Skin Game Read online

  “If you can’t figure it out, then that confirms it.”

  Sean looked around and then turned to Ray.

  “Okay, I’m going to have Blackie take you up to the private room. Same shit as always, pick the ones you want and then let me know what they’re going to do. And by the way, make sure to tell Steven that he’s been late on his percentage payments and I don’t appreciate muthafuckas messing with my money. It wastes my time…”

  “…and time is money,” Marty and Ray both finished.

  Sean paused and looked at the two.

  “Nobody likes a couple of funny niggas,” he said.

  Out of nowhere, as though Sean had telepathically called him, Blackie showed up by Sean’s side.

  “Take these niggas up,” Sean said. “I got some shit to take care of. I’ll meet y’all in a second.”

  “Come with me,” Blackie said, and all three began walking toward the stairs to the second-floor private room.

  “I’ll go get the bitches,” Sean said. Sean started making his way to the dressing room.

  The dressing room at the Chi Chi Room was a no-go place for anyone but the dancers and Sean, and he really shouldn’t have been there either. The dancers were getting themselves ready for the night.

  “How much did you make last night?” Keisha asked. She put on the purple thong and bikini top and began dusting her body with glitter. In the dim light of the stage, it made her skin sparkle, and the men in the pervert pit liked the trick of the trade.

  “Bitch, why you all up in my business?” Debra said, more annoyed than angry. She had her good days and her bad days at the Chi Chi Room, and this was turning out to be one of her bad days.

  Debra was what black men called a “big guh.” She stood about six feet in her three-inch heels, and she always wore a black leather bikini that was two sizes too small but accentuated her size 38 yellow ass. The men at the Chi Chi Room went nuts every time she came out. She was a longtime feature dancer at the Chi Chi Room and was the dean of the strippers. But there were signs that her days were numbered.

  All the women getting dressed were a little on edge, and the size of the dressing room certainly didn’t help much. Even to call it a dressing room was giving the glorified broom closet too much dignity. Three women could just barely fit into it, but often there were four or five in there at one time.

  “A couple of weeks working in the club and you all up in my business. Bitch, I don’t know you like that. Wait until you have eighteen years in here before you come at me like that.”

  “Damn, why it gotta be all that?” Keisha asked. “I ain’t in your business. I was just curious. Damn, can’t I just get an answer instead of some fucked-up answer?”

  Debra kept taking off her clothes as she decided whether to answer. “You look and sound just like an old friend of mine,” she finally answered. “Two hundred dollars. That’s what I’ve made so far.”

  “After Sean’s cut?” Keisha asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Shit.”

  For Debra to make only about two hundred dollars in tips meant that shit was going slow, Keisha thought.

  “Well, if you only made two hundred,” Keisha said, “then I’m looking at a one hundred-dollar night. I’ve got to figure out a way to make some real money from this shit.”

  “You’ve got to shake it hard so that Sean will move you from two nights a week to four,” Debra said. She sat down at the makeup counter and began applying her makeup in heavy strokes. “If you aren’t making more than one hundred, then he’s not going to up your nights. It’s not worth it to him.”

  “Why are things so bad out there?” Keisha asked. “I mean, I see a bunch of niggas out there, but none of them have money.”

  “All the big ballers are doing a bid. I can always tell when the LAPD is doing one of their goddamn sweeps,” Debra said. “All of the gangsters and drug dealers get caught and then we pay the price. So we get left with all the muthafuckas that go to the ATM for a twenty and then get it changed into one-dollar bills.”

  “Yeah, then they wad up three of them to make it seem as though they’re big ballers.” Keisha laughed. “I hate picking up my tips and getting a bunch of ones smashed together.”

  The door to the dressing room opened and Patra walked in. She’d just done her first set and was panting and sweating like she’d run a marathon.

  “Damn, bitch, take a fucking bath.” Debra laughed. She reached over and threw Patra a clean towel.

