“Yeah. It means ‘involved’. How come you’re working for a guy like Whitey? I mean—you’re beautiful.”
She smiled, lowering her eyes. I felt my cheeks begin to burn. Darryl grinned at me. Despite my embarrassment, I stammered on.
“You…you could be a model. An actress. How did you end up dancing in a strip club for some Russian mobsters?”
Sondra laughed softly, but it was a humorless sound. Her expression was sad. Suddenly, her eyes brimmed with tears. She sat down her coffee mug, scooted back from the table, and grabbed a paper towel. After she’d wiped her eyes and blown her nose, she leaned against the sink. She seemed tired. Her shoulders sagged, her head drooped. Meowing, Webster walked over to her and rubbed against her legs. Sondra reached down and scratched his ears. That seemed to make her feel better. Him too.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I…is not easy to talk about. All my life, I watch American movies and shows and listen to American music.
“
Sondra pouted. “You no like
“No,” Darryl said. “I no like
“I do like. I admire Jennifer Aniston. When I was girl, I wanted to be her. That is why I come to America. To meet Jennifer Aniston and meet man like Ross. On television, they not poor or hungry. They have love. Are happy.”
She fell quiet again, but I barely noticed. I was too busy studying her face, watching the way she spoke, the way her lips moved, the little lines and creases in her forehead and cheeks. Darryl had to tap the table to get my attention.
“Sorry,” I apologized, feeling my face get red again.
“So,” Darryl said, “Whitey promised that you could meet Jennifer Aniston or something? No offense, Sondra, but that should have been your first red flag.”
“Whitey’s people say they can get me to America. Then I can live American dream, just like Jennifer Aniston. So I say yes and start learning English, because coming to America is all I ever want. But is after 9/11, yes? Your country not so good at letting people in. Would have to wait five years for visa.”
Darryl shrugged. “Five years ain’t so bad.”
“Is very bad. There were…problems.”
“What kind of problems?” I asked.
A shadow passed over her face. Darryl and I looked at each other.
“My family,” Sondra said. “My…father.”
“Was he sick? In trouble?”
Sondra shook her head. Her shoulders trembled.
“My…father. He would…touch me.”
I sat up. “Touch you?”
“Da. My mother died when I was eleven. He began touching me a month later. Climbing in my bed. He call me by my mother’s name. Say I look like her. Smell like her. Taste…”
I was speechless. It felt like somebody had punched me in the stomach.
“Jesus…” Darryl sighed. “Never understood that shit. Fucking child molesters.”
“True that,” I muttered.
“When I was little girl, I thought my father was to protect me. Would make things all better. But he was not that. I close my eyes while he is on top of me, pushing, and I dream of America. I tell the Bratva yes. I go to America to escape. It is this magical place, even today. Until you get here. Then you see it is just like any other place. Full of bad men. Like my father. Like Whitey.”
“We’re not bad men,” I said. It was hard to talk around the lump in my throat.
“Nyet, you are not bad men. You help me. But still…you are men, yes? You help me because you find me beautiful.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true.”
Sondra didn’t reply. Instead, she stopped scratching Webster and sat down again. Darryl rubbed his chin and said nothing. I wondered what he was thinking—what they both were thinking.
“I came to America to escape my father,” Sondra said, staring at her hands. “No passport. No visa. There were thirty other women with me. All like me. Young and afraid. Pretty. The men…they put us on ship, inside big cargo container. Keep us hidden from crew and captain. Two men were there to guard us. Twice a day they would let us out to eat. The sunshine…it felt good. I remember it. So very dark inside the box. A bucket for toilet. Very little food or water. So I would look forward to see the sunshine. We come out. Eat. Then they put us back in box till next day. This goes on for long time. Some girls get sick. Finally, we come to America and are let out of box. That is where I meet Whitey. He tells us he has paid for our transport. We owe him everything. We will work for him. If we refuse, he say the Organizatsiya will kill us and kill our families back home. I care not about my father, but I have brothers and sisters. So I do what Whitey says.”
I closed my eyes. It had all been true. Everything Jesse had told us—all true. The things she’d had to endure growing up, and then to come here and suffer an even worse fate, working in forced prostitution and dancing. My head throbbed.
“So why not go to the po-po?” Darryl asked.
Sondra looked confused. “What is po-po?”
“Yeah, you know. The police. The cops. Why not cut a deal, give them enough info to take Whitey and his whole crew down?”
“Do you not listening? Maybe I get rid of Whitey. Maybe he go to jail. But the Bratva are many. Hundred thousand strong. Sooner or later they kill me or my family. I go to police, immigration send me back home to Russia. There, I get killed quicker. Is no good. No one can help me. I must listen to Whitey. I obey. First I work in massage parlor and am hooker. Whitey say I am good at that and would be good at dancer. So I go to the Odessa and am both. I just do what Whitey say to do.”
“Until recently,” I said. “I’m right, aren’t I? He beat you up tonight. Smacked you around. And you tried to escape because of it. That’s why you were hiding. So what changed? Why is it suddenly worth the risk?”
Sondra raised her head and looked us in the eyes. Her eyes were wet.
“Because I am pregnant.”
Darryl and I spoke at the same time.
“Oh shit…”
“Da,” she sobbed. Tears rolled down her cheeks and spattered onto the table. “I don’t know who father is. Maybe customer. Maybe Otar or Evesi or Semion or other one of Whitey’s men. I don’t know. Maybe the police. Whitey make me sleep with them so they not raid the club.”
My anger swelled. Part of me wanted to drive back to the club and beat the shit out of Whitey, Otar, the cops, and everyone else that had ever ogled or used Sondra. But then I remembered that I was one of them. I’d stared at her, too. Every night at the club. Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” Darryl spoke up, “you don’t look pregnant. Must not be far along.”
“Not too far yet, but far enough, no?” Sondra wiped her eyes. “Any pregnant is still pregnant, no matter how big is baby.”
Darryl nodded. “True that.”
“I tell Whitey tonight. Tell him I am pregnant. He get very angry. Asks how. I say I was careful but he doesn’t believe me. Whitey tells me we will get abortion. I tell him no. For the first time, I tell him no. It felt good. Then he hit me. And keep hitting me. He kicks. Say he will make me miscarry baby. Say he will make me eat miscarriage to teach me lesson.”
I gasped. “Jesus Christ.”
“You see? He is monster. So I run away and you find me. I am afraid he will be even madder now. Will want to kill me—and you, too. Both of you. And he will. Unless you kill him first.”
