Coldhearted & Crazy

by Michel Moore

Ty, feeling like he was a big shot, pulled up at the club. Trying hard to appear to be a boss, he got valet, trying keep the big fella image up. As they made their way up to the front door entrance there was a gang of trick-ass niggas waiting to give up their paychecks, bill money, or even the loot owed to the next man on a sack.

  Hell, fuck going inside the club! Kenya saw how they were eyeballing her; and she could get most of their dough out their pockets by just looking at their grimy-asses. Nevertheless, Kenya was on a mission that was bigger than dudes standing on line waiting to be hand searched by security. Johnnie Roberts’s daughter was about that life and getting that serious longevity loot. Winning the amateur contest was her only objective so she could secure herself a permanent position and start making revenue on a regular basis. Moving her curvaceous body through the crowd, she saw a pool of strange, desperate faces watching her like she was a precious shipment of gold. There were just as many hands brushing across her ass on the sly like they were getting away with something.

  “Okay, how about this! The next nigga who puts his hands on me without paying is getting his shit split to the white meat!” Kenya made it clear for all possible offenders to hear. She wasn’t bullshitting one bit and it showed all over her face. “I ain’t into fucking charity and ain’t shit for free this way! You touch you fucking pay, flat out, straight like that!”

  “Hey, Zack.” Ty proudly beamed, showing that stupid-ass gap in his dental. “This is my main girl, Kenya.” He smiled, sticking his chest out with pride like he was her pimp or some shit like that.

  In between the guys in the crowd having to be told what was really good and now Ty acting like he owned her and her hustle, she went ham. “Main girl?” Kenya finally had enough of his ass. “Nigga, what? Please don’t coach mines. You got me all fucked up in the game. Fall back and don’t play yourself!”

  Zack couldn’t help smiling as he watched her put Ty’s perpetrating-ass in his place. Easing back, letting her do what she did, he thought, She is much prettier than any of the girls working here and, damn, that ass is banging. Plus, with that spunk, she could double as security. Zack had to laugh out loud about that shit. He hated to halt the debate, but Kenya had to be informed about the rules for the contest if she planned on participating. Plus Zack knew Ty needed to go in a corner somewhere, get several drinks, and try to recover and lick all of the open wounds that she’d left to his weak mack game.

  “Hello, Kenya, I’m Zack. You can follow me up to the office so that I can explain a few things and check your ID out if that’s okay with you.”

  Kenya smiled and turned around to follow, making sure to give Ty’s wounded ego the sho’nuff side eye. As she observantly scanned around the club and checked out the atmosphere, she noticed even the ugliest girls on the guys’ laps, grinding like there was no tomorrow. She thought, Shit, I guess pussy don’t have a face around this here motherfucker.

  When they got up the stairs and to the office Zack shut the steel door. Amazingly it was quiet as the library that London often would drag her to if she let her. “Okay, Miss Kenya, first things first, let me check out your ID.” As Zack looked it over, he started questioning her on other club-related issues. He asked her just what made her want to dance and did she think she could do it. Kenya thought for a second and was going to try to say something sassy, but quickly changed her mind when she saw that he was trying to be sincere.

  “Bills, just a lot of bills that I anticipate accumulating real soon. I don’t want to fall behind or be late on any payments. That would mess with my credit rating and I ain’t trying to do that.” Kenya had learned all about finances from Gran and the importance of a high score.

