Breaking the Rules

CHAPTER

FIVE



Ben sat on the floor of the little hallway between Eden’s bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, and living room as Neesha cleaned his puke out of the bathtub.

“You really don’t have to do that,” he said.

“The sooner it’s gone, the sooner it’ll stop smelling so bad,” she said.

“You could just leave,” he pointed out.

She stopped swishing the water down the drain and looked at him, her little-girl face wary and alert. “Do you wish me to leave? Now that you’re all right …?”

“No, I’m just saying,” he said. “You’re going above and beyond. I’m just … Thank you. That’s what I’m trying to say. Most people find a reason to leave when I puke like that. They get grossed out.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” she pointed out. “Some people stick their finger down their throat and do it on purpose.”

“You mean, like being bulimic?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s when you make yourself throw up after you eat so you don’t gain weight.”

She was amazed. “You would do this?”

Ben laughed. “Ew. No. What planet are you from, anyway? And what other reason would someone have to make themselves throw up, besides not wanting to get fat? I mean, I guess maybe if they accidentally swallowed poison, or too many sleeping pills …”

Neesha turned off the water and dried her hands on one of the towels hanging on the wall rack. “For some,” she told him, “it brings sexual pleasure.”

And now it was Ben’s turn to gape. “Seriously? To make themselves puke? While they’re …?”

“Or to be … puked on,” she said. “Is that right, puked?”

She was asking about the verb tense and he nodded. “That’s just wrong.” He stopped himself. “And okay, just because I’m not … I mean, there are people who would say that being gay is wrong. So maybe I shouldn’t judge. I mean, if everyone involved wants to be involved … Although please note I’m not volunteering anytime soon.”

“But if not?” she asked. “What if someone doesn’t want to … be involved?”

Ben sat up. “Neesha, do you have some kind of weird boyfriend, or maybe it’s your mother’s boyfriend …?”

“My mother’s dead,” she told him. “She died a long time ago, when I was eight.” She took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush before she went on. “And after she died, I was sold to a man who brought me here and … I was kept … locked up and … It was bad.”

Ben stared at her, his heart in his throat, praying that she would laugh or at least smile and say something like, Wow, look at your face. You actually believed me, Mr. Naive …

But she didn’t. Instead she said, “A few weeks ago, I ran away. I escaped. But I didn’t know where to go for help and … I’m certain they’re looking for me.”

“Wow,” Ben said. “Okay. Wow. Neesha, if this is a joke—”

She looked at him. “You think I’m trying to be funny?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “Are you? I mean, it’s the twenty-first century. People don’t sell other people anymore.”

She just looked steadily back at him.

“You said you’re sixteen,” he started.

“Eight years,” she said. “Three months. And thirteen days. That’s how long I was there. It got easier keeping track after I learned to count in English.”

Ben still couldn’t wrap his brain around any of it. “So you were, what? Some guy’s slave? Did you have to, like, clean his house and, I don’t know, pick his cotton?” Even as he asked the question, he knew he was way off base.

And even though she didn’t speak, he saw the answer in her eyes, and in an echo of her earlier words that now rang in his head. For some, it brings sexual pleasure.

She turned away abruptly.

“Wait,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet and followed. “Neesha, if this is true, you have to go to the police.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll send me away,” she said fiercely. “I’m illegal, okay?”

“Oh, shit,” Ben said.

“I shouldn’t have told you anything,” she said. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone!”

“Neesha, I don’t think—”

She picked up her bag and started for the door.

“Wait, okay?” he said again. “I promise I won’t tell, if you don’t want me to. I just don’t know how I can help, without at least talking to my sister.”

Or to Danny, who would definitely know what to do. Except he could well be dead. Please, powers of the universe, don’t let Danny be dead …

“Why don’t you stay, for a little while?” Ben asked, looking up from where he’d crouched with his head between his legs, to counter the wave of dizziness. “My sister’ll come home eventually. You can meet her. And if you want to … We can tell her. But only if you want to.”

Neesha stood there, uncertain.

