Naked (2 page)

Chapter Two

T
he streets of New York are a whole lot more than taxis and tourists and Broadway lights. I learned that the hard way at thirteen years old.

How did pretty little Anna go from Westchester suburb brat to New York hooker? Now that’s a story, one I’m not sure I completely understand myself. There were reasons, there always are, but I don’t expect anyone to get it, especially the innocent social worker lady who keeps trying to help me.

I wake up what must be hours later when Sarah comes back to get me. I fell asleep against the cold bars, and my skin sticks when I pull away.

Sarah has dark circles under her eyes now, like she never slept.

My old life is still floating through my head, and now Sarah just makes the memories even more vivid.

Would the thirteen-year-old me be happy about where I am now? What I’ve done? Who I’ve become?

No.

But would I go back and change my decisions?

I don’t know, but that doesn’t really matter now. I can’t go back. I just have to learn to live with myself.

There’s nothing even Sarah can do to help me with that. Right now what I need is a new future.

“Hi, Anna.”

I nod at her but say nothing. I’m not much in the mood for talking now.

“Are you ready for a visit? There’s someone here to see you.”

I blink. “Who?”

“Not who you’d expect.”

I didn’t call anyone. There’s no one to call. No one to come get me, no one who cares.

Is it possible Luis sent someone for me? That he came for me himself? And if he did…do I want to see him? Because even if he cares enough to come for me, I can’t go back. Not now. Not after what happened.

I nod to Sarah anyway. If I don’t take the visit, I’ll always wonder who wanted to see me and why.

Sarah smiles, a sad smile now, and leaves the room.

The door doesn’t open up again for about twenty minutes. A guard comes in and escorts me out. He barely looks at me. No nasty comments or wiggling eyebrows, no “accidental” push into the concrete wall. It’s almost like I’m not a hooker.

We walk down a long, echoey hallway, and then into a new room. There are tables and steel walls. A few guards stand around, but otherwise no one is here. It’s empty.

The guard leads me to a table, and I sit.

I face the way I came in, the entrance that leads back to my prison—literally. Behind me is another entrance, where footsteps tap closer.

I don’t turn my head, but my heart pounds. Finally, the person walks around and stands in front of me.

My stomach drops. No, it doesn’t just drop, it disappears. As much as I didn’t want to see Luis, I expected to see him.

But it’s not Luis.

My blood runs cold, looking at a face I never expected to see again. A face I never wanted to see again.

My father.

Everything stops, like time is frozen or something. He stares at me; I stare at him.

His facial hair has never been so long, but otherwise he looks exactly the same. Like a Hispanic politician. He’s not really a politician; he’s the CEO of some big company that I never understood, and he has a lot of influence in a lot of places. Anyone with money does. And he has money, though I never knew where it went. Probably toward that shiny Corvette of his.

He looks older, bags under his eyes.

His skin has always been dark like mine. Put us next to each other and it’s clear I’m his daughter.

“Anna,” he finally says, hard and gravelly. He frowns, looks away, and after a moment, turns around.

I don’t even know how to describe this feeling. Like horror and heartbreak at once.

The last time he saw me, I was that little girl with unruly curls and pearls. Now I can’t even imagine what he sees. A street-scum teen with matted hair, ripped clothes, and yellowing bruises around her eye.

I’m not even sure how he recognized me.

But he did. It’s no wonder he doesn’t turn back around.

I squeeze my hands together and watch as my fingers twist, trying to quash the desire for him to look at me again. To see those brown eyes so much like my own. Because I can’t want that.

I always knew how he would feel to know where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing. He’d hate me more than he ever did before. He’d wish I were never born.

Was it his choice to put up those missing person posters? Does he regret looking for me? Is that why he’s ignoring me now?

My father leaves without another glance back. When the door opens, I see my mother in the hallway, waiting for him, waiting to find out if the girl in this room is the daughter she lost.

The daughter she never fought for.

Of course she didn’t come in herself. Ever the dutiful trophy wife. Even when things were at their worst, she never stood up for me.

A long time ago, she and I were close. She sang me songs to sleep. I told her everything. Good. Bad. But the worse things got between my father and me, the more she pulled away.

She doesn’t look toward me as the door closes, like she’s afraid of what will happen if it’s really me. What she’ll have to acknowledge.

I’m a ruined child now. Not even worth looking at.

I always knew that, so why do their reactions bother me? Why do I want them to want me so badly?

Maybe because I need someone to.

Anyone.

Luis used to call me his diamond in the rough, after he’d saved me from the street. He’d cup my face in his hands like I was something precious. But eventually
precious
started to mean
valuable
, something to be traded, sold, used.

And then thrown away once the value was gone. I wasn’t even valuable anymore.

