CHAPTER ONE

“But one night in paradise,” I muttered to myself as the old yellow Mustang stopped on Hollywood Boulevard. The clock had just passed midnight, and the spring day carried an unexpected chill that penetrated my bones.

Outside, my high-jump shoes hit my stretched-out socks with a sharp click. I didn't turn around and crash into the passenger door, shocked as if there was no car at all. The Mustang roared. Leaving me, Sosinho, in the corner of lost dreams and harsh reality. My fingers began to tremble slightly, and I took out a cigarette from my pocket. The familiar ritual of lighting a cigar calmed my mind as I took a long swallow. Smoke curled around me like a shield from the world.

At first glance, I know you don't look like a Hollywood street prostitute, Luire, managing and working without Maio Fio. My tiny body left little to the imagination as I moved with grace in my ultimate jump. My heavily made-up eyes scanned the cars we passed. To find interesting clues from potential customers.

Across the street, A black prostitute caught my attention. She rubbed her shoulders against the cold. She provided little protection from the cold. We locked eyes for a moment. A silent understanding passed between us. We are different in many ways, but here, on these unchanging roads, we are sisters in survival.

Another block away A group of drug dealers gathered around the perimeter of the gate, their lively laughter and screams creating a strange contrast to the bleak surroundings. They ate and talked without a care in the world. While the rest of us scrambled to make it through another night.

In the distance, the hum of a police helicopter always forms a backdrop to the crime scene. The light from their flashlights occasionally spread across the road. To remind us of the dangers lurking around every corner. It's a sound I'm familiar with. It's an unreadable lullaby for those of us who live in the darkness.

But there was greater to my story—there usually is in this town. I'm Rosella, a twenty-year-old vintage, and nonetheless too sparkling-faced for this lifestyle despite my great efforts to cover it. The heavy makeup I'd cautiously applied in a dirty fuel station bathroom aged me and hardened my functions. A dead giveaway that I hadn't been doing this lengthy sufficient to have the light completely snuffed out.

A shiny yellow all-night time coffee preserve got here into view. Through the smudged home windows, I could make out half a dozen human beings hunched over grimy white tables. My eyes scanned the diner's occupants, landing on a familiar face. Annoyance flared within me as I identified Lora, my roommate and fellow working girl, sitting internally.

With a sigh of frustration, I overwhelmed my cigarette below my heel and made my way inside. The tinny sound of a Chinese disco track greeted me, courtesy of a big ghetto blaster perched on the counter. Behind it, two younger Chinese men were frying up meals. They waved as I entered, and I returned the gesture half-heartedly.

I made a beeline for Lora's desk, wherein she was wolfing down a plate of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes, finding it irresistible, which turned into her remaining meal.

"Jesus Christ, Lora, you are gonna choke in case you preserve shoveling meals down your throat like that," I stated, sliding into the sales space across from my high-quality pal and partner in crime. The greasy spoon diner reeked of burnt espresso and desperation, but it became an acquainted haunt for us nighttime crawlers.

Lora appeared up at me, her mouth full of fowl fried steak, and grinned unabashedly. "Can't assist it, Rosy. I'm starving. You understand how it's miles after a busy night."

"What are you doing sitting right here eating?" I demanded, sliding into the sales space throughout from her.

Lora appeared up at me, her mouth full. "I was hungry," she mumbled, bits of meal escaping her lips.

I watch as Lora appears up, finishing her bite with that familiar smirk. She swallows with difficulty, her eyes narrowing. “Cut the crap, Rosy. A lady’s gotta eat.”

I can’t help but absorb her look—she’s younger than me; however, the streets have accomplished a variety of things for her. Her bleached blonde hair stands out starkly towards her worn-out skin, and her skirt rides up too high as she shifts in her seat. It’s like searching for a version of myself from a parallel universe, one I’m now not certain I want to fulfill. The concept sends a shiver through me.

“Lora, we won't keep doing this,” I lean in, looking to preserve my voice steady, even though it’s edged with desperation. “The rent’s late, and I don’t fancy snoozing in some cardboard container next week. Carlos isn’t going to keep slicing us slack all the time.”

She rolls her eyes, like she’s heard it all before, then reaches into her bra, pulling out a small wad of twenty-dollar payments. My breath catches as she enthusiastically pulls them out, letting me get only a glimpse before she tucks them away again. “Relax, princess. I hit the jackpot earlier. Four guys in a pickup. Fifteen mins, inside and outside.”

A wave of disgust rolls over me, combined with grudging respect I hate myself for feeling. “Jesus, Lora. That’s… That’s a lot.”

“It’s cash, babe,” she shrugs, finding it irresistible—not anything, shoveling any other forkful of meals into her mouth. “So, how an awful lot did you make these days?”

I shift in my seat, the guilt gnawing at me. “Hundred and twenty,” I mumble, feeling small.

Her eyes light up, and she or he grins. “See? We’re golden. We can rate a few smokes; and relax until the next day. No one wants to freeze our asses off.”

I sigh, understanding Lora's likely proper. But still... "I simply don't want to lose our location, you know? It is probably a shithole; however, it is our shithole."

"Relax," Lora says, sliding out of the booth. "If Carlos kicks us out, we'll locate another place. Always do, don't we?"

