Term Paper Blues

Mr. and Mrs. Nelson hated Tanja. Blamed her for their son's drug habit. Thought she was some low-life skank that he shouldn't be seen with, much less live with. And they mistakenly thought she was the reason his nice, classy girlfriend Melissa had dumped him and left town. She dreaded the confrontation that was bound to happen, but she had to let them know. Maybe they'd be happy she wasn't seeing him anymore. His mother picked up on the second ring.

"Mrs. Nelson, this is Tanja. I need to get a message to Ethan. He's in trouble and I need to warn him."

Tanja heard Ethan's dad ask who was on the phone. Mrs. Nelson covered the mouthpiece but not completely—Tanja still heard.

"It's that junkie whore who ruined Ethan's life."

Tanja felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. It's one thing to suspect how someone feels about you but to have it thrown in your face like that.

"Don't ever call here again!" And she hung up.

That would be junkiestripper, Mrs. Nelson, if you please. Yes, Tanja worked in the sex industry but had never turned any tricks or even allowed illegal groping for extra tips when she lap danced. There were always girls who did, and a few of them always got in trouble for it. Not worth it. You have to draw the line somewhere.

She walked back to her room and looked at the entirety of her possessions sitting there on the floor. Probably could get all of it out to her car in one trip. Maybe $50 left in her purse. And the near rape she had suffered trying to get the one black molly. A torrential rain began to fall. Tanja was overcome with despair and collapsed face down on her bed.

It was all too much. She had been so optimistic when she went to work that morning. Getting her car back, starting a better job next week, leaving the rigor of the sober living institution, renting her own place with Alice. All turned upside down. It was worse than a relapse. She was now being hunted like an animal by sadistic criminals, for something she had no involvement with.

Tanja was too beaten down emotionally to make the drive—even with the black molly's artificial energy. Plus the heavy winds that were lashing the rain against her window. She had to find somewhere to stay that night. She needed a safe place and a good night's sleep, but where? All of her options were poor. She didn't know how closely thosebrutos had been following her. Could she find someone who wasn't part of her current life? She didn't want to get her Narcotics Anonymous sponsor mixed up in this.

She had broken ties with all her old druggie friends out of necessity. Her close call that night with Downer Don and Patch made her shudder. And she'd burned too many bridges with her straight friends before she went into rehab. There were two that had encouraged her to get clean and knew she was out and working, but neither of them were home.

It had been months since she'd seen Ethan or any of his friends. They all hated her, too—like his parents, and for the same reasons. Plus she wouldn't feel safe at the big house where most of them lived, even though Ethan had moved out long ago. They were really careless with their recreational drug use and dealing on the side.

But there was this one other college friend of Ethan's: Andrew Vinson. She didn't know him that well. He lived by himself. Kind of a nerd, but he wasn't mean to her like the others. He understood that Melissa had left Ethan before she came along and didn't hold her responsible. It bothered him a lot that they used smack, but he blamed Ethan as much as her.

Tanja changed into the shirt dress and slipped the black molly into one of the front pockets. She made a final check around her room. The house curfew was rapidly approaching. She had to get out before then.

Miraculously, Andrew's name was listed in the phone book; the address was near the university. His phone rang and rang. He must not be home, or maybe he's already in bed. If this didn't work, she'd have to hit the road in this nasty storm. She let it ring some more. He finally picked up.

* * *

"Who is this?"

"Andrew, it's Tanja Tomczyk. You gotta help me. I'm in real danger. I've called everyone else I know, and you're my last hope."

Her voice sounded panicky and scared. She usually had this tough chick attitude and didn't talk much; something was up. Even so, Andrew couldn't think of any person he wanted to talk to less than Tanja. He hadn't seen her in about six months, which was fine with him. Her timing couldn't have been any worse.

"Tanja, if you're in trouble, why don't you go to the police?"

"I can't. They may have a warrant out for me. They raided that place Ethan and I were staying at with those other people. He jumped out the window, and I was able to hide in a crawl space. But they arrested everyone else. This was months ago. I haven't seen him since. I've been in rehab, and I'm clean now. I have a job and—"

"Tanja, I really don't want to hear about any of this."

