Girl? Relative? She can't be out on her own, can she?

What is up with me? Why do I care who she lives with?

s.h.i.t, I really am bored, aren't I?

Bored and bleeding. Sounds like the name of a book: Bored and Bleeding in Vegas.

Okay, Alex, you'd better get home soon, or I'll turn into a bored, bleeding, babbling loon.

Early Evening And Alex still isn't back yet.

Where the h.e.l.l is she? I call her cell, but the canned voice that answers informs me that she's unavailable, meaning she's out of prepaid minutes.

Guess I'll have to be patient.

I fold the clothes, put them away. Treat myself to a Lean Pocket. Turn on the aged TV.

Half listen to Jeopardy! while I go to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Alex, coming up the sidewalk.

I don't see her, but I do see heroin chic going into her room, about six paces in front of a guy.

He's older. Balding. Her father?

My guess is no way, or if he does happen to be her father, it's a definite case of incest.

Is Every Girl In this nasty, stinking city turning tricks? Young, old, at least as old as you can get without dying of some incurable s.e.x disease? I swear, I will never do that, never sink as low as my mother. My pretty heroin chic neighbor.

My beautiful best friend, who I love so much it hurts.

And I swear, as soon as I can, I will find a way out of this place. Will Alex come?

Or have I lost her to the night?

She Stumbles In Around nine. Worry turns to relief. Then I take another look at her-hair mussed, makeup smeared, clothes wrinkled and b.u.t.tons undone.

Relief explodes into anger.

"Where the f.u.c.k have you been?" I sound like a crow.

"You scared me s.h.i.tless."

Alex remains placid. Been taking care of business is all. Someone's got to.

It's more than a little bit obvious that the day's "business" included more than stripping. The smell of sweat and s.e.x hangs in the air, a storm cloud.

"Alex, what have you done?

You're not turning tricks like some hooker, are you?"

A strong memory of Iris stumbling in after dark, perfumed in s.e.x, surfaces, swims into blurry view.

G.o.dd.a.m.n it, no! "Please, Alex, tell me you didn't."

But she doesn't deny. Won't say I'm wrong. It's okay, Gin.... It's not so bad, really.

I mean, the s.e.x isn't good, but it's fast, and all things considered, the pay scale isn't bad. Fifty bucks for under ten minutes' work?

Three hundred an hour!

s.h.i.t, girl, that's attorney wages, and you don't have to go to school- "Stop it! We don't need money that bad. I'll get off the rag and we'll go back to stripping.

"Lydia can have her cut. We were doing okay like that, weren't we?" We were, d.a.m.n it!

Finally Alex deflates just a little. Sit down. Please?

There's stuff you don't know.

Like how she knew all about Lydia's escort service before we ever got here. Like how Lydia never invited her to "come stay any time." Like how when we talked about running away, Alex called Lydia and set the whole thing up. Like how Lydia promised to keep her mouth shut, as long as Alex went to work for her. Like how Alex's not-stepdad did call, looking for her. But Lydia denied knowing a thing.

So Alex owes her, big-time.

Alex Goes to Shower But not before promising again, It will just be for a little while-just until we can save up enough to blow this freaking city.

I love you, Gin. Stay cool.

I love her, too. And I can't stand the idea of her being with a bunch of stinking, nasty men. If I could bring myself to do it too, we could save up even faster. But I don't think I could. I'd be no better than Iris. Would I? Did she ever think, Just for a little while?

The room still wears evidence of Alex's recent encounters.

I go to open the window. Notice Ms. Heroin going through her door again. Followed by another guy. Not her father, either.

A Poem by Cody Bennett

Door

I once heard an old saying about things going all to h.e.l.l.

It went, "When a door closes, somewhere a window opens."

If so, when a train slams into a Volkswagen, does a BMW materialize down the tracks? If you remember your undies in your dreams, do you wake up naked? Okay, maybe the logic fails.

But hey, let's face it. Logic doesn't really apply to old sayings, either. Does it?

Cody

Logic?

What's that? If it ever applied to my life, my choices, those years (days?) have vanished from memory.

