she would reply.
“How much for a night with you?” they’d ask, leering at her. Anyone who dances must have a price, they assumed. Sometimes they were right.
“You don’t have the money, baby,” she would coo.
So as she danced for Ray, she kept in her mind that she was going to make her hundred-dollar bill. That was the only thing that mattered. Still, she had to fake that she gave a damn about Ray. If not, the fantasy wasn’t complete for him, and that meant a smaller tip. And a smaller tip meant that getting out of Veronica’s house was just that much farther away.
“So what do you do?” Keisha whispered softly. She put her lips close to Ray’s ear.
“I’m sort of an agent.”
“Are you in music?”
“No,” Ray said, taking a deep breath. He pulled out another twenty and placed it in her mouth. She nodded, and he cupped her breasts.
“No, I’m a different type of agent. I look for talent.”
“Hmm, do I have the type of talent you’re looking for?” Keisha asked. The song was almost over and she was glad this conversation, and this dance, was about to end.
“Actually, yeah, I think you do,” Ray replied. “If you—”
All of a sudden, Keisha heard a slap.
“Uh-uh!” Patra exclaimed. “Uh-uh! Fuck that, nigga!”
Patra walked over to the stereo and turned off the music, her breasts swaying.
“What happened, girl?” Keisha asked, picking up her bikini.
“Yeah, what happened?” Ray said.
“That fool,” Patra said, pointing her index finger at Marty, “decided that he wanted to slap my ass, even though I told his black ass not to do it. Nobody slaps my ass, and I told him that.”
“Ah, girl, you know you liked it,” Marty said, with a crooked smile on his face.
“If I liked it,” Patra replied, “you would still be getting a dance with a hard-on. Now you just have a hard-on, muthafucka. Let’s go, Keisha.”
Patra opened the door and they walked out of the private room. They ran into Sean, who was coming up the hallway.
“Where’s our money, Sean?” Keisha asked.
“What happened in there?” Sean asked.
“They got their dances, and then the dumb one decided to slap Patra’s ass,” Keisha said. “Dance over. Where’s our money?”
Sean kept switching the weight on his feet again. Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Kansas City wad of cash. He pulled off two fifty-dollar bills.
“Here’s fifty for you,” Sean said, giving Patra a bill, “and here’s a fifty for you, Keisha. Now take your asses back down to the dressing room and get ready to go on the stage. You’re on in five minutes.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Keisha said, looking at her fifty-dollar bill. “You said we were getting one hundred, not fifty. Where’s the rest of my money?”
“I said you were getting one hundred dollars,” Sean said, smiling like he was the cat who’d just eaten a canary. “That meant you got a bill and she got a bill. Don’t like it? Take it up with management. Now get down to the stage and shake your ass.”
Keisha looked at Patra, and telepathically they both knew they wanted to strangle Sean, but they dared not do it.
“That’s some bullshit, Sean, and you know that,” Keisha said. “I’m going to remember that shit.”
“Yeah, well, remember that shit on your way to the stage. If you don’t like it, then I’ll get somebody else to take your place. We clear?”
Keisha steamed as she looked at Sean, but Patra took her by the arm. “Yeah, we cool,” Keisha said.
“Good,” Sean said. “Now get down to the stage.”
Keisha and Patra walked down the stairs to the dressing room.
Sean was pissed and stormed into the private room.
“Why do you always have to slap the asses of my dancers, Marty? I mean, how many times do I have to tell your dumb ass that we have a hands-off policy?”
Sean was really annoyed this time. Normally he just let things slide, but he couldn’t afford to lose Patra or Keisha at this time of year. They were building a nice clientele at the club and he wanted to keep them happy.
“Don’t listen to those bitches, man,” Marty said, calmly sipping his drink. “They like to get their asses slapped. Keeps ’em motivated and alert. But they just don’t want to tell anybody.”
“Whatever,” Ray said, annoyed as always with Marty. “Let’s get down to business. I know the one that I want.”
“Which one?” Sean said. He was looking out over the club through the smoke-glassed windows and noticed that it was packed. When Keisha walked onto the stage, the men went wild. That girl has something special, he thought to himself.
“I want Keisha,” Ray said.
Sean turned around to look at Ray.
“Whoa, partner,” he said. “I thought you were going after Patra. I just sent Keisha up because there were two of you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Ray replied. “And stop bullshitting now that you know who I want. I want Keisha. Now get me her and then you’ll get your percentage.”
“Look, I’ll ask her, but something about her tells me that she’s not going to be interested.”
Marty got up and with Ray walked over to Sean. He wasn’t giggling anymore.
“It’s your job to make her interested. We have confidence that you will get the job done.”
Ray wasn’t much with words, but he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.
“I’ll talk to her,” Sean said.
Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.
“Tell her that she’ll get five hundred dollars for one hour if she calls,” Ray said. “And I expect a call.”
Chapter 3
You have to recognize when the right place and the right time fuse and take advantage of that opportunity. There are plenty of opportunities out there. You can’t sit back and wait.
—Ellen Metcalf
It was three in the morning and the final ten men were leaving the Chi Chi Room. Keisha, Patra, and Debra were sitting in the dressing room, rubbing their feet, having squeezed them into four-inch heels for most of the night. For Keisha and Patra, it had been a long night because they’d had to go onstage a few extra times because of the private dance with Marty and Ray.
“How much did you make tonight?” Keisha asked Debra and Patra.
“Bitch, why you all up in my money again?” Debra laughed.
“I’m just fucking with you,” Keisha said, smiling. “But how much did you make?”
“Well, I made about two hundred and fifty, so I’m cool,” Patra said. “What did you make?”
“About the same,” Keisha said, counting her money. “I made around one seventy-five. It started out bad, but some niggas must have gotten paid or something tonight.”
“I know, it seemed like it, didn’t it?” Patra said. “I think I made about the same, plus that fifty we made from that private dance.”
Debra looked up.
“Y’all