Trafficked (10 page)

Chapter Fifteen

I
t was eleven at night, three weeks and four days after Hannah had arrived in America. She heaved the garbage bag from the kitchen into one of the bins and stood outside, enjoying the one quiet moment of her day. The air was cooling off, finally.

She looked up at the crescent moon in the sky and wondered if her mother was looking down on her. In Moldova, Hannah had hated taking out the garbage. The smell was vile, especially in the summer, but the worst part was touching the grimy handle on the garbage chute.

Here, garbage duty was a brief moment when she could go outside alone and relax. She'd never worked so hard in her whole life, but once she got paid, it would be worth it. She'd send a thousand dollars to Babulya to pay for her cataract surgery and then she wouldn't have to worry about her babushka falling into a manhole. They'd pay her soon, any day now.

She unlocked the side gate, tipped the garbage container onto its wheels, and rolled it to the curb. Normally there was no one on the street, but today she saw an older couple hobbling down the sidewalk toward her—and there appeared to be a duck waddling behind them. She stepped to the side and squinted. Yes, it was a duck.

The man's hair swooped up, not unlike the fluff of feathers on the duck's behind. The wife plodded on, eyes ahead. She was looking at Hannah, but not smiling. Hannah had heard Americans always said hello in the streets, and she waited for that now. Already she could smell their sweet, dusty old-people smell—it reminded her of Babulya minus the hot pepper. She wondered how her babushka was doing at Petru's house. She'd given Lillian two letters for her babushka and one for Katya, but she hadn't received any letters back yet.

They were passing her. Not saying anything. Maybe she was supposed to say it because she was younger. “Hello,” she said in English.

The man and the woman didn't even look at her, and the duck marched past, ignoring her too. A gate opened behind her. She heard the bumping sound of a garbage can on wheels rolling down the driveway. Her breath caught inside her. The boy next door was pulling a garbage can toward her. It looked like she'd said hello to the duck. How embarrassing. She wondered if the boy had heard.

“Quack,” he said to her.

She didn't know this word. She stepped backward, her mind rushing with things to say, but it all came to her in Russian. “Yes?” she asked, which didn't make sense at all.

“Just taking the garbage out.” He sucked in a breath that stopped halfway into his mouth and then tucked his head down in embarrassment.

She'd seen the boy many times, moving around the upper rooms of his house or walking down the sidewalk in the oversize baseball jerseys he always wore, that she felt like she knew him. She had to introduce herself at least.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he hurried away so quickly she didn't have a chance to say anything. She couldn't very well run after him, yelling, “My name is Hannah. What is your name?” And it was strange to say good-bye when they hadn't really said hello, so she just watched his back, her tongue sitting in her mouth like an overcooked carrot.

Chapter Sixteen

T
he next Thursday, Hannah vowed she'd talk to the boy next door when he took out the garbage, so he wouldn't think she was crazy. It was the perfect day, because Lillian and Sergey had gone out to celebrate Lillian taking her Step One test for the USMLE, the first test for a foreign doctor in America.

Lillian had been studying constantly for the test over the last two weeks and still hadn't paid her. Hannah planned to remind her soon, but Lillian was in such a good mood today, Hannah hadn't wanted to ruin it.

She'd do it tomorrow. Or in the next week, definitely.

She checked the clock on the oven. Ten o'clock. She opened the back door and looked out across the lawn to the neighbor's house.

She grabbed some paper towels and a spray bottle. One more room to clean. She went into the master bathroom. It looked spotless, except for a few hairs, but every day she didn't clean it, Lillian knew. She sprayed the counter and wiped the hairs off.

Good enough. She went into the bedroom and looked at Lillian's bookshelf, at the medical textbooks and the Russian-English dictionary Lillian had warned her not to touch. She'd tried to read one of the textbooks when Lillian left them in the dining room to pick up Maggie, but she hadn't been able to understand even a single sentence with all the medical terminology. She had to work up to it. Despite everything, she couldn't give up. One day, she'd be a doctor.

She pulled the dictionary off the shelf and dropped down on the bed with its soft white duvet comforter. It made a puffing sound. She lay back and stretched her arms out. This was what it would feel like to be Lillian.

