“Isn’t that the point?” asked Cindy.
“Well, yeah. But... I got us ‘confessing’ about our first times because I’ve been too chickenshit to tell you all about my fucked up life,” she said. Bell took a deep draught from the flask as if to prove she still needed liquid courage. “I’ve wanted to tell you all for so long, but I’m not sure you’ll see me… No. I know you won’t see me the same way afterwards. It’s kind of bad and really complicated.”
“Come on Bell, I’m polyamorous, Jasmine’s a cryptopornstar, we all went kind of lesbo down at the shower today, and Ariel’s having an affair with her dildo,” said Cindy.
“Hey,” said Ariel, hitting Cindy with a pillow. The redhead was laughing, however. “Leave Mr Snakes out of this.”
“You named your dildo… Mr Snakes?” asked Cindy. She looked to Bell, “see? Nothing could be worse! I don’t think we can be shocked at this point.”
Ariel hit Cindy once more, for good measure. Cindy couldn’t stop giggling.
Bell smiled demurely at her friends, “I don’t know.”
“It happened January before last, I bet,” said Ariel, serious now. “You started dressing differently. Sexier. Your hair changed. Ha, I bet you started sleeping in the nude then, too.”
“Damn, look at Ariel Holmes over here,” teased Cindy. “Get the girl a Meerschaum and a silly cap.”
Ariel ignored Cindy. “My point is, we’ve loved you this whole time. That won’t change because of something from way back then.”
“Aww,” Bell leaned forward and hugged Ariel.
“Okay, two naked girls hugging is nearly as hot as two hot boys kissing,” observed Cindy. Both her friends had chosen to stay naked after the shower, and Cindy couldn’t resist the snark. “But look, Ariel’s right. You can tell us. I promise not to tease you too much.”
“Okay,” said Bell. “But it’s complicated and I’m not sure which story to tell.”
“Are we still talking about losing our cherries? Because how can there more than one story about that?” asked Cindy. “Your first time is, like your first time.”
“Yeah but I took a mobster’s cock up the ass first, then three weeks later a complete stranger who wanted me to call him Daddy paid a fortune to pop my cherry.”
Her three friends stared back at Bell, mouths agape.
“Wait. You sold. Your cherry.” said Cindy.
“Auctioned, actually.”
“How much?” interjected Ariel.
“Now that’s the right question, Ariel. I swear it’s a miracle you’re still a virgin with that attitude,” said Bell. Ariel stuck out her tongue, but Bell answered the redhead’s question, “The price wasn’t cheap, that’s for sure.”
“Bit vague, Bell,” said Ariel.
“Okay,” said Bell. “I made about thirty-two that night.”
“Hundred!” exclaimed Ariel. “I mean, it’s not a fortune, but sign me up.”
“Thousand, Ariel. Thirty-two thousand.” Ariel’s jaw dropped. Cindy’s, too. Jazzie just smirked. Her dad was filthy rich so the money meant less. Bell added harshly, “It shocked me. too. But for that money I let a man fuck me any way he wanted, Ariel. Would you ‘sign up’ for that?”
“Well,” Ariel blushed but she couldn’t suppress a grin. “For that kind of money? Probably? Yeah.”
“That wasn’t all of it, Ariel,” continued Bell. “The morning after I popped my cherry, I started working, you know, as in working girl.”
“Ooo, how much?” asked Ariel, before Cindy could say something pithy.
“God, Ariel,” said Bell. “I’m not a cheap street walker. Okay?”
“Neat,” Ariel replied. “How cool would it be to fuck for money?”
“You don’t think… I’m a whore?” Her three friends looked at each other, shrugging. Apparently not. Bell’s face softened. “You guys are the best.”
“I wouldn’t think less of you, even if it were true,” said Cindy. “You’re the biggest prude of all of us, not that we’re all that prudish, but no way is any of that true.”
Bell’s face hardened. She got her purse and pulled out a silver case. Inside were mat black business cards with glossy black letters neatly printed on them. Bell carefully offered one to Cindy.
“Lilith?” she read, squinting to see the black word printed on the black card.
“My employer. Call the number on the back, you’ll have to enter the code too. When she answers, say you’d like to make an appointment, that Alanna gave you a card. Ask for a menu.”
Warily, Cindy made the call on her phone, then entered the code. She did as Bell instructed when the call connected. She asked for a menu, after that. Ariel could hear muffled words just before Cindy’s eyes popped wide as saucers.
“Oh, my god,” she disconnected and covered her mouth. “She asked if I preferred a man or woman and that prices starts depend on the type of sex and time! Holy shit, it’s true, you’re a…”
“Well compensated sexworker?” offered Bell. Cindy’s mouth dropped open.
“Neat,” repeated Ariel. She noticed Jasmine’s pensive silence, but decided to ignore it. “Are they hiring?”
