Biker Chick

by Dakota Knight

  “Crystal!” A female voice yelled out.

  I turned toward the bar and noticed Ginger, the head Doll who’d interviewed me, motioning for me to come over to the bar. Ginger was tall and thin, with skin the color of burnt sienna. Her hair was long and straight, flowing halfway down her back. Her makeup was heavy. She had on shimmering silver eye shadow and too much blush. Her lips were bright red. I waved and headed her way, ignoring the stares from some of the men.

  “Where’s your gear?” Ginger asked loudly.

  I patted my jacket and said, “Underneath here.” I leaned close to Ginger so she could hear me.

  “Follow me,” she said, motioning with her hand.

  We walked the length of the bar to the hallway leading to the offices and the dressing rooms. The noise level wasn’t as bad in the hallway, with the exception of Ginger’s stilettos clicking against the floor with each step.

  “It’s a hot one tonight, Crystal, so you should make good money,” Ginger said, her voice still as loud as it was at the bar. I assumed she was used to talking loudly due to the noise.

  “Great,” I said, “I’m ready to work.” And I was . . . almost.

  We stopped in front of a large door with a Doll’s House sign plastered on it. Ginger swung open the door. The Doll’s House was a large room with long paneled mirrors, lined with chairs and stations for the ladies who worked at the club. Several Dolls were in the room, applying makeup or adjusting their outfits.

  “This is Crystal,” Ginger said excitedly. “She’s going to be working here, starting today.”

  Ginger’s introduction was met with several blank stares and at least one frown. I wasn’t going to play the “bitch” game, so I smiled and waved and said “Hello, everyone.” The ladies looked at me before returning to their tasks.

  “Be nice,” Ginger said to the rest of the girls. She patted me on the back and said, “Okay, you can take the locker at the end for your stuff. Once you get ready, just come to the bar and I’ll get you started. You remember everything we talked about, right?”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Good, because you don’t really have time to train. It’s like I said, you take the drink orders, play nice for the fellas, give them their drinks, and take their money and tips. We have six bouncers, but our clientele are more upscale, so we don’t have many problems here. Okay?”

  “I think I’ve got it,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  “Great.” Ginger patted me on the back again. “Well, I’m gone. I’ll see you in a few.” She smiled at me before yelling out, “And ladies, you all need to hurry your asses up and get out into the club. These fellas can’t wait all night for service!”

  With that, Ginger was gone, leaving me with the rest of the Dolls. I walked over to a bench near my locker and took off my boots, my warm-ups and my jacket. I noticed some of the ladies glancing at me, sizing me up. It didn’t bother me. That was the nature of women. I wasn’t trying to make any friends. I wasn’t going to be too nice or too bitchy. I was going to be me.

  When I sat down in front of one of the mirrors to freshen up my makeup and smooth out my hair, one of the ladies finally spoke. She asked a question I was used to answering. “Is that yours?” She was pointing at my hair.

  I smiled to let her know her question didn’t bother me and responded. “Yeah, it’s mine.” Short, and to the point.

  “Where’d you get that color?” she asked.

  “It’s natural,” I replied as I smoothed it down.

  “Yeah, right.” The lady said doubtfully before she switched out of the door. Nice to meet you too, bitch, I thought.

  I felt other eyes on me, but no one said anything else. I finished my hair and makeup, put my belongings in my locker and said, “See you later,” before walking out into the club. I sought out Ginger at the bar, but she wasn’t there. I scanned the club until I saw her. She was talking to a couple of guys standing at a high round table at the far edge of the stage. I leaned against the bar.

  “Hey, you!” I turned around. One of the bartenders, a thin guy in all black, thrust a round tray in front of me. “Get to work!” he ordered.

  “I’m waiting for Ginger,” I said.

  He held his free hand up to his left ear and tapped it, indicating that he couldn’t hear me. He thrust the tray at me again. I took it.

