Biker Chick

by Dakota Knight

  The selection of journals was pretty much the same. My eyes lingered on the red and gold-lined journal I had before. I didn’t choose that one again, though. I wanted something new. I scanned the shelves until one journal caught my eye. It was a simple black journal with a medium-sized monarch butterfly on the front cover. I took it off the shelf and smiled, remembering when Ray had told me that I reminded him of a butterfly. Satisfied with my selection, I headed for the front of the store, grabbing another large pen along the way.

  “Great choice,” Mrs. Brock said as she rang up my purchase.

  “Thanks. I’m going to hold on to this one,” I joked.

  Mrs. Brock chuckled. “And if you don’t, remember to come back for another.”

  “I will.” I handed her a twenty dollar bill.

  Mrs. Brock opened the cash register and counted out my change. When she handed it back to me, she said, “You know, I’m still looking for help.” She winked at me.

  I looked around the store. It was still empty and I wasn’t trying to grab a clue. “I’ll make sure to keep that in mind. Thanks a bunch.”

  Mrs. Brock looked disappointed. “You’re welcome. Please come by again.”

  “Oh, I’m not leaving yet.” I said, not ready to endure the summer heat again. “I’m going to relax in one of those huge chairs over there and write a bit.” I pointed to the direction of a grouping of chairs.

  “Don’t let me stop you, honey.”

  I sank down in the chair, which was almost as big as a love seat. I took my journal and pen out of the bag. I opened the journal, glanced at the blank lined pages, and prepared to write.

  I feel violated. I wrote about “getting fucked” before. Now the cops have fucked me. First, they pull my ass in for questioning, then they go and destroy our home. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I wish me and Mom were on better terms. She knows me so well. If I knew where she was, I would be on the phone with her right now. I don’t even care if she cursed me out. Even though I’m staying with Dymond, I feel so alone. I miss Ray. I want to see him again. I want him to . . .

  “Crystal Sells, is that you?” a female voice asked.

  It took a moment for the voice to register. I looked up from my journal and my eyes widened. It was Mrs. Philips, my old English teacher from high school. She still looked the same.

  “That is you,” she said. “Get up off that chair and give me a hug.”

  I stood up slowly, letting her embrace me. “Hey,” was all I could manage.

  She patted me on my back and then released me. “So, how are you getting along?” she asked, her tone sounding like she knew.

  “I’ve definitely had better days,” I admitted. I was sure she had seen Ray’s name in the Dispatch along with the others charged in the roundup.

  Mrs. Phillips looked at the large window dominated the front of the bookstore. “I should have known that bike was yours,” she said. “I’m riding today too.”

  “For real?” I asked. “What’s your ride?”

  “I ride a Yama, Crystal.” Yama was short for Yamaha. I knew her ride was probably nice.

  “I’ll have to check it out,” I said.

  “Definitely. Your Ninja looks nice. Is that the same one you had before?”

  I nodded.

  She sat down in the chair next to mind. Her facial expression was serious. “Crystal, you are doing okay, aren’t you?”

  Her tone almost made me break down, but I couldn’t start sobbing in the store. Instead I said, “Like I said, Mrs. Phillips, I’ve seen better days.”

  She patted my shoulder. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, you have that nice pen there, so why don’t you jot down my telephone number . . . in case you want to talk.”

  I grabbed my receipt and wrote Mrs. Phillips’ name and number down. “Thanks.”

  “And you’ll call me if you need me, right?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She rose from the chair. “I see you’re busy, so I’ll leave you alone, but just remember Crystal, you are not alone. Never will be. Okay?”

  I looked down at my journal. It was closed and there was no way she could have seen what I had written. Maybe my loneliness was written all over my face.

  “Okay. Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mrs. Phillips said before walking down one of the aisles.

  My concentration was broken and I didn’t feel like writing anything else at the moment. Instead, I sat back and closed my eyes, letting images of a better life fill my mind.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  So I knew to hold on until the wetness dried . . .

