“Em, I need help. I’m in trouble…”
“No more money,” I say, pushing sternness into my voice that masks the helplessness I feel when it comes to my brother.
The memory of making pancakes for him on his birthdays while our parents slept off their hangovers weaves through my hazy thoughts. I also remember the drug dealers, thieves and other questionable guests that traipsed through our tiny trailer park living room and, when I got a little older, started looking at me like I was dessert.
And the way he took the beatings from my father that should have been mine.
“Yeah, no, no money,” He says, and my eyes pop wide, a rush of hope that this time,this time,maybe he just needs me to help him find a good suit for a job interview. Maybe take on an alter ego and give him a professional reference. “You don’t have enough money for this, Em… I took the grand you gave me to the casino. I tried to turn it into enough to fix this. But I had a bad run, Em. I’m in deep.” He clears his throat, and all my happy hopes are drowned by the fear in his voice. “Are you still seeing that client today? King Hertzof?”
My cheeks burn as I answer, “Already saw him. Won’t be seeing him again until tomorrow.”
“Good,good.” His voice sounds strangely hopeful. “Look, girls think he’s hot, right? You think he’s hot?”
“What? I’m not answering that… You shouldn’t even know he’s a client! This conversation is over.”
“No!Carrot, listen, King Hertzof has thisthing.He has this, like, superstition. No sex during the season. It throws him off his game. Everyone knows it. So, I thought—”
His dick certainly didn’t get that memo, I think, before shaking my head and replying, “I’m not listening.La la la, I can’t hear you.”
“—Emee! Fuck, I’m… I’mserious. They’re going to kill me.” His voice cracks. There’s a choking sound like when someone is trying not to cry.
Benjamin is a lot of things, but he doesn’t cry. Like, ever. It’s something I’ve tried to work on with him, but we’ve both dealt with our childhood in our own ways.
This isn’t a joke.We are all each other has. And he’s made a truckload of bad decisions, but he’s still my brother. I still love him.
I still feel responsible.
“How much do you need? I’ll loan you the money, but you’re paying it back.” I’ve said that so many times in the past I’ve lost count.
“No, it’s more than you have. You need to get him back on the ice. Do whatever and make it happen, but then… I needyouto throw King off his game. That way, I can make a big bet and clean up. A little insider info, you know? Give the guys I owe a little tip so they can make some bank and get me off their radar. All you need to do… you know… fuck him.”
“Benjamin!What the hell?” I shout, pressing my knuckles into my eye sockets, stomping my feet.
My brother is not asking me to fuck someone to get him out of debt. No. No, no, no.
“You don’t even have to do anything, just get him started then let it happen. I’d do it myself, but I don’t think I’m his type. Justtempthim, Em. You’ll have him there anyway, inthe bed…on the futon, wherever. Just betempting. So tempting, he can’t resist. He’s still a guy, he’ll crack.Pleeease?”
“Benjamin.” My mom’s face flutters behind my closed lids. The image is her standing in our tiny bathroom with the cracked mirror, putting on her red lipstick, ready to head out the door for the night, giving me one of the many versions of the same speech.
You’re responsible for your brother. I don’t have the time for his shit. And, God forbid your father has to get involved, you know how that goes for him, and you don’t want that, do you?
“A hundred grand,” he says, and the world feels like it stops spinning with a jolt. “Plus interest. A lot of interest. And they want a piece of this. I sort of told them I could help…fix the game, you know? It was the only way to buy some time. I need this. I can’t go back to them now and tell them I can’t do what I said.”
“A hundred grand? Jesus.” I smack my palm to my forehead. “Fix the game?Benjamin!”
“So, you’ll do it?”
“No!I don’t have that kind of money, I have…” I know down to the penny how much I have in my accounts. An angry roar threatens to burst from my chest because that money was for the down-payment on a farmhouse.Thefarmhouse, if I could swing it. “I’m notdoing that. And I’m not discussing this anymore. I have a client. One of us has to make money. I have to go.”
There’s a pause and my heart lurches, knowing this is real. He’s in a kind of trouble I can’t save him from.
He throws out the Hail Mary. “Please. I love you. You’re the only one that’s ever been there for me. You’re the carrot to my peas.”
Nausea replaces the last embers of warmth left by my illicit orgasm with King.
“I have to go.” I end the call, panicked fingers clenching my throat, and turn the phone off. Not to silent,off.
This isn’t happening.
