Tonight, she was on the corner to get more money. This time, it was to
get some food. Ten dollars was eaten up and spent on the necessities.
Unlike the other prostitutes milling around about a block apart under other streetlights,
Evie had dressed for warmth. It was October, and she didn’t care that
she was probably missing good opportunities not being dressed like a skank.
Instead, she wore a worn leather black waist jacket with a gray jogging
sweater, a black leather skirt with thick gray stockings, some black leg warmers,
and her regular black thigh-high boots.
Now she needed another hundred to get her through the week.
Only five minutes passed before a brand-new silver BMW pulled up
with dark tinted windows. Evie didn’t move from her post until she saw the
passenger window crack only a little, and a twenty-dollar bill slithered out.
The twenty was quickly snatched back inside when she walked up to
the car.
Evie sucked on her teeth in annoyance. After about ten seconds,
someone mu#ed from inside, “Are you Enid?”
Evie didn’t care what people called her; if it concerned getting some
money tonight to help with her situation, she would be anything anyone
wanted.
Although Evie was familiar with who Enid was. The skank was a voluptuous,
young prostitute with a hard addiction to smoking, two corners over,
who even Evie heard was touted to have the best hand jobs in Detroit. Evie
had taken some lessons from Enid a summer ago for two packs of cigarettes.
But Evie wasn’t a referral service, and she could fake it until she made it.
This hoity woman was going to ask for her I.D. Right now, Evie was determined
to lie and get money from whoever was behind the car’s dark
windows.
“I could be,” she said with incredible arrogance. “Who’s buying?”
“How much for “ve minutes?”
She didn’t know what she could do in five minutes or what this john
wanted her to do, but she tossed out her usual fee.
“Twenty.”
After another ten-second wait, the rear door opened in a suggestive
motion for her to sit inside.
Warily Evie got in and closed the door. A twenty was jammed in her
hand as her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the car. Even though the lights
were low, she could tell this was a woman, and her directive changed. “I
don’t do women,” she immediately said. “You must—“
“I am not here for that!” the woman said disgustingly.
It wasn’t uncommon for a woman to be a pimp or a john. Evie heard
they were more mean, controlling, and greedy than the men. Maybe lying
about her identity hadn’t been the best idea.
The light came on in the back of the car, and Evie got her chance to look
at the woman. She was in her mid-thirties, well dressed, and by the expensive
jewelry and clothes, she was well taken care of. Looking like she had just
come out of a salon; she was a very nice-looking black woman that didn’t
seem to look as if she would be so evil.
Just as Evie was looking her over, the woman was doing the same to Evie.
“I don’t want a pimp either,” Evie said, grabbing the door’s handle.
The locks on the doors were activated.
“I don’t want that either,” the woman said again in disgust. “I want you
to work for me. I want you to seduce a man who has stolen my husband’s
job.”