Angel in the Dark

Violett wanted to throw it back in this bitch's face and say 'Apart from your maid, how many jobs do you create?' or 'On the average, how many years would each of us have to work before we earned even half as much as a college professor?' or if she were really brave 'Do you know how many sweaty slobs I've had to lie under to pay the tuition to you elitist assholes?'. But she knew that the elitist assholes were adept at tamping down any insurrection against their world view. They were holding her career hostage and as retaliation this vindictive bitch would happily derail her graduation with an 'F'.

She wisely rendered on to Caesar that which was Caesar's. "People in socialist countries live much better than people in capitalist countries because the government distributes to the working class, the real wealth creators, more money." It was blunt, insipid, and almost made her wretch to utter but she knew it was exactly what the 'Higher Mind' wanted to hear.

It worked. The harpy turned on her heal and marched back to the board in an agreeable chord. Violett glanced over at Brad. He was giving her the brown-nose sign and she had to stifle a laugh. It was so good to have comrades to help one through the more unsavory aspects of college life.

She arrived home to several strings of urgent messages from both C.J. and Heidi. Against her better judgment, she ignored them.

Tuesday, April 20

It was early into that evening when Violett answered her phone, "Hello."

"Hey, why aren't you answering my calls? That's very unprofessional," came back the agitated voice of C.J.

"I have more important things to do than fuck your friends," Violett threw agitation right back at her.

"This isn't about me," C.J. bellowed. "You've got an assignment up in Beverly Hills this weekend. This client of theirs is very important to them. She brings in a lot of business. Heidi's really breathing down my neck about this."

"I can't this weekend. My period's coming." Always a reliable excuse.

"Bullshit!" objected C.J. "You don't ride the rag 'til next week."

"Oh? Are you keeping track of that in your ledger book, too?" she countered, which was probably close to the truth.

"Hey, it might be your cunt, but it's my business. What the fuck's goin' on here?" C.J. demanded.

Violett ignored that remark but stayed on the defensive. "Well I do have finals coming up, you know. Plus I've got a whole lot of papers to write." Quite viable points, she thought.

"Finals my ass. That shit don't start for another two weeks at least. It's that Dana chick isn't it?" C.J. accused.

"Leave her out of this. I haven't heard from her in more than a week." That admission stung. She needed to get C.J. off this track. "I just don't feel like making it with anyone right now."

"Our friends in California made a promise to this client to deliver you for a weekend. We don't pull this shit on each other, we honor our commitments." said C.J. It sounded like she was calling on Violett to uphold some venerated creed of prostitutes.

"You get me when I decide I want it." The constant insinuation that someone else was trying to exert control over her body was making her angry but she was determined not to let it get the best of her. "I never promise anybody they can have me for any weekend in advance and I never promised them this one."

"That's a crock of shit. You always want it. You'd go crazy if you weren't gettin' it. That's what got you into this business in the first place." C.J. snapped back at her.

She could tell C.J. was in a belligerent mood. This was her typical method of starting a fight. "Well I don't want to now."

"We made a deal and I never break a deal." bellowed C.J.

"Then you get on a plane and you go fuck her!" Violett slammed down the phone. She suddenly regretted letting her temper flare, Brad and Jenny might have heard all of that. She was angry with herself because C.J. was partly correct. Her own lust is what got her into all of this.

-----

Violett had first met C.J. at an Auraria Campus gay poetry reading when she was a college freshman. They hit it off immediately and became lovers. C.J. took her under her wing and showed her all the highlights and pitfalls of lesbian life in Denver. During their relationship she had a habit of calling Violett "Angel" and the name stuck.

C.J. herself was ten years older than Violett. She ran away from home when she was 15 and landed in Denver. She married a hippie when she was 16 but it only lasted a year. After that, she became a waitress, then a go-go dancer, then a stripper, and eventually a hooker. She worked the streets until she was 28 and then took a job as an operator for an escort service. She still turned tricks for some of the guys who called in and then began siphoning off business for a collection of her own girls. As a pimp, her side business thrived.

