Phantom Angel (11 page)

“I'm not in any mess,” she said to me with great insistence, her gym bag thrown over one shoulder. “So I'm a webcam girl. So I take my clothes off. Maybe that seems sleazy to you or whatever. But to me it's just an acting gig.”

I led her in the direction of the Mall. When we reached the Bandshell she came to a halt, her jaw stuck out. “Hey, wait, this is where I met…”

“Farmer John. I know.”

“I'm not going back to him.”

“What
are
you going to do? Because you can't go back to the Crown Towers.”

“You promised you weren't kidnapping me.”

“I'm not. I'll take you back there if that's what you really want. But you're not safe there, trust me.”

“Why should I?” she demanded.

“Because I have no reason to lie to you.” I resumed walking. Grudgingly, she tagged along. “How did you end up there anyhow?”

“I answered an ad. Went to an office on Canal Street where some middle-aged woman took a bunch of photos of me. Next day she called me back and I went to a studio on East 36th Street, where I did some swimsuit shots with a photographer who said he'd shot spreads for
Paris Vogue
and was in contact with the top modeling agencies. His name was Gunnar and he had this serious German accent. Told me he was always on the lookout for girls to model for, like, Vicky's Secret and the
Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Edition. He said I was very natural and all-American.”

“Did he pay you?”

“No, but he didn't charge me either. And that's epic. After I left John I crashed in Cobble Hill with a girl I knew from an acting workshop. That's where I was when Gunnar called me to do another shoot. This time I met him at an apartment on East 64th Street. He said he wanted me on a bed wearing a black velvet thong and nothing else, but that I'd be lying on my stomach so you wouldn't be able to see my boobs.”

“This would be the Cassia gallery that's on
sweetgirls
.”

“You saw it?” She glanced at me shyly. “I was okay with it once I relaxed. Gunnar made it all seem fun. Not slutty or whatever. Just kind of flirty. And there's nothing you can't see in any slick fashion magazine. He seemed real pleased. Told me he'd show the photos to some people he knew at a modeling agency.”

We'd reached the Bethesda Fountain and the Rowboat Lake. Strolled our way around the lake in the direction of the 72nd Street Boathouse.

“And then what happened?”

“Gunnar wanted to shoot me on a yacht
and
pay me a thousand bucks for the day. Me and this Puerto Rican girl named Luze. She also goes by Tamaya and Angelique. So we drove out to, like, a yacht club on Long Island. These two guys were waiting there for us to sail the thing. They were pretty skeevy looking. I was glad Luze was along. I wouldn't have gone out with them if I was by myself. I'm not that stupid. Gunnar shot Luze and me together at first, sunning ourselves on deck with our bikinis on. When he asked us to lose our bikinis I was okay with it. So was Luze. He had us hold hands like little girls. It was totally innocent, and real artistic. And then he shot me by myself. He wanted to see some of my gymnastics moves. I'm pretty flexible.”

“You're
very
flexible.”

“I've worked real hard to be in the kind of shape I am. So I figured, hey, if someone wants to pay me for it what's the harm, right? Luze was right there cheering me on. It was
fun
. And you want to know what I was thinking the whole time Gunnar was shooting me? I was thinking about my mother's dirty, creepy asshole of a husband. How he'd be drooling over me and wanting me but can't have me. Not anymore. Not ever. And that felt good in a weird sort of way.” She shot a worried look at me. “Does that sound crazy?”

“Not to me.”

“Gunnar placed both of my galleries on the Web sites. And they liked me so much they wanted to make me a webcam girl just like Luze. So I moved in across the hall from her in this big, beautiful apartment in the Crown Towers with a killer view of the Statue of Liberty. I mean, it's
gorgeous
. And Luze is real sweet. She's from Camden, New Jersey, and used to be in this real abusive relationship with a gangbanger. She's much better off now.”

“How many girls are living there?”

“There's four of us to a floor. And we have the top four floors. That makes sixteen, right? We're in and out of each other's places. We have a lot of fun together. Go shopping for clothes and stuff.”

