“I’m not lazy,” Juleen protested. “Sometimes it’s hard to find the words.”

“I can help you, priya,” I said. “I don’t know the language, but I can use a dictionary.”

“You’re spoiling her.” When I stared at him, he said, “I can see how this is going down.” He exhaled and shook his head. “I’ll pick you up at around nine.”

“So short!” Juleen protested. “Why can’t she stay longer?”

“Juleen, I told you she’d come and here she is. Quit complaining. And finish your homework because I’m going to check it when I come back.” He turned to me. “I’m tough because she can take it. Remember that.” He left.

“He’s so mean!” Juleen was angry. “He isn’t even my father!”

“No, he isn’t. But he did get us phones.”

A big smile. “Finally!”

“You won’t be able to call Father on yours, priya.”

“But we can play games together.”

“Of course. Tomorrow. But now you do need to finish your homework.”

“Why does he care what I do?” Juleen asked.

I wanted to say, Because you’re a source of pain to him. And he’s dealing with it by appropriating you. When he bosses you around, it’s not that he cares what you’re doing. He’s exhibiting dominance. You are no longer the other man’s child; you are now part of his property.

Instead, I said, “Chris was there for us when no one else came. Sometimes you have to take the bad with the good.”

BY NINE IN the evening, the last thing I wanted to do was drink with sleazy men and their rented women. But Chris didn’t ask for me to be dropped in his life, and I owed him more than a few favors. I was determined to be a good sport. After he helped me shower, I sat in a chair facing a blank wall while he combed out my wet hair. On top of his dresser drawers was a slew of makeup and hair supplies.

“Where’d you get all this?” I asked.

“I have a makeup and hair room. The women have open access to beauty products. And don’t worry, everything here has never been used.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking.” I didn’t answer. He said, “Your hair is really long. I’d like to take it up about twelve, fourteen inches.”

“You mean cut it?”

“Yes, cut it. It’s very long … bordering on witch’s length.”

“It goes with my Manson girl dress.”

He ignored me. “How about a foot above your waist?”

“Fine,” I sulked.

He picked up a pair of scissors and began snipping.

I said, “Where did you learn all of this?”