She flipped over, opened the dictionary, and started looking up words she could use on the boy next door. The chocolate sat on Lillian's pillow, just inches from her head. She could smell the dark chocolate and imagined the truffle melting in her mouth. Lillian was probably counting them, she thought. She looked up another word.

The chocolate sat there, calling to her. It was Swiss chocolate, in a shiny red wrapper. Everyone knew how delicious Swiss chocolate was.

She reached over and grabbed it. One chocolate. Lillian would never know. The tinfoil paper crinkled as she ripped it off. The chocolate filled her mouth and melted into the space between her lips and her gums.

“Hello!” Lillian was downstairs.

Hannah leaped from the bed, licking her lips.

“Hannah?” Lillian called.

“I'm up here.” She grabbed the dictionary, shoved it onto the bookshelf, then ran back to the bed to snatch up the chocolate wrapper and stuff it in her pocket. Lillian was almost at the top of the stairs. She wiped at the corners of her mouth. The duvet looked like she'd been sleeping under it. She bent over, smoothed it down in one quick sweep, and turned as Lillian came into the room.

She could still taste the creamy truffle in her mouth. Did she have chocolate on her teeth? Did her breath smell of chocolate?

Lillian stood in the doorway, wearing a low-cut red dress. Her blonde hair fell softly around her bare shoulders, and she shook her head like she was a model. “What are you doing?” she asked, smiling. Not accusatory. Just happy.

Hannah ran her tongue over her teeth in case they were covered with chocolate. “Just finishing up. I have to get your truffle and then I'm all done. Sorry I didn't do it earlier.”

“They're delicious, aren't they?” Lillian asked, as if she knew Hannah had just eaten one.

“Are they?” Hannah's voice squealed at the end of her question, and her heart started to beat faster in her chest.

“You haven't tried one?” Lillian asked.

Hannah hesitated, worried it was a test. “I—um—I didn't think I was allowed,” she said, which was true enough.

“I wondered why they lasted so long.” Lillian's eyes shone, cheeks aglow. “Why don't you get two and we can have our chocolates together?” She gave Hannah a queenly smile, revealing lipstick on her teeth. “Go on,” she said, and waved her hand in a condescending way that itched at Hannah as she ran down the stairs.

She dragged one of the metal kitchen chairs over to the refrigerator and stood on it.

The tinkling of ice in a glass startled her. Sergey had wandered into the kitchen from the living room, drinking cola with whiskey, his favorite drink when he was alone and had no one to impress. The smell of alcohol reminded her of pee, maybe because her father peed himself when he drank too much. Her mother always cleaned it up, like everything else, but Hannah sure wouldn't if she were his wife. She'd make him clean up his own mess. At least Sergey wasn't a drunk, she thought. He drank no more than an average Russian.

She reached into the upper cupboard and took two chocolates from the truffle box.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as if he was just curious, but his eyes were jumping from her face to her breasts. Why did men always think you didn't see them looking at your breasts? She'd even caught teachers looking at her.

“Getting a truffle for your wife,” she said, emphasizing “wife.”

“Ah,” he said, and took a swig of his drink.

She crossed her arms over her breasts so he wouldn't see them bounce, jumped from the chair, and hurried out of the room. When she got upstairs, Lillian was taking off her nylons in long sweeping motions. Her red dress flipped up, revealing black lace panties. There would be sounds coming from upstairs tonight.

Hannah glanced at the clock—five minutes before eleven. Last time she'd met the boy at eleven. She wondered if he was hoping she'd be out there again.

Lillian gave her a genuine smile. “You have the chocolate?”

Hannah handed her one truffle and kept the other for herself. She peeled the paper off the truffle and popped it in her mouth.

“Good?” Lillian said.

“Very good. Thank you.” Hannah sucked on the chocolate, but didn't enjoy it nearly as much with Lillian watching her like she was a poor village girl. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was eleven. “Well, I'd better let you change.”

“We're both girls.” Lillian laughed. “Don't you want to hear about my night?”

She was trapped. “Yes, of course.”

