“Calm down, Dymond, let's just finish our meal. No harm. No foul.”
“No harm, my ass.” Dymond reached under the table and pulled out her purse. “You get a little green, and you seem to forget that just a couple of months ago, you was crying over a man who you think is all good.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a few twenties, throwing them on the table. “Yeah, you talk about me, but I knew Shadow. What about you, though, how well do you really know Ray and everything he did when he was with you?” She rose from the table. “Why don't you chew on that and have the rest of your meal on me.”
As Dymond headed for the exit, I sat there, stunned. Ramone appeared from nowhere, asking me if I needed anything else. I told him to pick up the plates and give me the check. As I waited for him to return, I wasn't thinking about Ray and how much I knew him. I wondered if I had just lost a friend.
Chapter Twenty-seven
And don't underestimate my potential to succeed . . .
Me and Dymond did settle things . . . sort of. We compromised. We would remain friends as long as she no longer worked for me, at the Doll House, or for Monchats. “I won't leave you high and dry, though,” Dymond said, “I'll give you one month's notice.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“I think it'll work for the best. As one of your best friends, I shouldn't be working up under you anyway.”
“I understand,” I said, even though I didn't.
“Hey, I'm doing what's best for me and my kids. Just because this life isn't for me doesn't mean it isn't for you. What do you always say?”
“Don't knock another woman's hustle.”
“Right. I'm not knocking your hustle, I'm just trying to do my own thing.”
Doing her own thing meant going to cosmetology school. Dymond had decided that she wanted to eventually open a full service hair and nail salon.
“Hey, never say you didn't teach me anything,” she said excitedly as she told me her plans, “I learned a lot about business . . . enough to know that I want to own a business.”
“That's great.” I tried to muster up some enthusiasm, but it was hard. Dymond had been my right hand girl almost from the beginning. I didn't know anyone I trusted to take over the reigns.
“I really think it's going to work out for me.” Dymond had finally heard those three special words from Shawn, “I love you.”
“I hope so,” I said sincerely. “You deserve it.”
Dymond sighed and said, “Thanks, girl. It's hard trying to find a man who wants to take you and your two young kids. I was blessed to find him.”
“And he's blessed to have you,” I paused before bringing up a more sensitive subject. “You're really selling the Cady. I mean, I've heard about living the straight and narrow, but that's a bit extreme.”
“That Cady's going to pay for my education and my bills. Plus, I talked to B.L. and he told me that Monchats wouldn't want it back. He actually encouraged me to sell it.”
“For real?”
“Yeah, and he was even nice about it.”
B.L. was known for his attitude. “You must have caught him on the right day.”
“And at the right time.”
We laughed a bit before I stopped, reached for Dymond, and hugged her tightly. “I'm going to miss having you in the mix. It won't be the same without you.”
“I know, girl. But we're finally growing up. Don't worry, we'll definitely keep in touch.” Famous last words. In all honesty, Dymond was leaving at a time when I really needed her. Inspired by my steel, the dancers at the Doll House had decided to come up with their own campaign. They wanted to pose on motorcycles too. I didn't have a problem with that. More money for all. The problem I had was:
“We want to be called Biker Chicks,” Passion told me.
I cringed at the word Biker. Frowning, I said, “I don't like it.”
“Why not? It has a nice ring to it.”
“I'm just not into the word, bike.”
“So what do you call your bike?”
My ears prickled. “I call it a steel.”
“But you agree that almost everyone else in the world would call it a bike, right?”
“Not if you're a member of the Phantom Cruz.”
“But you're not a member, so what's the problem?”
“And why are you trying to be logical?” I asked. I didn't have any real excuses for not using the name. Even though I didn't want to admit it, the name did have a nice ring to it. I knew men would go crazy over exotic dancers posed in all kinds of positions on steels.
Passion smacked her lips. “I'm not stupid. And neither are you. You know the name is tight.”
“So, you've all agreed to this.”
“That's right.”
I couldn't let her think they'd won right away. “Let me think about it,” I told Passion, knowing that the name was pretty much set in stone. Hey, I am never one to pass up a good buck.
I made a mental note to ask Lala if she wanted to be a “Biker Chick” too. Being her manager had been fairly easy, and she was traveling a lot as La Hynoptic. She made enough money to have a little entourage. She had someone to do her hair and nails and a personal assistant. I was glad. It allowed me to stay in Columbus and handle the business end of things.
Within a week, I had two calendars on schedule. The regular calendar and the Biker Chick calendar. The week after that taught me that Passion had been right. The pre-orders for the Biker Chick calendar surpassed the orders for the regular calendar, even though that one had been on sale longer. The dancers were pressing me to make Biker Chick Posters and postcards too. With the numbers I saw for the calendar, there wasn't any way I could say no.
