Growing Pains

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  Money.

  That she needed.

  That made her a hostage to the lack of respect she commanded.

  Regina said, “Honey, I know you don’t want to be here, but you are here. It may not be the ideal situation, but make the most of it and go get what these men are anxious to give up.”

  Deahnna frowned. “I know. I . . . I just hate this so much, Regina. I feel so . . . dirty.”

  Regina gave her an “excuse me” look, with her eyebrows raised and lips pressed firmly together.

  Deahnna said quickly, “No offense.”

  Regina said, “Honey, you have a child you are doing all you can to provide a home for. There is absolutely nothing dirty about what you’re doing.”

  Deahnna sat still for a moment, taking in Regina’s comment. She hated her job, hated having to endure the shame she felt, the long, hot showers in the wee hours of the morning, just trying to wash off the filth she felt on her skin. But as she sat, unmoving, she had to accept that Regina was right. For her son, for her angel, she would do whatever she had to do. Filth be damned.

  She looked at Regina and gave her a half smile. “Thank you,” she said.

  Regina closed her locker. “Your son is the one who needs to thank you, honey. Hopefully one day he will by being nice and successful.”

  Deahnna raised her eyebrows. “Hopefully.”

  Regina smiled. “Now, go and mingle and get some money.”

  Deahnna nodded. “OK.”

  Regina turned and hurried back to the private party. Deahnna looked at herself in the mirror.

  For my son, she thought, picking up her lip gloss. For her son.

  “His ass better pay me back,” she said.

  She stood up, took a deep breath and a final look at herself, then exhaled and reluctantly went out to mingle before her performance.

  25

  Jawan’s head felt like it was going to explode. His eyeballs felt as though they’d swollen to two times their normal size. His nose ran and refused to let up, while his throat hurt, closing up on him slowly.

  Of all times.

  He slumped down on his couch and pressed his eyeballs with his thumb and index finger. Of all times, he thought again. He had to get sick now. The night of his cousin’s bachelor party.

  He groaned, and moved his fingers from his eyes to his temples. Applying pressure upon pressure would accomplish nothing, but he squeezed anyway. Squeezed and did his best to believe that the harder he did, the lighter his head felt. “Of all the times . . .” he said.

  He released a heavily frustrated breath of air, looked over to the time displayed on his HD cable box, and moaned. It was almost twelve-thirty. Ten minutes off, actually. Nick’s bachelor party started at eleven. Well, the part before the party actually began at nine, but Jawan needed rest. A power nap really. Just an hour or two to let the NyQuil he’d taken earlier die down in his system. Sleeping for just over three hours had not been his intention.

  He’d awoken to the sound of his cell phone ringing. Nick, asking where the hell he was. Had it been anyone else, he would have said that he was in bed with a possible case of the swine flu, and that he was going to stay in for the rest of the night, and possibly even the next day. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was his cousin, who was more like a brother, and no matter how bad he was feeling, he had no choice but to say that he’d gotten tied up taking care of some things, and that he would meet up with them pronto.

  Nick, already halfway to not remembering anything that would happen that night, commented on a stripper’s ass, and then told Jawan to get his ass down there before the “real” show started.

  Jawan said he would.

  Now he was on his couch, cursing the NyQuil for doing nothing but leaving him feeling slightly off center.

  He moaned and groaned again and then stood up. If he was going to go, then he just needed to go. Forget about the sinus pressure. Say to hell with his eyes feeling like they were popping out of their sockets. Just walk with a wad of tissues in the pockets, and go and let it all hang out, and pray that he wouldn’t die until the next day.

  “Of all the damn times,” he said once more.

  He grabbed his wool coat from the closet, slipped it on, zipped it up, and then, after patting his pocket to double-check that he had his wallet, he grabbed his cell phone from the computer desk, where he’d put it to charge as he’d showered and dressed.

