I thought about the conversation Diane and I had that day, after we left Fat Larry’s.
“Girl, I swear, I was you about a year ago. You remember, I was sneaking in and out of my cousin’s dorm room, barely able to eat and shit,” Diane shook her head at the awful memories she described. “I just got tired of tryin’ to play it straight,” she admitted.
“Yeah, but the ride-I mean look at you, girl. You’ve got to tell me what you doin’ to get paid like this.”
“It’s simple,” she said. “I dance at this little club called Ecstasy on Friday and Saturday nights,” she said calmly.
I leaned in to her.
“What you mean, you dance at a club? What kind of dancin’ are we talkin’ ’bout here?” I wanted to know.
“I’m an exotic dancer,” she said without so much as a whisper to her voice.
“What?” I screamed.
She didn’t seem the least bit phased by my shock. It was as if we were discussing Larry’s chicken. “Say what you want, but I never leave with any less than five hundred dollars a night,” she said and eased back in her seat. I could sense she was studying my reaction. I let the figure roll around in my head. “I know what you’re thinking,” Diane said.
“No, I don’t think you do.” Had she said five hundred dollars a night? For two nights worth of work she made one thousand dollars? That’s almost triple what I make for working eighty hours.
She pulled her hair behind her ears and leaned toward me. “Yeah, I do, Jada. Your ass thinkin’ ’bout that paper. And you wonderin’ if you can do it.”
I didn’t say anything ’cause she was right.
I just nodded my head and Diane continued, “Look, I’ve been to the club with you plenty of times, Jada. I’ve seen you out there on the floor, shakin’ that ass,” Diane said and started shakin’ in her seat. “You just be shakin’ that ass naked.”
“Naked in front of a room full of men,” I corrected.
“I don’t. I dance for one man,” Diane boasted. “Which ever one is standin’ in front of me with money in his hand.”
“I don’t know, Diane. Dancin’ at a club is one thing-but naked? — I just don’t think I could do that in front of a bunch of horny men.”
“I’m tellin’ you, you could make a grip. You got a bomb ass body too. Them titties and that ass. I’m tellin’ you, girl, you sleepin’ on your best money makers!”
“What, you been sizing me up?”
“Nah, girl, I don’t even get down like that. Well I do, but that’s only for real serious money.” She giggled.
I was used to men commenting about my double-D cups, and I’ve heard one or two joke about my bodacious booty, but it was strange sitting there and listening to Diane do the same.
“I’m telling you, all you doin’ is dancin’,” she persisted.
“Yeah, but you talkin’ about dancin’ naked,” I said, seemingly not able to move past that point. I was just gettin’ to the point where I was comfortable havin’ sex without it being pitch-dark in the room, and that was definitely a huge jump from there. “I don’t know, Diane,” I said and hunched my shoulders.
But there I was, pulling up in front Ecstasy. It was a little building that looked like nothing more than a shack from the outside.
Once the car was in park, I immediately started having second thoughts. You don’t know these people, there could be rapists, murderers or whatever hanging out around here.
I glanced around in both directions hoping no one was paying attention to me as I sat behind the steering wheel of my piece-of-shit car, and tried to summons up enough courage to go inside. I wondered if Diane’s car was parked on the other end somewhere, or maybe even in the back. I would definitely need her there to help me make it through the night.
A couple of guys walked by my car and snapped me back to reality. “Okay, I can do this,” I whispered.
I flipped down my visor mirror and looked at the job I had done with my makeup. I had plastered my eyes with so much shadow that I felt like one of the girls in the many porno flicks I’d watched to get myself pumped up. Diane had told me that’s what she did to make herself feel sexy. She said after filling her head with X-rated images and downing a few shots of Henny, she was usually good to go. I was hoping for the same magic when I felt for half-pint bottle of Hennessy that I had picked up on the way there. I opened the bottle and took another swallow. This is nothing more than a new adventure, the tiny voice in my head encouraged.
I thought back to earlier that day when I was cornered and felt up by Pervert Chuck ’cause I didn’t have all the rent money. I felt disgusted with his hands all over me. If I really wanted to be honest about it, I let him do it. I didn’t scream or fight him off. I did very little in the way of protest. I allowed him to trap me in that corner and touch my body, because that’s what it took to cover the rest of the rent.
I knew I’d be meeting the same type of pervert behind those walls. So I had to ask myself what was the difference? What was the difference between me dancin’ naked in front of a bunch of men for money, and being felt up by one because I was short with my rent again? Although neither choice seemed too appealing, the answer was simple: It was all a matter of choice and what I was willing to do, and money. The truth was that there was no difference. It was all about the money.
