Hot Pink Heels (The Street Series) (3 page)

Those grey eyes locked on hers and she seemed unable to respond
. His strong cheekbones combined with the serious look
almost
had her believing him. Almost. “I’m sorry for the way I acted back there with that guy, but it was just to get him to let you go,” Jackson apologized. “I couldn’t stand the way he was talking to you.”

“Billy?” Amanda snorted. “That was
nice
Billy back there. The Billy that scares me is the one that shows up when I haven’t gotten enough jobs to pay him his part.” She ran her fingers through her hair, her long tresses tangled from her evening adventures.

“It’s the Billy that will show up when he finds out you weren’t serious about paying me for services
not-yet rendered,” she said, weary and resigned to an almost certain beating. Or worse. He might decide to take the pay from her in another way, and he wouldn’t care who was around to hear her screaming, because no one would come to save her. That was always worse.

She didn’t have enough in her stash to pay Billy for the evening she was supposedly spending
in bed with Jackson, not even if she emptied her change and sold her spare pair of heels. Everything seemed so hopeless that Amanda felt her nausea returning. This wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to get out
now
.

She tried to open the door again, but the automatic locks were still engaged. “Let me out, Jack,” she
half-screamed. She felt the small amount of food left in her stomach heading upward and she scrabbled around looking for the lock.

“Amanda, I’m not letting you
out until I know you’re okay,” Jackson said, concern edging his voice. He reached across her to stop her struggling, but she pushed him away with more strength than he expected from her small frame.

“
C’mon man, I’m serious, you need to let me out right now, or you’re going to be sorry,” Amanda choked out.
Oh God, oh my God, I’m going to puke! Just let me go, man!

Jack
son’s concern tripled with her rising panic, and he fought to keep his arms around her, thinking she just needed a calming presence. Instead, she leaned over and blessed the floor of his fancy car with what was left of the soup she had downed just before leaving her apartment that evening.

“Oh, wow, Amanda!
Holy cow! I’m so sorry, I had no idea…” Jackson’s voice trailed off as he finally unlocked the doors and she sprang from the car.

“J
ack, I’m sorry about your car, really, but I told you to let me out,” Amanda said, her throat burning from the retching.

“No,
hey, it’s okay,” he said softly next to her, putting his arm around her. Amanda was still trying to figure out how he’d gotten out of the car so fast when he took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Ok, we need to get you to the hospital. You must’ve gotten a concussion when you passed out earlier.”

“No, no, no, I
cannot
go to the hospital!” Amanda’s panic returned, picturing Billy’s reaction when he found out the truth.

“But Amanda, if you hit your head that hard, you need to be seen by a doctor, you at least need to go to the urgent care—“ Jack
son stopped when she turned to face him, tears streaming down her face. She’d hit rock bottom and she just didn’t even care, didn’t have the will to fight it anymore.

“It’s not a concussion,” she said simply. “I’m pregnant.”

Pregnant. Her words hung in the air, and now that she’d said them, she was even more scared than before. There it was. The truth about why she was so tired and hungry and nauseous. She was pregnant, and it was only a matter of time before Billy found out and she was a dead woman.

She hung her head,
wishing she could reverse time. She didn’t know how far back she’d go if she could. Would she go back two months, before the most recent time Billy had raped her?

No, surely she’d go farther back, maybe two years, when she’d appeared in L
.A. as green as they come, ready to make her mark in the glitz and glamour that is Hollywood. Yes, right before she’d had her purse snatched at the bus station and had lost all of her very few possessions and turned to Billy for help. A job, he’d said, and she’d been too innocent to see the set up. He could help her get a job; get her back on her feet again.

For
a while it
had
been a job, just a waitressing gig at a hole in the wall on Hollywood Boulevard that had her barely scraping by. She still didn’t have two pennies to rub together, but she had her own place and food in her belly and that was enough. Enough, that is, until Billy showed up one day, asking her to do him a little favor, just one small thing after everything he’d done for her.

It seemed harmless;
after all, Billy
had
gotten her the job and found her a place to live, and he seemed genuinely interested in her as a person. He’d taken her to the movies, where she’d silently watched her idols flitting across the silver screen. She’d had stars in her eyes when he took her home that night, and when he pressed her up against the dingy wall outside her one room apartment, she was flattered to think she interested him. She was just desperate enough not to notice the seedy trail that seemed to follow Billy wherever he went.

When he mentioned a “friend” that just wanted to go out and have a good time, Amanda thought she heard warning bells somewhere in her mind, but she ignored them. It sounded harmless, and Billy said the man would pay her
fifty bucks just to go on a date with him! Still in Billy’s arms, it was hard to disagree with anything he asked of her. When she nodded, he rewarded her with more kisses along her throat while running his fingers through her blonde hair. She felt loved, and she would do anything to keep that feeling.

The perfect gentleman, Billy had stopped short of first base, leaving her aching and dreaming of her debut on the screen.
This was just the first step. His soft kisses were followed by promises; promises to get her name in lights and Amanda had believed him.

She’d believed him. And now, here she was, pregnant, penniless, used up and at the end of her rope at 22. Sitting beside a man who had saved her twice already that night, a man who had given her his jacket and tucked her back into her seat. He’d taken out the dirty floor mat and popped open a bottle of water, offering it to her.

For no reason at all, that offering of water was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Amanda tried to sip the water, but the tears broke loose like a water main bursting. She’d done nothing but complain and snap at him all night, and he’d taken it in stride, mostly, coming to her rescue and giving her something, no,
someone
to lean on.