  “Thanks,” Patra said, wiping herself off. Patra had started about a year before Keisha had and was building a small fan base at the club. She’d gotten to the Chi Chi Room after Sean had seen her at the Upside Down Club as a go-go dancer. She was pretty, but not particularly stunning. Her features were slight, with beautiful dark skin and short twists. But she was flexible as hell, and that got the men going. Like Keisha, she was trying to become a featured dancer on the weekend.

  Debra got up from the counter. It was nine o’clock and it was her turn to go back out onstage.

  “How much did you make?” Keisha asked Patra.

  “Not a fucking lot,” Patra said, simultaneously toweling off and counting her money. “The muthafuckas haven’t had enough to drink yet, so I get all of the one-dollar bills.”

  “Gotta work your way up, bitch,” Debra said while at the door, “so you can be just like me.”

  “What? Thirty-eight and still shaking my ass?” Patra asked. “Hell, no. I’m getting out of this shit before I get to twenty-one.”

  “Same here,” Keisha said. “This shit can get old fast.”

  “Yeah, well, I said the same thing back in 1985,” Debra said. “But what the fuck am I gonna do that makes me five hundred a night? Work at Wal-Mart? Nah, you bitches will be right where I am in 2012. It’s your destiny. Better to accept it now than to be disappointed later.”

  And with that, Debra left and went onstage. Keisha and Patra could hear the noise from the crowd as they glimpsed Debra. It was as though a pack of wolves had been given some fresh meat. And in some ways, they had.

  Chapter 2

  The dance is a poem in which every movement is a word.

  —Mata Hari

  Sean burst through the dressing room doors, unannounced as usual.

  “Keisha, Patra, come with me. You’re going to do a private dance,” Sean said, pointing at them both.

  “Can you knock, just once in your life?” Keisha asked as she sat in her chair, waiting to go onstage. “You have no manners at all.”

  “Why do I need manners when I own this shit?” Sean asked, switching his weight from side to side again.

  “Who is it for?” Patra asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just get your ass up to the room and dance for them.”

  Sean left in as big a huff as he’d come in.

  “I can’t stand that nigga. I really can’t,” Keisha said, adjusting her bikini. “He always wants us to do a private dance for some fool so he can score some points. But how come we don’t get any extra money? I ain’t here to dance for free.”

  “I hear that, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do,” Patra said. “We’ve got to make that money, girl.”

  “Yeah,” Keisha said, getting up from her chair and checking her makeup for the last time. “But I’m tired of that bullshit. I fucking hate private dances. That’s why I don’t do them in the club. If this fool touches me wrong, I’m out of there.”

  Keisha and Patra left the dressing room and took a quick left up the stairs. Right next to Sean’s office was a private room with blackened windows that overlooked the club. Sean normally rented it out to Lakers and Clippers players who wanted a little privacy with their titties and ass. This way, the players could get their grind on, without the hassle of dealing with the fans, and then slip right back out the back way.

  “Come on, come on,” Sean said impatiently. He was standing right next to the door, waving them in.

  “Wait,” Keisha said. “I was supp
osed to go onstage next, and that means I’m going to miss that money. What am I going to be paid for this private dance?”

  Sean looked like he’d been sucking on a sour lemon.

  “Why you always asking about money? You’ll get taken care of.”

  “That ain’t good enough, Sean,” Keisha replied defiantly. “How much are we gonna get paid? I got bills and I’m not wasting my time dancing for free.”

  “Yeah,” Patra agreed.

  “Look, you’ll get a hundred for the dance plus tips. That’s more than you would get out on the stage tonight. Now stop jackin’ your jaws and start shakin’ your ass.”

  Keisha and Patra looked at each other and then adjusted their bikini tops.

  “Deal,” Keisha said. Time to go to work.

  Sean opened the door, and Keisha and Patra walked in. Marty and Ray were sitting on the red velvet couch, sipping on apple martinis. The room was dim, except for some lava lamps in the corner. When Keisha and Patra walked in, Marty knew which one he wanted.

  “All right, girls, show me what you got,” Ray said, leaning back and sipping on his drink.

