Chapter 6

The following weeks were a combination of torture and numbness for Maria. As more and more men (and women) used her for their sexual satisfaction she agonized with herself about how she could go on. In order to cope, she developed that wall, that shield, that numbness that prostitutes everywhere acquire to protect themselves from having to face the ugly realities of what they do and who they are.

And then, there was that Thursday. Seemingly like any other day, Maria had already serviced two clients and Kyle had alerted her that another would be arriving soon, someone with money, someone to be especially nice to.

She went to the small dressing table to run the brush through her hair and reapply her makeup although she used very little. She smiled ironically as she looked at herself in the mirror wondering why she should even care about her appearance. Most of her clients could care less as long as she took off her clothes and spread her legs.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door. She adjusted the bra, thong and sheer peignoir and answered the door.

The man standing on the stoop was rather unremarkable, average in height, waistline no longer boyish, nose a bit broad and sandy hair beginning to recede. But when their eyes met both gasped slightly, he from instant recognition and her from awareness that she should know this person, yet a name and the context of knowing him were elusive.

“Maria? Maria Canales?” he asked, his eyes lighting up and a smile appearing in immediate reaction.

No one had called Maria by her maiden name in years which helped her put the face and voice in some context, but the name would simply not come.

“I ... I’m sorry. I feel like I should know you but...”

“Roger. Roger Compton,” he laughed. “We were in high school together.”

“My god!” she gasped, wrapping the flimsy peignoir around her as if the smiling man couldn’t see every part of her he wanted to see. “Roger! Uh ... uh ... uh ... please come in.”

She ushered him into the small living room where she offered him a seat.

“Uh ... Roger, I’ ... I’m absolutely mortified for you to see me this way.”

He smiled. “The way I’m seeing you is pretty darn good.”

She actually blushed. “I’m sorry you are seeing me this way. I ... I...”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s obvious life has tossed you a few curves since high school.”

“You can certainly say that again.” Again she pulled at the flimsy gown trying to cover what simply could not be covered. She sat across from the sofa, burning with embarrassment.

“Oh, Roger, what you must think of me.”

“Maria ... we are who and what we are. Tell me about yourself.”

“I ... I was married. We moved here shortly after. I ... have a son.” She was not about to tell Roger that the pimp who had set up this rendezvous was also her offspring. “We divorced seven years ago. I ‘ve been living here alone since. And you, Roger, tell me about you,” she said trying to change the direction of the conversation.