She's Called Ginger

by Ann O'Nonymous

  

She looked out of place, sitting there on that bench in a little park, watching the crowds of shoppers going back and forth on their merry chores -- that perfect doll for little Jane, the right scarf for Uncle Joe (who always buys the wrong size) or the G.I. Joe action figure for little Carl. Christmas was just five days away and she sat there in her four year old cloth coat, shivering. At her feet sat a small knapsack filled with soiled panties, a few cheap cosmetics, two jeans and tank tops, one pink and one white camisole, two jumpers and three blouses -- everything she owned. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

The day was a typical mid-west December cold, and she thought she could get used to it. Shoving her freezing hands deep into the coat's pockets, she fingered the crumpled ten dollar bill; it was the last bit of money she had.

With nowhere to go, all she could do was watch the shoppers; listen to the tinkling of a Salvation Army volunteer's bell ("Maybe I could go there," she mused), and the sound of an off-key rendition of "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer," that came from a loudspeaker hung on the front of a local store.

Two days ago, she was in a fairly warm place – her father's bed. She was a good, obedient girl, and when her father said to be very, very nice to one of his "clients," she was. One or two of them had really sick ideas that they tried out on her. At least she would be out of her cellar room on that night. It took a lot of nerve to pick up and leave; however, she was beginning to have second thoughts. The question of where to go and how she would live were now deeply troubling to her.

"There it goes again," she muttered, the "it" being a blue minivan. This was the third time she saw it, only this time it stopped. She watched as "it" was parked in front of her and three rather pretty, college-age girls, dressed in nice warm fur coats, got out.

As they approached, she wondered what these rich bitches wanted. Were they going to taunt her, make fun of the way she was dressed, or maybe even offer money, to soothe their conscience . . .

"Hi," said the very attractive blonde leader of the trio, "may we sit down?" It was a polite request.

"Umm, sure," she replied.

"Good!" She sat and extended her hand saying, "My name's Julie." As she pointed, she named each of her companions: "This is Iris and that's June. What's yours?"

"Ginger, my name's Ginger."

Julie smiled, moved a little closer and said, "I'll give this to you straight – there's a patrol wagon going around the block. If you're here the next time they pass, they will stop, pick you up and take you in. You will be charged with loitering."

Ginger's eyebrows went up! "But why? I haven't done anything. I'm just sitting on this bench."

Iris said, "If they see you in that coat, they will assume you are a runaway. Since loitering is a catchall phrase, they can legally hold you for thirty days. They are only acting for your safety. It's going to get a lot colder tonight, and they figure that a warm cell is better than the streets."

June added: "Honey, they think it's for your own good. You'll go into a cell, they will check with the surrounding states for missing female juveniles. When they find a match, back you go to the home where you walked out."

Julie smiled, as she stated, "If you'll come with us, we can guarantee a warm bed for the night, a good meal, lots of friends, and a couple of days to rest."

What they said about the police sending her back was a frightening prospect. But, w-a-a-i-i-t a minute! Suppose these girls have a different agenda – prostitution, posing in the nude for old businessmen (she did worse), or maybe worse. "I think I'll take my chances with the police."

Iris smiled, as she said, "Suit yourself dear. We will not force you."

June reached into a pocket and took out some bills. As she handed the wad to Ginger, she said, "At least move on for awhile. Take this and get a good meal. Good bye!"

Ginger looked at the bills – "Twenty, twenty, five, ten, one hundred," she quickly counted a few. Her mind was made up! She grabbed her knapsack and yelled, "Hey, wait for me!"

Getting into the van, she saw another girl driving.

"Hi! Just toss your pack in the back, anywhere. My name's Tina – what's yours?"

"Ginger."

Julie sat in the front, and in the rear seat, Iris was to Ginger's left and June was on the right.

"Seatbelts, please!" said Tina. At a ding, she said "Thank you. Let's get back to mom!"

"Mom?"

Iris answered, "Mom is the greatest thing to happen! You'll just love her."

