s lap and nuzzles her face into his neck. He pats her, checks his phone while she watches Finding Nemo until Kat turns it off and tosses the remote on the floor.

  “I can’t take that shit no more,” she snaps. “Can’t you watch something else?”

  “Why you always turn it off?” Baby whines. “It’s the best part! Nemo’s daddy’s gonna lose it!”

  “You too old for that stupid-ass movie,” Kat continues, banging around the kitchen. “You know you ain’t actually a baby. That’s just what we call you.”

  Baby grins. “You ain’t a cat, neither.” She jumps up, sticks her arm through the neck of her shirt so her shoulder’s hanging out. She puts a hand on her hip and strides across the room in big, exaggerated steps. Her pudgy nose sticks in the air.

  She winks at me. “Guess who I am?”

  “Shut up,” Kat barks. Devon lets out a big laugh.

  Baby tosses her imaginary hair back. “I’m Kat. I’m the shit. Don’t you think I’m hot?”

  “Shut up,” Kat snaps.

  “You shut up,” Baby replies, and Kat grabs her shirt. Baby squeals and dashes down the hall, Kat right behind her.

  “Imma get you, girl!” Kat cries with a small grin.

  They laugh like sisters, Baby running back through the kitchen, into Devon’s room. They crash together on the bed. Baby squirms and giggles and Kat pins her down.

  I want to laugh too. I want to chase after them, but instead I glance at Devon, who winks at me. “C’mere,” he says, and I curl into him. “You happy?” he whispers.

  I am. When we’re all together like this. At home, where it’s quiet and cool.

  Baby’s happy, too, in those short hours before we leave. But her eyes change once we’re in the car, waxy and dull, like she’s not really in there.

  At night in Room 4, I can hear Kat sometimes, making noises through the papery wall. I wonder if she can hear me too. Pretending. Trying to sound like she does. The men come one by one. Tall, fat, skinny, sweaty, chatty, silent, huge. They act like they know me, pulling me close to their skin. Sometimes they smoke the tiny white pebbles Daddy sells them—like Mama did. Crack, I think. I don’t ask. I don’t want to know. Their lighters click click, the flame plunging down into the glass tube. If I’m lucky, they go to sleep, their milky eyes half-open. I pull the sheets down, take off my shirt, smudge my lipstick, and when they wake up I pretend we were together.

  They’re too stupid to know that I’m lying.

  Was it good? they ask.

  The best, I say, and force myself to kiss their rotten mouths that taste like ash. Most of them are junkies, like Mama and her friends. Just like Calvin.

  I’ll never be a junkie. I will never smoke those rocks or shoot myself up.

  But sometimes the men don’t sleep. They climb and claw and feed on me, their breath like dirt, their mouths like gaping caves.

  The pill is magic. It fixes me, like medicine. I can crawl inside my head where nothing hurts. I can say the right things and sound like Kat does. I can hold still and float away, float to where it’s warm and it’s just me and Kat and Baby, and my daddy standing guard.

  I like hearing Kat through the wall, because I know she’s right there, doing the same thing I am. And if she can do it, so can I.

  I listen for Baby too. But she never makes a sound. I hope she’s okay. I want her to be safe. I don’t want anyone touching her, but she doesn’t seem scared, so I don’t say anything. I wouldn’t know what to do, anyway.

  In between tricks, me and Kat meet on the balcony. Sometimes the other girls come out, too, and talk to us. There are three: Candy and Rosie and Sweetie. Candy’s very tall, with a perfect pointed nose. Sweetie is shorter, with round hips, her belly button peeking from beneath her pink shirt. Rosie doesn’t say much. She stands apart, her head hanging on her long neck. We wave to Devon and the other men, flecks of red in the night, who shout our names.

  “Kitty Kat! Li’l Peach! Sweetie Sweet! Rosie Girl!”

  But we don’t see Baby. She never comes out. Not until we leave to go home.

  I wonder if she takes the pills too. But Kat says no.

  “She don’t need ’em.”

  “How come?”

  Kat shrugs, takes a long drag from her cigarette, stares at the Ferris wheel turning in the distance. “She don’t know enough to be scared.”

  “I wish I was like that,” I say. And Kat shoots me a sharp look.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she snaps, flicking her cigarette into the night.

  “I’m not,” I murmur.

  Sweetie laughs and bites into her candy bar. “You harsh, girl.”

  Kat rolls her eyes, pulls at her white skirt. “Ain’t no point being soft. Soft things die. Hard things survive. And I ain’t dying. Not from this shit at least.”

  “Tell ’em, Kat,” says Sweetie.

  I want to be hard, like Kat and Sweetie. I swallow and stand up straight.

  “Gimme a smoke,” I say. Kat lights one, hands it to me. I breathe it in, like Kat does. My eyes burn and I hold the smoke in my mouth. But I do not cough.