  When I stepped out into the club, I felt like I was going into another world. Never in a million years did I think I would be stuffed between horny guys and naked women. But I was always one to try to make something good out of a bad situation. I remember what Ginger had told me, and I mapped out a plan. Now I was ready to see if I could do it.

  I looked for an empty table. It didn’t take long to find one. I walked to the table where one guy was sitting alone.

  “Can I get you something?” I asked, my voice as sweet as pure honey. I bent down a little so he could check out my cleavage, not that I needed any help with that tight-ass shirt.

  “A Bud and a lap dance,” he replied, grinning.

  Shit. The Bud, I could do. But Ginger didn’t say nothing about lap dances. That wasn’t a part of the job description. I looked around nervously, trying to find Ginger. I didn’t see her.

  “You going to hook me up or what?”

  I looked at the guy again. He wasn’t ugly. He was clean-cut, medium brown, not ashamed to show his wedding band. I knew I couldn’t refuse him, no matter what. I just had to find an alternative.

  “Let’s take care of your thirst first,” I cooed before hurrying back to the bar.

  By the time I hit the bar, Ginger had emerged. She was leaned over the bar with her more than ample ass sticking out. The thin bartender looked at me and I yelled out, “One Bud!” before going over to Ginger.

  “How’s it going, Crystal?” she asked, her hips shaking to the beat of the song bumping throughout the club.

  “Hey, I’ve got a problem,” I said, pointing toward the man I had just talked to, “He wants a lap dance.”

  Ginger’s expression wasn’t what I expected. She smacked her lips and said, “And?”

  I leaned over and spoke directly into her ear. “I don’t do lap dances,” I hissed. “You didn’t tell me about that.”

  Ginger stepped back, a surprised expression on her face. “You don’t want it?” she asked.

  I didn’t know quite how to respond. Looking around the club, it suddenly hit me that I had been under the mistaken belief that only the strippers dealt with the men. But it appeared that the Dolls could get in on the action too.

  “I just started,” I said, “I need to work my way into it.”

  Just as I finished speaking, the bartender yelled out, “Bud!” I looked down at the drink and reached for it.

  “It’s your dollar,” Ginger said. “Follow me.”

  We walked back through the club toward the man. Another song began playing and three more ladies took to the stage, teasing the men with their bodies.

  “Got my drink?” the man asked, his eyes hooded as he gazed at me and Ginger.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Ginger was a step ahead of me. “Yeah, sugar, we got your drink, and my girl Crystal here brought you something special too.” Ginger’s sexuality was pouring out from her. In one instant, the man seemed to forget I existed. She pouted as she took the drink from my tray and slid it over to my former customer.

  “So you going to get down, or what?” the man asked.

  “Oh yeah, Sugar, I got just what you need.” Ginger turned around and winked at me while she shook her ass in the man’s face. I heard him groan. “Thanks for the tip, Crystal,” Ginger said as she lowered herself down to the man’s lap. “I know I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

  I walked away. I wasn’t trying to watch. I took a couple more orders, from men not wanting anything but a drink. As the night wore on, I noticed that I wasn’t the only Doll not giving up the goods. I felt a great sense of relief. The strippers, or exotic dancers, as they like
d to be called, got most of the action on and off the stage. That was fine with me. The men at the Doll House were well-trained. The rule was, “You will be touched, but you can’t touch.” And any time a man asked to touch me, I’d flirt with him and tell him I’d like nothing in the world but to rub against him, but the bar called. Then, I’d tell him that I had a nice friend that would be more than happy to do whatever he wanted. Ginger cleaned up that night. So did another lady I met, Shanika. My hustle was on again. At the end of the night, I may not have made as much money as I could have, but I did okay.

  The word was out by the next night. When the ladies learned I was willing to give up a table, I had a whole new set of friends. Now I really had to work my hustle. “If I’m giving you a table, that’s means you’re getting extra ends. Do you think it would be fair to give me twenty percent of what you make?”

