Ladies Night

by Christian Keyes

  “No problem. Good night.” Amp got up and headed for the stairs.

  Looking back, he saw Paul sit for a moment in thought before he put his headphones back on.

  Amp entered his bedroom and climbed back in bed. After a few minutes, sleep finally took over, but no sooner than he closed his eyes did it seem it was time to start a new day. Something had to give.

  “Here you go,” Amp said as he came downstairs with a drug-test sample in hand.

  Paul took the container. “Any surprises in here?”

  “No.” Amp shook his head.

  Brad came downstairs carrying two large duffle bags. “All right, guys. It’s been real, but my ride is here.”

  “You outta here?” Amp asked.

  “Yep,” Brad answered happily.

  “Where you going?”

  “Probably live with my mom for a little while. Just ’til I get on my feet.”

  “Good luck out there,” Amp said.

  “You too.” Brad then looked to the man who had served as his house manager for the past ninety days. “Later, Paul.”

  “Later,” Paul replied. “And remember what I told you. Don’t be an asshole all your life.”

  Brad smirked.

  “Later, Brad,” Amp said.

  Paul walked away as Amp stood and watched Brad walk out the front door. His time was coming shortly, and seeing Brad released made him even more determined to focus on life outside of this place. His day of freedom couldn’t get here fast enough. All the sleepless nights were starting to take a toll on Amp, so he figured he was going to have to go face the ghost that was haunting him. Soon.

  Chapter 25

  The stage at Club Eden had been transformed into a professional photography studio. A huge backdrop was set up between the pulled-back curtains, and there were two cameras to capture the models from different angles. There were people doing makeup, costumes, stage/prop design, and assistants setting up to make sure everything went smoothly.

  Madam was talking with the photographer, bouncing ideas and themes off of him for the calendar shoot, when Dr. Feelgood walked in. All eyes shot toward his direction and stayed glued—not to him, but to what he had in his hand. He stood there with a baby carrier in one hand and a Winnie the Pooh diaper bag hanging on his shoulder.

  “Uh-uh. No you don’t.” Madam stepped away from the photographer and approached Dr. Feelgood. “The sign says twenty-one years of age and older in this club.” She looked down at the baby. “He ain’t even twenty-one months.”

  “Come on, Madam,” Dr. Feelgood said. “I got a sitter for tonight, but I couldn’t find anyone to watch him this afternoon.”

  “You talk to his momma?”

  “Yes, but until we get DNA results, my hands are full.” He looked down at the baby. “Literally.”

  Dr. Feelgood’s words were not moving Madam to change her position, not one bit, as she stood there shaking her head. “Doc . . .” she said with that don’t-play-with-me tone.

  Amp, standing off to the side while one of the female assistants rubbed baby oil on him, spoke up. “Madam, if I may put my two cents in . . .”

  Madam gave him a look, advising him to speak at his own risk.

  “We do need Doc for the calendar,” Amp started, “and we need the calendar to help save the building.”

  Madam thought about his words for a moment and then gave in.” Okay—but do not bring that child back here tonight.”

  Dr. Feelgood exhaled. “Thank you.” He looked at Amp and nodded his appreciation.

  Dr. Feelgood set the baby down, and Amp teased, “That’s a really nice diaper bag,” to lighten the tension in the room.

  “Shut up!” Dr. Feelgood replied.

  They both laughed as everyone finished preparing for the shoot. Within a half hour, it was “Lights, camera, action!” as the photo shoot began.

  It was Madam’s idea for each of the guys to shoot individually and then take some shots together. No one tried to outshine the others. This was a group effort with one purpose in mind: to save Club Eden, which meant saving their jobs.

  By the time the shoot was a wrap, the photographer had more than enough photos to work with in order to produce the moneymaking calendar. But would it make enough money to help keep the doors open?

  Later on that evening, the night’s business was just as successful as the photo shoot. Amp and the guys even had to help Madam set up some extra tables and chairs. The club was reaching capacity every night.

