by Aya De León
“Should I break up with him?” Tyesha asked.
“I can’t answer that,” her mentor said. “But ask yourself this: did you come to college to try to be somebody’s NBA wife? Is that your dream? Because these athletes have big careers that are very high maintenance.”
Tyesha shook her head. She hadn’t come for that. She wasn’t ready to break up with him, but finals were coming up, and she needed to keep up her GPA. She began to duck him with the excuse that she needed to prepare for her exams. She continued to hide out with her roommate in the science library and studied her ass off.
The day after her last final, she slept for twelve hours, then woke and packed up all her stuff. Mostly just clothes, books, papers, and some linens—the dorms provided all the furniture. She shipped nearly all of it to her mother’s house in Chicago, just kept an overnight bag and a couple of cute outfits.
She texted Tariq that she’d meet him at the game that night. They could celebrate the end of the semester afterward. Just as she was walking across campus to meet him, she got a text:
you here yet? I really need a kiss before the game. I swear, girl, you’re my good luck charm.
As she did an about face and headed to the subway, she realized she would never be able to explain it to him. He had called her that before she’d caught him with a hand on the hip of the girl in the photo. Back then, it had been cute, endearing, intimate. But now, it was just . . . belittling. She wasn’t a rabbit’s foot. She wasn’t a horseshoe or a leprechaun.
Her mentor’s words came back to her. She hadn’t come to college to be some ballplayer’s girlfriend and certainly not his personal talisman. Her aunt Lu would never approve of this foolishness. But if she saw him again, with those lips, those long, hard limbs, that charisma, she knew she would succumb. The pull of the NBA wifey would lure her off her own path. She couldn’t risk it. She walked to the subway and headed home to Chicago. Inside her chest, the ice melted.
On the train, she leaned against the window, as the elevated tracks took her back to South Shore. The fur-trimmed hood of her parka was pulled low over her face to hide her crying.
She never saw Tariq again—not even on TV, as he didn’t make it to the NBA. She dropped out of Northwestern and applied to transfer to Columbia.
* * *
The first time Tyesha arrived in New York, it was at Port Authority, on a Greyhound bus. She had struggled to take her rolling suitcase and her oversize backpack to the subway and gotten on the wrong train. By the end of the day, she had hauled all of her possessions up and down six flights of subway stairs before she arrived at her Columbia dorm.
But she had arrived in New York with a firm sense of who she was. Tyesha Couvillier, daughter of Monique Couvillier, niece of Lucille Couvillier. No known father.
This time, she arrived from Chicago in Manhattan on a plane. But with the revelations in her life, it was as if she never quite landed. Neither the car service she took from the airport nor the familiarity of the city landscape could keep her from feeling that she was even more lost than that girl on the wrong subway train to Columbia.
She came in late and wandered past Deza and Amaru sleeping on the couch. By the time she woke up mid-morning, the apartment was empty. Still dazed, Tyesha made her way to work on the subway without even paying attention. Everything felt strange and different, even as everything was familiar and mundane.
When she got to the clinic, Lily was waiting for her.
“Oh, my god, is everybody okay?” Lily asked. “Serena said you had a family emergency.”
“They’re fine,” Tyesha said. “What’s been going on?”
“Teddy threw that mobster’s nephew outta the club,” Lily said. “And now he turned up dead in the river.”
“What?” Tyesha said. “When?”
“Yesterday morning,” Lily said. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard. It’s been all over the local news.”
Tyesha realized she had passed dozens of newspapers on the subway with “River Murder,” “Stripper Harasser,” and “Mob Connections” headlines, but they hadn’t even registered.
Lily spent ten more minutes explaining all about her union plans. But Tyesha couldn’t take any of it in.
That afternoon, Tyesha had a visitor who wasn’t on the schedule. Serena usually called on the intercom, but this time she knocked on the door.
“A pair of gentlemen to see you. The older man calls himself Zeus,” she said. “Should I show them in?”
Tyesha’s mouth contracted into a tight circle. “Show Zeus in. Tell his associate to wait outside. And keep an eye on him.”
* * *
Zeus walked into her office and took it in. The leather and dark wood furniture, the expensive carpet, the upscale décor.
“You done good for yourself, baby girl,” he said.
Tyesha wasn’t sure if she liked the intimate nickname or not. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
“You heard about that murder?” he asked. “Ukrainian mob?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“I hear they got some beef with you, or with your clinic,” he said. “I got separate beef with them, but I wanna make sure you’re protected, I mean, now that I know you’re my daughter.”
“That’s really kind of you to offer, but—”
“I’m headed back to Chicago after I wrap up my business here,” he said. “But Reagan could stay behind as a bodyguard. Just temporarily, of course. Til everything calms down.”
“I don’t particularly care for Reagan. I would feel safer with him at a good distance,” she said.
Zeus chuckled. “I know the womenfolk don’t like him,” he said. “He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s loyal. And he would do anything for me.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Tyesha said.
“Maybe Reagan isn’t the one for the job,” Zeus said. “But I have my ways. Now that we’re family, your safety is my business.”
Tyesha shrugged. “If you say so.”
