The Night They Shared Me in the Club Office

I woke at nine with a dry throat and the memory of the shift stuck in my back. The night at Eden had been hell, not so much because of the work as because of what I’d been dragging around since I arrived in Málaga. I opened my eyes in Lucía’s bed and reality hit me again, a cold wave that reminded me of the bitter turn my life had taken.

Lucía had dragged me out of the sheets. Her eyes were swollen from crying in secret and, though she didn’t tell me anything, I knew what she’d done. I’d heard her in the middle of the night, in a low voice, dialing Adrián’s number. She’d told him everything: the recent tattoos, the wounded skin and, above all, the noon appointment. Bruno had promised me to some foreign clients who were arriving that day to take me with them. A one-way delivery.

It’s not going to happen, I told myself, clinging to the promise Adrián had sworn to Lucía over the phone. Someone is going to come and get me out of here.

But hope thinned with every hour. Nando came to pick me up an hour late and put me in a taxi toward the center of Málaga, to a spotless beauty salon. Amparo was waiting for me there, a woman in her forties with the body of a thirty-year-old and the face of a fifty-year-old, who looked me up and down like someone sizing up a pet before buying it.

—Get undressed —she said, and kept staring.

***

When a woman looks at me with desire, I know it. Amparo was looking at me with hunger. Her fingers brushed the badly shaved skin of my pubis and stayed there, lingering.

—Who did this to you, little one? —she whispered.

And she fixed it, oh, did she ever. Between one touch and the next, she shaped the hair into a tuft, like the tip of a torch. Then, exhausted and with the bitter taste of her still in my mouth, she applied a lotion to the areas battered by the ink. She talked to me, but I was far away, traveling back to the time when I was an innocent girl. If only I could go back.

—Come in, Iván, look what a little cake —she said suddenly.

I opened my eyes and met his gaze. He was a guy my age, with penetrating gray eyes, full lips, straight blond hair. He was carrying a tray of instruments. Pure instinct made me close my legs.

—Relax, he doesn’t bite. He’s bringing a present from Bruno.

Iván lifted a piece of dark steel, a kind of short, rounded arrow with an oblong base at one end.

—He’s going to put it wherever you say. On the right or on the left. Choose.

I shook my head, once, twice, with the urgency of someone drowning. For nothing in the world did I want to feel the cold of the needle again, the stabbing pain, the warm blood.

—Do you want me to call Bruno and tell him you’re resisting? —Amparo asked in a tone that admitted no reply.

—On the left —I gave in.

Iván had a calm, almost professional air about him. He explained each step while looking me in the eyes, carefully removed my hoops, and cleaned both nipples with an alcohol-soaked gauze, an unnecessary meticulousness, because he was only going to work on one. Without taking his eyes off me, he started pinching the left one. Every squeeze was a jolt that made my eyelids close; I opened them again and found those gray eyes, and surrendered all over again. It was a cycle I couldn’t control.

—Take a breath —he ordered when the nipple was hard as stone.

I breathed in deeply and clutched the table. I felt a sharp prick, then a constant pressure and, finally, the sudden entry of the needle. It wasn’t a cut, but a slow, sure penetration that went through the base, overcoming the resistance of the skin. The silence in the studio was broken only by my own breathing. When the needle came out, the sharp pain turned into something dull and throbbing, as if the area were burning from the inside.

He handed me a hand mirror. When I looked at myself, the pain seemed to vanish, replaced by an unexpected wave of pride. The reddened nipple, swollen, pierced by a flash-dark arrow. The area pulsed with a promise that would stay with me for hours. Then came the makeup and the hair, and when Amparo told me, “Done, take a look,” the woman in the mirror was not me. Those black curls, those matte-red lips, those sculpted cheekbones. I traced every inch of my new image and it felt liberating. It wasn’t me, and yet I felt powerful.

***

Nando was speechless when he saw me come out. For once he didn’t say any of his outrageous shit; he just said, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” and took me straight to Eden. There were two hours left until the meeting with the clients.

They locked me in the office as soon as I arrived. They’d dressed me in clothes brought from a boutique in the city center, gorgeous lingerie, exquisite taste that wasn’t Bruno’s. The appointment was at two-thirty, but it was past three and nobody had shown up. When I tried to leave, one of the assistants blocked my way.

