Calling Maggie May (15 page)

Mon, March 9, later

Wow. That was the craziest thing I've ever done. Well, other than getting paid to have sex with strangers. Maybe my life is so weird now, I've lost all sense of proportion.

I went over to Ada's window after I saw that flash and I peered in, but it was all dark in there and I could barely make anything out. I don't even know exactly what I was expecting to see, but it definitely didn't look like Ada was in there. I was about to give up and go back home, but I couldn't stop turning the question over in my mind. What had I seen flash in there? Was it just my imagination? What would give off that kind of blue light?

Then I noticed the light again, but this time it wasn't coming from Ada's room. It was coming from my purse. It was my phone lighting up as a text came through. My parents, wanting to know where the hell I was. My first thought was panic that they had noticed I was gone too long, but before I could think too much about that, I realized something else. The flash of light I had seen had to be Ada's phone!

I tried Ada's phone again, calling this time. Sure enough,
a blueish light came on, illuminating Ada's room dimly as I listened to the ringtone. So Ada had abandoned her phone at home, which meant all my messages had gone unread. I felt my heart sink a little at this realization, but then another thought occurred to me. If I had Ada's phone, it might give me another clue as to where she was hiding.

Not really dreaming it would work, I gave the window a little shove and it moved. Ada must have left it unlocked. I checked around, looking up and down the street, my heart beating wildly at what I was about to do. But everything seemed quiet. As silently as possible, I slid the window up and hoisted myself up and inside. I gave a quick look around for any other possible clues, but I didn't want to stick around too long and risk getting caught by Ada's mom, so I just grabbed the phone and got out of there.

Now I'm on a bus headed back home and not totally sure what to do with my trophy. I thought it might be useful to see who Ada had spoken to last, but the last calls in her logs were me and Miss Irma. No new information there. Should I just start calling random people from her address book? I don't know if that might make things better or worse.

Jen's number is in here. At least I kind of know her. I'm not sure what she could possibly know that would be a help at this point, but it's worth a shot.

Mon, March 9, later

I texted Jen twice and called once, but she's not responding. Why doesn't anyone pick up their phones? What do I do? Do I give up?

I'm almost home now, but the minute I walk in the door, my parents are going to start talking about sending me away. How can I let them do that when Ada is so clearly in trouble? I've got to do something.

Should I try another number? Or Jen's address is in here. I suppose I could go over there. Maybe she'll be more willing to talk to me face-to-face.

Mon, March 9, later

That didn't go exactly as planned, but at least I have a new direction now.

I made my way over to South Downtown and found my way to Jen's place through a maze of old abandoned warehouses. When I found the building, it had a roll-up door, and I wondered if the owners even knew it was being used as living space. I banged on the door for a while until finally Jen's roommate, Beth, came down. I asked if Jen was there, but Beth just said, “Nope.”

“Do you know when she'll be back?”

“Nope.”

I was getting frustrated.

“Can I come in and wait for her, then? I really need to talk to her.”

“You could be waiting a while,” said Beth, lounging calmly in the doorway. “Jen's in jail. She got picked up last night.”

I have to admit, that was the last thing I was expecting.

“For what?” I asked.

Beth laughed. “What do you think? Or were you unaware that your chosen profession is illegal? This could happen to any of us.”

“Sure,” I said, “but we're not streetwalkers. And Irma . . .”

“Irma only protects people as long as they're useful to her,” Beth said, her voice hard. “Irma kicked Jen off the payroll two weeks ago because of her drug problem, so she started posting ads for her services online. One of the clients she got was a setup. They had sex, she asks for her money, and the guy whips out a badge instead.”

“A cop would really do that?”

“You watch too much TV,” she said. “Not all cops are heroes.”

“Will she go to prison?”

“At sixteen?” said Beth. “Not likely. Probably she'll have to go to juvie, or she'll get stuck in the social services system or something. Either way, it will be a pain in the ass. What really sucks is how am I going to make rent without a roommate?”