  Amp had settled up with both Madam and Dime, helped Dime load her car, and was now walking across the parking lot toward home. He was in the middle of the lot when he noticed a black Jaguar parked across the street with the lights on and the engine running.

  Amp slowed his pace as a million things went through his mind. The car was parked in front of a vacant building with a FOR SALE sign in the window, so they obviously weren’t waiting for someone to come out of the building.

  As Amp stepped onto the sidewalk, the car door opened. He could hear his heart pounding.

  A few seconds later, Amp felt the tension leave his body as he recognized a familiar face. “This is yours too?” Amp asked Jesse, who was crossing the street to meet up with him.

  “Yeah, I got a few of these.” He gave Amp some dap then looked over Amp’s shoulder at Club Eden. “You know, I didn’t believe it when I heard, but I guess my boy Eric was telling the truth. You are up here working.” He tilted his head and asked, “You ain’t dancing, are you, dude?”

  “Yep.” Amp shrugged. “I don’t have much choice, man.” He was no longer ashamed to admit that this was what he’d resorted to in order to make things jump off. At least it was legal.

  “Yes, you do have a choice,” Jesse said. “I told you that you can come get this money with me. Real money.”

  “I can’t, bruh. Those years I spent locked up, I can’t get that back. I ain’t doing nothing that can get me sent back. Jay walking, nothing.”

  Jesse nodded. “Was it really that bad?”

  “The things I saw in there . . .” Amp’s mind wandered back to his prison days. He had seen men brutalized, raped, murdered, beaten half to death, trampled, stabbed multiple times over the simplest of misunderstandings . . . and that was just the inmates. Some of the corrections officers were just as bad, if not worse than the inmates. They had actually gone as far as setting up beatings and stabbings among rival gang members. As far as Amp was concerned, the warden was a gangster and the corrections officers were the muscle. It was only by the grace of God that Amp made it out of there without experiencing any of the things he’d witnessed happening to others. That place was a special version of hell that Amp would do anything to avoid going back to.

  “Yeah, it was really that bad.” Amp wasn’t trying to stay on memory lane, and besides that, he had curfew. He knew that if they kept talking, Jesse was only going to keep trying to talk him into something illegal.

  “Look, I gotta run, bro.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’ll see you around.” Jesse walked back over to his car and Amp started walking home.

  Jesse drove past him and blew his horn. Amp watched the vehicle, not in envy, but knowing that if he did the right thing, that would be him rolling one day soon. For now, he would focus on helping Madam keep the club so that he’d have a place to make that legit money.

  Amp was truly using his black magic to get this particular female to float on cloud nine. It was the middle of his routine, and he’d brought a lovely full-figured woman to the stage. Just as he’d done with the petite school teacher–looking patron, he’d sat this woman in a chair in the middle of the stage and was gyrating around her.

  That woman took it all in. Unlike the other girl, she didn’t even try to play coy. She wanted everything Amp had to offer, and made it clear by bouncing and throwing right back to Amp what he was giving her.

  All of the other women were going crazy over the show Amp and his accomplice were putting on. She became a part of his s
how, and the two led the voyeurs through a journey of visual ecstasy. Several members of the audience had their mouths open as well as their wallets.

  Amp was fulfilling this woman’s every fantasy, picking her up and down while showing her and all those watching that he was strong as steel indeed. Then Amp bent the woman over, pulled up her dress, and started grinding on her voluptuous, moist ass.

  Amp caught a peep of the floor covered with an abundance of cash, and not just ones either. He made a mental note that if he ever saw this woman in the crowd again, he’d bring her on stage every time.

  Once the song ended, Amp helped the woman back to her seat, almost feeling guilty about not sharing his tips with her. She had definitely been the highlight of the show. He knew, though, that the women did not come for the money. They came for the fantasy, and he had given it all to them tonight.

  He finished up his routine, collected the money and underwear off the floor, and hit the locker room.