  He’d missed his good night call with Deahnna. For the past couple of weeks, before he shut his phone down and went to sleep at night, he called Deahnna to wish her a good night’s sleep. He liked to go to dreamland with the sound of her voice being the last thing he’d heard. She must have been preoccupied too, he thought, taking a quick scroll through his call history, because she hadn’t called either.

  “Maybe she thinks the calls are corny,” he said, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Maybe her no call is a nice, subtle hint.”

  He shrugged, promised himself to ask her the next time they were together just what she thought of the calls, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.

  Twenty minutes later, after hopping on the J train and then transferring to the A train to get into the city, he caught a cab and took that to the strip club.

  The pressure in his head was still there, but the cold, biting October air helped to make his nose stop running . . . or the medicine had finally kicked in and done something positive. Either way, at least the only thing he’d have to deal with would be the throbbing in his head from the sinus buildup, and the loud, bass-heavy music coming from inside.

  After convincing the bouncer at the entrance that he was there for his cousin’s party, Jawan walked in and was greeted by the sight of an older female on the main stage wearing nothing but white cowboy boots, twirling around a silver pole with one leg wrapped around it, while her D-cups swung freely. The dancer clearly had one foot out the door on her way to retirement, but as Jawan stood still by the door, he couldn’t deny, as she dropped down to her knees, bent over, and thrust her ass into the air as though to say that she loved getting it from behind, that she had skills.

  Nick’s eight-man entourage hooted, hollered, whistled, clapped, and tossed a bevy of dollar bills on to the stage as the older dancer finished her set.

  Jawan shook his head and smiled. It had been a while since he’d been to the strip club. His headache diminishing, he looked past the round tables and black chairs, and spotted Nick, who was sitting with two other guys toward the front center of the stage, throwing down a shot and tossing his own dollar bills. Jawan laughed and was glad for the rest he’d gotten, because he had no doubt that the night was going to be long and crazy.

  He made his way in the dimly lit club over to Nick. “What’s up, man,” he said, slamming a hand on Nick’s shoulder as he gave one of Nick’s boys a pound, and the other a nod.

  Nick looked up at him through half-glazed eyes. “JawanaMan! It’s about fucking time, dude!”

  Jawan nodded. “Yeah. My bad. I got busy.”

  “That pussy must be real good for you to get that busy,” Nick said, laughing and looking at his boys.

  Jawan laughed too and sat down. As he did, a topless waitress came over. Knowing that he shouldn’t drink with the medicine in his system, he ordered a Jack and Coke anyway. “So what’s up?” he said to Nick, who’d ordered a Hennessy and Coke. “Did I miss anything?”

  Nick slapped his palm down on the tabletop. “Shit, dude, you missed enough.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s probably good that I did anyway. You know I’m on a teacher’s salary.”

  “Dude,” Nick said, leveling his eyes at him, “I keep telling you that you could have some serious cheese in your bank account.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jawan said as the waitress brought their drinks over. “I’m just not as brave as you are.”

  “Dude, it ain’t about being brave. It’s about fucking and getting paid.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

  “Yeah
, yeah,” Nick mocked. “You’re not hearing shit. But you go ahead and struggle with your teacher’s salary. I’ll keep struggling with this.” He pulled out a thick wad of money rolled together. Jawan didn’t know how much was there, but the bill on the outside was a hundred dollar bill.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jawan said, downing some of his drink.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nick mocked again, to his boys’ delight. “Anyway, dude, you keep your teacher’s salary in your pocket. I got you.”

  Jawan shook his head. “No way, man. You’re the one who’s getting married. You shouldn’t even be spending any money.”

  Nick said, “Dude, it wouldn’t be any fun if I wasn’t.”

  Jawan thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “I feel you. That being said . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own stack of money. “It’s not as thick as yours, but I’ll be all right.”

  Nick laughed. “A’ight, cool.”

  “All right, all right, gents!” the DJ yelled from the booth. “Give another round of applause for Prairie Dawn!”

  Jawan, Nick, and the rest of the guys cheered and clapped loudly.

