Let That Be the Reason

by Vickie M. Stringer

  When I met her and gave her this name, I had no idea she had gone by that name before and didn’t know the story behind it. I just called her Sugar because she had such a sweet personality.

  “Sugar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dave is on his way over. He’s an hour.”

  “Thanks, Carmen.”

  Ring… ring.

  “Hello, may I help you?”

  “Carmen, it’s Sugar. Dave is here. I’ll call again.”

  “Be safe,” I instructed.

  “I will,” she assured me. I marked $75 in my ledger for my commission from Sugar.

  Ring… ring.

  “Hello, may I help you?” Listening to China’s voice, I twirled the phone cord around my finger as she began to talk.

  “C, it’s China. I have a problem.”

  “What’s wrong? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay, but my client doesn’t want to see me.”

  “Why?”

  “Guess.”

  “I don’t have time for games, China.”

  “Let’s just say our mothers are sisters.”

  “Huh? I’m not getting it. Just spit it out.”

  “I don’t have a problem seeing him, but he has a problem seeing me.”

  “Ask him if he wants someone else.”

  “C, he’s embarrassed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s my cousin.”

  “Damn! Girl, we never know who will use our service, huh? That’s so funny.”

  “Yeah, I know, and my family talks about me being on the streets, and here he goes getting some ass behind his wife’s back. Imagine that.”

  “China, keep ya head up, girl. I’ll mark off that call and get you another one. Okay?”

  “Thanks, C.”

  “Bye.”

  Ring… ring.

  “Hello, may I help you?… Yes, sir, I have a China doll. She’s beautiful… Your name is Peter? Okay, Peter, I’ll call you back.” I made the call back and then called China.

  Ring… ring.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hi, China, it’s Carmen.”

  “Hey, girl, I need some calls.”

  “Well, one’s on his way. His name is Peter.”

  “Let that be the reason. Bye.”

  Ring… ring.

  “Hello, may I help you?”

  “Carmen, he’s here.”

  “Be safe!”

  “Let that be the reason.” Click!

  I marked China for $75. I kept immaculate records. Already that day, I had made over $1,000 in commissions. This had my head all swole. I was envisioning loot stacked to the ceiling, and I liked what I saw.

  Around 4:30 p.m. I headed to all the hotels to pick up my money from the girls. At every opportunity, I made improvements. I encouraged the girls to stay at the same hotels and perhaps share rooms to split costs. When one had a session, the other excused herself. My interest and professionalism were really appreciated by the girls.

  I was shocked to find how open Columbus was to the sex market. The newspaper is vital in the sex trade, and I had no trouble placing ads. The prices were even reasonable. There was little doubt that the adult entertainment section was a big moneymaker.

  Time flies when you’re making money. Especially fast money. Even though I was making more and more money, I just wanted to save enough so that my son and I could leave Ohio. I only remained in Columbus after the breakup with the hope of returning to college and establishing some form of relationship between my son and his biological father. I soon realized it wouldn’t happen. So I just hoped for another plan. I figured I’d keep the service until something else worked out.

  Many wonder how a person becomes a criminal. We learn rules from our childhood years and our family. Then, as we get older, society becomes our family. We tend to adopt its views and perceptions of law and order.

  When a person sees that rules can be bent so easily, it’s encouraging. Newspapers fully supported me and enabled me an outlet to conduct an illegal profession, legally.

  The hotels were accommodating, to say the least. There were very few obstacles to running my service, though I can’t say that if I weren’t allowed to place ads or rent hotels, I wouldn’t have pursued this. As we all know, challenges can be used as motivation and I was a person who loved challenges.

  I had professional men as clients. The majority of them were white. Granted, our society is racist; however, in the sex game, inhibitions fade away. It’s true that the white girls made more money, perhaps because there were more white callers. But in fantasy, the forbidden is the desire. Many white men desired the dark meat just as many black men wanted the white meat. This was about fantasy, and I was determined not to be outdone.