I nod, not completely satisfied, but follow Lora out of the diner anyway. The night air hits her like a slap in the face after the warmth of the coffee store. She wraps her palms around herself, abruptly feeling exposed in her skimpy outfit.

Later, as we strolled down the road together, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me. "We shouldn't let the rent move over each month," I said. "One of these days he is going to kick us."

Lora shrugged. "Who cares? It's a shithole. We'll discover every other one."

"Why don't we work a little longer?" I counseled. "Save up for next month?"

Lora's face hardened. "It's now not safe to paint past nighttime, Rosy. All the creeps pop out. We'll make it up the following day. Let's cross high."

As we approached a dark alley, the sound of paint caught my attention. Two men had been combating, and suddenly one struck the opposite with a sickening crunch. I iced up, eyes extensive, as the sufferer crumpled to the ground.

Lora grabbed my arm, dragging me away. "Keep going. Keep going," she hissed.

"What became that?" I asked, my voice shaky.

"Nothing to us," Lora stated firmly. "It's overdue. We'd better get in."

We picked up our tempo, the kickback of the night time sleeping deeper into my bones. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very small and really inclined.

"Yeah, it's getting bloodless out," I murmured.

“It’s late,” Lora says, her voice softer now, nearly mild. “We’d better get inside. It’s getting bloodless out right here besides.”

I nod, wrapping my palms tighter around myself. The adrenaline is wearing off, and now I’m just exhausted. And scared. And cold. God, I’m constantly cold out here.

As we stroll back to our condo, I can’t assist; however, think about how I ended up right here. How we each did. It wasn’t alleged to be like this,? But alternatively, it never is.

Lora’s chattering about something—probably what sort of drugs she’s making plans to buy—however I’m not truly listening. My thoughts are already on tomorrow and the day after that, and what number of greater nights I’ll have to spend out right here earlier than I can eventually depart this life behind.

But for now, all I can do is keep strolling, maintain respiration, and keep surRosying. One day at a time, right? That’s what they constantly say. One day at a time.

We attain our construction, a run-down brownstone that’s visible on higher days. The front door sticks, and I ought to shoulder it open. The smell of stale cigarettes and reasonably priced air freshener hits us as we climb the steps.

Our rental is on the third floor. It’s tiny, with peeling wallpaper and a leaky faucet that by no means stops dripping. But it’s ours, for now at least.

Lora flops onto the sagging sofa, already attaining her stash. “You want some?” she asks, preserving up a baggie of white powder.

I hesitate. Part of me wishes to say no, to be sturdy. But the night’s been lengthy, and I’m uninterested in being sturdy. “Yeah,” I say ultimately. “Hit me.”

As the drugs take hold, I sense myself floating away. The issues approximately rent, creeps on the road, what I’m doing with my life—it all fades into the background. For a touch at the same time, at the least, I can pretend I’m someone else. Someone with a destiny.

The last factor I pay attention to before I bypass out is the sound of police sirens within the distance. Just another night in Hollywood.

I’m lost in those thoughts whilst the door bursts open and Lora comes barreling in, her face flushed with excitement.

“Rosy! You’re no longer gonna consider this!” Lora exclaims, barely pausing to capture her breath. “Remember that guy from closing night time? The one inside the alley?”

My stomach drops. “What about him?”

“He’s lifeless, Rosy. They determined his frame this morning. It’s all around the news.”

I sink onto a kitchen chair, my legs unexpectedly not able to guide me. “Oh my God,” I whisper. “We should have carried out something. We need to be referred to as a person.”

Lora shakes her head vehemently. “No way. We did the right thing. Do you recognize what occurs to women like us who talk to law enforcement officials? Nothing appropriate, that’s what.”

I recognize Lora’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any higher. I can’t shake the photograph of that guy falling to the floor, the sickening crunch of first meeting flesh. I was surprised who he turned into, if he had a family, if every person would miss him.

“Look,” Lora says, her voice softening as she sees the distress on my face. “We can’t trade what took place. But we are able to ensure we’re safe. I’ve been wondering… Maybe it’s time we got out of here. Found somewhere new to work.”

I looked up, surprised. Lora’s always been the one to argue towards alternate, to insist that we have been doing satisfactory right wherein we had been. “What are you saying?”

Lora sits down throughout from me, leaning in close. “I met this guy last week. He says he can get us set up in Vegas. Better clients, better money. We ought to have a fresh beginning, Rosy.”

My mind races. Vegas. It sounds to this point away, so unique from the grimy streets of Hollywood. But is it certainly any better? Or only a distinct form of trap?

“I don’t recognize, Lora,” I say slowly. “Vegas is... it’s an entire special global. And what approximately is this man? Can we accept it as true with him?”

Lora reaches across the table, grabbing my hand. “Look, I know it’s frightening. But we are able to live here forever. Sooner or later, our luck’s gonna run out. At least in Vegas, we might have a chance at something higher.”

I look around the tiny condominium, at the peeling wallpaper and the stained carpet. I think about the man in the alley, about Carlos and the overdue rent, about all the nights I’ve spent on foot the street in the bloodless. Maybe Lora’s right. Maybe it’s time for a change.