Nerve (11 page)

Ian glances at me with a helpless expression. The camera is slippery in my hands. I’m tempted to tuck it into my pocket before this guy takes it from me, but don’t want to lose this footage.

“Stay here,” Ian says to me.

For the first time the pimp flicks his eyes my way. “She with you? Cute. She can come too.” He nudges Ian’s elbow.

I don’t know whether to follow or run the other way. He can’t chase us both at once, but he could send Tiffany and Ambrosia after me. I dart my head around looking for someone to call out to.

At that moment, a cluster of twenty-somethings appear from around the corner. One of them points at us, and the rest pull out their phones.

The Watchers have arrived.

All around us, people shoot video of Ian and me.

As the crowd approaches, the pimp’s forehead furrows. “What the hell?”

Ian waves toward the Watchers. “Looks like I’ve been spotted by more fans. I should spend some time with them, you know?” He heads into the densest part of the swarm.

I back into the group, recognizing a number of them from the bowling alley. Surprisingly, no one seems angry about us ditching them. And I don’t mind all their cameras in my face this time. We move down the street amidst cheering and questions.

“You’ll see everything when NERVE broadcasts it,” Ian says to the crowd. He takes the phone from me, and, with a laugh, films our Watchers as they film us.

The pimp and the girls stare after us with puzzled
expressions. Tiffany’s crying, like she missed out on something big.

I feel like crying too, in relief. The good cheer of the Watchers envelops me like a shield. A big, rowdy, beautiful shield. With them, I am somebody. I am safe.

I jostle next to Ian. “Okay, now you can take a bus ride to Kentucky or Kansas or anywhere U.S.A. and go camping.”

He laughs. “That was great what you did with those girls, even if it almost got us mugged. Lucky I’ve still got my phone.”

The Watchers surround us, high-fiving Ian.

He accepts their congrats. “I promise you guys the video will rock, thanks to my amazing partner! Now, you need to give her a little space so she can do what she needs. Otherwise, show’s over.”

They seem disappointed, but agreeable, staying on their side of the street when we cross over and move to the next block, out of Tiffany and Ambrosia’s business territory, I hope. Now I have the lovely prospect of finding business of my own.

Ian strolls to a place advertising “Live Ladies Lusting Lavishly.” Guess that even with a million porn sites on the Net, some guys still want that face-to-face, nasty cubicle experience. Which is good for us, since it provides a brightly lit patch of sidewalk that extends almost thirty feet.

The line of guys eye me, but no one approaches, even when Ian waves them over. We decide that maybe they want to talk man to man or some such BS. I stroll near the curb, facing traffic, one hand on my hip, the other dangling at my side. As each car passes, its lights temporarily blinding me, I give a pressed-lip smile as if I’m about to say “prune” and stick out my chest. I’m wearing twice the amount of clothing as Tiffany and Amber combined, but I’ve never felt more naked. From across the street, hints of laughter travel through the night air. The Watchers had better behave or I’ll never complete this dare.

When I’ve covered a block, I turn around to walk slowly back toward Ian. He’s chatting up the guys in line, pointing my way. My very own pimp. The potential customers, or so they think, stare at me, smacking their lips, but shaking their heads. What’s their problem? Maybe from a distance they think I’m a skinny tweaker who’s wearing long sleeves to hide her needle marks. Or maybe the clothes and shoes tell them I’m not really in business. Guess I’ll have to convince them. Ugh. Even though my stomach feels like it’s tightening into a knot that’ll never be untied, I head toward the
guys. Thankfully, the Watchers have the good sense to quiet down.

The closer I get to the peep show parlor, the more I detect a sour odor, like cabbage soup. With an inward groan, I realize it’s coming from the men. Did Ian have to pick the stinkiest pervs on the street?

Ian motions to me. “Come here, Roxie.”

Roxie? Is that even a name? “Uh, sure, Stone.”

He grabs me by the wrist like he owns me. “These fellows don’t believe you’ll be worth the money.”

I chew on my lip. “They might be right. This is my first night out, and I’m pretty nervous.”

A flabby-faced guy leers at me. “You never done this before? Well, that explains the strange clothes.”

Strange? I’m insulted, and then flattered. Who’d want to fit in here?

