Skin Game

by Lawrence C. Ross

  “So how are the cuts coming, Mario?” Steven asked, standing over his video editor. He was eating a sandwich. Steven wanted to get Keisha’s video out and in the stores in two weeks—it was going to be a quick turnaround—and then check the results to see if it was selling.

  “They’re coming well,” Mario said. “Your girl Keisha is raw, but she’s pretty hot.” Mario was in front of a computer, where he watched a loop of Keisha and Bruce having sex.

  “I want you to loop that so the scene lasts about ten minutes,” Steven said. “She is really taking it from Bruce, and Bruce is no joke.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Mario said, tapping on the keys. “I can stretch it out to about seven minutes without the average viewer knowing that it’s looping. I’ve got a lot of face reaction shots, and then I’ve got a lot of pussy and dick shots. So we’re good to go.”

  Mario clicked his mouse over a frame on the computer, and a loop of Keisha’s face was put on the screen. She was bent down on her knees so that her face was on the ground. Her mouth was open, and she was breathing heavily.

  “Ain’t it great that with sex, you don’t know if it is pain or pleasure if you just look at the face?” Steven laughed.

  “I honestly can’t tell,” Mario said, smiling. “But I’ll take her natural moans, add some stock ones, and the viewer will think that Bruce’s dick is made of fucking gold.”

  “Do it,” Steven said. “I want to get this thing turned around by the end of the week, and in packages by the next. It’ll be in stores by the end of the month, and finally, Pimp Video will be in the stores.”

  “Keisha’s a winner, Steven,” Mario said, again cutting and pasting on the computer. “She’s going to move videos. I hope you have her locked up for more movies.”

  “No problem,” Steven said, finishing his sandwich. “Strippers strip and then they go into porn. It’s a natural progression and there ain’t a damn thing they can do about it. I talked to my friend over at Gonzo Video, and he told me that if I can get a bitch—and he meant a really good bitch—then we could make millions. Then other bitches just like her will be lining up to be like her. Keisha is my really good bitch. And I’ll keep paying her just enough so that she can’t do a damn thing else.”

  “Yeah, where can you get the money in a day that you can get in porn?” Mario asked, laughing. “Working at the post office? I don’t think so.”

  “Exactly,” Steven said, turning to leave. “I always wanted to be a pimp, and I guess that’s why I named my business that.”

  “Better to be the pimp than the bitch,” Mario said, as Steven left.

  “True dat,” Steven said. “True dat.”

  Chapter 20

  The true secret of giving advice is, after you have honestly given it, to be perfectly indifferent whether it is taken or not, and never persist in trying to set people right.

  —Hannah Whitall Smith

  It was three in the morning when Keisha woke up. UCLA awaited her, but right now, all she wanted was a simple buzz. She lit a joint and thought about the evening. She had thoughts, all kinds of thoughts, running through her head, but she couldn’t deal with them herself. She could hear Patra sleeping in the bedroom, so she was out. There was one other person she could talk to, but could she bring herself to call?

  She picked up her cell phone and dialed.

  “Who is this?” the voice on the line answered.

  “It’s Keisha.”

  “Keisha, what are you doing?”

  “Donovan, I need to talk to someone who knows me,” Keisha said. “I’ve had a different day and I need to make sense of it. But can I ask you to do one thing?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t judge me.”

  “Well, you know, that tells me you did something you know I won’t like, and, therefore, it’s probably not going to be possible to not judge you. I can listen to you, though.”

  Keisha paused. “Okay, then just listen. I did a porn video today, and I feel like shit.”

  “Okay,” he responded.

  “ Okay’ is all you can say? Just, ‘okay’?”

  “Come on now, Keisha, you were dancing at a titty bar. Do you really think that getting into porn is that big of a leap?”

  “I knew you’d judge me,” she said, about to hang up.

  “Wait,” he said. “I didn’t judge you. I simply made an observation. Look, I dealt drugs for years, so how in the hell can I judge you? But there are some things I know. If you sell weed, you’re going to end up selling some crack, and then you’re going to jail. And if you dance at a titty bar, you’re going to find yourself doing some type of porn or magazine. So that’s what I was talking about. So why do you feel like shit?”

  “Because I wasn’t in control. It was the first time I’ve had sex where I didn’t feel in control.”

  “So how come you didn’t just get up and leave?”

  “Because I needed the money,” she said. “I needed the money for school and for an apartment of my own.”

  “There were other ways to get that money, so you made a choice.”

  “But what happens if I need the money now? I start school today.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “UCLA. Look, why don’t you just put it out of your mind and never do it again?”

  “But I can’t forget it,” she said. “I can’t get the sounds and the sights out of my brain, and I can’t believe that someone is going to buy a video, seeing me have sex. I can’t take that back, and that’s what is making me feel like shit.”

  “Then we’re in the same situation,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every time I look out the window,” he said, “I see the results of my work. And it haunts me. Crackheads, constantly looking for that next hit, keep coming up to me, looking for drugs. You know how it makes me feel to know that I started many of them on their path of destruction? But I got up one day and said that I had to make a change. And that’s the same thing you have to do.”

