I said, “This is what you are, Nikki. Accept it, bitch.”
I asked God if She’d be a light unto my path and walked inside the building I’d been watching intently for close to twenty minutes. It was dark, musty-smelling, and the only lights in the place had a blue glow and shit. Same as I always knew these places to be. Music shook the walls. LL Cool J’s “Doin’ It.” That damn near messed up my mood. Ladies Love Cool James. Ain’t that a bitch? James, James, James. Reminders everywhere I went. Whatever. I wasn’t letting that get me down, wasn’t letting that keep me from getting some much needed cream. If I was going to be independent, raise my baby on my own, I needed money. That was a simple truth. Wasn’t no way around that shit. Money.
A buff dude, with Security stamped on his black T-shirt, intercepted me at the door. Despite the muscles, he was fugly. Fucking ugly. His skin was in bad need of that Vanessa Williams shit. The shit she hawked in those bullshit infomercials. I asked him, “How do I go about getting a job?”
“Dancing?”
I nodded.
“Mitch.”
I said, “Where’s Mitch at?”
“I could get him for you.”
I batted my eyes. “Would you?”
His smile was brighter than the blue lights.
That wasn’t very bright, but homeboy was trying.
He said, “Hold tight.”
I said, “Oh, I’m tight.”
He smirked and stepped off. I took in some air. I hated that bullshit. Hated working up some kind of sexy persona just so I could stomach an audition. I couldn’t even imagine taking my clothes off to make my ends meet again. But that’s how it was going to have to be. I had a baby to think about. Until Zelda got in my ass, I hadn’t been doing too much thinking about the baby. It was all about Nikki.
That had to change, obviously.
I bopped my head to the music, tried to calm myself.
Flo Rida. I didn’t have on Apple Bottoms jeans or boots with the fur.
But I could definitely get low.
“You’ve got some rhythm, that’s good.”
I said, “That I do.”
“And you look like the girl Tyra Banks brought in the game. Forget the girl’s name.”
I said, “Eva. I get that a lot.”
“Yeah, you’re a good-looking girl.”
Girl. I wanted to be a woman.
I said, “Mitch, I presume?”
He smiled. “You presume? You went to college or something?”
“I’m Nikki.”
“Nikki?”
I added, “With two Ks.”
Mitch said, “Ain’t any other way.”
Mitch looked like Charles Barkley.
Just a foot shorter and about fifty pounds heavier.
I liked him. He wasn’t creepy, at least. I could see myself working for him.
He said, “Let’s hit my office.”
I followed him through a winding maze of tables, past the bar and stage, to an office in the back of the club. He had autographed pictures of strippers on his wall, a Playboy calendar, a frame with the first dollar made up in that bitch. Shit was kinda nice.
I closed the door behind me.
He got right to business. “You have experience?”
“Yes. I danced at a place called the Liquid Kitty.”
I expected some more questions.
I got, “Show me your titties, Nikki.”
“Excuse me? Don’t you want to ask me any more questions?”
“No, I’m straight. That’s what it’s all about, baby girl. Tits and ass. Let me see what you’re working with.”
I had on a hoodie and sweats. I eased the hoodie off first, slid out of my bra, gave him a quick peek and then quickly covered up with my hands.
Mitch said, “This ain’t Rolling Stone magazine. And you ain’t Janet Jackson. Let me see those tits, baby girl.”
I hesitated.
Mitch said, “Well?”
I dropped my hands down to my sides. I was shaking. I couldn’t stop.
Mitch said, “You ain’t gonna get the tit men. Let me see your ass.”
I swallowed, eased down my sweats.
Mitch made a circular motion with his hand. “Turn, please.”
I turned.
I got, “Yeah, baby girl. You got a fat ass, for sure. That will definitely work.”
I turned back around, picked up my hoodie and sweats.
Mitch said, “I can see you making some heavy paper with lap dances.”
That disappointed me. Thought I was done with that shit.
I hated lap dances. Dudes’ hard dicks rubbing on your ass cheeks. More than a few of ’em dropped that lotion load while I rubbed my ass on them at the Liquid Kitty. The shit just always disgusted the fuck out of me. Damn.
Mitch said, “When can you start?”
I heard myself say, “As soon as you need me.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Cool, cool.”
Mitch said, “How long since you danced?”
I told him.
“Damn, what you been up to?”
I shrugged. I said, “This and that. Writing my poetry. You know.”
Mitch laughed. “You a poet, baby girl?”
I said, “I dabble.”
Another laugh. “You dabble?”
“Yes.”
“Roses are red,” he said, “and violets are blue. Give me a dollar and I’ll take my G-string off for you.”
He laughed until he coughed. “That needs a little work.”
I quietly dressed.
He said, “I’m just fucking with you, baby girl. Don’t take it to the head.”
I said, “I’m cool.”
I wasn’t. I hated everything. I hated being demeaned.
He explained their payment system, my schedule and his management style. I was listening to him butthewordswerealljustrunningtogetherinmyhead.
It was depressing.
He said, “You got all of that?”
“Yes.”
I went to shake his hand.
He grabbed it and pulled me into a hug and kissed me on the lips.
I was his, wasn’t shit I could say about that. I was Mitch’s bitch.
That shit rhymed like poetry. See that.
He walked me to the door, then slapped me on my ass and sent me on my way.
Sela was on the couch when I came back in. She said, “Got a package from DHL. I put it on your bed.” That was the most she’d said to me in recent memory.
I didn’t say anything. Just nodded, walked by and climbed the stairs for my room. There wasn’t any love in the house, not between Sela and me, definitely not between me and Zelda. Fuck it. It is what it is.
I wondered about the DHL package, though.
I wondered what that was about. Who would send me anything?
It wasn’t a package. A letter, sent from DNA Girl, Inc. I’d never heard of them. I ripped the letter open. Read it.
My heartbeat was off the hook. I couldn’t believe the shit.
I said, “Roses are red. Violets are blue. I’m ’bout to be out, so, Mitch, fuck you.”