“Okay,” Ben said. “I’m not going to tackle you to the ground and make you stay. So … If you want to go, go. If you want to stay. Great. I’ve got to check my blood again, and maybe have a snack. You’re welcome to have something, too. Or you could take a shower if you want. Wash your hair. But only if you want to, okay?”

Neesha nodded. And put the bag down. She was going to stay.


When the bigger conventions came to town, headliners came in from out of town to take the main stage, even on a Monday, leaving the newer girls like Eden working the poles on the edges of the room.

Still, the club was in a good location, and when those predominantly male-populated conventions arrived, it stayed packed pretty much 24/7, with the biggest lull being the hangover hours between 4 and 7 a.m.

At seven, things picked up again, because the club’s restaurant served a convention special breakfast, and the combination of bacon, eggs, and bare breasts was too good for some men to pass up.

Today, Eden had worked a double shift—late night and daytime—because one of the girls had called in sick, and the place was jumping.

She didn’t mind. It put her that much closer to her goal of being able to pay Danny back all that money that she’d borrowed from him through the years. That was her master plan. First, pay her older brother back, and only then ask him to step in and help her gain custody of Ben.

Danny was significantly older. He had a steady job. True, it was in the military, which meant he went TDY—temporary duty, usually overseas—at the drop of a hat. But that was a good thing, because there was no way in hell he would want to live in the same apartment as Eden for any longer than he had to. He hated her.

But her plan would work, because Danny didn’t hate Ben. And since he wasn’t an idiot, he’d quickly see that setting up their little brother in an apartment with Eden would be far better than subjecting him to Greg’s abuse until he turned eighteen.

Unless, of course, Dan was in agreement with Greg, and thought Ben would benefit from being sent to one of those brainwashing, ex-gay torture camps …

In which case, Eden would be on her own.

Or not. Because she was still married to Izzy Zanella. And she suspected—no, she knew—that he’d be ready and willing to come to her rescue. He was that kind of a man.

The reliable kind, who liked playing the hero.

Eden had thought she’d spotted him this afternoon. There’d been a tall man with military-short hair and rough, craggy features sitting and watching her with his face in the shadows as she feigned ecstasy while caressing the pole.

At first her heart nearly stopped, especially when he stood up and proved to be extremely similar to her ex-husband in height and weight. But he didn’t move toward her. He was only going to get another drink from the bar, and as he stepped into the light, she saw that he wasn’t Izzy. He wasn’t even close. But she spent the remainder of her time fantasizing about it—what she would do and say if Izzy did walk through those doors.

He’d be affronted and upset. And jealous. Put your clothes back on!

She’d be coolly dignified. I don’t take orders from you.

We’re still married, you know.

No, we’re not, she’d tell him quietly. I looked it up online. We’re separated. By mutual agreement. And I’m glad you finally showed up because now we can start the proceedings for the divorce.

I’m still in love with you, he’d say, but she would just laugh, because she knew it was a total lie. He’d never been in love with her. For some reason, he felt responsible for her. Indebted. And okay, maybe it wasn’t for some reason, but for a very specific reason, in that she’d all but jumped him on the night of her eighteenth birthday, for a very intense session of revenge sex.

Despite her efforts, they hadn’t actually had sex sex of the full penetration variety, but they’d gotten close. And they’d certainly both made each other come, right there on the sofa in Izzy’s living room.

She’d been playing with fire at the time—she knew that now. But back then, she’d been focused on cutting her ties with her jerk of an ex-boyfriend, who’d ditched her at a Krispy Kreme.

Was it the smartest, most prudent thing she’d ever done? Definitely not. Did it help her feel less miserable and unloved? Ditto. But it had happened and she couldn’t turn around and undo it.

Eden knew that Izzy, however, carried around a lot of guilt about that encounter. Her age—several minutes older than she’d been the day before, when she was still only seventeen—and the fact that she was the little sister of one of his SEAL teammates were both huge problems for him.

But he’d always found her attractive and irresistible—she knew that, too. He wasn’t the only one. He was smoking hot, tall and solid, with the kind of body most women only ever dreamed about seeing in the flesh.