  On Tuesday, I hired a driver, a young Ohio State University student, for weekends. He drove the girls to outcalls and delivered my commissions. I paid him $20 a call to ensure the girls’ safety. He was happy because it beat pizza delivery. Instead of delivering pizza, he delivered pussy.

  I hired a new girl who could have been Mariah Carey’s twin. I named her Ashley. She was a half-black, half-Italian young lady who was totally confused. She wanted to be accepted as Italian, but was often referred to as a dago. In the black community, the women hated her because of her beauty, and the men wanted her because of it. Feeling rejected and used, she turned to drugs.

  Her chiseled figure began with a 44 DD bustline, and included a bangin’ backside, big brown eyes, ringlet curls of light brown and full lips revealing a perfect smile. She was a big moneymaker. Men love breasts of any size, but bigger breasts were more popular, especially if they were real. Clients loved her. She easily had twenty calls a day. I extended my hours to accommodate the calls, the girls, and my pockets. In the hustlin’ game, I’d soon learn that more was never enough.

  I placed China and Ashley in the same room, which was a mistake. I didn’t know Ashley was an addict, but later found out she had a full-blown heroin addiction. So I had one girl, China, who adored crack, and another who couldn’t get enough of smack. Two addicts. They became inseparable. This was a lethal combination, but I decided to play it cool. Separating them would have been a mistake. Their common interest in getting high was stronger than any rule I could try to enforce.

  Due to their earning potential, they became my high-stakes gamble, and they were worth the risk. Neither of them had a home. Their families turned their backs on them. Or they turned their backs on their families. Depends on who is telling the story. They had misused their families so much that the ties were broken.

  My girls and I enjoyed the companionship that we shared, and in essence, we became sisters. I was like the big sister.

  On Saturday mornings I’d take the girls and my son to breakfast. We all began to form bonds and started to lean on one another. After Chino left me, I isolated myself and shut out the world. It was just my son and me. As I grew closer to the girls, I got closer to other aspects of their lifestyles, and that is when my life really began to change.

  I received a lot of calls for private parties. The businessmen would call for bachelor parties, and I’d send Ashley and China. Soon they started turning the clients on to drugs. Ashley and China had the same dope dealer, G-Money. They’d page him, and he’d bring them their love.

  One time I called the room, and he was there hanging out. I’d heard so much about him from Ashley—how he had it goin’ on and how he was fun to hang out with. G-Money also sold them hot items like clothing and jewelry. This particular day, he asked to speak to me. Reluctantly I agreed and heard a soft baritone voice come through the phone.

  “What’s up, Carmen?”

  “Hi.”

  The phone fell silent for a moment and then he continued, “When am I gonna meet you?”

  “You know that’s not possible. I don’t do dates, and I don’t spend.” I played him short ’cause I didn’t know him. Why was this nigga trying to get to know me?

  “How abou
t lunch?”

  “No.”

  “How about dinner?”

  “Nope.” I began to smile. Dude was persistent.

  “Okay, Ashley told me you like clothes. I want to show you some.”

  Damn, one of my weaknesses. You can always break a woman down with the enticement of clothes.

  “Tell me more.”

  “You got some good game, Carmen. I just want to talk to you.”

  “You are talking to me.”

  “Damn, why you so… you know what…” He began to sound irritated. “I’m just going to leave some things with Ashley. Tell me how you like them.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’d do anything for you, Carmen.”

  I could do nothing but laugh. “You know game recognize game, but seriously though, what do you want?”

  “Nothing but lunch.”

  He got another smile out of me.

  “Okay, I’ll check out what you left and see how bad you want lunch.” I hung up the phone and began to think of my next move.

  The following day, I went by to collect. G-Money had left me some very beautiful clothes worth more than three grand. I was impressed as I checked the labels, which revealed designer names. As my hands felt the soft fabric of the linens and silks, it brought back memories of Chino’s gifts. After his road trips, my bed would hold piles of leather outfits, purses, shoes and pantsuits he had purchased for me.