I stare at the table in front of me and listen to their muted voices coming from the hallway. Guess I wanted out, and I guess this is one way to do it. I won’t have to return to the streets that ruined me. The man who loved and betrayed me.

But if it means going back to the parents I’m sure will hate me forever…

Back to the impossibly perfect movie life in the suburbs…

How can I, Anna Rodriguez, hooker, go back to any of that? I didn’t belong before, and now?

No, I’m better off staying in jail.

Sarah comes back into the room. I sit silently at the metal table.

“Do you know what will happen now?” she asks me in a near whisper.

I close my eyes and think. Of all the things that could happen, this wasn’t something that I ever thought possible.

I open my eyes and nod. “They’ll take me back to prison.”

Sarah looks confused. “Your parents are going to take you home.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

Is it strange that I’ve come to like her? I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t. But she’s the only one in the world who believes in me right now. I don’t want her to give up on me, not yet.

Sarah sighs, so light I’m sure she didn’t expect me to hear it. I look up. She blinks, her face controlled, calculating. Only her eyes betray the sympathy, the sadness. I’m not sure how I feel about her pity, but I guess I have more important things to worry about right now.

She’s going to send me home. Like I can even still call it that.

How can I go back? How can I walk down the halls I played in as a child? Sit at the table where my parents taught me to write my name?

I suppose I do have good memories there, but that almost makes it worse. It makes me look like even more of a screwup.

“I know there was probably a reason you left in the first place, Anna.” She talks slowly, measuring each word. “Is there any reason for you to believe you might, in any way, be in danger if you go back home?”

I pause, considering the question. “I guess if someone followed me from New York.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she says. She waits until I meet her eyes. “Your parents.”

I shake my head quickly, finally understanding. No. My mom never hurt me. And my father? The only scars he left were emotional. But every disappointing look will dig deeper and deeper. If he decides to tell me this is all the proof he needs to believe I’m not worth anything, why I’ll
never
be worth anything…

“I can help you, Anna. You just have to tell me.”

Let’s just say I’ve seen a lot worse than what my parents can deal out.

“I’m in no danger with them. They used to love me. They just didn’t understand me.”

She nods slowly.

I ask, “Will I ever see you?”

Her mouth opens a little. I guess she’s surprised; I never let on that I might actually like her.

“We can talk anytime. I work out of New York, but Westchester isn’t far, so I can come see you any time you need it. And if anything happens, you call me, okay?”

I nod, knowing that’s not enough to get me through this…but at least it’s something.

Chapter Three

I
t hasn’t really hit me what’s happening until the van pulls up to my old house. It’s big, white, with a full, manicured garden. The Japanese maple tree sitting there, right beside the stone steps that lead up to the wraparound porch, staring at me.

Everything is the same. Except me.

I stand there, looking at the house I fled three years ago.

I can’t move. I can’t make myself go in that house.

Sarah comes around the truck and stands beside me. “Ready?” she asks.

I shake my head. I will never be ready for this. Never.

She doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t move. We stand there for at least five minutes. Five really, really, really long minutes. I’m still not ready to move, no matter how long those minutes seem. I’ll stand here for eternity if I have to, if it can keep me from facing those memories. From facing my father. My mother.

But Sarah seems ready, so she begins to walk across the massive yard—through the grass. My mother won’t like it—she hates anyone touching her perfectly sculpted lawn—but I suppose that’s okay with me.

Sarah doesn’t ask me to join her, doesn’t plead with me to go inside. She leaves me behind, and that’s what makes me go. Did she know that even the smallest of nudges would have kept me rooted even deeper in my spot?

I walk very, very slowly toward the house. I feel defiant for walking through the grass. One small thing at a time. My mother doesn’t own me anymore.

Sarah reaches the top of the steps as I cross the garden. She knocks on the heavy door. I stop at the bottom of the steps, unwilling to go any farther.

Slowly, the door opens. I close my eyes and wait, but I hear nothing.

After a moment of silence, I can’t take it. I open my eyes to see Sarah and the face I’ve been dreading—and hoping for. My mother’s. Apparently she’s gathered enough courage to see me face-to-face.

Her hair is done in a tight bun, and her makeup successfully covers whatever flaws she has developed over the last three years. It’s obvious she spent a long time preparing herself to see her long-lost daughter up close, without a police station hallway between us. Because clearly looking put-together will make this easier.

I want to roll my eyes, shake my head, but in truth, I’m kind of glad to know she hasn’t changed that much. I didn’t ruin everything about her. Even if the thing that didn’t change was something I never liked.

She doesn’t move, just looks at me. But I cast my eyes to the ground, and she clears her throat.

“Why don’t you both come in?”

I look to Sarah, who nods and walks through the open door first.

We walk down a very familiar hallway and into our huge, bright white kitchen. I’m a stranger in this house.