Lillian took out a bottle of moisturizer from her vanity and rubbed it on her legs while she told Hannah about the restaurant. “It was really upscale, you know, like New York. It was a dark gray building, no sign out front, but in back, we went through some industrial doors. It looked like a warehouse. I wondered where he was taking me.” She laughed, massaging the moisturizer between her perfectly manicured toenails. Hannah saw a flash of her black lace panties and looked away as Lillian continued. “But then there was a doorman and we were in this magnificent place with an open skylight and a garden with a brook running around the tables and the prices—wow—they were high. It was twenty dollars for just the salad.” She laughed, then added quickly, “Not that we have to worry. Sergey's new business is doing well. I'm so proud of him.”

That was a good opening. She could ask about the money, Hannah thought, but then she heard the unmistakable sound of a garbage container rolling down the driveway next door. She jumped up. Lillian gave her a questioning look as she closed up the bottle of moisturizer and placed it back on her vanity.

“I have a few more things to do,” Hannah said.

“Always working,” Lillian said, clicking her tongue. “Sometimes, Hannah, you're a little boring. Now that you are in America, you should develop some interests.”

Develop some interests? Lillian didn't even care enough to ask what her interests were. If she did, she'd know that she'd love just an hour during the day to sit down and read a book. Or maybe go for a walk up to the Hollywood sign. Anything but work all day long.

“That's a great idea,” Hannah said, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. “Maybe I could start going to English school at night.”

She listened to the boy's footsteps back up the driveway. There was one more container for the trash and then one for recycling.

“Every night?” Lillian asked, perfuming her breasts with little finger dabs. “You don't even speak a word. Why don't you study by yourself from an English grammar book? I think one student in the family is enough. When I'm finished, perhaps you can take a class.”

“Do you have a grammar book I could read?”

Lillian looked annoyed. “Of course I do. I'll give it to you tomorrow.”

Another garbage container rolled down the neighbor's driveway. “Thank you very much,” Hannah gushed. “I'll let you finish up. Good night.” She turned to go. If she didn't run, the boy next door would be gone.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Lillian asked.

Hannah stopped. “I have to take out the garbage,” she said, making one last attempt.

“I'll get Sergey to do it tomorrow morning.”

“It has leftover fish in it.” Hannah shrugged like it didn't matter to her. “It will make the kitchen smell.”

Lillian hesitated, then said quickly, “I'll deal with it. You go to bed. I want some time alone with my husband.” Lillian flashed her a wicked smile.

Hannah headed out of the room, disappointed. In the garage, she plunked down on the sofa. Her stomach ached, she was so desperate for a friend. It had been over a month since she'd had a normal conversation with anyone. And she needed to learn English, to feel like she was improving at something other than cleaning. Sometimes when Lillian wasn't around, Maggie read to her in English and explained the words to her. But without practice, she'd never be fluent.

She picked up one of the children's English books and read it a few times, until finally she realized the house was silent. No television, no stairs creaking, no laughter, nothing. Perhaps they'd gone to bed and she could sneak outside, maybe go for a walk if the boy wasn't there.

She opened the door to the laundry area to listen. The house was quiet. She took off her slippers, slid down the hall, and peeked around the entrance to the living room, just in case. She froze. They hadn't bothered to go upstairs.

Lillian's red dress had been flung on the white carpet and shimmered like a pool of blood. She had a zit in the middle of her back. Sergey groaned and looked up at Hannah.

She yanked her head back around the corner. He'd definitely seen her. Maybe he'd think she'd been watching them. That was disgusting.

She slid down the hall in her socks, hoping, at least, that Lillian would not hear her. She hurried around the corner, past the washer and dryer, and through the door to the garage, where she jumped into her sleeping bag on the sofa.

Her heart pounded. She was breathing hard. And her foot was twitching inside her sleeping bag. She made it stop and slowed down her breathing. There was no reason to be afraid. They were having sex. She'd been warned to stay in the playroom, but she hadn't listened. It was her own fault.

Through the door of the garage, she heard a moan. Her stomach twisted and she was back inside the taxi with the bad agent, outside the airport, waiting to see if he would give her the plane ticket. He was undoing his zipper, telling her she could pay him for his troubles in another way. She clenched her teeth together.
Stop thinking about it.

She could not listen to their moans. It was too much. She covered her ears and started to hum an old village tune her mother had loved. She heard her mother's voice in her head:
Spin, turn around, up and down. Spin . . .