Time passed. Days, weeks, months, and then all of a sudden it was September, 1991, and I’d been with them a year. We no longer lived in the tiny apartment Tim had first taken me to, although Paul and I still shared a bed. It wasn’t that the apartment wasn’t large; it was just there were a lot of boys.
As he’d promised, Tim got us off the streets and into posh hotel rooms. Our clients paid well, not only in cash but also in stock tips. We were on the road to becoming, as the saying went, “comfortable.”
A pimp tried to muscle in on our high-scale clients, and Tim—short but tough—beat the crap out of him while Cris made sure no one else got involved. Some of the pimp’s boys went with another stable that worked a different part of town, but some of them stayed with us.
After a while, they l
