The Girl Before (37 page)

The fear in Kelly's eyes is clear. None of the girls here are fully informed about the other branches, but they know they do not want to be a part of them. She wipes her eyes and nose and squares her
shoulders. Glen turns and stalks out of the room without another word.

As soon as he is gone, I rush to Kelly's side to inspect her face. There is some reddening, but I do not believe it will bruise. I cover it as best I can and finish as the bell sounds through the apartment.

“To your beds, girls,” I order, and the other girls move to sit on their beds, silent as they watch Kelly with expressions varying from anxiety to envy. We wait.

“Clara, bring Kelly out,” Glen calls. I brush my hands across Kelly's shoulders one more time before opening the door and leading her out. I plaster a bright smile on my face for the intimidating Mr. Green, who stands waiting, briefcase in hand. I assume it holds his payment. Papa and Glen deal only in cash.

My eyes are still on Mr. Green when I see his eyebrows vee as he looks over my shoulder. I turn to see that Kelly has stopped. Her eyes are wide as she stares at her client, and then her face crumples.

“I'm sorry,” she wails. “I can't . . . I can't . . .” She backs up, her intent to flee back to the bedroom clear. Glen is there before she can take a step.

“You can and you will,” he hisses, his grip tight on her wrist. He yanks her forward, and she stumbles. I rush forward to catch her, but Glen reaches out and shoves me away. I run into the table, and I feel a bruise begin to blossom on my hip. “No, Clara. The time for soft words is over. She's been trained for this.” He leans forward and whispers something in her ear that I cannot hear.

Mr. Green has been watching the entire exchange with interest. “Is there a problem?” He sounds almost amused.

“Not at all, Mr. Green,” Glen says. “Kelly just cares so much for her sisters and Clara, she's having a hard time leaving.”

“Should I worry?” Mr. Green's voice is laced with suspicion.

I jump in. “Of course not,” I say, laughing a little. “Kelly is loyal. As soon as she meets your children, she will never want to leave them. And I know you can offer her things we cannot.” I raise an eyebrow and he grins.

“That is true.” He turns to Kelly. “Girl. Get over here.” He tosses the briefcase on the table next to me. “You belong to me now.” He grabs her from Glen and pulls her forward until her front is flush with his. He grips her chin and forces her face upward. “This place does not exist. These people do not exist. Only I exist. Are we clear?”

Kelly nods, a difficult gesture with her chin firmly in his grasp.

“Good. We are leaving then,” he says. With a tip of his head toward Glen and a wink in my direction, he drags Kelly out of the apartment. Glen locks the door behind them.

“How could you let that happen, Clara?” he asks without turning around.

“I'm sorry, Glen, I told you she wasn't—”

He slams a hand against the door. “You don't
tell
me anything! When I have a client, I expect the girl to be ready! Or are you not able to handle simple instructions?” He spins to face me and stalks forward. I try to back away but the table is there. He stops in front of me and places his hands on either side of my hips. Our lips are a breath apart. “If you can't handle this, then maybe I need to find someone who can.”

His words hit my heart like an arrow, piercing my soul. “You don't mean that.”

“Screw it up like that again and you'll see how serious I am.” His words leave no questions as to his meaning. He grips my arms, squeezing tight, till it hurts, then throws me to the floor before stomping off to his study. I understand his anger. Papa found Kelly, and Mama gave me some help with the training, but Glen handled the transaction on
his own. He needed it to go smoothly so that Papa will trust him to handle part of the business independently, with his own clients.

When Papa stops by later to check in, Glen is all smiles. “It went great, Pop!” he says. “Smooth sailing.” He flashes me a grin. “Clare was brilliant, as I knew she would be.”

I manage a smile back before heading to put the girls to bed. Glen is closing the door behind Papa when I return.

“We did it!” he crows, and grabs me around the waist, spinning me around. He carries me to the bedroom, and soon I forget all about the bruises on my arms and hip as we celebrate. There is only Glen, who gives me pain sometimes, but also takes it away.

