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“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.
