The white girls regarded Jonee with smirks. The black girls shook their heads sympathetically.
Remarkably, Saturday night was not the big money night Victoria had expected. After waiting five torturous hours, she finally got a customer, a weasel of a man, who without warning, went into character as soon as the session began. He pretended to be a naughty student.
Aside from being extremely short, he seemed normal. Victoria was stunned when his voice tone abruptly changed to whiny and childlike. She was taken completely off guard when he began whimpering and pleading for her forgiveness. His homework, he said, had not been completed. The little man cowered ridiculously, as if he expected Victoria to start slapping him around at any moment.
Her mind screamed, Oh my God, he’s crazy! But she remained calm, and responded in a no-nonsense tone.
At first her improvised dialogue sounded awkward, but within a few minutes she assumed the role of a stern schoolmistress with surprising ease. It was a weird session and some dark part of her actually enjoyed it! Her customer left, promising to study harder.
Victoria rejoined the girls in the lounge, feeling elated to have earned fifty dollars so easily. She disclosed the nature of the encounter to Jonee, who frowned with disapproval.
“I hope you charged him extra.”
“For what? I didn’t really do anything but pretend to be his teacher.”
“Yeah, and that’s extra. That’s considered S&M.”
“S&M! I wasn’t in there with whips and chains… And there was no sex involved. We just talked, role-played.”
“So what. That cheap bastard got over. He got a dominance session for the price of a regular one. You better wise up, girl. Don’t be letting these tricks trick you. Why do you think they’re called tricks?”
Victoria was sorry she confided in Jonee. The woman was obviously still fuming over the incident with Sydney.
“Here’s an example,” Jonee continued to Victoria’s deep regret. “It can be slow as hell in here and you haven’t had a session all night. Then all of a sudden, one of your regulars shows up. You break out in the biggest grin ’cause you’re about to get paid. But when you need him the most, what does that mothafucka do? He’ll act just like he don’t know your ass, and pick somebody else.”
Victoria gazed at Jonee but didn’t know what to say, so she shook her head in sympathy at the injustice of it all.
Following a lengthy silence, Jonee said, “You can’t trust a trick. That’s why I treat ’em all like dirt! You can’t believe a word they tell you. And I’ve heard it all: ‘You’re the prettiest girl here. How did someone as nice as you…? I think I’m falling in love.’ Girl, don’t believe their bullshit.”
Victoria chuckled. In the short time she’d been in the business, she’d already heard those lines, and had been flattered by them.
“To tell you the truth,” Jonee said, “I think most tricks hate us.”
“Hate us! I suppose they express that hatred by giving us their money.”
“They don’t give us a damn thing! They pay for a service they think should be free. They hate having to pay, which makes them hate us. Girl, tricks ain’t shit!”
CHAPTER 9
Reds arrived early for the midnight shift and plopped down in a seat near Victoria. She tried to strike up a conversation but was discouraged by Victoria’s monosyllabic responses. Victoria wore the familiar expression of a girl who’d had a bad night. And it served her right, thought Reds. It was about time the uppity bitch had a taste of reality and experienced the sting of going home empty-handed. For Reds, going home broke was not unusual.
“I’m gonna ask Rover if we can stay for the next shift.”
Victoria looked at Jonee and smiled sadly. “I don’t want to. I’m tired of sitting in here. I just want to go home.”
“Our luck should change at midnight.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s technically a new day.”
“You have an answer for everything,” Victoria replied.
“C’mon, girl. Don’t give up.”
“Okay,” Victoria said with a deep sigh. “Ask Rover if I can stay.”
“I think I should change my hair.” Jonee pulled a long braided wig out of her bag.
With Jonee distracted, Reds sidled up to Victoria.
“What happened, didn’t you break luck?” Reds asked Victoria, her voice filled with phony concern.
“Yeah, but I only had one customer.”
“Only one?” Reds said sarcastically. “When you learn how to work it, one can be more than enough.”
Exhausted from having sat around watching others make money, Victoria couldn’t come up with a snappy retort.
“Don’t pay her any attention,” Jonee said when Reds walked away. “She’s jealous because you’re a moneymaker, and…”
“A what?”