"But Ethan owes serious money to some bad guys, probably from a drug deal. They called today and threatened to kidnap me and sell me to their people in Mexico—to be a sex slave. After they've ... they've ..." She couldn't get the words out. "They want me and Ethan to rob a bank to get the money. I have no idea where he is. I was going to leave town tonight, but I'm emotionally drained right now and ... and this weather. I need somewhere to stay tonight."

"Why don't you hop on a bus and split?"

"They said they were watching me, to make sure I didn't do that. Besides, I have my car again. I feel like I have more control if I'm in it instead of a Greyhound bus."

"Oh, right! You want to lead them over here to my place? Smart plan, Tanja. You think I might have a tiny, little objection to that?

"I'm having a big meltdown right now. I can't deal with your shit. I've fucked myself by waiting until the last minute to write this term paper that's due tomorrow morning at 8:00. And I haven't even started. And I have no idea what I'm going to write about. I'm totally fucked because I'm not going to graduate on time if I don't get this done. And I couldn't find any speed to do an all-nighter. Anywhere. So I'm sorry about your kidnapping thing, but I've got problems myself. The last thing I need is your coming over here now. Find some other chump. It's really fucking rude to call out of the blue and ask me to do this!"

Tanja had one more card to play.

"Andrew, I have a black molly. I was going to take it tonight, to help me stay awake behind the wheel. But I'm too beaten down to leave now, especially in this storm. Even with the speed. You can have it if you let me stay at your place tonight. You'll be able to write your term paper."

They both fell silent as the offer hung in the air.

"Tanja ... can you get over here without these guys following you?"

"I think so. It'll be hard to see me in this weather. I know a few tricks, too."

Andrew gave her directions but didn't want her coming in the front.

"There's an alley that runs behind the building. Park at least two blocks away on the north side and walk to the alley. There's a dumpster halfway down. Hide behind that to make sure no one's after you. I'll be at the locked gate back there in thirty minutes. Is that enough time?"

"I'm out the door now." With five minutes to spare until curfew.

* * *

Tanja slipped into her ratty old Army surplus poncho and gathered all her stuff, a grocery bag in each hand with the box in the middle. It had to be one quick trip to the car. The house monitor on duty spotted her and called out.

"Hey, you! You're not supposed to be in here now. Guests should be out a half-hour before curfew. Who were you here visiting? No, not that way, Miss. You need to use the front door."

Tanja quickened her pace. She couldn't believe the monitor didn't recognize her.

She darted out into the deluge and ran to her car. It was awkward trying to unlock the door and get all her stuff in, but she managed. She pulled away but kept her lights off when she saw the monitor run out the back door. Tanja almost hit a telephone pole in the dark but swerved at the last second.

She tried several evasive driving maneuvers seen in countless TV cop shows and movies. The heavy rain made it hard to tell if anyone was on her tail anyway. Tanja thought about running the light that had just turned red—a cliché of every chase scene—but skidded to a halt.

She reached in her purse to get the letter from Parkland Clinic that had arrived that day. Results from her second AIDS test after leaving rehab; she had been negative on the first one. Finding out she had AIDS now would be just peachy—a perfect end to a perfect day. She tore open the envelope: negative. She burst out crying with relief. Several loud, impatient car horns reminded her the light had turned green.

One thing Downer Dave was right about: she'd had a major ramping up of her sex drive since getting clean. Her rehab counselor had warned that could happen, and it was critical she get tested for AIDS more than once before she had unprotected sex with anyone. Safe sex only until she was in the clear.

Tanja had been looking forward to getting back into the dating scene once she and Alice had their own place. Masturbation was a poor substitute for what she really needed. At last, some things were going her way now: she had her car, the disguise fooled the house monitor, her HIV test was negative. And she had a place to stay that night.

As she carefully made her way over to Andrew's apartment, she thought back to the mistakes she had made with Ethan. They met at a party thrown by the dealer they both bought coke from. She was looking for a new place to stay, and Ethan's offer to crash at his place temporarily seemed like a safe choice.

Sure, the heroin buzz felt good. They were just snorting at first. And only on the weekends. Lying to themselves that was as far as it would get. Sex was glorious in the beginning, especially when they were high. Then the first skin pop. Inevitably, the needle went directly into the vein. The rush was so much stronger that way.