  Babyface took the stage next, and as always, he killed his routine.

  “Does the baby need breastfeeding, is what I want to know,” a woman shouted out during his routine.

  At the end of Babyface’s routine, the same woman smacked him on his bare butt cheeks as he walked past her in his G-string. When he stopped and turned to her, she said very unapologetically, “When you’re ready for your sugar mama, you let me know. You can have anything you want.” She winked flirtatiously. The woman looked like money, with her red-bottom shoes and a ring that had to be at least five carats weighing down her finger.

  Staying true to his motto, “Never leave money on the table,” Babyface walked over to her table and kissed her on the cheek. He inhaled the sexy fragrance sprinkled about her neck. Hell, she even smelled like money. He gladly took the business card she offered him, thinking it may come in handy one day.

  Next it was show time for Casanova and El Fuego, and they showed all the way out. Those women couldn’t handle Club Eden tonight. El Fuego even worked some fire-throwing into his routine.

  All the guys were stepping their game up. If they were going down, then they were going down fighting.

  Later on, once the club was cleared of all patrons, Madam, Dime, and all the dancers were gathered in front of the bar.

  “All right,” Madam said. “Is that everybody?”

  “Yep,” Babyface answered.

  Madam reached into a box on the bar and pulled out a stack of calendars. She handed them to Babyface to pass out.

  The calendars were amazing. Amp’s picture graced the page for January. He was rocking only a pair of jeans, slung just low enough to show what he was working with. There was something about that V at the bottom of a well-defined stomach that drove women crazy. It was enough to make even the coldest month of the year feel hot, hot, hot!

  Babyface, reppin’ the month of February, was certainly going to put the women in the mood for love. The way he stretched out across the stage, resting up on his elbow with one leg bent, he was going to have the women wishing they were stretched out next to him, being fed the bowl of cherries beside him.

  All the men had done an amazing job, from Dr. Feelgood with his doctor’s jacket and nothing underneath for the month of March to Casanova holding the bouquet of flowers in the month of April, and El Fuego setting it off for the month of May, Cinco De Mayo style. The rest of the months were just as hot.

  “Make sure everybody gets one,” Madam instructed. “I have a box for each of you, and when you run out, I have more.”

  The guys were too busy looking at the calendar and not really paying much attention to Madam. They were surprised by how well the calendar had turned out. They looked like professional models.

  “Listen!” Madam spoke louder to get their undivided attention. “We need to sell all of these, so hit the streets tomorrow. Beauty salons, beauty supply stores, family, friends, whoever. Just sell them. Ten dollars each.”

  El Fuego held up the calendar, turning it sideways, admiring his own month of May photo. If he had to say so himself, the photos did his fineness complete justice. “We could easily sell this for twenty.”

  “You’re right,” Madam agreed. “But we got ten thousand calendars sitting back there, and it’s better to sell all of them at ten dollars apiece than to sell half of them for twenty.”

  “How are we doing so far on raising the money?” Casanova asked. The fellas had been putting in extra work. Hopefully it was paying off.

  Madam tightened her lips. “Good, but not good enough, so we need to turn it up. Speaking of which, I need two of you to come in the rest of the week at seven instead of ten. I have private parties and bachelorette parties booked for the rest of the week. Some of you are gonna have to double up.”

  Dr. Feelgood, El Fuego, and Casanova each raised their hands.

  “I’m cool with picking up an extra gig every day,” Dr. Feelgood said. “Due to recent developments, I could use the money. Taking care of a baby is expensive.”

  “Okay. I’ll put you on each day,” Madam said to Dr. Feelgood. “Alternate with Fuego, Cass, and Face.”

  “It’s a blessing,” Casanova said. “Thank you.” El Fuego gave Cass the side-eye for his comment but laughed nonetheless.

  “Are you going to sell the calendar here on the nights that we work?” Babyface asked.

