Mallory felt naked as she stepped into the night. Like a frightened child, she peered from her shadowed doorway, searching for any sign of someone coming her way. Seeing no one, and with a churning mix of relief and trepidation, she forced herself to begin the long walk toward the complex gate.
The night was quiet on this side of the wall. Mallory’s senses were tuned for any sign of movement. By the time she was half-way to her goal, she’d heard nothing but the sound of her own heels on the hard concrete walkway.
The hollow, double-clap of her steps echoed eerily off the nearby buildings, ghosting her like a maniacal phantom intent on giving her presence away. Mallory cringed each time her foot fell, fearing those lonely, haunting echoes might catch the ear of someone she knew.
She was almost to the gate when the door of Mrs. Hopkins apartment came into view. Knowing the old widow inside, Mallory hesitated.
‘Please god, don’t let her see me,’ she silently pleaded as she slowly tip-toed her way past the old women's door.
Carefully keeping her steps light, she feared at any moment the old woman would peer through the ancient drapes hanging in her darkened window. In the back of her mind, she could already hear Glenda's smoke-worn voice. ‘Did you see Mallory Monroe last evening? I swear she was dressed like one of those whores you see walking down Holt in the middle of the night!’
With everything else in her life turning to shit, that kind of attention was the last thing she needed. Mallory kept a close eye on those drapes as she slipped by, but they never moved.
It was with an audible sigh that she rounded the corner and reached the wrought iron gate leading to the alleyway beyond. As she passed through, the old springs slammed the gate behind her, closing her off from her home as surely as it did the life she used to know.
Pieces of paper and other forgotten bits of flotsam tumbled with the wind as it gusted fiercely down that darkened alley. The October air was colder than she expected and was already causing goosebumps to rise as it washed over her exposed skin. Clutching her thin wrap tightly around her gaunt body, she hurried toward the lighted street beyond.
One would think a young woman, dressed as she was, should be frightened walking down that particular, refuse-strewn alleyway. This was especially true after dark. Deep down, Mallory was afraid, but not of the people who lived off that road. Many of them were her friends, and to them, she was just another unfortunate local, condemned to dwell in the living hell of her poverty-strewn neighborhood.
No, it wasn't the seedy and violent streets of Pomona that worried her. It was of those who came from outside that she was afraid. Those faceless men who drove into her neighborhood looking for easy sex. Men who would soon be using her body to sate their lurid desires... These were the monsters of the night Mallory feared most.
Cars passed, one after the other, none showing the least interest as she made her way down the unremarkable side street known grandiosely as Pasadena Avenue. Mallory felt invisible to them as they drove by, knowing they weren't giving her a second glance. The men who sought girls like her, or at least like she was about to become, were attracted to a certain look. Hookers gave subtle signals to these man and Mallory was giving off none of those. To them, she was just another lost soul going about her lonely life.
Turning south on East End, she made her way down the short edge of a hundred year old housing tract. Muted lights burned in the old homes, but none offered her the slightest warmth. She was on her own and the pain of her loneliness ached in her heart as she made her way toward the future she had reluctantly chosen for herself.
‘Goddamn you, Mick! You said you loved us! You lying bastard! How could you just leave us like that?' The salty and bitter taste of anger filled her mouth, but in the burning heat of her fury, her fear was purified into a grim determination.
For days, Mallory refused to believe he’d really gone. She told herself over and over that he would be back. The days passed into weeks and only then did she accept that she was truly alone. She tried to keep working, but with no one to help watch Constance, it just wasn’t possible. After missing the third workday that first week, she lost her job at the diner.
She tried to get public assistance, but the online forms were impossibly complicated and in the end, it took too long for them to respond. Once her service providers cut her phone and internet, whatever hope she had of getting government welfare went up in smoke. After that, everything snowballed until she and her baby were mere days from being homeless. She was hungry and scared, but what really terrified her was what might happen to her daughter.