Jack
son remained quiet as he started the car again, his eyes darting to check on her every few seconds. He felt helpless, unsure of what to do. He certainly hadn’t meant to end up in this predicament—a pastor driving around with a hooker in his car. A pregnant, sobbing hooker was
in
his car.

He could not figure out what God had going on, but he knew he better stay at the top of his game.
He
thought
God had wanted him to stop and invite some of the street ladies to the new church they were starting in an abandoned warehouse farther down on Vermont Avenue.

Just goes to show you can’t know what God has planned
. Looking to his right again, twin feelings of relief and empathy welled up in his chest as he discovered Amanda had fallen asleep, mascara tracks drying on her cheeks from the tears she’d shed over the past 10 minutes.

Okay, God, what now?
Jackson kept driving, trying to figure out what he should do. He was familiar with the movie Amanda had referred to when he’d first pulled up, but he certainly wasn’t going to take a hooker back to his house, regardless of what he did or did not intend to do with her. That’s how guys like him got fired.

Think,
Jack. You know you can’t take her back to that Billy guy. What a jerk.
Jackson felt certain Billy would beat Amanda half to death or worse if he found out she was pregnant.

Suddenly he smiled. He knew just where to take her. Flipping on his blinker, he headed out of town with Amanda still sleeping soundly, clutching his
Dodgers jacket around her like a blanket.

She smelled
the bacon frying before she even opened her eyes.
Good ‘ole Whitney
. You could count on Whit to always find the money for a pound of bacon.

Smiling, Amanda opened her eyes
. White curtains billowed gently around a sparkling window complete with a bouquet of fresh daisies on the sill, and suddenly Amanda snapped awake, realizing something was very wrong. Shock brought her upright as she noticed more things strangely out of place.

A small bookshelf next to the window looked like it was crammed with Bibles and other stuff about God. Continuing her visual tour of the room, Amanda
saw a small desk with a matching chair and a white wicker trash can, followed by the door, also white.

But the biggest surprise came when she saw a full-length mirror that cast her reflection back at her. Gasping, Amanda’s hands came to her chest as she looked down at the pale pink nightgown she was wearing.
A nightgown?
Amanda had never worn a nightgown, even when she was a child! And, more importantly,
how
had she gotten into the nightgown?

She noticed the white bedding on the twin bed as well as the
green and pink double-ringed wedding quilt that lay across her feet.
Wedding quilt? How in the world did I know that?
Sure she was dreaming, Amanda grabbed her upper arm and pinched the soft skin there, gasping when it hurt.

Ok, what is going on here? I’m not dreaming, so what’s up with this nightgown with the pink roses on it and the strange blanket and the cutesy room?
Amanda was out of bed now, looking out the window at the quaint neighborhood with brick driveways winding up to modest but well-kept homes.

The rose-colored walls were broken up by another door, which obviously led to the closet. Her stomach growled as she crossed the room to the closet, pulling the door open to reveal her heels, along with her mini-skirt, her lacy bra and sheer purple shirt, which were hanging in the bare closet.

Although she was relieved to see her own things, they looked very much out of place in this too-sweet room. Feeling a twinge of embarrassment, Amanda removed the clothes from the neatly arranged closet and quickly shed the soft nightgown. More comfortable in her own clothes, she grabbed her heels and headed toward the door to face down whatever it was she’d gotten herself into this time.

As Amanda reached for the doorknob, a gentle knock pulled her up short. Frozen to the spot, Amanda wasn’t sure how to respond, and her vocal chords seemed to be frozen as well.

“Amanda dear, are you awake?” The soft-spoken female voice reminded her of a television grandmother and it seemed to fit the room behind her. The gentle knock sounded again. “Amanda?”

“Uh,” Amanda cleared her throat, looking in the mirror. Her bottle-brown tresses were a mess and her face was stained with mascara tracks. “Yes,” she managed, combing her fingers quickly through her hair and wiping her fingers under eyes, futilely trying to erase the signs of her crying jag from the night before.
There was nothing she could do about the puffy eyes.

She reached for the doorknob again, trying to decid
e how to play the situation.
The innocent young lady or the brazen hooker?
Looking down at her outfit, she realized the innocent young lady routine probably wouldn’t fly, especially since she had woken up in different clothing and did not remember changing her own clothes.

The brazen hooker it was, she decided, squaring her shoulders before turning the knob.

At 5’4”, Amanda wasn’t used to looking down at others, but the small woman before her was certainly short. Her “I-don’t-care” mask slipped a bit when the older woman smiled at her, tilting her head and offering her hand.

Be cool, Amanda.
Amanda’s hand was surrounded by both of the woman’s hands, one on top and one on bottom. They were soft and smooth, although lined with age, and one word echoed in her mind:
home
.

What was happening to her?
In less than 12 hours, she’d felt
safe
with a man and now she felt like she was
home
just because a perfect stranger had a soft voice, warm hands and an endearing smile.
It has to be the pregnancy hormones.
When her friend Brianna had ended up pregnant in 10th grade, she was always blaming her strange behavior on pregnancy hormones, which sounded legit to Amanda right about now.

“Amanda dear, it’s so nice to meet you,” the woman said, patting her hand. She was dressed in
blue polyester pants and a simple white shirt that made Amanda want to tuck her head onto that soft shoulder. The woman sounded like she actually meant what she’d said.