I am surprisingly calm as I wait in an antechamber, counting the minutes until I will take the stand to speak against my husband. Ex-husband? We found out that the marriage between Glen and myself was never even legal. How could it be, when Clara did not exist? They could have gotten documents, as they did for the South Dakota trip, or for any of the other girls when they were sold, but it was one last cruel joke from Papa, who had never forgiven Glen for screwing up and falling in love with the wrong girl.

The room echoes with the ticking of the clock. I asked my family to give me some time alone. I have not seen Glen since our confrontation at the prison. He has tried to call, though I have no idea where he has found numbers to reach me. There is an extensive network of people within the prison system who can get almost any bit of information, apparently even information protected at the highest levels of government. He has sent letters as well, and those I have not been
able to bring myself to throw away. I hope that after this day is over, I can find the strength to release him for good.

The door behind me creaks open, and I stand and follow the deputy into the courtroom. The benches are packed, and I resist the urge to search the room for the faces of my daughters. I know some of their families are attending, but I was told the girls were not allowed to come. Despite my avoidance of eye contact, I can feel the weight of the audience's stares. I do not know what they think of me, nor do I want to know. I have thought every terrible thought about myself, probably more than they have, and dwelling on it will only set me back. Unable to help myself, I glance at the front row. As promised, Dr. Mulligan and Connor are sitting there. My focal points. My resolve strengthens, and I walk with purpose to the witness stand, where I am sworn in.

When my eyes finally find Glen's, it is as if the entire room has disappeared. No one else exists but us, for a few seconds at least. Even after I break our gaze, I feel his stare, his eyes like lasers boring into my forehead. I don't remember all the questions I am asked. We have rehearsed this so many times, I can answer automatically. I'm glad there are no surprise questions, not even from Glen's lawyer. I know the evidence is damning, and my testimony, as an accomplice and a victim, is very convincing.

As I step down, I take one last glance at Glen. I drink him in, the blue eyes, dulled by his months in prison, the normally tousled hair, now cropped close to his scalp. He is thin, but I can tell he has been making use of the prison gym. I wonder if he has set up his empire there yet.

I walk from the room feeling lighter, the weight of my guilt somewhat assuaged, and the corners of my lips tip up of their own accord. I am ready to move forward. I rub my rounded belly, the life inside almost ready to join the world. It's time.

“Good night, angels,” I whisper, flipping the light switch and pulling the door closed behind me. The last of the girls are in bed, though it is still light out. Glen insists on a seven o'clock bedtime for all but the oldest girls. I wander downstairs to find Passion in the kitchen, finishing the dishes.

“Anything else you need, Clara?” she asks, and waits obediently for my answer.

“No, thank you, Passion,” I say. “Just keep an eye on the girls for me, okay?”

She nods and leaves the room. I rummage through the cupboards and refrigerator, coming up with a few items for a snack. Glen is working late at the brothel again. It was opened a year ago, and though it took a while for business to pick up, things appear to be running smoothly now. Lately Glen has been working a lot of hours over there. He always comes home very late, and exhausted. I wince as I bump a bruise on my arm, a remnant of my question about whether he should take a few days off.

Since Glen did not appreciate my suggestion of a break, I will bring a break to him. He should have time to have a small snack, even if he works while he eats it. I will slip in, drop the snack off, and be gone without interrupting him. Although, if he has time for a quick kiss, or more, I am always ready for him. I smile as I remember how we tested out the various rooms before the brothel was open.

Ted is waiting with the car when I leave the house. He was dubious when I asked this favor, but I promised I would take all the blame if Glen was angry. He will not be angry. The drive to the other
building is short, and business is good tonight, if the cars packing the small lot are any indication. Loud music and laughter float through the air, disturbing the peace of what could be a beautiful night. I make a face. I rarely come here, and never when they are busy. I find the entire practice distasteful, but I know that Glen knows what he is doing, and it is a successful business for him. This new location has done well.