—You can’t go out.

I was seized by such a feeling of confinement that I didn’t even protest. Shortly after, Bruno came in.

—Eat, the clients are going to be late.

—Why can’t I leave the office?

—It’s better if you stay calm until they get here. Jesus, they’ve made you look divine.

—And what’s going to happen to me?

He stopped with the sentence half-finished, took a second to look me in the face.

—Don’t be silly. Do what they tell you and keep them happy —he swallowed—, you’ll see they’ll be good to you.

We didn’t speak again. He left and abandoned me with a void that was hard to explain. At five-thirty nobody had come yet, my chest was pounding and nerves were eating me from the inside. When he came back, Bruno was carrying two glasses on a tray, something strange in him, since he usually made them with his ritual of ice and citrus.

—They’re going to be late, they always do the same thing, but they pay well. A drink? That way you won’t get worked up.

The first sip was a relief. The bitter gin slid down my throat without bothering me. Then Bruno launched into one of his enveloping conversations, the kind he used to dodge any uncomfortable question. After two or three drinks, the anxiety had flown away as if by magic. Nervousness turned into a strange calm, into a docility I didn’t recognize in myself. He had taken me to the sofa, and I even let him put his hands on me with the passivity of a puppet.

—Here, so you can relax —he whispered, offering me a pill a different color from the usual one.

I pointed it out to him. He answered something I don’t remember, but I took it for good and swallowed it. I finished the last drink while his fingers played with the edge of the neckline, slid down my straps, left my breasts bare. I laughed like a madwoman, almost choked. He touched the nipple arrow, tried to move it, and it didn’t move.

—Twist it —I told him, remembering Iván’s instructions. He took it by the tip, twisted it, and it peeled away from the fresh scab. He looked like a child with a new toy.

—How many days will I be out? —I asked, and the question froze him.

—How do you know you’re going to be out?

—I don’t know… I guess —I said, confused.

A slow, sly smile drew itself on his lips, though his eyes stayed serious.

—You were always the smartest. As many days as necessary, princess.

***

The door flew open. A waitress came in with the same tray and, behind her, Nando.

—Fucking hell —he exclaimed, and grabbed one of my breasts as if it were a fruit to inspect the arrow. It didn’t bother me; on the contrary.

—Right? —Bruno replied, proud of his merchandise.

I was far away, lost in a warm fog where nothing mattered. Nando left my thong bunched around one ankle and spread my legs wide open. He liked what he saw, I knew it from the look on his face. He pulled down his pants and entered all at once. I didn’t even notice when he’d put on the condom. He did it on his knees, fists sunk into the sofa, looking me in the eyes while he drove into me with the brutality of an animal.

—Hurry up and say goodbye —Bruno ordered impatiently, making sure he didn’t stain my dress.

When Nando finished, Bruno took his place. He fucked me without taking his eyes off me, and between thrusts he cleaned me with a care unbefitting of them, surely so as not to ruin Amparo’s work. Even so, they were incapable of containing the lust they felt at seeing me like that, shared between the two of them, and that, in my madness, made me believe I was in control. Fool that I was.

—I’m going to miss you —Bruno murmured, as if he knew that after that trip he wasn’t going to see me again.

He put something under my nose.

—Sniff it.

I felt an electric crack in my brain, a flash, and suddenly I was myself again. The fear came back intact. They pulled my panties up, changed my stained bra, and took me to the room so I could “get some air” until the clients arrived.

***

Lucía came over to greet me as soon as I stepped into the room. The light threw sparks into my eyes and I was still floating, laughing at anything.

—Are you sure you’re okay? —she asked, holding me by the arm.

—Do I look bad? I’m just a little dazed, that’s all. Did they make me pretty?

—You’re gorgeous, honey.

We moved around the room as usual, greeting people, being seen, but that night Lucía didn’t want to stop with anyone. A few polite words and we moved on. We drew more attention than ever; the necklines showed our rank, and I was devastating in the makeup and that dress that traced my curves like it had been painted on with a brush. She practically dragged me away from a table where two men were devouring me with their eyes.

