The Glamorous Life 2: All That Glitters Isn't Gold

by Nikki Turner

  Bambi was absolutely right. Lynx couldn’t get the seriousness of the conversation with Popcorn out of his mind. Now that shit had bled into his bedroom. “I’m sorry baby. You are absolutely right.” He kissed her on the mouth, but she didn’t reciprocate.

  Bambi said, “You’re not getting off that easy.” Their daughter was fast asleep in the room next to theirs, so she kept her voice down. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to resort to violence?”

  His wife wasn’t smiling. The fact of the matter was that Bambi was even more beautiful when she got mad, and that was no easy task. “No violence unless it involves handcuffs,” Lynx said playfully.

  “I’m serious, Lynx. What is it?”

  It wasn’t easy, but Lynx had no real choice. He couldn’t handle the stress alone, and he knew that his wife would have the answers. He told her about the money he owed from his gambling endeavors. After he had shared everything with her, he felt like a real chump. When he and Bambi first met, $20,000.00 was lunch money for him. That was before he’d done those three years in Club Fed. Now, although The Chop Shop was making its fair share of cheddar, in addition to the money his other businesses were bringing in, truth be told, Bambi’s party planning company, Events R Us, had turned Bambi into the primary breadwinner.

  “I don’t want to sound like I’m preaching,” Bambi said. The first infamous words before a person started preaching, “but you really need to slow down with the gambling.” Lynx was about to debate his vice, when she said, “Normally, I wouldn’t care if you bet us out of house and home, I would still love you. But it’s not just us that we have to look out for. We have a three-year old child. We have to think about Nya. You know this,” she said with passion and conviction.

  How could a man argue with a woman who will sacrifice everything because she believes in her man, right or wrong? If there was a way to win the argument, Lynx didn’t have it.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he said.

  Bambi told him that he could take the $20,000 from their savings account. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “We deserve each other.”

  Lynx kissed her, and this time she kissed him back and then pulled away. “You forget something.”

  “What?”

  Lynx had a massive hard-on poking from his boxers. Bambi just looked at him; the look was enough. He said, “I promise.”

  18

  From out of the gate, Calliope and the manager of the club had never really seen eye to eye anyway, which didn’t make it too difficult for him to fire her on the spot. No dancer with a steady clientele wanted to deal with the headache of moving clubs and possibly losing loyal clients and having to learn the personalities of the other dancers, not to mention adjust to not only the politics but also the poli-tricks of a new club.

  In some kind of weird way, she was totally fine with losing her job at the club. After all, she knew too much of the same thing sometimes wasn’t good. On the drive home she began to think how the long nights trickling to the early mornings, sleeping most of the days away, were getting the best of her. She felt she needed to spend some time at home anyway.… She just didn’t really know how much of her home life had fallen by the wayside.

  When she walked into the house, an hour earlier than normal, she was greeted with Compton coming down the hall heading into her bedroom with the Dr. Scholl’s foot bath massager in his hand filled with water. Though he despised the kind of work she did, on the nights that she worked, when she got home, just like clockwork, Compton always had the foot bath set up for her to soak her feet. She greatly appreciated it because the heels that she wore at work were not kind to her feet, that was for sure.

  While he hopped in the shower, she made breakfast for the two of them so they could chat before he left to go to school. He loved his sister’s cooking more than anything. After he made his way out of the door something hit her. It was like a lightbulb went off in her head when she realized just how that vampire life had taken over her life so much and how the reality of it was that Compton was knee-deep in the streets by now.

  All day he was on her mind. She had no idea what to do about it, knowing good and well that trying to manhandle him was damn near impossible. He stood well over six feet tall and had been working out and his body was cut; though not yet legal in age, he looked like a grown man.

  Compton was too far-gone, and though she bitched, hollered, screamed, and tried to talk to him until she was purple in the face, there was nothing that could be done. When he came in from school, she didn’t even waste her time on the small pleasantries. She held no punches and shot straight from the hip.

  “Look, do you want to go to penitentiary or die in them streets? I mean let me know, so I can know how to prepare,” she shot at him, and kept on going before he could digest the words she had just shoved down his throat. “You think you going to live forever and count money forever. It don’t work like that. That ain’t how this life you living go.”

  “I know it don’t,” he said, not really wanting to hear the perils of the game. Besides he was well aware of the seriousness. Instead he shifted the weight, wanting her to understand that his sins wasn’t worse than hers either. “But I don’t want you shaking your ass for them dirty ma’fuckers either,” he shot back at her. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “I feel you but that’s what pays the bills, and keeps us afloat.”

  “Then if that’s what’s going to keep the lights on, I will keep doing what I do in the dark,” he said to her, his voice getting deeper by the day it seemed. “Look, this was the hand we were dealt. We can ignore it and sugarcoat this shit all we want but guess what? The real is ain’t nobody going to give us shit, we do what we have to do. You done almost been killed doing this shit and it’s just not your place to be the man of the house. I’m old enough, and I got the means, the will, and the resources. I can hold this shit down. Let me be the man.” He looked about five inches down at her.

