Finding Home (3 page)

A shiver passed through her and her crotch tightened in response to his suggestive tone. Shame followed immediately on the heels of her arousal.

She took a long sip of her soda. This was ridiculous. The kid was a prostitute, she was paying for his time and maybe he thought she wanted more than an interview. Or maybe he was simply messing with her because he could. Either way, she had to be professional and remain in control.

Megan looked outside at the cars driving slowly past and wondered how many of their drivers came here to look for boys like Mouth. She wondered who they were, these men who paid him to suck them off. Not to mention the client who was apparently happy to incorporate him into his marital relations. Megan wondered whether any of the men she knew, co-workers or even friends, used prostitutes. Statistically, she figured it was likely.

Mouth took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his hip pocket, shook one out and placed it between his lips, then offered her the pack.

She shook her head. She felt like having one more than ever. “I have a few more questions I’d like to go through and then it can be all for today if you want.”

“You’re paying. You call the shots.” He took a long, deep drag and exhaled in her direction.

Megan resisted the temptation to inhale the smoke. “Do you always practice safe sex?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t swallow come.” He was doing it again, trying to make her uncomfortable then watching her for a shocked reaction.

She focused on her questions. “Even when clients offer more money for unsafe sex?”

“Yes.”
“Do they often?” It seemed absurdly dangerous to take that chance. “Yeah. But I won’t. I’m not stupid. I don’t want to catch anything.” “Do you get tested regularly?”

He nodded.
“Do you take any drugs?” Megan thought he seemed together in a way most of the other kids she’d seen weren’t. He wasn’t jittery or shaking with crystal meth cravings and didn’t have that dead-eyed, desperate look.

Mouth took another drag on the cigarette before tapping ashes into the saucer in front of him. “Sometimes. But I’m not a junkie, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t use needles or do fucking crack.”

“You said you live in an abandoned building. If you don’t use money for rent or drugs, how do you spend it?”

“I want to get an apartment and need enough rent money to keep me inside this winter. I don’t plan to spend my life sucking cock and living on the street.” He looked away across the restaurant. The hard set of his mouth told her he was embarrassed to have admitted his goals.

“Do you keep in touch with your mom?” she asked to fulfill her own curiosity.

He was silent, removing the cigarette from his lips and grinding it out in the saucer. “She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Megan murmured the obligatory response.

He absently spun the saucer around in a circle. “She wasn’t always like that… Wasted. When I was little, she hadn’t even really started drinking much yet.” He paused as if trying to decide how much to share about his early life. Finally he simply said, “Things were okay then.”

He seemed to be on the edge of actually revealing personal feelings. Megan waited quietly for him to continue.

He gave a little shrug, his eyes refocused, and he looked at Megan as if conscious of her presence again. He reached across the table, grabbed her hand and turned it to read the watch on her wrist.

She felt a second of shock at the sudden contact of his warm fingers. “Time’s up.” Abruptly, he slid out of the booth. Before she could say a word to thank him for the interview or ask to meet him again for more questions, he headed for the door.

Megan stared after him as she turned off the recorder.

“…close my eyes and use my imagination to get off. It beats sucking cock.”

As she got ready for work the next morning, Megan listened to the previous evening’s interview. It was strange listening to Mouth’s voice in her own space, like bringing a piece of him home with her. She leaned in close to the mirror and carefully lined her left eye in black then pulled back to examine her face. Her makeup was conservative, not at all the extravagant application she wore on evenings out. The liner accentuated her dark brown eyes, making them seem even wider than they were.

“I had a client who wanted me to go down on his wife once. So, yeah, I guess I do do women.”

God, even without his physical presence, that voice gave her a shiver of lust, which was absolutely unacceptable. Megan changed her nose ring from a double hoop to a simple stud, irritated with herself for not just saying “screw Rossi” and wearing what she wanted. She blotted her lipstick then pursed her lips, assessing her make-up job. Against her pale oval face, her dark eyes and bright lips were a startling contrast. She frowned and pinched her nose, willing it to be a little smaller, then stood up straight and lifted her breasts, willing them to be a little bigger.

