Cherry

by Michael Hansen
© 2000

here's one now," his step-dad Chris said, jerking his chin at the woman standing in front of the rundown hotel. Freddy's first thought was that she was very pretty, but tired looking. She had on a tight red mini-skirt, and a white halter-top that left her midriff bare. He had never seen hair as blonde as hers -- it shone yellow as butter in the hot sunlight pouring down from above.

Chris swaggered up to her, and Freddy followed just behind, feeling as if everyone in the surrounding neighborhood was watching them, knowing why they were here.

She swiveled to face Chris and Freddy as they approached. She planted one hand on her bony hip as she sized them both up with a single glance each: Chris with his slicked back brown hair and goatee, and his black leather jacket; Freddy young and painfully thin, unable even to look her in the eye. "I don't do group action," she said flatly.

"Fat chance of that," Chris grunted. "How much to do my boy here?"

Now she looked Freddy up and down, raising one eyebrow as she did. "He's just a kid."

Chris's face clouded, and Freddy got ready to duck. "All I want from you is your price." His voice had gotten quiet, but Freddy could tell the woman wasn't fooled -- her eyes had widened, just a little.

"Twenty dollars, and five for the room," she said, her voice gone just as quiet. Chris pulled out his roll and peeled off some bills. He handed the money to her and she made it disappear. "C'mon, baby," she said to Freddy. She led the way into the dark hotel entrance and up the steps.

"Be a man, Freddy!" Chris yelled up after him. The stairs were bare splintery wood, and the woman's platform pumps tocked hollowly on each step. Freddy watched the woman a few steps above him as he followed, her buttocks swishing back and forth under the tight skirt as she mounted the stairs. He swallowed, blinking against the dimness of the stairwell; his eyes were still accustomed to the bright summer sunshine outside.

They reached the landing at the top of the stairs and the front desk, where the woman handed the five to a bald, sweaty, cigar chomping man propped up behind the dusty counter like an exhibit. The man flicked his gaze at Freddy, a gaze with all the warmth of a dead fish belly. Freddy blushed and looked away, and the bald man's cigar moved to the other corner of his mouth as he handed the woman a room key and a towel.

"C'mon," she said again to Freddy, and led the way down the ill-lit hallway. Freddy noticed the walls on both sides were greasy and discolored at shoulder height, perhaps from decades of people brushing against them. They passed several closed doors on both sides; Freddy could hear furtive unidentified sounds behind a couple of them. He felt as if every door hid secrets, he was sure that people were in there naked and fucking, even as he passed. Then they reached their room. The woman opened the door, and Freddy followed her inside, his heart pounding fit to burst.

It was a shoe box of a room, with a narrow cot against the far wall under the narrow half-open window. It smelled like cheap disinfectant, and it was cool after the sunny day outside. The woman sat down on the bed, the sprung mattress squealing under her. "Aren't you going to shut the door?" she asked, smiling up at him. Freddy hurriedly closed it, but still he stood there. His step-dad had been pushing him toward this moment, this room, for months. Now the time had come. Part of him was excited, but he suddenly realized just how afraid he was, too -- he wished he was anywhere else but here.

"How old are you, Freddy?" she asked, pulling a cigarette and some matches from her patent leather purse. "That's your name, right? Freddy?"

"Yeah, that's right, Freddy. I'm thirteen." He couldn't look at her, but he could smell her overpoweringly delicious perfume with every breath he took. She smelled like she was drenched in lilacs.

She lit her smoke and took a deep drag, waving the match out and tossing it out the window. "C'mere Freddy," she said, patting the faded, threadbare pink bedspread next to her. She saw his eyes darting back and forth like a trapped animal's, and she laughed without malice. "It's all right, kid, we're not gonna do nothin'"

Freddy looked at her in startlement, unsure whether to be relieved or not. "Really?"

"Really. C'mon and sit." Freddy sat down next to her, gingerly, but the bedsprings still shrieked protest. He was close enough to reach out and touch her, he could feel the warmth of her body reaching out to him. He could feel his pulse beating strongly in his throat. She took another drag off her smoke. "I don't do kids. What's your dad doing, bringing you aroun' here?"

She seemed nice, Freddy felt as if he could tell her anything, he wasn't afraid of her at all. "He's not my dad, he's my step-dad. My real Dad's dead." Freddy squirmed in hesitation, then continued. "He brought me here because... I've never done it before -- you know, with a girl. He says it's time to make me a man." Freddy turned and looked at her, praying for some sign of understanding, but waiting to see her sneer and laugh like his step-dad always did.

She looked right back at him and nodded without cracking a smile. "It takes more than that to make a man. Besides, ain't nothing wrong with waiting for your own time, Freddy. Sometimes, when somebody gets forced into somethin' before they're ready, nothing's ever the same for them again." She was looking past Freddy at the wall, he thought a little sadly. She looked at him again. "You go ahead and wait, Freddy. It'll happen when the time's right." She ground out her cigarette on the sole of her clog shoe and stood up, tossing the butt out the window. "C'mon. We've been up here long enough."

Freddy stood too, with guilty quickness. "You won't tell him... tell him..."

She smiled. "Don't worry. As far as he'll know, you lost your cherry here today."

"Thanks," Freddy blurted gratefully. "I think you're very pretty. And nice, too!"

"Yeah, that's me. I've got a heart of gold." She laughed again, a painful laugh that Freddy didn't understand.

She had been so kind that now Freddy didn't want to leave. "Do you think that -- you know, if I'm ever in this neighborhood that -- maybe I could come see you again? Just to talk, I mean. Maybe we could be friends."

Freddy knew instantly that he had surprised her, deeply. Her eyes widened, and one hand flew to her throat. She didn't look tired anymore -- she looked as if she was much younger for a moment. Then the moment passed, but her eyes still shone at him as she touched his cheek. "I don't think that'd be a good idea, Freddy. But if you're ever passing through, just give me a wave."

They left the room. She dropped off the unused towel and key at the desk and followed Freddy downstairs into the sun. His step-dad Chris was waiting, leaning against the wall. Chris shoved himself upright with a thrust of his shoulder as Freddy and the woman appeared. He swaggered over to reclaim his stepson.

"He was great," she said to Chris.

Chris scowled at her. Then he turned his back on her and grabbed Freddy by the arm. "You never talk to a whore, after," he explained loudly, obviously for the woman's benefit. Freddy was looking right at her as his step-dad spoke. He saw her eyes suddenly widen like they had upstairs, filled with shocked hurt at Chris's words. Then the shutters came instantly down in her eyes and the hurt look vanished. Her lips tightened into a flat smile Freddy could tell was false. She turned to saunter back to her station by the hotel entrance.

Rage filled Freddy. He jerked his arm from his step-dad's grasp, hard enough that his shirt sleeve ripped, loudly. He stood there, breathing hard, glaring up at his step-dad. Chris's jaw dropped -- it was the first time Freddy had ever stood up to him. Then Chris recovered, and he grinned down at his step-son. "Falling for a hooker!" he brayed, his eyes glinting. "We'll talk about this at home, boy." And Freddy knew that they would.

Freddy looked over his shoulder at the woman as he followed his step-dad away. The woman saw him looking, and waved good-bye. Freddy waved back, and then he lost sight of her as he rounded the corner. As he hurried to keep up with his step-dad's long stride, Freddy realized that he'd never even asked her name. But it wasn't until he was climbing into the front seat of his stepdad's Camaro that Freddy realized she'd kept the twenty.