  “Selling drugs and throwing bricks at the penitentiary doesn’t make you the man.”

  “Well I rather risk it all then have you continue being a dollar ho.” He didn’t realize how those words cut his sister until after they rolled off his tongue.

  “So, you wanna hit me below the belt, huh?” she said, taking what he said under the chin and then defending herself. “That doesn’t make what you do better. Besides, I’m not prostituting myself or breaking the law. You can go to jail for years if you get caught,” she reminded him.

  “No you not prostituting yourself but that shit is degrading and not what I want for you.”

  “You think this is what I want for myself?” She was offended by what he said, raising her voice.

  “I don’t think this is what you want. I think you love the money, and it makes you feel secure.”

  She didn’t object to what her brother was saying because there was some truth in the matter. “You may have a point there. The money does help ease my pain and troubles. It ensures that we have a roof over our head and that we have plenty of options for things that we were never afforded from our parents or anyone else for that matter and in a strange way it makes me feel empowered,” she had to admit.

  “I know, and that’s real. However, that club life.” He shook his head. “It ain’t safe. It dangerous in all ways.” Compton was talking like the big brother. Over the past three years he’d seen so much and had grown wiser than his sixteen years.

  “Listen, Comp, I know you hate what I do, but I promise I’m not going to make a career out of it. I just need to stack more money, that’s all. I promise you this isn’t going to be my future. I’m going to get out and do something with myself. I promise you this. I do. I really do.”

  Observing the tears in her eyes, he didn’t want to go in any harder on her because he knew that the words he had said did have some kind of effect on her. He hugged her. “I love you! I really do,” he said in her ear. “I believe you, but are you trying to convince me or your
self?”

  19

  For the next couple of weeks Calliope moped around the house, in her feelings. She felt like she had lost her best friend, and she had. She tried to call Jean a few times to explain but he wouldn’t accept a call from her. Up until now she had never known the feeling of a real heartbreak from a man other than her father, which really didn’t count. Calliope couldn’t take much more of being forwarded straight to voice mail. Instead, she decided to redirect her attention back to work and focus on making her money, and a whole lot of it.

  It took only her one phone call and about fifteen minutes before she had another job at a bigger and better place. She was so focused on her hustle that the only song she played in her car to and from work to remind her what her mind-set needed to be while at work and why she danced anyway was Junior M.A.F.I.A.’s “Get Money.”

  Club Imagination was a new club that had been opened by a man who went by the name Jiggilo. He was a seasoned veteran to the strip club world. He had been an owner of strip clubs for as long as anybody could remember. His father was a laid-back guy who ran numbers and was infamous in the gentlemen club and nightlife arena in the ’60s. He was infamous for his underground titty bars and juke joints for a few decades. His wife and Jiggilo’s mother, Madame Lorraine, God bless her soul, was a dance-hall dancer, turned showgirl, turned housemother, and ultimately a madame. The rumor had it that no one, man or woman, could pimp a whore like Madame Lorraine. Even some of the baddest pimps fell in line to be taken under her wing. The most flamboyant, loudest, most talkative, guttsiest woman, she had no fear in her heart whatsoever. The dame wouldn’t hesitate to smack a bitch to the ground and wasn’t afraid to shoot a man down with her deuce-deuce that she carried in her bosom.

  In spite of that she was dedicated to the life she and her husband had laid out. However, the minute she laid eyes on Jiggilo, she knew that she didn’t want her son to have any part of the life that he was born into. So the minute he was ready to embark on his elementary education, she demanded that he be sent away to be educated at one of the top boarding schools in the country. She had no problem finagling to get him admitted into the best schools that money could buy. No matter the year, time, or date, it always remained that pussy was power and one of her trusted johns knew somebody who knew somebody and just like that Jiggilo was in.

  Jiggilo’s father, on the other hand, Herb, was elated to have a son. After trying over twenty years to conceive a child with Lorraine, once she found out she was pregnant she started a laundry list of conditions of how their child would be raised. At first she suggested that they would sell the business because she was adamant that she didn’t want her son exposed to that life. It sounded like a good idea at first, but Herb was a long way from being a fool. With so much money pouring in, Herb stood up for the sake of his family and livelihood. He made Lorraine see that he wasn’t selling his cash cow until it was close to being out of milk and she wasn’t giving up her whores either. The compromise was Jiggilo would be sent away to school and allowed to visit on breaks and holidays, most of which they would spend every second of taking him on vacations, making up for lost time. There was no doubt that Jiggilo knew that his parents loved him, and the older they got, they were positive they had made the right decision.

  Herb hated the thought of sending his only child and son away but knew better to rock the boat when it came to Lorraine and the child that she went through thirty-six hours of labor with and almost died giving birth to. That son of hers was her everything and she protected him with her all.

  It was Herb’s dream to pass the family business over to his son. It hurt him to his heart that his son would never be a part of what he had built from the ground up, so the one thing he did was to give his son the name Jiggilo.

  Jiggilo went off to school, and excelled. He became a first-class gentleman, with class, charm, charisma, and good looks. He made his mother proud. However, the very thing she fought tooth and nail to keep him from was the same exact thing that he ran to and embraced with opened arms … the adult entertainment world.