Violett's affair with C.J. was best described as tempestuous; stormy sex and thunderous arguments. They finally broke up but remained close friends. After that, Violett began hanging out at the usual lesbian clubs and her beauty caused quite a fervor. She was always in great demand and it ultimately became too much for her to handle. She liked the variety and frequency of her new-found sex life but not the push-and-shove that her popularity spawned around it.

C.J. offered the solution for Violett to become one of her girls. She did not really need the money but Violett liked the peace with a steady flow of new and interesting partners. She had little idea at the time that it would turn into all of this.

Wednesday, April 21

It was 9:00 in the evening and Violett was just putting the finishing touches on her essay for Arts and Humanities class when the phone rang. She answered it and was jarred by the response.

"Hello, my dear. I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time." It was a soft, low voice using an upper-class dialect with a slight Filipino accent. Madam Yvonne was calling. Yvonne was the face and the brains of the operation. Her role was to deal with the clients and scout new business. She usually left it to her staff to address the talent. For her to be calling Violett herself meant that this issue was now a critical problem. Dire consequences were about to be dispensed.

"Not at all," said Violett, trying to hide her nervousness. "How may I be of service this evening?"

"Your service is the point in question," Yvonne pressed. "A great deal of esteem is staked on the aptness of your service and the reputation of this organization rides with it. A client of inestimable value to this association and its standing within our network has requested access to you. You have yet to respond. Am I mistaken?"

"You are correct," replied Violett. "I have not responded because I do not wish to serve."

After a cold silence the madam persisted, "My dear, when this organization offers your prized talents for qualified clients it is expected you will fulfill promptly and in glad conduct. This is what our clients have come to expect. This is the eminence that sets us above all our contemporaries. This is our promise."

"I'm obligated to surrender my body to fulfil your promises?"

"Child, you suggest slavery. It is nothing of the sort," continued Yvonne in a level tone. "It was understood at the offset. As I recall, you indicated a keen predilection for promiscuous engagements and were willing to exchange them for fiduciary reward. That presumes delivery on demand."

"Something... has happened to me. I... I changed. I don't want to do this anymore. I quit."

There was another long, resentful pause. "My dear Angel, that very well may be, but ignorant of your disengagement this organization has extended the offer of your service and consistent with business protocol you are obliged to honor this commitment. Please do not compel us to impose dire measures. If you embarrass us before our loyal clients you will expose yourself to our wrath."

Violett knew full well that dire measures did not mean lawyers and court orders. "I suppose you could force me to... But a belligerent Angel is not what the client is paying for." She paused to let that sink in. "You could also drug me... But I don't think a semi-detached Angel is going to make them very happy, either."

"We have other establishments in which to employ you. Much more hostile environments where your level of participation is of little concern," Yvonne retorted.

"Maybe." Violett knew they could do all manner of terrible things to her and tying her to a bed in some Tijuana bordello, strung out on smack, was just the beginning. "But you won't make as much as it will cost you. And it still won't make Client 147 happy." She could almost feel Yvonne's anger burning through the phone line.

"Your unprincipled conduct has placed us in a very uncomfortable situation. Experience proposes patience but practice demands retribution... You will be contacted. Good evening." Yvonne hung up.

Violett felt anxious about Yvonne's threatening tone and the state the situation was left in. It was wrong for her to not be up front about her resignation a week ago. She confided herself that she did the right thing and for the right reason. She did it for her future and to break with the vulgar stain of her past. She tried to cheer herself with the notion that she did it for hope, for love, and for Dana. But the stark reality that Dana was gone and she would not be back broke hard upon her. Violett broke down and cried again.

She felt like jumping out of her skin when the phone rang a half hour later. "Hello," she spoke into the receiver.

"Listen, I need to see you tomorrow to settle up." said C.J. It was in a very brusque tone, and she used none of her customary pet names. "The Pigalle, at three. Don't make me come looking for you." There was an abrupt click as she hung up the phone.

This was very disturbing; she had never experienced C.J. in this kind of mood. Violett could only guess what transpired between Yvonne and C.J. but surmised she was in a great deal of trouble. She endured a long, fitful night with very little sleep.

