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  She’d once felt a little like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, who wanted more than anything to leave her boring Kansas farm, but who only ended up making a few weird friends before being chased through a strange country by a wicked witch. Except Nina’s Oz had been a labyrinth of New York’s finest bottom-feeders, and her wicked witch was a white powder she snorted up her nose. Now she was wrung-out after years of “service,” and the only thing she craved was the mundane. It was time to click her heels and get the hell out of here.

  Once she got home, she would go to work at the same diner where her mother worked. Apparently, Janie was willing to arrange it for her. That the bitter old woman was even willing to have her daughter back was something of a miracle. All Nina had to do now was get on a bus and go back the way she came. But she didn’t want to spoil the good will of the notoriously brutal Madam, who had once ripped off a nineteen-year-old girl’s fingernails for stashing away an extra twenty dollars in tips under her mattress.

  “I appreciate your offer,” Nina said. “I would like to think about it, though.” She had no intention of doing any such thing, but she hoped to divert the issue for now and keep her fingernails.

  The Madam leaned forward, the sleeves of her black satin robe pooling on the old-fashioned blotter. “I know you hear what I’m saying, but I don’t think you’re listening. I have a reputation for turning wayward young girls into whores, but the real truth is I save them. I saved you. Victor Cassini’s men brought you here with enough Peruvian flake up your nose to powder a dozen donuts if you sneezed, never mind your mountain of stolen debt. Now look at you. You’re off the drugs. You’ve never looked better, and after just a few years, you’ve earned enough to satisfy the most ruthless mobster on the East Coast who had every right to kill you for what you did, and all you had to do was lie on your back and work what nature gave you. Out there . . .” She waved an alabaster hand at the window behind her. “You’re on your own. If you get into trouble again, I won’t take you back. Once you’re out, you’re out. I’m a one-time deal, and the girls here know it. It’s why most of them stick around, at least until they can find a man who doesn’t mind a woman with high mileage.”

  The Madam pulled a cigarette out of the silver case on her desk and lit it. The self-satisfied bliss on her face as she took the first drag reminded Nina of a john soaking in the sweaty afterglow of his conquest while his freshly shed condom lay between them like a deflated fish.

  If Nina had nearly begun to consider the Madam’s offer before, the moment had passed. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Like you said, you did save my life and I will always be in your debt for that.” Bile burned the back of her throat as she said those words, but hopefully they would pacify the horrible bitch. “But I have to go home. My mother is unwell, and she is waiting for me.” At least that much was true.

  The mood in the room turned glacial as the Madam sat in complete stillness and silence, like a stone idol. Nina’s midsection tightened again, and she barely breathed. Gruesome images of her punishment and the number of years the Madam would add to her sentence flew through her head. Maybe it was like the movies, after all. They would revoke the tasty carrot she’d been chasing for years, and they would put her back to work, never letting her go, because Nina had stupidly admitted she was indebted to the Madam for her life, and there was no dollar value assigned to that.

  She swallowed back the tears that wanted to rush forth, knowing if the Madam saw them, the game really would be over. Crying was severely frowned upon at the Weeping Willow. “I’m sorry, Madam, I didn’t mean to—”

  The Madam raised a hand, and just like that, glaciers were gone from her eyes. Nina wondered if she’d imagined them. “Don’t worry yourself, dear. I appreciate your words, though I won’t deny my disappointment that you will be leaving. When your time is up, you’re free to go, and I won’t stop you. In fact, you’ve always been free to go. This isn’t a prison.”

  Yeah, sure. There might not be any bars on the windows, and no one was locking them in here, but it was very much a prison, with walls stretching well beyond normal vision, and everyone here knew that.

  “Now, let’s talk numbers. According to my calculations, you have one month left to work off the remainder of your balance,” said the Madam. “Does this match your own figures?”

  Nina had it at three weeks, but she wasn’t going to split hairs. “Yes, I believe it does.”