  Not expecting that answer in a million years from a female only seconds away from swinging naked on a pole, Zack was truly impressed with her response. Finally a girl with a little bit of common sense; well, not that much. She should be in somebody’s schoolhouse, he thought, but who was he to judge? He was here to make money and capitalize off of her beauty, not be a life-changing coach. Zack took his time before spoke. “You right, Kenya, good credit is a must in the white man’s world.” Even though he ran a strip joint, he still hated to see young girls go down the wrong path and get turned out or, worse than that, strung the fuck out on drugs. But, hey, the ID said eighteen and that made her grown, so she was just that—grown. She was fair game. If he could profit off of her beautiful ass, why not, he thought. “Well, it’s like this. You dance two songs when you go on stage, one fast and one slow. On the second song drop your top.” Zack watched for any signs of weakness or apprehension, but none showed. “The guys will try to cop a free feel when they slip the money in your G-string. So as long as they don’t get to outrageous with the shit, just try to be polite, make your money and move on. The fellas in the house know it’s amateur night, so we always got one fool who gets extra and tries to push his hand. Don’t worry about him; we got his ass covered. Be nice, but don’t give the whole deal away for free. Remember, what one won’t or can’t do the next will. So don’t listen to all that idle chitchat niggas wanna kick. Everything costs in this motherfucker, even conversation, so keep it moving!”

  “Okay. Do I get to keep all of my tips?” Kenya eagerly awaited his answer, hoping it was yes.

  “Yeah, tonight you do, but if you do good and you like it, you can get on the schedule. Then it’s a house fee of fifty dollars a night, a fee for the DJ, and you should always tip Brother Rasul. He’s the head of security. My man doesn’t drink, curse, or mess around with any of the girls, which keeps him on top of thangs. He’s one hard-ass Muslim brother. I think that’s what makes him have such a low tolerance for men disrespecting our black queens, even if they choose to disrespect themselves up in here. That’s why most niggas don’t even try him. Shit, they’d be better off smacking Jesus off the cross than fucking with that guy. So, take care of him. Shiiit, even I tip Brother Ra! That being said you should be good to go.”

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Enter!” Zack yelled out, looking over at the security camera while buzzing the door.

  Walking through the door as if she owned the place was a woman with a long blond and red streaked weave. It was untamed, reaching down to her ass, which was wide as hell, but she carried it well. She was at least forty or so in age, or so the wrinkles around her eyes revealed.

  “Hey, baby. We got like eight girls in the dressing room for amateur night and the crowd is growing restless. So are you about ready to start the contest or what?” The older, fashionably dressed woman grinned while rubbing on Zack’s balding head with her long multicolored painted fingernails.

  “Yeah, in about ten minutes. This is the last girl for tonight. So if anyone else shows, tell them to come back next week. Besides, I think we have the winner right here.” Zack winked his eye at the young future contestant.

  “I see, I see. Hey, sweetheart, my name is Angela, but everyone around here calls me Old Skool. I’m sort of the house mother I guess.”

  “Hello, I’m Kenya Roberts, but you can call me . . .” She paused to think all of two seconds before she blurted out the name Tastey, since Ty had said she looked good enough to eat. “Yeah, call me Tastey.”

  “Okay, Miss Tastey, follow me.”

  When they reached the dressing room you could automatically tell the veterans from the rookies. While the vets were fixing their hair and stashing their loot, they still found time to mean mug all the fresh-faced, wide-eyed girls who were entering the contest hoping to win the prize money. After all, some of these green hoes had the potential to be their new competition, so there positively was no love lost. Of course, Kenya’s thick model-type ass, when dressed and ready to compete, was getting a gang of major hate from both sides of the fence, new and old. Some of the girls couldn’t even walk in heels let alone dance, while some of them needed to hit the gym at least five days a week. But even the ugliest females made a little bit of lunch money for the week in a dark, dimly lit strip club.

&nbs
p; “Hey, girl, you ready? You about next.” Old Skool was hyping Kenya up, whispering in her ear. “Girl, you got this shit. The prize money got your name on it. These other females are terrible!”

  “Prize money?” Kenya was shocked hearing about that part of the contest for the first time. Ty slick-ass ain’t shit! “How much is first place?”

  “Two hundred bucks!”

  “Oh yeah, you right, that two hundred dollars is mine. I’m about to wild the fuck out when it’s my time to shine!” Kenya needed that cash like a baby needed his bottle.