  “You better believe it,” Madam said. “We’re going to be selling everything: photo opportunities with you guys at the end of each night, towels for the women to wipe you off with, and shirts for you to sign . . . everything.” Madam reached into another box and pulled out a stack of papers. “Also, I printed up flyers for the auction. Spread the word while you’re out there selling them calendars. We’ve got a lot to do and a short amount of time to pull this off.”

  The flyers and calendars were distributed to each of the dancers. Hopefully Casanova was praying and God was listening, Amp thought. All of their livelihoods depended on it.

  Chapter 26

  Dr. Feelgood, El Fuego, Casanova, Amp, and Babyface all sold the calendars and promoted the upcoming auction at Club Eden by passing out flyers during the day. None of them minded taking time out of their schedules outside of club hours to do so. Madam wasn’t just their boss; she had been there for the each of them at one time and in one way or another. Even though Madam wasn’t usually all up in her feelings, everyone knew she cared about her dancers, and they all appreciated it.

  When her dancers said they’d do whatever they needed to in order to save the club, Madam believed them, and not just because they were worried about losing their jobs. As fine as the each of them were and with their faithful customer fan base, they could make money anywhere doing what they did. But they had chosen her, and stuck with her even as things got rough. The loyalty went both ways. They were a family.

  Even though Amp hadn’t been part of the family for long, he still fit right in, and was just as determined as the others to help save Club Eden. He’d been out with Dime for three hours straight, handing out flyers in the hot Cali sun.

  “You been kind of quiet today. You all right?” Dime asked Amp as they pulled up to a red light.

  He answered with one syllable: “Yeah.”

  She turned to look at him. “That’s it? Just ‘yeah’? What’s going on with you, Amp?”

  He hesitated for a moment, but then dug out his wallet, pulled a piece of paper from it, and said, “I need a favor. I need you to take me here, please.” Amp handed Dime the paper, where he’d written an address. He’d been quiet all day because he was trying to gather his courage to go there and do what he’d been meaning to do for so long. So far, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go, but in this instant, something told him that if he didn’t do it now, he might never follow through.

  Dime looked down at the address. “You mind if I ask what this is about?”

  “Look, you help me do this first; I’ll tell you anything you want to know after.”

  Dime gave him the side-eye.
/>   “I promise,” Amp told her. “But we have to do this today, now, before I change my mind.” If he talked to Dime about this any further, Amp could just as easily talk himself right out of it. He appreciated her doing this for him and he owed her an explanation, but right now he just wanted to do it before his nerves got the best of him.

  Dime looked at the piece of paper, then back at Amp. “Okay.” She didn’t press.

  Twenty minutes later, Dime spotted the address just as she was passing it. She pulled over and parked her car in front of the neighboring house.

  “I’ll be back,” Amp said, opening the car door.

  “Who lives here?” Dime asked, looking back over her shoulder at the house.

  “I’ll tell you everything when I get back,” Amp reiterated.

  Making his way up the walkway, Amp knocked on the front door of the small, modest-looking but nicely kept house. No one answered for a few seconds, so he raised his fist to knock again. He heard someone call out from the other side of the door.

  “Come in.”

  Amp apprehensively opened the door and walked in, stopping a few feet inside the house. He didn’t see anybody around. Clearing his throat, he announced, “I’m looking for Mrs. Patrice Ellis.”

  A short, happy-looking older woman came bouncing around the corner. She was wearing an apron and drying her hands with a dishtowel, as if she’d been busy in the kitchen. “I’m Patrice Ellis. How can I . . .” Patrice’s words trailed off and she froze in her tracks. Her smile was instantly replaced by a look of anger and hurt.

  “Mrs. Ellis, I—” Amp couldn’t even get his words out before the woman’s hand connected sharply with his face, leaving a stinging aftermath on his cheek. Amp’s eyes began to water, not because he was in pain. His eyes watered with shame and regret.

  “No!” Patrice whispered, horrified.

  “Wanted to say I’m sor—” Once again, Patrice stopped his sentence by slapping him. Amp didn’t budge.