Pick Up the Pieces

Chapter 3

Chapter 3The nightmare woke me the next morning—the fear and the knife and the blood. I lay there panting and shuddering, my hair clinging damply to my neck from the nervous sweat.

A soft snuffle to my right startled me, almost causing me to tumble off the bed and onto to the floor. I glanced cautiously in that direction.

It was Paul, the rent boy known as Pretty Boy. He was curled on his side, sound asleep. In his arms he cuddled a ratty stuffed dog.

I swallowed and licked my lips. My heart rate was slowing, and I needed to use the bathroom. I eased out of bed and padded down the hall.

The apartment was dim and very quiet. When I was finished, I flushed, washed my hands, and splashed some water on my face.

I couldn’t go back to bed, even though the nightmare had quickly faded. I wandered into the kitchen.

A Mr. Coffee was on the counter. I rummaged around until I found the filters and the coffee.

It would be nice to have a real breakfast. I found a box of pancake mix, Aunt Jemima Complete, in a cupboard and poured some into a bowl, relieved not to find anything crawling in it. All I had to do was add water, but I decided to get creative. There was a carton of milk and a crate of eggs in the refrigerator, and a bag of frozen blueberries in the freezer. The milk smelled okay, and I hoped the eggs were fresh too.

The rent boys didn’t seem to own a waffle iron, but they did have a frying pan. I’d make silver-dollar pancakes. With blueberries.

Paul came in just as I slid the first batch of pancakes onto a plate. “Morning, Paul.”

“Morning,” he mumbled as he helped himself to a cup of coffee.

“Here you go.”

He hoisted himself up onto one of the high stools at the tiny breakfast bar, opened the bottle of syrup I’d placed there, and drizzled it on, drawing a tic-tac-toe design on the pancakes. He took a bite, then closed his eyes and moaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. These are awesome.”

“Glad you like them.” I poured more batter into the frying pan.

Tom and Mike came in. “Breakfast? All right! Shove over, Paul.” They waited impatiently for their plates to be ready.

I looked into the bowl that held the batter. There wasn’t much left. I set about making more.

“I smell coffee that I didn’t have to make,” Cris said as he stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes half-closed.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Regular.” His nose twitched, and he opened his eyes wide. “Pancakes!”

The brothers hunched over their plates protectively, and I hid a grin.

“Sit down.” I poured his coffee while more pancakes cooked. “There’s no butter.”

“Why do y’all need butter?” Tim came in, vigorously rubbing his head. The South was in his voice again.

“Pancakes, Tim!” Paul bounced on his stool.

“Who went to McDonald’s?”

“Sweetcheeks made ‘em.”

I flipped the pancakes, and Tim sniffed the air.

“If they taste as good as they smell…”

“They do, Tim!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Paul. Sweets, on behalf of this crew, I’d like to ask you to consider joining us permanently.”

“I…I…”

“Take your time coming to a decision. There’s no rush.”

“Thanks.” I put a plate in front of Tim.

“Hey!” Cris protested. “Those were supposed to be mine! I was here first!”

“He’s the boss.”

Tim sent him a smug glance, took a bite, and nodded in approval. It was interesting to see that he offered the next bite to Cris.

Tim turned back to me. “So, will you join us?”

“I thought you said I could take my time.” Not that I needed to. They’d been nice to me, and I’d missed that.

“Sure. Take as much time as you need.”

I gave Cris his pancakes and went to work cooking mine.

“So. Will you?”

I looked at the five of them, who in turn were looking at me expectantly. “Yeah.” I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. “I will.”

“Wow.” Paul paused in the act of eating, his fork in front of his mouth. “That kinda sounds like we just got married.”

* * * *

After breakfast, Tim took me aside. “You’ll need to be looked over by a doctor.”

“I’m not sick.”

He shrugged. “That’s the way I do things. My boys are healthy.” There was pride in his voice.

I didn’t want a doctor touching me—I was afraid of what he would find. And if he did find something….

But I was more afraid of being alone. In spite of Tim saying I could stay with them, he could still throw me out if I refused. I’d learned the hard way that people could change their minds in the blink of an eye. “O-okay.”

“Don’t sound so excited.”