“It’s all I could afford,” I say, sniffing. “Party clothes are awful expensive.” I stare down at my poor non-hookery flats. In the distance, a siren wails.

The guy scratches his armpit. “I’ll give you fifty, but that’s all I got, and it’s more than what the girls around here normally ask for.”

I raise my head and make doe eyes at Ian. “I’m not sure I can do this, even though Mama needs that operation really bad. Let me get some air, okay?” This last bit is actually true. If I don’t get away from this smell, I’ll faint.

“Sure, sis.” Ian pats the top of my head and goes back to negotiating with the guys, like a good brother should. I make another trek along the curb.

A few couples pass me by, all with the same expressions, a half smile and quickly averted eyes from the guys, a huff of contempt and a longer stare from the girls. Don’t they realize that I’m one of them? Shoot, the last girl who frowned my way was wearing the same T-shirt as me.

I can’t take this personally. It’s role playing that has nothing, nothing to do with real life. I force a smile at the next couple to walk by and am shocked when they return it. Then the guy runs to my side and puts his arm around me.

“Hey,” I say, trying to squirm away from him.

The girl takes our picture while the guy tugs at one of my pigtails and whispers, “You’re doing great, Vee.”

I slap him away. “Hands off, you creep.”

Ian races to us and threatens to beat the crap out of the guy, but he and his girlfriend just laugh and hurry off the way they came. When Ian starts to run after them, I pull him back.

I take a deep breath. “Forget about them. We need to focus on the dare.”

He seems torn, but, after a few seconds of considering it, listens to me. “If you see any more stalkery Watchers, holler, okay?”

I agree and get back to work. Within minutes, a car slows
down and pulls to the side of the street, right next to me. Inside is a middle-aged guy with thick eyebrows.

He grins. “You seem kind of young to be out here by yourself. Look at you shivering.”

“I’m old enough. Just cold.”

“My car has heated seats. I could give you a ride.”

I stand there, waiting for him to continue. Please, someone, be capturing this on video. I’d try it with my lousy camera if I didn’t think it would scare this guy off.

He taps the steering wheel in time to a disco song. “So, you want to come in?”

“Um, you’re cute, but…”

Ian passes by, his arms folded across his chest so he can hold the camera raised without it looking like he’s filming. He takes up a position at the rear of the car. Hopefully anyone passing will think he’s a pimp looking out for his girl.

The guy in the car doesn’t seem to notice Ian. He rubs his cheek. “You need food money? Maybe I can help.”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” I draw out the
hungry
.

He grins. “How much do you eat?”

I want to hurl then and there, but manage to get out, “A lot.”

He laughs. “Small girl, big appetite. Like twenty bucks’ worth?”

I open my eyes wide. “Um, like five times that.”

His smile disappears. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

I rub my hand along my waist. “No. Just someone who’s willing to work hard.”

He raises a caterpillar-y eyebrow. I don’t want to imagine what’s flashing through his brain. “You’re awfully adorable, but I can’t go that high. It’s against my policy.”

As if guys trolling for underage hookers have policies. “That’s too bad. Hope you have a nice night.” I strut forward.

He puts the car in reverse, causing Ian to scramble back. “You think you’re hot shit, huh?”

I can see that this won’t go well. “No.”

He yells, “Bitch!” and hits the engine, blowing exhaust until he stops up the street, next to a girl in five-inch studded boots.

My knees feel rubbery. First the hookers and now this guy. I can’t remember being called “bitch” twice in the same night before, or even the same month. My bottom lip quivers.

Ian comes up to me and squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you. Just a prick who didn’t get what he wanted. We’ll get this done. You’ll see. In the meantime, we’re getting some great video.” He heads off to take up a position nearby.

I swallow in frustration and watch the girl in studded boots chat with eyebrow guy, lots of nodding and smiles. With so many hookers willing to work for less than a hundred, how am I ever going to find a client? Obviously, NERVE calibrated this dare for difficulty. What did I expect for a new phone with icing on top?

After a couple of minutes, the girl trudges around the back of the car to get to the passenger door. As soon as the guy can’t see her, her face goes blank. What’s she thinking? That this isn’t her real life, just like I’ve been telling myself it isn’t mine?

