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tonight.
    Let’s get her out of here, the man says. It makes me nervous.
    All right then, Ben says. Boys, go ahead and pack her up.
    I hear them walk away and return, dropping something heavy near me. Turning me on my side, they tie my knees to my neck and my ankles to my wrists so that I’m folded up tight.
    As I’m lying there in my helpless state, one guy kneels over me and says in my ear so that the lovely couple can’t hear. “Ben wants you to know that you’re a newborn again, Beth.”
    I almost lose it then. The basement comes into my head. I attempt to count one to five, but I try to scream anyway. He laughs a little, sounding too much like Ben. The two of them lift me up and settle me down in what I’m assuming is a luggage trunk, just big enough for me. The lid is slammed shut, latched, and locked.
    Panic slams into me. I try to breathe steady. I try to count. Time passes. I hear voices, then the trunk is lifted onto a wheeled cart and off I go. I’m stopped after a rough ride during which my tailbone is jarred into the base of my brain. The trunk is lifted and set down. I hear something slam shut.
    Shit. They’ve packed me into a van like a piece of cargo. For some reason, this finally breaks me. I start to cry, breathing heavier now from the heat and the lack of air. I begin to sweat.
    I don’t remember how long the drive is because I think I pass out for a bit, the lights flashing in front of my eyes to beat the band. I wake when the van doors are opened and slammed. I feel myself lifted out and set down. The lid is unlatched. Fresh air curls around my body and face. I could weep for it. They turn over the trunk and I tumble out, hitting the floor hard. Someone cuts the ropes holding me so tight together. I stretch out, moaning.
    Then the two guys each grab an arm and drag me off, I’m assuming in front of the lovely couple so they can take in the whole show. Now they haul me through several halls and then down a flight of stairs. I start to cry again, start to fight.
    I’ve gotten out of practice, I guess.
    A door is opened and they dump me on a cold tile floor. Something about the room seems surgical, maybe the smell. I begin to wonder if the clients are just going to watch, or if they’re going to be players too.
    I hear the door open. They walk in. The door closes. A knife cuts the tape on my ankles and knees. It’s ripped away. They stand me up. Somebody socks me hard in the stomach. Lucky for me, I’m ready. That’s one of Ben’s favorite moves. Hit them when they can’t see. I buckle good and drop. They stand me up again and my gorgeous dress is cut off. I’m stripped.
    The two guys hold me by the arms to display. The clients approach, stroke me, fondle. Then I’m slapped. Slapped again.
    “Okay,” the man says, and we’re off on the play.
    Ben works me hard. It seems like they do me for hours, Ben using a whip on me. Sometime near the end, I break. I start to scream, pushing against the straps. I can’t stop. They’d removed the tape from my mouth a long time ago, for obvious reasons. Ben quick-jams a gag in before I start spewing trash out at him, which I have a knack of doing. The berserks get hold of me. Then I cry again.
    I know Ben must be all smiles. What a good show I gave. Command performance. Not just any whore can do that.
    I hear them talking.
    Keep her, they say. We’re in town until tomorrow. We’ll pay. Tomorrow evening. Early. Maybe five.
    Holding fees are high, he says.
    We’ll pay, they say again. Tomorrow at five. Can we watch you put her away?
    Sure, says Ben. He scratches out a figure on a pad. I hear the man get out a wallet. Bills are exchanged. Ben calls on the intercom. They come in, undoing me from the contraption I’m in and cuffing my ankles and wrists together in back, just like in that damn basement. They drag me to another room, fitting me in a dog cage.
    It was probably Buster’s, I think. I’m crying hard now. I hear the door close. They all go