Oleander Chapter Three

The next few weeks after Rawii's remembrance, the girls slowly drifted back into their regular routines, although many new girls did form small bonds with each other. Zelda took it upon herself to take the youngest girl -a small thing from Bulgaria, of all places- under her wing. She helped the girl, Roanna, learn when to act and when to be real, when to play the child and when to play like a big girl. She made sure that any scratches or bites were cleaned up with hydrogen peroxide, and that Roanna was keeping track of her own money, including hiding it in a safe place. Roanna was thirteen, or close to it, and quickly became the sweetheart of the whole brothel. Timid but hopeful, the older girls were glad to see her sweet face still smiling a little at the end of the night.1


When she wasn't with Roanna, Zelda was doubling her efforts. She had started to play up her full-blooded African heritage, using bright colors when she needed to look fierce and lively, and using darks and animal prints when she wanted to look rich and exotic. She could draw in almost as many men as Heras could from the streets, when she tried. Twisting her hips and grinding her leg against the door frame, her body beckoned customers inside to see the other 'wares.' One night, as she teased passerby in the moonlight, a young man came striding in the bordello in a very businesslike manner, holding a small leather bag. Curious, Zelda left her post and followed him to Madame's desk. Madame regarded the man suspiciously, he looked too much like a charity worker or bleeding-heart American for her comfort. 2

"I'd like what you have to offer," he said, smirking behind his glasses. Madame Tirani was right, this one was American.3

"No officials," she responded, waving her hands.4

"Oh no," said the young man, "I'm just here for what all these other fellas are here for. Pussy."5

Zelda wrinkled her nose. She never had liked Americans.6

Madame shrugged and held out her hand. "Who do you want? Nevermind, take her." She pointed at Zelda. "150."
"150! Are you kidding? 90."
"100." Said Madame, looked peeved.
The man handed over some paper money and turned towards Zelda.
"What's your name, honey?" he asked, apraising her with lewd looks.
Madame pushed Zelda against the man's body. "Does it matter what her name is? Go, girl." She shoved her towards the stairs.7

Zelda took the man's hand and put it on the small of her back, so he felt like he was leading her up the stairs, and not the other way around. She opened one of the bedrooms and, when he was inside, laid slowly on her back on the floor, feet far apart, her skirt riding up.
"How do you want to give it, mister?" She purred, stretching like a panther. "You want it rough? I'm pretty easy if you want it like that-"
"No," he said, cutting her off. "I want you to answer some questions for me, pussycat."
Perplexed, Zelda rolled into a kneeling position, and watched him warily as he took in the room and sat on the rickety bed.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Nice place you got here," he said sarcastically. Zelda scowled. Who the hell did he think he was, and what was he up to?
"I'm a journalist, see," he pulled out a pad of yellow paper from his bag, "and I'm on a special mission to learn about these... places," he waved his hand vaguely about the room.
"Anyway, I don't have too much time. What's your name?"
"I don't think so, buddy. What's your deal? You want... to ask me questions?"
"I'm a journalist. That means I write for newspapers. Ever read a newspaper, pumpkin?"
Zelda frowned. "Yeah. I have."
"Okay," he started, "how long have you been here?"
"You're telling me that you paid one hundred American dollars. To interview me."
He nodded, showing her his pad of paper and pen.
"I don't believe you."
"Doesn't matter if you do, sweet cheeks. I'm going to write down what you tell me, and doesn't this seem a helluva lot better than getting knocked up?"
Zelda shrugged, concedeing.
"Let's start over." He flipped the first page on his paper pad. "How long have you been here?"
"An eternity," she said wryly.
He frowned.
"Fine, I've been here about two years, maybe more."
He jotted that down.
"Why are you still here? It's pretty obvious what this place is from your, uh, dancing outside. Why hasn't anyone shut this down? Isn't it illegal here?"
"Well, not exactly, not in the city. There are fines, you know, but whatever. I'm staying here to pay off... a debt I owe. You can't really run away here. You're stuck." She illustrated with her hands. "Bam. Lock and key."
"I see." The man jotted down some more information.
"My name is Wesley, by the way, if that makes you relax anymore to my interrogating. I could use some long and lengthy answers, you see. Loosen up, will you? What about these- ever gotten pregnant? Didya have to kill the baby?"8