I gave him a hesitant smile, and he tugged a lock of my hair.

Tim made a phone call to set up the appointment. I was hoping the doctor would tell him we’d have to wait, that he was all booked up until next week or the week after, but no such luck.

“Doc’s a friend of mine. He’ll see you before office hours this morning. Get your jacket, Sweets, and let’s get going. It’ll take us a while to get to his office.”

I took my jacket from the little closet, and a roll fell out of the pocket and onto the floor.

He rubbed my shoulder, not asking for an explanation. “You might want to leave those home. Unless you want to take them along for a snack?”

“No. The trucker who drove me from—the trucker who gave me a ride wanted to make sure I had something.”

“He sounds like a good guy.”

“Yes, he was. I gave him a blow job.” I waited to see how Tim would react to that. Franky would have given me a slap that would have sent me flying across the room.

“Good.” He simply patted my shoulder. “Put ‘em in the kitchen and let’s go.”

* * * *

We got to the doctor’s office sooner than I’d have liked. The waiting room was empty, not even a nurse behind the reception desk, but before I could suggest that since no one was there, we might as well go home, a stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair came out from one of the rooms. He was wearing a white lab coat, and a stethoscope dangled from around his neck.

“Hello, Tim.”

“Hi, Doc. This is Sweetcheeks. He’s the new boy. This is Dr. Rosen, Sweets. He’ll take good care of you.”

“Tim!” I was suddenly panic-stricken.

His hand on my back was comforting, and he gave me a gentle push. “I’ll be right out here in the waiting room.”

I followed the doctor into an exam room, where he had me strip and put on a paper gown. He shook his head when he saw the bruises.

“I know Tim didn’t do this.”

“No. I…Please, don’t make me talk about it.”

“All right. How old are you? The truth, if you please. I’ll check your teeth if I think you’re lying.”

I bit my lip. They could tell a horse’s age by its teeth. “I’ll be sixteen in January.”

“Hmm. So that means you’re fifteen now.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I should check your teeth anyway. You look about thirteen.” He gave me a thorough physical, frowning when he saw the faint scars on my abdomen and torso. “Who’s this ‘Fast Franky’?”

I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Excuse me?”

“This says, ‘Property of Fast Franky.’”

“I…I didn’t know.” Was that what Franky had done to me? I’d been terrified to examine the cuts in the bathroom mirror. Would I ever get free of him?

“The letters are shaky. He must have been high.”

He had been, and the next day he’d been furious when he’d seen what he had done. He’d smacked me. “Just make fuckin’ sure you keep your shirt on till this heals,” he’d said.

Not that that would have been a problem. The johns just wanted my pants off.

“You’re lucky he didn’t cut deeper. If he’d nicked an artery….”

I didn’t want to think about how casually Franky could have killed me. About how I had killed him. I shivered. “Will they ever go away?”

“They’ll keep fading over time, and I’ll give you some samples of a cream that will help with that. The only reason I was able to make them out now was because of the bright light in here. Do you want me to take some pictures to document this? You could prosecute—”

I was shaking my head.

“All right, I understand.” He didn’t look happy about my decision, but he proceeded with the physical, doing a throat swab. His eyebrow rose when I didn’t gag. “I’ll do an anal swab too. How long have you been on the streets?”

“Six months.” I should have started my sophomore year in high school two weeks ago. I rolled over onto my hands and knees. For a second there was silence. “Doctor?”

He cleared his throat and took the sample. Once that was done, I sat and pulled up the shoulder of the gown, which had dipped down to my elbow. He tied a piece of rubber around my biceps and reached for a syringe to draw blood. I turned my head away, not wanting to look, but I hardy felt the needle stick.

“I’ll be in touch with you as soon as I get the results. If you’ve been using condoms…” I looked away, and he sighed. “You kids think you’re invulnerable. I’ll put a rush on this. Get dressed now, Sweet…. What is your name?”

“Sweetcheeks.”

He sighed again. “Very well. Get dressed, Sweetcheeks, and we’ll get Tim in here.”

Tim was reading a People magazine. He put it down and rose. “Everything okay, Sweets?”