One of the reasons Ethan's friends shunned her was thinking she was the reason for his breakup with his old girlfriend. Even if they knew better, she could never replace sweet Melissa—who they all probably had a secret crush on. She had seen a framed photo of her and Ethan, taken at the top of some mountain peak. Melissa was a sun-kissed real blonde, beautiful and classy. They looked like models on an outdoorsy magazine cover. She left town a week before Tanja met Ethan. He hadn't been around his friends much during that time, so it looked like she had broken up the couple.

Ethan dropped out of school right after Tanja met him. His academic problems and drug use may have had something to do with Melissa giving up on their relationship. Ethan's parents never bothered finding out the truth about the timing of the breakup.

The day of the police raid was the turning point for her. It happened early in the morning, just after sunrise. Ethan helped Tanja wedge herself into a narrow crawl space before hurling himself out a second story window. She cowered there as the police tromped through the house arresting the other residents and collecting evidence.

It was a crawl space all right—crawling with vermin. Tanja had been sleeping in nothing but her panties and hadn't had time to grab any clothes before Ethan rushed her into the hiding place. She was face down in dust, cobwebs, and pellets of rat shit, with spiders tickling her legs and face. Rusty nail points had torn her flesh when Ethan pushed her back into the tiny opening. It was intensely claustrophobic. She was cold, hungry, thirsty—and dying for a fix. She wasn't even sure she could pull herself out without help. Tanja was in there for hours until she finally had to piss on herself. That was when she knew she had hit bottom.

Clean now, but on the run. Once she hit the road in the morning, where could she go? The only people they wouldn't know about might be the distant Louisiana relatives of her first stepmother. They were outside of Abbeville, deep in Cajun country. Could she even find the place? It was definitely off the beaten path, out in the bayous, toward the Gulf of Mexico. They had been very welcoming the one time they visited, back when she was in high school.

Tanja finally reached Andrew's place and parked several blocks away, like he asked. She dreaded walking that far in the rain, but she wanted to obey his instructions. Tanja decided to take all her belongings with her, despite the hassle. Finding her car broken into the next morning would be devastating. She trudged through the storm with her bags and box, finally seeing the dumpster down the alley.

Tanja ducked behind it and looked to see if anyone was following her. Realistically, she couldn't have run away at that point anyway. She crouched down to try and keep her things dry and wait for Andrew. Her journey was just beginning.

* * *

As he hung up the phone, Andrew felt beyond uncomfortable. For getting himself in such a sordid position where his only salvation was letting a junkie stripper hold his future in her hand—in the form of a bootleg diet pill. Well, to be fair, an ex-junkie ex-stripper.

It was his own fault. Andrew had thrown himself into the well of academic failure. Shouldn't he grab onto the rope that someone else had lowered down to pull him out?

Tanja Tomczyk—what a piece of work! Lifeless, thin, white-blonde hair, always with a noticeable expanse of ugly dark roots showing at the top of her head. Pasty, blemished complexion. Painfully thin yet top-heavy with big boobs. Tanja had that dull, strung-out look of someone who had slipped into serious drug use. She wasn't that bad looking, but the arch of her upper lip and her uncorrected overbite created the appearance of a permanent sneer when she wasn't smiling—which was most of the time.

Andrew knew Tanja danced topless at Baby Dolls. There was some gossip she'd been fired from there for drug use and had been working at some lesser clubs like Chez Pussycat. His buddies had hosted his 21st birthday party at Baby Dolls, but that was long before she showed up with Ethan. He had been mildly curious about what she looked like naked when he first met her. She didn't look so wasted back then.

And Ethan—what a fuckup he was! Andrew knew things had reached a low point when he called a few months ago and asked if he could borrow his pistol.

"Borrow my pistol? What the hell do you need a gun for?"

"I have this business meeting coming up. I'd feel safer if I had it. I probably won't need it, but I'd like to be prepared."

"You're kidding me, right? First off, my pistol is a single action six-shooter, scaled down for .22 ammunition. You have to cock the hammer for each shot. It's for plinking out in the woods, not a gunfight."