  “Girl, I still can’t believe Mrs. Phillips rides,” Dymond said to me a couple days after I saw our former teacher at the bookstore. “I know. Her ride was nice, too. I was kind of jealous,” I said. I was lying on Dymond’s couch.

  For the past couple of days, I had been on her couch feeling sorry for myself, although I did watch her two sons so she could get out and have a break, like going to Easton or to the movies. She was still young and pretty, and guys did flock to her. Even though she wasn’t ready to get in a serious relationship again, she did like to date. All things considered, I didn’t mind watching Nalen and Nomari. I didn’t understand what it was like to be a mother, but after taking care of her bad-ass kids for a couple of hours, I knew she was having it rough. I can’t lie, I sometimes felt like sending them two floors down straight to their grandma’s. But Dymond was giving me a roof, so the least I could do was watch her sons.

  When I finally had some time alone, I forced myself to count the money I took from the hiding place under the kitchen sink. I had fifty thousand dollars in my bag. I was so scared, I didn’t even think about spending it. But I knew I had to do something, shit, I couldn’t stay on Dymond’s couch forever. I thought about getting my old hustle back, but too many people had caught on to the purse, DVD, and CD game. My old territory was somebody else’s now. The thought of working a nine-to-five made me cringe. I thought about calling Mrs. Brock at the bookstore and telling her I wanted in, but the retail lifestyle didn’t really appeal to me. But just when I thought I had played my hand, and I thought I was going to have to take the plunge, opportunity knocked, and I busted the door wide open to take it.

  One day, I decided to go up to Cam’s to pick up something cold to drink. That summer, it felt like the devil had taken over the weather, and Dymond’s window air conditioner wasn’t doing the trick. We were all sweating rivers. I told my girl I would get something cold for me, her, and the kids. My trip was pretty quick. The establishment had changed in the years since I left. Jimmy wasn’t there anymore. Some Arab dude was behind the counter, frowning when I walked in. I picked up my selections and hurried to the counter. I checked out the bootlegs as the Arab dude checked me out. I smiled as I thought about the old days.

  “Ten a piece,” the man said. This accent was thick, and I could barely understand him.

  I picked up one of movie cases, featuring Denzel Washington’s latest. I flipped it over and then put it back on the counter. “Maybe next time,” I said.

  As I walked out of the store, the heat caused sweat to form on my forehead. It made me wish I had a block of ice to sit on. Just as I straddled my Ninja, I noticed a nice white Lincoln Navigator parked in front of Cam’s about twenty feet away from me. I admired the Lincoln and was just about to rev up the engine when I noticed a woman who looked just like Lala getting out of the SUV. I squinted to make sure it was her. The smooth, flawless skin and long hair gave me my answer even though I couldn’t see her pale blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of Armani sunglasses.

  I balanced my steel and yelled her name. “Yo, Lala, what’s up?” I hadn’t spoken to her in months and it was always good to see a familiar face.

  When she turned to look at me, she looked scared at first, like she didn’t know who I was, so I got off my Ninja and walked to where she was standing near t
he entrance to the store. “Why you acting like you don’t know me? It’s your girl, Crystal.”

  Lala’s face softened and she smiled at me. She took off her sunglasses and said, “Hey, girl.” She spread her arms and we hugged. “I’ve been worried about you,” she said. Her voice was still quiet, but filled with concern.

  My eyes started watering, mixing with the sweat covering my face. “So you heard about it then?” I asked as I wiped the tears and sweat from my cheeks.

  Lala’s blue eyes shifted, as if she was looking over me. Then her gaze returned to my face. “Girl, I heard a li’l bit, enough to know your life must be turned upside down.”

  “I’m just so fucked up right now, no money, no hustle. It’s like all I have is my ride, the only hard thing to remind me of the good life I had.”

  Lala’s eyes brightened and she smiled. “You lookin’ for a way to make some ends?” There was a hint of excitement in her voice.

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “Definitely, something easy and quick, if you know what I mean.”

