“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.