“A moneymaker. A girl the customers like.”
“Oh,” Victoria said with a smile. The compliment lifted her a little, but with only fifty dollars in her purse, she didn’t feel much like a moneymaker.
“Reds used to be a moneymaker too,” Jonee whispered. “Now she can’t make a dime and she’s jealous of everybody, especially new girls. If she stopped counting everybody else’s money and started worrying about her own, maybe she could make enough dough to buy some new gear.” Jonee now spoke in a voice loud enough for Reds to overhear. “Tricks get tired of seeing her tired ass wearin’ the same old funky shit every day.”
“She can hear you, Jonee,” Victoria cautioned.
“Who cares?” Jonee’s voice grew louder. “Old-ass bitch always fuckin’ with people ’cause she’s so miserable. She needs to give it up and retire.”
Victoria glanced at Reds and gave a nervous chuckle.
“How come some folks just don’t know when to quit?” Jonee asked with a malicious grin.
“I’m not in this conversation, Jonee. Stop being so mean,” Victoria admonished, still chuckling.
Reds was sorry she had opened her mouth. She had perceived Victoria as being too soft to retaliate verbally, but she hadn’t expected Jonee to butt in. Reds knew better than to confront Jonee, whose razor sharp tongue could rip her to shreds. She began fussing with her hair and pretended not to hear the words that cut to the core.
Dominique arrived fifteen minutes before the midnight shift began.
“Those two are working on our shift tonight,” Reds informed Dominique.
“Did Gabrielle call?”
“Not that I know of. Rover gave ’em permission.”
“I am so sick of his bullshit,” Dominique raved as she slipped on a spandex bodysuit. “He needs to stop trying to run my shift.”
“You ought to take it up with Rover,” Reds suggested.
The doorbell rang and Dominique took the first customer of the night. She tossed Victoria and Jonee a triumphant look as she ushered the man to a room.
Victoria got the next customer.
Reds and Jonee sat alone in the lounge, ignoring each other. Reds feared that Jonee would get the next customer and she’d be left to wait alone, unwanted.
It was so unfair! Reds sank dejectedly into her seat. She peered into a mirror and began vigorously applying mascara to her lashes, thrusting the wand in and out of the pink and green tube. A fleck of mascara popped out and landed on the skin near her eye. Reds wet her little finger with her tongue and dabbed at the spot, careful of the delicate skin where tiny crow’s feet clustered.
Dominique suddenly appeared in the lounge, barefoot and naked beneath a frayed towel. Reds looked up, curious and grateful for the distraction.
“He wants a double,” Dominique whispered to Reds.
Reds brightened.
“He wanted to see me get it on with a white girl, but I don’t have any white girls working tonight, so I had to convince him to see another black girl. He asked me to get her.” Dominique nodded to Jonee, and the bright look left Reds’ face. “But I told him he’d be wasting his money becaus
e these new girls are nothing but amateurs. I said, ‘Look, if you want the real thing, you better stick with the pros.’”
“How much is he tipping?” Reds asked sadly, knowing she’d be burdened with the brunt of the work.
“He’s gonna tip you a hundred,” Dominique said without mentioning what she was being tipped.
Reds followed Dominique down the hall to the room. She was certain that Dominique had worked out a deal that would pay her a lot more than a lousy one hundred dollars. Still, it was good money and an excellent way to start the night.
Inside the room, Dominique let the towel fall to the floor. The beefy white man was sitting on the bed snorting cocaine that was lined up on the bottom of a tissue box. He passed the box to Dominique and turned his attention to Reds.
“My name’s Bob, baby girl. What do they call you?” Reds was taken aback by his thick southern accent.
“How you doin’? My name’s Reds.”
With furrowed brows and serious tone, the man asked, “Is that hair of yours red all over?”
It was a tired line, but Reds nodded seductively.
Bob reached for Reds and grabbing the bottom of her camisole, he jerked her toward him. “Come on out of them clothes and let me see that peach fuzz.”
