“Do you want me to stay during your shift?” Patra said. “I can if you want.”
“Nah, I’m cool. I’ll see you at the apartment later.”
“All right, have a good night.”
“Thanks, Patra.”
Patra left and Keisha sat by herself, trying to figure out what was happening. She was happy to get the weekends, but how had it happened? She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Why aren’t you out onstage?” Sean yelled, poking his head through the dressing room door. “You were supposed to be ready to go on two minutes ago.”
“Why did you tell Debra that I took her days?” Keisha asked.
“ ’Cause you did. You wanted them and now you’ve got them,” Sean answered. “So what are you bitching for? Now get out there and shake your ass.”
Keisha looked at Sean and made her way to the stage.
Chapter 10
The concept of romantic love affords a means of emotional manipulation, which the male is free to exploit, since love is the only circumstance in which the female is (ideologically) pardoned for sexual activity.
—Kate Millet
Weeks had passed since Debra and Keisha had had their confrontation, and at this point, Keisha didn’t care. She was making money hand over fist working weekends as a feature dancer, and that was going to help her pay for UCLA and get out of Patra’s apartment.
The month was now up, but Patra realized that she liked Keisha being around.
“Look, you can stay in the apartment as long as you want,” Patra told her. “I don’t know why, but I like having your ashy ass around.”
And something else had happened. The pervert pit was starting to request her. Before, she’d simply been another dancer. Now she was a star attraction. And now that her issue of Pimp was out and she had made the cover, things were looking up.
“Girl, I didn’t know you were going to be on the cover,” Patra said, thumbing through the magazine. “And damn, you did show it all.”
“Well, fuck, if I’m going to do it, I might as well go all the way,” Keisha said, laughing.
“That you did,” Patra said, still looking at the magazine. “Do you know how the issue is selling?”
“I got a message from Steven, asking me to call him today. Maybe I can find out then, but I’m not sweating it. I got paid, and that’s all I care about.”
“Well, let me know if they have five hundred for me, because I have no problem posing in the magazine. It beats shaking my ass.”
Keisha looked at Patra for a second. She’d told her that she would not ask questions when she moved in, but one thing was bothering her, and she didn’t know how to broach the subject without just being real with Patra.
“Patra, will you get mad if I ask you a question?” Keisha asked.
“Naw, I won’t get mad,” Patra said, putting down the magazine. “At least I don’t think so. What’s up?”
“Are you fucking for money?”
Patra sat down on the couch and stared at Keisha.
“Are you trying to judge me? I told you when you got here that I didn’t want you to judge me.”
“I’m not trying to judge you,” Keisha responded. “I just wanted to know.”
“Keisha, we all fuck for money,” Patra said, looking out the window. “It’s just that my fucking is a little bit more direct. I fuck, I get the money. It’s pretty simple. Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Not unless they try to get at me,” Keisha said. “This is your life and we all do what we have to do.”
“See, you’ve got to understand that you have something else you can do besides shakin’ your ass, or taking naked pictures,” Patra said, putting down the magazine. “You’re going to move out of here, start at UCLA, and make a life for yourself. I think I did my homework twice in high school. I want the same thing you want, but now I’m paying the price. So yeah, I fuck these men and then take their money. Better fuck them than to have them fuck me.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Keisha said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Don’t be sorry, just be grateful you have options.”
“You would be surprised at how much we’re alike, Patra,” Keisha said wistfully. “Opportunities are just figments of our imagination until they’re realized. And both of ours aren’t realized, so we do what we have to do.”
“That’s some deep shit, Keisha,” Patra said, smiling. “What do you want to study at UCLA?”
“Women’s studies. I want to get bitches like us out of this situation. Fuck depending on men.”
“Good luck, girl, because right now, it seems like the men are the ones with the cash, and the women dance for them.”
Keisha’s cell phone rang. It was Steven.
“Keisha, how are you? Did you get the magazine I sent?” Steven asked.
“Yes, I got it. I didn’t know that I’d be on the cover.”
“Well, we always put the woman who we think is the most beautiful on the cover, and you are definitely the most beautiful.”
The flattery, despite Keisha’s intuition, was getting to her. She liked hearing Steven’s compliments, and it felt like she was getting support from someone who cared for her.
“I know I’m not the most beautiful woman in Pimp, but thank you.”
“You underestimate yourself,” Steven said. “Your issue is selling so well that we’d like to have you come back in for another shoot. This time, we’d like to pay you one thousand dollars for the shoot.”
“One thousand dollars?” Keisha repeated. “You want to pay me one thousand dollars to do another shoot?”
“You heard right. But there’s one stipulation,” Steven said.
“What’s that?”
“You’ve got to go to dinner with me.”
Keisha paused. She knew Steven was trying to make his move, and she hadn’t decided if she was going to fuck him yet. But she could use a nice dinner.
“Are you talking about some Jack in the Box shit? ’Cause I can do that myself,” Keisha said.
