24
This has to be my last night,
Deahnna thought.
Because I can't do this anymore. I just can't.
She applied eyeliner around her eyes, then grabbed her blush to apply to her cheeks. Tears sat just out of sight behind her pupils. She looked at herself in the mirror before her. “Some cleaning lady,” she said to herself.
She exhaled as hooting and hollering exploded from the main area of the club. Rhonda, one of the youngest girls in Marvin's “stable” was on the stage. She was the first to go on and perform for the private bachelor party going on. Rhonda, barely twenty-one, was a natural blonde with perky B-cups and a slender figure untouched by the pains and strains of childbirth. She was performing first. Regina would go next, and then it would be Deahnna's turn. After their solo performances, the three would perform together, making sure to send the groom-to-be off with a ménage à trois that was sure to get a standing ovation and make dollars fly.
Deahnna couldn't wait to get the night over with. She wanted to do the job, collect her money, and then rush out of there and never go back.
“I should do that,” she said.
“Should do what?”
Deahnna turned. Regina had just come from the lounge area.
Deahnna shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Regina said, “Oh,” and then went to her locker. She rotated a Master Lock on it, right, left, right, then removed it, opened her locker, and reached inside and removed a stick of deodorant. “It is crazy out there,” she said, putting layers on under her arms. “Those guys are something. A couple of them are porn stars, or so they say, so don't be shocked when they proposition you. Of course, they don't have to be porn stars to do that.”
Great,
Deahna thought. She took a glance at the clock and willed it ahead four hours. Unfortunately, she hadn't been born with any mutant powers.
“Honey, you don't go on for another twenty minutes. Why are you not out there getting some extra cash just mingling? These men have money to spare. I'm telling you.”
Deahnna frowned. Money. That was the reason she was there. The reason she'd given in to Marvin over the phone, and then again when she tried to back out earlier in the week.
Money.
That she needed.
That made her a hostage to the lack of respect she commanded.
Regina said, “Honey, I know you don't want to be here, but you are here. It may not be the ideal situation, but make the most of it and go get what these men are anxious to give up.”
Deahnna frowned. “I know. I . . . I just hate this so much, Regina. I feel so . . . dirty.”
Regina gave her an “excuse me” look, with her eyebrows raised and lips pressed firmly together.
Deahnna said quickly, “No offense.”
Regina said, “Honey, you have a child you are doing all you can to provide a home for. There is absolutely nothing dirty about what you're doing.”
Deahnna sat still for a moment, taking in Regina's comment. She hated her job, hated having to endure the shame she felt, the long, hot showers in the wee hours of the morning, just trying to wash off the filth she felt on her skin. But as she sat, unmoving, she had to accept that Regina was right. For her son, for her angel, she would do whatever she had to do. Filth be damned.
She looked at Regina and gave her a half smile. “Thank you,” she said.
Regina closed her locker. “Your son is the one who needs to thank you, honey. Hopefully one day he will by being nice and successful.”
Deahnna raised her eyebrows. “Hopefully.”
Regina smiled. “Now, go and mingle and get some money.”
Deahnna nodded. “OK.”
Regina turned and hurried back to the private party. Deahnna looked at herself in the mirror.
For my son,
she thought, picking up her lip gloss. For her son.
“His ass better pay me back,” she said.
She stood up, took a deep breath and a final look at herself, then exhaled and reluctantly went out to mingle before her performance.
25
Jawan's head felt like it was going to explode. His eyeballs felt as though they'd swollen to two times their normal size. His nose ran and refused to let up, while his throat hurt, closing up on him slowly.
Of all times.
He slumped down on his couch and pressed his eyeballs with his thumb and index finger.
Of all times,
he thought again. He had to get sick now. The night of his cousin's bachelor party.
He groaned, and moved his fingers from his eyes to his temples. Applying pressure upon pressure would accomplish nothing, but he squeezed anyway. Squeezed and did his best to believe that the harder he did, the lighter his head felt. “Of all the times . . .” he said.