  “Yeah, show me what you got,” Marty said, giggling.

  The two women looked at each other and Sean closed the door. Patra walked over to the stereo and turned on the music. R. Kelly began singing, and the two girls began straddling the men, Keisha over Ray and Patra over Marty.

  “Lemme see that ass, girl,” Ray said. Keisha turned around and slowly moved her ass in a wide circle, then suddenly started to shake it up and down, making it pop.

  “Yeah, baby,” Ray said. “Can I touch it?”

  Keisha stopped and drew close to Ray’s face.

  “No, baby, it’s all a fantasy.”

  As she said that, she let her ample breasts rub Ray’s chin. He smiled awkwardly. In the three months she’d been stripping, she’d never gotten used to how embarrassed the men got when she touched them. It was like they didn’t really know what to do.

  “Now, now, baby,” Patra said, removing Marty’s hands from her breasts. “No touching the merchandise.”

  “Ah, baby,” Marty said, pulling out a twenty. “Can I get a touch for this?”

  Patra slowly swayed to the music like she was in a trance. She took the twenty-dollar bill out of his hands with her breasts.

  “Just a little touch, and don’t squeeze too hard,” she answered, still swaying.

  Marty cupped her breasts as though he was holding fine china. He giggled again.

  While Ray tried to keep his hands to his side, Keisha danced to the music and began her simple routine. She put her ass in his lap to get his dick hard. Normally, that took about two minutes of grinding. Then she took off her bikini top and rubbed her breasts over his face.

  “Come on, baby, shake that ass!” Ray said. “Show me what you got!”

  Keisha’s mind was elsewhere when she danced for men. When she was on the stage, she looked at the men in the pervert pit—the section surrounding the stage—with utter contempt. They all looked at her as a piece of meat, and she looked at them as human ATMs. After she danced for them, they could go outside and get run over by a car for all she cared. In her mind, they weren’t that important, no matter how she led them along.

  “Yeah, baby, yeah. That’s how I like my bitches,” Ray said.

  Marty giggled yet again as Patra started beating his face with her breasts.

  “I’m doing it all,” Keisha said, rubbing her ass on Ray’s leg, “just for you, baby.”

  But the private dances were the worst for her. The men were too close and they always wanted to talk to you. You could smell what they’d last eaten, and the bad cologne stayed with you all night, no matter how much you scrubbed in the shower. It was an unpleasant reminder of an unpleasant business.

  “Hey, baby, I can take you out of this place permanently,” they all said each night. The dancers called these men “Captain Saveahoes,” as in “these men wanted to save a ho from the club.” These were the men to be pimped. Sometimes you could get more cash, or maybe even a boob job from them. But you never allowed yourself to look at them as anything but customers. They didn’t want you at home, not with the same issues as every other woman. No, the Saveahoes wanted their fantasy version of you, and no one was that good. So Keisha knew that it was best that she never get involved with them.

  Oh yeah, Keisha thought, then why are you here at this stank-ass club, playa, playa?

  “Do you date anyone you dance for?” another would ask.

  “Yeah, but just not you,” she would reply.

  “How much for a night with you?” they’d ask, leering at her. Anyone who dances must have a price, they assumed. Sometimes they were right.

  “You don’t have the money, baby,” she would coo.

  So as she danced for Ray, she kept in her mind that she was going to make her hundred-dollar bill. That was the only thing that mattered. Still, she had to fake that she gave a damn about Ray. If not, the fantasy wasn’t complete for him, and that meant a smaller tip. And a smaller tip meant that getting out of Veronica’s house was just that much farther away.

  “So what do you do?” Keisha whispered softly. She put her lips close to Ray’s ear.

  “I’m sort of an agent.”

  “Are you in music?”

  “No,” Ray said, taking a deep breath. He pulled out another twenty and placed it in her mouth. She nodded, and he cupped her breasts.

  “No, I’m a different type of agent. I look for talent.”