I fidgeted with my hair and applied more gloss before snapping the mirror shut. I took a deep breath and clutched the door handle. I hesitated and tried to think positive thoughts about what I was going to do, but the truth of the matter was that I was scared to death. So scared that my hands were shaking. “You can do this, Jada,” I told myself as I got out of the car. “It’s gonna be just like Diane said, I’ll be dancin’ for one guy,” I said as I walked slowly toward the building. “Just one guy.”
As I walked I got a taste of what it was gonna be like, as I felt the eyes of every guy in the parking lot on me. Undressing me with their eyes and doing worse things in their thoughts. “You can do this, Jada,” I repeated. I was used to guys staring at me, but never like this. I felt like an object-a juicy steak on a platter that was about to get served up. Some of the guys were yellin’ at me, but I was too deep into what I was about do to comprehend, much less care what they were saying. Truth be told, I was an object now; an object for their entertainment.
At that moment, the club’s door swung open and I could hear booming music flooding into the parking lot. When the bouncer stopped me at the entrance, my skin started to crawl as his eyes wandered from my head down to my toes. “I’m lookin’ for Bruce,” I said to him.
“You new?” he asked in a voice so deep it startled me.
“Um, yeah,” I nodded, clutching my thin jacket at the neck.
“I know you ain’t shy. This ain’t no place for no shy ho’s,” he insisted.
I started to say something, but no words came out.
He laughed. “Let’s see what you working wit.” I jumped when I felt somebody’s hand palming my ass.
“What the hell!” I turned to face the culprit. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed at this drunk who could barely hold himself up.
“Aw, baby, you too cute to act all like that,” he slurred. “We friendly around here. If you gon’ make some money, you gots to be nice,” he added.
“Just don’t touch me!” I said again.
He stumbled toward me and I took a few steps back.
“Here,” he said and shoved a crumbled five dollar bill toward me. “Here’s something for you, cutie,” he continued before stumbling into the club.
I turned my attention back to the bouncer.
“That’s just Eddie. He don’t mean no harm,” he said. “But you definitely got to get used to muthafuckas grabbin’ at you. We try to keep that shit down, but it’s gonna happen. If you don’t want to be touched like that, you gotta figure out how you gonna keep niggas off you without it costin’ you money.”
“I will.”
“Come on. Why don’t you go in and walk through that first door to your right. That way you can get straight to the dressing room and bypass the crowd,” he offered.
Although I was tempted to follow the bouncer’s instructions, a part of me was curious about what it was like inside the club. So I stepped past him, bypassed the door and followed the sound of the music.
The room was a pretty good size, but the mirrored walls made the place seem twice as big. The tables and chairs were lined up in sections that surrounded the stage. There were also two dark doorways toward the back of the room. The soft lighting gave off a dark enough hue over the entire room, and the place smelled like a mixture of cigarette smoke, crisp new money, and just a hint of weed. Several men stood huddled in a group surrounding a couple of dancers. They were both naked and dancin’ their asses off. There were other men posted up at the bar. A few of them had woman dancin’ in front of them.
I stopped and looked around the room. A lot of the men that were sitting at the tables had women dancin’ for them too. Up until that moment, I was under the mistaken dilution that I would be doin’ a couple of sets onstage and that’s it. But as I continued to watch, I saw the men givin’ the dancers money when the song ended. The dancer would get the money, get dressed in what little outfit they were wearing, and move on to the next man.
At that point, I knew that that was how they made their money. If I was gonna clock the kind of paper Diane was talkin’ about, I was really gonna have to hustle. I remembered what my moms told me about what a woman gotta do. “You’re here to make money, Jada. It’s all about the money.”
I started to get excited as the music pumped through the massive speakers. It was loud and contagious. Just as I prepared to turn and find the dressing room, I bumped into this completely naked woman. “Hi, you must be Jada,” she said, like she was fully clothed. I tried my best not to stare at her naked body, but I couldn’t help it.
“Um, how-how’d you know me?”
“Actually, I came out here to find you. I’m Creme. Diane just called me and said she’s running late, so she asked me to take care of you ’til she get here,” Creme said. She was cute, short hair, olive skin with an hourglass shape, firm breasts and shapely hips.
I tried not to stare at her nipples, but they seemed to be pointed right at my eyes. Next to us, two other naked dancers were grindin’ their hips and shakin’ their breasts all in their customers’ faces.
“Oh, okay,” I said, turning my attention back to Creme.
I kept reminding myself that this was really no big deal. I pulled my gym bag close and followed Creme down a dark hallway.
