No More Fire Escapes

Jeff unloaded the first aid kit on the bed beside Rat.

“Do you need ibuprofen or something?” He asked, patting Rat’s hand.

“The doc gave me some Oxy, so I’m good.” Rat replied.

“Lilith, please be careful with that stuff. I don’t want to see you getting hooked on anything.”

“You worry too much. I don’t even like narcotics that much. I’m a stoner above all.”

“You smoke weed?” Jeff asked, incredulous.

“Every single day of my adult life.”

Jeff puckered his lips, frowning.

“I’m gonna heat up some soup. Holler if you need anything.”

Jeff trudged downstairs with the bag of groceries in one hand and bouquet of flowers in the other. Rat heard the familiar beeps of the microwave as he popped the soup in to heat. They weren’t sure if Jeff was happy to be their caretaker. He had showed up dutifully, with an extensive care kit in tow, and yet they were already quarreling. There wasn’t much Rat could do if he wasn’t enjoying his Save-A-Hoe role. He finally had his chance, and yet it wasn’t exactly what he wanted?

***

When Rat had met Jeff years ago, he was sitting alone in a corner booth, sipping from a can of Sprite. He wore a modest blue polo shirt half tucked into a pair of wrinkled khaki pants. His straw-like graying blonde hair didn’t seem to abide by any rhyme or reason. The cut was simultaneously too long and too short and cascaded forward over his eyes in a way that looked deliberate yet poorly executed.

“You waiting for someone?” Rat asked, bending over so that their cleavage was at his eye level.

“I was hoping you’d come talk to me.” Jeff replied, smiling a toothy smile.

“May I sit on you?” Rat asked.

This was one of their favorite opening lines. They loved the double entendre and accompanying unease most customers responded with. There was nothing more fun than making grown men blush.

“Please!” Jeff barked, coughing as he choked on his drink. “You caught me off guard with that one.”

He dabbed his face with the tiny drink napkin under his Sprite. Rat took a seat in his lap and flipped their thick curly wig hair over their shoulder. It was hot wearing a whole head of synthetic hair, but it was part of the job. Plus men didn’t notice most of the time, or care. They wanted the experience of being encircled in a curtain of hair, fake or not.

“Are you from around here?” Rat asked.

“I’m from Cupertino. It’s where Apple’s HQ. Bay area. What about you?”

“Wow, you’re a long way from home. What brings you to Baltimore?” Rat said, dodging the question.

Rat preferred not to divulge personal details on a first meeting.

“I moved out here for work a few years ago.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a consultant. It’s not very interesting.” Jeff replied.

But Rat wanted to know. Not all consultants were created equal. They all had their different income brackets. If he was consulting for some government program, he would be an Economy Class patron. If he was consulting for the Hopkins health complex, he would be either Economy Comfort or maybe Business Elite. If he was consulting for Exxon, he was definitely a Platinum Medallion Customer flying first class straight to hell. But of course, customers didn’t think this way. They weren’t playing a complex game of strategy when they came for lap dances or beautiful company.

“It’s interesting to me! What kind of consulting do you do?” Rat pressed, batting their eyelashes.

“I work with international banks to assure that they’re recession proof. I essentially map out security strategies after we examine…”

Rat’s eyes glazed over. He was a financial consultant for international banks. He was clearly doing well, and that was all that Rat needed to know.

“It’s not a very exciting job, but it pays the bills.” Jeff said, finishing his explanation.

“Wow, that sounds like a really important job!” Rat gushed.

“It’s not, but I’m glad to have it, even if I have to take shit every day because some people think they’re better than the rest of us. But anyway. It pays me well, which means I can spend time with pretty ladies like you.”

***

“You need to wear the compression socks! You’re not going to get better if you keep trying to walk around on them!” Jeff chastised, irritation creasing his brow.

He was such an incessant nag. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Rat felt like he was their parent, not the man they had allowed to eat their ass only a month prior. The age gap didn’t help. He could feasibly be their father in a parallel universe.

“My left ankle feels fine! I’m already doing better. You need to chill out.” Rat replied, exasperated.

“Oh, I’ll ‘chill out’.” Jeff countered, cattily. “If you don’t like how I’m taking care of you, you can find another bedside nurse.”

“It’s not that serious, Jeff.” Rat replied, softening. “I need you, but I also need you to let me recover a little bit of autonomy. I’ve been on my back for two weeks now. I’m going crazy.”

Jeff looked at Rat sideways, the vein in his forehead gradually relaxing. He crossed his arms thoughtfully.

“Do you think you can use crutches?” He asked, finally.

“I’d like to try.”

***

The next day, Jeff arrived with a pair of crutches.

“I asked the saleswoman what size to get if you’re 5’5”. She said these should fit you, but if they’re too big, I can run back and get the right size.”

He handed the crutches over to Rat, who sat on the edge of their bed, supported by their donut pillow. Rat stared forward, determined to make it work.

“Do you need me to help you up?” Jeff asked, unsure of what to do next.

“Let me try on my own first, then if I need your help, I’ll ask.” Rat replied with firm conviction.

They wedged the crutches under their armpits and rocked forward, kicking with their left ankle. They teetered backward. Jeff nearly fell rushing to catch them, but Rat stopped him.

“It’s okay. Gimme a chance.” Rat said.

