Nina: Trail of Red Petals

By Sheldon G. Lutchman

NINA, TRAIL OF RED PETALS, is a fictional novel based on one young Venezuelan girl's experience being tricked and sold into sexual servitude as high profile Trinidadian escort.
Nina will fall in love for the first time with a handsome Trinidadian man only to discover that it was the biggest mistake of her life. Her journey will take her from the slums of Venezuela to the height of society life in Trinidad and Tobago.

Nina will overcome her obstacles, buy her way out of the escort business, and reconnect with her roots and her family in Venezuela. But her quest for love, freedom, and personal success will not be accomplished without a high price. Controversy, blackmail, intrigue, love, lust, and murder are all the backdrop of Nina's experience as a high profile escort. She did get to live the life of luxury she always dreamed of as a child, but only to lose the ones closest to her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491862513

Sheldon G. Lutchman

Sheldon G. Lutchman is the creative force behind CMQ [formerly Caribbean Man Quarterly] and Dirty Trails Traveler coffee table books. Mr. Lutchman recently published the Caribbean Aphrodisiac Recipe Book which is available in book stores throughout Trinidad and Barbados. Taking your life back is a very difficult thing to do.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

© 2014 Sheldon G. Lutchman. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   02/27/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6252-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6251-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902413

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgment

My Life in Venezuela’s Slums

Power of the Dream Catcher

Unexpected Encounter

Losing My Virginity

Ugo’s Secrets

The Sex Trade

The Day I Died

Nina’s New Life in Trinidad

Unexpected Connection

Rich Venezuelans

Return Home

Heart broken

Love for Tobago

Abuse

Confined in Each Other

Presumption

Changes

Hidden Secrets

Dawn of a new day

New Beginning

Enrage

Die To Live

The Plot

Drop off Point

Blackmail

Drop off

Defeated

Return to Brooklyn

Face to face

One Year Later

My Wedding Plans

Death by Choice

This book is dedicated to all the working girls on the streets, runaways, escorts, single mothers and victims of sex trade.

Acknowledgment

After publishing my cook book Caribbean Aphrodisiac Recipes, I realised I left out the acknowledgements page and therefore did not get the chance to thank those of you who assisted me in publishing my first book. Therefore, I want to officially thank my niece Jenneal Precious Francette for editing my novel. I also want to thank my daughters Chelsea and Chrissy Lutchman for believing in me even though they did not know or understand what I was doing with my life. Special thanks are extended to my good friends Troy Sullivan and Dexter Les Pierre Luke for assisting me with advice and support. I also want to thank Reynald Galette for his friendship while it lasted, will never forget you.

1

My Life in Venezuela’s Slums

A familiar sound would always awake mi máma Silvia from her slumber. She would start each day by slowly dragging her already tired legs to the side of her bed and then slip her feet into her over-sized bedroom slippers. As she struggles each day to get up, she would always murmur, to herself, "why don’t Mia get rid of that sorry old rooster, because it’s getting too old for my pot. You see, mi máma Silva, remembered when that old rooster would crow four in the morning on the dot; every day of the year. But lately mi máma says, you can’t depend on anything but yourself!"

Her duster was a little musky from being used constantly for the last two weeks. But Silvia still gave it another sniff, and concluded loudly to anyone who was listening that it needed a good wash. It really didn’t matter as far as Silvia was concerned, because she was just going through the motions each day, so the next day could hurry up and go by soon. Mi máma never looked at the round face of our antique windup clock anymore, because she always knew what time it was. It was like her body had an internal clock of its own and it knew when to say four in the morning. Mi máma would wake each morning and stroll towards the back door that leads to our latrine; like she has done so many mornings before and just start laughing to herself. She knows she could close her eyes in the dark and find her way to our latrine. She laughs because she still thinks it is too funny.