Zelda was disgusted by his blunt attitude. "No, no, and I don't give a damn about what your name is." She crossed her arms. "We use contraceptives here, we aren't ignorant country sluts. We get hormone injections when we can. There are no babies, and whatever god is in charge of that is merciful. Happy?"9

Wesley's pen sped across his paper.10

"Okay. Tell me, what exactly do you do everyday, kitten?"
"I give up sex to men. Don't be an ass, it's pretty damn obvious. And don't call me kitten. We work at night, we sleep during the day."
"Testy testy!" teased Wesley, transcribing. His pen scratch across his paper. "So, uh, how many girls are there here? Can I get an age range? Where do they come from?"
Zelda counted up girls in her head. Her eyebrows knotted, forming tiger-like lines across her brow. Wesley couldn't help but notice how she sat, too comfortable with her body, kneeling with her back end slighly higher than her knees.
"Maybe sixteen. From 12 or 13 up to 22, but she's old. She's got nowhere left to go. I think I'm 16 or 17, but don't tell anybody when you leave. Uhh, well, the girls come from everywhere. Most from around here, a few from India, one from Zimbabwe, one from France, and two from Afghanistan. I don't know about the others. I think one girl is American."
"Where are you from then, sweetheart?"
"I don't know. A tiny village somewhere, it was really hot and dusty." Zelda saw Wesley's eyes trace the curve of her breasts over the blue and orange sarong around her torso.
"Anything else you need to know?" Zelda was starting to feel happy about sharing her story.
"Yeah, sum up living in a brothel, and what you're going to do when you get out of here. Change the world? Run away? Probably not get married, huh." He laughed, eyeing the stained bed pillows and sheets.
Zelda scowled. "Living here can be a literal hell. Men are pigs. What else is there to tell? When I get out, I'm going to castrate my good for nothing step-father that sold me."
"Go easy. What about the fat lady downstairs? Is she a slave driver? What does she do to you chicks?"
"She's just a boss. She owns us. She takes money. That's all you need to know."
"I see. Thank you for your time," said Wesley, smiling. He finished writing and put away his pad of paper. Zelda expected to see him get up to go, but he started unbuttoning his jacket front. The girl was confused and tried to show him the door. He pushed her rougly towards teh wall.11

"Fuck you," whispered Zelda with realization, laying back down on the floor. He didn't hear her.12

"I have to, get the whole, story, you see," he told her, his breath now coming in spurts from his excitment. "That's good, that's good... good journalism. Damn, but you are the hottest piece of pussy I've ever interviewed." His shoes and shirt came off. "And that includes Miss Georgia."
Zelda clenched her fists and closed her eyes.13


The next Monday's Weekly World Exposition read14

(this will all be in italics, or whatever I'm supposed to use)15

SOLARUS CITY, INDEPENDATE STATES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN- Wesley Shetmon, Staff Writer.
"In the hot and grimy confines of the city, a sturdy brick building squats in the redlight district on the south bank. At its doorway stands a young black woman, clad in scantily revealing sarongs and scarves, her eyes downcast and hopeless. Last week, I had the oppurtunity to talk to her in a stolen moment, when she snuck away from the clutches of her employer, a fat man with long black hair who ran her brothel like a prison. She told me her heartbreaking story, how she was raped almost every night, how she was the oldest girl there and barely made enough money to cover contraceptive costs. Last year alone, she said, she had had two abortions. She had rubbed her stomach tearfully, and continued, telling me how she was forced to stand at the doorway and lure men in, and was beaten when they walked away uninterested. Her body was horrific up close, bruised and too thin, hardly anything appealing.
The Solarus City government is trying its best to crack down on these illegal whore-houses, to save girls from becoming the hopeless wretch the young woman I interviewed was. Hopefully, more of these bordellos and brothels will come to light, and the city will be able to clean up its reputation.
This is part two of a four part series. Next week, I will be reporting from Bangledesh.16