  Lala looked at the Navigator. “See, that?” She pointed at the Navigator. “I was able to get that working where I do now.” Then she grabbed my right shoulder. “And guess what else?”

  “What?” I was curious.

  “I get clothes, shoes, almost anything I want. I even got enough money to get me one of those nice condos downtown.” She stamped her foot and clapped her hands together. “Shit, and you won’t believe this one. I even got a steel.” She started laughing.

  Lala riding on a motorcycle? I couldn’t believe my ears. But I was more interested in making money. I wanted to ask her if she was hookin’, but I didn’t want to offend her if I was wrong. And I was desperate. I just wanted to know if I could do what she was doing.

  “So, what do I have to do?” I asked.

  “You know that gentlemen’s club on Livingston Avenue called the Doll House?”

  My heart dropped. I knew then she was a stripper. I didn’t think I could go there. My body was reserved for Ray.

  “Before you get all high and mighty, listen to what I have to say.” It was almost as if Lala could read my mind. “I am not a stripper, I am an exotic dancer. I used to do it on the side until a couple of months ago, but now I’m full time. You won’t believe the amount of cash I’m raking in. It’s unbelievable. When we were younger, you used to always have the hustle, and I never thought I could make that money easy like you, but now, it comes in so quick, I can’t even spend it all.”

  Lala took a deep breath before continuing. “Now knowing you, I don’t think you would dance, but we also have servers, kind of like Hooters girls. In fact, we call the servers ‘the Dolls’. You wear a tight little shirt and shorts and that’s it. All you would have to do is be nice to the customers and take their money.”

  My mind was working. The job sounded easy enough but I am one of those people who thinks, “if it’s too good to be true, then it probably is.” Then again, I needed some cash. And I knew I could make more money working at the Doll House than at Jam-Book-Ree!. It would be a starting point until I got on my feet.

  “So no stripping, lap dances, nothing like that?” I asked.

  Lala frowned. “You act like there’s something wrong with that.” She twisted her lips and glared at me.

  I shook my head and tried to reassure her. “No, no, don’t get me wrong. I would never knock another woman’s hustle, you know that. It’s just that with everything with Ray, not being able to talk to him or anything, I want to feel like I got something waiting for him that’s all his.”

  “So you aren’t interested in the job?”

  I shook my head again. “It’s not that. Let me think about it. In fact, what are you about to do right now?”

  “Why?” Lala raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, I was thinking. I came to get some drinks, and I’m about to go chill with Dymond while her mother got the kids. I was going to take some popsicles to the kids and then tip a few back with Dymond. We’re all hot as hell in her place with that little air conditioner she got. I was thinking we could have a little Trio reunion. You know I can always think better with a little alcohol in my system.”

  Lala looked at her watch. It was a black classic Movado. I used to have one just like it. It was probably sitting in some police evidence room or buried in the mess they left in our house. “You know what’s funny? I was just thinking about you . . . and Dymond too. I just happened to be up at Hannah’s up the street to pick up my Warm Spirit products and stopped by Cam’s to pick a little something to drink myself.” She smiled and said, “You know I’ve got time for the Trio. Let me get something to drink and then I’ll follow you.”

  Before I arrived back at Dymond’s apartment, Lala in tow, I had already made my decision. Even before we started pouring the drinks, I was getting the 411 from Lala about the club. She promised she would put a good word in for me so I could get started as soon as possible. Crystal Marie Sells was going to become a Doll. I planned to be the best damn Doll that strip club had ever seen if it meant I could make good money and survive.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  And I could touch the ground again . . .

  The first time I put on my “Doll” outfit, I thought I had made a mistake. The shirt was so tight my tits couldn’t help but stand at attention. At least the metallic DOLL printed on the front of the shirt complimented my hair. The shorts weren’t any better. When I saw how little they were, I thought they were meant for a doll. I didn’t know spandex could stretch so far. Those shorts hugged my butt so tight, I was surprised not to see my cheeks hanging out when I looked in the mirror.