I am spinning. Spiraling. Clinging to the eye of the tornado. If I give up, give in to the mad desire to just let go, I know I'll die. But death, close by, might be preferable to this dizzying ride. How did I get here? How did things go so wrong, so fast? Left? Right? Whichever way I choose, one thing is very clear- I can never turn around, never go back. Twisters only move in one direction-full speed ahead.

Like Dorothy Gale, I ran from safe haven, searching, despite the storm gathering strength behind me.

The Chiefs Kick Off In about an hour. Still time to place a small bet. I log on, check out the point spread. Awesome! So, okay, maybe a little larger bet. I can pay Lydia back later. f.u.c.kers better step up to the line of scrimmage and play fricking ball!

Guess I'll call Ronnie, if only to hear her voice. My cell phone blinks- did she call me? But when I retrieve the message, it's Misty, grating my ear.

Hey, cutie. How about a double date? And can you bring smoke?

Misty is the s.k.a.n.k who hooked me up with Lydia. Okay, maybe I shouldn't look at it that way.

She did me a favor, or at least we both thought so at the time.

Her boyfriend plays poker with Vince. One night he was way too buzzed to drive home, so he called Misty. I had pretty much lost my shirt that night, and when she showed up, I was looking miserable. Chris still had a sleeve or two left of his shirt, and while he was busy losing those, I invited Misty to smoke some bud. We got to talking, and the more we smoked, the more I confessed, which made her open up to me. Yeah, money sucks, but you can't live without it. I'm paying my way through UNLV with a little s.e.x-on-the-side.

She let that sink in, and it took too long. You know ... escorting?

"You mean you get paid to ...?"

I studied her closer. She looked like a college student. Nothing more. Certainly not a wh.o.r.e, especially not the type I see hawking their wares from the sidewalk.

Yeah, and it's not so bad, really.

I mean, if you're going to have s.e.x anyway, why not earn a little extra cash, you know? She took a big drag.

Held it a long while, as if it helped her think. I won't trick forever.

I had never once in my life thought about having s.e.x for money. Could finding enough cash to help myself out of debt be that easy? I asked for details, and when she mentioned working for an established escort service, it almost sounded legit.

"Do any guys work there?" My stupid little brain glommed onto a picture of lonely middle-aged women paying for an evening of companionship, plus some fun.

A coupleM, she said. Lydia calls them her "boys," but I think they're, like, in their twenties. Why?

She winked. You interested in a little paid action? I can introduce you to Lydia if you want.

"Let me think about it." Wow.

s.e.x for money. I still hadn't considered the possibility of it meaning having s.e.x with men when I asked, "Oh. One thing.

How much does it pay, anyway?"

Her Answer Surprised me. Thrilled me. Who knew you could make a hundred bucks an hour (after the service's cut) for s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g? I thought it over for at least a day, and even made a written list of pros and cons.

Pro: Work one hour, get paid more than eight hours at GameStop.

Con: What if the old babe was really disgusting and wanted, like, oral?

Pro: My insurance had already Lapsed, and I had no way to pay it.

Con: If Mom ever even suspected, she'd flip her fricking wig!

Pro: If Mom ever found out about the credit cards, she'd lose all faith in me.

Con: People who have s.e.x for money might end up with some awful disease.

Pro: With enough cash to place the right bet, I could win enough to fix everything.

Con: What if having s.e.x on the side meant I couldn't get it up for Ronnie?

Pro: I didn't have many choices left.

Result: I picked up the phone, called Misty.

She Introduced Me To Lydia, who outlined the rules and regulations, not knowing I still had women in mind. When I finally mentioned that, her smile slipped a little. But only for a second.

You're envisioning American Gigolo. Sorry, but that kind of escorting is rare. Something you see in the movies, really. Generally, when I get calls for young men, it's older men doing the calling.

You ever been with a man?

"A man? No!" What? Did I look gay or something? s.e.x with men?

Not even a hundred bucks an hour was worth that. At least, not then.

"So every one of your 'boys' is gay?

Because I'm, like, totally straight."

Lydia shrugged. No one is one hundred percent hetero. We are all bi to varying degrees. It all comes down to necessity. Turned out the statement was accurate. Took about a week to see things her way.

Sometimes Misty and I Do have "two-fers" with confused guys. But not today. "Sorry," I tell her.

"I've already got a client lined up."