Almost

Almost

By: Alice Parker

She has two jobs. She has two jobs and one project. One goal, she’s working on. And the longer she works the less likely she will ever achieve that goal.  She won’t tell you about both jobs. She’ll tell you about one job and the project. She’ll tell you about the job that Uncle Sam knows about. The one with the name tag and the paycheck twice a month that doesn’t pay the bills but almost. She won’t tell you about the other job that covers “almost” unless she thinks you can help her, - and even then, it’s never said.

Before anything is broached she needs to know a few things. Is he clean? She’s gotta know. What about the others he’s been with, were they clean? Does he have a condom? No condom, no dice. If it breaks, he is required to buy the backup plan. A few other things: stay emotionless. This is not a romantic relationship. That means no fidelity, no jealousy. It goes both ways. Does he understand? Good.

            Charity girl. It ain’t trickin’ if you got it, and she’s got it. She works late into the night because that’s what Uncle Sam requires, and the alarm clock rings and she doesn’t hear in time to catch the bus. She needs a ride across town. Call after call and her only option is one who pays. This is really inconvenient for him. That’s what he says anyway. The negotiating starts right off the bat; angling for a higher payout for a trip across town. Offer a ride back to get even more. This time it’s something they’ve never done, but he’s wanted to try it. A small price to pay for this favor she’s asked of him. A ride for a ride, and she’s in a bind, or about to be anyway, if he gets what he wants.

There’s twenty cents in her bank account, but the bills are paid. She’s got a boy at home and he never starves. She looks at the cupboard and there are only two noodle packets left. She knows there will be a week when no one takes her out. She’s saving them for an emergency. She goes through the list for a name she hasn’t hit up in a while. Someone hurting for what she has to offer in exchange for a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, and a gallon of milk. Never money. She’s not a whore, she’s a charity girl. She doesn’t need money; she has a job that pays the bills. Almost all, but not the grocer. Company for food or she starves. She compartmentalizes. No emotion, just favors. Clinical, sexual favors without the sensuality.

            It’s really not all that bad. An orgasm for a meal, and sometimes she gets to keep her clothes on. Some want her to enjoy it too, but she feels dirtier somehow if she climaxes. It never occurs to her to fake one. She tells them honestly she doesn’t want to come. A hooker with a heart of gold. Oh, she’ll indulge every now and then. She lets them take her out, enjoy her company; she really is a sparkling conversationalist, and in exchange, she comes and goes with enough leftovers to last for two days if she rations. That’s two more days she doesn’t have to call. Make ‘em wait a little longer. Make them negotiate a little less even though they know she can’t say no.

            She doesn’t know how she got where she is, and she doesn’t intend to stay although she knows no one does. She has a project, a plan. She wants to marry; a man and a new financial plan. One man to replace many. Not many, although she never tells. She’ll never tell. A lady never tells. The longer she works the more dangerous it gets. She’s gotta stay clean to achieve the goal. A nice man, family; a home, security. She wants it all.

A hooker with a heart of gold, but she’s not a hooker. She never thinks of herself as a hooker. Never thinks of herself as a prostitute. All she’s saying is that sometimes she needs help paying for food after tuition and rent. Sometimes she needs a little help and she can’t ask her folks. Not again. Not this time. A mother’s love only goes so far. Whether that’s true or not, she’s not going to admit she needs help again. She’s got it under control. She just needs to get by until she falls in love and everything will be all right.

            She goes to the store even though she’s indisposed so for the next four days she is out of commission. She’s cramping real bad and after last night she’s earned a little treat. Trust her, she’s earned this. She browses the aisles, looking for something sweet that doesn’t cost too much that she can take home and share. Five dollars for a carton of ice cream; she laughs and reflexively lists all the things she could be doing with those five dollars. Five dollars could buy a hamburger, two bus passes, or eight cans of soup with too much salt. It’s five dollars that she doesn’t have to spend on sweets but she’s going to share, so it’s for the boy too, so it’s okay. It’s not even really for her anymore. The boy at home never starves.

            Broad shoulders and blonde hair turn her way and she angles her body cause she know what she has is worth looking at. She flashes a smile and then modestly averts her gaze with a blush although the way she is acting and dressing screams anything but innocence. He flashes a more conservative smile and he’s hers. She’s got him and she knows it. She sidles up and initiates a conversation, casual and flirty and precise. She’s deadly with her precision. It’s a gift. She just knows. Sometimes they’re ugly, sometimes they’re cute but the cute ones are harder and the ugly ones are just grateful.

            She starts with something casual. A lame joke but she’s pretty so he laughs. Then she distances herself so she’s not coming on too strong; creates a little tension so he’s insecure and he reengages. He shoots her another sidelong glance and she bemoans, mostly to herself, but he hears, that she’ll never be able to finish the ice cream she’s holding by herself. She puts it back and pouts at the selection again. He moves closer and she does too, closer to the vanilla, and muses that if she bought the vanilla she could have root beer floats or orange soda floats. He exclaims, almost to himself but he’s not as skilled as she is, that orange floats are the best.

Sugar is a commodity both parties are after. Gimme some sugar, sugar. She hasn’t had sugar in such a long time; she only does as much as she needs to survive. The ladies in the church only know so much so they can’t help enough to put a stop to it. She’d do anything for a little ice cream. Just this once. It’s her birthday. Another year older and another year closer to achieving her goal. She flashes him a smile, and they’re making plans to meet up later. He gets her number, but doesn’t call for a week. She’s not worried; they like to take their time. Wait longer than the three day rule ‘cause they play it cool. He calls and stops by, and they chat over ice cream floats.

Things are going well. She has a good feeling about this one. She bought this time after all. He moves to leave, and goes in for a kiss. She tenses, but calms herself because it’s just a kiss after all. Plenty of people kiss on the first date nowadays. It’s all right. And then it’s not just a kiss. His hands wander, and she tenses again; it’s not just a kiss and she cracks inside. He could have been the one, but his taken before he received so when he asks her to dinner she says yes. She’s going to make him pay for those liberties. He could have been the one, but he’s just another one. It helps to think of him as the prostitute this time. She bought and he was offering to pay her back, and that makes it hurt less but it doesn’t erase all the cracks. Bastard. But it’s not so bad. Besides, she says, it happens all the time. It’s no different from any other dating experience. Dinner and a movie and maybe a goodnight kiss. Only "dinner and a movie" is replaced with shopping and more than a kiss.

She dies a little inside every time she needs a little more “almost” to keep the physical alive. Maybe she’ll meet The One she’s been waiting for at church. By the time he realizes she’s The One maybe he won’t notice that she’s almost dead inside from keeping herself alive. Maybe he won’t notice she is almost a corpse. She’s got it under control, almost. And the “almost” is covered for a little while longer. Just until she achieves her goal, completes her project. It’ll happen. It’s gotta happen. She’s almost there. Almost.