At this point, I was almost on the point of crying from
frustration and worry. I leaned against the doorframe with all the fight gone out of me.

Beth narrowed her eyes. “What do you want with Jen, anyway? You guys aren't friends.”

“I don't want Jen. I want Ada. I mean, I'm looking for her. She disappeared.”

“She's not answering her phone?”

“No.” I held up Ada's phone. “Look, do you know anything? I know you're not her biggest fan, but this is important.”

Beth huffed a breath. “I bet it is. Everyone's always worried about Ada. I wouldn't be that worried about her. She knows how to take care of herself.”

“What do you mean? If you know something, you have to tell me.”

“You shouldn't trust her, you know. She'll take advantage of you just like she does everyone else.”

I shook my head. “She wouldn't do that.”

“Wouldn't she? You'll realize someday that I did you a favor. Ada was manipulating you and trying to put one over on Irma. She's done it before.”

“A favor?” I repeated. “What kind of . . . ?” Suddenly I understood. “It was you,” I said slowly. “You heard me talking at the Valentine's party about what happened between me and Damon. You went to Miss Irma.”

“I wasn't trying to cause trouble for you,” said Beth, looking sullen. “I was trying to protect you. Ada's a bad egg. You're better off without her.”

“You're wrong. Ada would never do anything . . .”

“She got you into this life, didn't she? You're not like us. Me and Jen and Ada and the others . . . We didn't have much of a choice. Miss Irma looks like a walk in the park compared to the other options life gave us. But you could have been something. You had a good life and opportunities. Money, a future, a family that loves you. Ada couldn't stand it. She wanted to bring you down to our level.”

Almost against my will, I thought about her words. Was it true what she was saying? Was it Ada's fault I got into this life? But I'd wanted to. I'd practically begged her, and she had always tried to stop me.

“Listen,” I said, “I don't care what she did. If you know anything at all, you have to help me. Ada could be in serious trouble, and we need to look out for each other. Did she come by here? Did Jen mention that she'd spoken to her recently?”

Beth shook her head.

“Great,” I said. “Dead end. Thanks anyway.”

I turned my coat collar up and stepped back into the driving rain, tears of frustration prickling behind my eyes.

“Wait,” said Beth. I turned around. “Before you give up, you might as well try Westlake Park.”

“What have you heard?” I said sharply.

“I swear, I don't know anything. She could be a million miles away now, or around the corner, or dead, but Westlake Park is where a lot of Irma's old whores wash up when Irma's through with them. You could call it the Miss Irma Retirement Community.”

I don't know what that means, but I'm off to find out.

Mon, March 9, later

Westlake Park is right in the middle of downtown Seattle, blocks away from the art museum and the convention center. Minutes from the business hotels where I used to meet most of my clients and only a few steps away from where I walked with Damon on our date. I've passed this park dozens of time and never noticed anything strange about it. I was always here in daylight, and it seemed perfectly nice.

But it's different after dark, and it didn't take me long to figure out why Beth thought Ada might be here. The women standing around the park are obviously streetwalkers. That's what she meant by Miss Irma's Retirement Community. When girls like me and Ada and Beth get too old or too difficult for Miss Irma's service, this is the only option left.

Still, even if I understood what Beth had meant, it's hard to picture Ada in this environment. These girls don't dress like Ada. They're streetwalkers, and they are dressed to make sure everyone knows it. They lean into car windows, negotiating deals.

I walked around the park a few times, my eyes instinctively seeking out Ada's tall, graceful form, her long swirling coat, her shimmery blond hair. But is that what she would look like now? Or would she be dressed in hot pants and fishnets and a lace bra? Would she wear a wig, as many of the girls seem to? I watched everyone carefully, trying to see past their performance to the person underneath.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before people started to notice me. A couple of the girls started staring back. One wanted to know what I was looking at and what my problem was. I wanted to run away, but I knew that wouldn't get me any closer to Ada. So I screwed up my courage and approached her.

“I'm looking for someone named Ada,” I said. “Maybe you can help?” I pulled up a photo of her on my phone, but the woman wouldn't even look at it.