  “Why did you change?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” he said. “I was lying in my bed one night, after having just sold about a thousand dollars’ worth of crack, but I wasn’t happy. I had a dealer on my ass, threatening to kill me. And you know where all of my boys are right now.”

  “Yeah, dead, in jail, or on their way to both.”

  “And then I lost you over some stupid shit. So I just started thinking. Why the fuck am I doing this shit? What is the point? I’m hustling, and my community hates me. My family hates me. And it’s not like I’m fucking making enough money to get out of my mother’s house. So I kept thinking, and realized that I was busy feeling sorry for myself, instead of putting myself in control. So I started taking steps.”

  “Going to church?”

  “Naw, that came later. The first step I took was to write out who I was right then and there, and what I really wanted to be. And most important, I made sure to understand that I was who I was, and I could also determine who I was going to be. But wishing on that shit wasn’t going to make that happen. So let me ask you a question. Are you a stripper and into porn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that what you want to be tomorrow?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then take steps. Take steps for yourself and don’t worry about what others think.”

  Keisha was silent for a second.

  “You there?” Donovan asked.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to say—”

  Donovan stopped her. “Don’t worry about it. Just get to where you want to go, and then call me when you get there. We’ll have some really good stories to tell.”

  “That’s a promise,” Keisha said.

  Keisha hung up the phone and walked over to the desk. She took out a pad of paper and started writing down who she was, and what she wanted to be. Despite the fact that she’d gotten into UCLA, she didn’t really know why sh
e wanted to go there. She just knew that her mentor had told her that she needed to go there, and she wanted to be just like her. But what did she want out of life? Who was she really? That’s what Keisha needed to find out, explore, and then come to grips with. It would be only then that she’d be strong enough to succeed.

  “Keisha,” Patra said, shaking a sleeping Keisha. “Keisha, get up. Don’t you have to go to school today?”

  “Oh shit,” Keisha said sleepily. “Fuck, what time is it?”

  “It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” she said.

  “Shit,” Keisha said, rising. “I have my first class at nine o’clock. I gotta get going!”

  Keisha walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  “Just get showered and I’ll run you to class,” Patra yelled from the living room.

  “Thanks!” Keisha said, as she scrubbed away. She rinsed off and then turned off the water. “Patra, do me a favor and pull out my black jeans and put them on the couch.”

  Keisha dried off and then ran into the living room. Patra sat in a chair and watched as Keisha put on her clothes.

  “Do you need me to pick you up?” Patra asked.

  “No, I’m going directly from my apartment to the club,” Keisha said, pulling on a T-shirt. “For some reason, Sean scheduled me for today. It’s like I’ve been up for seventy-two hours straight. But today I should be cool. All I have to do is pay for my registration, get my classes, go to the bank, and then drop off my deposit at my apartment.”

  Keisha put on the rest of her clothes and they ran out of Patra’s apartment. As Patra got ready to start the car, she suddenly stopped and looked at Keisha.

  “I just thought of something,” she said, smiling.

  “What?”

  “Well, the cliché is that strippers are only stripping because they are working their way through college.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, you really are working your way through college,” Patra said. “I just think that’s funny.”

  Keisha smiled. “I’m glad that I can break the stereotype.”

  Patra started up the car. “Yeah, you’re the Rosa Parks of strippers.”

  As Patra drove through Los Angeles, Keisha thought about the changes she was going to make, and the problems she had to face.

  Head-on, she thought. I’m going to face everything head-on.

  Patra got off the 405 Freeway and turned onto Wilshire.

  “Excited?”

  “Yeah,” Keisha said. “It took me a long time to get here, and I can’t believe that I’m actually here.”

  Finally, Patra reached the campus. “Here we are,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Keisha said, gathering her bag and opening the door.

  “Hey,” Patra said. “Do your best. I wish I was going to school along with you.”

  “You know, it’s never too late,” Keisha said, smiling. “You can always go back to school.”

  “Nah,” Patra said, turning back to the steering wheel. “Some folks are cut out to go to school and others are cut out for stripping. You’re a student. And I’m a stripper. And nothing is going to change that fact. Go get to class.”

  Keisha slammed the door closed, and Patra drove away slowly. Keisha turned and looked out at the campus. Unlike during the summer, it seemed like every space on campus was filled with students. And other than herself, she didn’t see any other black people around. This is going to be interesting, she thought.

  “Keisha!”

  The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but as Keisha searched for it, she couldn’t find it.

  “Keisha!” the voice yelled out. And then she saw him. It was Donovan, sitting on the steps of the student union.

  Keisha walked over to Donovan, who was dressed casually in jeans and a Lakers jersey. He didn’t look much different than the other students, except that he had a do-rag on his head.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked. She gave him a hug, something she hadn’t done in months, because she was genuinely glad to see him.

  “I thought about what you were talking about last night, and I thought you needed a little support. Look, I’m not here to embarrass you or anything like that. I just want to say that I’m rooting for you.”