"They're h-e-e-e-r-r-e," intoned Tina as the aforementioned patrol car appeared in the rear view mirror.

"Act suspicious," Iris giggled.

As the police patrol came even with them, Tina rolled down the window and motioned them to stop.

The female officer rolled down her window, and seeing the driver, replied, "Hey Tina! How's it going?"

"Great Max! The runaway in the park – we just picked her up."

The officer smiled, stated, "That's great! I just hate doing that damn paperwork. You get them home, and two days later, they're gone again. Give my love to mom. Will you?"

"Will do – have a great shift, Max."

"Will now! You too, Tina."

Both drivers went on their separate ways, Tina turning down a darkened street. She drove to the end, turned right, and, two blocks later, made a left turn onto a shopping center mall. They parked, and Tina went into a donut shop.

In the car, Julie said, "Ginger, I need to ask a few questions – do you mind?"

The van was oh so warm, the ride was nice, so why care about a few questions. "Go ahead, ask away."

Julie started, "Are you straight or lesbian?"

"Straight."

"Okay, do you read a lot or not?"

"Pop never had many books around, but I do like to read."

"Fine – now do you or did you ever do drugs, drink to excess, or think of suicide?"

"I did drink a lot – to block . . . . . "

"That's okay, I understand."

"No Julie – you don't understand! I mean, look at you and look at me – a nice fur coat, money, and some . . . ."

Julie cut her off: "Hold it right there, missy! Up to two years ago, I was a pro working the streets for nickel bags. I had more tracks than the Pennsy at its peak. Twice I had illegal abortions. I know exactly what it's like, Ginger. This is the first decent coat I've ever had – and I wear it to remember what I was like! Iris was an alcoholic, been one since she was ten. Her mother threw her down a staircase, and kicked her out."

"Wait a minute – you mean you aren't . . . I thought . . . "

"We were some college coeds – well, you are right," she giggled.

"We work, attend classes for our diploma, then it's on to a college, maybe."

Stunned, Ginger sat there. Tina returned with some boxes and put them in the rear. They were out of the mall lot and onto the highway.

While Julie asked a few more questions, June picked up her cell phone, speed dialed, and reported: "Mobile one to base."

"Base – go mobile one."

"Base – target acquired. On the way home. Tell Pip to expect a roomie! Clear."

"Will do, base clear."

"Emm, what was that about," Ginger asked tentatively.

Iris turned, grinned, said, "Pip is without a roommate. House rules have each sharing a room. One you can keep secrets with, laugh with, and tell complaints to . . ."

"Get fashion tips from," added Tina.

Ignoring the remark, Iris continued, "She's your size, about your weight, and a real booklover."

"Is she . . ."

"Like an arrow."

For the rest of the trip, Ginger was serenaded with carols. Soon, she joined in with the happy group.

In about fifteen, or more, minutes time, the van pulled into a driveway, lined with strings of colored lights draped from poles, which lead to a three-story mansion, oddly festooned with hundreds of twinkling colored bulbs. The house appeared to be one of those Addams-type structures, with turrets, bay windows, and a porch running the length of the front of the house. Chairs on the porch held life-sized Santa and Mrs. Santa dolls. On the door was a huge wreath of Holly. All it needed was Pugsley and Morticia as elves to complete it!

"It was a hotel many years ago," Julie began her running commentary, "and mom had it converted to house approximately twenty to twenty-five young ladies."

At the front of the house, Tina parked, pulled the key from the ignition, got out and opened the rear. There, she pulled out the knapsack and gave it to Ginger. The boxes were next, and they were given to two girls who appeared out of nowhere.

Ginger looked up at the imposing front. "Wow, so this is where you live!"

At the appearance of another girl, Tina said, "Carol, park this in three, will you please. Ginger, it was really nice to meet you, but now I've gotta go cook."

"Sure Tina," the girl called Carol replied.

Ginger asked Iris, "Emm, just how many cars are there here?"

