and it was too late. Plus, Robert’s not a fool to fuck with.”
“Why?”
“Because I think he takes pleasure in beating women, real pleasure. And if I were to confront him about taking my money, he’d go off.”
“Did he live with y’all?”
“That nigga would come in and out the house as he pleased. I haven’t seen him in about six months, but apparently he’s back in town. He slings, so that nigga’s never in the same city for any length of time. He’s probably back here in L.A. because all of the big-time dealers are in County, and he thinks he can make some money—probably with my money. But my momma is so damn stupid, she doesn’t even understand that this nigga don’t give a damn about her.”
“Sorry to talk about your momma like this, but dumb bitches are everywhere,” Patra said. “So what are you gonna do next?”
“I don’t know. Hustle and get as much money as I can as fast as I can, I guess.”
Patra looked at Keisha. They weren’t particularly close, but she did like her. And she kind of felt for her. But her space was her space.
“Look, you can stay here until the end of the month. But you’re going to have to pay a bit of rent, and you need to buy your own food, so don’t fuck with mine. At the end of the month, you’ve got to move out and get your own place. So do what you have to do with Sean, but make it happen.”
“Cool. That’s real cool.”
Patra studied Keisha for a second.
“There’s one other thing,” she said. “What happens in this apartment stays in this apartment. You understand? What I do is my private business, and I don’t want to hear about it. Don’t ask any questions. We clear?”
“Clear.”
Patra stood up and picked up both soda cans and walked to the kitchen. “You’ve lucked out because that couch is a sofa bed. So you can pull it out when you want to go to sleep. I’ll get some keys made and you can come and go as you please. The television has cable, and you can watch it all night long for all I care. I can sleep through anything. Put your clothes in the front closet, and then you’re all set.”
“Thanks, Patra,” Keisha said gratefully. “I won’t be a bother.”
“Sure, you will be,” Patra said, smiling. “But don’t worry about that. Bitches got to stick together, right?”
“Right,” Keisha said, smiling.
Chapter 6
All charming people have something to conceal, usually their total dependence on the appreciation of others.
—Cyril Connolly
The crew was all ready to do Keisha’s shoot, but there was no sign of her. She was late, and Steven hated people who were late.
“So where is the girl?” Steven asked. It was nine-fifteen on Saturday, and they were supposed to have started shooting Keisha at nine, but she was nowhere to be found.
“Is she flaking out, or will she be here?” he asked Ray, who was looking at his cell phone and dialing Keisha’s number.
“I’m finding out right now,” he said. “Hello?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Ray. Keisha, where are you?”
Keisha was sitting on the bus, and a street poet was in the back reciting poetry, to the consternation of all the passengers.
“Shut the hell up,” an old lady admonished the poet. “I just want to ride this raggedy bus in peace.”
“Peace, my sister,” the poet riffed. “Peace is about being in peace with oneself, and one’s universe, which is a piece of me—”
“I’m on the bus, about two blocks away from you,” Keisha said into her phone, holding her hand over her other ear, trying to block out the poet. “I’ll be there in about five minutes.”
“Hurry up and get your ass here,” he said, hanging up the phone. “She’ll be here in about five minutes. She’s on the bus.”
Steven looked disgusted. “Dealing with this bus-riding hood rat gets on my nerves.”
“You should let me pick up the hoes,” Marty said. “I’ll make sure they get here on time.”
“I’d rather have her get here on the bus,” Steven said, looking at Marty disdainfully.
He then turned to everyone assembled. This was going to be a shoot that featured Keisha, without any man in it. “Everybody get ready. She’s on her way.”
Keisha walked into the Vision Theater with her duffle bag in tow, and Steven smiled. Ray had been right. She was the exact type Steven wanted for his new video unit. Pretty, delicate, and she didn’t look like she’d been abused or in a street fight. He couldn’t wait to see her naked.
“You done good,” Steven whispered to Ray. He walked over to her.
“Hello, Keisha, my name is Steven Cox, and I’m the publisher of Pimp magazine,” Steven said, smiling. He wanted to put on the charm offensive as soon as possible. “Did you have any problem getting here?”
“No,” Keisha said, looking around unsurely. She wasn’t the nervous type, but she was a bit apprehensive.
“Good, can we get you something? Would you like some soda or water?”
Keisha put down the duffle bag she’d been carrying. “Water would be fine.”
“Kevin,” Steven screamed. Steven’s assistant came running. “Get Keisha some water, and then set up her space so we can get started.”
“No problem,” Kevin said. “Do you mind if I take your bag?”
“Go for it,” she said.
Steven took Keisha by the elbow and walked her toward Ray, who was sitting on the edge of the stage. On stage was a huge poster bed, and the crew was setting up lights all around it.
“Ray tells me that you dance at the Chi Chi Room. How do you like it there?” he asked, holding Keisha by the elbow.
“It’s fine. It pays the bills.”
“And that’s what’s important, isn’t it? Everyone’s got to pay the bills.”
Ray got up from the stage. “Good to see you, Keisha.”
“Cool,” she said. Kevin ran up with a bottle of water, and Keisha sat on the edge of the stage looking at them all.
“So how long is this going to take?” she asked, opening the bottle of water.
“The shoot shouldn’t take more than two hours,” Steven said. “After that, you’ll be out of here. I’ll even make sure to get you a ride home so you don’t have to take the bus. Not a bad way to make five hundred dollars, eh?”
Keisha stopped drinking her water and stared at Steven.
“Five hundred dollars?” she asked. “Sean told me that I was only making two hundred and fifty.”
Steven looked at Ray and started laughing.
“Goddamn Sean,” he laughed. “He’d cheat his mother if he could find a way. No, darling, you’re getting five hundred for this deal, not two-fifty. I’ll pay you personally. Pimp is a magazine of integrity, so we don’t bullshit you. If I tell you we’re going to pay you something, then we pay that to you.”
“You can trust Steven,” Ray interjected. “Sean—not so much.”
Keisha drank a bit more water. Again, Sean had tried to screw her out of money.
“Let’s