  Driving down Livingston Avenue, I got a page from Spice. I pulled into the Brothers Carryout, ordered a perch sandwich, a bag of Grippo Chips and a Tahitian Treat soda, then called Spice.

  “What’s up, Spice? It’s Carmen.”

  She replied in a pissed-off tone, deepening her voice and speaking loudly. “Carmen, I don’t think we should do all the fuckin’ and you collect all the money. I think—”

  I immediately cut her off. “Hold up. Wait a fucking minute.”

  She continued to try to talk. “No, I won’t wait. I—”

  “Look, Spice, I said slow your roll, boo, hold on.” I placed my cell phone in my lap in case she continued to talk ’cause I was not trying to hear it. I swallowed the bite of food I had in my mouth and sipped my drink as I began to think of how to handle this.

  Let’s see, she feelin’ herself ’cause she’s made about two thousand today, and off that two grand, I’m getting eight hundred, and she has a problem, I thought. So what are the choices? I can tell her to fuck off, or I can try to silk it, ’cause she makes money for me. Do I want to miss out on my cut of what she makes? No. At this point she’s valuable. But this disrespect shit gots to go. So I gotta flip on her.

  “Spice, okay, I understand you don’t feel it’s a fair cut. So, check this, leave me what you want me to have and then go work for someone else.”

  “Now, Carmen, I am not saying that. All I am saying is that I think you should get less because you ain’t the one fuckin’.”

  “Spice, you can have an opinion, but you came to me for a job and for clients. If you think you can do better on your own, so be it. If you don’t like how you getting treated, so be it. I hate to see ya go, but my fee is the same for all of you, and it ain’t negotiable. You pay for my clients, and you pay to be hooked up. If you don’t like my program, boo, stop ringing my phone for dates. Now I gotta go. Take care.” Click! I reversed that shit.

  I decided not to go get the money or send her any calls for a while. She’d think about what I had said. I’m sure she was thinking, Can I get the same amount of dates without Carmen? Can I make two grand a day, almost every day, without Carmen? And if Carmen can afford to let go of eight hundred, then she getting money, and plenty of it. I decided she would still want to be down, or I had just lost eight hundred bills. I wasn’t trying to lose no money. I figured in a matter of time, she would call me, and when I went to collect, I’d check that bitch again about callin’ my phone trying to front on me about how I run my shit.

  The following week, Ashley called me.

  “Carmen, G wants to talk to you.”

  “Put him on the phone.”

  “Hello, beautiful,” he whispered into the receiver.

  “What’s up, G?”

  “You like your clothes?”

  “Yes, they were nice. Hey, look, can you get me some Victoria’s Secret panties for the girls? I need a lot of them. At least two hundred.”

  “Damn! Why so many?”

  “It’s for a promotional sale.”

  “You a real businesswoman. I like that in you. Yeah, I’ll get some for you.”

  “If you do this, I’ll meet you for lunch,” I said teasingly.

  “Promise?” G asked desperately. I had him. He was open.

  “I promise,” I said, wondering what good the promise of a complete stranger was to him.

  The next day, I had over three hundred pairs of panties, including thongs, G-strings and lace, many with matching bras and camisoles. This package reflected the entire Victoria’s Secret line and then some. I gave them as gifts to the girls to show my appreciation. And I told them of my new promotional idea. We would sell worn panties to our customers for $20. The girls would keep $10, and I’d get the other $10. I sold out of the scented panties in one day. Men are like dogs—they are drawn to scents, especially to the scent of a woman’s undies. Now I was really brainstorming and stacking dollars.

  I met G in the Radian Hotel lobby for lunch. He was in his midthirties, had a brown complexion and was sportin’ a Polo outfit with fresh sneakers. He wasn’t bad looking, but not handsome either; I’d say he was average. Cautiously, I approached him with a nod of my head and said, “Finally, I meet G-Money.”

  Looking me up and down, he replied, “Carmen, ooh, this is the day I have dreamed of.”

  “Playa, you are full of shit.”

  “That’s right, I am. I wanted to talk with you about your escort service.”