"Three cars, two vans, an SUV, and five bicycles," Iris quickly replied then added, "that's in the garage proper."

Remembering something, Ginger dug into her pocket and found the money. "June, here is your money . . . . "

"Keep it, dear – I gave it to you," she replied smiling. "Just look at it as sharing."

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Inside, Ginger saw girls reading, playing cards, gossiping, knitting, and just plain having fun. In one corner, some were decorating an honest-to-goodness Christmas tree, with balls, tinsel and all the rest. The pine smell was divine. She hadn't had a Christmas in over four years. Now this seemed to be heaven.

Iris related, "That's the family room. There's also a library, a room used as a beauty parlor – some girls are in training as beauticians, complete workout room and a nursery. The basement has laundry facilities, a rec room, and an infirmary for minor cuts and scrapes. Upstairs are all the girl's rooms . . . ."

"Hey, Iris, bring me back a roomie?"

"Hey, Pip, sure did! C'mon an' meet Ginger. Ginger, this is Pip!"

Ginger heard the voices behind her, so she turned, and . . . Pip was a black-haired beauty with hair down to her shoulders, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that lit up a room.

"Hi Ginger, my name's Pip. It's a nickname – real name is Annabelle Michelle Samantha Melissa Tweed. How's that for a moniker? Is that your backpack? C'mon – let's get you upstairs, into our room. I can tell you my story, and if you want, you can relay yours while you wash – you're not shy, are you? -- and get on clean clothes – if nothing is clean, grab some of my stuff. We share everything, except boys. Dinner is in about an hour."

Ginger marveled at how she managed to get all that out in one breath. Stunned, all she could say was, "Emm, okay."

With Pip leading the way, Ginger went up the stairs seeing more girls in the halls. Pip lead her to a room, opened the door with a "Ta Dah."

Ginger entered and almost went into shock. There were twin beds, a large closet on the left side, a nightstand beside each bed and a footlocker at the bottom. A padded window seat covered with pillows and books was directly in front. The floor was covered with a mottled grey-red-black patterned wall-to-wall rug.

Pip started: "The closets we share – anything there you can take. We share most of the cosmetics. Now, any thing you want to keep private, put in the footlocker – they each have a key." She pulled Ginger inside, closed the door, plopped down on the right hand bed and continued, "The bath is that door to the left, if you want to wash up."

Ginger dropped the knapsack and hurried to the bathroom. It had a shower, tub and enough feminine products to stock a small store.

"My god – I've died and gone to heaven!" was her first thoughts.

"You prefer Ginger, or . . . ."

Ginger was stripping right there – she needed a bath – she had been dirty too long in too many ways. Distracted, she stopped and said, "Oh, emm Ginger is fine, Pip. I really need a bath right now."

"I'll get something out for you – okay?'

"I don't have anything really nice . . ."

"Hey – I'm giving things to you, relax."

A half hour later, Ginger was seated in front of a mirror, with Pip brushing and blow-drying her hair. She was now wearing clean underwear, a sea-green blouse with blue jeans, and sandals. Tentatively Ginger asked, "You said you had a story, Pip – would you tell it to me?"

"Story exchange time," Pip grinned. "I'll go first – it was a dark and stormy night." Suddenly, her face changed. She grew serious, trying to hold back tears. Her head bowed, and as she lifted it, Ginger could see the streaks of tears on her pretty face.

"Sorry, but . . ." Pip coughed twice, cleared her throat, then began, "My parents died when I was five. I was sent to live in a serious of foster homes, where I was mistreated. In one place, I was the family servant and a source of sexual pleasure for their teenage son. I was slapped for not getting things done on time. One day, I decided to run away. I was caught, and I told my story to a police officer. They brought the people in – it was my word against theirs. I went to a juvie facility. I ran again, and that time, I got picked up by three guys in a van." Here Pip paused, then willed herself to continue: "Over three days, I was beaten and raped. When they stopped in a wooded area to have another go at me, I ran as fast as I could. I hid in a culvert, moved to a bridge, and as I tried to get down a hill, I tripped, hit my head hard on a rock and was out cold. I woke up at night, naked, cold, lost and hungry – they had fed me only once in those three days.