I’m not the little girl who used to see how far she could slide on the hardwood dining room floor and hid in the linen closet when she was in trouble. I’m definitely not the little girl who sang Christmas songs with her mother while doing the dishes, even in the summer. That girl is gone.

I left her in Grand Central Terminal three years ago.

My father is waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the table. I take in a deep breath, sit across from him, and run my hands through my hair. After a pause, Sarah takes a seat beside me. She gives me a reassuring smile that I don’t return.

My mother jumps right into the role of perfect host, walking straight to the refrigerator. Her greatest skill was always ignoring the truth, pretending nothing bothered her, that everything was perfect. I don’t know if she agreed with how my father disciplined me, how harsh he was with even the smallest of transgressions. I think sometimes I blamed her more than I did him. But she was too good at ignoring the truth. I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s doing the same thing now.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks Sarah without a single glance at me. I want her to look at me. I don’t even know why. I should want to run and hide. I should want to hate her, want her to hate me.

But somehow, I don’t. I want her to care.

Less than five minutes in this house and I already feel like a lost thirteen-year-old again. Maybe I’m not as different as I thought I was.

I’m still a stranger in this house, but that’s not such a strange concept to Anna Rodriguez. I never belonged here.

I never understood my mother’s Bible verse plaques that cover the walls of each hallway, or her obsession with being the trophy wife of the year. I never understood my father and his love of money and prestige. Both of them so good at hiding their imperfections.

And the times I didn’t hide what they didn’t want to see? My father reminded me of the price of failure. Why my disguise had to be perfect.

They were either proud or they weren’t. You did what they wanted or you were a disgrace. Pretty sure I know which one I am now.

My mother sets two cups of tea onto the table with shaking hands. Sarah takes hers with thanks. I don’t move.

The silence is thick. I can’t even bring myself to look around the house. I don’t want to remember this place. I stare at the wooden table, hoping to zone out, but a mark on the side grabs my attention. A simple “A” carved into the corner where my mother and father wouldn’t notice it. I run my thumb over the carving and somehow feel like that girl again, desperate but still full of hope.

I take a deep breath and look up and my gaze crashes into my father’s. I freeze beneath his stare.

Does he see his daughter? A girl he once loved?

Or does he see a stranger?

One look at the missing poster they gave to the New York City police tells you the kind of girl I was back then. And one look at my mug shot would tell you who I am now.

You can put all the fancy clothes you want on me, but the ripped stockings they replace will still itch my legs. I look around the room for the first time. The kitchen is exactly the same, down to the mugs that hang next to the coffeepot that was brand-new when I was eleven. The cups are even in the same order.

The refrigerator is bare. At least they don’t have my report cards hanging there anymore. Not that my last year at school was worth hanging. Eighth grade wasn’t my best year. By then I was already sneaking out at night to go to parties and sleep with high schoolers. Remember when I said my parents would have disowned me even then? Surprise! Anna was never a good girl, not really. She was just a good pretender.

One day you get tired of pretending, and the fear of all your lies being exposed becomes suffocating.

I knew I could never be who my parents wanted me to be. That’s why I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Why would they want me back now?

“This is going to be hard on all of you,” Sarah says, breaking the silence. “This situation, it’s…difficult.”

My father grunts indignantly. Mom says nothing. The perfect, obedient wife.

Sarah doesn’t continue. She looks to my father.

“Difficult, that’s what you call it?” he says.

“What would you call it?” I ask him, sounding braver than I feel. I know what he’s getting at, and I’d much rather he say it out loud. He thinks I’m disgusting. A disgrace. He doesn’t respond though, so I continue as if he had. “You’re the one who brought me here. If you think I’m so horrible…”

“Anna, please,” Sarah says, but she’s too quiet. Too polite.

My father ignores her and stands. “I brought you back to save you from that evil place. An evil life.”

“Mr. Rodriguez, please,” Sarah says.

“It was my job as your father to…save you from the evil in your life. Even if it means bringing filth back into my home.” He straightens his shoulders. “That’s our burden to carry.”

I laugh a little under my breath. It’s bitter, even I can see that, but who can blame me? At least he said it. At least he was honest for the first time since I’ve known him.

“Mr. Rodriguez,” Sarah says, louder.

He tears his hard, angry eyes from me to look at her. They soften slightly. Appearances, after all.

“I was saying that this is hard on everyone,” Sarah says. “Including Anna. You must understand, this isn’t her fault.”

“Not her fault?” My father’s hands shake on top of the table. “She…she….”

“I fucked men for money.” Everything stops. The room is filled with a silence that’s suffocating. But I’m not sorry. Not sorry at all. “There, are you happy?” I lean back in my seat and wait for his response. I’m not afraid of my father anymore, and honestly, that feels pretty good.

“Anna!” Sarah says, shocked at my bluntness, at my language.

