The Rolexxx Club - Anniversary Edition

by Meta Smith

  When the mood hit her, she could be found working New York, Vegas, and even Hawaii. There was plenty of money in Miami, but she preferred to explore the world and make money while she did it. Wherever the Super Bowl, NBA Finals, NBA All-Star Game, or Masters Tournament was, so was she. She was a free spirit who followed the gravy train. Have thong, will travel was her motto.

  Ginger was elegant. Too upscale for the clubs she worked at when she was in Miami. Sure, she could go work at one of those fancy white clubs like Solid Gold or Pure Platinum. She’d started out at spots like that. But they’d have her on a schedule. At the black clubs Ginger could do as she pleased; she didn’t need anyone slowing her flow.

  “You fine as hell!” Dewante slurred while running his hand down Ginger’s thigh. Ginger stopped him dead in his tracks.

  She couldn’t stand Dewante. Every time she saw him, he was the same: conceited, arrogant, cocksure. Money and fame had definitely gone to his head, and why wouldn’t they? He could have any woman he wanted.

  “Why you so stuck-up?” he snapped. “You always actin’ like you so high-class.”

  “I am high-class. Recognize!” Ginger stared directly into his bloodshot eyes. “Do you want another dance or not?”

  “What we at now?” Dewante pulled out his bankroll ostentatiously and peeled a series of bills off.

  “I ain’t one of these green hos in here. You paid me up front, remember? It was the first time you pulled out your little bankroll and tried to impress me. So you can put it away, because I wasn’t trippin then and I ain’t now. Now, if you want me to dance another half hour, it’ll be another two fifty.” Ginger put her hands on her hips. She was only gonna give this clown thirty seconds more to break bread or she was gonna move on with the five hundred dollars of his money she had already acquired.

  “How you gonna charge that much for a half hour of your time? Other girls charge by the dance! Your ass ain’t do shit but look at yourself in the mirror,” he complained.

  “Then why was your dick so hard? Why were you moaning and groaning like that? Why were you about to come?” Ginger asked him, suggestively grazing his crotch with her talonlike fingernails.

  “These bitches will dance for me for free! You know who I am!” he replied cockily to mask his embarrassment.

  Who the fuck he think he is, getting loud on me? Ginger thought. Let me check this motherfucker right now!

  “Yeah, and what, I’m supposed to get all geeked up or something? Look, I don’t care if you get paid to play a fucking game for a living unless you putting some bread in my motherfuckin’ pockets. This nickel-and- dime-dance bullshit ain’t no money. You know who I am, and you know how I roll. See me when you’re ready to play. Until then, sit your ass on the bench.” Ginger spun on her stilettos. Dewante grabbed her wrist and held it tightly.

  “You a feisty one, ain’t you?” Dewante loosened his grip a little, “You got attitude, heart.” He grinned at her. He loved women who had a little fire. His wife was mousy as hell. She thought she checked him on occasion, but all she was doing in his eyes was nagging.

  “Game recognizes game,” Ginger replied. She had this nigga right where she wanted him. The tough-girl routine always worked.

  “How much, Ginger? What’s it gonna take?”

  “That depends on what you want.” Ginger stepped to him and looked him dead in the eyes. At naturally five feet ten inches, her platform shoes added another seven inches of height, making her an Amazon.

  “I want you and another girl to come and party with me,” he told her. “Hmmm. Sounds like my type of party. Let me tell my friend–”

  “No!” Dewante cut her off. “I’m gonna pick the girl,” he told her.

  “Fair enough,” she said, not meaning it. She wasn’t trying to lick just

  any female.

  “Her.” Dewante pointed to the new girl with the caféau lait complexion. Her extremely curly, dark hair was held back by a thick headband and hung to the middle of her back.

  “Nice eyes. But I don’t know her,” Ginger told him, folding her arms. She wished he would have picked one of her friends, someone who knew how to juice a trick like Dewante for all he was worth. For all she knew, this girl didn’t even “date.”

  “Get to know her,” Dewante ordered.

  “Okay. I’ll see what she says. But if she doesn’t want to, who do you want?”

  “It’s both of you or none of you,” he replied.

  “What’s so special about her? Her body? I don’t think so. Her eyes? I got contacts, nigga!” Ginger frowned. Who the fuck is this bitch?

  “Are you blind? Y’all look like you could be sisters. It’s a fantasy, the two of you together. She looks like an angel, and I know you’re a demon. It’ll be interesting.”

  Ginger looked over at the girl. She did look an awful lot like her, except younger, and definitely rougher around the edges. Ginger smiled, then opened her mouth as if to speak. She paused for dramatic effect, then answered.

  “I want two g’s for the night. I’m up and out at 10 a.m. and anything over that is another two g’s. Got that? Pay her whatever you want to, but my price is my price. Take it or leave it.”

  “Handle it.” Dewante sat down and rubbed the bulge in his crotch, licking his lips lasciviously. “Five g’s for the both of you all night.” Dewante knew he was making Ginger an offer she couldn’t refuse.

