Naturally, as a teenager, she found men were extremely attracted to her. Not only could she turn a head or two, but she had the guile and the confidence to wrap any man around her little finger. She’d already had practice when it came to sex, as she believed her father had sold her to his friend. For most young teenagers, it would have been a terrifying, traumatising experience, but for her, it wasn’t. Now, at thirty-one years of age, she looked back and concluded at that time it was rape. Of course, it was. And yet her rapist didn’t pin her down or hurt her.
Carl was his name. A man in his twenties, he was smart and handsome. From the weekly gatherings, which Les called their poker night, she soon realised that Carl was a villain. Carl would eye her up and pay her the most flattering compliments, which she wasn’t used to, but which gave her butterflies from all the attention. He was much younger than her father, and he had a sleekness about him and soft eyes that could make him everyone’s friend when he needed to put on the charm.
After she poured their drinks, she hid in the shadows, but all the time she did so, she listened to their conversations of money scams and prostitution and her eyes lit up. She was well on her way to becoming a minor player in the life before most boys her age actually knew where to find the hidden jewel of the female anatomy.
So as the years went by, her knowledge of the criminal underworld gave her the self-assuredness to think about getting into it herself. After all, it was easy money. And besides, who would stop her? Her own father could hardly look down on her for it, and he didn’t care about her anyway.
Then, one evening, when she was fifteen, she endured a particularly bad weekend, although her memory of the events was not clear in her mind. After she’d been out with her friends to a party, she put the key in the door only to be dragged the rest of the way into the house by her hair. Her father’s thick sausage-like fingers gripped her arms and shook her so hard she bumped her head on the back wall. He was screaming. As foam and spittle left his mouth, his eyes were red and violently angry, and his voice held an ear-piercing screech to it. In his rage, he threw her to the stairs and demanded she stay in her room, or she would be locked in that metal cabinet.
The recollection was vague, but the next morning, he gave her some pathetic lecture about her being drunk and rolling in at all hours, not knowing where she’d been or who she’d been with. How he was sick of her going so late and he was going to get someone to give her a good talking-to, who may knock some sense into her. Never mind what he said, she was convinced that the marks on her face were caused by him manhandling her. Okay, she’d had a little to drink, but she couldn’t have given herself the bruises.
Shortly after her perceived assault, the men had another meeting at her home. She had been getting ready for another night out, secretly downing a few shots of neat vodka before she applied more make-up to hide the bruises. The sound of the men downstairs seemed more appealing than the invitation to a house party put on by a few of her mates.
Carl noticed the marks on her face, and he immediately curled his finger for her to come closer to inspect the bruises. As she approached him, she noticed the compassionate smile that spread across his face.
‘You need to be careful, Lucy. Don’t you go ruining that beautiful face of yours,’ he uttered, quietly. Amazed at that time by his concern for her, she’d put it down to the fact that he’d been drinking, and yet, she felt goose bumps all over her arms and her face went bright red with embarrassment. He must have noticed how coy she was, and he played on it, running the back of his hand down her cheek. She didn’t move.
His eyes then darted to Les and then down at the cards in his hand. With a low sarcastic tone, he said menacingly, ‘You owe me now, Les. I don’t think you can trump three aces, can you?’ His eyes darted to the pot of money on the table.
Lucy looked at her father who appeared to be nervously chewing his bottom lip as he focused on the cards in his hand. He suddenly shot her a look and shook his head in disgust. She hated that expression.
‘Right, I think I will call it in. Come on then, pay up, Les – ya can’t beat my hand.’ Not looking at Les, he ran his hand down her face again.
Once again, Lucy looked at her father who lowered his eyes, studied his own cards, and then nodded with a heavy sigh. She never really knew if it was shame, guilt, or humiliation. Did he look down because he had sold his daughter, or was it because he’d reached the depths of fear of the repercussions if he had said no? Either way, as far as Lucy was concerned, it didn’t matter. She didn’t care. In her head, she guessed what he meant when he said, ‘pay up’.
The meeting over, the men left, one by one. Les took Carl into the kitchen and then re-emerged, giving her another one of his critical looks. ‘Carl wants to talk to you.’
With that, Carl nodded for Les to leave the room.
‘Come and sit by me, beautiful.’ He winked. Those words were like wandering into a Disney world, a magical place. She did as he said, and as he stroked her hair, she felt alive, with his warm breath on her neck and his gentle words of affection. Her ears buzzed, and her heart rate quickened. Whether or not it was the alcohol in her system or the closeness of a real man, she didn’t care: it felt good either way. That longing look of his sucked her in, and as he leaned in to her, she detected the subtle sweet-and-sour aroma of his aftershave.
She closed her eyes, as his words reverberated somewhere in the distance. Her hands covered his, easing them inside her school blouse. Immediately, he pulled away, but not before his eyes narrowed, sending a cold shiver up her spine. She hated that look of disappointment; it was the same one her father constantly wore. She wanted, longed even, for the attention, and could have cursed, just when things were getting interesting.
Get a grip, Lucy, she told herself. This is big school not play school and those soothing fingers and wanting eyes were sending furious signals to her brain. Leaning in to him, she arched her back, encouraging him to caress her. He held back as she urged him to touch her. All she could hear were words of adoration; those kind, sweet words were like music to her ears, words that flooded her mind with candy and lifted her spirits to a new height. It didn’t matter what he was saying; his voice was somehow hypnotic and addictive, like a drug.
If this was Les’s way of “paying up”, then she was going to ensure it was well and truly paid, and her father could live with the guilt for the rest of his miserable existence. It was then that she realised she could have this effect on men. She would become a player by using her looks and sexual powers to control them. But not just any men. They would need to be charismatic, wealthy, and stunningly good-looking, just like Carl. She wouldn’t settle for less.
He left that evening with a warm smile and an incredibly seductive wink. She remembered giggling and him saying, ‘Goodnight, my little darling, sleep well.’ And she did – for the first time ever, she slept like a baby.
By the morning, she felt alive, although, for a moment, she wondered if it had all been a dream. Les staggered into the kitchen, still reeking of booze. She had her back to him and snatched the toast as it popped from the toaster. In her head, she was singing a tune, but not aloud; he would hate any noise in the morning, usually suffering from a hangover. She placed the buttered toast on a plate and slid it under her father’s nose. This time, she didn’t feel so petrified of him. That morning was probably the first time ever he’d said, ‘thank you’. She then placed the coffee by his plate.
She didn’t have to look at his chunky, puffy face to know he was tormented with guilt; she could hear it in his breathing, by the way he quietly sat down, and by the tone in his voice when he asked if the talking-to from Carl had helped her in any way. She rolled her eyes and smirked. ‘Some pep talk, eh? My fucking arse. You know what he did to me? Call yaself a father. You should be ashamed of yaself!’
She glared at her father’s expression of resignation, rolling her eyes once more when he asked if she had taken her tablets again. Finally, she stomped off, after he accused her of such mad and disgusting lies. They weren’t mad, and she wasn’t going to stand there and allow him to fill her head with bullshit.