  “Good. Now, you can remain here for that month, working as usual, or you can take on a special assignment for one of our oldest clients. The money would pay off the family in full as well as give you a little nest egg to take back with you to Iowa. If you say yes, you could be on a plane riding first class back to your mommy dearest and the smell of corn and cow shit by this time tomorrow. What do you say?”

  Now it was Nina’s turn to stare. There had to be a catch here, like the infomercial with all the fine print no one could read. “I feel like there’s more,” she said.

  The wrinkles around the Madam’s eyes deepened as she grinned. “The client is a little on the eccentric side. His name is Hank Ballas, a reclusive billionaire who’s been holed up in his upstate home longer than you’ve been alive. Once or twice a year, he calls on us to send one of our best girls for a night of companionship. And his compensation has always been quite generous.”

  “How much?” Nina asked, curious despite her unease.

  “Half a million dollars. Sometimes a little more, if he likes the girl. I think he would really like you.”

  Nina’s jaw fell open, and the Madam’s smug grin returned once more.

  “Of course, after we pay off Victor, and the Weeping Willow takes its usual percentage, this will leave you with, oh, eighty grand, give or take. It might seem like a sliver, but that’s far more than you’ve made in your best year here, and with whatever extra money you take home from here, it should get you settled nicely into your new life.”

  Nina quickly did the math in her head. The house was taking more off the top than the standard seventy percent, and even accounting for her balance, she should be making well over a hundred thousand dollars. She wanted mention this, bargain for more, but that’s not how things worked at the Willow. You took what you got or you got nothing. Eighty grand for one night with a strange hermit seemed abnormally high all on its own. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even want to have sex. She’d encountered a few squirrelly loner types over the years, and they mostly wanted to talk and cuddle, or at worst touch her tits while they jerked off. Oddly, the ones who didn’t want sex paid more, like they felt guilty for not subjecting a prostitute to the demands of her actual job. But, even if she did have to fuck him, it would be one last trick. He could be the most repugnant and filthy man alive, but she would do it if it meant her freedom.

  “Okay. I’m in.”

  The Madam’s eyes sparkled. “Very well. Go get yourself ready. I’ll have Ramón pull the car around. By the way, don’t overdo it on the hair and makeup. He likes his girls to look virginal.”

  Nina nodded and stood up. Maybe this would work, after all. The thought of going home tomorrow almost made her want to hug the woman, but she wouldn’t push it.

  “Thank you again, Madam.”

  This time, she didn’t smile. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  * * *

  A half-hour later, Nina ducked into the back of the Town Car as Ramón, the Willow’s driver, held open the door and eyeballed her white, sleeveless dress.

  “It’s cooling down out here, you know,” he said. “Want to get a sweater?”

  Nina grinned. She would definitely miss Ramón acting like a concerned parent. “I’ll be fine, thanks. Being half-naked in the cold is my job.”

  “For one more night, anyway,” he said. “Can’t believe it’s already nearly the end for you.” He sounded a little depressed for once. No doubt he was reminded every time a girl left the Willow that he was stuck here, though Nina didn’t know why he was.

 
All the girls loved Ramón, because he was the closest thing most of them would ever have to a father figure. He was kind and caring, and unlike the other male employees who came in and out of the brothel, his eyes never wandered over their bodies when he spoke to them. He even had the whole Dad Joke thing down pat. When the Madam was out of earshot, he would bust out with some lame knee-slapper like, “What’s a frog’s favorite drink? Croaka-Cola. Get it?” Then he’d laugh like it was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. Ramón was one of the few men on the planet who could laugh at his own jokes and be endearing for it.

  “I can hardly believe it myself,” Nina said. “Guess I really won’t until I see home again, and even then it will probably take time to accept it’s all over.”