He released a heavily frustrated breath of air, looked over to the time displayed on his HD cable box, and moaned. It was almost twelve-thirty. Ten minutes off, actually. Nick's bachelor party started at eleven. Well, the part before the party actually began at nine, but Jawan needed rest. A power nap really. Just an hour or two to let the NyQuil he'd taken earlier die down in his system. Sleeping for just over three hours had not been his intention.
He'd awoken to the sound of his cell phone ringing. Nick, asking where the hell he was. Had it been anyone else, he would have said that he was in bed with a possible case of the swine flu, and that he was going to stay in for the rest of the night, and possibly even the next day. But it wasn't anyone else. It was his cousin, who was more like a brother, and no matter how bad he was feeling, he had no choice but to say that he'd gotten tied up taking care of some things, and that he would meet up with them pronto.
Nick, already halfway to not remembering anything that would happen that night, commented on a stripper's ass, and then told Jawan to get his ass down there before the “real” show started.
Jawan said he would.
Now he was on his couch, cursing the NyQuil for doing nothing but leaving him feeling slightly off center.
He moaned and groaned again and then stood up. If he was going to go, then he just needed to go. Forget about the sinus pressure. Say to hell with his eyes feeling like they were popping out of their sockets. Just walk with a wad of tissues in the pockets, and go and let it all hang out, and pray that he wouldn't die until the next day.
“Of all the damn times,” he said once more.
He grabbed his wool coat from the closet, slipped it on, zipped it up, and then, after patting his pocket to double-check that he had his wallet, he grabbed his cell phone from the computer desk, where he'd put it to charge as he'd showered and dressed.
He'd missed his good night call with Deahnna. For the past couple of weeks, before he shut his phone down and went to sleep at night, he called Deahnna to wish her a good night's sleep. He liked to go to dreamland with the sound of her voice being the last thing he'd heard. She must have been preoccupied too, he thought, taking a quick scroll through his call history, because she hadn't called either.
“Maybe she thinks the calls are corny,” he said, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Maybe her no call is a nice, subtle hint.”
He shrugged, promised himself to ask her the next time they were together just what she thought of the calls, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.
Twenty minutes later, after hopping on the J train and then transferring to the A train to get into the city, he caught a cab and took that to the strip club.
The pressure in his head was still there, but the cold, biting October air helped to make his nose stop running . . . or the medicine had finally kicked in and done something positive. Either way, at least the only thing he'd have to deal with would be the throbbing in his head from the sinus buildup, and the loud, bass-heavy music coming from inside.
After convincing the bouncer at the entrance that he was there for his cousin's party, Jawan walked in and was greeted by the sight of an older female on the main stage wearing nothing but white cowboy boots, twirling around a silver pole with one leg wrapped around it, while her D-cups swung freely. The dancer clearly had one foot out the door on her way to retirement, but as Jawan stood still by the door, he couldn't deny, as she dropped down to her knees, bent over, and thrust her ass into the air as though to say that she loved getting it from behind, that she had skills.
Nick's eight-man entourage hooted, hollered, whistled, clapped, and tossed a bevy of dollar bills on to the stage as the older dancer finished her set.
Jawan shook his head and smiled. It had been a while since he'd been to the strip club. His headache diminishing, he looked past the round tables and black chairs, and spotted Nick, who was sitting with two other guys toward the front center of the stage, throwing down a shot and tossing his own dollar bills. Jawan laughed and was glad for the rest he'd gotten, because he had no doubt that the night was going to be long and crazy.
He made his way in the dimly lit club over to Nick. “What's up, man,” he said, slamming a hand on Nick's shoulder as he gave one of Nick's boys a pound, and the other a nod.
Nick looked up at him through half-glazed eyes. “JawanaMan! It's about fucking time, dude!”
Jawan nodded. “Yeah. My bad. I got busy.”
“That pussy must be real good for you to get that busy,” Nick said, laughing and looking at his boys.
Jawan laughed too and sat down. As he did, a topless waitress came over. Knowing that he shouldn't drink with the medicine in his system, he ordered a Jack and Coke anyway. “So what's up?” he said to Nick, who'd ordered a Hennessy and Coke. “Did I miss anything?”