  A girl who the DJ said went by the name Raven was just making her way down off the stage. From where Kenya stood, she was her only real competition. The other girls in the contest were throwing shade on her also, so the two of them kinda stuck close by the other in case they might have to scrap. “Girl, them fools out there are on the nut. Watch yourself,” a breathless Raven advised Kenya before she headed up.

  “Okay, good lookin’.” Kenya exchanged smiles with her, glancing over her shoulder, heading toward the small set of stairs.

  “All right now, fellas, ballas, and any of y’all wannabe playas! This next girl has enough boom boom on deck to snap them zippers on sight!” The DJ was out his shit in the zone as he did his thang on the mic, making the energy level in the already-hot, humid club rise. “Take your hands out your pants and put them together for the one we affectionately call Tastey! Make her feel at home and make that shit rain Heads Up style!”

  As Kenya entered the stage, you would have thought that she hit the winning homerun in game seven of the World Series. “Damn, girl, shake that shit,” was all she kept hearing from the intoxicated patrons who were throwing currency her way. Kenya only saw dollar signs and didn’t give a fuck what them fools was saying as long as that bread kept raining on the stage. Kenya, off deep into the loud sound of the speakers and the song she’d requested to be played, made eye contact with Ty just in time to see him abruptly rushed out the door by security. Damn, I guess his “wannabe slick”and “work a bitch” knew it was over. She giggled to herself as she moved like a seductive snake across the cash-covered stage.

  The contest was soon over and, without a doubt, Kenya had won first place. With $200 plus another $150 in tips it was the best five minutes of her young life. She now had her foot in the door of Heads Up; hell, both feet, for that matter. And it was time for her to grind!

  Chapter Eight

  London

  The first day of classes began and London was more than ready. She had one morning class and another in the evening starting at 6:30. This was a day that she’d been looking forward to her whole life. She was up, dressed, and out the door before Fatima had even turned over. She didn’t have her first class until later. No sooner than London left did the phone start to ring repeatedly. The constant noise of the ringer woke a tired Fatima out of her coma-like sleep.

  “Yeah, hello,” Fatima’s voice was groggy and she sounded completely out of it.

  Kenya was hesitant about speaking up because she thought she had the wrong number.

  “Hello,” Fatima said again, this time with a slight attitude from being disturbed by the phone.

  “Yeah, can I speak to Amia Roberts?” Kenya finally blurted out.

  Fatima was thrown off for a second, when she remembered that London’s real name was Amia. She sat up in the bed and wiped the sleep out of her eyes. “Sorry, she’s not in. Whom should I tell her called?”

  “This is her sister,” Kenya spoke in a cold tone.

  “Oh, Kenya! Hey, girl!” Fatima greeted her like they were old friends.

  Kenya was kinda fucked up that this stranger knew who she was right off the bat. “Yeah, this is Kenya, and who are you?”

  Fatima could tell by the tone in her voice that she was the twin who had got all the bad demons floating inside of her. She tried her best to be nice to her roomie’s sister and not go all the way out on her for being rude and disrespectful so early in the damn morning. “Hey, I’m her roommate, Fatima James. Your sister told me all about you, besides, your picture is posted all around the room walls in here.” Fatima was still trying to be polite, as hard as Kenya was making it.

  “Okay then, bet, tell her I called. Peace.” Kenya was still being somewhat a total bitch and it came across. With that exchange, she hung up on Fatima.

  After finding out that her sister was off to her classes, Kenya decided to get herself some rest; after all, she had just made it home from the club and a long night of getting money.

  London

  The start of London’s second class was full of anticipation. That was the class that Professor Kincade taught. As she entered the room she saw him standing behind his desk with papers in his hands. He looked so handsome. This was the first man she really ever had a crush on. London was always deep in her studies and had no time for the silly boys at her high school. Anyway, they were always interested in her sister, so her even caring about them was a waste of time.

  Professor Kincade waited until everyone got seated and greeted all of his new freshman students. He then went in his briefcase and pulled out a huge stack of papers. “Miss Roberts, can you please come up here?”