  “Dymond, be honest. What kind of doll have you ever seen wearing an outfit like this?” I asked as I twisted and turned in front of the mirror.

  She giggled. “Girl, the kind of doll that’s gonna get some ends. Your body is banging in that outfit.” “I can hardly breathe,” I said as I put my hands on my stomach.

  “Girl, when you start seeing that green, you’ll be fine.”

  I slipped on the three-inch black stilettos that completed my outfit. At least I was used to wearing high heels or I would have really been in trouble. My shift wasn’t that bad, six hours to start, but I would be on my feet the entire time. Let’s just say I wasn’t totally looking forward to it.

  “Girl, you don’t have nothing to worry about. Your makeup is on point, you look good in that outfit, and your hair looks good, too.” Dymond was trying to be supportive, but I still hadn’t convinced myself I was doing the right thing. I ran a finger through my hair, which I had flat-ironed and parted down the middle.

  “I bet most of the people there will think I’m wearing a wig.”

  “Who gives a fuck?”

  I laughed. “You’re right. But I wonder what Ray would say if he saw me in this outfit.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t know what he’d be saying, but he’d probably grab you and take you to the nearest bedroom.”

  The thought of Ray made me sad. Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was work in a strip club, but I didn’t have many options. I felt a hand touch my shoulder.

  “Girl, you’ll be all right. Trust me.”

  “I do. I do.” I grabbed a pair of warm-ups and my jacket. There was no way I was riding down to Livingston with my ass hanging out. I took off my shoes and put them in my tote, along with my makeup, ID, and other goodies. I surprised myself by actually being able to move around in those shorts as I bent down to put on the warm-ups. Finally, I zipped up my jacket.

  “Well, I guess I’m ready to go,” I told Dymond.

  “You can do it.”

  “I know.”

  We said our good-byes and it was off to Foxy Baby. Even though night had settled in, the heat was still hovering in the air. I thought about leaving my helmet, but I liked the protection, especially at night. If my hair or makeup messed up, I would just have to refresh at the Doll House.

  The strip club was located on Livi
ngston Avenue near I-70, about ten minutes away from the Meadows. I arrived just before seven-thirty, and the parking lot was already full. The Doll House had happy hour every Monday-Friday, so I wasn’t surprised.

  I parked near the entrance, wedging my Ninja between two other steels. Two of the largest brothers I had ever seen in my life were standing near the two black doors leading into the strip club. I smiled as I walked toward the doors. They looked me up and down. One of the men, with skin and eyes like charcoal, and a thick, muscled neck frowned. His head reminded me of a bowling ball. He was large, and I could tell that his bulk came from working out. His arms were so huge that they strained against the fabric of his gray suit. “You here to work?” he asked, his voice so deep that I could barely hear him.

  I looked down at the outfit and understood the men’s frowns. I was still in my jacket and warm-ups, definitely not the norm for the ladies working at the Doll House. I lowered my bag to the ground and unzipped my jacket to display my tight Doll shirt. The other man, equally large with a tan suit and smooth bronze skin, smiled and nodded. His lusty gaze made me uncomfortable, and I started to zip up my jacket. I stopped when I realized that I would have to get used to men checking out my wares.

  “What’s your name?” the darker-skinned man asked.

  “Crystal,” I replied before picking up my bag.

  The men looked at each other and then back at me. The darker man extended a huge muscular hand and said, “I’m John.” He smiled, and his bright white teeth shone, contrasting nicely with his skin.

  I took his hand and shook it. The light-skinned man then introduced himself. His name was Anthony. John opened the doors and said, “Welcome to the Doll House. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll take care of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I walked between John’s and Anthony’s big, beefy bodies, I had no doubt they had everything under control. As soon as I walked through the doors, my senses were assaulted by loud bumping music, smoke, and male voices. The Doll House was dimly-lit, and the stage jutted out from the back wall, extending to the middle of the room. Lights flashed along the length of the stage. There were two strippers working the two poles on the stage, commanding guys’ attention with their thongs and exposed tits.