In the eye of her storm her mind spun around Dana. Why had she abandoned her? She knew to her core that the night they spent together really meant something. How could Dana not feel it too? It twisted and tormented her and all the time strained her to resolve what had happened. Until the very early hours of morning when distraught to her limits she sat up in bed and cried, desperately calling out, "Dana! Dana! Why?"

She cried until she passed out.

Thursday, April 22

Violett skipped her last class so that she could make the appointment with C.J. She expected the worst. For all she knew, Madam Yvonne had ordered C.J. to have her killed and she knew C.J. would do it too. She forsook her usual smart casual attire for clothes she could run or fight in. She chose blue jeans, a tank top, jogging shoes, a light smock, and her hair in a loose ponytail. As a last precaution she took her .38 out of the night stand and shoved it into her purse. She hoped this would be a benign meeting but she had to be ready to fight for her life if it was not.

She left her apartment at one o'clock. It was much earlier than needed but there was an extra stop she needed to make.

At 2:30 she was in the parking lot of Manual High School in north-central Denver. She had dreaded this spot more than any on Earth, but she had put this visit off for much too long. Now, in the full light of day and facing what might be her doom, it was finally time. Perhaps her last chance. Picking up the single rose she bought, she got out of her car and walked across the lot to the sidewalk by the street. She walked up the stairs and down another sidewalk along the opposite side of the building. She stopped at a gap in the shrubbery and looked down at the barren patch of ground beside the walk. She remembered; it was covered with snow that night. This was where it happened, that terrifying night seven years ago. She seemed to fall into a trance as her surroundings imposed the noxious memories on her again.

-----

She was barely 15 and a freshman on the gymnastics team. She had volunteered to help with the varsity team's equipment for The Manual Invitational Meet. It was nearly 10:00 and the last event was the floor exercises. In the middle of it, Coach had asked her to gather up the equipment and haul a load out to the bus in advance of their leaving. It was a cold December evening and Violett lugged all the bags out to the parking lot noticing only sparsely scattered students milling about. On her way back to the gym the same students had congealed into a crowd. As Violett was passing through them a girl struck her in the side of the head. She crumpled in pain and that is when the crowd descended on her. Punches and kicks rained down upon her. Soon, the shock and pain chased away her conscious ability to defend herself. After that she was only partially aware of being carried away.

She was thrown down onto the snow-covered ground next to the school building itself. Three young black teenage boys set upon her quickly. Her blouse was torn open and her bra ripped away. Her jeans were pulled and cut from her along with her panties. She had no doubt about their intentions. She struggled to get to her feet but was forced back down. She tried to push them back and block herself from them but one them straddled her chest and started pounding her face until she pacified.

The snow and ice were cold on her back and her legs. She ached terribly from the beating. But the worst was yet to come. Consumed with a maddening level of fear, she felt the weight of one of the boys pressed on top of her and the stench of his breath in her face. He forced her thighs apart with his own and was fumbling with something between her legs. Then she felt his hardness pressed into her crotch. It jammed and slid against her seeking entrance. And he found it. The head of his cock pressed into a recess and then broke through. She screamed from the pain as she was torn. Without any means of lubrication, his passage itself was another aspect of agony. After two strokes he lifted himself, slapped her hard across the face and yelled, "Damn dry bitch." The assembled mob cheered him and he continued. He hammered against her until his body clenched, he grunted, and then broke out in a laugh. He got off of her and another boy quickly took his place.

She cried and sobbed from the pain, fear, and shame. It was immaterial to the gang. It was like compassion was completely alien to them; all they felt was their want. She was their prisoner and in their eyes, less than a person, unworthy of pity.

She turned her face to the side to escape what was happening to her. Her focus was captured by the porchlight of a house across the street. In her desperate mind she sought relief and at that moment wondered what it would be like to be in that house, safe, warm, comfortable, and far from the terrors of life. She withdrew inside herself, shrank away to nothing, and detached herself from the scene as if this was only happening on a movie screen. She imagined herself to be a little girl again, hundreds of miles away, wrapped in the arms of her loving grandmother, and living in an innocent world where these horrors did not exist. Her body became numb from the cold, limp and lifeless like a rag doll as boy after boy used her.

