Chapter 5

But when we got to the car, I realized that I had no idea where to go. I couldn't take Al to my apartment. Even if she hadn't been a prostitute, I couldn't have taken her there. A single woman and a single man in the same apartment? No – it wouldn't have worked. I turned to Joel, but he was also single and living in an apartment, and he was without ideas too.

In desperation I called Darvin Carpenter. I expected him to just give me a notion as to what to do, but instead he told me to take her to a hotel. He named the hotel, and said he'd meet us there.

He wasn't there when we arrived, but we found out at the front desk that he'd called ahead. There was a room ready for Al, and after she'd signed in we took her and the key and went up in the elevator. It was a nice hotel – maybe not the fanciest one in town, but certainly more than I could have afforded if I were traveling. The room was hotel standard, with the TV immovable and the carpet strong enough to take abuse, but it was nice hotel standard.

Al saw the mini bar and went for it. I never have drank, and frowned at her, but didn't say anything. I supposed that her life hadn't given her many reasons not to drink, and right now the main thing was her safety, not a temperance lecture.

Darvin came in while Al was nursing a glass of something dark – whiskey, I supposed, though I didn't ask. He knocked, and Joel went and let him in. He was dressed as always, like a cowboy, with his hat in his hand. He laid the hat on the round table by the sliding glass door that led to the balcony and said, "Okay, fill me in, Alan."

"This is Alison Hitt," I said, drawing her near. When I went to let go of her hand, she held on. "Al, this is Darvin Carpenter. He's running our ministry, I guess you'd call it." They shook hands. "Darvin, I knew Al when we were kids. We were friends then, though I'm not sure the friendship still exists. We've run into each other two or three times down on Central, and ... well, the clothes aren't giving a false impression."

Al had taken off her jacket, and quite frankly I would have preferred that she leave more to the imagination. I had no desire to be so clear on her figure. Darvin glanced at her and nodded. He was single and as far as I knew had no romantic attachments, but I suppose that his work gave him opportunities to develop stoicism. At least he seemed to see nothing more in Al than he would have in someone wearing a high-necked, long-sleeved dress.

"Tonight," I continued, "I realized she'd been beaten up, and pried some – presuming on our old friendship – and it turned out that one of her customers had done it. And her pimp had turned her out, in that condition and in this weather and those clothes, and I decided to take her away from there. And here we are."

"He's not my pimp," Al said beside me, but it wasn't a very strong protest.

"No offense, Ms. Hitt," Darvin told her, "but someone who's gettin' his bucks offen you being a hooker is a pimp. That's what a pimp is." His voice was soft, making the words less of a blow.

Al didn't say anything, just held my hand tighter. I looked at her and got the impression that being away from the familiar surroundings of Central Avenue, with its sin and degradation, was making her nervous. Perhaps she was even a bit scared. At any rate she seemed, for the first time since I'd run into her, to be more like the friend I'd known and less like the hardened prostitute.

"The question," Darvin continued, "is what we're gonna do. An' that depends on you a lot, Ms. Hitt. First thing: You want out, or you gonna go back and hook some more?"

"Do I have a choice?" That question came out bitter.

"You always got a choice, even if tain't nan one o' the choices somethin' you like. You can eat filth or starve. You can jump off a cliff or get shot. You can get hooked on skag or rock. Or," and here he smiled under his mustache, "you can make this choice: Keep on hookin', and get hurt more and maybe get killed, or you can quit it."

"And what will I do if I quit? I'm not exactly secretarial material, you know."

"We can figure out what you'll do later. Right now I just need to know what arrangements to make next."

"As to that," I said, "I can't afford—"

"I can, though," Darvin told me, "so don't worry about it. This ain't the first time I've pulled a rescue. I got enough money to do this, an' I enjoy doin' it, so don't trouble your head about it." And he smiled again. I'd heard rumors that he was a rich man, though he didn't dress or talk like one, and this seemed to confirm those rumors. At least the cost of the hotel room didn't faze him, while I knew that I couldn't have afforded it for even a day.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Al had turned toward me, so I looked at her. She was gazing at me, and I saw that her eyes were still the dark brown they'd been when we were kids. She wasn't all that remarkable a woman, I supposed – the only thing about her that really got my attention was her overbite. Oh, the clothes were hard to ignore, but she was too thin, and her face wasn't going to appear on any advertisements, and I suspected that a lot of her bust was a pushup bra. But I also knew that whatever had happened to her, I still cared.

And apparently there was something on her side too. She'd chosen to trust me out on the street, and her face now was as open as it had been years ago, when we'd been children playing in her back yard or walking through the park. Her hand in mind was trusting too – don't ask me how I could tell that. And I knew somehow that she was waiting on me to make a decision for her.

"Al," I said, "Darvin's offering you a chance to get out of a permanently bad situation. If I were you, I'd jump at it. Maybe you'll wind up a secretary, maybe not. It sounds like the only skill you have is ... well, it sounds like you don't have but one skill. That's all right. You can learn. You were smart back then, Al, and I would imagine you're still smart. Take the opportunity while it's here. Whatever you wind up doing, it won't be something where you risk disease and injury and death every night."

"I've had a dose two or three times..." Al was thinking out loud as much as talking to us, perhaps more so. "And I do hurt..." She reached out and took my other hand. "Do you love me, Alan?"