I look at her and give an apologetic smile, but it’s mixed with disdain. I guess I am a little sorry. Not for saying that to my father, but for saying it in front of Sarah. I have more respect for her than my whole family put together. Three years on the streets hasn’t changed my lack of respect for parents who gave me more rules than love.

It’s also the first time I admitted I am—was—a hooker out loud to Sarah. She knew, of course, but when I wouldn’t talk about the years I spent in New York, she gave up and focused on the now. Why couldn’t the lie have lasted a little longer?

My mother turns and then rests her head on the kitchen counter. To pray? To hide her tears? I don’t know.

Truth is, she needed to hear it.

They
all
needed to hear it.

Sarah looks at me now. “Anna, you’re back now. And your parents are going to do whatever they need to do to make this work for you. But they need to know why you came back. What is it that you want out of all of this?”

My life back.

“Freedom,” I say lightly.

“What do you mean?” Sarah says.

“I…” I’m a little scared to say it, to tell them the full truth. I glance at my father. “I left, before, because of how controlling you were. I couldn’t be who I wanted to be. I just want to have a little freedom.”

“How? How can I let you do anything?” my father says. I’ve hurt him, angered him. “How can you expect us to trust you?”

“I don’t need you to trust me. Just don’t expect me to be your perfect daughter. I was never that girl. I’m not going to church, I’m not going to be a straight-A student, I’m not going to dress up and go to prom or be homecoming queen like you always expected. I don’t know what I want to be, but I know I don’t want to be that.”

“So what is it? You want the freedom to ‘be yourself’? ‘Yourself’ is a prostitute,” my father says. He stands up. “I can’t let you be that anymore. I won’t!”

I stand up, too. “No! I didn’t just wake up one day and say, ‘Maybe I’ll suck cock for a living.’ That’s all you think I am? Just a hooker? You don’t realize I did it because of you. I left because of you!”

The words are out before I can take them back. God knows what my father would do if Sarah wasn’t here. Something to make me take it back.

But Sarah is here, and however angry he is, he can’t afford to let down his disguise in front of her.

Sarah stands and grabs me by the arm. Is she being tough? But her hand feels like a feather on my arm, so light it amazes me.

Still, I do what she wants and walk with her through the sliding glass door on the other side of the kitchen and out onto the back porch.

I know she brought me out here to talk, but I find myself looking at a doghouse at the back of the yard, a water bowl beside it. We never had a dog.

“Anna, I need you to calm down. It’s hard for them to adjust to this, too.”

“Well, at least they get to make their own choices,” I say, still looking at the doghouse. There’s no grass around it, just mud. “If they choose to have their hooker daughter back, they better be ready to face the truth.”

“Listen,” she says. “I agree that they’ll have to accept the truth. They’ll have to come to grips with it. But that doesn’t mean you have to throw it in their faces.”

I turn back to her. My only friend.

How pathetic.

What would Luis think of me now? At least he’d tell me to stand up for myself.

“Yeah, right,” I say.

“Just stop for a moment and think. I want you to try to imagine how they feel.”

I shake my head, not at her, at myself. Why does no one think about how
I’m
feeling?

“What if I don’t want to think about what they’re feeling?”

I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me. Sometimes it’s like she looks straight into my brain, or soul, or something.

“Why not?” she says in a near whisper.

“Why would I want to be okay with my parents thinking I’m trash? Disgusting? Whatever else they think?”

“You’re thinking about this the wrong way. Yes, they think little of what you did while you were away, but that’s not what I mean. You were their baby, their little girl, and you left them. Ran away. Don’t you think that hurt them?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“As a parent, all you want to do is take care of your children, protect them. And they couldn’t.” Her voice gets softer, and for the first time I wonder if she has—or had—a kid of her own. “Now, in some ways they feel like it’s too late. It’s hard for them. Not just about you being a prostitute, but about all of it. They feel like more of a failure at being parents than they think you’re a failure of a daughter. I guarantee it.”

I stare at her, unblinking. I don’t know what to think about what she said. This is all so much. Now I’m supposed to feel sorry for my parents?

I turn away from her and cross my arms. “I didn’t ask to be here. No one gave me a choice. It’s not fair to put all of this on me.” Tears well in my eyes, and I feel like a child. I hate feeling like a child.

Sarah sighs. “Why don’t you hang out here for a while? Try to calm down a bit. Mentally prepare yourself. The truth is this will all go a lot smoother if you and your parents learn to respect each other.”

Yeah, like I can just make myself respect them.

Sarah walks through the door and leaves me alone in the backyard.

I look back out to the doghouse, which stands almost one hundred feet away from where I am on the porch. But I haven’t seen a dog yet, so I take a few slow steps toward it. I still see nothing; maybe it’s not even out here right now. Maybe they don’t even have a dog anymore. They might have killed it the way they killed me. Three years is a long time to live with people like them.