“I mind my own business around here, and so should you,” she said.

I swallowed my disappointment and slinked away, wondering if anyone else would be more helpful. That's
when someone grabbed me roughly by the arm and spun me around.

“What's a pretty girl like you doing in the park tonight?” This time it was a guy in his twenties with a hood up, shading his eyes. “Are you working tonight?”

I tried to tell him no, that I was just there looking for a friend, but he sneered.

“I've heard that before. Who are you working for?”

“No one,” I stuttered. “I mean, I used to work for Miss Irma, but I'm just . . .”

“This park isn't up for grabs, you know. No free agents. Now, if you're unattached, I'd be happy to . . .”

“Thank you,” I said, hurrying away from him. “I was just leaving.”

I wandered into a darker, more deserted area, far from the corners where the cars pulled up, and now I'm just sitting here, trying to stay out of everyone's way and figure out my next move. If I keep hanging around and asking questions, obviously I'm going to get myself into trouble, but I can't give up on Ada yet! Is there anywhere else I could look for her? Anyone else who might be willing to help?

Crap. There's a guy who has been lurking in the shadows near me for the last few minutes, and he is making me seriously nervous. Maybe I should find a different place to sit.

Tues, March 10? I think?

I am so confused. I wish I could remember exactly what happened last night and how I ended up here, but I'm only getting weird flashes, and I'm not sure what's real and what's a dream.

I'm in a bed right now, and from the light outside the window, I think it's very early morning. But it's not my bed, and it's not a hospital bed. Where am I?

I'd better try to reconstruct what happened after my last entry.

The guy lurking in my previous entry . . . I remember him. Just as I was thinking of moving, he walked up and asked if I had any money. I said, “Sorry, no,” and he said, “Are you sure?”

I ignored him and started to walk away, but then he said, “How about you let me check?” I should have kept moving, but I chanced a glance at him and that's when I saw he had a knife. I kind of froze at that point. All I could think about was the envelope full of cash in my purse. The money I had saved up for ages. The money that was supposed to be the nest egg for my life with Ada. The money I had promised to deliver to Miss Irma tomorrow, to make sure Ada would be safe.

I started to walk away again, out of the shadows and toward a better-lit area, but the man grabbed my clothes and tugged me back toward him until I could feel the end of his blade against my back. I tried to struggle and cry out, but . . .

I don't know what happened then. Everything gets hazy at that point.

The next thing I remember is a familiar voice talking, saying my name, and hands shaking me awake. I opened my eyes to see who it was. It wasn't Ada. It was Shawn. The beautiful boy from Miss Irma's Valentine's party.

But that can't be right, can it? I must have been dreaming. But whose bed am I in right now?

Tues, March 10? later

I just investigated a bit, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. I'm still wearing all my clothes from last night, but my purse is gone. Which means all the money is gone. Not just that, but my cell phone, and Ada's too. At least I still have this journal—I was writing in my journal when I saw the guy, so I still had it in my hands when I went down.

I don't know what to do. I still don't know where I am. The room I'm in is a strange combination of shabby and swank. There are water stains and cracks in the plaster and the blinds are broken and hanging off the window, but there is also a huge flat-screen TV at the foot of the bed and these sheets are nicer than the ones on my bed at home.

The view out the window is totally unfamiliar. It doesn't look anything like the area around Westlake Park. Should I try
to sneak out of this place and find my way back home? But what then? Irma's goons will be looking for me by nightfall, and now I have nothing to offer them. Leading them to my house will only put my parents in danger. They don't deserve that.

And even if I get out of that mess, it's guaranteed now that my parents will send me to Taiwan the first chance they get.

I wish I could go back to the days when everything felt like a choice. When I got to decide every day whether I was going to pick the dangerous path or the safe one. That safe path doesn't seem to exist anymore, and the dangerous one is more dangerous than ever.

I hear noises outside the door. Whoever's apartment this is seems to have gotten up. I wish I knew whether I'm his prisoner or not.