He stood. For a moment, she wondered if they were supposed to hug now. But he just nodded a good-bye and walked into the outer office.
Watching him walk out, she saw another reason she had never caught on to their resemblance. His tall, slender stature had thrown her off. He was well over six feet, while she was short like her mother. But then, so was Deza. Amaru and her brothers had gotten his height.
A moment later, she walked out to ask Serena a question, and Reagan was still lurking behind. He was staring at the door of her office, his face screwed into a grimace of hostility, almost rage.
The moment he saw her, his face transformed into a leer. “What a shame,” he said. “I’d be glad to guard your body anytime.”
“Serena,” Tyesha said. “Please call security.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I’m leaving with Zeus.”
He had on his creepy smile, but she couldn’t shake the memory of that hateful look. She had seen that look once before, flying out of a client’s apartment, running for her life.
* * *
He wasn’t really her client. He was a guy Lily knew. They didn’t use the word “client” then. Lily would say, “I fuck him for money when I get really broke.”
Tyesha had met Lily met when they were waitresses at a bar near Columbia. After about three months, Lily said she could make much better tips at a club downtown. Skimpier outfits, and strippers in some of the rooms, but everyone got paid more. After a while at the strip club, Lily mentioned that she sometimes had sex with guys for money—discreetly, guys she knew. Tyesha thought it seemed kind of exciting—something you see on TV or in a movie.
One night Lily brought her regular client and his cousin into the club. Lily’s guy was a little rough, but the cousin seemed okay. Lily said the cousin would pay a hundred dollars to have sex with Tyesha. Other than getting paid, it didn’t seem that different from a regular hookup.
A couple months later, Lily’s mother got sick, and she had to go ba
ck to Trinidad. When Lily’s regular client came around looking for her, Tyesha told him she was gone.
“Well, what about you?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“What?” he asked. “You’ll fuck my cousin but not me?”
“I liked your cousin,” she said.
“You like two hundred dollars?” he asked.
She did, but she needed more to make it worth her while, especially with the term starting. Unlike his cousin, he was certainly not someone she would have fucked for free.
“I like three hundred dollars,” she said.
“Okay.”
Tyesha would get off work in about half an hour. He sat at the bar and drank and watched her work. She felt a little bit like prey.
On the way to his apartment, she stopped by the drugstore for condoms and lube. First they argued about condoms in the cab.
“For three hundred, I expect to go raw,” he said.
“Look,” Tyesha said, “I don’t know what arrangement you had with Lily, but you need to wear a condom if we’re gonna do this.”
Grudgingly, he assented, as they made their way up to his shabby apartment.
The moment he closed the door, he started stripping off his clothes. No conversation, no eye contact.
She went into the grimy bathroom and disrobed, putting in some lube. Nothing was going to turn her on about this. When she came out, he didn’t even take any time to look at her body when she stretched out on the bed. He just thrust his way in and commenced pounding away.
“Women in the sex industry.” The term floated into her mind from some of her public health reading. As she lay there, bored and uncomfortable, she realized that she had definitely crossed some kind of line.
They tried several different positions; none of them seemed to do much for him. He lost his erection a few times, and she was quick to make sure the condom didn’t slip. He got his hard-on back with a lot of manual stimulation, but couldn’t seem to get off. She tried moaning a bunch, like all this mindless banging was actually doing something for her, but that didn’t help any.
Tyesha tuned back out. She thought about how she wanted to set up her schedule this semester, weighed the pros and cons of two different classes that met at the same time.
On their third switch from doggie style to missionary, she looked at the clock.
“Hey,” she said. “We been at this over an hour. I gotta get to school.”
“It’s this goddamn condom,” he said.
Tyesha was an urban studies major. She planned to get her master’s in public health, and she knew all the stats on HIV among black women. She was not about to let a strange man fuck her without a condom.
“Look,” she said, pulling back so he slid out of her, “you need to just bust a nut in the next five minutes, or you can give me my money right now.”
“Fuck that,” he said. “I ain’t giving you no three hundred dollars if I don’t get off.”
Tyesha stood up and started putting on her clothes. She realized that she’d been stupid not to get the money up front. Even if he did finish, he still might not pay her.
“You need to give me my money,” she insisted. “At least the original two hundred.”
“Bitch, I ain’t giving you shit,” he said.
She grabbed her purse and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.
“You limp dick nigga,” she yelled at his closed door.
She was storming down the staircase when he flew out of his apartment door in a rage.
She had looked up to see that same undiluted look of hate that Reagan had worn.
She fled down the stairs, but was slowed up having to struggle with the lock on the downstairs door.
He grabbed her arm and spun her around. His thick fist connected with the side of her face. Tyesha literally saw stars as her jaw broke. The impact knocked her through the open apartment door into a pair of people coming in. Tyesha shrank back against the woman who had unwittingly caught her.
The pair stared at the client, who wore only a white T-shirt. Tyesha turned and ran away, hoping the client’s lack of clothes would keep him from pursuing her. That look of hate seemed capable of anything.
