The Education of a Very Young Madam (5 page)

When we were together, Natasha and I made a big impression. She was pale and curvy with that thick blond hair that hung all the way to her waist, and I was dark and waifish—thin as a rail, really—with hair just as long only jet black and silky. When we couldn't get one of the guys to drive us, we had to walk wherever we wanted to go. But as long as the weather was good, we didn't mind. We had fun counting the honks and whistles we got along the way.

One day, we'd set out on one of our long walks to the mall when we came across a trio of people—a man and two girls, one black and one white, who both looked about eighteen. Natasha stopped when she saw them and whispered to me with a giggle, "See that guy over there? That guy's a pimp!"

"Nuh-uh," I replied. "That's no pimp."

I'd seen a pimp before, in Old Orchard Beach, the first time I'd run away. He drove a beat-up old Toyota and hustled along a short stretch of the boardwalk with one or two tired-looking girls always in tow. The guy standing a few yards away from us looked nothing like that. He was slick and put together, like he had cash, and he wore a Fendi suit. I could tell it was Fendi because both his pants and jacket were completely covered in the brand's trademark repeating F pattern, which, before that moment, I had seen only on women's handbags. He also sported more gold than Flavor Flav—it was all over his wrists, his fingers, and there was a big pile of it around his neck. The car parked nearby, which had to be his because he kept moving back and forth between it and the two girls, was a beige Mercedes.

Natasha just laughed at how naive I was. I don't know how she knew what they were, but there was no doubt in her mind that this guy was a pimp and those were his hos, even though I didn't believe her. She could hardly take her eyes off the three of them. She just watched, fixated, as I tried to sort out what they were doing there.

"Well, if you're so interested, I'll go find out," I finally said, marching past her before she could say anything.

The Fendi guy's back was toward me as I approached. I ignored the two girls and walked straight up to him. "Are you a pimp?" I demanded in my most authoritative voice.

"Who wants to know?" he responded, whirling around to look at me. I had snuck up on him, and I could tell by his face that he was a little taken aback by the question. But as soon as he got a good look at me, his expression relaxed. He probably weighed twice what I did, and he was at least half a foot taller than me, so I clearly wasn't a threat to him. And it was obvious that I wasn't a cop or even a concerned citizen trying to give him a hard time. I was just some young girl who didn't know any better than to talk to a guy like him on the street.

He grinned and immediately started chatting me up. "You're a pretty one, aren't you? What's a lovely girl like you doing out here on a day like this? Shouldn't you be relaxing somewhere nice with somebody pampering and taking care of you?" Then he noticed Natasha coming toward us.

"Is that your friend?" he asked, raising his eyebrows just slightly as he looked past me at her.

"Yes," I replied.

He paused for a moment to take us both in and then said in a voice soaked with charm, "If you girls are looking for something to do, why don't you hang out with me? I bet we could have some fun."

"We don't want to hang out here. It's boring here." I was still doing all the talking, even though Natasha had joined us by then.

"We could go somewhere," he suggested. "I've got some wheels."

"Where are we going?" Natasha finally spoke up.

"Where do you want to go?"

"How about New York?" she asked.

"I could take you to New York."

"We've wanted to go to New York forever, but we haven't been able to find a ride."

"Well then, I guess we've got to go," Fendi guy said with a big smile spreading across his face.

The guy's name, we soon learned, was Julio. He wanted to pick up a friend on the way, and he said we had to leave right away, probably before we wised up and changed our minds about going anywhere with him. We were game for anything, as long as we ended up in New York, so we hopped in his car and turned on the radio. We were finally on our way to the one place we had really wanted to go.

Julio's friend was named Paolo Dante, but everyone just called him Dante. I liked him as soon as I met him. He was hot and he drove a little black Mercedes, which we thought was way cooler than Julio's ride. He didn't seem as excited about our trip as Julio was, but he agreed to come along, and, after we begged, he let us ride in his car. We set off in a two-car caravan: Natasha and I rode along with Dante and his girlfriend in the black Mercedes, and Julio and one of his girls were in the beige one. Natasha and I didn't really care if Dante was happy about the whole thing or not. We just thought we were finally riding in style.

After we'd been driving for a while, both cars turned off the highway. We were going to make a stopover on our way to New York, we were told, which was Julio's attempt to turn Natasha and me out. Not that we understood it at the time, but Julio knew what he was doing. He knew that New York was too big and too hard a place to teach us the ropes with all the action that was always going on, so he thought he'd ease us into things while also making some quick cash in the process.

When we got to some town in Connecticut that Julio seemed to know, we all pulled over by the side of the road. Dante didn't want any part ofJulio's plan, so he took off, leaving us with Julio. While we sat in his car, Julio schooled us on what to do. The first thing he told us was that, if any cops came around, we should never tell them our real names. My name for the evening was to be China White. I was twenty-three years old and spoke almost no English. He gave me some bogus address, like 123 Main Street or something, which was where I was supposed to tell them I lived if the cops arrested me and wrote up a report. He quizzed us both on the info until we knew it cold and then put Natasha and me in some little dresses and threw us out on a dark street corner by ourselves.

I was scared and held Natasha's hand. We just stood there, unsure of what to do next, until Julio's girl stuck her head out the car window and yelled at us. "Run!" she screamed. So we did, hiding behind a building until two cars came racing up. I don't know if it was the noise Julio's girl was making that drew them or if this was just a neighborhood that they patrolled regularly, but the two cars turned out to be unmarked cop cars. It was a tough break for Julio, because he was still nearby. We all got arrested, and we had only been there for about half an hour.

