K. Elliott
Shante Morgan aka Foreplay lay on Club Cheetah’s center stage with her legs spread like a field-goal post, wearing nothing but a tiny pink G-string. She was a tall slender dancer with a twenty-four-inch waist, a perfect round ass, and small but flawless breasts. Her golden hair and piercing emerald eyes mesmerized the audience as her body glistened under the light from baby oil she rubbed on herself before coming out. A small Mexican guy was on the other side of the stage with a fistful of bills. Shante wanted them all. She danced her way to the edge of the stage, where the man stood, and siezed the bills. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her G-string and slowly worked her thong down her hips.
The man smiled gratefully and took a sip of his beer before sitting down. A skinny guy with braids yelled, “Make it clap.”
“I’ll make it clap if you make it rain,” Shante said.
The man threw down a five-dollar bill.
She flashed a smile showing her brilliant white teeth.
“Nigga, you made it drizzle. I said make it rain.”
“Hell, that’s all I got, baby.”
Nobody had any money, Shante thought. The money at the club had been slow for the past two weeks, and Shante was sick and tired of working all night and being a circus act for broke-ass niggas who didn’t want to pay her. After she finished up onstage, she quickly exited to the locker room. It was time to go home.
Shante Morgan sat on the wooden bench inside the locker room, counting the money she’d made. “Seventy-three dollars,” she said. “This shit is pathetic.”
Shante thought about earlier that day when she’d taken her children to see Santa Claus at the mall. “So what do you want for Christmas?” Santa had asked her eight-year-old son, Chris.
Chris looked serious, like a grown man. He reminded Shante so much of his father. “I don’t want anything; I just want you to bring my mama a house.”
A tear trickled down Shante’s cheek.
Then Chris pulled out his report card and gave it to Santa. She hadn’t even known he’d had his report card with him. “See, I did good, Santa.”
The man playing Santa looked at the report card. “Yes, you did great, young man.” Santa then turned to her daughter, Makayla, who was nine. “And what about you, young lady?”
“Same thing my brother said, my mama need a house.”
Santa smiled, and the crowd around them applauded.
One man yelled, “You have some great kids!”
Shante smiled at the memory of that morning. She knew that she had wonderful kids and that they would be content even if they didn’t get anything for Christmas, but she felt obligated— not because they’d made exceptional grades, but because they deserved a good Christmas. But how was she going to get the money? She looked at the bills in her hand. She knew she would get the money some kind of way; she was a hustler. She could try calling her babies’ daddy’s mother, but she couldn’t stand that bitch. She would make it on her own before she lowered herself to begging.
Another stripper, Goldie, walked over to the locker next to Shante, “I didn’t even make that much. Consider yourself lucky.”
Shante continued to get dressed, putting on her wool socks and her Timberland boots, then her coat and finally her scarf. Even dressed like a boy she was a stunning woman. “You don’t have any kids, so consider yourself lucky.” She smiled. “I have twenty-three days left before Christmas, and my two kids want everything.”
Goldie looked sad for Shante, “What about their daddy?”
“That nigga ain’t shit. He don’t even come around, and they haven’t seen his ass in almost two years.”
Shante stood and buttoned her coat, thinking about her date with Big Mike. Maybe he could help her with the Christmas gifts. Shante and Big Mike had met two weeks ago at 7-Eleven. He pulled up beside her in his Benz and offered to pump her gas.
She had already taken care of it but thanked him for asking. Big Mike was a huge guy—six feet four and two hundred fifty pounds of dark chocolate. She thought he was cute and charming—and the Mercedes Benz S600 he was driving didn’t hurt either—so she gave him her number.
* * *
Now it was two weeks later, and they were about to have another marathon sex session. Big Mike stood over her and smiled, revealing his country-assed gold tooth—the one thing she didn’t like about him.
“Put it in, nigga, and quit stalling,” Shante said.
“Wait a minute; it ain’t all the way hard.” Big Mike walked to the dresser and grabbed a bottle out of a paper bag. He opened it up and guzzled down the liquor. “Ahhh,” he said, before letting out a loud burp.
