America 1982-Chapter 425 - 60: Jason’s Healing Girlfriend_4

People often claim to be independent women, including Susan during interviews, but how many women truly rely on themselves to solve problems when trouble arises—especially an eleven-year-old girl?

Susy drank quickly; in the blink of an eye, the second can was empty. She picked up the third can, "This is just the middle of the story. That man went to jail, and my mom immediately married an architect. She seemed unable to live without a man. I understand, given that a waitress’s salary is hard to raise three kids on. So, I just had a stable yet poor life for one summer. The architect replaced the jailed naval officer as my stepfather. Their jobs were different, but what they did to me was the same, for the same reason—I was too pretty; he couldn’t help himself."

"..." Susan clenched the beer in her hand hard.

Throughout her tale, Susy maintained a calm smile, as if those tragic experiences had happened to someone else, and said indifferently, "But he was cleverer than the officer. Every time he planned to lay a hand on me, he thoughtfully prepared glasses of milk laced with Lunesta for both me and my mom. That way, both she and I would be in a deep sleep, but I’d wake up understanding what my body went through. Eventually, I stopped touching his milk. After he realized I wasn’t drinking milk anymore, he complained to my mom, the neighbors, and even schoolteachers, claiming that I was being too lascivious at home, often wearing revealing clothes, suspected of being in early puppy love—you know, the usual. So, if I went to the police, with no evidence, while he stopped touching me after discovering I wouldn’t drink the milk and just smeared my reputation, he’d be ready to flip the script on me if I ever reported him, claiming I seduced him. The effect of his rumors was that I was verbally abused by classmates, even male teachers and students would insinuate that they could give me money or buy me a pretty little vest or something, if I accompanied them. At fourteen, when other girls were just beginning to experience puberty and dream about early love, I had already been with two men and was labeled the top slut of the school. It even spread that I was addicted to drugs. That was the year I ran away from home and never went back."

"There aren’t many choices for a fourteen-year-old runaway girl," Susan said with empathy, "I didn’t even have much to do when I graduated high school."

"Exactly, other than selling my body for money, there weren’t many jobs. Like you thought, I did indeed plan to enter the sex trade. But I think more comprehensively; I felt that just standing on the street wouldn’t earn much money because I did market research. I observed the streets where prostitutes in Los Angeles gather, noting that rich people aren’t likely to patronize street girls, and their prices are too low—sometimes they’re happy with just five US dollars when clients are scarce," Susy laughed as she talked about doing her market research.

Susan picked up a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and nostalgically remarked, "I remember once getting just two supermarket vouchers as my lowest payment; business was bad that day. I used those vouchers from the supermarket security guard to get some bread and milk."

"After hearing all this, do you feel your experiences are hardly worth mentioning compared to mine?" Susy shook the empty beer can, smiling provocatively at Susan, "Can I have another? I promise Jason will pay you back, including the beer."

Susan nodded, "What you remind me most of Tommy is that both of you, you don’t like to pay your own way. He always liked to have women foot the bill."

"Just so happens that in the year I turned fourteen, The Beatles Band had a concert in Los Angeles. I took care of a problem for the security guard, with the condition he’d let me into the concert’s backstage. He thought I was a crazy fan, and so did the Beatles Band’s star. With my looks and figure, plus the image of a crazed fan throwing herself at them, that night I ended up in a luxurious hotel bed, beside the main singer of The Beatles Band. Come morning, as I got dressed to leave, their manager gave me a silencing check—five hundred bucks. In ’74, that was a lot of money. I knew then that to charge high in the sex trade, I had to find wealthy clients." Susy, lighting her own cigarette, seemed to get even happier talking about her days in the sex trade, even her tone became more cheerful:

"I rented a relatively safe little room in Los Angeles with that money, posed as a groupie, specifically targeting performers coming to Los Angeles. All the money I earned went into various phones and reference books. I still loved making anonymous calls; on the phone, no one knew who I was. Later, when phone BBSs emerged, it was like paradise for me. In real life, I was a woman in the sex trade, but online, I was the god teaching the poor how to make free calls. Countless people who couldn’t afford long-distance calls expressed their gratitude in messages with all sorts of words."

"I’ve heard part of the story after that from the phone company. You, a hacker named ’Eagle,’ and another called Roscoe, were dubbed the ’Three Cyber Musketeers of California,’" Susan also smiled, happy for the positive turn in Susy’s fate.