“How do you pay for the clothes and stuff?”

“The boys give us credit cards and tell us to go knock yourself out. That's sort of how we get paid.”

“Whose credit cards are they?”

She frowned at me. “I don't know what you mean.”

“When you use a card does it have your name on it?”

“Does that matter?”

“It matters.”

“Well, no, it says I'm little Miss So and So from Wherever, USA. I have a driver's license that says it, too. And then I give it all back and the next time they give me a whole new set of cards with a whole new name.”

“And you're okay with that?”

“Why not? I love to shop. We all do. We get to buy whatever we want. A lot of the time the boys give us lists of things they want us to buy for them, too.”

“Like what?”

“All kinds of stuff. Fancy wristwatches, sets of golf clubs, cases of really expensive wine. One of the boys will chauffeur us around from store to store. We have a rockin' good time. They're real nice girls, all except for Little Mutt. She's kind of stuck up.”

“Why do they call her Little … No, wait, I don't want to know. You said there's a computer room downstairs?”

“Yeah, that's where Petey and the nerd squad hang. A lot of them live in the building, too. But, like I said, they're pretty harmless. And the work's super easy. I just have to hang out and be myself while the webcam follows me around. I do my morning stretches. I make myself a smoothie, take a shower. Big whoop, right? It's good acting experience, actually. I'm getting real comfortable in front of the camera. And they haven't asked me to do anything I'm not comfortable doing.”

“Do you do private chats?”

“Well, yeah.”

“What about parties?”

“What kind of parties?”

“The kind where a bunch of rich guys sit around and watch naked girls go down on each other.”

Boso made a face. “Ugh, no. I'd never do that. I'm an
actress
.”

“If you say so.”

She glanced at me sharply. “Are you going to give me a lecture now?”

“Nope, I don't do lectures. But I will give you a forecast. Next, they'll want you to do a girl-on-girl video.”

“That's just playacting. So what?”

“Then they'll want you to do one with a guy.”

“I'm not a porn skank. I won't do that.”

“Yeah, you will. Luze will be there to cheer you on again. And you'll end up convincing yourself it really wasn't so bad. The guy was nice enough. And you were just ‘performing.' Next you'll take on two guys at once. You'll need to get high to do that. You've got to be sky high to act like it's fun to have two guys use you like a cheap whore.”

“That's just disgusting!
You're
disgusting! And you're talking to me like I'm some hick. You don't understand my situation at all.”

“Really? So tell me about your situation.”

“I'm getting what I want, okay?
That's
my situation. Morrie Frankel has personally guaranteed me a role in
Wuthering Heights,
remember? As soon as it goes back into rehearsal I'm moving out of the Crown Towers and into my own place. I respect myself. I respect my body. I don't do drugs. And I haven't been with
anyone
since I left John.” She came to a halt in the pathway, scrunching her mouth at me in that way of hers. “Listen, I don't know what your deal is but you don't have to worry about me, okay? I'm doing fine.”

“Do they keep close tabs on you?”

She nodded. “On all of us. They'll start wondering where I am pretty soon. I'll tell them I decided to go shopping. It'll be okay.”

“No, it won't. I wouldn't go back there if I were you.”

“I
live
there. My stuff is there. Besides, I like what I'm doing. Why can't you just accept that?”

“Because I know more than you do.”

Boso peered at me suspiciously. “What do you know?”

“I know that the law's going to land on those guys. They'll land on you, too, if you don't get out of there.”

“You're not listening to me! I just told you, I'm
gittin'
out of there!” Farmer John was right. Her accent got thicker when she was pissed. “Morrie promised me I could understudy Isabella!”

I looked at her as she stood there in the park with her eyes blazing at me. Jonquil Beausoleil was no bimbo. She was smart and determined. A survivor. But she was also eighteen. She still had a lot to learn about the things that people do to each other.

