Commit To Violence

"Good, I’m glad you understand." Nick took the bottle from Bobby and poured himself another drink.

"What you gonna do?"

"Bobby, I don’t know. But whatever I do it won’t be today."

"Whatever you decide to do, if you need me for anything, I’m there for you," Bobby said and raised his glass.

"Thanks Bobby. That means a lot."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Black and Victor were on their way to the apartment of Jada West. In a very short time, Ms. West was running one of the top escort services in the city.

It began when she was working a job at a market research company, scrambling for money, and dodging the landlord. Jada’s life began to change when she stopped to pick up a two-piece snack from Fat Larry’s, and she stopped to admire a royal blue drop-top Beamer with baby blue leather and wood panel interior. Jada wondered if she’d ever see the day when she could afford shit like that.

"Jada, that you girl?" the driver asked.

When she snatched off her shades and pulled her hat’s brim back, Jada’s mouth dropped. "Diane?"

Diane and Jada worked together at the marketing company for nearly a year. "You ain’t gonna make any real money punchin’ no damn clock. I can tell you that much for sure. Are you ready to make some real paper?" she asked.

"Girl, you just don’t know," Jada said.

"I dance at this little club called Ecstasy on Fri

day and Saturday nights," she said calmly. "Say what you want, but I never leave with any less than five hundred dollars a night," Diane said. Jada let the figure roll around in her head. For two night’s worth of work, Diane made one thousand dollars? That’s almost triple what Jada made for working eighty hours.

"I don’t know, Diane. 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!"

After three weeks at Ecstasy, Jada became Miss Kitty. She waltzed out on stage dressed in a short, tight leather miniskirt with a garter belt, black fishnet stockings, black leather bra, and a long pair of black gloves. The final touch was a small and elegant silk mask. Within two months time, Miss Kitty had her own small but generous following.

Jada was invited to dance at a private party for a rapper called The One. It was the night that changed her life forever. Later that night, Jada was introduced to The One. "You a bad mutha fucka, you know that?" The One said to Jada.

"Thank you," she purred modestly.

"I wanna fuck you."

"It’ll cost you," Jada said.

"You ain’t said shit to me, mommy," The One said. "Why don’t I double what you usually charge? I always gets what I want."

Jada thought The One was fine as hell, but since she wasn’t plannin’ on fuckin’ him or anybody else in there, she decided to get ridiculous. "Two grand," Jada said quickly, thinking that he would say she was crazy.

"Why don’t we make it three," The One said and her eyes lit up. Jada saw herself as a dancer and an entertainer, not a ho. Most of the other dancers were letting drunk-ass niggas fuck them cheap. Jada had taken pride in the fact that she wasn’t that kind of dancer. But three grand just to fuck him, Jada knew that she couldn’t turn down that kind of money.

When it was over, and it didn’t last very long, Jada felt used. Probably because I have been used, Jada thought on her way to the elevator. But at the same time, she was smiling inside at the money she’d just made in less than five minutes, and Jada wondered who really used who. She began to think about how easy that actually was as opposed to what she was doing dancing at the club. She knew if she busted her ass and hustled all night, she could make a grand, maybe more on a good night. But Jada had just made three times that amount and barely broke a sweat.

When the elevator stopped on the twenty-sixth floor, a woman stepped into the elevator. "My name is Sasha Deverox." When Sasha told Jada that she was an escort, Jada knew Sasha was somebody she needed to get to know better. The way she was dressed, the way she carried herself, Jada knew being an escort was a much better hustle than stripping.

Sasha offered to let Jada work under her until she felt comfortable going out on her own. Under Sasha’s tutelage Jada learned how to walk, talk and dress like a lady. When that day came for Jada to go out on her own, she met with Sasha. "You think you’re ready to fly solo? Is that what you think you wanna tell me?"

"I think I’m ready. No, I know I’m ready."

"Look at you, Jada. All dressed up tryin’ to be a lady. Do you remember who you were when I met you? You couldn’t talk, you could barely walk without falling on your face, and you definitely had the most ghetto taste in clothes," Sasha laughed and Jada wanted to kick her ass. "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 cuss word. 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 Jada’s face. "Never forget that."

"No, Sasha," Jada said to her. "I won’t forget any of that." Although she hated to admit it, Sasha was absolutely right about her.