I nodded. She straightened in her seat, squared her shoulders, adjusted the fur jacket, opened the clasp at her throat. I caught a trace of her perfume. I'd smelled that spicy scent before but couldn't recall the occasion. I picked up my cup, finished my coffee.
'I want out.'
'Of the life?'
She nodded. 'I've been doing this for four years. I came here four years ago in July. August, September, October, November. Four years and four months. I'm twenty-three years old. That's young, isn't it?'
'Yes.'
'It doesn't feel so young.' She adjusted the jacket again, refastened the clasp. Light glinted off her ring.
'When I got off the bus four years ago I had a suitcase in one hand and a denim jacket over my arm.
Now I've got this. It's ranch mink.'
'It's very becoming.'
'I'd trade it for the old denim jacket,' she said, 'if I could have the years back. No, I wouldn't. Because if I had them back I'd just do the same thing with them, wouldn't I? Oh to be nineteen again and know what I know now, but the only way that could be is if I started tricking at fifteen, and then I'd be dead by now. I'm just rambling. I'm sorry.'
'No need.'
'I want to get out of the life.'
'And do what? Go back toMinnesota ?'
'Wisconsin. No, I won't be going back. There's nothing there for me. Just because I want out doesn't mean I have to go back.'
'Okay.'
'I can make lots of trouble for myself that way. I reduce things to two alternatives, so if A is no good that means I'm stuck with B. But that's not right. There's the whole rest of the alphabet.'
She could always teach philosophy. I said, 'Where do I come in, Kim?'
'Oh. Right.'
I waited.
'I have this pimp.'
'And he won't let you leave?'
'I haven't said anything to him. I think maybe he knows, but I haven't said anything and he hasn't said anything and—' Her whole upper body trembled for a moment, and small beads of perspiration glistened on her upper lip.
'You're afraid of him.'
'How'd you guess?'
'Has he threatened you?'
'Not really.'
'What does that mean?'
'He never threatened me. But I feel threatened.'
'Have other girls tried to leave?'
'I don't know. I don't know much about his other girls. He's very different from other pimps. At least from the ones I know about.'
They're all different. Just ask their girls. 'How?' I asked her.
'He's more refined. Subdued.'
Sure. 'What's his name?'
'Chance.'
'First name or last name?'
'It's all anybody ever calls him. I don't know if it's a first name or a last name. Maybe it's neither, maybe it's a nickname. People in the life, they'll have different names for different occasions.'
'Is Kim your real name?'
She nodded. 'But I had a street name. I had a pimp before Chance, his name was Duffy. Duffy Green, he called himself, but he was also Eugene Duffy and he had another name he used sometimes that I forget.' She smiled at a memory. 'I was so green when he turned me out. He didn't pick me up right off the bus but he might as well.'
'He a black man?'
'Duffy? Sure. So is Chance. Duffy put me on the street.
TheLexington Avenue stroll, and sometimes when it was hot there we'd go across the river toLong IslandCity .' She closed her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them she said, 'I just got this rush of memory, what it was like on the street. My street name was Bambi. InLong IslandCity we did the johns in their cars. They would drive in from all overLong Island .