"I managed to stagger to a highway, flag down a car and get taken to a hospital where the police interviewed me. I had been beaten, sodomized, raped, burned and . . . Well, mom came to the hospital, paid all my medical bills, had me moved to a private room in another hospital, closer to here. I am damn grateful to her – she helped find the bastards who did what they did, paid my attorney's fee and now I'm her foster daughter, with a great job in sales in a local woman's boutique. Now, what's yours – don't hold back!"

Ginger related the happenings at her home; then, suddenly the door opened, and the word "Ceremony" was shouted.

"What was that," Ginger said.

"That's the runner – she's the one who gets everyone to dinner. Let's go down – you'll like this."

"But what is this 'ceremony?' "

On the way down, Pip explained: "Before meals, we line up. We go before mom, she gives us a hug and says, 'I love you, my daughter,' and we reply, 'I love you, mom.' We then go to a chair, stand with our back to it. Each girl comes, gives us a kiss, hug, and says, 'I love you, my sister.' And we say the same thing back. Each day we reaffirm our love for each other. We go in first – that's so I can introduce you to mom."

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Downstairs, Pip started yelling, "gangway . . . coming through – new girl, thank you . . . thank you . . . new girl."

Soon the pair was standing in front of closed sliding doors waiting at the head of a line. There were about fifteen to twenty girls behind, quietly chatting, waiting from the doors to open. Slowly, the doors slide apart, and Pip took Ginger's hand and led her in.

At the head of a "U"-shaped table with about twenty place settings stood a tall, slim (by that, not stout but not bulimic skinny), woman in a flower print dress, sandals and a broad smile. Her makeup was perfect, and golden blonde tresses were done up in a bun, making her seem more motherly.

Pip stopped in front of her and recited, "Mom, this is our new girl, Ginger. Ginger, this is mom – go ahead."

Ginger cleared her throat, put her arms out and was quickly smothered in a warm embrace! She tearfully said, "I love you, mother!"

Mom replied, "And I love you too, my daughter."

Ginger was nudged her out of her dream-state, as Pip took her place and greeted mom. Finished, Pip took Ginger's hand, gently squeezed it and guided her to her seat. Soon, every girl there had hugged, kissed, and generally welcomed a crying Ginger to the house.

Mother leaned over and asked solicitously, "Will you be okay – I can have some food sent to your room."

Ginger smiled a somewhat crooked smile as she replied, "This morning I was cold, hungry, and had no place to go, and now . . ." She trailed off, not needing to say anything more.

"Ceremony" over, everyone was seated, mom rung a chime, and doors to the kitchen opened with tray upon tray of food was brought to the table. There were chicken strips, ham slices, shrimp; all kinds of vegetables; and three plates of sliced bread. Cups at each place awaited a choice of coffee or tea. Trays with pots of marmalade, mint jelly, grape jelly, and applesauce adorned the center of the now-groaning table. And at each place, a glass of white wine.

Soon, there was a babble of voices, questions from several of the girls regarding how she got there, and the many stories they had to tell.

For the first time in her life, Ginger felt really at home.

--- . . - - . - . --- … -- … -- … ---.. --… -… ----- ….. -- ..- ..-. ..-. .- .-

It was hours later, sitting beside mother in the family room, when Ginger would have to make a vital decision.

"Ginger, if you want, you can stay here – I'll check your story, get a friend to look into the matter, and get you put into my care. Later, if you want, I will adopt and raise you as my daughter."

Stunned at this prospect, Ginger almost screamed, "Oh would you – you're not just saying . . . oh my god. I . . . I . . . I don't know what to say!"