She had lost count of how many times she had been violated or any distinction between the induvial violators. Yet the feeding frenzy went on and on, indefinitely. At some point they seemed to have gotten their fill or perhaps just ran out of volunteers. The mass of youth huddled around her body got up as one and moved away to a new focal point. There were celebratory boasts and congratulatory cheers rising from them like victors after a big game. What part of her consciousness still connected to the scene felt utterly destroyed while her enemies celebrated her ruin before her.

There was a kind-of debate discussion after which a consensus was drawn. One of the boys separated and came back to her side. She thought it might be a gesture of kindness, to check on her condition.

On the contrary, it was to administer the coup de gras. She heard the hammer of his pistol cock and then the loud bang. There was instantly a sharp pain at the back of her head and a warmth spilling about her neck. All the boys ran and she was finally alone. With her gaze still focused on the distant porchlight, she helplessly experienced her own coming death.

The gunshot must have caught the attention of the passing patrolmen. As her consciousness slowly seemed to slip from her she heard the clattering of leather shoes on the sidewalk. Two cops, one old and the other a young rookie came upon the scene.

"Oh, no." said the older officer in a pitiful tone as his flashlight played over her. "Oh, God. No."

The younger cop turned aside, doubled over and threw up. The older officer knelt by her side and placed the back of his hand against her neck. "Mother Mercy. She's alive!"

It was strange but welcome news to Violett. She would find out later that the bullet had only grazed the back of her skull. The commotion of a rescue forming around her brought her slowly back to the land of the living.

What followed was blurred, loosely tied collection of events.

A warm blanket.

More police.

An ambulance ride.

Medical attention.

A pressing interview.

A hysterical accounting.

Tranquilizer.

A gathering of family.

Terrible nightmares.

So much pain.

In the following days a sea of comfort came to bathe her, but none seemed to soak in. From that night onward preceded an agonizing recovery, a life reevaluation, and the construction of a much harder Violett.

-----

"Excuse me." injected a thin voice to her side. Violett turned to find a spectacled woman neatly dressed in a pleated skirt and blazer. "If you do not have business on school grounds, I will have to ask you to leave."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to cause a fuss," replied Violett distractedly. She slowly squatted down and gently placed her rose on the barren patch. "' just paying my respects."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn't know. Did someone die here?" asked the woman in cautious reverence as Violett stood back up but never took her eyes off the rose.

"Yes," she said slowly, without vehemence. "Someone died here." Violett did not want to elaborate; the painful recollections dulled her mind. She just slowly turned and walked away before any questions could pop up.

It had taken years for her to work up the courage for that pilgrimage, but facing what she thought might be her end, she was glad she finally forced herself to do it.

Now for the second bold venture of the day. She drove directly downtown, avoiding her temptation to drive by some of her favorite sights for what might be the last time. She got to the parking garage under Park Central and found a spot in a well-lit area. As she approached the elevator she noticed a security camera on the ceiling. She stopped and stood where the camera was pointing to make sure it captured her, thus making a verifiable record of her last known whereabouts and condition. Her destination was up at ground-level and across the street.

La Place Pigalle was a tavern on the first floor of Brooks Tower. The locals called it Pig Alley. In the daytime it served as restaurant for the downtown lunch crowd. After five it was a pub for people awaiting the dissipation of rush-hour traffic. In the evenings it was a hangout for hookers, drug dealers, and all of their assorted trade. C.J. established her office there in a corner booth where she managed criminal enterprises about which Violett dared not speculate.

Right on time, Violett walked in through the door and found what she expected to see at three in the afternoon. The restaurant portion, on the other side of a stained-glass partition, was dark. The long bar and the row of small booths across from it were deserted except for Carlos and Mike talking to the bartender at the far end of the bar. Carlos and Mike were a contingent of C.J.'s "muscle" and did her dirty-work. Mike was big, strong as an ox, and twice as stupid. Carlos was a fast-talking weasel and the brains behind Mike, but a gutless wonder unless he had a gun or a knife in his hand. Violett had worked with them for years. One or sometimes both of them would accompany her as an escort on her local assignments when the client was known to have violent episodes or on those calls when a male client wanted to watch his lady get it on with another girl. They had always treated her with respect though they made it obvious that they did not like what any of C.J.'s girls did for money.