“Morrie Frankel is a liar,” I explained to her. “He lied to me. And he lied to you. He lies to pretty girls like you all of the time. Tells you anything you want to hear if he wants something from you. And he did want something—your help in staging this ruse of his. He's not going to cast you as an understudy in
Wuthering Heights
. That's never, ever going to happen.”

“It will, too,” she insisted angrily.

“No, it won't.”

“He told me I'm genuinely gifted.”

“Really? He told
me
that you're a ‘showbiz tartlet' and a ‘nothing.' He said, and I quote, ‘You throw a stick on Jones Beach and you'll hit a hundred just like her.' Does that sound like a man who's going to give you a paying job in the biggest musical in Broadway history?”

Her big blue eyes were shiny now. Tears began to spill from them. “Why, that big, fat prick…”

“He's a big fat prick, all right.”

“If he's been jerking me around I will make him so sorry.”

“Really? How are you going to do that?”

“Don't worry, I'll find a way.” She swiped the tears from her eyes and snuffled, shifting her clunky gym bag on her shoulder. “Nobody does shit like that to me and gets away with it! Nobody!” Then she went storming off.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“None of your danged business!”

“But I promised I'd take you back to Staten Island.”

“You're not taking me anywhere. I'll call one of the boys to come get me.”

“Wait a sec,
please
.” I caught up with her and gave her my business card. “Call me any time. Day or night, okay?”

She peered at the card before she tore it in half and let the pieces flutter to the ground. Then she strode away, her shapely thighs churning, taut butt quivering. One, two, three different men swiveled their heads to watch her go by. Me, I wondered if I'd ever see her again. I did think about going after her. But what was I going to do, wrap her in duct tape and throw her in the trunk of my car? I couldn't stop her.

So instead I went to the Morley Hotel to see the great Morrie Frankel.

 

CHAPTER SIX

I COULD HEAR HIM
hollering from out in the hotel hallway.

“You are under contract to
me,
you little limey fuck!” he roared as I tapped on his door. “Not Count Dracula, not Henderson,
me
. It's
my
show. The book belongs to me. The songs belong to me.
You
belong to me!”

Leah let me in, looking a bit flustered. “Morrie's on the phone,” she whispered. “And he's not in a very good mood.”

“That's okay. Neither am I.”

“If you kids try to quit I'll sue you!” he screamed into his cell phone from the sofa, where he sat wearing another nylon jumpsuit, this one avocado green. Once again, he had a piece of Scotch tape stuck to his forehead. Once again, he had a huge portion of something sweet and gooey on the coffee table before him. Today it was Belgian waffles topped with blueberries and whipped cream. “If Count Dracula tries to go around me I'll sue him! If Henderson goes along I'll strangle
that
lying bastard with my bare hands!… Oh, yeah? Well, fuck you, too!” He hurled his cell phone against the living room wall. “I'm Morrie fucking Frankel!” he shouted at Leah, scarcely taking notice of me. “Nobody steals
my
show and
my
stars! Do they honestly think I'm going to be pushed around by a couple of kids? The Matthew Puntigams and Hannah Lanes come and go. I don't. I'm eternal, you hear me?” He picked up the half-eaten plate of waffles and hurled that against the wall, too. “Eternal!”

Leah got busy cleaning it up, fussing and clucking.

“So it's
you,
” he snarled, glowering at me. “How dare you show your face here, you sniveling little rat.”

“We need to have a talk, Mr. Frankel.”

“
You
are a weasel,” he blustered, rubbing his forehead irritably. When he remembered he was wearing a piece of Scotch tape there he yanked it off, tried to throw it away, couldn't, tried again, couldn't. So he stuck it on the coffee table. “
You
are a snake. Let me a throw a name at you—Cricket fucking O'Shea. I asked around and guess what?
You
were seen at Zoot Alors last night with that psychopathic little twat. Deny it. Go ahead. I dare you.”

“Cricket and I went to school together.” I sat down across the coffee table from him as Leah continued to tidy up. “I was hoping she might have a lead on Farnell.”