Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Even with Leka’s hands over my ears, I can still make out Beefer’s words.
“It is what it is. Whores like Mary are only interested in how fat your wallet is, and let’s face it, the boss’s wallet is a helluva lot fatter than mine.”
“Loyalty should count for something,” Leka insists.
“She’s loyal to the green. It’s something for you to remember.”
“How am I supposed to trust the business to take care of Bitsy if we’re all just loyal to the money?” Leka’s voice is as harsh and angry as I’ve ever heard it.
“We’re all brothers here, Leka. The boss said he’d take care of your girl and he will. He won’t go back on his word. Not to you, at least. Not to any one of his soldiers. Pussy, on the other hand? That’s expendable.” Beefer points toward the main room where Mary’s cries are mixed with the chairs and tables scraping against the floor.
“I don’t know, Beefer. I’d be careful around her,” Leka warns, dropping his hands away.
“She was never anything more than a warm hole,” Beefer declares. End of story. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He jerks his head toward a door behind him. “Take your sister to the back and let’s get some grub in her.”
That sounds like a good plan to me. Bunny and I aren’t big fans of the sounds going on out in the main room.
In the back, there’s a small table. Beefer brings out a bowl of noodles and sauce. Leka follows with three bowls and three glasses of milk. Once the door is closed, I realize that the other two men stayed in the main room with the one they call the boss and Mary.
I find that weird, but I keep all my observations to myself. Leka warned me to be careful. I don’t think I’ll come to Marjory’s again, if I can help it. Even though the food is real good, Leka doesn’t like me here. And I’m not doing anything to make Leka unhappy.
15
Bitsy
Three years later
“Who’s going to be there?” I ask, watching as Leka dips his head under the faucet. He came home from “work” about ten minutes ago and has been rushing around since, muttering that he has to get to Marjory’s for some event tonight.
“Not sure. Beefer said I should go, though.”
Beefer. That man runs Leka’s life. “I thought we were going to watch Lord of the Rings tonight.” I try to keep my whining to a minimum, but it still leaks out.
“I know, Bitsy. We’ll do it tomorrow night.”
He slicks his hair back with one hand and shoves the other in front of me. I slap the towel in his waiting hand.
“This sucks.”
He pauses in mid-scrub. “Don’t say suck.”
I roll my eyes, but he catches me. In the mirror, our eyes meet. His are so blue; mine are so blah brown. His hair is golden brown, a thousand different shades of yellow and caramel and wheat and wood. Mine is one color—black and coarse. I run a hand over it. It takes a lot of effort to smooth the curls down. I wish I had straight hair. The most popular girl in the fifth grade is Emma Wilson and she has the straightest, blondest hair of any girl I’ve ever seen. All the boys love her. Hell, I love her.
I sigh. “Do you think I’m ugly, Leka?”
He scowls, his perfect features scrunch up and his eyes narrow to mean slits. “No. Who called you that?”
“No one.” No one has to say it. I can see the difference. My skin’s slightly darker than everyone else. In second grade, Tommy McKenna asked me if I showered enough. In third, Wesley Holt said I reminded him of Pig-Pen. I told him he reminded me of Babe, the pig, only not as cute and that if he spoke to me again, I’d make him into bacon and eat him for breakfast.
I got detention for that. Worth it.
“First, looks don’t mean sh—sugar and second, you’re not ugly. You’re beautiful.”
“You have to say that,” I proclaim and jump off the vanity. I’m done with mirrors.
“I don’t have to say it,” he yells after me. “I say it because it’s true.”
“Whatever,” I mumble. I hate that he’s going out. I decide to eat my feelings away with a pint of ice cream. I’m pulling the lid off when the intercom rings.
“Will you get that?” he yells.
It’s the doorman announcing my babysitter. Funny how in the first years of my life when we were living in the studio apartment over on K Avenue, I stayed at home by myself. A year ago, Leka came home and announced we were moving.
Up here on 74th Street, far away from Avenue K, I have more stuff—a bed rather than a mattress and a sleeping bag, a closet full of clothes versus a milk crate and a backpack. I also have a huge assortment of bunny rabbit stuffed animals. Along with all of that good stuff are the unnecessary extras: a babysitter and a school uniform.