Shante turned around. “What the hell was that?” she said, looking disgusted.
“Guinness. This shit makes your dick rock hard.” Mike winked. “My brother told me about this shit; it’s better than Viagra.
“Nigga, my good pussy is supposed to make your dick hard,” Shante teased.
Shante put his manhood in her mouth, and Big Mike looked up toward the ceiling. “Now this is what the fuck I’m talking about,” he said, as Shante stroked his dick slowly while licking the head and playing with his balls.
But then she stopped.
“What’s wrong?” he said, looking annoyed.
She stood and turned her back toward him. “Mike … I really didn’t want to get into this with you because I know we just met.”
“What are you talking about?” Mike’s dick was throbbing. Shante turned and looked Mike in his eyes. Shante knew from years of experience that men were the most vulnerable when they were about to have sex, and, at that moment, he probably would’ve built a house for her with his bare hands if she asked him to. “I need help.”
“What do you need?”
“I need money to get my kids gifts. I don’t have any money this year. The club has been slow, and they want a lot of stuff for Christmas. I want to get my son a PlayStation and my daughter a new computer. I told them if they did good in school this year, I would tell Santa to bring them what they wanted.”
“How’d they do?”
“My daughter got all As, and my son, mostly As and Bs and one C,” Shante said proudly.
Mike smiled.
He was a hulking man, and even though she’d known him for only a short time, she could tell he was a good person.
“You know what? I’m going to help you. Don’t worry about it.” He smiled mischievously. “Now, let’s get back to work.” His member hardened as he moved toward Shante once more.
Shante went down on him again, not really sure if Mike was being honest about his promises. But she was lonely. She was tired of raising the kids on her own. She wanted a man; she wanted a father for her kids. She thought about what it would be like if Mike were a permanent fixture in her and her kids’ lives. There would be someone to accompany her to PTA meetings and help her raise her son.
Noticing she was distracted, Mike frowned. “What’s wrong now, baby?”
Shante wiped her mouth before she stood and kissed him. “Mike, I’m really starting to like you, and I wish you could be in my life. I want to introduce you to my kids.”
Mike looked at his watch. “It’s three in the morning.”
“Not right now. Maybe tomorrow.” She smiled.
“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to meet the kids unless we’re going to be together.”
She put her head on his chest. “Don’t you want to be with me?”
He took a deep breath but didn’t answer her question.
Shante looked into Mike’s eyes. It was obvious Mike didn’t feel the same way. “Mike, you don’t want to be with me, do you?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Course I do,” Mike said, but he didn’t sound sincere.
It was clear he was lying, and Shante called him on it. “Why not, Mike? Why don’t you want to be with me?”
Mike avoided her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, it’s just that I just got out of a relationship. I kind of want some time by myself, you know?”
“I understand,” she said, holding back her tears. She figured she was just a piece of ass to Big Mike, just like she was to every other man she had ever met.
Mike put his arms around her and held her for a long time. “It’s not like that, shortie, I mean, everything is cool, I just want to chill, you know?”
“Meaning you just wanna fuck,” she translated.
“Naw, it ain’t like that,” Mike said unconvincingly.
She put her arms around him. “It’s okay, Mike. I know what you want. It’s okay, just keep it real.” She forced a smile.
“Seriously, baby, it ain’t like that.”
Shante dropped to her knees and put his dick in her mouth again. She wondered why niggas lie. Now that she knew that Mike only wanted to fuck her, she would play the game with him and try to get whatever she could out of him. She knew what he wanted, and she would have to use it to get what she needed.
“Don’t stop!” he yelled. He was just about to explode when she spit his balls out of her mouth. Big Mike stood up with his dick swinging wildly. “Why did you stop, shortie?”
“I need two hundred dollars, Mike.”
“I told you I was going to help you with the kids’ Christmas.”
“That’s cool, but I need the money now.”