  Ginger agreed. Shanika did too. Tasha and Rain told me “Hell to the No!” Yeah, they had an attitude at first. But then they saw how quick I worked. How I could identify the men who had the most cash and were willing to give it up. Ginger and Shanika had doubled their nightly take. Within a week, Tasha, Rain, and a couple of others were on board. Trading ass for cash may not have been right, but it did work for the moment. It wasn’t like they were having sex with those men or anything. They were just providing the fantasy, and saving me from having to. Little did I know then how working at the Doll House would be my ticket to the next level, and my train to my greatest downfall.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Because nothing feels better than something solid and sure . . .

  Working at The Doll House turned out to be easy and fun. The ladies were a trip, but you can never have a large group of bitches together without having some drama. For me, it was about business, nothing else. I wasn’t there to make friends. And because of my attitude, the dancers and the Dolls respected me. But I think they were also fascinated with me.

  I would ride up to the club in my Ninja, and most of the ladies didn’t know any women who rode a steel like me. Some of the ladies wanted to get their own. Not to be outdone, Lala started riding her Yamaha 600. It was a bad machine, with a custom blue paint job that matched her eyes. Even I was impressed.

  After the Trio reunion, me, Dymond, and Lala started hanging again. Dymond even quit her little part-time job at CVS to work at the club with us. She was a Doll server too. Since she didn’t want to do any extra duties, if you know what I mean, I gave her my tool of the trade. The ladies loved her too.

  Lala had been right, the money was flowing. Me and Dymond were doing okay serving the drinks and getting tips, but believe me, we couldn’t hold a candle to the money Lala was making wrapped around that pole.

  Lala was the most popular dancer at the Doll House. When she took the stage, she commanded it. At first, I felt strange watching her take off her clothes and seeing her half-naked. But just like all of the other breasts and asses I saw in the club, I got used to it. The dudes in the club would be mesmerized when Lala danced. She knew how to tease, hold the moment, and leave the men watching her wanting more. And I definitely don’t swing toward women, but even I had to admit that Lala’s body was on point. She had filled out in all the right places.

  I did like my job, but I wanted more. I stayed busy to dull the pain caused by my separation from Ray, and I was constantly thinking about how to make my own path. I knew I would never truly be happy until I had Ray back between my thighs and I was drafting my own checks.

  Ray ended up pleading out on the stack of drug charges he had against him. In return, he got twenty-four months behind bars. Dymond found out through some old connects from Shadow that the jail time was actually a part of Ray’s ticket out of the Cruz. The police thought they had done some good with their big raid, but it appeared the kingpin the Cruz worked under knew what was going down, especially with the death of that famous businessman on his turf. Ray, along with a couple others, agreed to take one for the team. I was crushed, of course, but the end of the trial meant the end of the silent treatment. It was safe to contact him.

  I wanted to keep him happy on the inside, and let him know what was waiting for him when he got out. I enlisted my girl Steph from Ethereal Photography to take some shots of me on my Ninja. Her studio was located in the Short North, a neighborhood filled with artists’ studios and art galleries. I had pushed Foxy Baby into the back, and Steph had hooked up her large studio just for my photo shoot.

  “Crystal, that outfit is too sexy,” Steph said as I posed in a skimpy black thong bikini I found at Nordstorm.

  “Thanks, Steph, I hope he likes them.”

  “Bend over and arch your back a bit more.” I followed Steph’s orders as she directed me into the right poses. I felt sexy and good, and I knew Ray would love getting the pictures.

  “How does this look?” I asked, bending into position.

  Steph nodded and began taking pictures. I tried not to blink as the light flashed in my eyes.

  “Good. Good. Now, lean back over the seat of your ride and stick out your chest a bit.”

  I moved into position. “Like this?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You’re working it like a model.”

  “I learned from the ladies of the Doll House,” I said, laughing.

  “They taught you well, then,” Steph responded. “Pout your lips a little bit.”