Then, I planned a party. Dymond's party. I couldn't let her leave the club without throwing her a major bash. I should have known trouble would follow. The three parties I remembered most, a purse party, my eighteenth birthday party, and my graduation party, led me to my man, but they also left me homeless, penniless, and distraught. Those three parties weren't done with me yet. Add a fourth one to those three and something nuclear was bound to happen. See, I could make business plans, make money, keep people happy, and yeah, I could throw a good party, even though I hadn't set up one in a long time. But I was living high on the hog again. I hadn't really learned my lesson. Things were going so well for me, I didn't think I would have to face disappointment again. But that was a fool's dream. Sometimes it seems like people get shit thrown their way to knock them down to see how long it takes for them to stand up.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Because love comes to all in many forms . . .
“Dymond is going to flip out when she finds out,” Ginger told me when I informed her of my plan to have a going away party at the club. “Silver, we have to do it right.”
I had picked up a new nickname at the Doll House. When the ladies discovered that the fox on my ride stood for Silver Fox, they decided that Silver fit me perfectly. I didn't mind. “I know. And I'm going to need your help. I have to do it next Saturday, before we open for the night,” I told her.
“Where do you want to set it up?” Ginger asked excitedly.
“I think the private party room will be fine. It's only going to be us. I'll order the food and we already have the drinks.”
Ginger raised her eyebrows. “You're taking from Monchats's stash?”
“I'm going to clear it with B.L.; don't worry. Do you think Monchats would refuse me?”
“I hope not, or you're going to be SOL.”
“B.L. might make me pay for it, but I don't think he'll refuse. It's not like he's going to let me bring anybody's liquor up in here.”
“So, what do you need me to do?” Ginger asked. Over the past couple of weeks, I had been working closely with Ginger. When I first arrived at the Doll House, I looked to her for guidance to get me through. Now, I was grooming her so I could take her under my wing. It's funny how things work out sometimes. Dymond would work during the day, and Ginger would come in during the evenings. Sometimes, we would all work together so that Ginger could learn the ropes. Ginger Doll, as I liked to call her from time to time, turned out to be down-to-earth. At twenty-eight years old, she was older than me and Dymond, but she didn't seem to mind taking orders from me. She had one son that she let her mother adopt.
Ginger's son had been the product of a sloppy sex session when she was fourteen years old. She told me they were more like brother and sister than mother and son, but she still saved up so he could go to college. According to her, he wanted to be an electrical engineer, and he had the brains, so she was going to do everything she could to make that happen. With the extra ends she would make taking Dymond's place, her plans to make her son the first one in her family to go to college would definitely become a reality.
“I know I'm going to be leaning on you hard.” I handed her the list I made, my âDymond To Do' list. “Make sure to notify everyone of the date. I know it's short notice, but they all need to be here next Saturday, whether they're on the schedule or not. Dymond's done a lot for us, and she deserves our support as she moves forward with her life.”
Ginger scanned the list, her eyes shifting rapidly. She nodded as she read, but when she looked up from the page, she frowned.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“No party decorations?” she asked.
I shook my head and said, “I can't believe I forgot that! Could you get something nice? None of the Dollar Store stuff. Go to that one upscale store in Bexley, the one that does the rentals. You know what I'm talking about?”
“Yeah, Bexley Expressions.” Ginger nodded before folding the list. “I'll get right on it.” She headed for the office door.
“Ginger, wait!” I called out. She stopped, turned around, and looked at me. “Remember to tell everyone to keep their mouths shut. I don't want Dymond to find out until the big day.”
“You got it.”
I spent the rest of the day looking over proofs for the Biker Chicks. Steph had taken shots of four dancers, and I had to admit, they came out better than I thought they would. Mom always told me that a true leader knows when to heed advice from her followers. She had been right once again. I wonder what she would think about what I was doing. She'd probably hand me a Bible and tell me to pray. I had started writing her letters in my journal, and I thought about sending her something a couple of times, but the thought of her not responding kept me from writing her.
I had started missing Ray more. I tried to keep myself busy, even going to the Doll House at night to work so I wouldn't have to be in my condo alone. Even though me and Dymond had settled our differences, I would think about our conversation at Brownstone, when she asked me, “
How well do you really know Ray and everything he did when he was with you
?” The questions lingered in my mind long after our argument was over. Truth was, I didn't know much about Ray on the business end. I knew what he did and who he hung out with . . . mostly, but most of the knowledge I gained about my man came from his lips. I never expected to be on the street with him when he was doing his thing, but in the years we were together before he went to prison, I had never even been to the barber shop where he cut hair.