She didn't notice the others grouping around the seated pair. Mom said, "My dear sweet Ginger, my girls work as secretaries and paralegals in law firms, as beauticians and several will own their own salon. The dispatcher who sent Max to you is one of my girls. But now, you must know the truth about me – this is told to each and every girl here. Now would you like to stay – become my daughter?"

"What the heck can her secret be?" thought Ginger, "I just seen dozens of happy girls, had a good meal, and if I need to sell my body to be this well off, then damn it, I will. Is that it? – she wants me to walk the streets – no, that's not it. Sell drugs . . . no – well, I better wait and see."

"You can rest tonight, and give me your answer in the morning."

"Emm, mom, please, let me stay. Compared to where I was this is paradise."

Mom stood, and said to the group, "Ginger wants to stay – anyone object?"

Silence!

"Okay! Ginger, give me your hand."

Obediently, she reached out and let mom grasp her by the wrist. Mom said, "This will not hurt, sweetheart." Reaching down, mom lifted her dress, and lifted Ginger's hand up to the area between her legs.

"Oh my god," Ginger thought, "She's a Lesbian! But, but that's not a bad thing – she didn't make any moves on me."

As the hand went closer to the "forbidden" region, mom's hand tightened her grip slightly. It was now inches away from the girdle covering her crotch. In seconds it rested on a something that shouldn't be there. A long tubular object – a hard oblong thing.

"You have a prick!!!" shouted Ginger in amazement. "You're a . . . a . . . a damn man. You're in a dress – an effing man in a dress."

Shocked at her rebuke, mom replied tearfully, "Yes! If you want to leave in the morning, I'll give you two thousand in cash for clothes shopping, a bus ticket to any city you want, and enough to stay in a motel until you get settled."

The thoughts came flooding through: "Whoa, girl! For the first time in your miserable life here is someone who treated you decently, and treats the others nicely as well -- and you just gotta play Scrooge. Who the hell cares whether he's in a dress – look around you – do they look like it bothers them? Use your sense – unless he took off the dress, you just can tell. Remember what you said freely, 'I love you, mom,' and didn't you mean it?"

Ginger looked down at the rug, and contritely replied, "Oh mom, I'm so damn sorry. I've been pushed from man to man, always taking things. And I just never expected a man. Err . . ."

Mom lightly laughed at her consternation. "Dear, sweet Ginger. You haven't said anything I haven't said to myself in private." She stopped for a moment then resumed, "Yes, I'm a man in an effing dress, and I HATED myself, or did, for it. I was a freak, a sissy, and yes, I said that to me. I would have blown the top of my head off, if it wasn't for the girls. Dana might be dead from a botched abortion – Jan could be lying in a gutter in a drug-induced coma – Carla would have gone back to twice a day beatings – I helped them become ladies, free of that crap. Now, when I look at that gun in my room, I'll think of you or another girl spending a bitter cold night on a bench or under a bridge, and I'll set it down and go to a peaceful sleep, knowing I was of some help."

Well, that was it, except . . . . . eight months later.

Two well-dressed attractive girls were easily maneuvering an SUV through city traffic. It was a nice day, and they wanted to enjoy it before going back to the house.

"Okay, okay – we got the license, Pip. Now it's, wait a minute," Ginger said, as they passed the park where she almost spent that night. She checked traffic then backed into an open parking place.

"What's up, Gin," Pip said, wondering why she wanted to stop there.

She pointed to a huddled-up girl, wearing a coat two sizes too big and two shopping bags at her side, on the same bench she had occupied in a different lifetime. Pip examined her a little closer – she couldn't have been shopping as the bags were from an out-of-town store, her clothes were unfashionable (Pip knew that from her sales experience) and too big, plus she appeared to be asleep.

"Runaway, Gin?"

Ginger opened the door, followed by Pip and together they made there way to the girl.

She stirred a bit at their approach, then pulled back in apprehension – skitterish as a deer. And Ginger said, "Hi! My name's Ginger, may we sit down."

 

That's all folks.

Annie O

  

  

  

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