Silvia poured herself a cup of coffee each morning and let her mind wondered through her world of emptiness. As the vapours evaporates in a wavy motion, she took long deep breathes, as if it was her last, and moaned out loudly, "why is this life so hard for me?" Then she would step out of her duster and into our old galvanized tub, filled with cold water. Máma would never admit to it anyone, but she always look forward to that tub, because she said this was the only time she could escape to the sensations of her body, and remember mi papa.

Nina don’t forget to make sure Boyboy drink his bush-tea before he eats anything, mi máma said before she grabbed her bag, and headed out the front door that hanged loosely from its’ old rusty hinges.

Yes máma, I replied, and began picking the young leaves from the special herb plant that grew next to the wild flowers behind our door. How I used to love to see the plants bloom their purple colors all year round. Each morning I would pick each leave leaf, one at a time, while Silvia would head down the dirt road to her work in the city.

I loved to prepare breakfast for my two younger brothers, Pedro, who also answers to Boyboy, because of his boyish look at seven years old, and Milton who answers to Chocó, who turns ten in two weeks. He already stands tall like a man. I also answer to Coca; a special name my father used to call me a long time ago. I was a pretty girl who had the body of a nineteen, or twenty year old woman, depending on what I wore. But the truth is I was only eighteen years old. Like most fourteen year old in my village, I always prepare breakfast for my brothers each morning, but I could never get used to the sound of my baby brother Pedro’s nonstop coughing. It was something I expected each morning, but it was still something I could never grow accustom to. Pedro was always the first to get up from the bed he shared with his older brother Milton.

Lately, his small skinny frame always shivers as the chilly morning breeze whisked through the cracks in the old walls that were separated by pieces of wood. I can still see Pedro’s sad green eyes flickering in their special shade of blue through every crack in that old wall. To some young tourists, my chilly wooden shack could be considered a thrilling rustic getaway, but to me it was just my house in the slums of Venezuela. I remember reaching for Pedro every morning to pull him closer to me to warm his body to ease his chill. I would kiss him each morning, and then lightly stroke his blond curly hair that cascaded just above his shoulders with the tips of my fingers. It was his best feature, I always thought.

I got my brothers school stuff together each morning before taking them to their local village school. The Nuns there were very strict about punctuality, so getting there on time was a must for me. It was a good school apart from its limited resources; at least that’s what the Nuns’ always preached to the parents when they complained. My village school’s education system was basic, but effective to help any young person find their way through God’s world of opportunities. I always laughed at that part of the head Nun’s speech, because she knew there was a very big world out there that had nothing to do with their little village school they bragged so much about. To me, and Venezuelans like me, the world was getting smaller and access to information was becoming easier. So, I knew my homeland was one of the leading oil producing countries in the world, even though the wealth was not passed down to people like me. My frustrations were not from being poor, but from living in a system of extremes; people who had more than they needed, and the ones that had nothing.

I was born in a country where the government used my circumstances to discredit newly elected President Hugo Chavez of any efforts to help the poor. But he still was my hope; I believed that he was the way out of poverty. Just like the people of the slums, I also wanted someone; anyone to hear the cries of our hardships. I knew that life in the slums was hard for young girls like me. I also knew that there weren’t many ways to escape the hardship that I saw every day. Whether poverty had increased, or decreased with Chavez; to me and others like me, it did not matter because we still had to fend for ourselves. I would sit each day at mi máma’s feet and listen to stories of the eighty’s. Mi máma would sometimes cry while telling stories of her hardships, and of my father’s frustration with finding work. It always hurt me to hear what would one day be my life, at the benefit of the middle class. I knew my share of hunger and poverty, but I believed that I would find a way to make things better for myself and for my family.