Mike’s dick was still stiff, and she was sure he would have paid any amount of money for the nut at that point.
“How much you need?” he asked.
“Three hundred dollars.”
“I thought you said two hundred.”
“What the hell did you ask for, if you knew all along?”
“I don’t have two hundred dollars.”
“Nigga, you driving a eighty-five-thousand-dollar car. What do you mean you don’t have two hundred dollars?”
“I don’t have it,” Mike stated firmly.
Shante stood and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was just about to gargle some Listerine when Big Mike walked in with his dick in one hand and a bunch of bills in the other. She spit the Listerine in the sink, turned to him, and smiled. “You want your little dick sucked, huh?”
He chuckled and, as she reached for the money, pulled back and pointed to his dick.
“No, nigga, put the money in my hand, and only then will you get rewarded.”
Mike glanced at himself. His dick had gone down again. Finally he handed her the money.
She counted it. Ten twenty-dollar bills. “I need three hundred dollars.”
“I don’t have it right now,” he stated. “You can take it or leave it.”
She took it.
* * *
Club Cheetah’s was packed. The Chevy Boyz, a rap group from Atlanta, was making it rain by throwing trash bags of money in the air. Shante had arrived late, but she could tell it was going to be a good night. She was dressed in her sexiest outfit: a green spandex dress with a lime green G-string that highlighted her ass.
Blue was the leader of the Chevy Boyz. He was tall, dark, and lanky, with long cornrows. He stepped to Shante as soon as she left the dressing room. “Goddamn,” he said, admiring her ass.
She smiled and looked away. She didn’t want to seem like she was a groupie.
“You know who I am, shortie?” Blue asked.
“No, should I?” Shante said, knowing damn well who he was. She’d seen him on BET, but she had to play it cool. She couldn’t let the nigga get the big head; then he would expect dances for free. Celebrities were the cheapest customers, usually.
He looked at her skeptically and said, “Yeah, right.”
He pointed to his black T-shirt that read: chevy boyz.
“Okay, I think I’ve heard of y’all,” Shante said, keeping up the charade. “You’re a singer or something.”
He chuckled. “Damn, you smell good, shortie. What you wearing?”
“Kenzo.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve never heard of you.”
“But you just said you did.”
She smiled then laughed out loud. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Quit playing games.”
“I know who you are, nigga, but still introduce yourself, and don’t give me that hip-hop name. What is your government name?” Shante asked playfully.
“You the feds?”
“No, it’s just manners. Didn’t yo mama teach you manners?”
“Leave my mama out of this.”
Hoping she hadn’t offended him, Shante rubbed his chest then turned her back toward him and started dancing, pressing her behind against his dick. Just then the DJ announced, “We have the Chevy Boyz in the house!” and put on their song “My Chevy Ride Slow.” The crowd went wild.
Blue smiled, revealing a gold grill as he palmed Shante’s butt. “Damn, girl, I didn’t know Carolina girls had asses like this.”
Shante turned and smiled. “This is a one-of-a-kind ass. You can’t find this in Carolina, Georgia, or Florida.”
“I don’t know about all that, but you definitely looking good and smelling good.”
“What’s stopping you from taking me to VIP then?”
Blue paid for a bottle of champagne, and Shante led the way upstairs.
Inside the VIP lounge, the two sat at a small table in a secluded corner. Blue began to pour her a glass of champagne, but Shante shook her head. “I don’t drink.”
Blue looked surprised. Shante put her leg over his, and Blue moved her hand to his lap.
“Okay, so what’s up, shortie? What do I get in VIP? You giving me head or what?”
“I don’t have sex inside clubs. We don’t do that here. You’ll get thrown out and get me fired.”
“What? So what do I get?”
“Just a private dance.”
“This shit is whack. In ATL the girls are sucking and fucking.”
“This ain’t ATL.”
She stood, and his eyes zeroed in on her ass. “So what’re you about to do?”
“I’m about to give you a dance,” Shante said, as she wiggled her ass, which looked like it wanted to bust out of her tight come-fuck-me dress.
