Peter adjusted and shifted his position several times during Jills telling of her story. And it caused her to wonder if he was just uncomfortable, or becoming increasingly agitated with her past exploits. He stared at her continually as she spoke, and it made her somewhat nervous because the worst was yet to come. Nevertheless, she was now resolute. I also worked on weekends as a barmaid waitress in a tavern on Tenth Avenue. I labored long hours in the tavern from noon to midnight, but I didnt mind because it provided me with additional money and a place to sleep. My living space was a tiny furnished apartment in the rear of the tavern that had a private entrance off the ally. This private entrance afforded me the opportunity to pick up some extra money or a quick fix. Cocaine was starting to make the scene then, and it was affordable.
Depending on the type of services they were willing to provide, the girls working the massage parlor rooms could earn between one hundred and two hundred dollars a day in tips, and they usually provided the extraordinary services a client requested. I was only paid fifty a day, but I had the best opportunity to screen the customers. In doing so, if I saw the right type, a mild, middle-aged, married businessman visiting the city, I would discreetly invite him to the tavern for a late-night drink. After all, I was a young attractive, receptionist, not an overused masseuse. How could he refuse?
Jill paused for a moment or two and then continued. Peter never blinked. Once there, the rest came easy. We would leave the tavern after a drink or two and enter my apartment from the ally. I insisted on him using a condom to protect us both. If he didnt have one, I would provide it. Since he was my only customer, he could stay as long as he liked. Before he left, I was paid one hundred dollars, and he usually thanked me.
Jill got up, walked to the front door, and gathered up the mail. After inhaling a few breaths of fresh, cool air, she returned and laid the mail on the end table next to Peter. He ignored it, and she resumed her portrayal. One night, while I was waiting for my expected date to arrive, a stocky well-dressed man came up to me and introduced himself. He informed me that my prearranged date got involved in an unexpected business deal and wouldnt be able to meet me, and that he was asked to fill in for him so I wouldnt waste the night alone. An hour later, we were in my apartment. I told him what I expected of him and went into the bathroom to change into a robe. When I came out, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the wall. Before I realized what was happening, he had a switchblade knife stuck under my chin. I felt its point prick my skin, and I could feel warm blood trickling down my neck.
In a rage, he told me that he was in charge of all prostitution in midtown, that everyone out on the streets turning tricks worked for him, it was a network; and he was the man in charge. He easily found out about my little side business through his network and, since I decided to become a prostitute, I would now be working directly for him. Do you understand? Did I make myself clear? he wanted to know. I couldnt speak, so I nodded yes, and he released his grip on my hair and put away the knife.
Inasmuch as I had this apartment, he told me I wouldnt have to walk the streets looking for customers. He, or his pimps, would send the clients here, and I was to do whatever they desired. There would be no condoms used unless the John wanted it that way. The next day, he would send one of his older girls to explain his business procedures and instruct me how to protect myself. If I refused to cooperate, or tried to run out on him, I would be caught and probably never seen alive again. Before he left, he took over six hundred dollars from my purse to render me dependent on him and, to stress his point, he ripped open my robe and scarred both my breasts with a cigarette, claiming it was his personal brand. The pain and humiliation stayed with me for years.
Peter noticed that Jill was in a trance-like state as she related her story. She spoke in a monotone, never raising or lowering her voice. She seemed to be there, actually reliving this horrible event as she was describing it. He asked her if she was capable of continuing, she nodded yes.
After I stopped trembling and the crying ended, I realized, that night, that I was standing on the edge of a smoldering pit peering into the depths of hell. I prayed like I never did before for divine guidance. I had but two options, to comply or run, but how and to where? I composed myself as best I could and tended to my injuries. I found a burlap bag in the tavern storage room and filled it with things that I considered essential. I recovered three hundred dollars that I had stashed away in my closet. Then I knelt down and made a pact with the Lord. If He would protect me, I would never again offer my body for money or subject it to drugs of any kind. I was truly sorry for what Id become, and needed His help to survive. That was thirty-two years ago. I was twenty-six at the time, and Ive been an obscure figure on the streets ever since. I decided the best way to hide was as an impoverished faceless person, a bag lady.
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