  He nodded. “I can understand that.” Tonight, he looked old and sad, and he seemed unable to make eye contact with her. She wanted to ask him if he was feeling okay, but he closed the door and walked around to get in behind the wheel. For a moment, he just sat there and let the engine run. A couple of times, his eyes appeared in the rear-view mirror, and she could sense genuine unease in him. Then with a sigh, he put the car into gear, and they were off without a word.

  She rode in uncomfortable silence for twenty minutes. Normally by now, Ramón would be sharing some new story about his son Alejandro in Jersey or talking about how his ex-wife was a whiskey maker, but he loved her still. (Get it? Get it?) But he remained silent, his hands gripping the wheel in a stiff ten o’clock-two o’clock, and Nina was starting to get nervous. Did this have anything to do with the client he was taking her to see?

  They stopped at a red light and Ramón turned around in his seat. “Look, this place I’m taking you? It’s bad. I ain’t happy about it.”

  Nina’s dread mounted. Ramón had driven her to dozens of clients over the years, and this was the first time he’d raised a real objection.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “I knew when the Madam called me tonight that I’d be driving to the Ballas place upstate. I make this drive twice a year, sometimes three, and it was just about that time. When I learned it was you I was supposed to be taking up there, it broke my heart.” The car behind them honked, and Ramón turned back around to continue through the green light. Nina leaned forward so she could keep talking to him.

  “Who is this guy? I’m sure I’ve heard the name, but I can’t really place it.”

  “Hank Ballas was a close friend of Dante Cassini. That’s Victor and the Madam’s father. He and Hank got rich together back in the day, but Hank had a nervous breakdown after losing his wife, I guess. Folks say he ain’t been outside in over twenty years. Maybe more. I heard he was some kinda germophobe like Howard Hughes. You know who he is?”

  Nina nodded. Joey had been a real movie nut, and he particularly loved anything by Martin Scorsese, so she’d seen The Aviator at least five or six times, which is only about half the number of times she’d had to sit through Goodfellas. She imagined bottles of urine sitting on every available surface and piles of garbage stacked several feet high, almost certainly infested with roaches. And in the middle of it all, an emaciated man with a beard halfway down his chest, his teeth rotted out, his skin pale and translucent from the lack of sunlight. Nina shook off a chill.

  Of course, Hank Ballas didn’t necessarily have to be that way. Not all hermit types were filthy as a rule, and a man rich enough to pay half a million bucks for a roll in the hay certainly had a staff of people to take care of him.

  “What happened to his wife?”

  Ramón shrugged. “She was about nine months pregnant when she vanished. No one ever found her or a body. Some say she wanted to get away from Hank, but her rich parents didn’t ever hear from her again either, so most folks think someone got away with murder.”

  “Like Hank Ballas?”

  “If he did anything wrong, no one could prove it. Regardless, his house became his prison.”

  Finally, she asked the only thing that made sense. “Is he dangerous? Does he hurt the girls? Is that why you don’t like us going there?”

  Ramón didn’t speak for a few minutes and Nina was about to ask again when he answered. “Every girl who ever came out of that house had to be carried. You remember Rosie, don’t you?”

  “Oh God,” she whispered. How could she forget? Of course, she hadn’t really known the little Puerto Rican very well, but it was about three weeks after Nina arrived at the Willow that she walked into the second-floor bathroom to find her lying on the floor in a wide puddle of blood, her forearms sliced to ribbons. “I was the one who found her.”

  Ramón nodded. “Not long before you came to the Willow, she took the same ride you’re taking now. You notice how she was a little quiet? A little off? And it wasn’t just her. Melinda is another one you probably know.”

  Nina did. She remembered how both girls drifted around the house like wraiths while they were still around. Neither of them took many clients, and that was never a good thing if your primary residence was a whorehouse. They had funny hitches in their steps, muttered to themselves a lot. They would jump if you touched them. Nina assumed they’d just mentally snapped after so many years of being forced to fuck for a living. Depression had claimed a few of them.

  “These girls saw this client and came out like that?”