She artfully tousled her dark curls, thanking the fashion gods that messy hair was in because she would never be able to achieve smooth, straight, shampoo-commercial hair.

“I don’t plan to spend my life sucking cock and living on the street.” Megan gave her image a last assessing once-over as she listened to the boy’s young-old voice share his meager hopes for a better life. She turned away from her reflection with a shake of her head, flicked off the recorder and carried it with her as she left the bathroom.

In her bedroom, Megan rummaged through dirty clothes on the floor to locate her favorite bra and finally found it crumpled at the foot of her bed along with the shirt she’d worn several days ago. Her drawers were empty of clean clothes. She swore she would stay home tonight and do laundry as she put on the bra and stuffed the blouse in the overflowing hamper.

The phone rang. Megan glanced at the clock. There was no time to answer. She’d be late to work. As she searched the apartment for the shoes she’d kicked off yesterday, she listened to the message.

“Megan? I know you’re still there. Pick up, pick up, pick up…” Megan grabbed the phone. “What? I’m running late.”
“Where were you last night?” James demanded. “Sasha and I were expecting you. Even Terry was there.”

Damn, she’d completely forgotten about meeting her friends last night. “Terry as in ‘Terry who had a crush on you all through college and no-one was surprised when he came out senior year’ Terry? I thought he was in Dallas.” She spied her shoes in the front hall.

“He’s moved back. And if fucking Terry can make it to our monthly Thursday nights, you can, too. What were you doing?” James was one of her best friends and sometimes good for a casual booty call, but his over-protectiveness could be annoying.

“I’m sorry, I forgot last night. I’ll make it up to you guys, but right now I really, really have to get out of the house or Rossi’s going to fire me. I’ll IM you from work, okay?”

“That was your get out of jail free card, Meg. Next time, you’re in deep shit with me and Sasha.”

When Megan got to the office a good twenty minutes late, thankfully Rossi was in a meeting. She sat down at her desk and began reading through fresh copy, sighing when she spotted another turgid offering from Abbie.

It didn’t take long for her concentration to waver. Maybe it was time to send James an e-mail explaining what was up. She sent him a message briefly telling the basics of her article and how she’d been doing research. Within ten minutes, her cell rang. She picked it up and slipped out into the corridor.

“What the hell are you thinking, Meg?” Sometimes James forgot his place in her life and slipped into protective boyfriend mode.

“James, I’m being careful and—”
“You’ve been spending your nights in a sleazy, dangerous part of town. How exactly are you being careful? You keep your cell phone off and you haven’t even told your friends so we can check on you if you disappear? You’re going to get yourself killed by some addict for a twenty dollar fix.” The anger in his voice was barely under control.

Megan felt like a reprimanded child. “They’re not all addicts.”
“At least promise me next time you go there, you’ll check in with me or Sasha. Please?”

“I’ll think about it.” Part of her was touched at her friend’s solicitude and the other half fumed. She’d been living in L.A. for five years now and knew how to handle herself. She was no longer the small town girl he’d met as a freshman at U.C.L.A. “I really have to work, James. I’ll call you later.”

She cut off the call. He should know by now she hated to be told what to do. Handing out demands would only make her less likely to comply with them. Besides, she wasn’t being needlessly stubborn. She was furthering her career—something both James and Sasha should respect.

ZY

When Megan went to the boulevard the next night, she cruised by Mouth’s usual spot, but he wasn’t around. She was embarrassed by the pang of disappointment she felt at not finding him. Her fascination extended beyond journalistic interest, edging into the embarrassing territory of a schoolgirl crush.

Ricky and his pale sidekick were on the street and came up to her the moment they saw her. “Mouth said you was cool.” Ricky gestured toward his friend. “Me and him want to get interviewed.”

“That would be great.” She gave silent thanks for Mouth’s intervention. Now her credibility was established, it looked like she might make some headway in her project.

“Mouth said you give him twenty bucks.”
“Oh.” That was something she wasn’t expecting. Although she probably should have, considering these kids’ lives. “That was a one time only deal. I can’t afford to pay for every interview and it’s…” She wondered how to explain ethics to a kid like Ricky. “It’s kind of against the newspaper’s rules. But I could buy each of you a meal.”

