by Susan Stoker
Forget the wrong kind of attention, this woman didn’t seem to want attention period, and yet, she had mine. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help it. I liked the little I could see, and I wanted to see more. I had to force myself to keep my dance moving as I peeled my eyes away from her. As soon as I got a chance, I was going to work the floor tonight—something I typically stayed away from. I preferred to leave what I saw as begging to the inexperienced newbies. I didn’t need to beg for tips, and I wasn’t desperate enough to prey upon the shyer patrons, thereby making them feel obligated to slip me a few bucks. Sure, I may sound a little bit conceited, but the proof was literally lying in a pile of bills around my feet. Another one landed at that exact moment, and I smirked as I slowly continued my dance. I usually aimed my full attention at whichever direction the money was coming from, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d do anything for one more glimpse of her. She looked up for a split second and our eyes met. Hers were violet, like the highlights in her hair, with deep, long lashes, and there was something endearing about the way she blushed when I caught her checking me out. The eye contact lasted for less than a hot minute, but my breath hitched in my chest, and I suddenly felt woozy. I had to have her.
She didn’t seem nearly as affected, quickly switching her attention back to her phone, as my heart sank deep into the pit of my stomach. Her discomfort was a mixture of shaming and enticing, and I glanced away, not wanting anyone to see how affected I was by the short but electric encounter. I needed to get off the stage—but I knew I couldn’t. Lisa and her friends weren’t done with me yet. I would know when they were; they had a unique way of letting me know.
Forcing a smile as I stared at the pile of bills under my feet, I cast the violet-haired vixen from my thoughts, and threw every ounce of sexual tension I was suddenly feeling into shaking what my mama gave me.
I had no idea how much time passed, maybe a minute, maybe five, but when I heard the click of heels behind me, I braced myself, even as I forced my ass cheeks to continue their teasing dance to the music.
Whap! I forced myself not to visibly cringe when her hand connected with the thin material of my boxer briefs, as the small crowd dissolved into raucous cheers and laughter. There it was. I had been excused. Why did my first set every Thursday night end with my limping off the stage with my left cheek stinging like somebody had just smacked me with a hornets’ nest?
Technically, audience members were not supposed to touch the dancers on stage, but for some reason, the bouncer always let that one slide. Every. Damn. Time.
I shook it off as I scooped up the large pile of bills and limped off the stage, giving a booty jiggle as I made my way to the dancers’ lounge behind the bar. I had two more sets tonight, and you always gotta leave them wanting more.
I said nothing as I entered, grabbing a bottle of ice cold water from the mini-fridge and donning my shirt to protect myself from the blow of the massive fan we used to cool off after a performance.
I nodded at the newest guys as I opened my locker and shoved the pile of cash inside my duffel. Counting the pile of bills at the end of the night was my reward for putting up with this job and everything that came with it. If I counted too soon, I might be tempted to go home early. I slammed the door shut, twisted the dial on the padlock a few times for good measure, and joined my friend Azid over at the small gym we had set up in the corner of the lounge. Azid was a big guy who pumped iron like it was going out of style. He was currently rocking the bench press. He didn’t need a spotter; he was just that good, and that tough. But I went over and spotted him anyway.
Azid rolled his eyes upwards at me with a nod, and grunted as he pushed the weight off his chest towards my waiting grip.
“How’s the crowd tonight, Ma?” My name is Mazi, and Azid was the only person in existence who could shorten it to Ma without getting knocked out cold. Probably because his name shortened to Az, which with the right accent sounded like Ass, and he let me get away with calling him that, even though he could have easily kicked my “Az” with both hands tied behind his back.
I took the weight from him and placed it in the stand as he pulled himself into a sitting position and grabbed a water and a towel from the floor beside him.
“Not bad. It’s Thursday, so a little bit slow, but busy enough to pay the bills.”
Azid grinned sardonically as he gave me the side eye. “Lisa and the girls out there?”
“You know it. And….” I hesitated to tell him about her, selfishly wanting to keep her existence to myself. I knew that wasn’t possible. Azid wasn’t blind, and neither were the rest of them.
Azid knew me better than anyone. We had been friends since the first day of high school. His brow crinkled, and he frowned quizzically at me.
I opened my mouth, and shook my head, unsure where to start, or what I was even thinking. “Azid, man, this girl—”
I was interrupted by the club owner, a big burly Scottish oaf of a man named Ezra. The name didn’t evoke images of six-foot tall bikers with bushy beards, tattoos, and motorcycle jackets, but somehow it seemed to fit him.
“Mazi, this came for you, man. Delivered this afternoon. Certified mail. Lulu had to sign for it.”
I stared at him blank faced, and Azid jumped into action, reached over, and snatched the thick cream envelope from Ezra’s hand, flicking it with his finger as he grunted.
“Certified messenger, huh? To the club?”
Ezra nodded, with a curious expression on his face.
Finally, I came out of my daze and grabbed for it, but Azid snapped it back out of my grasp, throwing his chin high in the air in a nod that said, “What’s up, bro? You okay?” Azid had always been protective.