Bruno watched our every move intently. Anxiety gnawed at me: the foreigners’ arrival kept me on edge. And then, when we were about to ask him if he had any news, some newcomers approached him and Lucía dug her fingers into my arm.

—Inspector Soler! What a pleasure to see you! —Bruno said, recovering his con-man smile.

—Cut the shit. You’re fucking with the wrong person.

—What the fuck are you talking about, Raúl?

—Is this the one from Barcelona? —the inspector looked at me—. Ms. Valdés, gather your things. You’re coming with me.

Bruno went pale as I’d never seen him.

—What is this? Don’t fuck with me, Raúl.

—Inspector Soler to you. And shut your mouth or you’re coming too. Bravo, escort her.

I couldn’t process what was happening. In the locker room I regained my lucidity all at once and panicked: if they ran an analysis on me, they’d find God knows what in my blood. Prostitution, drug use, my career gone to hell, my parents. I got changed, picked up my bag, and left. The policeman was waiting for me.

—Am I under arrest?

—The inspector will tell you that.

We left Eden amid looks and whispers. Outside, the cold air finally cleared my head. They put me in an unmarked car and, to my surprise, the inspector sat in back, beside me.

—Where are we going?

—First, to collect all your belongings. Then you’re leaving for Barcelona.

Relief hit me with overwhelming force. The tears I hadn’t been able to shed before came pouring out uncontrollably.

***

The car did not follow the directions to the main terminal. It turned off onto a secondary road and stopped in front of a discreet building, softly lit, that looked like the reception of a luxury hotel. No lines, no screens, no echo of a hundred voices. They greeted me by name and, in a minute, escorted me onto the tarmac. A small, gleaming jet was waiting there under the spotlights, the stairs already down.

Inside, the first thing that struck me was the silence. Two leather sofas facing each other, a small table of fine wood, huge windows, and at the back, a bedroom with a real bed and a bathroom with a shower. A shower on a plane. I followed the assistant’s instructions, settled in, and the door sealed shut with a perfect fit. The takeoff was so abrupt that the runway lights became a blurred line. Once in the air, everything was calm, like floating inside a bubble above the world. I had barely had time to process that they’d saved me from the uncertain fate that awaited me.

We landed at El Prat through a part of the airport I’d never seen before. A black sedan was waiting on the tarmac; the driver, whom I recognized, took my luggage. I didn’t go through any security control. In ten minutes the car was joining the road toward Sant Cugat, and the weight of the situation came crashing down on me again. I had freed myself from a pimp and from certain slavery, only to fall once more under the guardianship of another man. I felt more vulnerable than ever at the prospect of seeing Esteban, my protector.

***

They made me wait in a room that turned every second into agony. I had let him down; he had every reason to feel deceived. When they finally announced that “Mr. Lasalle is waiting for you,” I felt as if I were walking to my own execution block. I saw him standing behind the desk, imposing, and he came over to take my hands. With that simple gesture, the knot in my chest unraveled.

—How are you? —he asked in a voice so gentle it broke me inside.

—Oh, Esteban! —I clung to him, to the only man who could give me comfort, and I fell apart. I cried my eyes out, unloading every fear and every betrayal.

When I recovered my calm, I exposed myself to his gaze without reserve, naked, and showed him the marks that week had left on my skin: the nipple arrow, the pentagons on my chest, the nine tattooed on the nape of my neck. Esteban made a slow circle around me, his face betraying nothing.

—I can’t stand them —my voice cracked—. They remind me I was forced. They’re scars that will torture me for the rest of my life.

—It doesn’t have to be that way, love.

It was the first time he’d called me love, and I thought I might faint.

—They’re engraved on your body. Fighting them is fighting your own shadow. Accept them. Give them another meaning —he traced the pentagons on my chest with delicate fingers—. What does nine mean to you?

Desperate, I searched in the silence broken only by our breathing.

—I met Adrián on July ninth —I murmured—. And on January ninth we moved in together.

—See? The nine you wear on your skin has stopped being the number of a victim. It’s the number of your love.

I looked at him not knowing whether to believe him, but for the first time in days something like hope warmed my chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe I could rewrite each mark, one by one, until they no longer belonged to them and became mine again. That night, at last, I allowed myself to rest.