2

Power of the Dream Catcher

As a young Venezuelan girl, Nina’s simple life and diet gave her a fit and slender feminine body. She was the descendant of the Dominican Republic, Spain, Cuba and Africa. This gave her a distinctive look that could easily be spotted worldwide. Because money was so hard to get, some village families would overlook the fact that their daughters used their bodies to earn money. Their beauty had become their curse, because of their exotic looks and their fully developed bodies. Nina knew girls as young as thirteen years old who had been active in the sex trade business on the streets to earn money, so they can eat and support their families. In very poor families fathers use their daughters to work the streets, hotels, and bars. They also coach them to act older, so they could get the attention of male tourists. This was a way of life; a way of the slums. It was a way of life for them, but Nina had vowed she would never be a part of that life. But the thought did force its way into her mind.

One day Nina decided to take a long walk to the corner store to buy a few food items. When she arrived, Nina stepped into the old corner store called Papa’s. A man that had the face of a tourist bumped into her while she was trying to open the door at the same time. He smiled at her, and allowed her in first. He stopped and starred.

I’m Reggie, the tourist finally said as he stuck his right hand out to greet her. Nina shook his hand without looking directly in his eyes and replied out of respect, and then pulled her hand away quickly. Nina noticed that he was a nice looking guy, dark-hair and trim. He was dressed in casual clothes. She could tell that he liked her, the way he looked at her and the feeling she felt on her skin. She felt funny, but good at the same time. Nina started to get a little uncomfortable, so by the time Reggie tried to initiated a conversation, she gave him a weak goodbye and ran out the door.

Nina stood on the other side of the street until Reggie left with some stuff in a brown paper bag. She stood there behind that wall, until he finally disappeared on the crowded street. Nina then made her way back to Papa’s corner store to buy her stuff. She bumped into an old lady standing in front of Papa’s with her little dog. The old lady began to tie her scruffy little dog outside the store while Nina approached. The little dog looked like one of those mixes of a half-dozen breeds to Nina, but her poodle features seemed to be the strongest trait in the face. The little dog watched as Nina approach, with her tongue rolling in her mouth. She had that cute happy dog look in her eyes.

Hey doggy, she said, and bent down to give her a pat. When the little dog jumped up at her, she pulled her hands back to avoid getting a bite. But the little dog just stood up on her back legs and started licking Nina’s face. Nina was so happy petting the little dog while watching her wag her tail, she did not notice when the old lady came bustling out of the store.

Tianna! The old lady shouted. Stop that!

The old women then turned to Nina, and said. I don’t know what’s gotten into her! Tianna usually snaps at working whores like you.

The old woman had shouted at Nina on the streets without any remorse and told the world that she was a whore. She even had a friendly smile on her face when she looked deep in Nina’s eyes and said it softly to her again. Nina felt so disgusted at the old wrinkled women’s judgment that she just walked in the store in a daze and purchased her food stuff. When she arrived home Nina saw her máma Silvia was just sitting down in her corner chair, sipping a hot cup of coffee. Her máma Silvia turned the pages after reading her regular horoscope and whispered, "not a good reading today", as she entered in. Máma turned the pages again and began to read a local report. The headline was, In recent years the rainfalls in Venezuela had devastating highs, leaving thousands homeless, missing or dead. What struck right at home to máma was the next paragraph that read, Those most affected have been generally the poor, but more specifically those living in the slums; and the make-shift houses that lie on the dangerous slopes that surround the country’s capital, Caracas.

Silvia’s thoughts went straight to her own village, and how her family was one of the lucky families who had survived these storms. Caught in her emotions she forgot to get up and hug Nina and thanked the heavens for her beautiful daughter like she always did. Nina’s beauty had grown. She had a darker tone then that of the other girls her age, because her father was half Spanish and half African. Her skin was flawless and perfect in a complexion that complemented her almost perfect nose. Her luscious bronze hair framed her oval face and her full deep pink lips. Nina was too young to fully understand the power and curse of her own beauty.