Tyesha had to quit waitressing in the strip club for the next three months, while her jaw healed. The bruising was gone after a week, but her jaw was wired shut. It did not provide the glamorous image that the strip club wanted. She went back to working at her old job, where they didn’t mind if the waitresses talked through clenched teeth, as long as they were fast with the drinks and got the order right.
Two months later, her face healed, but she wasn’t interested in going back to the strip club. She was afraid the guy would come looking to hassle her.
It had comforted her immensely to know that she could avoid the client by changing jobs. Reagan, on the other hand, knew the address of her job, her home, and everyone she loved.
Tyesha blinked and watched Reagan walk away, the gray trench coat billowing a bit behind him. He looked like a cartoon villain. Father or no father, she couldn’t wait til Zeus and his shadow went back to Chicago.
Chapter 20
That evening, the community room at the clinic was filled with women in skimpy summer clothes, with high heels and brightly colored hair. The union was having its first big meeting to plan strategy.
Just as Lily was about to call the meeting to order, Hibiscus strolled in.
“Look like all crab fine dey hole,” Lily said, sucking her teeth.
Hibiscus shrugged.
“Whatever it was that changed your mind, we’re glad you made it,” said Giselle, the brown-skinned Latina.
Lily walked to the front of the room. “I’m calling this meeting to order,” she said from the podium. “We just have two pieces of business. First of all the demands. Are we agreed on the following? We want a raise. We want health benefits if we work over twenty-five hours a week. We want sick days and vacation. Overtime pay for holidays. Worker’s comp, unemployment, and health insurance. No fees for dancing. Bring back the second dressing room. Plus a retirement fund. All those in favor say aye.”
“Aye!” came the loud chorus from the room.
“All those opposed say nay.”
There wasn’t a sound.
“Any abstentions?”
After a moment of quiet, one woman said, “I’m not big on abstinence.”
The room filled with laughter, but then Lily called for them to quiet down.
“So those demands passed unanimously,” she said. “But this next issue is more controversial. The question is whether or not we want to be a union shop or an open shop. That is to say, does everyone who works there need to be part of the union? So we’ll have a discussion and then put it to a vote. Raise your hand if you have a comment or a question.”
“I don’t like anyone telling me what to do or what to join,” said a girl with blue hair and several lip piercings. “That’s why I do this type of work. I say everybody should be able to choose.”
“Hear hear,” said Hibiscus.
“I disagree,” said Tara, the white union organizer with the lotus tattoo on her chest. “The whole point of the union is unity. We need to be representing everybody.”
“I agree with the idea,” a young woman in a jumpsuit and combat boots said. “But it’s a huge move to just get a union. The owners aren’t gonna like any of this. Can we go for our unanimous demands this year and negotiate for union shop next year?”
“But if we’re not a union shop, they can hire a bunch of other dancers this year who would undermine the process for next year,” said Giselle. “Just like they hired a bunch of part-timers after they fired all the activists.”
“Then that’s part of the work,” said the girl with the blue hair. “If we get guys to put twenties in our thongs by looking irresistible, then we can also get new girls to join the union by making it irresistible. But I got guys in my family in union shops that are lazy. They don’t ev
en have to hustle for their workers’ loyalty because they have a monopoly.”
The arguments continued, and by the end, there was a decision by a slight majority to put union shop in the original demands, but be willing to take it out if there was push-back. The rest of the demands were non-negotiable. They vowed that if the owners wouldn’t meet them, they would strike.
* * *
A few days later, things had almost returned to normal. Tyesha hadn’t told Deza and Amaru about the DNA news or that she had been to Chicago. She needed time to digest it herself. Zeus, her father? Her mama moving in on Jenisse’s man? Jenisse’s hatefulness motivated by jealousy all these years? Deza and Amaru her nieces but also her sisters?
But several nights of pizza and bad reality TV with the girls had her feeling normal again. Things were moving forward with the dancers’ union. She had even taken the number of a hot guy on the subway. Not that she was gonna call him, but it felt good to know she had options.
And then, a week after her return from Chicago, Serena said she had a visitor.
“Who is it?” Tyesha asked.
“He didn’t give a name,” Serena said. “But he looks like that rapper Thug Woofer. Except dressed casually.”
Tyesha felt a clutch in her solar plexus.
“Okay,” Tyesha said. “Send him in.”
Woof walked in, and Tyesha grudgingly admitted to herself, he looked good. He had on workout clothes and they fit him nicely.
“Didn’t this used to be Marisol’s office?” he asked, looking around at all the mahogany and black leather décor. “I distinctly remember—”
“Woof, you shouldn’t have come,” Tyesha said. “I asked you not to call me. That didn’t mean to just show up at my job instead.”
He shook his head. “I’m not here to see you,” he said. “Well, not directly. I’m here to talk about Deza. I listened to the demo and it’s—she’s amazing. I want to talk business with her. But there’s no contact info.”
Tyesha nodded. “At the time, I guess she assumed the contact would go through me.”
“It’s just as well,” Woof said. “She’s really young, so I want you to chaperone the meeting. I read about all that Car Willis stuff, and if I’m gonna have a female protégée, it needs to be completely clear to everyone in the world that I’m mentoring her and not some other crazy predator shit.”