  “Purse first, ass last. Let’s get all the formalities out of the way. Can I get paid?” Ginger wanted to get her cheddar before he had the opportunity to change his mind. Dewante gave her a thick stack of crisp hundred- dollar bills. Ginger thought how stupid Dewante was, rolling with so much cash on hand. It was a surefire way to get jumped. It was also tacky. Carrying so much cash screamed nouveau riche. He obviously wasn’t used to having the finer things in life.

  But Ginger wasn’t stupid. She hauled ass to confront this girl. There was no way she was going to let her say no. Not with all that money on the line. She’d start out low and work the numbers up to $2,500, if necessary. This girl would have no choice but to go along by the time Ginger finished spitting her game. Everyone had a price. And from the looks of the girl Dewante had his eye on, hers couldn’t be that high. She looked green as

  hell. The girl disappeared into the dressing room.

  Perfect! I’ll catch her offguardinthe dressing room, Ginger thought, following suit. The girl was buying a snack from the housemother. She quietly sat on a bench, sipping on a ginger ale and fanning herself.

  GINGER PRETENDED TO BE REFRESHING HER MAKEUP IN THE

  mirror, but was checking out the fresh meat’s every move.

  “Oye!” Ginger called out to her, still preening in the mirror. “Oye, muñequita!”

  “You talking to me?” The girl looked up hesitantly. She’d heard that aggressive lesbians took advantage of new girls in the dressing room. She’d avoided making eye contact or conversation with anyone, choosing instead to focus on the quest for the almighty dollar.

  “Sí. Hablas español?” Ginger asked her if she spoke Spanish. “Sí, bastante,” the girl replied, telling her she spoke enough. “De dónde eres?” Ginger questioned.

  “Nueva Yol. New York, mami. Y tú?” the girl answered, loosening up. “De aquí. Eres dominicana?” Ginger asked the girl if she was Dominican.

  “Yeah, how’d you guess?” The girl looked surprised and reverted back to English.

  “I always know my people. I’m Ginger,” she said, extending her hand. “I know. Isawyou onstage. Youwerereal good.” The girl complimented her, hoping she wouldn’t think that she was flirting. Ginger had been good. Before Dewante came in, Ginger had the entire club crowded around the tiny stage. It was like she came alive on the stage. When Ginger danced on the floor, the girl noticed that she didn’t dance with very much effort. Mostly, she just wound her hips like a reggae dance-hall girl or whispered in the man’s ear. But on the stage she did splits, swung around the pole

  like an acrobat, and
could drop it with the best of the club’s dancers. “Everybody keeps asking me if we’re related! But I’m not as pretty as

  you,” the girl admitted. Ginger laughed.

  “What’s your name, shawty?” Ginger asked her.

  “Desire.” Desire stuck out her hand. “But my real name is Desiree.” “Cute. My real name is Genevieve,” Ginger told her, emphasizing her

  name with a heavy French accent. “But everybody calls me Ginger. They

  have since I was little. I don’t know what the hell my mama was thinking, nicknaming me Ginger. Watching too much Gilligan’s Island, I guess.” Ginger and Desire laughed.

  “So you makin’ money?” Ginger asked Desire, eyeing her garter. Ginger estimated she had about three hundred dollars. Chump change.

  “Yeah!” Desire enthused. “It’s pretty good here.” “Wanna make some more?” Ginger asked carefully.

  “How?” Desire asked. She wasn’t new to dancing. She’d been solicited for sex before but had always resisted. She wasn’t trying to get caught up in prostitution. But the thought of more money appealed to her. She could use it. She would at least hear Ginger out. She would probably say no like she always did.

  “You like basketball?” Ginger asked.

  “Love it,” Desire answered, wondering what basketball had to do with anything.

  “What about basketball players?” “Don’t know any.”

  “Well ... tonight’s your lucky night, Desire.” Ginger grinned, going in for the kill. She knew it wouldn’t take much convincing. A girl like Desire was probably starstruck. She explained to Desire that Dewante Reid had wanted to hook up with her.

  “Oh my God! The Dewante Reid?” Desire bugged out just as Ginger

  expected. “He’s gonna pay to go out with me?” Desire asked, lowering her voice.

  Ginger looked at her in amazement. She had to be from out of town

  and fresh out of high school. Either that or straight-up dingy.

  “He wants to fuck,” Ginger stated bluntly. She didn’t have time to waste with this amateur. She was either down or she wasn’t.

  “Oh! You or me?” Desire asked, slowly catching on. “He wants to see us together.”

  “Oh.” Desire frowned, crestfallen.

  “Look, if you don’t get down like that, you can fake it. I’ll pretend I’m eating you out and let my hair fall all over the place. All you gotta do is moan and wiggle like it feels good. Then we can suck his dick for a while or fuck him or whatever.”

  Desire sat in thought.

  “Shit, you know you wanna fuck him! Who doesn’t? He’s fine as hell! He’s paid. You’d fuck him for free if you met him out somewhere else. And he’s gonna pay us a grand,” Ginger explained.

  “I don’t know.” Desire hesitated. “Couldn’t we get in trouble if we got caught?”

