It was Scott, growing inside her, who changed everything. On her own, accountable only for herself, Heloise could not imagine getting free of Val. She understood the fact that her life was destined to be a short one, that her usefulness as a whore and her biological life span would probably run out about the same time. Val was violent, but he didn’t like to damage the goods, as he called them, so as long as she was a good earner, he employed a certain restraint. But as her market value decreased, she knew the violence would escalate. And she accepted it. She could not see a way out. She had a high school education, no money in her own name, and a career that lasted about as long as a pro athlete’s, but with far less compensation.
She didn’t even have official confirmation of her pregnancy when she resolved to change. She was sitting in a diner in the early evening, drinking a cup of coffee with a friend, and she couldn’t get beyond the first sip. She asked the waitress to bring her a cup from a fresh pot, but the new one was bitter, too, no matter how much milk and sugar she added. “Maybe you’re pregnant,” Agnes said, meaning it as a joke. But Heloise knew at that moment that she was and she suddenly understood what it took to make a great change in one’s life.
Agnes was dead within the week, killed by a john. They never found the man, although Heloise gave them a detailed description. She and the other girls had known he was trouble, had seen something in his eyes that scared them. Agnes laughed at their fears; Agnes was found in a vacant lot, her throat slit. If Heloise ever spoke of her real life to anyone, if she ever had the luxury of telling people about herself, they would probably reduce this story to simple cause and effect. Heloise was pregnant and needed to start a new life. The death of her friend inspired her to escape Val, get out on her own, and set up a business where women who sold sex could be safe, above all. Safe and well compensated, with health benefits and flexible schedules. But the linear story line was not quite right. Even if Agnes had not died, Heloise would have found a way to do this. No disrespect to Agnes, but a mouthful of coffee, acrid and syrupy, was what changed her life.
The phone rings, making her jump, because it rings so seldom, the home line. She has no friends. It is lonely at times, but friendship is a luxury she can’t afford. One day, perhaps when Scott graduates, she hopes to sell the business and retire on the proceeds, or reinvent herself as a real lobbyist. Once Scott is out of college, she can afford the drop in income. The fact is, she has the contacts, and one of the big wheels in Annapolis has all but given her a standing offer to come on board, help him advance the case of alcohol and tobacco in the state legislature. He wants her to go back to school, though, get one of those weekend MBAs, and she can’t do that until Scott is older.
“Meet me at Starbucks.”
It takes her a second to realize the caller is Meghan, speaking through gritted teeth.
“I’m just getting Scott’s lunch-”
“Now. Leave him with Audrey.”
“I give Audrey the weekends off. I mean, she’s around, but she’s not on the clock, and-”
“This is life and death, Heloise. I need you. And if you can’t be there for me-well, I can’t be responsible for what happens.”
Is Meghan threatening her? The thought is almost laughable, except…there is something steely in her sister’s voice, something cold and resolute that Heloise recognizes. It is a quality she remembers from Val, the willingness to destroy others, even at the risk of destroying oneself. Val killed a boy just for laughing at his name, and the striking thing to Heloise is that he has never expressed any regret about it. He has never said, I can’t believe I ruined my life over such a silly thing. Or: What was I thinking? In fact, whenever he spoke of the crime to Heloise it was in the context of the inevitable death-sentence appeal. He mused how, if he had to be in prison for the boy’s death, he wished he could go back and inflict more pain on him, not kill him with the relative speed and kindness of a single bullet to the brain. The cliché about bullies is that they back down when confronted. But Heloise has known a different kind of bully, men-and women-who will happily upend your life just because they can. Meghan knows what Heloise does for a living. Meghan has the power to ruin her and she won’t stop to think about how it might boomerang on her.
“The Starbucks by the mall?”
“Yes. As soon as possible.”
“I’M A WHORE,” HELOISE SAYS. “I charge men money for sex. That doesn’t mean I know how to help you cover up a murder.”
“Keep your voice down,” Meghan says, although she knows it’s her voice that’s closer to being out of control. Then: “And who said murder? That’s the problem. He’s still breathing, I think. His chest looked like it was moving.”
“And you left him there?”
It’s a curious feeling, seeing the horror in Heloise’s eyes, being judged by a whore, Heloise’s very word.
“Temporary insanity,” she says, gauging Heloise’s reaction, wanting to see how this theory might play. “No, seriously, I just lost it. I was sitting there at Mark’s battle-of-the-bands practice, and I kept getting angrier and angrier, and when they broke for lunch, I couldn’t help myself, I drove back home to have it out with Brian. Don’t you hate that thing men do, where they drop some huge piece of information on you when they know there’s no time to discuss it?”
Heloise, happily manless, looks baffled.
“I just wanted to talk to him. I don’t know why I did what I did. But if he’s dead, then it’s over, there’s nothing to be done. But what if he’s not?”
“Maybe he has a head injury. Then if he regains consciousness and starts talking about how you shoved him-”
“I really didn’t mean to.” She’s beginning to believe this, the more she says it.
“You can say it’s the result of the fall. If he regains consciousness. You could have crippled him for life, Meghan. Your husband could be a paraplegic now.”
It takes a second for Meghan to process the horror of this, the idea that she has created an invalid, someone who will require a lifetime of care and provide nothing in return. Dead, Brian is worth a lot to her. Permanently disabled, all he will cough up is a small lump sum, eighteen months of mortgage payments, and then they have to petition to get on the federal system. She knows this thanks to Dan Simmons, insurance agent extraordinaire. He’s been trying to tell her that they don’t have adequate coverage for disability, and she’s been blowing him off.
“Go home, Meghan,” Heloise says. “Don’t leave him there, whatever you do.”
She shakes her head. “I have to go get Mark. The practice ends in less than an hour.”