For Lovers Only

by Alex Hairston

  Our waiter returned with our salads and iced teas. Keisha waited until he had moved on to the next table before she tried to rationalize. “Listen, Monica, all I’m tryna do is help you find a job. You’re the one who said you weren’t asking Anthony for shit else.”

  Damn right I wasn’t. I’d rather clean the floor of the café with a toothbrush before I asked that bastard for a dime. I was willing to even get a job standing on the corners holding up one of those stupid “Everything Must Go” signs. I would do just about anything except beg my ex-husband for money ... and the shit Keisha was suggesting. “You’re right. I meant it when I said I’m not asking him for shit. But just ’cause I said that doesn’t mean I’m ready to sell my body just to earn a dollar.”

  Keisha laughed, like what I said was funny when in actuality I was dead serious. “Monica, it’s stripping, not prostituting,” she said a little too gleefully.

  “Hell, they’re the same damn thing,” I snarled at my friend. Then I stabbed my garden salad with a fork.

  “No, they are not,” she said nonchalantly, then shrugged her shoulders. “In fact, Scandalous is a pretty nice club. I’ve been there a few times.”

  “A few times?” My eyes got wide. Lord have mercy. That girl ceased to amaze me. I shook my head and gave her a pitiful look. “What were you doing ... auditioning?”

  “Noooo,” she said, like something was wrong with the idea. What was up with that? Apparently it was okay for me to strip, but heaven forbid I assume she had. “It’s nothing like that.” Keisha gave me a wicked grin and took a bite of her salad before she continued. “This dude I used to mess with had this thing about taking his date to a strip club. Something about it turned him on to have his woman watching the girls along with him.” Keisha had this faraway look in her eyes. Damn! I couldn’t believe she was taking me with her ass on a ride down memory lane.

  Keisha took another bite of her salad, then leaned in close. I guess she didn’t want anyone else to hear what she was about to say. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear it either. “They even have a swinger’s section upstairs and we went up there and got our groove on. Monica, girrrrl, making love up in the balcony while staring down at the strippers on the stage ... oh my goodness ... it was better than a porno tape. I don’t think I ever came that hard in my life.”

  I leaned back in the seat, trying to put as much distance between the two of us as I could manage. “Nasty ass.” I shook my head because I should have known better. My girl gets off on all that crazy shit.

  “Monica, you act like you’ve never done anything freaky in your life,” she said with a disapproving look on her face.

  “I have ... at home ... with my husband.” Keisha would never believe the things my husband used to make me do. Hell, I still had a hard time believing it myself.

  “Seriously ... I wasn’t trying to piss you off. It was just a suggestion ... a quick way to make some money ... that’s all.” Keisha tried to act like her feelings were hurt, but I wasn’t buying it.

  I reached for my iced tea and stared at her cocoa-brown face over the rim of the glass. “Well, I’m not interested in auditioning at Scandalous. I’ve got two little girls. What would they think if they knew their mother was taking her clothes off in front of a roomful of horny men?”

  “They won’t know. The only two people who would know are you and me.” She shook her head like I was being ridiculous, when it was Keisha who had lost her damn mind. “Some weave, false eyelashes, and colored contacts ... nobody would know it was you.”

  “Absolutely not.” I scowled. She tried to reason with me, but I stood my ground. “Dammit, I said, no!”

  “Okay ... fine,” Keisha threw her hands in the air in defeat. “Then what are you gonna do about money?”

  If anyone told me a year ago I would be sitting in a café with my best friend trying to figure out how I was going to keep a roof over my head, I would have laughed at them. Back then I was Mrs. Monica Houston, the wife of the Anthony Houston, the hedge fund king and one of Richmond’s wealthiest black men. I’d been living in a big ass house in Chesterfield with a maid and a gardener. Back then couldn’t nobody tell me my husband was messing around on me. I loved that man with everything I had and was confident he felt the same. Then he announced he wanted a divorce. I swear to you, I didn’t see that shit coming, especially since we had just spent a week in Jamaica, screwing like two teenagers on spring break. That bastard waited until our plane landed in Richmond before he broke the news.

  After that, my life spiraled out of control, and here I was a year later, a black woman with a limited education and almost no work experience trying to figure out how to make everything right in her life for the sake of my two beautiful little girls, Kenyatta and Aisha. The money the courts awarded me was barely enough to maintain the lifestyle we were accustomed to. In fact, if I didn’t figure out a plan soon, I was going to find my ass on the street. “There has to be another way.”

  Reaching across the table, Keisha touched my arm. “There is. We just have to figure out what it is.” I looked at her and nodded, even though I was starting to lose faith. “What I don’t understand is how Anthony can be so damn stingy. Those are his daughters. As much money as that bastard makes, he should be glad to help you out at least until you finish nursing school.”