  “Why would we get caught? Dewante is married! He’s not gonna tell anybody. Besides, even if someone found out, the only way we’d get in

  trouble is if you told someone we got paid for it. Otherwise, it’s just sex between three consenting adults. Do you plan on telling anyone?” Ginger asked her.

  “Well, no,” Desire answered. “So then what’s the big deal?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems wrong,” Desire confessed.

  “Yeah, okay.” Ginger rolled her eyes and stared at Desire in disbelief. “It feels wrong to take a grand for something you would have done for free under different circumstances? You’re trippin’! But hey, you can’t make nobody wanna make no money.” Ginger shrugged and turned to walk away. Desire watched as an easy thousand dollars began to walk away with her.

  “Okay,” Desire answered quickly. Every time she had been solicited before, she’d say she wanted five hundred dollars, and that was usually the end of the conversation. A grand was a lot of money.

  Ginger turned to face Desire and smiled knowingly. She knew that no woman in her right mind would turn down such a deal. At least not one who had the cojones to dance at the Lex. Desire eyed the diamonds on Ginger’s fingers and in her ears. She noticed that she wore a diamond tennis bracelet with large clear stones, not diamond chips, which had to cost a fortune. The anklet she wore had baguettes in it. Plus, she knew Dewante. Desire guessed that Ginger had plenty of paper. She could probably learn a thing or two from her.

  “Cool. Get dressed. You’ll roll with me, and I’ll fill you in on the details in the car,” Ginger ordered. “I’ll take care of management for you.” Ginger strolled out of the dressing room.

  Ginger broke management off with fifty dollars to leave early and tipped the DJ, then quickly changed her clothes in the dressing room. Within minutes she was leading Desire to her BMW, following Dewante’s Porsche out of the parking lot and onto 95 North. In the car they rode in silence until Ginger’s voice pierced the night air.

  “How old are you...Desiree, right?” Ginger asked. “Call me Dez,” she said. “I’m twenty-one.”

  “Right. Now, how old are you really?” Ginger glanced sideways at Desiree, who was squirming nervously in her seat.

  “Eighteen,” she admitted.

  “So why did you lie?” Ginger queried, full of suspicion.

  “I wanted to drink at the club, so I used a fake ID. I’m not a good liar, but what can they say when my driver’s license says that I’m twenty-one?” Desiree replied.

  “Please. Them niggas at the club don’t care. Quietest kept, there’s some underage girls working there. For a minute I thought you were one of them,” Ginger said.

  “Nah, I’m eighteen,” Desiree responded quickly.

  “Aww, you still got Similac on your breath,” Ginger teased. “How old are you?” Desiree asked Ginger.

  “Twenty-five,” she stated, as if twenty-five were the wisest age on earth.

  “You actin’ like you thirty-five and shit!” Desiree remarked, laughing.

  They followed Dewante off the interstate.

  “So have you known Dewante long?” Desiree asked. She definitely wanted to know more about Ginger after seeing the BMW.

  “Kind of. I’ve seen him at a few clubs I worked at, you know, I’ve danced for him. And I’ve seen him at clubs on the beach. He’s a real asshole, though.”

  “Don’t tell me that. I’m trying to find me a baIler and get married.” Ginger nearly rear-ended Dewante because she took her eyes off the road to look at Desiree like she had lost her mind.

  “Damn! What I say?” Desiree gasped with her hand over her heart. “Please, girl! Them niggas ain’t worth all the trouble. You’ll see. If you

  were smart, you’d be trying to get your own money.”

  “I’m makin’ my own money. I want they money!” Desiree hooted, snapping her fingers dramatically.

  “Okay. One night with this nigga, and I guarantee you that you won’t be trying to fuck with athletes. Or maybe you’ll have to learn the hard way. Shit, you might be one of those chicks that can deal with they bullshit.”

  “You fucked with him before?” Desiree asked.

  “Nah. But they’re all the same.” Ginger dismissed the question with a wave.

  “How so?”

  “You’ll see. I’m telling you he’s an asshole. He’s cocky as hell, just like most athletes. Don’t go falling in love with his ass if he makes you come and shit,” Ginger teased. She liked Desiree. Her naïveté was refreshing, even though she was trying to play so tough. Ha! The girl had blushed when Ginger said “come.” Ginger couldn’t remember the last time something made her genuinely blush.

  “Plus, I heard he was a freak,” Ginger added. Desiree’s eyes widened. “What kind of freak?”

  “I hear he’s into some wild shit. This chick Peaches tricked with him once, and she never gave me the exact details, but she said she thought he

  went both ways.”

  “What? I don’t believe that!” Desiree shook her head.

  “Okay. Think what you want with your young ass! Athletes are always doing shit like that. They call t
hat shit ‘the other level.’ They get so much pussy thrown at them that they get bored. They probably start out doing threesomes, and then one day they decide to leave the girl out!” Ginger giggled.

  “Ewww. That is so nasty. I don’t see how niggas do that shit. Or females either, for that matter.”

  “Oh, come on!” “Come on what?”

  Ginger stared at Desiree in disbelief. “You’ve never been with another

  woman?”

  “Never!” Desiree stated firmly.