“Keisha, now do you think the publisher of a major magazine would take you to some shit like Jack in the Box? I mean, El Pollo Loco, I could see, but some Jack in the Box is out of the question.”
Keisha giggled. “Okay, so we’re not going to Jack in the Box. Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just wear something nice and I’ll take care of everything.”
“Cool. When are we going to dinner?”
“Tomorrow.”
“But tomorrow is Saturday and I work tomorrow night. Sean’s not going to—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of Sean. Just be ready at eight.”
“Okay, I’ll be ready.”
Keisha hung up the phone. “So he wants to take me out to dinner.”
“Darling, that dinner ain’t gonna be free,” Patra said, walking toward her room. “Remember what I said about fucking? Just remember to fuck him and don’t let him fuck you.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Keisha said, plopping down on the couch. “If I wanted to let somebody fuck me, I wouldn’t be living in your apartment. There’s no one, and I mean no one, that I care about more than me. I make my own decisions, and when folks think they’re playing me, I’m playing them.”
“My girl,” Patra said. She closed her door, and Keisha turned on the television.
For some reason, Keisha was nervous getting ready for Steven, and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been out on a real date since breaking up with her old boyfriend Donovan, and even then, his cheap ass had only taken her to Fat-burger. But this was a real date, and she was nervous.
“What time is he supposed to get here?” Patra asked. She was taking Keisha’s spot for the night and was getting dressed to go to the Chi Chi Room.
“Eight.” Keisha had decided to wear a short black skirt with a black top. The skirt was short-short, and the top was small-small, but st
ill presentable. She didn’t know where they were going, but she knew she looked good. She just hoped that they weren’t riding on his bike.
The apartment door buzzer startled them both. “Do you want me to leave before he comes up?” Patra asked.
“Nah, you can stay,” Keisha said, walking to the intercom. “Who is it?”
“It’s Steven.”
“Okay, I’ll buzz you up.” Keisha pressed a button and the downstairs door released. Meanwhile, Patra walked into her room and then came back into the living room with a black bag.
“Here, take this,” she said, handing the bag to Keisha. “It goes well with your outfit.”
Keisha was touched. She’d grown close to Patra over the past few months, and this was one of those moments that told her they were going to be friends for a long time.
There was a knock on the door, and Keisha walked to it. She straightened herself first and then looked through the peephole. It was Steven, and he was carrying flowers.
“Hello, Steven,” Keisha said as she opened the door.
Steven smiled.
“Hello, Keisha. You look beautiful. These are for you,” he said, handing her the flowers and walking into the room.
“Thanks,” Keisha said. She turned to Patra. “Steven, this is my roommate, Patra.”
“Hello, Patra,” Steven said. “You dance at the Chi Chi Room too, right?”
“Yeah, I do. And now I’ve got to get my ass down there,” she said, grabbing her bag to leave.
“Oh, before you go,” Keisha added, “I wanted to tell Steven that you were interested in posing for Pimp.”
“You are?” Steven asked.
“Yeah, for five hundred dollars, I could definitely do it.”
“All right, then come down to the photo shoot when Keisha comes in. We’ll hook you up.”
Patra smiled. “Cool. I’ll be there. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Patra left, giving Keisha a final sly grin.
“Just give me a second and I’ll be ready to go,” Keisha said, walking to the bathroom.
“Take your time,” he said from the living room. He looked around the living room, trying to get a fix on who Keisha was. But all he saw was Patra’s stuff. He wasn’t getting anything about Keisha. She was still a blank slate. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
“We’re not going on your bike, are we?” Keisha called out.
“No, I brought my car, so you’re good.”
Keisha walked out of the bathroom and back into the living room. She was ready to go.
“Good, because I wasn’t about to get on the back of that thing. Let’s head out.”
“After you,” Steven said, opening the door.
As they stood in the elevator, Keisha began wondering what Steven was up to. Sure, he wanted to fuck her, but that was what every date was about. But what else? Why was he taking a stripper out to a nice dinner when he probably could have his fill of whomever he wanted?
“We’re over to the left,” he said as they entered the parking lot. “I have the yellow car.” The yellow car was a yellow Ferrari.
Keisha was beginning to like hanging with Steven. The brother’s got style, she thought. I’ll give him that.
With a click from his keypad, the door automatically opened and Keisha slid in. Steven closed her door with a loud thump, walked around the back of the car, opened the door, and took his seat. The seats were made of soft, butternut-colored leather, and the smell was exquisite. Steven turned the key to the ignition, and the Ferrari roared to life. And when he pulled out of the parking lot, Keisha found herself plastered to the seat. The speed of the car was unimaginable. She’d never gone so fast in a car.
“How do you get a car like this?” Keisha shouted over the engine. Steven was roaring through traffic like a madman.
“By working hard and hustling, baby,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m a hustler like no one else. I expect to win in everything I do and I make sure I win by hustling. And when you do that, you get cars like this.”
They turned on the Marina Freeway, and for some reason, the traffic was light. Steven looked at Keisha. “Hold on. I’m about to really go fast!” And with that, Steven pressed the accelerator to the floor.
