Sasha folded her hand in a very ladylike way in front of her and looked at me. “So, Jada, tell me what you wanted to talk to me about.”
“Well, . Sasha, . I, um-”
“Don’t tell, let me guess. You think you’re ready to fly solo. Is that what you think you wanna tell me?”
Her attitude caught me a little off guard. I had known Sasha for almost a year and in all that time, she had never copped the kind attitude that she was throwing off now. But I never had to tell her that the envelope I’d just handed her would be her last. I had become a good earner for her. Most weeks I’d give her no less than twenty-five hundred dollars, and all she had to do for it was pick up the phone. On top of that, my company was requested quite frequently and by some of her better clients. Some of which I planned on taking with me.
“I think I’m ready-No, I know I’m ready.”
Sasha laughed at me and I wanted to kick her ass over it, but I did business regularly at this hotel, so I kept my cool.
“Look at you, Jada, all dressed up tryin’ to be a lady.” Sasha took a sip of her drink. “Do you remember who you were when I met you?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Now it was me that had the attitude.
“You couldn’t talk, you could barely walk without falling on your face, and you definitely had the most ghetto taste in clothes.”
This bitch was one insult away from getting this White Chocolate Martini thrown in her face.
“I made you”-Sasha leaned forward and said sternly-“It was me who taught you how to walk without falling; how to talk without having to end every sentence with a curse. And it was me who taught you how to dress like a lady. I taught you all those things. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be shakin’ your ass at that dive. I made you, Jada,” she said again, but this time she stuck her finger in my face. “Never forget that.”
“No, Sasha,” I said to her. “I won’t forget any of that.”
I was on fire. My eyes were squinted, my teeth were grinding together and my fists were balled. I seriously wanted to punch Sasha in the mouth. Although I hated to admit it, Sasha was absolutely right about me. When I met her, I was just a ghetto shake dancer. It was just the nasty way she said it that was pissin’ me off.
Then Sasha smiled. “Stop looking like that”-her smile turned into laughter-“I was just playing with you.”
“You sure?” I asked, but I was still hot.
“Yes, silly.” Sasha laughed and ate some of her sushi. “Had you going for a second there, didn’t I?”
“I was about to start acting very unladylike,” I laughed and tried to relax.
“Listen, honey, I am so proud of you and the way you handle yourself now. Jada, you have come so far. You’ve been ready to fly solo for a long time.”
“Really?” I questioned with childlike wonder.
“Of course you have. But I figured that if you wanted to keep giving me your money, it would be rude of me not to accept.”
“And you know a lady is never rude,” we both said almost in unison.
I was glad to go with Sasha’s blessings. Working with and studying Sasha taught me one thing: She was on top, in charge, the boss, and I worked for her. I walked the way that she did, talked the way she told me to talk, and I dressed and conducted myself the way she said a lady should.
Sasha was my madam-even though I hate the word, she was my pimp. That’s where the money was, not lying on my back with my legs in the air. I was ready to leave Sasha all right, but I wasn’t going solo. I was giving Sasha two, sometimes three grand a week. If I were to get a couple of girls working for me, I could pull in five, six grand a week, and whatever I made would be gravy. In the “New World” I would be on top, ’cause that’s where the money was.
And you know I was all about the money.
6
I looked around my new spacious two-bedroom apartment and marveled at how far I had come. I had a nice new luxury car, a large apartment, the finest clothes and tons of money in the bank; maybe not tons, but more than I’ve ever had in my life. I was finally living the good life.
I strolled over to my dining room table and glanced at the pictures I had laid out. Each one was personally selected to get started. And while I figured that one other person and myself would be good, I liked each one of them and I couldn’t choose, so I decided to keep them all. Diane was the only one I was iffy about, because she was straight ghetto. I was sure that Diane wasn’t ready to work with the kind of exclusive clientele I was working with. “Come on, Jada,” Diane pleaded when she arrived at my apartment. “I could be a good fuckin’ ho for you,” she said and laughed.
“That’s just it, Diane, I’m not looking for ho’s. I’m targeting a more upscale clientele,” I told her.
“Come on, Jada. I’m tired of dancin’ every fuckin’ night. And I’m so fuckin’ tired of them scandalous-ass bitches. Shit, if could make three times that layin’ on my back, come on, Jada, you gots to count a bitch in.”
“And that’s another thing, Dee.”