Eveland - Chapter One

Hallie   

Hallie tugged at the bottom of her sleeves as she padded across the snow-covered lawn. This early in the morning, the sun was barely shining, and the brothel was silent.  

Her boots crunched against the twigs and sticks hidden under the thin, frosted layer as she reached the edge of the forest. From here, she could see two things; straight ahead, her tiny family of foxes that she fed every morning, and out into the distance the hovels and shabby high-rises of her quiet hometown.   

A tiny tongue lapped at her fingers and her attention snapped back to her tiny fox family. The scraps of cooked chicken she had hidden in her closed fist enough to entice even the smallest fox out of the tree line and into her orbit.   

With a stifled giggle, Hallie threw the tiny bits of chicken back into the forests edge, and the three foxes scampered after them, their bushy tails swayed in the breeze as Hallie licked her fingers and wiped her hands on her pants.   

Watching the foxes snare their chicken, Hallie breathed into her hands. Her fingers already turning numb from the frosty morning cold. As she rubbed them together, she caught a glimpse of her number.  

The four-hundred-and-ninety-eight made her stomach lurch. She hadn’t realised she was so close to a milestone she never wanted to reach. With a tug at her sleeves, she pulled her jumped down, jangling the black bracelets back into place, fidgeting with the heap of plastic wrapped around her wrist, the plastic that was supposed to keep that number out of sight.  

Turning away from the foxes, Hallie looked up at her home. Velvet Inn was a disgusting inside as it was outside. The old wooden hinges held broken windows, the door was cracked open, because they never closed up shop. As she walked the path back to the front door, Hallie dragged her feet. She had seen her number, the number that told the world who she was and what she had done before she got the chance to open her mouth; the number that held her here; the number that marked her.   

With a lump in her throat, Hallie yanked the door open, closing it with a loud thump behind her and traipsed up the stairs. It might be early, but the night workers would be knocking off in less than an hour; and she still looked good enough in the daylight to be sold for a fair price.  

As she slowly wound her way up the spiral staircase, the sounds of sizzling danced around in her ears. Her number might be high, she might be a scarlet woman, she might never get the chance to go to school or be married off to a rich man; but this morning, Madame Maple was cooking.   

The smell had drawn a crowd as Hallie entered the tiny kitchen. The brothel did waste any space; most of the room were assigned to two girls in shifts, the shared space both a discomfort and a chance, but the Velvet Inn had one other perk – Madame Maple’s kitchen.   

Crackling bacon and running eggs oozed across the pan as Hallie slid herself into a stool. All the girls were waiting, some still in last night’s attire, others with their hair in rollers waiting to start the day. Only Hallie was fully clothed; it would have made her feel strange, out-of-place; but this was the only place she knew as home.   

The chatter and laughter clattered around the tiny space, stories flung back-and-forth, the comparison of tips and body-parts enough to make Hallie shiver. Her number might be coming up to a milestone, but at just shy of seventeen, she still wasn’t quite comfortable enough to brag or share details.   

Madame Maple shoved a plate into her face and Hallie smiled. The bacon and eggs stared back at her, smiling at her; just like they had when she was little. When this place had been her mother’s and she would run and hide in the forest, her only friends the foxes.  

The memory crept up on Hallie, and she shook her head to dislodge it. It had been years since those early days and her mother was long dead and buried. Just the thought of the bacon and eggs now made Hallie’s stomach tumble; she managed about three mouthfuls before the kitchen got too rowdy and her own thoughts became too jagged to keep eating.  

Hallie slipped out quietly, pulling herself up the stairs, pulling herself back to the room she shared with the woman who had taught her everything she knew about this life, the woman who had kept her alive when her mum died.  

Hallie knocked three times, a signal to let the occupants know it was her.  

“Come in Sugar,” came the dulcet tones.  

“Madame Maple’s cookin’,” Hallie called as she swung open the door and walked into the untidy room. Clothes, shoes, and condoms littered the floor, the mess uncontained and spread throughout the entire space. Lola was whispering sweet nothings into her phone, her only greeting a wink as she hopped up and strutted downstairs. She was exactly the kind of girl people expected here Hallie’s exact opposite.   

Hallie was grateful they didn’t share a bed as she pulled up the flimsy paper partition and flopped down, wrapping herself in her thin covers.  

She had exactly seventeen minutes to wallow in self-pity before she would have to paint her face with a smile that said pick me so she could pay room and board this week. The groan that rattled Hallie’s throat was enough to reverberate the bed.  

As Hallie lay with her head crumpled under her pillow, she heard the door swing open and shut again; Lola had returned, and this time she wasn’t sultry talking on the phone. Hallie had about three seconds to paint on a fake smile.  

“Up early again?” Lola said, pulling down the partition and staring at Hallie with an eyebrow so arched and raised that Hallie was surprised it hadn’t detached from her face.  

“When else will I be able to study the art of becoming a lady?” Hallie retorted. It was the same every day; the same inane questions, the same curiosity, the same scowl across Lola’s face when Hallie gave her the same answer.  

Lola only rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers; it was time for their morning ritual. Time to get ready for another day. At least today was Saturday, and tomorrow was their one day off; at least this week was ending without any itching, burning, bumps or lumps that would have to be treated.  