“Do you feel that?” Steven yelled, as the speedometer approached one hundred miles per hour.
“Yes!”
“There’s no substitute for speed, baby!”
The speedometer moved from one hundred miles per hour to 110 and then 120. Finally Steven started braking, and Keisha began to relax.
“I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said with a smile. “But I like going fast.”
“You didn’t scare me, not one bit,” she said, pulling down the visor to check her makeup. “And if you like going fast, then I like going faster.”
“I knew I liked you,” Steven said, smiling. He pulled off the freeway and then pulled into a mall parking lot.
“Do you like Aunt Kizzy’s?” he asked.
“I expect I will love it.”
“Good, because that’s where we’re going.”
Chapter 11
All men are tempted. There is no man that lives that can’t be broken down, provided it is the right temptation, put in the right spot.
—Henry Ward Beecher
Aunt Kizzy’s was the premier black restaurant in Los Angeles. As they sat down, Keisha licked her lips in anticipation of the meal.
“So tell me something about yourself, Keisha,” Steven said as he put his napkin on his lap. “The only thing I know about you is that you dance at the Chi Chi Room, take great pictures for my magazine, and look stunning in a black skirt. But I can look in your eyes and tell that there’s more to you than that.”
Keisha leaned back in her seat and looked at Steven. “And if I had to analyze you, I’d say that you’re a guy who likes fast money, fast cars, and fast women. As you said in the car, you’re someone who likes to win, so you don’t hang around losers. Am I right, or is there something more that I should know about?”
“Touché,” Steven said, smiling. “I guess I haven’t been as forthcoming as I could be. But isn’t that what first dates are all about?”
“So that’s what this is all about? We’re on a date?” Keisha asked.
“What else would we call it? You’re a woman, and I’m a man. We’re about to eat dinner. I call that a date.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said. The waiter took their orders, and Keisha smiled.
“You start,” Keisha said.
“Start what?”
“Start telling me about yourself. Then I’ll go.”
Steven took a sip from his drink. “Okay, here goes. I used to be a lawyer at a firm called Ketchings and Martin. Did a hella boring shit like litigate personal injury lawsuits against big corporations. I was making okay money, but I wanted something more. Then I got into a fight with this other lawyer at the firm, so they fired me. I found myself blackballed by law firms throughout L.A. when I tried to find another job. That was cool, but all of a sudden I needed some loot. So I’m looking at various investments and I found out that Pimp magazine was up for sale. I took a look at the books and decided to buy it. The rest is history.”
“Are you stopping with Pimp, or are you going to do more?” Keisha asked.
“Oh, I’ve got plans. Lots of plans. And some of those plans may have you in mind.”
“If you pay well, I may be down for it.”
The waiter brought their dinner. “So now it’s your turn,” Steven said, picking up his fork.
“Okay,” Keisha said. “I was born and raised here in Los Angeles. I have a brother and a mother I don’t like and don’t see, and a father that cut out without a word. I dance at the Chi Chi Room to make money. I like money and I need money. And I got into UCLA.”
Steven stopped eating. “You got admitted into UCLA?”
“Surprised?”
“No, I wouldn’t say surprised, but I guess
I’m more surprised that you’re dancing.”
“You’d be surprised at how many girls dance at night and then go to Cal State Northridge or USC during the day. Where else can you make the money we make—working as a cashier at Wal-Mart?”
“You’ve got a point,” Steven said, eating his chicken.
“So we’ve got the preliminaries done. Why did you decide to bring me here?” Keisha asked, looking directly at Steven.
“I just want to have a nice meal with a beautiful woman. Why do I have to have an ulter”—He stopped and put down his fork. “Okay, my grandfather always said that you can’t bullshit a bullshitter, so I won’t try.”
“Good, because I was going to call you on it.”
“I’m a businessman, and like I said, I have big things planned for Pimp. And you are in those plans,” Steven said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m willing to make an investment in you. In fact, I already have.”
“Pardon me?” Keisha asked.
“You’ve been working weekends lately, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“How do you think you got those weekends?”
Keisha paused from chewing her food. “I thought Sean made the decision to do that? I mean, I’d asked him to—”
“Sean did what I told him,” Steven said. “He couldn’t give a shit about who works on weekends and who doesn’t. He looks at you girls as interchangeable. I don’t think he really even knows your names.”
Steven went back to eating.
“So I’ll bite. Why did you get me changed from weekdays to weekends in the first place?” Keisha asked. “And by the way, that caused a whole bunch of shit with Debra because I took her days.”
“Debra was getting old and she knew the writing was on the wall anyway. The men who come to see her don’t give a shit if she’s dancing on Tuesday or Saturday. They ain’t got shit to do anyway. But you, you’re a star. And as a star, you need to be profiled.”
“But you still haven’t told me why you give a shit,” Keisha said, finishing her meal. “What does me shaking my ass on a Saturday have to do with you?”
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