Rat pushed off again, this time managing to lift their body onto the crutches. Rat kept their right knee bent, leaning gingerly onto their left foot. Jeff stood back, watching anxiously as Rat hobbled across the room. They felt so much lighter, now that they were back on their feet. Well, technically foot. Rat made a circle and then plopped back down onto their donut pillow, beaming with pride. Jeff clapped, his face misty with emotion.

“You’re such a strong girl. I knew you could do it.” He said, wrapping his arms around Rat’s neck.

Rat swallowed their initial irritation over his unintentional condescension and hugged him back, grateful for the care he had given.

“Let’s celebrate! Can I take you to get your nails done?” Jeff asked.

He eyed Rat’s ragged nails, now not only broken but overgrown after two weeks of neglect. Rat was self-conscious about them. Their hands had once been a source of pride, but since the fall, they’d done all they could to avoid looking at them.

“Actually, I’d love that.”

Jeff helped Rat wrap their hair in a headscarf and chose a simple, warm woolen dress for them to wear. It was their first outing. Rat had hardly looked in the mirror since their fall. They didn’t know if they looked rough or if they’d managed to retain any semblance of attractiveness without their incessant beauty rituals. Rat stood with the crutches as Jeff pulled a woolen poncho over their shoulders. It was not a look Rat would have chosen for themself, but they weren’t about to alert the tightly wound man.

The most difficult part was descending the stairs. Jeff mostly carried them down, the crutches reaching the end of their usefulness. Never before had living so high up been such a daunting impediment. Rat was grateful they were only temporarily disabled. Otherwise, they would have had to move. Once they made it outside, even with the snow, at least the ground was mostly flat. Jeff kept a close eye on Rat, who had every fiber of their being set upon making it the few yards over to Jeff’s car. Rat looked resentfully at the gray snow, the sidewalk finally cleared for the most part. If it wasn’t for the snow, they wouldn’t be in this mess. The crutches crunched through the nearly solid snow pack and landed on frozen grass. Rat’s foot got a little wet, but it wasn’t too bad. In a way, it was invigorating to feel something other than the plushy comfort of their bed. Jeff opened the car door for them, and Rat flung themself inside belly first and wiggled to an upright position, stashing the crutches on the seat behind them. Jeff dutifully gave them space, clearly restraining his impulse to help Rat as they struggled. As Jeff made his way to the driver seat, Rat checked their face in the mirror. They had dark circles around their eyes, and their lips were dry, but they weren’t the monster they had imagined themself to be.In fact, they looked rather nice in their unconventional outfit. It was the first time they had stared at themself critically and assessed whether or not they looked good. They checked their hands. The scabs had mostly peeled off, revealing light pink scarred skin underneath.

***

Rat was uncharacteristically self-conscious as they walked into the salon. Normally they enjoyed visibly being a sugar baby, but they worried it didn’t look like that this time. Rat was bruised and on crutches, escorted by a White man nearly twice their age. They looked like a DV victim, not a scammer earning their bag.

“I see a mani/pedi. For two?” asked the woman at the front desk.

Her name tag read “Hannah,” but she spoke with a heavy Vietnamese accent. Rat wondered if this was actually her name, or the name she had chosen for work to avoid having to explain how to pronounce her name.

“Just for her. I’m here for moral support.” Jeff laughed, blandly.

“Okay, right this way.” Hannah directed.

Jeff followed, making sure Rat wouldn’t fall onto any of the manicurists. Rat settled into a massage chair and Jeff bent down to remove their boots.

“Don’t worry, we can do that.” Hannah said.

“It’s fine. Be careful with her feet. She sprained her ankles recently, so everything is tender.” Jeff said, placing the boots to the side of the chair. “I’ll be over there if you need me, Lil,” he said as he gave Rat a peck on the head.

“Is he your dad?” Hannah asked once Jeff was out of earshot.

“Kinda.” Rat replied.

Hannah exchanged a glance with the manicurist beside her as she began scrubbing the bottoms of Rat’s feet. The sensation was so foreign, it was overwhelming. Rat couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated their feet. They were incredibly ticklish, but Rat did their best to stifle their giggle.

“Are you okay, honey?” Hannah asked, concern on her face, “Is he treating you right?”

“I’m fine, I just fell off my fire escape.” Rat said, realizing as soon as they spoke how their statement sounded. It was the “I fell down the stairs” 2.0.

“Okay, honey. I won’t make you talk about it.” Hannah replied, busying herself with the pedicure.

Forty-five minutes later, Rat’s fingers and toes were painted seafoam green. Rat had declined acrylics, as much as it pained them to not have their claws handy. There was no reason for that level of adornment, and it was impractical for handling the mundane duties of homebound life. Jeff had already gone ahead and paid for everything, handing Hannah a $50 for her time.

“You be careful out there, honey! No more fire escapes!” Hannah shouted as Rat hobbled out of the salon.

Rat felt dignified again, their hands no longer mawed paws. They sucked on their fingers, enjoying the smooth texture of the gel nails. It was like wearable candy. Flavorless, but beautiful. Rat stared at their hands, transfixed as Jeff drove, his eyes locked on the road.

“You like them.” He said, this time a statement.

“I do. Thank you so much.” Rat replied.

“The color is perfect for you. It really brings out your color.” Jeff remarked.

“Melanin poppin’, baby.”