‘I don’t care what I have to do,' she swore to whatever fates that might have cared, 'I'm not taking my baby out onto this street!'
By the time she reached the bright lights of the intersection, her fear of what she was about to do was buried under the sickening terror of what would happen if she did not. Mallory looked at the street sign and repressed a shudder at the infamous name it carried.
Holt Boulevard.
It was the single most notorious hotbed for young prostitutes in the Inland Empire, and it was here that Mallory Monroe desperately hoped to find her salvation.
Four lanes wide, the boulevard ran the distance from Gary Avenue all the way to the Ontario International Airport. Along with Mission Avenue, it was the primary corridor for east-west traffic through the Pomona Valley and the conveyor of vehicles it carried never seemed to wane. Standing under the soft, amber light of the street lamps, Mallory removed her satin wrap and rolled it up tightly before slipping it into her purse.
For a long moment, she stared in despair at the haunting image of herself reflected in the decades-old store front window. There, hanging like a specter over a hand-painted, green, white and red banner, Mallory saw an overly-thin, blond girl wearing nothing but a short, blue denim skirt and a white, crocheted halter top. Satisfied, if not entirely pleased by her look, Mallory began the slow walk east, toward the traditional cruising ground of men prowling for young women and cheap ass.
As notorious as Holt was for providing these men with the youngest of whores, the reality was slightly different. Mallory had innocently walked these streets every day for the last two years, and at just barely twenty, she knew how rare it was for a girl her age to be selling herself like this. 'Especially a white girl,' she ruefully thought.
Walking aimlessly, as if she were not actually trying to get anywhere, she made a point of making eye contact with every driver who passed in the oncoming lane. It was a look she had seen countless times before. It was a look that said 'I'm available' to any man who cared to return her gaze. She had been walking for less than five minutes before a black Camry pulled up to the curb in front of her.
Mallory felt a wrenching tension knotting in her belly as the car rolled to a stop. While the dark tint in the windows prevented her from seeing the man inside, she could almost feel his gaze burning into her. He would be appraising his find, judging her completely on how much he wanted to use her body to satisfy his lust.
Nervously, she glanced up and down the street. The shame of what she was about to do welled up in her heart and yet she caught herself praying a police cruiser wouldn't suddenly roll up out of the darkness. Her heart and mind warred violently over what she was doing. She was terrified, but her need to provide for her child proved more powerful than her fear. Nevertheless, making that first, hesitant step toward that passenger window was the most difficult thing she'd ever done in a young life already filled with impossible decisions.
With a low whirr, the darkened glass slid down as she approached. Standing on the curb, Mallory leaned into the car, exposing her bottom to the cold, night time air. The man inside was about ten years older than she. He was a white man, and his short, dark hair was parted and combed over in the classic businessman's cut. He was overweight, but not grossly so and looked decent enough in the dark tones of the casual suit he wore. The gold band on his left ring finger caught the amber radiance of the street light as his hand rested on the wheel.
"Ah, hi. I just saw you out here and I kinda thought you might be..."
As his voice trailed off into an insecure silence, Mallory sensed that he shared her nervousness. Somehow, that made the whole situation easier for her. Even though he was looking at her with undisguised desire, his lack of confidence was somehow comforting to her own. She might even have thought it cute under different circumstances. Still, the relief she felt was very real and the smile that appeared on her face was anything but forced. "Are you looking for some fun, sweetie?"
"Uh, yeah, I am, I guess. So, are you busy right now?"
Under the circumstances, it was a ridiculous question and Mallory couldn't help but giggle at his awkwardness. It gave her the unexpected feeling that she was somehow in control and she felt herself begin to relax even more as she held his gaze. "No, I'm not busy. Just tell me what kind of fun you're looking for. Okay, sweetie?"
"Umm, okay. I was hoping that maybe we could have sex or blow job or something? How much do you charge?"
"Oh, okay. That sounds like fun. You got a hundred?" Despite her fear, the conversation felt strangely comical.