  “Thanks,” Keisha said.

  “All right, I’ve got to get out of here. Give me a call sometime.”

  “I just might do that.”

  Donovan started walking off campus, then turned around, looking at Keisha. “See ya later, alligator.”

  Keisha smiled. It’s what they’d said to each other as sixth-graders, and it was enough for them to go together from that point on.

  “In a while, crocodile.”

  Donovan turned and began running off campus. Keisha watched him until he disappeared. She then turned back toward the campus.

  “Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s go do this shit.”

  Chapter 21

  Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you’re really strangers.

  —Mary Tyler Moore

  “Can I help you?” Blackie said, stopping the older woman from entering. The Chi Chi Room was bursting with people, even with it being a Monday. From what he heard, there’d been a big drug deal between the Bloods and the Mexican gangs, and now all of the black gangsters were coming to the Chi Chi Room to celebrate.

  “I don’t know. Can you?” she asked. She looked vaguely familiar to Blackie, even though he knew he hadn’t met her before.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “My daughter,” she said. “I’m waiting for Keisha Montez.”

  Blackie smiled and looked closely at the woman. “And your name is?”

  “Veronica Montez.”

  “Wait here.”

  Blackie walked back into the club. Patra was on the stage, and the men were going wild.

  “Bitch, shake that goddamn ass!”

  She put her ass on the pole and then began making it pop, which seemed to put the pervert pit into a frenzy. Blackie ignored all that and walked up the stairs to Sean’s office. Sean was sitting behind the desk. On the television was a porno, and he was staring intently at it.

  “Yeah? What?”

  “I got somebody at the front door who’s waiting for Keisha.”

  “Whatever, man,” he said, not taking his eyes off the television. “Tell him that the dancers are not allowed to talk to the customers. The last shit I need is some muthafuckin’ police officer saying that we’re pimping out the girls.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Blackie said. “This ain’t a dude. It’s Keisha’s mother.”

  “Keisha’s Veronica?” Sean asked, finally turning from the television. “Veronica?”

  “You know her?” Blackie asked.

  Sean got up from the desk and breezed past Blackie. “Do I know her? Yeah, you could say that. She used to babysit me between going onstage. She was my dad’s favorite dancer. And—”

  Sean stopped and turned to Blackie. “I lost my virginity to her. And it was goooood! I hated when she just up and quit one day. No explanation. Just gone!”

  They both sprang down the stairs, with Sean making it to the front door first.

  “Veronica,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t come here for you,” she said. “I came here for Keisha. Where is she?”

  “No hello? No hug?” Sean said, smiling. “I mean, we have history.”

  “History?” Veronica said, smiling wryly. “If we have history, then I don’t remember it, because it wasn’t memorable.”

  Sean’s smile slowly left his face. “She ain’t here. If you want to wait for her, then it’s going to cost you ten dollars. Ain’t nobody getting a free ride. You should know that, Veronica, even if your memory is slipping in your old age.”

  Veronica reached into her bra and took out a twenty-dollar bill. She handed the bill to Blackie, who then gave her change.

&nb
sp; “Get the fuck out of my way,” she said to Sean.

  “You’re buying your own drinks,” Sean said, as she walked by. “I’ll make sure of that shit.”

  Veronica sat down at the bar and took a look around. The place hadn’t changed much since she’d danced at the Chi Chi Room before Keisha was born. In fact, Keisha didn’t even know she’d danced there. But she’d know tonight.

  “Is that you, Veronica?” Debra was going on after Patra and had seen Veronica as she walked past.

  Veronica turned.

  “Debra?” she asked, slowly recognizing a face from her past.

  Debra walked slowly to the bar, not knowing where she stood with Veronica. It hadn’t been a good relationship the last time she’d seen her.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” She sat down at the bar and pulled out a cigarette. She offered one to Veronica, who took it.

  “What are you still doing here dancing?” Veronica asked, lighting her cigarette, then lighting Debra’s.

  “You need to put those cigarettes out,” Blackie yelled.

  “Fuck you,” Debra said, turning back to the bar. “Yeah, I’m still here, but I’m pretty sure that I’m in my last days. Shit’s starting to get loose, I’m getting old, and niggas are getting younger. That’s when it’s time to get the fuck off the stage.”

  “Don’t I know that,” Veronica said. “You moved my black ass off the stage when my shit got flabby.”

  “See, that’s how these muthafuckas work. They split us apart,” Debra said, puffing on her cigarette. “I tried to tell you before you left that I had nothing to do with pushing you off the stage. That was Sean. Sean took over for his old man and said that he was moving me to the weekends, and you were cool with it. I didn’t know you weren’t until you went off on me and then left. I owed you. I was a dumb fucking eighteen-year-old, and you took me under your wing. I never forgot that.”

  “Ah, I don’t fault you,” Veronica said, taking a final draft on her cigarette. “Bitches get the shaft from these muthafuckas. Look at them.”

  She pointed to the men who were going wild over Patra, who was about to finish her set.