The second time they’d collided, six months later, she’d been pregnant as the result of being roofied by her ex-boyfriend’s lowlife drug-pusher boss—and wasn’t that an episode in her life that she wished she could rewind and erase. But she’d soon realized that she wanted to keep her innocent child, and Izzy had come to the rescue and married her so that she and Pinkie, her unborn baby, would have health care and a roof over their heads.

He’d married her not merely because he liked being a hero, but also because he’d wanted to have sex with her. He was actually willing to marry her to get some, guilt-free.

Some hero.

Still, he was smart and funny—irreverent as hell. He always knew just what to say to make her laugh. He was not just a Navy SEAL, he could also sing better than anyone she’d ever seen on American Idol.

And when she was with him, she’d felt safe.

So of course, she’d walked away after she’d miscarried, after Pinkie had died and left her completely alone again.

She’d done a lot of crazy things in her life, but none as crazy as the things she’d done in those months immediately following Pinkie’s untimely death. Postpartum depression, her German friend Anya had called it. It was natural, and it would pass. Except it didn’t, not for a good long time. But then it started to fade, and she no longer felt crazy but just plain sad.

And now, after a few more months, her sadness had faded farther away. And from the distance that time had provided, Eden was able to see that, in addition to grieving Pinkie, she’d also been mourning the loss of Izzy.

The bus let her off at the corner and she took the back entrance into the apartment complex, heading through the center courtyard to the stairs, glad finally to be home, and grateful that she didn’t have to go in to the coffee shop until tomorrow night, after tomorrow’s daytime shift at the club.

The barista thing was her backup job—the one Ben knew about. The one she’d tell Danny about when the time came to contact him. She worked there an average of two four-hour shifts a week, usually at times when the other workers—mostly high school students—were unavailable.

As she opened her apartment door, she found herself face-to-face with a very startled young girl—maybe eleven or twelve years old—with a distinctly Asian background. She was maybe Hawaiian or Filipina.

Eden double-checked the number on the door—214. Yes, this was definitely her apartment. And that was the same crappy furniture inside, that had come with the sublet, not to mention the plethora of Buddha statues that sat on every available surface …

“Ben, there’s someone here!” the little girl called, her eyes never leaving Eden’s, and Ben appeared from the little alcove kitchen.

“Where were you?” Ben asked, then turned to the girl. “It’s okay, it’s my sister.” He turned back to Eden. “You were supposed to be at work.”

“I was at work,” Eden said, before she thought it through.

“No, you weren’t,” Ben said. “I went to the mall and you weren’t there.”

Oh, crap. She took her key out of the lock and closed the door behind her. The girl, meanwhile, still looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to hide, fight, or flee.

“I was … at my other job,” Eden said, using the little girl as a diversion to give herself time to think. “Who’s your friend?” What other job? Cleaning, but what? She’d already told Ben that cleaning houses had been too dangerous—going there alone …

“This is Neesha,” Ben said. “What other job?”

“Neesha who?” Eden asked, softening her words by smiling at the girl.

“I have to go now, Ben,” Neesha said, clearly freaked out by Eden’s sudden appearance. What was she afraid of?

“I’m sorry,” Eden said, setting her shoulder bag down on the floor by the door as she continued to stand in front of it, blocking the girl’s way out of the apartment. She directed her words at Ben. “But I really need to know who you’re inviting over here, when I’m not around.”

“I’m gay, remember?” Ben said.

“Yeah,” Eden said. “But she’s, like, twelve, and the last thing we need is—”

“She’s sixteen,” Ben told her, holding out what looked like a letter.

Eden took it and … “Oh no.” We regret to inform you … But Danny wasn’t dead. He was only injured. Please, please, God—if there was a God—let Danny be okay …

“Yeah,” Ben said grimly as she looked up at him. “The letter must’ve come sometime over the weekend. I only saw it after school today.”

“Did Ivette call this number?” Eden asked.