Glen used to keep the girls at a separate location and drive them to hotels that would look the other way as needed. When we bought the house and property, he was able to purchase this plot of land as well. A “one-stop shop,” he calls it. I remember Papa G using a similar phrase.

I step out onto the gravel and wave at Ted. “I'll be right back,” I say. I go to the side door and knock. I refuse to walk through the main part of the establishment. The door creaks open a few inches, a surly eye peeking out from the crack. The eye widens when it recognizes me, and the door swings wide. “Hello, Miss Clara,” stutters the man. His face is familiar, but I do not know his name. I step inside.

“I brought something for Glen to eat,” I say. “Is he around?”

There are three other men in this dimly lit and smoke-filled back room. The first man glances at the others, tugging at his collar. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. “He's uhh . . . indisposed right now, Miss Clara,” he says. “Would you like to . . . errr . . .”

“I can just leave it,” I say, smiling to put the man at ease. All the men are nervous around me, especially after what happened with Joel, when he disappeared. I don't believe they know much, only that Joel crossed a line with the girls. Still, they do not like to have much interaction with me and avoid even looking at me if they can. I wonder if they have guessed at what other lines Joel crossed.

A door at the far end crashes open, and the man steps in front of me, hiding me from view. I do not protest, but peek over his shoulder.
Glen stumbles in, each arm slung around a topless woman. He is clearly intoxicated, as I have never seen him before. I shrink back further, though with the darkness of the room, the man in front of me, and Glen's drunkenness, I am practically invisible.

“We're gonna be in my office,” Glen slurs, pulling one of the women closer and giving her a sloppy kiss. It looks like he is trying to eat her face, and I feel sick to my stomach. He gropes at the other woman's breast, and she moans as if she is enjoying it. Glen breaks away. “Hold my calls!” He laughs and gives an exaggerated wink to the men in the room, then stumbles to a door on the opposite wall, the one that leads to his private office. It is difficult to tell who is holding whom up, but the women appear to be doing most of the heavy lifting. The door slams shut, and though the sounds are muffled, it is obvious what is going on behind the wall.

I step out from behind the man. “Thank you,” I say. “I think I'll just head home.”

He nods and doesn't attempt to speak. I yank open the door to the outside, welcoming the cool rush of mountain air on my flushed face. I don't look back as I pull the door shut, blocking out the last of the sounds of Glen's drunken tryst. I lean against the side of the building, trying to catch my breath, but my lungs will not pull in enough oxygen. I feel light-headed.

How long has this been going on? Is this what Glen does on his nights of “working late”? Am I not enough? What am I doing wrong? I stumble to the edge of the trees and vomit in the grass. How often has he come home from an evening like this and touched me? Touched me with those hands that were roaming all over other women? Kissed me with the lips he used to devour cheap lipsticked mouths?

And this whole time I thought I was better than them. Disgust fills me, but also shame that I am not giving Glen what he needs, that he has stooped to trying to find it here. I remember when I learned
about Papa's indiscretions, the pity I felt for Mama. And she just accepted it. Not me. From now on, I will do everything in my power to make sure that Glen has no reason to seek out fulfillment elsewhere. I will be everything he needs, just like he is everything I need.

After several minutes, I am able to stand again. I throw my shoulders back and walk back to where Ted waits with the car. Nothing can be done about my red-rimmed eyes, but I put on a mask of cool indifference before sliding into the backseat.

“He wasn't hungry?” Ted looks at the basket I only now realize is still hanging from my arm. It's probably for the best. I do not want Glen to know that I was there.

“I couldn't find him,” I answer.

Ted nods and turns back to start the car. He doesn't believe me, and I don't care. It's not his business to decide whether I tell the truth or not. His only job is to drive me home.

“Ted?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Best not to mention this to Glen.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The halls of the courthouse echo with the sounds of people going about their business. I focus on snippets of conversation as women in clicking heels stride past, discussing lunch plans, and men in suits speak in hushed tones, strategizing for their next case. Concentrating on them helps me to ignore the thoughts running through my head. Anything to keep from dwelling on what the next hour of my life will mean.