Annoyed by the rough treatment, Reds pulled away. But when she noticed a scowl forming on Bob’s face, she shrewdly lowered the camisole’s thin strap and attempted to tantalize him by slowly undressing. Normally, Reds would have dimmed the light to conceal her bodily flaws, but Bob was so coked up and disgusting, she didn’t bother. Now naked, she joined him on the bed. She hoped to seduce him into forgetting his expressed desire to see two women in action.
Reds ran her fingers through her thinning reddish-brown pubic hairs. Thanks to L’Oreal, the hair on her head was a bright red. She stroked Bob’s flaccid penis, determined to will it back to life.
“Don’t worry about him baby girl. His lazy ass done went to sleep.” Bob lightly flicked his penis. “Yeah, that little fella’s plum tuckered out.”
“I’ve been know to raise the dead,” Reds said in a voice that sounded sexier than she felt. From the little plastic pouch he was holding, she used a single long fingernail to retrieve a small amount of cocaine. She smoothed it over his sagging phallus and made little flicks with the tip of her tongue, teasing around the head, and then licking the length of his shaft. But it remained limp. Undaunted, she curled her tongue around the cool, soft flesh and drew it into her mouth. Reds was old school. During her prime, working girls only used condoms to prevent pregnancy. That was before herpes and HIV and anything else a dose of penicillin couldn’t cure, and she’d done a little bit of everything you could possibly do sexually and, miraculously, had never contracted anything. But times had changed. She knew she should be more careful, and in most cases she was. But tonight she was willing to risk it. Bob looked healthy enough. She had to get him hot, horny and hard so that he’d forget about the two-girl thing. She wanted to make him come quickly so that she could collect her money and get the hell out of there.
Reds covered Bob’s private with her mouth. Her head bobbed up and down vigorously, her long, wiry red hair brushed against his thighs, tickling them. Trying to appeal to his auditory senses, Reds alternated between moaning and making loud, slurping sounds.
Dominique and Bob exchanged a look of amusement. He pointed a finger at Reds as she diligently worked on him.
Finally, Bob patted Reds on the head. “Okay, all right, Carrot Top. You get an E for effort. But like I said, that ol’ boy is dead to the world.”
Bob and Dominique snickered in cahoots when Reds came up for air. Then Bob’s expression turned cold and serious.
“I’m paying good money to have some fun. So come on Peach Fuzz, let’s get this party started.”
At that moment, Dominique, who was standing beside the cot, threw one long leg on the bed, tapping it with her pointed toe. Reds knew what was expected of her. Reluctantly, she caressed Dominique’s foot.
“Kiss it!” Dominique demanded, she tapped her toe impatiently.
Dominique fancied herself a dominatrix and had a clientele of adoring masochists who returned repeatedly for the mental anguish and physical pain she loved to deliver.
Since Dominique had so graciously shared the session with Reds, Reds would have to show her gratitude by assuming a submissive role.
It wasn’t as if Reds didn’t know what was in store for her when she accepted the session, but that didn’t stop her from hoping that the three of them would engage in a regular ménage-à-trois.
Reds hadn’t snorted in a week. Not by choice, but due to lack of funds. She had relied solely on liquor to get her through each day. But clearly she needed some extra help to get through this ordeal.
“I need a hit, Dominique?” She formed the words as a question.
Dominique handed Reds the rolled up bill and the tissue box. Two lines quickly disappeared. Then Dominique sprinkled cocaine over her toes.
Bob’s eyes lit up. “Now that’s kinky! Get over there, Peach Fuzz!” he said excitedly. “Lap it up, girl. Come on!” With a glazed look he settled back, his head propped up with a pillow, ready to direct the show if necessary.
CHAPTER 10
The handsome young black guy wearing a Rocawear jacket, matching knitted cap, and Timberland boots chose Victoria. His equally handsome and well-dressed buddy picked Jonee. The pair resembled urban-wear models, or rappers. Or, as Victoria strongly suspected, drug dealers.
Jonee had been right; their luck had changed. The young guy was Victoria’s fourth customer and it was only 3:30 a.m.
She wondered why two handsome young men would come out in the middle of the night, in the freezing cold, to pay for sex?
The young man introduced himself as Kareem.
“My name is Pleasure,” she said with a sincere smile. “How are you, Kareem?” The money in her purse had changed Victoria’s mood from somber to gay.