On those lonely nights, when I was in my bed alone, our relationship was at the forefront of my mind. I thought about how I had basically been isolated, just me and my man. I had always been okay with that. Always. Staying at our house, being all I could be for Ray while he took care of me . . . that had been enough. But now that I had my own gig again, and I was making it on my own, I wondered if that would be enough when he finally came home.
I never imagined how hard it would be to be alone. To be so close to a person and not be able to touch them or see them. That picture with the standard prison pose isn't enough for me anymore. It's not keeping me warm at night. I count down the days, waiting for the day Ray comes back to me. Everyday, I tell myself, it won't be long . . . it won't be long. Things will be different when he gets home. I know I'm not the only woman going through this. Supporting a man who isn't around. I wonder if other ladies feel it like I'm feeling it now. I thought love was supposed to feel good. But love without touch, love without sight, love with only memories to hold me together . . . there is nothing more painful to me.
Little did I know as I wrote those words that there are many things more painful than not being able to be with the one you love. I would discover that one of the most painful things I would face was betrayal . . . and it would come from places I would have never suspected in my wildest dreams.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As does its enemy hate . . .
I knew I was slippin' when I forgot to take care of the beverages for Dymond's party. Time had passed in the blink of an eye. I was so focused on my business, I forgot to take care of my friend. It didn't help that B.L. hadn't been around the Doll House, so I didn't have his big, bulky body around to aid my memory. They say that everything happens for a reason, so maybe I wasn't meant to see him until that horrible April Friday before Dymond's party.
The light bulb came on at around nine in the evening, right after happy hour at the Doll House. As usual, it was busy; even more so because Lala was performing that night. A popular singer was planning to visit the Doll House, and the dancers and the Dolls were almost fighting for the chance to serve the singer and his entourage in the private VIP. Luckily, no one had planned to use the private party room. We closed it off after Dymond left for the day at four. Me, Ginger, and a couple of the other girls planned to come in early on Saturday to decorate the room.
The plan was set. Ginger would call Dymond, saying there was an emergency and that she couldn't contact me. She would tell her to come to the club right away. If Dymond got suspicious, I told Ginger to tell her that there was money missing from the night's take from the posters and cards. “She'll believe that one for sure, 'cause she knows I don't play around with money,” I told Ginger confidently.
“Silver, I can't wait to see her expression when she finds out we tricked her.”
“I just hope she doesn't knock us out.”
I didn't tell Ginger that I had forgotten about the drinks. I just put everything in place so it would be ready once B.L. gave the approval. I kept checking the main part of the club to see if he had come. Finally, after two hours, he came into the club with Damien, a hot new talent with a hit single,
You're the One
. I caught up with one of B.L.'s lackeys before they entered the private VIP.
“Hey, tell B.L. I need to see him,” I told Li'l C.
“What 'bout?”
“Money,” I replied. “What is it always about? I'll be in my office.”
He nodded. “I'll tell him, but we're going to be busy,” he smiled, and I understood him perfectly.
“Just let him know it's important. Please.”
Li'l C nodded and headed into the VIP. The lusty look in his eyes told me I was going to have to wait for him to tell B.L. anything, particularly with the number of dancers already lining up to serve the Doll House's guests. I went back to the office and prepared for a long wait. But what I got was the knockout punch.
During my wait, I counted out the receipts and cash for the orders that had come in. Technically, I was supposed to give Monchats's percentage of the Biker Chicks money to B.L., but in reality, I was handing the cash to one of his lackeys. Even though I rarely saw B.L., I talked to him frequently. But in the many months that had passed, I never got the chance to thank him for giving the plan to Monchats, or to ask him if he was the man who called me the day Ray got arrested.
It was almost two in the morning by the time B.L. came into the office. The music had slowed down, and most of the clientele were headed home. I had almost given up until Li'l C knocked on the door and told me that B.L. was on his way.
“Sorry,” C said, his voice slurring from the alcohol and his expression happy from the VIP services. “We got a little caught up, if you know what I mean.”
I put up a hand. “Please, spare me the details, but thanks for letting me know that B.L. is on his way.”
I found myself straightening up my office and giving it the once-over to make sure everything looked okay. I wanted everything neat and professional. By the time B.L. came into the room, I was sitting in my chair, calm and collected. I hadn't seen B.L. much lately, but he still looked the same. He carried a few extra pounds, mostly around his middle, but he had a bulky frame that made him look much larger. He was dressed for success though, sporting a nice pinstriped suit. The suit was a bit disheveled, but I wouldn't expect anything less from a man coming from the VIP.