  “That’s more like it,” says Kat.

  “Hell yeah,” says Sweet.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  And we stand together in the hot night.

  The tricks who see Baby are different.

  There’s one who comes every Tuesday. He doesn’t have a car. He just walks up from the dark, out of nowhere. He’s old—like fifty—with droopy white skin and thin hair combed across his shiny head. His body looks like a barrel, shoulders hunched, a fat belly hanging over his loose faded jeans. He brings her presents. Stupid stuff wrapped in little-kid paper with the alphabet or animals on it.

  He doesn’t look at us other girls. Like he’s scared of us. The tricks we see, most of them swagger down the hall and talk to us like they’re kings, like they’re our boyfriends. But this guy, he hangs his head and hurries by like he can’t get far enough away.

  Sometimes Kat messes with him. She puts her hand on his bottom and squeezes.

  “We ain’t gonna bite,” she’ll half growl, half flirt.

  His pale cheeks get all pink, his eyes dart around, and his fingers twitch in his pockets.

  “Leave me alone,” he murmurs, and walks faster.

  Tonight Kat yells “Boo!” at him, and he actually jumps. The girls fall out laughing, but not me.

  “You better be nice to her,” I whisper. He stops in his tracks and looks at me for a second, his eyes all wide like he can’t believe what I just said.

  “Nice to her? I love her.”

  The hair on my neck stands up and I want to push him, kick him, tell him get the fuck away from her.

  On the nights he comes, Baby brings his presents home. Coloring books. Crayons. Tiny stuffed animals. I tell her to throw them out, but she stuffs them under her bed and acts like she won’t play with them. Sometimes, when she thinks we’re not looking, I see her on her stomach on the floor, coloring Elmo’s face, nuzzling a fake little puppy.

  There’s something wrong with him. When he’s with her, I listen close through the wall, ready to help her if she needs me. But her room’s silent. Always silent. Like everything’s just fine.

  Baby, with her faraway eyes. I wonder where she goes inside herself.

  On Sunday morning when we get back from the Litehouse, Baby announces she wants pancakes, so we walk to the bodega for supplies: eggs, Bisquick, syrup, butter, and more milk. Kat strolls ahead in her sandals and purple toenails, her hips swing back and forth in Devon’s rolled-up red basketball shorts, and a white tank top low enough to show her tattoo.

  The sidewalks are empty. It’s four thirty a.m.

  “It’s too hot out here,” Baby grumbles. She lags behind us, dragging her feet down 27th Street.

  “You walk faster, we’ll get there faster,” Kat replies. “You the one who wanted pancakes.”

  Kat’s got a little bounce in her step. Me
too. It feels good to be outside in the air, with no one else around. Too late even for tricks and junkies, too early for everyone else. Baby looks behind us toward Surf Avenue and the amusement park in the distance. Two seagulls pick at a banana peel in the street.

  “Can we get ice cream?” she asks.

  “No,” Kat says.

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause . . . I don’t know. ’Cause you’re annoying.”

  “I bet the kids who ride on the Wonder Wheel get ice cream.”

  Kat rolls her eyes. “Not if they’re annoying.”

  Baby nudges me. “Peach wants some, too, right? Who cares anyway? Daddy won’t mind.”

  Kat throws me a look that says, Don’t tell me you’re gonna take her side.

  “It is kinda hot,” I say, raising my eyebrow just a little. “Baby’s right. Who cares anyway? Let’s get ice cream.”

  Kat looks us both over. “All right. I’ll get you ice cream if you promise no freakin’ Nemo when we get home. Understand, Baby? I get the remote till we go work.”

  Baby thinks. “Okay.”

  Kat points at her. “No Nemo.”

  “No Nemo,” Baby repeats with a grin, then skips past us to the corner.

  “Oh, now you movin’ all fast!” Kat shouts.

  At the bodega we pick out three ice cream cones from the freezer and peel off the wet paper wrapping as we walk back down to 27th Street. The cones are half-melted by the time we get back to our building, where Queen Bee is parked in a dingy black car, waiting for us. Kat walks straight over.

  “What’s up?” she asks.

  Queen Bee glances over at Baby, who’s licking her cone, then says in a low voice, “D don’t know I’m here, but—I seen your mama, Kat. On the track, down on Flatlands. Thought you’d want to know.”

  Kat’s eyes frost over.

  “You wanna take a quick drive? See what we see?”

  Kat nods slowly, then throws her cone on the cement, tosses her braids back, and climbs into the car next to Bee.

  I wait on the couch for Kat to come home. It’s six a.m. when she finally walks in, her shoulders sunk in, her eyes a little red, Devon’s shorts hanging off her hips.

  “You hungry?” I ask her. She doesn’t answer, just fishes out a pill from her bag, washes it down with water, and slumps on the couch next to me.