“Let’s get out of this club, shortie. I got a spot in the Embassy Suites. I want to slide through and unwind.”
“After I get off I’ll bounce with you; it ain’t no problem. But if you want me to spend the night it’s going to cost you two Gs.”
“Money ain’t a thang.”
When he said that, Shante felt relieved. Her kids would have a good Christmas after all. “Then you have yourself a date.”
* * *
When Shante came out of the bathroom of Blue’s hotel suite, she was butt-naked. Blue laid across the bed stroking himself. She slid beside him, and his manhood swelled immediately. She licked it and blew on it. His toes curled.
“Want to place a bet?” she asked him.
“What kind of bet?” he responded.
“That I can make it cum in six minutes, or this one is on me.”
He pulled his boxers all the way down to his feet. He had a lot of pubic hair, which made her flesh crawl.
“And if you do make me cum within six minutes?”
She kissed his chest and then his lips. Carressing his sack, she said, “You pay me double.”
“That’s a bet.”
“Can you pay me fifteen hundred now?”
“Why?”
She kissed his sack. “I don’t know you, Daddy.”
“Imma pay you. You think I’m going to risk my career and get a rape case?”
She decided not to press him because he looked so serious and she didn’t want to blow the opportunity. She also thought he was sort of cute; she didn’t particularly like skinny men, but Blue was kind of attractive to her.
He rubbed his dick on her chin, causing her to jerk her face away.
“What’s the matter? Too freaky for you?”
“No, but you ain’t my man, so you can’t just do me any kind of way.”
“I’d rather be ya n-i-g-g-a,” Blue quoted Tupac. “The nigga get treated better than the man.”
She smacked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about all of that, but are we on or not?”
“You that good, you can make me spit in six minutes?”
“Five, nigga.”
“Bet it up, shortie.” They shook hands, and she took him deep in the back of her throat. He grabbed her head. She moved his hand and spit on the tip of his dick.
His head fell back.
He looked at the clock: one minute had gone by.
She deep-throated him. He stood, and she grabbed his waist; she met his thrusting with the back of her throat. She cupped his balls. Saliva ran down the sides of her mouth onto his shaft. He sat back on the bed: three minutes had passed. His toes were now pointing up toward the ceiling.
“Damn this shit feels so … so good.”
Shante kept going.
With a little over one minute remaining, Blue begged. “Please stop! Please stop! You win! I’ll pay you!”
She ignored his demands, and seconds later he came and came and came again.
She bounced from her knees, disappeared into the bathroom, and came back with a towel, which she threw to Blue, who was now in a fetal position.
“Damn, girl, that was the best head I ever had.”
“Hell, yeah.”
“Why don’t you give me a bonus then?”
He laughed. “Shortie, you got game and personality. I like you a lot.”
Shante was happy she’d pleased him. She wondered what life would be like with a rapper as a boyfriend.
“So Blue, why don’t you wanna be nobody’s man?”
Blue sat up on the bed. “Just don’t have time for it. You know with relationships come expectations, and I don’t have time for that shit. I like to just chill.”
“And buy pussy?”
He looked troubled. “I don’t know. My life ain’t all what it’s cracked up to be. I’d rather just make a deal for sex than have somebody who really only wanted me for my paper pretend they like me.”
Shante was confused.“So paying for booty works out good for you?”
“You better believe it.” He smiled, revealing his gold-and-diamond grill.
“I see,” she said, disappointed, as her dreams of being with a famous rapper disappeared.
After she put her clothes back on, Blue gave Shante her money and kissed her on the cheek.
When Shante got home, the babysitter was asleep on the sofa, and the kids were sleeping on the pullout couch. She kissed her son on the cheek and picked up her little girl. She walked the kids to their bedrooms and tucked them in then hopped in the shower. She couldn’t stop thinking about Blue and wondered why it was so easy for him to have sex without attachments. It didn’t feel good tricking for cash—even if it was for a good cause: her kids. She felt hopeless and foolish for giving up the jewels to a total stranger, someone who didn’t give a damn about her. Though she’d known that it was only business between her and Blue and that she hadn’t known him but for a few hours, she had developed a liking for him. She wished he had seen something in her that had made him want to stick around.