"That'll be fine. It's better than nothing."

"Really? Why don't you walk me though this, Ethan. How is this all going to play out? Where is this 'business meeting'?"

"It's near Ardmore."

"Fuck, Ethan! Across state lines? Nothing like having Oklahoma, Texas,and the Feds coming down on you."

"No, they do it on the Choctaw rez. Non-Indians can do business there without getting arrested by the tribal police."

"For starters, Ardmore is Chickasaw country. And there're no reservations anymore—tribal jurisdictional areas is the proper term. So you'll be meeting someone at a location they've selected?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to use a pay phone at this diner out on the highway. And get further instructions."

"So I'm guessing one or more guys will come get you and take you to the location where the deal is going down? Wouldn't these guys search you for weapons first?"

"Well, I don't know that."

"They'd have to be ten kinds of stupid not to. So let's say they don't. Where would you have the gun? In your waistband in front, so they could see it? Or in the back where they couldn't? Maybe in your boot? Inside your jacket?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"And would the gun be loaded? Cocked?"

"Shit, Andrew. I don't know. Just let me have it, OK? You don't want to have my death on your conscience, do you?"

"Ethan, do you thinknone of these bad-asses are going to be armed? If they rip you off, do you think you're going to whip out a .22 pistol and have a room full of these guys back down?

"The kindest thing I can do as a friend is to not let you have the gun. It would only increase the likelihood of your being killed. And why are you doing this anyway? And why the fuck are you doing business with people you're afraid of unless you're packing?"

"I owe people money. If this transaction works out, I can get even."

"I assume your parents won't help you?"

"No, they've cut me off. If I don't do this deal, I'm toast anyway. The guys I owe have threatened some really nasty things. They're the ones that set me up with these people in Oklahoma."

"If you're that cornered, why don't you sell your Camaro?"

The Camaro was Ethan's prized possession, a classic pony car that had accrued considerable value in the collectors' market. It was a high school graduation present from an eccentric rich uncle who had bought the car when it was new: 1969 Super Sport, 396 cubic inch engine, rally green with white vinyl top and thin racing stripes. Sure, anyone would be reluctant to sell a car like that, but if it could get him out of the hole with a bunch of criminals?

"I'd need two Camaros to fix this problem. Actually more than two."

"Shit, Ethan! Youare fucked. You better hope this meeting goes down the way you planned. Sorry, I won't lend you the gun. It's for your own good. And, please, don't try to buy some Saturday night special to take with you. It'll only get you shot."

Andrew glanced at his watch. Time to go down and look for Tanja. Damn, it was really pouring out there. He walked through the ground level parking area toward the back. He saw a huddled figure behind the dumpster on the other side of the security fence. It had to be her.

She had on a heavy, wrinkled Army surplus poncho that probably belonged to some grunt who didn't make it back from 'Nam. Her face was lost under the poncho's hood. Two worn-out grocery bags from Fiesta Market and a banker's box were between her feet.

"Tanja, it's Andrew. Were you followed?"

"No, I don't think so. I couldn't see that well in this storm. But if they were out there, wouldn't they have grabbed me by now?"

Andrew unlocked the back gate and let her in. She declined his offer to help with her load. Once they were inside he locked and dead bolted the door. Her red tennis shoes were soaked.

"I'll get a towel so you can dry off."

When he came back, he wasn't sure who was standing in his living room. Some strange woman in a dress with short dark hair.

"Is that really you, Tanja? No more blonde? And what's with the dress? Doesn't look too bad on you, actually—very retro. Did you get it from Goodwill?"

Her brunette hair was in a short bob. It was full, with a natural, soft wave—and a few odd wisps of blonde halfway down. The cut complimented her face better than her old limp hairdo, even though it seemed a bit hurried and unprofessional. Despite her anxiety, Tanja looked clean and healthy. Her skin had cleared up, and the old garish, extreme makeup she favored was gone.

The frock was so unlike her. It was more unexpected than if she had showed up in a gorilla suit. Some old house dress that had been washed too many times: pink plaid, below the knee, buttons down the front, belt missing. Her braless boobs were straining against the worn material. It looked like the top buttons could give way at any time.