  “Now, we gave you the schoolgirl, and the experienced cowgirl. Get those ones, fives, tens, and twenties ready, because coming to the stage right now is the one, the only, Foxy Brown!”

  Everyone turned their attention to the stage as the lights dimmed and the song “Pony,” by Ginuwine, began to play.

  Slowly, Foxy Brown emerged from the back, moving seductively to the song’s entrancing rhythm, with her back to the eager crowd. She had on a black thong and a black sheer top. On her feet she wore a pair of fourinch black pumps.

  She moved slowly, rhythmically, making her way out of the shadows into the light at the center of the stage. Nick and all of his boys were whistling, clapping, and calling out to Foxy Brown, telling her to turn around as they tossed money at her.

  But Jawan . . .

  Unlike his cousin and everyone else, he sat stone still with his drink in his hand and an inhaled breath trapped in his lungs.

  He wasn’t a rear end connoisseur, but as he sat staring at the dancer before him, he had the sick feeling that he knew that ass very, very well.

  He stared.

  As Foxy Brown worked her hips in a way he’d seen worked before.

  At a dance.

  He stared.

  As the music thumped. As Nick and his crew cheered. As dollars flew. As Foxy Brown, her shoulder-length hair lying around her shoulders in an all-too-familiar manner, turned around slowly with one hand grabbing the pole behind her, while the other cupped her breast.

  Jawan stared.

  As the music died around him. As Nick and the other guys disappeared. As the lights suddenly beamed like sunlight shining bright in the middle of the day.

  He stared.

  As his heart raced a thousand times faster with each passing millisecond.

  He stared and then released all of the air he’d been holding as Foxy Brown stared past him.

  “What the fuck?”

  He slammed his glass down, causing much of its contents to spill over, and rose from his chair.

  “What the fuck?” he said again.

  On the stage, Foxy Brown looked at him, screamed out, “Oh my God!” and covered herself.

  Jawan shook his head and tried not to believe what he was seeing. Who he was seeing. But no matter how hard he shook, the sight of her would not change.

  Deahnna.

  In front of him.

  Center stage.

  He slammed his brows together as the music stopped. “You’re . . . you’re a stripper?”

  Deahnna shook her head as tears erupted from her eyes. “Jawan,” she said, her voice trembling. “I . . . I . . . I can explain.”

  Jawan said again, “You’re a fucking stripper?”

  “J . . . Jawan, please!”

  “Dude,” Nick said, putting a hand around Jawan’s arm.

  Jawan roughly pulled his arm away and backed away from the table. “A stripper?” he said again. He shook his head as the pressure there and behind his eyes came back tenfold. “A stripper?”

  He looked at Deahnna as she called his name again.

  “A stripper? Fuck!”

  He turned and, while both Deahnna and Nick called his name, stormed out of the club.

  26

  No! No! No!

  Tears clouding her vision, Deahnna stumbled back into the dressing room, pressed her back against the wall, and sank down to the ground, drawing her knees up to her chest.

  No! No!

  She buried her head between her knees as her shoulders shook with each hard sob, as she relived the nightmare she’d just experienced minutes ago when she laid eyes on Jawan, who’d been staring at her with eyes filled with shock and disgust.

  “No!” Deahnna said, her throat tight, her chest tighter. “No!”

  She couldn’t believe it. Tried not to. Tried to will herself to wake up from the very, very bad dream she was having. Please, she begged. Please let me be dreaming. Please don’t let this be real.

  She cried and felt her heart break and shatter into an infinite number of fragments as she watched behind her closed eyelids, in horrific high definition, a replay of Jawan shaking his head and then storming out of the club. Over and over and over in the span of a few minutes. “No,” she said again.

  “Honey?” Regina said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Was that him?”

  Her head still buried, Deahnna nodded.

  “Oh, honey,” Regina said, her voice filled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

  Deahnna raised her head slightly and looked at Regina through her tears. “Why did this have to happen?”

  Regina shook her head. “I don’t know, honey.”