  I did what she said. Steph twisted and turned me around in a couple more positions on Foxy Baby. I changed into a couple more hot and sexy outfits. Finally, after two hours, Steph took the final shot and told me, “That a wrap.”

  Before I left Steph’s studio, we set up a meeting so I could pick out my prints. I was so excited about my shots, I was bursting at the seams by the time the day rolled around to pick up my prints. I almost floated into the studio. I had never handed over cash with so much enthusiasm.

  “You better hope nobody takes these pictures from your boy,” Steph said the day I went to pick up the prints. “Wait until you see them, you look like a first-class model.”

  While Steph went to the back of the studio to pick up my prints, I sat down on the couch in the small waiting room and fumbled through a copy of The Other Paper, a local weekly. When I got to the ad section of the newspaper, a light bulb went off in my head. Suddenly, it was all coming tome.

  I was staring at an ad featuring a white exotic dancer named Mystique. Carefully placed words covered up her most intimate parts, but her face and eyes said a lot. She was oozing sex through the printed page. The ad said she was going to be in town for one night only. A cover charge just to see one woman! But at the bottom of the ad, in small print, the key to my success was born. The ad told interested readers “the first fifty men who come to delight in Mystique will receive a free poster.”

  I wasn’t interested in the free part. But the poster part caught my eye. I thought about Lala and some of the other girls in the club. About posters large and small for the men who came in and out on a weekly basis. They could have something to take home so they bust a nut in their secret places while looking at and fantasizing about their favorite exotic dancers. And for Lala, I would make her a star. By the time Steph came back with my pictures, I was almost jumping out of my seat. I was so busy thinking about my new plans, I almost left my own prints behind.

  “Crys, you’ve been bothering me about these prints almost every day, and now you don’t have the time to look at them?” Steph asked, waving the envelope containing my photos in front of me.

  “Whew, Steph, I . . . just . . . something came up ...and I need to . . .” My words came out in short breaths. I could barely speak. I reached for the envelope and took a sheet, willing myself to calm down.

  “Okay, I know I’ve got it going on,” I smiled up at Steph, “Now let me see how good you made me look.”

  I pulled out the pictures. I almost didn’t notice the person in the photographs. It was me, but sexier, with a sultriness I didn’t know I possessed. I sat back as I marveled at Step
h’s work. “Wow, Steph, I didn’t know they would come out like this.” The quality of the work convinced me that my plan to feature the ladies of the Doll House would work like a charm.

  “Thanks,” Steph said proudly.

  I studied the prints for a couple more minutes, telling Steph, “If things work out like I want, I’ll be bringing a lot more business your way.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I was so amped, I wanted to test the waters to see if Steph would want to deal. “I can’t give you all the details just yet, but if I bring a good deal of business your way . . . I’m talking major business, what would be your terms?”

  I decided to see where her head was at before moving forward. She looked at me with a gleam in her eye. I had known her for a minute. She was a product of the Meadows, and she knew I was a hustlette to the core. “If you’re really serious, we could work something out where we could both benefit. Maybe a percentage deal or a major discount. How about that?”

  Jackpot. The first step in my hustle had legs. Now I had to put the rest of the pieces in play.

  First, I had to convince Lala. She was the best dancer at the club, a leader in a lot of ways. If I could get her on board, I knew the other dancers would fall in line. I asked her if I could come to her condo and she said yes. I was brimming with confidence by the time I rang her bell and she buzzed me into her place.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, me, her blue eyes sparked by concern.

  “Something good,” I said, walking into the condo. I held an envelope in one hand and a bottle of Alizé.

  “Are we . . . celebrating something?”

  “That’s entirely up to you.” I walked toward the kitchen. “Where are the glasses, La? We need to get this party started.”

  We drank and I told her about my grand plan. She would be the headliner for the posters I wanted to make. I showed her the picture of Mystique I had cut out of the newspaper and said, “We can make you into a star. Instead of being just Lala at the Doll House, you could go on tour to different places with your routine.”