  Once he was done with his master’s degree in business, he took over his father’s business, and within the next ten years he had a chain of adult toy stores and his hands in twelve major clubs across the United States, not to mention the massive-production-style strip clubs under his belt in just about every major city in the United States. As the years went on and he gained more knowledge from trial and error, these numbers grew. Every one of this clubs was an entire experience. His vision alone was light-years ahead of the other clubs and enabled him to corner the market and monopolize the industry. He concentrated on every little detail of the designs, décor, and politics. After all, no one could deny that he had his mother’s flamboyance and opulence, and his newest club, Imagination Cabaret, did not disappoint.

  Everybody flocked to Club Imagination, once a warehouse turned into a heaven where patrons could let their imagination run wild, and even then the experience was still beyond anything the average or the extraordinary could imagine. It had one huge room filled with waterfalls resembling Niagara Falls with women playing in the water. While on the other side, there were volcanos that erupted with lava. Then another part featured palm trees and neon lights. The place had rapidly become legendary. People came from all around to experience the Imagination lifestyle. It was the home to the most seductive, exotic-looking, and talented dancers on the planet, and this without a doubt included Calliope aka Cinnamon.

  Since she had started working there only six weeks ago, not only had she paid her car off, she signed the contract on a lease-to-own condo. Surprisingly she had already stacked almost a hundred Gs and this was only from working the day shift. Tonight was her first night on the night shift. She only prayed that the night shift would be as good and lucrative to her as the day shift had faithfully been. Though she knew the competition there would be a little stiffer. That was to be expected. Since there was more money coming through at night, the girls were more catty. That wasn’t intimidating to her at all—she didn’t need any new friends anyway. She was there for one reason and one reason only, to get her money, stack her paper, and go home. Now if she was able to pick up a couple of good friends on the way, then that would be splendid, but if not then so be it. Needless to say she was definitely ready to see what the night had in store for her.

  Once she arrived, she signed in and paid her fee to the housemother so that she could dance. She took the first thirty minutes and observed the dancers and the customers before she changed out and hit the floor. She had to admit it was some stiff competition and some badass chicks that was strutting their stuff through the place. At first she wondered if she’d be able to compete but then she reminisced on what Mocha had told her. “Look, if you gonna do this, it’s rules to this shit! No drugs, no alcohol. I don’t care what other chicks are doing. Stay away. It’s going to always be your downfall. You gotta know who you are … you are a bad bitch, and you are in control. Be aggressive, be firm, stand your ground. Know what you will and won’t do, and don’t waver from that. You being a new face equals new money. And the more you don’t fuck the better your luck. Stroke and cater to these niggas’ egos and they will give you everything they got plus what they can’t afford to. Got it.”

  Once she ran Mocha’s words through her head a few times, her alter-ego took over. She checked her makeup in the mirror one last time and her game face was looking back. That’s all she needed to motivate and inspire her. She took the floor and before she knew it, the club was hers. Two hours flew by and she had been dancing nonstop and was sweaty and prayed that she hadn’t reached the point of musty yet.

  Still with a one-track mind, she headed to the dressing room for an outfit change that she felt she so desperately needed when someone grabbed her hand. It was him, her “Big Spender aka her Papi Chulo,” she called him.

  A smile took over Calliope’s face; there was no hiding that she was surprised to see him but glad he had found her. This
handsome guy had been coming in the club every single day, faithfully, for the past week while she was on day shift and he seemed to only have eyes for her. Though physical appearance really meant nothing to her, because if the paper was right, she’d entertain Kermit the Frog. He was dapper, tall, slim, and light-skinned, and an official baller status. He was indeed her preference, and, with that being said, he had nothing in common with the Muppets.

  The for-sure thing about the club atmosphere is the girls smelled the money—and his aroma had a few other dancers approaching him for a dance. But he turned them all down looking for Cinnamon, and the minute he grabbed her hand she saw green-eyed envy of the other dancers.

  “Hey, you,” he said to her.

  She gave him the biggest smile. “Hey, babes!” she said, fanning herself, trying to cool off.

  “Why you didn’t tell me they changed your work schedule?” he asked.

  “They called me this morning and told me, and I didn’t have a way to tell you.”

  “Well, we gotta change that,” he said.

  She never really passed her phone number along to her patrons, but it seemed that this was different. She didn’t want to break her rule but at the same time she didn’t act on his request right at that moment.

  He placed his arms around her waist, wanting to bring her in closer to him.

  “Papi Chulo, I’m sweaty as hell.” She leaned in and said over the loud music, “Don’t wanna get your casket-sharp clothing sweaty. So, let me change my clothes, then I’m all yours,” she teased, batting her long eyelashes. Then passively asked, “Is that okay?”

  He smiled. “Cool. That’s what I like about you. You about your bread, but you ain’t greedy and you want to make sure you handle your shit proper. I like that.” He said he’d wait on her in the “Big Spenders’” room. “Rosé cool for me to order for you?” he asked.