  I remember when Anthony and I first met. I was a freshman and he was a junior at the University of Michigan. We fell in love overnight and when he graduated and asked me to return with him to Virginia, I gladly dropped out of school. I had every intention of continuing my education when we got there, but Anthony proposed and promised to take care of me forever. I was so in love I would have eaten a can of dog food if he’d had asked. Shortly after we arrived in Richmond, Anthony landed a position with a large hedge fund corporation. Then Kenyatta was born and Aisha a year later. I was happy just raising the girls and taking care of my husband. For eight years that was all I knew. Like I said, I never saw it coming.

  I snatched the Richmond Times-Dispatch up from the table and stared down at the help wanted ad. Exotic dancing? Hell no. Not me. I cut my eyes at Keisha, then focused on the ad below it. “Look, Mason’s needs a waitress to work the evening shift.”

  “On Crater Road?” Keisha gave a rude bark of laughter. “I guess so. Some dude was shot and killed in their parking lot last week.”

  Ms. Know-It-All. I didn’t dare look up at her. “Okay, what about cashiering?”

  “Puhleeze, you can’t live off minimum wage.”

  “Ooh! JCPenney is hiring sales associates.” My head popped up and I stared across the table and grinned. Keisha knows I love shopping at that store.

  She frowned. “They’re hiring for the morning shift, and last I checked, you were in school. That is ... unless you’re planning on dropping out.”

  Keisha knew better than that. Just like the new haircut, enrolling in school was my way of proclaiming my independence. Nursing had always been a dream of mine. As soon as the divorce was final, I enrolled in a one-year accelerated LPN program. It was intense and hard work. I had classes in the morning and barely had enough time to study before picking up the girls from their after-school program. But in four more months it would all be over.

  While I finished my salad, I scanned the ads and saw a few possibilities, but ended up feeling increasingly frustrated. “To be honest, Keisha ... I really don’t know how I’m going to juggle school, the girls, and a job.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Keisha said, trying to reassure me. “How about working twelve-hour shifts on the weekends at the hospital?”

  I shook my head at the idea. “No. That’s the only time the girls and I have to really spend any time together.”

  “There is always the evenings after they go to bed,” she suggested.

  I took a moment to think about it and replied, “I would be too tired for class in the morning.”

  Keisha leaned back on the seat with a sigh. “Okay, then wha
t about Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings? You don’t have classes on Fridays.” She must have seen my frown because she added, “Seriously, Monica, the only option you have is to find something you can do in the evenings or over the weekends. You know I have no problem watching the girls.”

  “Mmm-hmm, but how many jobs are out there like that?”

  “I already suggested one and you weren’t interested,” she mumbled under her breath. Then she had the nerve to stare at her hands like she was looking for chipped nail polish.

  That chick better be glad I loved her; it was why I hadn’t reached across the table and snatched those kinky twists outta her head. She was, after all, my best friend. We met at First Baptist Church of Virginia on Decatur Street my first year there and been tight ever since. She had gotten a degree in business at Virginia State University and three years ago opened her own boutique. Keisha was doing everything she had set her mind to, and unlike me, she hadn’t let a man stand in her way.

  “How about working at UPS tossing packages late in the evening or the early morning assembly line at Kraft?” she suggested.

  “Maybe.” Neither sounded like something I really wanted to do, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers, and with limited skills I definitely didn’t have many options. The only job I ever had in high school was McDonald’s. Trust me ... flipping burgers was definitely not an option. My eyes traveled over to the ad again. Exotic dancers needed. Goodness, was this what my life had come to?

  “If I was your size, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

  As freaky as she was, she was probably right. See, the problem is Keisha’s a big girl. When we first met, she was probably wearing a sixteen, but over the years, especially during the stress of opening her own boutique, she started packing on the pounds and was wearing at least a twenty-two. Not that it stopped Keisha. She strongly believed you’re as beautiful as you feel. Well, as far as Keisha was concerned, she was the hottest chick within a hundred-mile radius. Even now she was sitting with her legs crossed, swinging her foot in the aisle. As usual she was dressing her ass off, wearing a blue-jean miniskirt, complemented by a fire-engine-red corset, a jean bolero jacket, and matching five-inch pumps. She didn’t let her weight stand in the way of looking good. I’ll give it to her, style was one thing she knew a lot about and she wore it well. I guess that’s why she owned Keisha’s, the hottest boutique in all of Petersburg.

  “Monica, you got one helluva body. Men would go crazy over your ass.”

  I appreciated the compliment, but she was my friend, and friends are supposed to say that. “Yeah, right,” I said with a laugh. “You know I don’t have the guts for that shit.” I still can’t believe that heifer had suggested such a thing. She was the freaky one, not me.

