Just a short story about trying to save Daisy, from the Flower Girl story.
[*]
The phone rang, interrupting us. Typical 'coitus interruptus'. Sheryl pumped her pelvis upwards twice, urgently. "Don't answer it, Lonny, please. I need it. Don't stop."
Who am I to say no to a beautiful woman who's not only willing to have sex with me, but desperate for it? I complied, ramping up my speed for my lady's pleasure. Then the answering machine clicked on.
"Lonnie? LONNIE! It's Mr. Wilcox. Answer the damn phone. Daisy's gone again."
I felt my erection dissipating. Sheryl punched my chest and pushed me off her, exasperated. "Don't answer that. They threatened to kill you last time, when they showed up at our door. They threatened to take me! They scare me, Lonnie. I'm not staying here if you go again."
I hoped I could reason with Sheryl later, but I had to answer the phone.
[*]
At one time, Daisy Wilcox had been the love of my life. I still dreamed of the girl that had been the Flower Girl, before she was seduced away by drugs. Her parents hated me for my poverty and working-class roots and had pushed her into the arms of a worthless frat boy, who got her drugged up and turned her into a party girl. When their lives spiraled down and he ended up dead from an overdose, she drifted into prostitution to feed her drug habit.
When I found out, I had thought I'd hop on a charger and be the white knight who saved her. When I tracked her down, she was hooking for a pimp named Snake, who marked his stable by tattooing snakes on them. When I found her, Daisy was now Cobra, a zoned out, used up crack whore who didn't even recognize me. I could see her pimp in the background, watching, and realized there was nothing here to save. What was I going to do? I couldn't afford rehab, couldn't bring her back to my apartment -- my landlady would have kicked me out as soon as she saw the wreck of a woman Daisy, excuse me, Cobra, was. I left her there; in the life she seemed to have chosen.
As I drove away, I wondered what I could have done. Who would care? Who could help? In the end, I decided to contact her parents. They had abandoned her when the father's partner's son, whom they had forced their daughter to party with, died of that overdose. The partner blamed Daisy for leading his reprobate son astray. It seems that, to Wilcox, his business relationships were more important than his daughter, and they'd cut off contact with Daisy.
I was angry. Angry with myself for abandoning the Flower Girl back then. I had the guilty feeling that I was responsible for her present life; by not forgiving her, I left her no options. I know that's ridiculous. Sheryl, and literally everyone else in my life, has told me so, but still, still I feel guilty.
But I was also angry with her parents. Daisy was such a sweet, innocent girl, and they'd forced her into the life. For what, greed? If I abandoned the girl over hurt feelings and apathy, they'd sold her down the river, for money.
I had a plan. I contacted the Wilcox parents and told them the life their daughter was 'enjoying'. They hung up. I cruised down the Gauntlet with a friend, who began filming Cobra when I pointed her out. He had the camera in a box on the dashboard; to avoid drawing attention and we were able to park and film Daisy flashing her tits and getting into the john's cars. I was tempted to follow one and film the action, but my friend convinced me that while it might be worth risking my life, it sure the hell wasn't worth risking his.
I sent the video to Daisy's father. No response. I sent it to the mother, with still prints of Cobra displaying her tits and that tattoo around her waist. I got a restraining order.
I sent a picture to the SAE frat boy's father. I got a call from Wilcox.
In the end, they agreed to pay for rehab if I could deliver her.
The plan was simple. I would 'hire' Cobra, but when she was in the car, I'd drive her to rehab. It was complicated by the pimp's guards, who watched for any john exiting the Gauntlet with one of his whores. As I floored it and raced out of the zone, a GTO pulled out and began the chase. It was also complicated by the whore who was beating me around the head and neck and trying to grab the steering wheel. No matter what I said, she didn't seem to understand who I was or that I was 'saving' her. Her worry was the fix she'd been promised after the next client.
The good thing about being working-class? You have working class friends. My friend Louie drove a delivery truck for a brewery, and delivered to the bars down in the zone. I had let him know I was coming and as soon as I passed, he pulled out, blocking the street. I was able to make a clean getaway, and Louie got $1000 from Wilcox.
I delivered Daisy to rehab, where her father had arranged commitment papers for Daisy. No thanks from her or her parents to the white knight. I washed my hands of it all and went home.
I later learned that she completed rehab after four months and returned home to her parents. I don't know what her life was like there, but I was told her parents kept her hidden, ashamed of their hooker kid. I found this out later, of course, because she was only out of rehab for two months when I got the first call. Sheryl wasn't home that night, when Wilcox let me know she was gone. He thought I'd retrieve her again.