I met his gaze with a hard, unamused one of my own. “I have no idea what’s up, and I am sure I haven’t done anything wrong. And if I had, it would be the cops coming for me, not a certified letter on thick fancy paper, dumbass. Now, give it here,” I hollered, reaching up behind Azid to snag the envelope from his grasp.
It was heavier than it appeared, the envelope seeming to be made from a custom paper, but I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like I spent my days hanging out in stationery shops.
I turned it over, expecting to see a gold bracket clasp, similar to one on any manila envelope. Instead the fold was sealed with a thick sticker, embossed gold with a seal I didn’t recognize.
I could feel Azid and Ezra watching me as I slowly ripped it open, careful not to tear the contents inside.
The single piece of paper that slid out was nearly as thick as the envelope itself. I extracted it, handing the envelope to Azid, who stood close, poised to read over my shoulder. I should mind, but I really didn’t. It was okay—we were as close as brothers.
Dear Sir Mazi,
Sir Mazi? I chuckled at the first line. Anyone who called me Sir had to be a scammer of some sort. But what kind of scam letter came delivered by certified mail?
Please accept my deepest condolences on the recent death of your mother, Patrice. I would have contacted you earlier, but I have only recently been informed of her passing.
I shook my head and frowned as I read on. My mother had died several years ago. The Big C. Cancer. I had taken this job when she was sick to help pay for treatment. I was still paying those costs off years later, but now I had no mother, and a pile of staggering bills to remind me of that fact.
For many years, we had an agreement that I would not contact you, even after you came of age. With her death, I consider this agreement to be null and void.
“What the fuck?” The sharp-toned whisper came from Azid, and I silently echoed the sentiment. Anxiety settled in my stomach as I continued to read.
What I am trying to say is that once, a long time ago, I knew your mother very well. So well, in fact, that I believe in my heart that you are my son. I would like to extend this sincere invitation to join me at my home on the Island of Osei, off the coast of Africa. Your airfare and accommodations are arranged and paid for.
I would like you to stay for at least a month, but I will understand if that is too long.
To accept this invitation, please call the number listed below and ask for Jax. He will take good care of you, prior to and during the duration of your trip.
Please come. We have much to discuss, and the kingdom awaits your arrival with much anticipation.
Sincerely,
Your father,
King Ona-Mazi
King of Osei
My hands shook with anger as I read the last line, and the implication set in. I could feel Azid watching me, just waiting for me to blow. He knew me well. I thrust the paper into his waiting hands, and turned, slamming my fist into the wall behind us, remembering just before I made contact that the wall was cement. I slowed down enough to ensure that the bones wouldn’t shatter, but it was too late to stop. My knuckles started to swell instantly, but the pain did nothing to calm my racing heart or to dissuade the rage that was brewing within.
The rest of the dancers in the lounge stared at me, and I winced. I had forgotten they were even there.
My chest was tight, and I couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain, couldn’t even look at them, as I flung open the back door and exited into the dark garbage-filled alley.
“Next time you punch a wall, make sure it’s not made of brick.”
I turned and stared at Azid, who had apparently followed me into the alley.
I swung, cursing again, when my sore hand made contact with Azid’s rock-hard gut. He had expected that punch and had been ready. He caught my hand just as it made contact.
“I’m not letting go, bro, until you talk to me, so put the fists down, open your mouth, and start flapping.”
I glared at him with my eyes narrowed into angry slits, and he tightened his grip. I couldn’t help but smirk. I had wanted to hit him again.
“Did you read that shit, man?”
“I did.” His eyes were pained, and full of the truth I already knew. It wasn’t a scam. If it was, it was a damn good one. The apartment I had shared with my mother had been full of paintings of Osei, a small island off the coast of Africa that most people had never even heard of. If you asked her, she said she painted them from pictures she had seen in a magazine, but obviously that had been a lie. What other things had she lied to me about over the course of my life?
Apparently quite a few. Not only was my father still alive and well, but he was a fucking king. Like of a kingdom. I shook my head, and Azid finally let go of my wrist.
“I’m named after him.” My voice sounded cold and empty even to my own ears. “She fucking gave me his name, and then told him not to contact us, and told me he was dead.”
Azid watched me silently as I paced the alley.
I stopped in front of him. “Who does that?”
“Someone who loves her son, I’m guessing. Look man, we don’t know her reasons, or the whole story and we might not ever. She’s gone, she took it to her grave, and as much as it sucks, that’s just the way it is. But he’s reached out to you now, bro, and you have a choice to make.”
I stared at him blankly.
He grabbed my shoulders, and shook lightly. “Wake up, man! The question of the hour is, are you going to go to Osei, and at least hear his side of the story, or are you going to go home, go to bed, and pretend this whole damn day never happened? Whatever you decide, I’ve got your back, but you need to decide.”
As much as I wanted to blow the man off and fail to acknowledge that I had ever received his stupid letter, like a big silent “fuck you,” I knew I was going to go. For a split second, I considered asking Azid to come and actually have my back, but I dismissed the idea just as quickly. This was something I had to do for myself. And Azid would still have my back—he would just have it from a different continent.