  Tears fell harder and faster as Deahnna buried her head again.

  “What the fuck is going on?” the club’s owner, Marvin, yelled, stepping into the room. “Deahnna, what the hell?”

  Unable to speak, Deahnna kept quiet and kept her head buried.

  “Marvin, just give her a break and leave us alone for a minute, all right?” Regina said.

  “Give her a break? Are you kidding me? I have paying customers out there wanting to know what the hell’s going on! I’m losing money here. I don’t have a minute to give.”

  “Well, Marvin, you’re just going to have to do that.”

  “But—”

  “Marvin, I can take my dancing and my other services elsewhere.”

  “But, Regina, this is a bad look.”

  “Christ, Marvin! Leave us alone or tonight will be my last night.”

  Marvin groaned, cursed, and, seconds later, left the room.

  “Pain in the ass,” Regina said.

  Deahnna continued to cry while Regina rubbed her back. Why me? she wondered. She sobbed and watched again as Jawan stared at her. The look in his eye . . . She would never forget his pained expression.

  “Let me help you up,” Regina said, grabbing her hand.

  Deahnna didn’t want to, but she stood up and put her head against Regina’s shoulder as Regina led her over to her chair. “Have you tried to call him yet?” Regina asked as Deahnna sat down. She reached over, pulled a tissue from a box, and handed it to her.

  Wiping her eyes, Deahnna shook her head.

  Regina pursed her lips. “Where’s your cell?”

  Deahnna blew her nose. “There’s no point in me calling,” she said. “After that look on his face . . .” She paused and a flood of tears fell from her eyes again.

  Regina grabbed a handful of tissues and handed them to her. “Just try to call him, honey.”

  Deahnna shook her head again. “I . . . I know he won’t talk to me, Regina. He was so disgusted with me. I saw it in his eyes. He hates me.”

  “Honey, you don’t know that.”

  Deahnna looked up at Regina while she wiped her nose. “You didn’t see his eyes, Regina. Trust me, he hates me.”

  Regina
gave her a look as if to say, “Come on, don’t be so melodramatic. I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, honey. He was just shocked as hell, that’s all. But he doesn’t hate you. Not after the things you’ve told me about him.”

  Deahnna blotted the corners of her eyes. “Why? Why did he have to be here?”

  Regina raised her eyebrows as the corners of her mouth dipped. “It’s a small world, honey. Even here in New York City.”

  Deahnna strangled the tissues in her hand. “I . . . I can’t believe this happened.”

  “Call him, honey.”

  Deahnna shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll answer.”

  Regina frowned, went to her locker, opened it, and removed her cell phone. She went back to Deahnna. “What’s his number, honey?”

  “I don’t want to get you in the middle of anything, Regina.”

  “You’re not getting me in the middle of anything, honey. I’m just dialing the numbers. You’re going to be doing the talking. I figure there’s a better chance of him answering the call from a number he doesn’t recognize than there would be if your number showed up on his ID.”

  Deahnna shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Just give it a try, honey.”

  Deahnna frowned, wiped at her nose and eyes again, and, after a reluctant second, recited Jawan’s cell phone number to her. Regina made the call, and then, after making sure it was going through, handed it to her. Deahnna took it and put it to her ear. As it rang, the image of Jawan staring at her, shaking his head, and leaving flashed in her mind again.

  God, what he must think about me, she thought.

  The phone rang once, twice, a third time, and then went to voice mail. She ended the call and extended the cell back to Regina. “I told you,” she said, her voice filled with disappointed frustration.

  “Call him again, honey,” Regina said. “And this time, leave a message.”

  Deahnna sighed. “Regina . . .”

  “Just call.”

  Deahnna frowned again and then redialed Jawan’s number. This time the voice mail clicked on right away. She said, “Jawan, I’m so, so sorry. Please call me. Please. I want, no, I need to explain what you saw. It . . . it’s not what you think. Please call. I . . .I love you.”