He talked about his mother, about his father, about how he’d always felt like a loser, an outcast.Without the usual mask of black makeup, Charlene looked about twelve. She sat curled up on Maggie’s couch, wearing sweatpants and an old black T-shirt, clutching a pillow against her center. Her hair was freshly washed, pulled back with a barrette in a girlish way. Maggie had the urge to hold her.“Once he asked me to sing while he masturbated.”She looked up at Maggie with a flat stare, as if daring her to be shocked.“And how did that make you feel?”She blew a breath out of her nose. Charlene was going for jaded, unaffected, but Maggie could see her hands shaking.“It made me sick.” She spat the last word. “But you know what’s weird? Part of me was, like, flattered. Does that make me a freak? I mean, I was tied up in a boat. Tied up, you know, singing, while this asshole spanks the monkey, and I was thinking, Wow, he really likes my songs.”Maggie nodded her head, holding back a smile.