Before we turned I looked toward the stage; a couple of women were gyrating all over each other. One was wearing a pair of spiked heels and a garter around her beefy thigh. The other dancer, who was laying on the stage, had on white platform boots and a garter filled with bills. Spiked heels dropped it like it was hot and was bouncing up and down on other dancers’ face. On the other side the stage, I noticed pink flesh when another dancer spread and held her legs up and opened wide, in mid air. I couldn’t hide my shock. But when I saw a group of men throwing bills onto the stage, I finally knew exactly where I was and was sure that I wanted to be there. “You can do this, Jada. It’s all about the money,” I repeated silently.
“You comin’?” Creme asked over the music as she walked.
“Yes.” I did a slow trot to catch up to Creme.
We weren’t in the dressing room for a good thirty minutes before a big, burly man burst through the door. Most of the girls scattered or quickly busied themselves. I never did know what his real name was, but all the girls called him Bruce Bruce, ’cause he was just as big as the famous comedian and he did kinda favor him.
“Delicious just quit, I need somebody fresh!” he hollered. When he stepped close to me, Creme was standing next to me, but she didn’t say anything.
“Oh, Jackie,” he said, removing the cigar from his lips, where spittle had gathered at the corners of his mouth.
“Um, it’s Jada,” I corrected.
“Whatever. You’re Delicious now. You need to be ready to shake that ass when I call for you.”
Before I could protest, he spun around and headed back out the door as abruptly as he had come in.
I glanced up in the mirror to see the other dancers in different stages of closing down for the day, while others were getting ready to go make more money. My head started spinning and I felt myself get warm.
“God, where’s Diane. I can’t do this,” I said, leaning up against a nearby counter.
“What you mean you can’t do it? Much as Diane been braggin’ about your ass, you’d better get out there and do somethin’,” Creme insisted. But the more she talked, the more upset my stomach became. Soon, I felt the bile churning and threatening to erupt. I rushed to the closest trashcan and leaned over the top.
The other girls were going about their business like nothing had happened. When I was done, Creme pulled me to the side. “Look, I got a little something for you. It’ll help you relax and get into it,” she said. She fumbled through her stuff for a second and came out with a small plastic bag. I knew what time it was. She stuck one of her long fingernails into the bag and held it in front of my face.
I had tried cocaine a few times, but I never really got anything out of it. “Nah, that ain’t my thing,” I said and took a swallow of my Henny.
“Okay,” Creme said and took the hit.
By the time it was my turn to dance, Creme had me pumped, a little drunk, and feelin’ the music. When Bruce Bruce called for me, I was as ready as I’d ever be. Once I got onstage, I sprang to life, surprising even myself. Every time I went down to the floor, I’d shake my behind and spread my thighs. The men loved it. I’d gyrate my hips to the music, stripping off pieces of clothes as I moved around the stage. When I was down to my last stitch of clothing, which was a thong with fringes, I pulled it to one side and used my fingers to stretch my lips real wide. That one really surprised me. These two men stood at the stage feedin’ me money like they had an unlimited supply.
Diane never came to the club that night and I didn’t see her at all for a few days, but by the time she came back, I was a pro. After three weeks into my new profession, the money was rolling in and I was ready to change my name. Delicious was okay, but this customer gave me an idea when he came stumbling up to the stage at the end of my performance one night. “I want to see my kitty,” he slurred. I was trying to clear my money off the stage before the next dancer came up, but he wouldn’t let up. “Miss Kitty!” he shouted. “I want to see her. I live for the part when you stroke that cat for me,” he said.
“What?” I yelled over the music.
“Them other bitches just dance. You put on a show for a nigga. Make him want you.”
At first, I didn’t understand what he was saying. But the more I studied the other girls; I realized he was talking about. They were just dancing. They were merely moving to music. Every so often they may rub a tit, but it was like: one, two, stop and turn; three, four, shake your ass; five, six, drop and spread; seven, eight, get back up. That’s when I realized just how different I was.
When I was onstage, it was like I was in a trance, dancin’ in my very own world. I’d pick a man and stare at him, literally workin’ him over with my eyes. When I danced, I moved seductively and my hands wandered all over my body as if the customer himself was exploring me. I stroked, caressed, and massaged, tryin’ to give them an idea of what it might be like if I’d actually let them touch me.
With his simple request, my new persona was born. I became Miss Kitty. Now, I waltzed out onstage dressed in a short, tight leather miniskirt, with a garter belt and black fishnet stockings. I topped things off with a fishnet shirt, a black leather bra, and a long pair of black gloves. My final touch was a small, elegant silk mask. Within two months time, Miss Kitty had her own small-but-generous following. Their money spoke volumes-telling me without a doubt that they appreciated my well-calculated efforts to make them happy and to make me money.