(I need to figure out how I want that magazine article to go... hmm)17

Clarissa dropped the magazine. 'Poor woman,' she thought sympathetically. She toed in under her bed to join the stacks of other periodicals she collected. Collette snored softly from her bunk nearby, Candy rolling over restlessly from the heat. A travel sized digital clock read 9:00 am, and sunlight streamed through the window of the crash room turned bedroom. Clarissa noticed that Zelda's bed was still empty, even though she had finished with her last customer hours ago. Unhappy, and unable to sleep, Clarissa left her bed and tip-toed out the door. The hallway was much cooler, and at least two girls had pulled blankets and pillows out into it to sleep. Clarissa nudged past them and headed towards the stairs to the second floor.
"Hey, wait," whispered a voice.
Clarissa whipped her head around. "Who is it?"
"It's me, Candy," said the voice meekly. "You woke me up, and I thought you might need some company."
Clarissa shrugged. "I was just looking for Zelda."
"She's still gone? Gah, it's been hours."
Clarissa turned back to the stairs and started down.
"Wait, I'm coming!" Candy nudged past a pile of legs and pillows and followed Clarissa. 18

The second floor was dark, even though it was daytime outside. Clarissa stood very still and tried to listen for any sound of Zelda, but was unable to because of Candy's troll like footsteps on the stairs.
"Candy..." moaned Clarissa. "Could you be a little more quiet, please?"
"Oh, yeah. Sure, sure." Candy walked as softly as she could to stand beside Clarissa.
The corridor was silent, and stuffy. Like always, it smelled of sweat and cologne and something sickly-sweet, but now it was a stale kind of smell. The girls didn't see any sign of anything unusual, and all the doors were shut. No Zelda. Candy sighed.
"You check on this side, and I'll take the right side of the hallway. Zelda will be in here somewhere, right?"
Clarissa nodded, and moved to the door on her left. Inside, the room was a plain, sparsely decorated bedroom. A queen sized bed, mats and rugs on the floor, window covered by thick, heavy curtains, silk pillows strown about, a wooden chest in the corner. Without looking, Clarissa already knew the contents of the chest- a few boxes of condoms or contraceptive rings; maybe some play handcuffs; dirty, oily bottles of lubricants; a drawer on the inside to hide tips. The top was flat, a place for men to put their clothes, watches, hats, and beer bottles.
The next room was the same, and the next. The fourth room was the pretend office, a small space with a broad wooden desk, a shelf or two with used encyclopedias, even a large, rolling office chair. Clarissa thought the whole getup pretty stupid.
The fifth room was a locked bedroom, the sometimes-virgin closet. Clarissa knocked lightly, but there was no answer from within, and she doubted that Zelda would have chosen to hide in there. She shivered a bit, trying not to remember her own arrival, and moved to the last room on her side of the hall. A bathroom. She stepped in, she hadn't ever been asked to use the bathroom before. It had a big claw foot tub, room for two; a toilet that she suspected wasn't meant to be flushed; a sink in a laminate counter, and again, a wooden chest in the corner. Madame was nothing, if not creative. The bathroom tile was cold, and she stood for a moment, cooling her feet.
"Psst!" hissed Candy. "Come're!"
Clarissa poked her head out of the bathroom. "What is it? Zelda?"
"No, even better." Candy knelt by the opposite door, a bobby pin in her hand. She was prodding the door knob with it.
"What are you doing?" asked Clarissa angrily. "That's Oleander's room."
"Yeah, I know. Exactly. Aren't you a little curious to look inside?"
Clarissa was, but she didn't want a part of Candy's spying.
"Come on, she'll know we've been here. Let's find Zelda and go to bed already."
Candy threw Clarissa a mean look over her shoulder, blonde hair flying.
"How boring are you? Are you afraid, or something? Afraid of the Big O?" Candy giggled at her joke. The other girl crossed her arms.
"Come on," said Candy. "I promise I won't let you get in trouble. It's not fair that Oleander keeps secrets, anyway. She makes the most money out of anyone here, I bet. If I had a way to make money faster and to pay off MY debt, I'd tell the whole frickin' world. Why should Oleander make us stay here longer if she knows an easy way to make quick cash, right? She's got some kind of secret, and I bet it's in here." She jiggled the bobby pin, and heard a satisfying click from the doorknob.
"See? No alarms, no dogs, no guards, Clarissa. You don't even have to come in."
The blonde girl gently pushed the door open a couple of inches; the room was dark.
"See?" she laughed.
"Okay, okay. Fine." Clarissa moved closer as Candy swung the door wide open. Right before the door was totally open, Clarissa saw a fishing line dangling out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't have a chance to comment, because suddenly, a downpour of shiny, metal bells crashed to the floor in a wave like thunder in the quiet building. The bells rolled noisly on the wooden floor.
"Oh shit." Candy jumped to her feet and ran to the stairs, Clarissa close behind. 19

*sigh* still working on this one...