Hallie dragged herself off her bed, her eyes narrowed at Lola as she stood there holding a curling iron; her face was painted in a sweet smile, but Hallie knew better.  

“You always make more with curls,” she said sweetly, and she was right. Hallie always made more when she had curls. With a grimace, Hallie nodded; she didn’t add aloud that it was because the curls made her look younger, young-and-innocent; but a girl couldn’t work at the Velvet Inn, a girl couldn’t have that number on her wrist and really be innocent. Hallie could only still say she was young.   

All Hallie knew was that she hadn’t been born when the numbers had appeared, and they were still dictating her life today.  

Lola smiled as she worked, at least today she worked in silence. Letting Hallie close her eyes and pretend she was someone else. Through her fifteen minutes of peace Hallie was a princess being made up for a ball, a debutant gliding down the stairs to a room full of tear-filled eyes, and a teen at a dance with her Daddy, being twirled and spun instead of sold and discarded.  

The last image changed so rapidly that Hallie’s head spun, but as she opened her eyes, she saw Lola smiling back at her. Admiring her handiwork in the mirror.   

As Hallie looked back at her waves of curls, she saw her own tiny face staring back at her, and the lead settled in her stomach as she steeled herself for the day.  

“The curls suit you,” Lola said smiling when she noticed Hallie struggling to look at herself.  

“Get out, get out,” Hallie said pushing Lola out of the mirrored frame. “No one should have to look at themselves with you in the frame, that’s just cruel.”  

Lola grinned and put the curling wand down, throwing her hands up and backing away as Hallie turned back to look at herself again.  

Her face was soft, the roundness of her cheeks slipping away a little more each time she looked at herself; and every time she looked at herself, she recognised herself a little less.  

As Hallie stared back at her face, all she could see was a harshness she didn’t want, an extra line across her forehead that she had scowled into existence and eyes that didn’t light up anymore.   

Hallie heard the bell ring for first shift and knew that was her cue. Her cue to stand up and face the day, her cue to smile and pretend she was happy to be here, her cue to stop wallowing and start faking a smile. But Hallie was sick of cue’s, sick of being nothing more than a number and as she stood, as she walked calmly down the stairs, as she painted on a smile and stood in a line of other young women.  

Hallie stood with a smile, not real but a good enough fake as the men came. They came dirty, they came in their coal covered overalls, in their shirts smelling of fumes and paint. They came to haggle, to speak with Madame Maple about getting a girl for the best price, they came to find someone they could afford.   

The hovels were too close for comfort, the men from the hovels too close to pass this opportunity by.   

“Hallie,” Madame Maple called as she tucked away some bills in her pocketbook and smiled. Hallie stepped forward, looking at a man in a business suit. He was cleaner than the others, and Hallie almost felt grateful for this.   

A soft smile quirked across her face, and she put her hand out. The man’s hands were cold and clammy, and she wondered if this was his first time in a place like this; Madame Maple looked like she had gotten a good price, and Hallie hoped her cut would be worth the part she was about to play.   

As she pulled him into the bedroom and shut the door. She pressed her back up against the wood. She had to ground herself, to make sure she was able to stay present throughout, to play the part that he had paid for.   

With her back against the door, Hallie watched the man as he fumbled with his tie. His hands glittered, his fingers shaking, and she closed her eyes and flicked a switch inside herself.   

When Hallie opened her eyes again, it was as if she was someone else. She strutted across the room, whipping the tie off in one smooth movement and pushing the man down onto the bed. She mounted him and within seconds they were all wrapped up in each other.   

Now that they were moving, he had stopped shaking, his hips rocked as he grabbed at her, his hands found her. He was rough, pulling at her clothes, laying her back as he hovered above her.   

The sweat beading on his forehead distracted her, all she could think about as he finished undressing her was how sweaty his body was going to be on top of her; the weight of him pressing down on her.   

Hallie put her arms out and arched herself up to meet him. His mouth was waiting, biting and kissing down her neck as if that was something she wanted, as if any of this was what she wanted; and as she laid back and he pushed himself against her, Hallie did the one thing she tried to never do. She watched the number tick up from four-hundred-and-ninety-eight to four-hundred-and-ninety-nine. As he thumped above her, the noise of a man having a good time rippled out of him Hallie stared at the number; the little number that went up by one every time she took a man into this bedroom.  

The tears stung her eyes as he collapsed in a heap on top of her, his sweat intermingling with her tears. She swallowed the bile back down and tidied herself up. Tugging her robe closed, tussling her bed head, and smiling softly at the man that just paid for a quarter hour of her time; paid for another notch on her wrist, paid for another meal and day of board.   

She waved him out, keeping her smile in place for him, making sure he knew she had enjoyed his company. He palmed an extra note into her hand on his way out, and with a dip of his head he was gone. He vanished into the night like a ghost, never to be seen again, never to call.  

As Hallie undressed and cleaned herself up, she stared at the extra note he had given her. She was nothing more than a girl in a brothel, a girl with a number the inched higher every day, a girl who fed the foxes, and that was enough for now.