  “Hmm, do I have the type of talent you’re looking for?” Keisha asked. The song was almost over and she was glad this conversation, and this dance, was about to end.

  “Actually, yeah, I think you do,” Ray replied. “If you—”

  All of a sudden, Keisha heard a slap.

  “Uh-uh!” Patra exclaimed. “Uh-uh! Fuck that, nigga!”

  Patra walked over to the stereo and turned off the music, her breasts swaying.

  “What happened, girl?” Keisha asked, picking up her bikini.

  “Yeah, what happened?” Ray said.

  “That fool,” Patra said, pointing her index finger at Marty, “decided that he wanted to slap my ass, even though I told his black ass not to do it. Nobody slaps my ass, and I told him that.”

  “Ah, girl, you know you liked it,” Marty said, with a crooked smile on his face.

  “If I liked it,” Patra replied, “you would still be getting a dance with a hard-on. Now you just have a hard-on, muthafucka. Let’s go, Keisha.”

  Patra opened the door and they walked out of the private room. They ran into Sean, who was coming up the hallway.

  “Where’s our money, Sean?” Keisha asked.

  “What happened in there?” Sean asked.

  “They got their dances, and then the dumb one decided to slap Patra’s ass,” Keisha said. “Dance over. Where’s our money?”

  Sean kept switching the weight on his feet again. Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Kansas City wad of cash. He pulled off two fifty-dollar bills.

  “Here’s fifty for you,” Sean said, giving Patra a bill, “and here’s a fifty for you, Keisha. Now take your asses back down to the dressing room and get ready to go on the stage. You’re on in five minutes.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Keisha said, looking at her fifty-dollar bill. “You said we were getting one hundred, not fifty. Where’s the rest of my money?”

  “I said you were getting one hundred dollars,” Sean said, smiling like he was the cat who’d just eaten a canary. “That meant you got a bill and she got a bill. Don’t like it? Take it up with management. Now get down to the stage and shake your ass.”

  Keisha looked at Patra, and telepathically they both knew they wanted to strangle Sean, but they dared not do it.

  “That’s some bullshit, Sean, and you know that,” Keisha said. “I’m going to remember that shit.”

  “Yeah, well, remember that shit on your way to the stage. If yo
u don’t like it, then I’ll get somebody else to take your place. We clear?”

  Keisha steamed as she looked at Sean, but Patra took her by the arm. “Yeah, we cool,” Keisha said.

  “Good,” Sean said. “Now get down to the stage.”

  Keisha and Patra walked down the stairs to the dressing room.

  Sean was pissed and stormed into the private room.

  “Why do you always have to slap the asses of my dancers, Marty? I mean, how many times do I have to tell your dumb ass that we have a hands-off policy?”

  Sean was really annoyed this time. Normally he just let things slide, but he couldn’t afford to lose Patra or Keisha at this time of year. They were building a nice clientele at the club and he wanted to keep them happy.

  “Don’t listen to those bitches, man,” Marty said, calmly sipping his drink. “They like to get their asses slapped. Keeps ’em motivated and alert. But they just don’t want to tell anybody.”

  “Whatever,” Ray said, annoyed as always with Marty. “Let’s get down to business. I know the one that I want.”

  “Which one?” Sean said. He was looking out over the club through the smoke-glassed windows and noticed that it was packed. When Keisha walked onto the stage, the men went wild. That girl has something special, he thought to himself.

  “I want Keisha,” Ray said.

  Sean turned around to look at Ray.

  “Whoa, partner,” he said. “I thought you were going after Patra. I just sent Keisha up because there were two of you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Ray replied. “And stop bullshitting now that you know who I want. I want Keisha. Now get me her and then you’ll get your percentage.”

  “Look, I’ll ask her, but something about her tells me that she’s not going to be interested.”

  Marty got up and with Ray walked over to Sean. He wasn’t giggling anymore.

  “It’s your job to make her interested. We have confidence that you will get the job done.”

  Ray wasn’t much with words, but he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Sean said.

  Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.