The opportunity to get all the answers to my questions came on that Friday night at the Doll House. There, in the haze of my office, in the middle of the night, I finally learned a part of the truth . . . a part because I don't think I'll ever know the full truth. Like I said, I was in my office alone. I had processed orders for Biker Chick prints and counted receipts. It was late, and I was kind of irritable, but I knew that I had to get the okay from B.L. on the beverage situation. I hoped he wouldn't let me down.
B.L. didn't disappoint, although looking back, maybe I wish that he had. He reeled into my office piss-ass drunk. “What do you want, Foxy?” he asked, slurring his words.
Although I didn't think it was best to deal with him when he was drunk, I didn't hesitate. Who knew when I would see him again?
“B.L., I just really wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity to make us a whole bunch of money. I couldn't have done this without you.”
B.L. stood in front of me. His large frame was overpowering and I felt uncomfortable. “Please don't tell me you asked me back here for this,” he muttered.
“Well, no, I didn't.” I paused before continuing, trying to force the lump back down my throat. I explained the beverage situation and the reason I needed some of the club's stashâfor Dymond's party.
“Shit, like I give a damn. You know the deal, pay the tab and we're straight.” He coughed and grumbled. “You could have handled this with Tony, why drag me in here?”
Tony was the manager, but even he deferred to B.L. when it came to Monchats's property. Since he was there, I decided to go for it all.
“I've been wondering about something for a while and . . .” I stumbled over my words.
“Well, get on with it, shit, I got things to do.” B.L. sat down in one of the black leather chairs in front of my desk.
“Okay, I'm not going mince words. Did you call me the day Ray got arrested?”
B.L.'s first response wasn't the one I expected. He laughed. Hard. He was actually bellowing. I didn't know what to do so I just stared at him.
“You know what, Silver? I don't like people questioning me, but you're good people. See, I knew your Pops. He did a lot of great things for us, and we were sorry to see him go.
But fate is a mutha fuckin' bitch, ain't it? Who knew I would cross paths with Chris Sells daughter?” He started laughing again.
I was irritated. “What does my dad have to do with this?” I asked.
“Yo, I'll keep it short and sweet. Of course it was me, big fuckin' deal. I saved your ass, you know that. Shit, you should be happy, what nigga says âsave my girl' after being laid up with that blue-eyed bitch Lala? I mean, I heard her pussy could launch a spaceship and he was worried about you. Ain't that fuckin' love?”
My mouth dropped and my chest tightened. I couldn't believe what B.L. had just said to me. “What the fuck did you say?” I asked, raising my voice.
I could tell by B.L.'s expression that he knew he'd said too much. But he was a cold-ass mutha fucka. “Hey, I didn't mean for it to come out like that, but since the cat's out of the bag, fuck it.” He stood up and walked toward the door. “You know what, Silver, sometimes some questions are best left unanswered.”
“What are you, some fuckin' philosopher?”
He didn't respond, but just opened the door, walked through it, and let it slowly close behind him.
As for me, the anger was welling up inside of me, to the boiling point. But then, something deep inside of me told me I had always known. Memories flashed in my mind. I remembered how Ray's eyes always kind of shifted when he mentioned her. How he would casually mention her from time to time. And then Lala, I remembered the first time I saw her after Ray got arrested, she looked scared when she saw me. It was as if she thought I was about to give her a beat down. And it was definitely coming.
As the night wore on, more thoughts entered my mind. Had he been with her at the club? Had they been in the private VIP? How many times had they been together? I thought about every late night and every missed phone call. I convinced myself he must have been with her. I screamed and cursed them both. Somehow, I thought, they must have known each other before they met me. I remembered the day of my purse party, the day I met Ray, when Lala gave that little sideward glance before rushing into Cam's. I remembered the night of my birthday party, when they looked at each other strangely. And neither one of them had ever said a word. The base of my entire relationship with Ray was really a shaky foundation, ready to crack at its core.
Lalique Henderson. La Hynoptic. Skanky ho. There I was making that bitch rich and she had fucked my man. She was supposed to be like a sister to me. She smiled in my face when she knew all along that she had betrayed me. Well, now she was going to pay.
Lala had already left the club that night, or else it would have been on and poppin'. She had worked the pole and left. And I can't even put into words the effort it took for me to make it out of the club. I couldn't go to sleep that night. I paced around my condo crying and cursing and trying to convince myself that B.L. was trying to fuck with my head. But I knew he was telling the truth. In the deep dark of the night, I started thinking about making Lala pay. I pulled out my nine, which I had picked up a couple of months before for protection. I planned to put a bullet in Lala's brain. But first I had someone else to deal with.