Venezuela was Nina’s home. It was the only home she knew. Caracas was known as tourist destination for most visitors seeking a good time; or just there for the shopping. It was easy to identify the different travellers, because of the clothes they wore, but their accents usually made them stand out in the crowd. Nina had met a few Trinidadians who came for shopping. She thought they were all nice people. They never made her feel ashamed that she lived in the slums. It was her home after all. Nina’s life may have been simple and poor, but to her, she had nothing else to compare it to; she hated when rich folks walked on the streets and look down at her. Before her father left, life was much better for her family, but it all changed when he never returned home one day. It was during a time of political unrest in her country, when Nina’s father never made it home. Nina remembered there were so many riots on the streets. So many people were killed and never made it home. Nina also remembered that her father disappearance was also the end of her mother’s joy.

Silvia slipped into a state of depression after her husband never returned home, so she did not see the need to find another man, or friends to keep her company. Nina knew very little about her father’s history, because she never felt comfortable asking. But she did know he was different from the other men in her village. But all she remembered of him was the fact that he used to work for one of the off-shore oil companies. He had a face mixed with more Afro-centric features than the Latin men she grew up around.

It was a quiet day, when she was doing her regular house cleaning; she stumbled on some old photos of her mother and father when they were very young and in love. Her father was in his early twenty’s, and her mother, was maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. They looked so much in love, that she could see it in their eyes even though the photos were in black and white.

Her mother looked so beautiful in the photos, that she could not believe Silvia had once been a skinny sexy girl. Nina could not believe how proud her máma looked standing next to her father. She remembered he was six feet five inches tall, with a muscular body. He loved to sport a puffed up afro hairstyle. In another photo, Nina saw her mother laughing as her father hugged her romantically; it made her smile all over. Tears of joy rolled down her face. She did not even know it until the liquid drops was seen on one of the discolored photos. As she continued to examine the photos, her eyes zeroed in on her mother’s belly in the pictures. Her máma looked six months pregnant or more. Nina realized that baby her máma was carrying had to be her.

Nina was so pleased to know that she was conceived out of love, she daydream all day thinking about that photo. Nina knew there were other things her mother kept to herself for reasons she’s didn’t understand. When the sun was about to set, Nina stumbled over an old shoe box hidden deep in the back of another box. Nina could not help herself, but to take the box down. She approached the pile of papers that looked like very old letters. She noticed that each on was fragile. Nina slowly picked each letter up one at a time. A few were much older than the others. She opened the oldest looking one and decided to read it.

"Dear Silvia,

Máma, died early Monday morning. I went to give her medicine and she was cold as ice. Papa buried her in the back yard, next to grandma… ."

Nina read a few more letters, but they were only short letters from her family in Cuba. As she was about to close the shoe box, a small passport sized photo slipped out of a brown envelope. It was a photo of her father, but older looking. Nina took up the photo; touched it as if she was touching his face. She carefully put it back in the envelope.

Her curiosity was overwhelming, when her eyes gazed on a letter with edges that looked like someone had tried to set it afire. Most of it was burnt, but it was strange that her mother would keep it. Nina took a closer look at the only remaining words she could make out; the words read.

"I sorry Silvia.

Your husband Randolph."

The letters sparked so many questions that had no answers. Nina was sure that her mother would not tell her what words came before, or if there were anymore letters from her father. She thought maybe it was best to just leave it alone, because it might make her mother sick again. Nina did not want to have to go through that again.

Nina sometimes fantasized about owning her own five-star restaurant somewhere in Caracas; maybe close to her favorite park in the city. It was her fantasy, so it could be anywhere she wanted it to be. Many times Nina would fall asleep in her favorite spot under her special tree; lost in the kiss of the sunshine that warmed her skin as it escapes through the tree tops. Daydreaming about the unknown was a daily habit of Nina. Sometimes her dreams would take her across the Gulf-of-Paria that bordered her home land; a world so close, but yet so far away. But most of the time she would drift into the spirit lands that lie just beyond the borders of sleep. Nina always heard stories about the people on the other side of her world. The colors of their skin and different texture of their hair, but