He raised his eyebrows, as if he was privy to my inner dialog, and smirked, handing me his phone. “Call that Jax dude. I’ll meet you inside.”
Five minutes later, my fate was sealed. In a week’s time, I’d be aboard a private jet, headed for the island of Osei. To meet my father. The King of Osei.
Chapter Two
Norah
I stared at the man shaking his assets on the stage and rolled my eyes, drumming my fingers on the sticky table. First impressions? This place was more or less a dive, albeit a popular one. Unfortunately, I was going to need a bit more than just that one thought for my review. A freaking master’s degree in journalism, and this was the kind of story I got stuck with on a regular basis. A belated human-interest column on a male dance club that had already been open for five years. And they wanted me to go on a Thursday night, no less. Sure, this weekend was a busy one in the city, but what made the club so special that it needed to be covered this weekend? They had already waited this long.
I’d give it one hour, and one drink. And the drink, as well as the cover charge, was going on my expense account. Like I would ever spend my hard-earned money to come watch guys jiggle their junk at desperate soccer moms.
I cut across the room, walking by the stage and ignoring the baby-faced blond dancer wiggling his hips suggestively at me as I headed to the bar. I ordered a Long Island Iced Tea, because, hey, if they forced me to be here, and they were paying, I might as well make it worth my time.
I sipped my drink as I made my way back to my table in the corner, and lifted my eyebrows in genuine surprise. As far as Long Islands go, it was excellent. One of the best I had ever had. I pulled a small notebook out of the pocket of my hoodie and made a note for my review.
The music changed, and I glanced at the stage with disinterest as a new dancer strolled out and took his place. He was a popular one, judging by the hoots and hollers of the crowd of ladies seated directly across the room from me.
This guy was smoking hot—the tall, dark, and handsome variety—and I recognized him instantly from the ads out front, and even the ones on the TV late at night. Staring at him was no hardship, but I was still uncomfortable. Luckily, he turned his body towards the large group of women across from me, and I was free to ogle his cute little ass without being noticed. That worked for me. I took a long gulp of my drink and sighed appreciatively.
I suppose this was better than the pre-K T-ball game they had had me cover last night. Less noise, and a much better view.
My phone vibrated on the table, and I scowled at it. My boyfriend, Brian, had a jealous side. And an angry side. Really, he was just an insecure asshole. I knew I could do better, even though he liked to tell me I couldn’t. Really, who had time to date around?
“Where are you?”
“When are you coming home?”
“Who are you with?”
The texts came through one after another, and I scowled, drinking faster. Work was work, but I needed to get home before Brian lost his mind, or worse yet, showed up here.
Determined to get enough for a 500-word column, I turned my attention back to the stage—not that doing so was any kind of hardship. The dancer was doing a unique booty dance as he slowly turned in a circle, working the room from all angles. I glanced down at my phone as he faced me, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I was here for a story, not to throw money away or beg for male attention.
I could feel his eyes burning into me, and I forced myself not to look up. I didn’t need to. His dark olive skin glistened under the lights, and those muscles were burned into the recesses of my brain, at least for tonight. I all but held my breath while he stared. When I felt him shift, I finished off my drink and tossed a few bills on the table to cover a tip.
My phone buzzed again and I stood, taking one last long stare at his departing backside as he strolled off the stage. I had enough for a decent column. And now it was time to get home.
***
“Norah, baby, I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again.” I glared up at Brian from my spot on the floor and gingerly touched the skin around my eye with two fingers. When I was sure no skin had been broken, I leapt to my feet with my fists out i
n front of me.
“Get out.”
The second round of apologies began, but I didn’t care. I had heard it all before. I wasn’t sure what made tonight any different on my end but somehow it just was.
“Baby, c’mon, don’t be like that. You know I love you. You didn’t answer my texts and I freaked. I’m sorry, baby. Let’s forget all about it. I’ll order in some Chinese, and we can have a picnic on the patio and stay in tonight. I just need you all to myself.”
“Not this time, Brian. Leave now, or I’m calling the cops.”
His face changed instantly at the threat and he stepped towards me with a menacing scowl on his face. “Who do you think you are?”
He made no move to leave as I slid my phone out of my pocket and began to dial. I understood. He didn’t think I’d really do it. We’d been here before.
My eye was swelling, making the numbers on the small cellular more difficult to read by the minute. I stared him square in the eye, with a defiant look on my face and pushed the send button.
Brian’s face changed from an expression of menace to rage to disgust in a split second. I flinched but managed not to duck when his fist made contact with the wall behind me. This was my home, and I wasn’t going to be bullied in it. Not tonight. Not anymore.
“You stupid worthless bitch. Just remember, when I walk out that door, you’re all alone. Nobody else wants you, and they never will. You’re a nothing, a nobody. You don’t matter.”
It was the same pathetic line he always used, and it usually got me. Tonight, by some miracle, I was able to see the desperately spewed words for the lies they were.