Page 133 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“He said—” she choked on the words. “He said you were working for him now. That you were with those men because ofme. That you went out to talk to the girls on Garrison to find me because I didn’t take your call on my birthday, and he caught you in a sweep and made you his bitch. He says he’s making you prostitute yourself to disgusting, cruel mafia guys because of me and you go home crying and you’re flunking out?—”

“Mary, he’s messing with you.”

“But I saw the picture of you looking miserable in a butt-ugly skin-tight dress you’d never ever wear with a hairdo done like a sad clown 1980s news anchor at some bar. He says that’s how you dress now?—”

“And you believed him? That I dress like a sad clown 1980s news anchor now? You have insulted my fashion choices in the past, but seriously?”

She sniffles and laughs through her tears. “But the picture—I know what I saw.”

I shift my shoulders around, trying to ease the pressure. One of the things they don’t tell you about wearing handcuffs behind your back long-term is that it’s really painful for your shoulders. And my injured wrist is throbbing like crazy.

“Those handcuffs look tight,” she says.

“Never mind about that,” I say. “What happened with you?”

She tips her head against the wall. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your call.”

“What happened? It was your birthday.”

“I know. I was so drunk and so baked, and I couldn’t deal with talking to you like that. But then I felt like an asshole the day after. I couldn’t call because I knew I was making bad decisions. I promised myself I’d straighten up and call you with good news for once, and then one day turned into the next. I was such a shit!”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I have everything to apologize for. I really wanted to have cleaned up my act the next time I talked to you. And I was starting to—ten days I was sober—and then I was at this shelter in NewHaven, and this guy showed up. He was in uniform, telling me that you’re in trouble, and then he tricks me and brings me here. I’m so sorry, Edie. And you ended up having to do all this stuff for me...”

“There’s no amount of stuff that I could do that would repay you for the way you saved my life growing up. You gave up your childhood to care for me. You gave up everything?—”

“That is so not true,” Mary says.

“It is true. I survived because of you,” I say. “You saved me. You took every kind of bullet for me.”

“Edie, no?—”

“You made everything better, and not one day goes by that I’m not aware of the sacrifices you made. I’ll never repay that debt. Not ever.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Saving you saved me.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Fuck off if you don’t believe me,” Mary says. “Taking care of you kept me from going off the deep end. If there’s any debt to pay, it’s the one I owe you.”

“Disagree,” I say.

“Disagree with your disagree.”

“Disagree with your disagree with my disagree.” We go on like this for a while. It’s an old game.

She holds up a dingy plastic water bottle. “You thirsty? I could pour this in your mouth. It’s drinkable. He gets it out of the sink over there.”

“As long as you don’t dribble it on me,” I say. “Sad clown doesn’t like water on her.”

She snorts and carefully pours it into my mouth. “That guy’s a real prick.”

I wipe my mouth on my shoulder the best I can.

“There are some bits of truth to what he told you. I did golooking for you, and he did scoop me up and make me sit with some mafia men wearing that horrible dress. But I didn’t have sex with somebody gross, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You promise?”