“I’m doin’ all right,” Kareem said, looking her up and down and nodding with approval as he dug into the pocket of his baggy jeans.
“Two Benjamins should cover it, right?” Kareem grinned confidently as he handed Victoria two hundred-dollar bills.
“What’s the extra hundred for?” Victoria instantly wanted to take back the words that Jonee would certainly frown upon.
“For your pleasure, Pleasure,” he said with a wink, which made Victoria blush.
She couldn’t get over how long and dark his lashes were. Damn, he was fine! Not at all like the sad-looking patrons she was accustomed to. His good looks influenced her to behave demurely. Speaking softly, Victoria excused herself and took the money to Dominique.
Today’s youth were a mystery. The crude street jargon and the thuggish behavior were disgusting. Victoria viewed them as angry, disrespectful hellions, and she made it a point to steer clear of them, avoiding places where they gathered, such as the corner deli in her neighborhood where 40-ounce bottles of malt liquor were the most frequently purchased items. That lack of respect was apparent in the way they dressed and in their music. Profanity had become acceptable speech in rap music—and the way women were referred to as bitches and hoes was unconscionable. To think that her music was deemed unacceptable, dated, non-commercial, while record companies rolled out the red carpet for hoodlums whose music boasted of criminal activities: selling drugs, robberies, killing sprees… Oh, but let me not go there, she reminded herself. The music industry’s lack of good taste was of no concern to her.
Who was she to pass judgment? she asked herself. It wasn’t as if she had room to talk, working in a bordello and all. So Victoria allowed her thoughts to return to the handsome young guy who was waiting for her. He seemed different. Maybe he wasn’t a drug dealer. For all she knew, he could be a professional athlete, or…the hell with stereotyping, he could be a medical or law student, a congressman, or senator, a teacher, a preacher or any damn thing he wanted to be. Why, she chastised herself,
did she label him a drug dealer?
Victoria avoided the eyes of a surly Reds when she went to the lounge. She gave the money to Dominique and rushed back to her cute customer.
Kareem had stripped down to his wide-striped boxers. He looked relaxed, as if he were lounging on his own bed. His jacket hung from a hook on the back of the door, his cap dangled from the doorknob. Seeing his cap made Victoria take notice of his hair. It was well groomed, cut close with neat, tiny waves trained to stay in place. The rest of his clothing was folded neatly on the chair. Though she couldn’t see the label, Victoria supposed that his jeans sported the Rocawear label also.
Ready to take charge, Victoria said, “So tell me, Kareem, what brings you out in the middle of this cold, wintry night?” Her demure demeanor was gone. She was feeling playful. Flirtatious. Happy!
“I came out and in this treacherous weather,” Kareem said with a teasing grin, “to meet the woman of my dreams.”
Unprepared for his quick come back, Victoria cast her gaze downward; she felt her face flush.
She recovered and though it was difficult, she looked Kareem in the eye, determined to hold her own.
“Well, I’m glad you did because seeing you has made my night. Look at you! You’re so cute…” She paused, enjoying watching him squirm. “With those pretty eyes… and mmm, I love your lips.”
It was Kareem’s turn to blush. Victoria watched as he involuntarily lowered those long lashes and self-consciously moistened his lips. She had disarmed him!
Her eyes ran the length of his body. His chest and arms were developed. Boldly, she placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. Not bad, she thought, blaming Evander Holyfield’s beautiful back for her appreciation of a man’s posterior view.
“Would you like a massage?” she asked, reaching for the baby oil. She wanted to touch his hard, young body. His taut, smooth chocolate skin looked edible.
“Nah, that’s okay. I just want to look at you.” Kareem gently pulled Victoria onto the bed.
“Hey, I like that,” he said, indicating the red crushed velvet teddy she wore. “Red is definitely your color.” Kareem touched the fabric lightly and ignited a spark. Victoria flinched. Without a word, he drew her into his arms, inhaled her. “You smell good too,” he whispered into her neck. His lips moved up to her face. Victoria stiffened as she recalled one of the top rules of the working girls’ code of conduct: never kiss a trick.
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