  London was stunned. What did he want? What would he say? When she reached his desk, she could smell the scent of cologne on his shirt as she walked up. “Yes, Professor Kincade?”

  She was a nervous wreck and he could tell. Having what some would call classic good looks, he had this effect on most of the female students he’d come in contact with and some of the female professors.

  “Yes, can you pass this course syllabus out for me?” With a smooth way about himself, he made sure to lock his eyes on London’s, touching her hand as he handed her the papers. For an older man, he swore he had game. Known as a womanizer around campus, he wanted this young girl and was going to have her.

  When class was over, he watched her youthful ass sway from side to side. His dick got hard just thinking about riding that untamed, tender cat. A true freak, he couldn’t wait to get home so he could fuck his wife with London on his mind. This was his second marriage and even though his wife was only twenty-five, the professor had a taste for some younger pussy every now and then. And this was one of those times.

  “Did you see that fine-ass Professor Kincade?” Fatima was just making it in from her own classes.

  “Yeah, I not only saw him, he asked me to hand out some papers. I was scared as hell.” London had chills as she told the story. “I wish I could be more like my sister. Kenya would have had him shaking in his boots.”

  Both girls exchanged stories of how their day went. Fatima, socially conscious, told her about some clubs that they could join. All the organizations were based on helping to try uplifting the black man and women as a whole.

  “Wow, that sounds like where we need to be then.” London was more than excited to attend the meeting. “When is it?”

  “It’s tomorrow evening at six o’clock at the student union.” Fatima was overjoyed that London was interested and cared about helping her race just as she and her parents did.

  “Trust me, I’m already there!” London reassured her.

  The two roommates looked in their mini refrigerator and didn’t see anything they wanted and agreed to go get some food across campus. London and Fatima put on their track pants and hoodies and jogged over to the cafeteria just before it was closing for the night.

  “Dang, we just made it.” London was out of breath as was Fatima.

  Both girls picked out a few of the sandwiches that were on the counter and left. As they were heading back to their dorm room, London saw two students holding hands, walking, and wondered if she would ever have anyone to hold hands with in her life. She was eighteen years old and had never been kissed. She could vote and even go fight for her country, but hadn’t found someone to love her. Why can’t I be more like Kenya? she heartbreakingly thought.

  When the two freshman students made it back to their dorm room, they de
cided to do a little studying and then hit the sack. Fatima and London couldn’t wait to see what the meeting they would attend the next evening was going to be about. They talked about what to expect, until they both fell asleep.

  Morning came soon enough and both girls took their turns at the showers and got dressed. London took her time picking out an outfit. She knew she would see Professor Kincade and she didn’t want to look too corny. After going through almost all her clothes in the closet, she picked out a blue and black skirt with a black thin-material turtleneck and a cute pair of Prada mules that Kenya bought her for their birthday, so she knew they were fly as hell. London looked in the mirror and was satisfied. She was headed out the door when Fatima yelled out to her, “Hey, don’t forget about six o’clock tonight!”

  “I won’t,” London replied. “Six o’clock!”

  London made it to her first class right on time. She tried to pay attention to the instructor, but found it hard to think about anything other than the next class awaiting her. Time was ticking by slowly, but finally past. Thank God, she thought. It was one o’clock and her first class was finally over.

  London ate a late lunch and realized it would soon be time for the start of the next class. I want to remember to check my teeth for any food before I go in there. When 2:45 came, it was time. London made her way through the door and looked toward the front of the class. To her dismay, there was no sight of him yet.

  “Hello, I’m Donyae.” It was the guy who sat next to London at her earlier class. “We must have the same major.” He was all in her space.

  “Yeah, you might be right.” London was having a hard time paying attention to him as he tried to kick game. He was trying his best to flirt with London, but her thoughts were on the professor and the smile that she couldn’t seem to get out of her mind.

  “Maybe we could study together sometime?” He tried to make eye contact with her, which was almost an impossible task since she was watching the classroom door like a hawk.