* * *
When Big Mike came over he noticed all the gifts under the Christmas tree.
“I see you doing okay for yourself.”
Shante smiled. “Yes, I got my kids their own shit.”
“How’d you do that?” Mike asked, still looking at the gifts.
“The club’s been busy.”
“That means you won’t need my money then, right?”
“Whatever, nigga. You know I need help. I am a single parent, remember?”
“I know. You get them the computer and PlayStation like you said?”
She rubbed his chest. “Yes, and some other things, too.”
“Cool, cool,” he said. “Are the kids asleep?”
“If they weren’t sleep, do you think you would be here?”
“That’s what I like about you: you always put your kids first.”
“No, this is what you like about me.” She rubbed her ass against him.
“You damn right.” He smiled again, revealing that country-assed gold tooth.
She kissed him, and he held her. She felt so safe in his arms. He was so big and lovable, she felt that he could protect her from the world. He began to unbutton her blouse.
She buttoned it back up. “Let’s just hold each other, Mike.”
“What?”
“I just like you being here with me. Do we always have to have sex?”
“I guess not.”
“Let’s just comfort each other.”
Mike looked at her strangely. “Comfort each other?”
She pushed him away and began to cry.
He leaned toward her. “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing.”
Mike sat on the sofa. “I swear, women are so damned emotional.”
Shante continued to cry. Though she had been able to buy the gifts for her kids, she didn’t have a man to share Christmas with. Every year at this time, she’d get sad. She’d see families and wish she had someone to spend Christmas with her and her children.
Mike got down on one knee. “Baby, tell me what’s wrong?”
She looked him in his eyes. “Have you ever felt like you have nobody?”
Mike look confused and didn’t answer.
“See, you don’t understand.”
He put his arms around her. “You have me.”
She smiled. “If I have you, Mike, just hold me then, no sex. I just want to be held.”
He put his arms around her and held her tightly.
It was three a.m. when Shante woke up and found that Mike was gone. She walked into the living room to see if the door was locked. Finally, she turned toward the Christmas tree to make sure the lights were out.
All of her gifts were gone.
She looked around. This had to be a mistake, she thought. Her gifts had to be there. Maybe Mike put them in the closet for some reason? She checked. The closet was empty. They weren’t in the kitchen, nor in the kids’ room. What the hell was going on? She dialed Mike’s cell phone number. He didn’t pick up, which wasn’t like him at all. He almost always picked up. She called him three more times, but there was no answer.
Shante threw her phone across the room as she realized that Big Mike had stolen the presents. But he had done more than that. She had wanted so much to trust him, to believe that there might be something there. And not only did he steal from her, he stole from her children as well. What in the hell was she going to do now?
* * *
Officer Tillman, a tall black man, asked Shante, “Can you describe this man you call Big Mike?”
Tears ran down Shante’s face, and she could barely talk. “He was big and burly, about two hundred fifty pounds, with a gold tooth.”
A lanky white officer with a name tag that read Diehl scribbled on a notepad. “How tall was he?”
Diehl looked at Shante with serious eyes. “Was he your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Your lover?”
Embarrassed, Shante looked up at the ceiling. She wanted to wake up to find that all this was just a bad dream, but it wasn’t. How could she have been such a bad judge of character?
Tillman asked again. “Was he your lover?”
The tears came pouring down her face, leaving a trail. “I guess you could say that.”
“So where does he live?” Tillman asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never been to his house?” Diehl asked. “No.”
“Where does he work?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long did you know him?” Diehl asked.
“About a month.” Shante knew she sounded stupid. She felt it. Diehl looked surprised. “And you brought him home with your kids?”
“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but he seemed like a nice guy.”
“Where did you and Big Mike meet?” Tillman asked.