  “Yep. And there’ve been a lot more that you haven’t seen,” Ramón said. “They were good girls. Most of them were a little simple and probably wouldn’t have amounted to much anyway, but they had some spark in them. Melinda had a decent upbringing before she fell into drugs and wound up at the Willow. She played the violin, and sometimes she’d break it out in the morning and play a little if the Madam was gone. It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. I thought she really had a chance of getting out and making something of herself. Like you. But, one night the Madam told me to take Melinda up to see Hank Ballas, and I knew I’d never hear that violin again. Last time I saw her, I was stopping in the kitchen for a cup of coffee after bringing a couple other girls home, and there she was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal, staring straight ahead while milk dripped down her chin and wetted her shirt. Just shoveling in soggy Corn Flakes like her arm was attached to strings and some invisible man was pulling them.” Ramón shook his head as if to break the image apart. “Then she was gone, like all the rest. If they don’t kill themselves, the Madam eventually gets rid of them. They can’t work no more, and if they hang around too long, the other girls start getting antsy.”

  “Where does she send them?”

  Ramón slowly shook his head. “That kind of info is way above my pay grade. But I can tell you I ain’t never seen or heard from ‘em again. Not even in the obituaries.”

  Nina sat back in her seat, her stomach fluttering. This was the first time she’d heard anything about this Ballas guy since she’d been at the Willow, but then again, gossip was normally so hush-hush it was non-existent. The girls didn’t get too chummy. It was the Madam’s number one rule. To enforce it, she made them compete for clients, and she often punished one girl for the actions of another. Betsy drinks too much of the milk, Anna loses her bed sheets for the week, stuff like that. Nina had lost count of the number of meals she’d been denied or bruises she’d received from the Madam because of someone else’s fuck-ups. Sure, even with tensions running high, they all found a way to have a laugh now and then when the Madam wasn’t around. If they hadn’t, they all surely would have gone nuts long ago. But no one was willing to take the risk to do a solid for someone else, like warning them about a sadistic client who violated women so terribly, they were catatonic or suicidal after.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. She could go back to the Willow and tell the Madam she’d work her last month fair and square. No need to be hasty, right? She’d done it this long. A few more weeks wouldn’t kill her. But there was no going back with the Madam. Nina knew deep in her gut that returning to the Willow now would mean staying there for good.

  The limo
slowed down and moved over to the side of the road. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Ramón put the car into park and turned around. The headlights of passing cars illuminated his face, revealing his sad, dark eyes.

  “I’m giving you the chance to get out now. You can hit me over the head to make it look like a real getaway. I have some cash that’s yours for the taking. Run to the bus station three miles behind us and get a ticket to anywhere but here. No one will know you’re gone for a few hours yet, and by then you’d be home free. I can take whatever the Madam deals out. Trust me.”

  His offer was tantalizing. It would be so easy to do. Just run away and forget all this. She thought of Ramón’s story about the girl Melinda stuffing soggy cereal in her gob like some puppet, and shivered. That could be her. That’s what he was saying. “She’s getting rid of me, isn’t she? That’s what this is all about.” Because I didn’t agree to stay at her shitty whorehouse for good. This is what she does to the ones who refuse.

  “No one would ever accuse you of being a dummy,” Ramón said.

  But his offer was every bit as lethal as the Madam’s. If she ran, she would maybe last a week. Des Moines would the first place they looked for her, so she would have nowhere else to go. Whatever cash Ramón gave her would run out fast, and she would soon be living under a bridge in another strange city, turning tricks again, and probably back on the drugs. If she dared go back home again, Victor’s men would be there waiting. Maybe there was another way.

  “The payment from Ballas. Is it wired or does he pay cash?” Most transactions through the Willow were credit card, all processed under a yoga business the Cassinis ran as a front. But for a sum so large, it seemed like cash was the only way to avoid red flags, unless there was some kind of incremental deposit scheme with money getting a bath somewhere further up the food chain.