I walked through the mysterious red-light district, but with each step, it seemed less mysterious. Many women, most of them attractive, were dressed similarly, all trying to catch the attention of passing men.I could see where it was all coming from- nothing good happens after dark. The red-light district embodies the darkness and hidden desires of New York.
Right when I was about to turn away from the street I heard shouting in my direction:
"Hey, backpack girl! Yeah, you! Come here!"
I turned around, trying to figure out which "midnight butterfly" was calling me. What did I do wrong? Did I cross some line or break the rules of this place?
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to come here...!" I shouted back, but my voice sounded more like a drowned whisper. She barely heard me.
"Come here sweetie, I don't mean to hurt you. I just want to talk!" the woman said.
I started walking towards her, and as I got closer, I saw that she is very young, maybe in her early twenties. She wore heavy makeup and fake eyelashes that looked like caterpillars. Her outfit was all black: an off-shoulder cropped top, latex mini shorts, and glittery high heels. I was amazed, to say the least.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here? It's nighttime, you should be at home," she said.
"First of all, why do you care about me? Are you undercover police?" I asked, trying my best to look cool even as my heart raced.
I could hear the women nearby start laughing.
"No, honey, I wish I was a cop..." she said in an easy tone, as if my answer didn't impress or surprise her. "...But my needs and circumstances put me here."
What did she mean by needs and circumstances? What could someone need from prostitution? My mind was racing. I'd never had a conversation with someone like her before. Usually, I'm too wrapped up in my own thoughts and problems to make friends—especially with sex workers. Before I could finish my NASCAR racing thoughts, she interrupted:
"I should have introduced myself first-my name is Rita."
"I'm Charlotte. Nice to meet you... I guess," I replied.
At this point, I felt like I should tell her why I was here, she really sounded like an undercover cop or a TV reporter gathering information about sex workers.
"I had some drama in my family, so I decided to leave. I didn't really have a plan—just wanted to get away. Now I'm in the wrong part of the business center of New York, talking to you."
"Well, Charlotte, I'll be straightforward with you. I'm not going to judge you—I've been there before. Actually, you remind me of my little sister. I really want to help you out," Rita said.
I couldn't believe it. In less than a few hours, I was already being offered help. I mean, I hadn't actually accepted it yet, and the person offering was a sex worker, but still... I was proving myself wrong. Maybe I could start building a life without my alcoholic mother.
"Thank you, Rita, but I really should go. I was looking for a hostel where I could maybe get a part-time job..."
I spoke awkwardly, slowly realizing how stupid I sounded and wishing I'd said something different. When will I stop being so awkward around people?
Rita interrupted me again, laughing a little.
"What hostel? Are you out of your mind, thinking it's a good idea to come to the business center to find a hostel? With a part-time job? This is Wall Street, not Hostel Street. If it's not Wall Street, it's the red-light district, nothing else."
Then she looked at me with warmth and kindness, touched my shoulder, and continued,
"I'm renting an apartment nearby. The building's old and there are roaches from time to time, but with a roommate, we can make it better. Come with me. I promise I don't bite."
Before I even said anything Rita added,
"Today's not a busy night anyway... You're lucky, Charlotte. If Chelsey or Roxy had seen you first, " she pointed at two girls with obviously enhanced face features, " you'd be standing here explaining what you're doing on their territory."
Chelsey and Roxy smiled but rolled their eyes so dramatically, I thought I could see their skulls.
Maybe Rita was right, my unlucky evening was turning into a lucky night. Still, I stayed alert. Even if Rita was nice, I didn't know her yet. But did I need to know her, or did I just need a place to stay? Clearly I need a second choice more. What could be worse than living with a neglectful mom? Nothing. So I followed Rita to her place.
Her apartment is actually close to her "workplace"—a multi-story building that looked like a townhouse. Rita's place is on the second floor.
As we walked in, Rita immediately started picking up her things, trying to make the place look cleaner.
"Not going to lie, I still need to practice being tidy," Rita said, catching her breath as she cleaned.
"Don't worry. I've lived in much worse places my whole life. What you're doing for me is huge, I don't even know how I'll pay it back to you."
"We'll talk about it later! For now, make yourself comfortable. What happened with your family, if you don't mind me asking?" Rita said.
She spoke so fast I could barely keep up.
"My mom's been an alcoholic since my dad left her years ago. She disappears for days, sometimes weeks, and comes home with nothing but a half-empty bottle. My younger brother never talks about it, he doesn't seem to care. I don't even know where he gets food or money, but he seems fine. Me, I just get stressed about the future. In that environment, I couldn't do anything - not even think about college. I had to leave."
"Wow. So you're a high school senior? I was one just a couple years ago..."
So I was right, Rita was nearly my age. Maybe she wore all that makeup to seem older for her clients.
"...My story's similar. I wanted out of my family, and I wanted money. I didn't know of any jobs for high schoolers that could pay well fast... so I ended up selling my body."
"You don't seem like someone who'd get into sex work so easily... I mean, I don't know your whole story, but..." I said, staring at the floor. Talking about this made me uncomfortable—it felt unreal. It was like being friends with a drug dealer... it just felt wrong.
Rita continued,
"Hey, don't judge before you've been in my shoes. Sometimes you have to separate your morals from your needs. This is the real world, girl. If you're not cheating, you're not winning."
"And what have you won so far?" I asked, with a hint of sarcasm curling my lips.
"I have contacts -men who are the elite of New York. If I need help, they'll do things for me. I've had big checks before, but they went fast because I lost my mind over designer things. Bags, shoes... you know. Every girl wants nice things."
As Rita spoke, she went to a rusty, almost falling-apart closet and opened the door. Inside was an insane amount of sparkly, furry, and elegant clothes packed tightly together. On the bottom were heels and boots, all looking clean and brand new. I couldn't even imagine the price of this Pandora's box.
"Wow, I never would've guessed you had a Hannah Montana closet in here," I said.
"Hannah Montana could never own stuff like this!" Rita giggled.
"Only this dress cost over 15.000$..."
My eyes went wide.
"If you had that kind of money, why do you still live here? Sorry for asking, I'm just curious."
Rita looked straight at me.
"Now I am more awake about it, actually saving for a home. Small apartment in a nice, safe district will do it for me!" , and then she adds :
"I see you are smart gal, Charlotte. I don't want you to get lost in life, you deserve to live comfortably. For such a pretty face you should put yourself in a right crowd..."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Nothing...! Please make yourself comfortable. Welcome to your new home!" Rita said and walked to another room.
I was left alone in a bedroom with a closet that costs thousands of dollars...just wow. Rita is really a black horse to me, but I should keep myself distant from this. I need to find a part time job, finish school and get into college. My life can't wait for me any longer. I need to get shit together.