Jackie Robinson of black ass, but what he’d done was take that retirement money from the Hughes Aircraft factory, where he’d been an electrician since he’d gotten out of the army back in ’51, and opened up a little black nudie bar in Gardena. It was an instant success. Gardena was and is an L.A. backwater, so no one messed with him or the club. He paid his taxes just like the bakery across the street from him did, and he made sure that the only reason police showed up was to get private dances on their breaks from eating donuts. Things were good when the old man was alive. A combination of big asses, a little spending money, and some friends meant that he was living the life he wanted.
But even when the old man was alive, it had been apparent that there needed to be some changes at the Chi Chi Room. The club was getting old. The red velvet walls could tell you that. The women onstage were old. The men watching them were old. And now, unlike in the 1970s, there was competition.
So when Big Sean finally died of cancer, his son had a vision for something different. He dreamt of Chi Chi Rooms across the country, just like the white club Spearmint Rhino had done. Franchise black booty from coast to coast, Sean thought. But to do that as a black club, he had to shake things up.
He got rid of a lot of the fat women his father had on the stage and brought in some young talent. His father, like a lot of men in his generation, didn’t care about a girl being fit. They just wanted a lot of body. But Sean knew that younger men, the hip-hop generation, wanted body, but not body fat. And that meant putting together a new roster.
“Yeah, I have a club over in Gardena, and I think you would be great onstage,” Sean would tell a young woman at an L.A. nightclub. He could usually get five new girls per weekend this way, and one or two per month would stick. That formula had worked to the point where the Chi Chi Room was the top black club in Southern California. But Sean wanted more. That’s why he was talking to Ray and Marty tonight.
“I heard you got some new dancers in,” Ray said. He kept wondering why he had to do this same dance each and every week.
“Yeah, I got a few new bitches in,” Sean said, shifting his weight from side to side. He was what the old black men at the barbershop called an itchy nigga. Always moving. Always twitching.
“What are you looking to do, and what are you niggas paying?”
“The usual. We’re going to start them off with print first, and then move on. You’ll get the same percentage.”
“No doubt,” Marty said.
Sean turned toward Marty and smiled.
“This dumb muthafucka,” Sean said, pointing to Marty, “sayin’ ‘no doubt’ like he’s the one givin’ the percentages! Nigga, let Ray talk, ’cause you don’t know what the fuck you are talkin’ about. See, that’s why I hates an ignant nigga.”
“Why I gots to be ignant?” Marty asked.
“If you can’t figure it out, then that confirms it.”
Sean looked around and then turned to Ray.
“Okay, I’m going to have Blackie take you up to the private room. Same shit as always, pick the ones you want and then let me know what they’re going to do. And by the way, make sure to tell Steven that he’s been late on his percentage payments and I don’t appreciate muthafuckas messing with my money. It wastes my time…”
“…and time is money,” Marty and Ray both finished.
Sean paused and looked at the two.
“Nobody likes a couple of funny niggas,” he said.
Out of nowhere, as though Sean had telepathically called him, Blackie showed up by Sean’s side.
“Take these niggas up,” Sean said. “I got some shit to take care of. I’ll meet y’all in a second.”
“Come with me,” Blackie said, and all three began walking toward the stairs to the second-floor private room.
“I’ll go get the bitches,” Sean said. Sean started making his way to the dressing room.
The dressing room at the Chi Chi Room was a no-go place for anyone but the dancers and Sean, and he really shouldn’t have been there either. The dancers were getting themselves ready for the night.
“How much did you make last night?” Keisha asked. She put on the purple thong and bikini top and began dusting her body with glitter. In the dim light of the stage, it made her skin sparkle, and the men in the pervert pit liked the trick of the trade.
“Bitch, why you all up in my business?” Debra said, more annoyed than angry. She had her good days and her bad days at the Chi Chi Room, and this was turning out to be one of her bad days.
Debra was what black men called a “big guh.” She stood about six feet in her three-inch heels, and she always wore a black leather bikini that was two sizes too small but accentuated her size 38 yellow ass. The men at the Chi Chi Room went nuts every time she came out. She was a longtime feature dancer at the Chi Chi Room and was the dean of the strippers. But there were signs that her days were numbered.
All the women getting dressed were a little on edge, and the size of the dressing room certainly didn’t help much. Even to call it a dressing room was giving the glorified broom closet too much dignity. Three women could just barely fit into it, but often there were four or five in there at one time.
“A couple of weeks working in the club and you all up in my business. Bitch, I don’t know you like that. Wait until you have eighteen years in here before you come at me like that.”
“Damn, why it gotta be all that?” Keisha asked. “I ain’t in your business. I was just curious. Damn, can’t I just get an answer instead of some fucked-up answer?”
Debra kept taking off her clothes as she decided whether to answer. “You look and sound just like an old friend of mine,” she finally answered. “Two hundred dollars. That’s what I’ve made so far.”
“After Sean’s cut?” Keisha asked.
“Yep.”
“Shit.”
For Debra to make only about two hundred dollars in tips meant that shit was going slow, Keisha thought.
“Well, if you only made two hundred,” Keisha said, “then I’m looking at a one hundred-dollar night. I’ve got to figure out a way to make some real money from this shit.”
“You’ve got to shake it hard so that Sean will move you from two nights a week to four,” Debra said. She sat down at the makeup counter and began applying her makeup in heavy strokes. “If you aren’t making more than one hundred, then he’s not going to up your nights. It’s not worth it to him.”
“Why are things so bad out there?” Keisha asked. “I mean, I see a bunch of niggas out there, but none of them have money.”
“All the big ballers are doing a bid. I can always tell when the LAPD is doing one of their goddamn sweeps,” Debra said. “All of the gangsters and drug dealers get caught and then we pay the price. So we get left with all the muthafuckas that go to the ATM for a twenty and then get it changed into one-dollar bills.”
“Yeah, then they wad up three of them to make it seem as though they’re big ballers.” Keisha laughed. “I hate picking up my tips and getting a bunch of ones smashed together.”
The door to the dressing room opened and Patra walked in. She’d just done her first set and was panting and sweating like she’d run a marathon.
“Damn, bitch, take a fucking bath.” Debra laughed. She reached over and threw Patra a clean towel.
“Thanks,” Patra said, wiping herself off. Patra had started about a year before Keisha had and was building a small fan base at the club. She’d gotten to the Chi Chi Room after Sean had seen her at the Upside Down Club as a go-go dancer. She was pretty, but not particularly stunning. Her features were slight, with beautiful