“She hasn’t been home in a week. She’s pulling double shifts and …” Ben laughed his scorn. But Eden could see beneath it to his terrible upset. “Greg let the phone get shut off again. I kind of—”

“You should sit down,” the girl interrupted. “You need to tell your sister—”

“I’m fine,” Ben spoke over her. “Eed, I thought you were getting a phone installed.”

“I got a cell instead,” she told her brother as she dug for it in her purse. “It was cheaper.” She opened it and began punching in the phone number on the letter.

“Ben gave himself a shot,” the little girl announced, “that he said might make him puke, and it did.”

Eden looked up sharply at that. “Glucagon?” she asked. “Ben, your levels were that low …?”

“I’m fine,” he said again. “Now. But I was light-headed and I was trying to have some orange juice, and then Greg hit me, and Eed, God, I hit him back. And then I didn’t have a snack, and I didn’t have any money because my wallet was gone and I made it to the mall, but you weren’t at work, like you told me you’d be. But Neesha was there, and she helped me get home …”

Ben was trying not to cry, and Eden put her phone down and her arms around him. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. It’s going to be okay, Boo-Boo, even if Danny’s dead. It’s going to suck and we’re going to be sad, but we’ll get through it. We’ll be okay.”

Ben kept fighting his tears as Eden pulled him over to the junky, stuffing-leaking sofa-bed that she’d covered with a sheet, and sat down beside him. “I don’t want him to be dead,” he said.

“I don’t either,” Eden said, as fighting her own tears made the back of her throat ache. “But if he is, we’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we’re going to be fine.”

“I can’t go back there,” Ben told her. “I kind of kicked Greg’s ass.” He laughed, but it was more of a burst of emotion than true amusement, because it sounded quite a bit like a sob. “He’s already planning to open a restaurant with the insurance money.”

Oh, Lord. “Define kicked his ass,” Eden said.

“I didn’t kill him,” Ben said, with a roll of his eyes. “I didn’t even really kick his ass. I just wanted to. I kneed him in the nuts and he started screaming. I got away and … I left.”

That was good. All they needed was Greg in the hospital—and a police warrant for Ben’s arrest. Although, truth be told, he’d be safer in the juvie system than in that terrible ex-gay camp.

“He hit me first,” Ben said, clearly thinking along the same lines.

“Did your friend witness it?” Eden asked, just as she realized that the girl was gone. She’d slipped out the door while both Eden and Ben were distracted.

Ben shook his head. “She was at the mall. And great. Neesha left. I was going to ask you if she could stay here, at least for a little while.” He must’ve seen the great big no on her face because he quickly added, “She’s in trouble, Eed. She’s living in the streets and … She made me promise not to tell anyone, and to be honest, she didn’t actually say what happened. It was kind of more implied, but some really, really bad things have happened to her, starting when she was little and …”

Eden closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Her mother died and it was awful,” Ben continued. “And now she has no place to go.”

“Ben,” Eden said. Neesha may have had no place to go, but she was right up there on the top of the list labeled Problems Eden Didn’t Need. “I know how much you still miss Deshawndra—”

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Didn’t it? Ben’s best friend, Deshawndra, and her grandmother had died as a result of the flood after Hurricane Katrina. And this was the first time since her death—at least as far as Eden knew—that her brother had even made an attempt to reach out to another person even remotely close to his own age. But it was clear he didn’t want to talk about that.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s rewind a bit. Have you tested your blood sugar levels again, after injecting the glucagon?”

Ben nodded, relaxing, if only slightly, at the change of subject. “It’s good.”

“Show me. I want to see it,” Eden said, standing up. Ben’s last reading—and the time it was taken—appeared on the meter’s tiny screen.

“Wow,” Ben said. “Trust me, much?”

“You are my brother, right?”

“Half brother.”

“Half,” she said, “is close enough. Come on. Where’s your meter? After I’m convinced I don’t have to take you to the hospital, I’m going to make that call, find out what I can about Danny.” Please, heavenly Father, let him be okay … “And you’ve got to call Ivette at work—let her know you’re safe, you’ve got a place to stay, but you’re not coming home.”