  “Hey, it’s good money. My cousin Tina used to strip and she made a thousand dollars a week.”

  My brow rose. “A thousand? Just to take off her clothes and shake her ass?” I asked skeptically.

  “Yep,” she confirmed with a nod.

  Her words went straight to my head, and I took a moment and tried to see myself on stage, doing exactly what she was suggesting, then realized how ridiculous it sounded. I gave her a dismissive wave. “Keisha, puhleeze. I don’t even know why I brought it up again. You know I’m not about to take my clothes off for anyone but my man.”

  “Yes, but you don’t have one of those,” she teased.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I said with attitude. She sure knew how to make a woman feel good. Reaching up, I stroked my fresh new cut just to remember I had something to feel good about. Keisha had a lot of nerve. Hell, she couldn’t keep a man.

  “Seriously, all jokes aside, you could do it. We can come up with a stage name for you, like Juicy or Dimples.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Juicy and Dimples? Mmm-hmm, that would definitely describe my ass.”

  Keisha chuckled. “Hey, that’s what men love. A black woman with a ghetto booty! And you definitely have enough for the two of us.” I couldn’t help but laugh because she was right about that. I had plenty of junk in my trunk. Despite how voluptuous Keisha was, her ass was wide and flat.

  “Who in the world wants to watch a woman with little titties trying to dance?” I was flat-chested, just like my mama. Keisha had a pair of DDD’s that she played up in corsets and low-cut blouses. It was the one thing I was most self-conscious about. If I could afford it, I would get a boob job in a heartbeat.

  “You got enough. What did Anthony use to tell you ... that more than a mouthful is a waste?” she reminded with a wink.

  “That asshole said a lot of things. He also said he’d love me forever, but you see where that got me.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. A migraine was coming; I could feel it. It was all the stress of wondering if I was going to be able to pay my light bill next month or not. That’s when I felt someone standing over me.

  “Excuse me, sexy. I couldn’t help but notice you when you first walked in. You have the most amazing legs.” My eyelids rose and I almost jumped from the seat when I found a dude at our table with bread crumbs clinging to his matted salt and pepper beard. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked politely.

  Is he for real? I glanced over at Keisha and wanted to laugh. I could tell she, too, was struggling to keep a straight face. “No, I ...” I couldn’t even finish what I was about to say because at that moment he smiled and I noticed his jacked up grill. What few teeth he had were rotten and the rest must have packed up and moved the hell on. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then can I have your phone number?” he smiled flirtatiously as his eyes quickly ran over my body. Did he really think I would go out with him? Instead, I was two seconds away from cussing him out. Even if I was dating, I never would have been that desperate.

  “Hey! Didn’t my girl tell you she’s not interested?” Keisha said with attitude in her voice. He took a step back, looking both surprised and embarrassed. I guess he finally got the message because he walked away and returned to his table close to the front door. Keisha tried to hold it together, but as soon as he sat down in his seat, she burst out laughing.

  Leaning across the table, I murmured, “Ugggh! He’s got a lot of nerve, looking like Grady from Sanford and Son.” My comment made Keisha laugh even harder and I couldn’t help but to join in. We had tears in our eyes. I glanced to my left and made sure he hadn’t heard us making fun of him. Puhleeze. Not Super Fly. He had already forgotten about me and was standing over another table trying to holler at some light-skinned chick. I watched as her head started moving while her neck twisted and it was pretty obvious she was giving him straight attitude.

  When she finally stopped laughing, Keisha said, “Now that’s the type of men women up at Scandalous have to deal with, but the beautiful thing is you make a brothah pay for wasting your time.”

  The conversation was right back where it had left off. My girl never did know when to quit. “Keisha, I already told you I’m not working at no strip club.” Just the thought of taking my clothes off in front of a bunch of strangers made my stomach turn.

  “I could pick out some really cute outfits from the boutique and teach you how to walk in stilettos.” I swear she almost sounded like she was pleading with me. Damn! Was my girl trying to live vicariously through me?

  “Keisha ... girl ... quit dreaming and listen to me. I am not stripping.” I said the words real slow and controlled just so she’d know I meant what I said.

  Pouting, she finally leaned back on the bench. “Hooker. I should have known you didn’t have it in you.”

  “Me? A stripper? You’re right. With my two left feet, I definitely don’t.” I started laughing. I could just see myself on stage falling flat on my face.

  “I forgot you have no rhythm.” Keisha burst into laughter, and then I changed the subject.

  While we ate our lunch, I noticed Keisha was still looking down at the newspaper. Exotic dancers needed. Something in my gut told me that until I found
a job, this wouldn’t be the last time we discussed the subject.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2008 by Alex Hairston

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-7748-0