Nick slapped his palm down on the tabletop. “Shit, dude, you missed enough.”
“Yeah, well, it's probably good that I did anyway. You know I'm on a teacher's salary.”
“Dude,” Nick said, leveling his eyes at him, “I keep telling you that you could have some serious cheese in your bank account.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jawan said as the waitress brought their drinks over. “I'm just not as brave as you are.”
“Dude, it ain't about being brave. It's about fucking and getting paid.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nick mocked. “You're not hearing shit. But you go ahead and struggle with your teacher's salary. I'll keep struggling with this.” He pulled out a thick wad of money rolled together. Jawan didn't know how much was there, but the bill on the outside was a hundred dollar bill.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jawan said, downing some of his drink.
“Yeah, yeah,” Nick mocked again, to his boys' delight. “Anyway, dude, you keep your teacher's salary in your pocket. I got you.”
Jawan shook his head. “No way, man. You're the one who's getting married. You shouldn't even be spending any money.”
Nick said, “Dude, it wouldn't be any fun if I wasn't.”
Jawan thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “I feel you. That being said . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own stack of money. “It's not as thick as yours, but I'll be all right.”
Nick laughed. “A'ight, cool.”
“All right, all right, gents!” the DJ yelled from the booth. “Give another round of applause for Prairie Dawn!”
Jawan, Nick, and the rest of the guys cheered and clapped loudly.
“Now, we gave you the schoolgirl, and the experienced cowgirl. Get those ones, fives, tens, and twenties ready, because coming to the stage right now is the one, the only, Foxy Brown!”
Everyone turned their attention to the stage as the lights dimmed and the song “Pony,” by Ginuwine, began to play.
Slowly, Foxy Brown emerged from the back, moving seductively to the song's entrancing rhythm, with her back to the eager crowd. She had on a black thong and a black sheer top. On her feet she wore a pair of fourinch black pumps.
She moved slowly, rhythmically, making her way out of the shadows into the light at the center of the stage. Nick and all of his boys were whistling, clapping, and calling out to Foxy Brown, telling her to turn around as they tossed money at her.
But Jawan . . .
Unlike his cousin and everyone else, he sat stone still with his drink in his hand and an inhaled breath trapped in his lungs.
He wasn't a rear end connoisseur, but as he sat staring at the dancer before him, he had the sick feeling that he knew that ass very, very well.
He stared.
As Foxy Brown worked her hips in a way he'd seen worked before.
At a dance.
He stared.
As the music thumped. As Nick and his crew cheered. As dollars flew. As Foxy Brown, her shoulder-length hair lying around her shoulders in an all-too-familiar manner, turned around slowly with one hand grabbing the pole behind her, while the other cupped her breast.
Jawan stared.
As the music died around him. As Nick and the other guys disappeared. As the lights suddenly beamed like sunlight shining bright in the middle of the day.
He stared.
As his heart raced a thousand times faster with each passing millisecond.
He stared and then released all of the air he'd been holding as Foxy Brown stared past him.
“What the fuck?”
He slammed his glass down, causing much of its contents to spill over, and rose from his chair.
“What the fuck?” he said again.
On the stage, Foxy Brown looked at him, screamed out, “Oh my God!” and covered herself.
Jawan shook his head and tried not to believe what he was seeing. Who he was seeing. But no matter how hard he shook, the sight of her would not change.
Deahnna.
In front of him.
Center stage.
He slammed his brows together as the music stopped. “You're . . . you're a stripper?”
Deahnna shook her head as tears erupted from her eyes. “Jawan,” she said, her voice trembling. “I . . . I . . . I can explain.”
Jawan said again, “You're a fucking stripper?”
“J . . . Jawan, please!”
“Dude,” Nick said, putting a hand around Jawan's arm.
Jawan roughly pulled his arm away and backed away from the table. “A stripper?” he said again. He shook his head as the pressure there and behind his eyes came back tenfold. “A stripper?”
He looked at Deahnna as she called his name again.
“A stripper? Fuck!”
He turned and, while both Deahnna and Nick called his name, stormed out of the club.