  “Oh, is that right? What you want to talk about?”

  “I want to talk about you and get to know you. You said that you don’t date, but you own a service. I know you date or have dated. I mean, how else would you know about a service?” He asked the question like he was a psychiatrist and I was his client.

  “Well, whether I did or didn’t is none-ya. Feel me? So tell me about what you do.”

  “I want to open an escort service or buy into yours. I think it’s a moneymaker, because men will always purchase sex.”

  We continued to make small talk as we enjoyed sandwiches on the patio of the hotel. I strung him along and said that I would consider going into business with him. To show his sincerity, he offered me $3,000 and promised $2,000 more. We talked about a sex spa as an incall location that fronts as a massage parlor, but gives much more. That was an excellent idea, but I didn’t let him know I thought so. I was still trying to feel him out. The thought of not having to rent rooms for the girls was enticing considering how much I paid per month, having a place of my own could certainly cut down on my expenses.

  “I also work as a fence, Carmen. I purchase stolen items and resell them.” I leaned in closer. I saw an opportunity there, and I never refuse a chance to make money.

  “G, I want in,” I demanded. Chino introduced me to the hustle when we first met, and here it was, in my face, and I wasn’t about to let it pass me by.

  “Certainly. We can work something out, Carmen.”

  And that was my introduction to the next level of crime: receiving and selling stolen property.

  Three

  Most people who fence usually buy any stolen item from the kitchen sink to a car’s spare tire. I, of course, wanted to be selective in the merchandise I purchased. But the name of this game is supply and demand. A fence will purchase items at a third or fourth of the store’s ticketed price. They will then resell them at any cost, based on supply and demand. I usually tried to offer half the price of the ticket, but whatever brought a profit was cool with me. The one line I never crossed was items stolen from someone’s home. I
only wanted store merchandise. I did try to hang on to some morals. Purchasing stolen items from another’s home would do two things: one, support break-ins, which could lead to potential violence; and two, be an act of bad karma and result in my home being burglarized. G-Money purchased anything and everything. You could bring him a used baby’s pacifier and he’d not only resell it but ask for more of them.

  I had built a nice savings off the escort service. With that money I purchased my fenced items. I normally purchased clothes and perfume. The sheer volume of stolen merchandise available really amazed me. I came to realize that most of these boosters were drug addicts who had mad skills when it came to stealing. I was purchasing, on average, three garbage bags of clothes a day, and I had no problem reselling the clothes in a matter of days. I sold to my girls, and I’d campaign right out of the trunk of my car at local bars, hair salons and nightclubs. I was gettin’ my hustle on out there, makin’ ends. Once you gain a rep for having things, people find you. You’ve become a resource of cheap goods for the people who buy the merchandise and that equaled success to me. Like me, G tried to be a professional with his venture.

  Every afternoon I’d have my driver pick up the clothes. I gave the girls first pick of the items. It was apparent that the boosters favored Victoria’s Secret, Neiman Marcus, Caché, Saks and Henri Bendel. I wondered how badly the stores were hurt. Were these boosters that talented or were they aided by staff at the stores? How could they remove so many items and not be detected?

  I was constantly looking out for pitfalls. I watched out for the vice squad because of the service, and now I had to be careful not to sell to the wrong person and catch a selling or receiving stolen property case.

  Chino had financed his drug hustle with proceeds from selling stolen clothes. He also taught Young Mike this hustle. I saw it a lot, and oftentimes you learn best by observing.

  Chino’s best booster was Young Mike, a shorty he found on the streets and added to the posse. He was excellent with smash-and-grabs on small businesses. He’d drive a car into a freestanding jewelry store, smashing the front door and the cases. Then he’d grab anything of value in sight. He executed all this in seconds. Then there were times when Young Mike would just grab. He would walk into an upscale department store and simply grab a rack of clothes or empty a sweater case, like of Versace, and run out of the store to an awaiting vehicle. Smash-and-grabs are after-hours moves, but on a humbug or if it was “sweet,” Mike would do it during store hours.