That was my very first time in jail. We had to stay there until morning, when someone came to let us out. I don't know why we got to leave. Maybe someone bailed us out, or maybe they didn't have anything to charge us with. Either way, I didn't ask questions. I just signed the papers the cops put in front of me—China White, just like I'd been told—and then left with Natasha and Julio.

We drove to a nearby motel, where we got a room. Things started looking up when Natasha and I realized that Dante was already there, in the room next door. He and his girlfriend had had a nice quiet night together and were ordering breakfast when we showed up. He laughed his ass offwhen he saw us. It was like he was telling Julio, "I told you so, I told you not to mess with these girls."

Still, Julio wasn't giving up. He told me to clean myself up and then sent me to a room down the hall where some guy was waiting. I don't know how or when Julio made arrangements with him, but I think it was the manager of the motel. He was a sweaty, middle-aged Indian man who smelled like stale spices. As soon as I walked in the door, he started touching me without saying a word. I was still a virgin, so the whole thing grossed me out. The instant he pulled down his pants and I caught a glimpse of his dick, I threw up all over him.

I ran straight back to Dante's room, and when he heard what happened, he just couldn't stop laughing. Unfortunately, he was the only one who reacted that way. The guy I threw up on was pissed. Julio was pissed too, but he sent one of his other girls to make it up to the guy so I was off the hook. I don't think Natasha was as lucky as I was. She and Julio came into Dante's room, and I realized right away that they must have been alone together.

Natasha never said anything to me about what she and Julio had been doing, just like we never talked about what the guy who picked us up outside of Boston had done to her. I knew better than to press her for details. The kids I met in group homes or state facilities just didn't ask each other questions like that. We all knew from experience that the answers were never good, so it was like an unwritten rule among runaways and rejects not to talk about how you got there.

Natasha was no exception. She talked very little about her past. The only thing she would talk about was her little brother, and I gathered from what she said that she had taken care of him and defended him when they lived at home together. Defended him from what, I'm not sure, but I imagine her parents were not nice people. She treated me the same way she'd treated him, like someone she needed to look out for and shelter from an ugly world. No matter what was happening to us, she'd always say to me, "Don't worry, it's going to be okay." But I understood more than she thought. When you spend every hour of the day with one person for months and months at a time, you get pretty good at reading her. After Julio and Natasha came into the room that day, Natasha was distant and wouldn't look me in the eye. I knew that meant something bad had happened between them, and I could guess what it was.

Later that day we all packed into the cars again and headed south. When we finally made it to New York City, I could hardly believe it. It was nighttime as we drove across the bridge into Manhattan, and the skyline was all lit up. I thought it was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen in my life. We drove through Times Square, with its flashing marquees, big bright billboards, and crowds of people everywhere. We drove past cross-dressers and trannies walking the streets as if they owned them. At a stoplight, I looked out the window and saw a black guy in a T-shirt that read "I V NEW YORK." Below the T-shirt he wore a pair of sneakers and nothing else. His dick was just hanging out there for all to see. I laughed and elbowed Natasha to make sure she saw it too. I knew then and there that this was a place without any rules, where you could do whatever you wanted to do, be whoever you wanted to be. I fell in love with the city that night.

Even though it was late and we had just gotten to town, Julio had the idea that he should put Natasha and me to work right away. Typical pimp, all he could think about was the cash he was going to make off of us.

He drove us straight to the West Forties, which was one ofthe hottest centers ofthe city's thriving sex trade back then. This was the late eighties, before Times Square got its tourist-friendly makeover, when the pimps and the hos owned the streets. Everywhere you looked there were girls (or guys dressed as girls) walking the streets in their best getups—boas and big hair, stockings and lingerie, superhigh heels with attitudes to match. The pimps all had amazing rides: Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, or Jags. They wore colorful suits and crazy hats and would hang out on the corners or drive around m their cars to check on their "wares," while the girls sauntered from one end ofthe block to the other. Both the girls and their pimps were draped in gold and diamonds and seemed to pride themselves on their outfits—the wilder the better. It was as if they were peacocks engaged in some sort of strange mating ritual. I think the pimps and hos dressed up for one another more than for the tricks. No one had anywhere better to be, anything better to do, and no one was hiding. If you were a guy in from out of town looking for some company, all you had to do was drive west through Times Square and there you'd find a great show, as well as an all-you-can-eat buffet of company just waiting for you to choose from.

Julio was driving, and he was clearly familiar with this neighborhood. He pulled over right in the thick of things and, without ceremony, told us to take off our shorts so that all we had on were our T-shirts and G-strings.

"I don't want you running away from me," he said as he waited for us to strip down. "You don't want to be running around town in your underwear, so best to stay close to the car."

He gave us some stockings to put on and then shooed us out onto the street. We didn't even get close to attracting any customers, because as soon as we stepped outside, the other pimps in the neighborhood spotted us. It was their territory, and we were fresh meat that they were ready to claim for themselves. Several of them started walking toward us. It looked like it was going to be a battle to see who could devour us first.

What followed was a chase scene that I can hardly believe actually happened. It was like something from a bad slapstick comedy. It was warm enough outside that Natasha and I didn't mind being in our underwear too much. Natasha, who was always more aware of what was going on than I was, grabbed my hand as soon as she saw the men coming toward us. Despite Julio's efforts to make us flight proof, we took off running down the block. Julio took off after us, causing a couple of other pimps to take up the chase as well. We darted in between people and parked cars, ducked into the driver's side of one car that was unlocked, then jumped out the passenger side as soon as one of the pimps reached the door. I was so skinny then that the stockings Julio gave me kept falling down as I ran, and I almost ended up face-first on the pavement. Natasha and I were laughing the whole time. It seemed like a great game to us, but who knows how it would have ended if Dante hadn't driven up. It probably wouldn't have been pretty.