“It’s in the kitchen,” he called after her. “And I don’t have Ivette’s phone number at this new place she’s working. I only have her cell.”

“Then call her cell,” Eden said.

“So when were you going to tell me that you got fired from the coffee shop?”

Eden looked back at Ben. “I didn’t,” she said, then lied effortlessly, like the full Gillman that she was. “But I did get a second job. A cleaning job. I clean offices and clubs, after hours—with a whole team of, you know, other women. It’s kinda nasty, but the pay’s good. And I’m safe.”

Ben bought it, hook, line and sinker—which was a ridiculous expression to use in the desert.

She checked the meter—he was being honest with her—and then she got her cell phone, and, bracing herself for tragic news because it had been that kind of a decade, she dialed the number on the letter.


LAS VEGAS

MONDAY, MAY 4, 2009

Neesha didn’t need to take the bus back to the mall.

It was easy enough to walk, since this time she wasn’t supporting a boy who was nearly half again her weight.

She didn’t know a lot about diabetes, and Ben’s explanations as he stuck himself with a needle didn’t help educate her all that much further. But still, it was clear that he was ill. That couldn’t have been an act, nor was his puking into the bathtub.

Still, going into that apartment with him, even though her heart was pounding …? And then, actually telling him even the little that she’d told him …?

It was a huge step for her. And a necessary one, ever since she’d determined that she would not be able to get the help she needed on her own.

She’d decided, weeks ago, that she needed to find a friend. Someone she could trust—and would trust—with her very life. She’d been cautiously increasing her contact with one of the ladies who worked at the library before Ben dropped into her life.

But Ben’s sister, who bore the name Eden, was an entirely different matter. She was younger than Neesha had expected, and was far more beautiful than Neesha had expected. And that, plus all of the glittery, exotic costumes Neesha had found in the lower drawers of Eden’s bedroom dresser, convinced her that Ben’s sister worked in the sex trade.

And it was possible that, not only would she have no sympathy for Neesha, but she could well know Mr. Nelson and Todd, and would be more than willing to earn a bonus by turning Neesha in.

So Neesha had run, taking the bag with the clothes that Ben had given her.

She was hungry when she finally got back to the mall—it had been a while since that McFlurry, and she’d refused Ben’s offer of a snack. Still, she went to the bathroom first, to change her shirt in one of the stalls.

There were five different tops in the bag Ben had given her. They were in a variety of colors and prints, each more beautiful than the last. She picked the blue—the plainest one—since her goal was merely to be clean and not draw attention to herself. Besides, she would probably forevermore associate fancy clothes with the vast myriad of clients who’d passed through her tiny room, with its pink-trimmed furniture and collection of dolls and picture books that were locked behind glass.

Right up until the end, she’d refused to dress herself unless it was part of the services rendered—part of the show. This meant that every time a “visitor” came to call, the stern-faced women with their rough hands and pinching fingers would enter Neesha’s room without knocking, and dress her in whatever outfit was required. Only rarely was it the kind of shiny, flashy, sexy items—thongs and bra tops—that she’d found in Eden’s drawer. Instead she often wore a gymnast’s leotard—that was a big favorite—or a schoolgirl’s uniform, or a pink shapeless baby-doll dress with ankle socks and shiny black shoes.

The women had learned to wait to dress her and do her hair until the client was in the building. And even then, one of them would sit with her until the door opened.

But that was over now.

There were elastic hair fasteners at the bottom of the bag—large enough to hold her heavy mass of hair up in a ponytail or even a bun. Neesha unfastened her braid and combed her long hair out with her fingers, wishing yet one more time that she had a pair of scissors so she could cut it all off.

She’d tried using a plastic knife from the food court.

It hadn’t worked.

She put her old shirt into the bag and exited the stall, giving herself only the briefest glance in the mirror. Yes, her new shirt covered her. Yes, she’d scooped all of her hair up off her neck and twisted it into that severe-looking bun. It made her look only slightly older, and she found herself longing for a hat and sunglasses.

Because Mr. Nelson and Todd were still out there, looking for her.

And Neesha knew that neither would rest until they found her.