“Aw, man! You tryin‘ to rip us off.”
“No, seriously. I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can offer.” When he continued to scowl, she added the only other perk she could think of. “Plus, of course, you’ll get to see your words in print, which is kind of cool.”

The boy pouted a moment longer then shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. Where you wanna go?”

Megan led the way to the small diner again. It was beginning to feel like her on-site office. She slid into the same booth as before and the boys sat across from her. They both ordered burgers, fries and Cokes and she wondered if they ever had fresh vegetables in their diets.

“Mind if I record?” She pulled out her machine.

Ricky eyed it suspiciously. “Why? You sure you ain’t a cop?”

She smiled. “I just want to get everything you say. Your words are gold, Ricky.” She began shooting off questions, starting with his name.

“Ricardo Hector Jackson,” he stated for the record. “Mama’s a spic, daddy’s a nigger and I’m spicy hot soul food. I got a little somethin‘ for everybody.”

The other boy grimaced like he’d heard the line way too many times. It didn’t take much prompting to get Ricky to talk. He told her he was thirteen. His daddy stabbed somebody in a bar fight and got sent up for twenty years and his mama worked two jobs, housekeeping at a motel and waitressing. She tried to keep Ricky in line, but he had a wild streak. He went out on the streets to have some adventure and someday he’d go home to his mom with lots of riches.

“I’m gonna buy her a big house with servants and dogs and probably a horse, too. Already got a big bunch saved up. And then Elf and me’ll open a comic book shop.” He nodded at his friend. “Elf knows everything there is to know about comics and everybody likes comics, so it’ll be a success. We’ll sell coffee, too. That’s where the money is. There’s always a line waitin‘ at Starbucks. Elf and me’ll have an apartment over the store, but sometimes on weekends we’ll go see my mama at her house in the country and ride the horse and have a home-cooked meal.”

Megan let him ramble. She watched Elf’s reaction to the sprawling tale and could tell he was enraptured by the story of their future. Eventually she tried to lead Ricky back on track.

“So you and Elf hang together a lot. Where do you stay?”

Ricky shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Don’t ever give away a squat or next thing you know, cops come and you gotta look for someplace new.”

Megan nodded. “Your mom lives near here, though. Do you ever think of going home again?”

“Naw. My mom lives in Arizona now. Went there with her new husband and she got all his kids to take care of, so there ain’t room for me to live there. But she says she’ll send for me soon.”

“So you’re still in contact with her?”
“Well, we ain’t talked lately but… You know in Arizona they got roadrunners, just like the cartoon? I’d like to see one of them.”

Megan chased Ricky through a maze of words, trying to pin him down about details and only getting contradicting facts and embellished stories. It was hard to tell which parts were real and which weren’t. He told at least three versions of what had happened to his mother and Megan wondered what had really prompted Ricky to leave home.

It was a frustrating interview, and after much more than twenty minutes, Megan finally had to cut Ricky off in the middle of a fabrication about two famous actors who’d hired him to participate in a threesome.

“Well, you’ve given me a lot to work with here, Ricky. Thank you. But I need to move on to Elf’s story now, if that’s all right.”

Elf sat up straight. His eyes shifted as though looking for an escape route. Megan hadn’t heard the boy speak more than three words all evening. He sat quietly in his corner of the booth, interjecting an occasional “That’s right” or “Yep” when called on by Ricky. Where Ricky was twitchy, playing with the salt and pepper, scratching the track marks on his arm, twisting around to look at other people in the diner, Elf was still, trying to remain unnoticed.

“Do you mind telling me your real name?”

He shook his head.
“Elf don’t give his name. He don’t like to. He’s only been out on his own for ‘bout half a year. He’s fourteen. I seen him wandering around down here and could tell he didn’t know what the fuck he was up to, so I showed him the ropes. Showed him how to dumpster dive and lift stuff and trick, everything you need to know. Like, I bet you didn’t know you gotta hit the same dumpsters every day. You get your route going so you know what’s fresh in there, then you won’t accidentally get sick eating some old stuff.”