“Ariel,” said Bell, shaking her head and smiling. She put the card back in her case. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“I’m serious,” said Ariel. She glanced over to see Jasmine’s reaction. Her raven-haired friend stared off into space, distracted.
“We’re not hiring. Okay?” said Bell. “Now, which one do bitches want to hear about, the ass or the cherry?”
“The cherry, or auction, or whatever. Definitely,” said Ariel without hesitation. “All that money for something so easy. I want to hear about that.”
“Cool your jets, Ariel. You have to ‘be intact’ to get that kind of money,” said Bell. “Mr Sakes deflowered you if Will didn’t, right?”
“You and Cindy gave me Mr Snakes,” retorted Ariel. They’d chipped in for a two foot, two-headed dildo, a literal gag gift, for Ariel’s sweet sixteen. Everyone laughed then, but Aiel couldn’t resist using it after the party. She’d dubbed it Mr Snakes because it had two heads.
“You still have him don’t you?” asked Bell, smiling with knowing smugness.
“Yeah, in there,” Ariel eyed her nightstand. “Not much of a gag gift anymore.”
“Because you two are dating?” snarked Cindy.
“No. Asshole,” said Ariel, hitting her with a pillow. She made a cock pumping motion in front of her open mouth, “I just don’t gag anymore.”
“Wow, Will must be pleased,” said Cindy.
“My sad lack of sex life can wait,” said Ariel, flushing. “I want to know how much you make, Bell. And like, do you do it at your place, or at a ‘cat’ house? Do you go on ‘dates’? Are the guys icky gross old men, or Richard Gere?”
“Okay, wanna-be-whore, stop with the twenty questions,” said Jasmine. She’d finally joined the conversation and looked more miffed than she should, in Ariel’s opinion. “Tell us from the beginning. The first time about the mobster in your ass.”
“Yeah,” said Cindy, giggling. “Tell us about the butt stuff, first.”
“Aw!” Ariel cried.
“Okay,” said Bell. “This all only makes sense if you know a horrible secret: my entire life has been a carefully crafted lie from the beginning. Even I didn’t know the whole truth until about a month after I got my driver’s license...”
Bell’s Story
On the outside Dad and I seem to be the perfect family, dealing valiantly with my mother’s irresponsible abandonment. Everyone’s always said it was cute how bumbling he was. ‘He means well,’ is what I heard. And of course, everyone saw me as the kind obedient helpful daughter.
It was, and still is, a facade. Dad is a bitter, alcoholic, control freak with violent tendencies and a gambling problem. He has never been a good provider or father. The fact is, being obedient and productive helped avoid the lash of his temper. I never invited friends over to make it easier to hide our lies.
I thought about escaping all the time. What kept me from running away was that outside the home, life was pretty good for me. I had three great friends, school rocked, and I lived in Marin-fucking-County. Harold never felt like a true father and I had to lie to everyone about it, but the rest of my life was pretty normal, even good. Maybe great. That all changed one Friday after school. That day, I found out how big a lie my life really was.
Harold, the man I thought was my father for all these years is not my father at all. We share no blood. I’m so grateful for that, now. Of all his many faults, gambling is the one that brought everything out into the open and saved me. It’s also the reason I’m a whore.
That Friday I came home to find Dad drunk and agitated. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. He ordered me to get dolled up, which was both weird and extra-ordinary. I went along out of habit, though. Being agreeable usually kept me clear of his wrath, especially if he was drunk and already agitated.
He had my dress in Linda’s old clothes: lace underwear, pumps, a form fitting blue dress, and makeup. I’ve never worn fancy underwear. It was weird wearing Mom’s clothes, but also new and exciting to be in something so nice.
Like an idiot, I got more excited when we left home and drove to a posh gated house in foggy Sea Cliff. There was even a huge bald doorman in a suit who took us to an office off the vestibule. He left us, saying, “Mr. Bete will be a moment.”
It looked like a Hollywood version of a lawyer’s office, wood paneling, built-in shelves full of hunter green and burgundy leather bound books, and a huge mahogany desk framed by a large curtained window to dominate and ground it all. A pair of tasteful oils of macabre hunting scenes decorated the wall opposite the shelves. This room, the doorman, the gated house, it was all built to impress. It worked for me.
Dad just looked impatient. He took a seat in a chair and had me stand behind him. Obediently, I got into position just as one of the bookcases swung out, making me jump a bit. I stifled a gasp at the man who walked through the hidden door. He was almost grotesque, built like a high-end coffin: long, mahogany, and hard as wood. Muscles bulged and rippled like chained animals under an expensive looking black suit. After taking a seat behind the desk, he looked me up and down like a tiger would a doe. The room felt a bit hotter, I thought of the hunting scenes on the wall to my right.
“M-Mr Bete, I’d like to…”
“Don’t be impolite, Harold.” Mr. Bete had a beautiful, deep, resonant voice, soothing like a narrator’s. He glanced meaningfully over at me. “Introduce me to your charming companion.”