My lip quivered. Before I’d left Florida, I’d never thought about my health, but now…. Franky was the only one who took me without a condom. Had he used one when he’d had s*x with Jaybird? I started to feel sick again. I remembered that last night, when he’d smelled of s*x. Could he have given me an STD? Or worse, AIDS?

“Bathroom?” I managed to get out.

Dr. Rosen pointed it out, and I made a dash for it, getting to the toilet just in time to vomit up the breakfast I’d enjoyed making.

I dried my eyes, rinsed my mouth, and blew my nose. Finally together—more or less—I went back into the waiting room.

“Sorry.”

Dr. Rosen shook his head. He looked tired. “Tim, would you mind joining us in my office?”

Tim followed us. He sat down beside me and took my hand. Dr. Rosen didn’t put the width of his desk between us as the doctor back home had done whenever Ma took us to see him. Dr. Rosen propped a hip on the corner of his desk and began to speak earnestly.

“This young man has been beaten, cut, and he’s underweight. Furthermore, he hasn’t been practicing safe sex.”

Tim’s expression grew dark, and I remembered Paul telling me how he had sent away the boy who hadn’t made his johns use a condom.

But if they knew I’d killed a man…maybe it was better if they thought I let my johns take me that way.

“Sometimes…sometimes they didn’t want to use a condom,” I said in a low voice. “I couldn’t make them…” I bit my lip. I was coming across as a whiny brat. Franky had always hated that.

“That explains the bruises.” Dr. Rosen’s mouth was a grim line. He was wrong about that, though. Except for this latest batch, the bruises were all courtesy of Franky.

“Tim, if…if you don’t want me…I’ll…I’ll understand.”

“Shut up.” He pulled me out of the chair and onto his lap. “It’s gonna be okay, Sweets. I know what it’s like being small and having no say. From now on, if a john won’t wear a condom, you just tell him no sale, okay?”

“I’d like to get my hands on those…. I’ve told Sweetcheeks I’ll put a rush on the blood tests and the swabs I’ve taken, but I don’t want him working, Tim.”

“Not a problem, Doc.” He brushed the hair out of my eyes and smiled. “You need a haircut.” He ran his hand up and down my back in a rhythmic movement that was comforting.

It was the first time in a long time that I’d been touched in a way that wasn’t s****l. I ducked my head against his shoulder, trying not to cry.

“Shhh, shhh, Sweets. You’re coming back with me now.” He was going to let me stay, at least until we learned the results of the tests.

“I’m serious, Tim.” Dr. Rosen’s next words revealed just how serious he was. “If I learn that you’ve let him go out—well, friend or no, I’ll have no qualms about contacting the police.”

The police? I couldn’t prevent the shudder that ran through my body.

“Have I ever lied to you?” There was no trace of the South in Tim’s voice now.

“I just need to make sure you’re aware of how serious this situation is. It’s bad enough he’s so young.”

“I’m aware, Doc. Anything I should do for him?”

“I’ve given you those samples.”

Tim held up a bag I hadn’t noticed. Dr. Rosen had said something about a cream for my scars, but what else was in there?

“See he uses them.”

“A cream, some vitamins, an antibiotic as a precaution,” Tim murmured, and I nodded in relief that I hadn’t had to ask.

“Other than that,” Dr. Rosen continued, “just feed him. If he tests positive for anything, I’ll have to report it. Can you give me the names of who you’ve had s*x with, Sweetcheeks?”

Franky was dead. I looked up at Dr. Rosen. “I didn’t know their names.”

“All right. Where did you work?”

Panic flared down my spine and curled around my gut. If I told him and he contacted people in Tarpon Springs, the cops would come after me and take me away. Florida had the death penalty. I could go to the chair.

I folded my lips together and refused to say anything.

“Stupid—”

I dropped my eyes. I couldn’t bear being thought of as a stupid kid, even though I was.

“—parents.” Dr. Rosen patted my shoulder. “If they’d just accept their kids….” He sounded as tired as he’d looked earlier.

“That’s how most boys wind up on the streets. Get up, Sweets. We’re going home now.” Tim paused at the door. “Thanks, Doc. Send me the bill, okay?”

“I’ll do that. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks for your own physical.”