Suddenly, I feel tired, wishing I could go home, take a hot bath, and go to bed. I check my phone as I walk. No new messages. NERVE must still be blocking them. Don’t they realize I need moral support?

I’m about to ask Ian for some change to use a pay phone so I can connect with a friendly voice, assuming I can find a phone that’s in working order and not covered in something disgusting. But another car slows down, its Mercedes symbol stopping just behind me. The window lowers next to a clean-cut guy in his thirties with neat sideburns and boyish features, the kind of man who shouldn’t require the services of a streetwalker. Whatever revs your Harley, I guess. He rests an arm so it sticks out the window, showing off a huge watch worth more than my car.

“Hey,” he says, revealing glow-in-the-dark teeth.

I take up a spot just out of arm’s reach, and jut out my sore hip. “Hey, yourself.”

“You don’t need to be out here, you know.”

I wait for him to add how I should come in and take advantage of his car’s toasty seats.

Instead, he says, “Whatever problems you have that make
you feel this is your only choice, are problems you can solve another way. Especially if you let someone help you.”

“Someone like you?”

He smiles. “I was thinking of someone a little more powerful.”

Whoa. “You mean a three-way?” If he offers a hundred for an orgy, will that satisfy the dare?

His lips pull back in a mask of disgust for a brief moment before he recovers his smile. “I was referring to a higher power. My wife and I run a ministry to help girls like you.”

I fight to stay in character. “Girls like me? You don’t know me.”

“I know you need someplace where you can feel safe. If you’re open to enjoying a home-cooked meal and having the opportunity to chat with other young women who’ve been in your shoes, you can get off the streets right this minute.”

I glance toward Ian as he passes us with his camera raised. “That’s really nice, but I’m okay.”

The guy in the car tracks Ian with his eyes, leaning out to stare at him when he takes up his normal filming position in what should be the guy’s blind spot. There must be a higher power taking care of this guy if he’s been staring down real pimps on a regular basis.

He speaks to Ian. “Are you the one responsible for this young lady’s welfare?”

Ian shrugs. “We’re friends.”

The guy holds out a hand. “Good to hear. Because I want to take her someplace safe, where she can be helped. I’m sure you won’t mind, friend.”

I wave. “Uh, hello? I mind. Look, thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. This isn’t what it seems. We’re just hanging out.”

He shakes his head without a hair shifting out of place. “Sad to say, many young women out here are harmed most severely by men who claim to be looking out for them, their so-called friends.”

I point across the street. “If you really want to help someone, there are a couple of girls named Ambrosia and Tiffany who could use it. But their friend seems kind of dangerous, so be careful, okay?”

I march away, pulling at Ian’s arm until we’re on the next block. The guy stares after us, but finally drives off.

Ian shakes his head. “All kinds of crazies out here.”

“He didn’t seem crazy, and I hope I haven’t sent him into harm’s way.” I rub my temples, unsure of whether I’ve done something noble or idiotic.

Ian takes my shoulders. “You aren’t responsible for anyone out here except yourself, and, if you want, me.”

Too bad the girl in the studded boots went off with the eyebrow guy. She looked like she could use a little hope. Once again, I’m thankful that for me this is just a game. Which reminds me.

“Guess it’s time to get back to the dare,” I say.

He winks. “Yeah, we can save the world after we win our prizes.” He saunters off, leaving me alone once again. I gaze across the street at the Watchers, wishing I’d get a glimpse of Tommy, even though he said he’d sign up to view the game online only. Is he still looking out for me, or did he go home in disgust?

I amble back and forth while Ian tries to hustle guys on foot. A few more cars stop alongside me, but it’s always the same story—I’m asking too much. As the fourth car in ten minutes roars away, I can’t help feeling rejected, even though they’re the losers who have to pay to get laid.

Another round of haggling goes by before a Ford Taurus pulls up. I sigh and wait for the negotiation to begin.

A soft-faced guy opens the window. “You alone?”

I bite my lip. “For now.”

“Me too. Loneliness sucks, huh?”

I nod. Is hooker talk always so inane?

He taps the edge of his door. “What would it take for us to change our alone statuses?”