Dad did. Mr Bete welcomed me, saying I could call him John. He interacted with me in a direct, focused way I found intriguing. There was no condescension or arrogance I’d would expect from such a man. He was polite and engaged. And I liked his frank attention as much as his voice.
“Bell, do you know why you are here?” he asked me. I shook my head. “Harold, why don’t you enlighten Bell. And don’t mince about.”
I’d never heard anyone talk like that to Dad. He stiffened, reining back his temper. Dad feared Bete. Fascinating, I liked the man even more.
“I’m offering her as payment for my debts,” Dad said. My brain stopped. “I’ve had her on a tight leash, she’s probably a virgin, which should increase her value.”
“Dad?” I drew away from him, completely creeped out, and ready to run.
“You can call him that Bell, but he’s really your pimp.” John didn’t seem surprised by my Dad’s words, nor did he condescend or ‘mince about’ with me. “As you’ve heard, Harold here wants me to accept you as payment in part or in whole for his considerable debts to my organization.”
“Debts?” A whisper was all I could manage.
“Belladonna, maybe you don’t know, but Harold is a degenerate gambler. Has been for years. He owes us two hundred and twenty-four thousand dollars.” Bete laughed softly, “And if you’ve ever wondered how much Harold values you, now you do. To the dollar.”
I leaned my whole body against the bookshelf, away from Harold, finding none of it funny. Bete used my full name, which no one knew. That scared me as much as anything. Bete wasn’t just engaged, he was informed. And a criminal, obviously. A charming shark in a suit. And dad wanted to sell me to him.
“Do you agree to pay his debts?” the mobster asked. By his expression, I could tell he wasn’t being rhetorical. I felt a sudden deep warmth for him.
“No,” I said. “Hell no.”
“Bell…” Dad said, starting to rise. I could see his arm drawing back for the slap.
“Harold, sit down and stay down,” said Bete, calmly. There was no shout, no threat, just cold command. Dad sat. My spine straightened and I stopped cringing as I watched Dad back down like a coward.
“Harold, Bell isn’t rescuing you like your wife did,” Bete smiled, feral and hungry. “I guess we’re going to have to make other arrangements.”
“What did you do to Mom?”
“Me? Nothing,” answered Bete. “I always liked Linda. Hasn’t Harold told you what he did?”
This question was rhetorical, but I shook my head anyway. Dad just slumped in his chair.
“Harold had a habit of putting Linda up as collateral. That sort of thing leaves an impression,” Bete gazed into the middle distance, remembering. “The first time I saw him do it, your mom had this distant sort of look on her face, the same look you have now. You and Linda look a lot alike. Same shiny brown hair. Same amazing figure. You’re taller, though.”
“He won that time. I had the misfortune of being there once when he lost. The winner was this greasy, sweaty pig of a man. He collected his chips and Linda.”
I wanted to scream. I jammed a balled fist into my mouth, but I kept listening
“In that dank little basement gambling den, the fat bastard unzipped. Harold pushed her to him. She got on her knees and took the guy’s tiny schlong between her beautiful red lips. Linda was a looker, crisp, clean, and fresh. But there she was, knees on a dirty floor, sucking rancid cum out of a fat man’s sweaty balls. When he finished, she smiled sweetly like it was all OK. Harold smiled too, a gloating ghoulish grin.”
The room blurred as tears filled my eyes. I didn’t even remember Mom, but... Christ. Bete had to see my anguish but kept telling the story in excruciating detail.
“She paid Harold’s way out with more than her mouth, of course. I don’t know why she stayed with him. But I know she got knocked up. I saw her by chance, alone at Neiman Marcus, all aglow and pregnant. I thought maybe she’s escaped. She hadn’t, but it was okay, she said. The baby wasn’t Harold’s. A tiny victory, I guess. Months later I’m sad to say, I saw her back with Harold at a parlor, belly flat, chest a bit tighter.”
“Finally, on a run of luck, he’d moved up to a higher class of establishment, a yacht in international waters. These places don’t accept services as collateral,” he gave Harold a meaningful look. “As ever, Harold’s luck turned. He lost his shirt. Busted and desperate to get back to the top, in the game, he traded with the yacht’s owner. Your mother for money. Not her services mind you. But her person. Not the usual collateral, but I guess the owner liked Linda. I’m told she went willingly. Who can blame her? Who wouldn’t want to get free of Harold?”
I didn’t miss his meaning. I certainly wanted to get away. I had for as long as I could remember.
“He wants the same from you now. It’s his M.O. Shit, Harold, you don’t look surprised she’s not yours. Did Linda tell you? Did you keep her kid around just for this?”
The little man, the worm, in the chair next to me, said nothing. Denied nothing. Suddenly all my father’s… all Harold’s mistreatment of me made sense.