* * * *

Once we were back in the apartment, Tim turned to me. “You won’t be going to work until we hear from Dr. Rosen. Meanwhile, I want you to put on a few pounds.”

“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t help laughing at the look he gave me.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. Okay, Sweets. These are the rules: no drugs.”

“Not even pot?”

“I said drugs. No coke, no crack, no junk. You see Dr. Rosen once a month no matter how good you feel, and sooner if you don’t feel good. Anyone gets rough with you, you tell me or Cris.”

Cris, who was sitting in an armchair, reading Newsweek, glanced up, grinned, and gave a small salute.

“Now, it’s still early. What do you say we get you some new clothes? These won’t last you much longer.”

“I don’t have any money, Tim.” I thought of the two twenties in my pocket. “Well, not much.”

“I’ll spot you for it.”

“But if Dr. Rosen says I…I can’t work…”

“We’ll worry about that if and when. Which gives me an idea. Once we’ve got your clothes, we’ll do some grocery shopping. Those pancakes you made for breakfast were downright fine, and I’d like to see what else you can come up with.”

* * * *

Early the following week, Tim got the phone call from Dr. Rosen, and I waited for the verdict, chewing my nails as nervous tension mounted inside me. I wasn’t expecting good news—God seemed to have turned his back on me around the same time Poppa threw me out.

Tim hung up and came to me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I thought I was going to faint.

“You’re lucky.”

“Tim?”

“You’re f*****g lucky!”

“I’m—”

“You’re clean, not even a head cold.”

I nearly hyperventilated from the relief.

“Yes!” Paul jumped on me and wrapped his arms and legs around me in a massive hug.

Tim caught me before I could fall. He grinned and hugged the two of us.

I put Paul down, pushed the hair out of my eyes, and then laughed as I realized the hair was no longer there. Tim’s stylist—I would have called him a barber—had clipped and trimmed and shaped, and I almost didn’t recognize myself when he’d finished. I didn’t really look older, but somehow I didn’t look like a kid either.

“When do you want me to go to work?”

“You feel up to going out tonight?”

“Yes.”

He looked me over, then nodded and gave me a handful of condoms—colored, flavored, sizes that would fit any d**k.

“I don’t expect you to use ‘em all tonight, Sweets,” he teased, and then he became serious. “Now, one last word of advice. Always remember—”

“And never forget…” the others chimed in, singsong, and Tim sent them a mock glare.

“—johns don’t fall in love with hustlers.”

Paul laughed. “That’s what he tells us all the time.”

“Because they don’t. Pretty Woman was a load of bullshit.” He scowled at Cris. “I should have kicked your ass when you took the boys to see it.”

“What did I miss?” I asked. I hadn’t been to the movies since before Poppa had thrown me out.

“Rich guy picks up a streetwalker, goes Pygmalion all over her ass, and winds up giving her a shitload of money and falls in love with her to boot.”

“But Tim…Richard Gere!” Cris was laughing so hard I thought he was going to pee his pants.

Tim’s scowl deepened. “One—you’re not Julia Roberts. And two—our johns aren’t Richard Gere. It would be more like that movie from the thirties, where the guy finds out his girl had to walk the streets to survive, and he wants to know why she didn’t die instead.”

“Was that the movie with Humphrey Bogart?” Cris asked innocently.

Tim gave him an affronted glare. “How the f**k should I know? You’re the one who watches those old black and white movies. Now, all of you, pay attention. Johns aren’t gonna take you away from the life. The last thing any of us needs is to get his hopes up and then his heart broken. So just pay attention to what I’m telling you.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Paul looked the picture of innocence.

Tim growled and cuffed Paul’s head, but his growl was really a laugh and his cuff was a more a caress. “Just don’t you go falling in love with any of them.”

* * * *

I didn’t need to burn his words into my memory. I’d been in love once, and this was where it had gotten me. Oh, hustling brought me decent money, and sometimes the john I was with even made sure I felt good. And it also got me Paul, who I loved like a brother, and the other boys, who I liked well enough. In another lifetime I would have been madly in love with Tim, who was sexy as hell, as well as a good man, but….

I’d never give my heart to anyone ever again.