“The 7-Eleven. He offered to pump my gas.”
The two officers exchanged looks.
“I can see why he wins the Humanitarian of the Year Award,” Diehl quipped.
“You shut the fuck up,” Shante shouted angrily. “I don’t need to be judged by you.”
Diehl stopped scribbling. “Ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Do you know his last name?” Tillman probed.
Shante looked in the air as she tried to remember if he had ever told her.
“Think hard,” the officer said. “I can’t recall.”
“What does he drive?”
“A Benz.”
“A Benz?” Diehl said.
“I know. That’s why I didn’t think he would do something like this,” Shante said.
“Just ’cause he drives it doesn’t mean it’s his,” Tillman said. Someone called Diehl on the radio, and seconds later Shante’s kids came running into the living room.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Makayla asked.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Where are our Christmas presents?” her daughter asked.
She pulled the girl close but didn’t answer.
“Ma, did someone take the Christmas presents?”
“No, you know I wouldn’t let that happen,” Shante said, looking at the cops.
Chris started to cry. “Mama, where are the presents?”
“Santa has them,” Officer Tillman said.
“That’s right, Santa has them,” Diehl repeated.
Shante kissed both of her kids on the cheek and then wiped her son’s eyes with her shirt. “Take your brother into the room and let me finish talking to the officers.”
Makayla grabbed Chris’s hand and disappeared into the room.
When the kids were gone, Shante asked, “What am I going to do?”
Diehl shrugged his shoulders. “Try the Salvation Army.”
Tillman offered, “Angel Tree is another organization where you can get some help.”
Shante couldn’t believe this shit had happened to her, nor could she believe she had been so naive. How in the hell could she have been so stupid? And to think that she’d actually wanted him to move in and play daddy to her kids. The tears came again.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure my kids have a good Christmas,” she said aloud. “Even beg, if I have to.”
* * *
Shante swallowed her pride and called her kids’ father’s mother, who answered on the first ring. “Yeah, this is Janie.”
“Ms. Janie, this is Shante.”
“Yeah, I know. I saw your name on my caller ID. What do you want?”
“I need some help.”
“With what?”
Shante was tempted to hang up. She hated this bitch, but she knew the kids were depending on her to come up with Christmas gifts. “I need help with the kids’ Christmas gifts.”
“That’s your problem.”
The nerve of this bitch to be so cold.
“Where is your son?”
“I don’t know. I don’t keep up with my son.” Janie’s voice was harsh.
“Listen, Ms. Janie. I had the presents, but I was robbed.”
Janie smacked her teeth. “Yeah, right.”
Shante took a deep breath, realizing it was a lost cause.
“You’re a damn con artist,” the older woman continued, “and that’s all you will ever be. You conned my son into getting you pregnant, and now you have to pay the price.”
“So I put your son’s dick inside me, right?”
“You ruined his life. My son was in college until he met your tramp ass.”
“How in the hell did I ruin his life? Chris hasn’t given me shit for the kids in over two years.”
“He has a wife; he don’t have time for you.”
“Fuck you.”
“You just want him back!”
“I could care less about Chris.”
Chris was the first man who had ever told her she was attractive. Shante had always known she was sexy, but Chris had made her feel pretty. She had really wanted the relationship to work, but she soon found out she was just a piece of ass on the side. She stopped seeing him for a while, but she missed him so much she ended up going back to him and playing the other woman until the kids came. When he wasn’t there for her financially, she finally cut the relationship off.
Shante wanted to cry, but she would not let this bitch mother of his have the pleasure of breaking her spirit. She hung up the phone.
Shante was dressed extra-sexy. She wore hot pink spandex pants with the bottom out revealing a pink thong that made her ass look even rounder. She was going to make that money tonight even if it meant getting every customer off in the club. But the club was extremely slow tonight. There were only a few customers, and most were just sitting around not spending money. It was eleven o’clock when an older man with a graying beard and slacks pulled up above his navel walked in. Shante smiled at him. He blushed. He stood at the bar for a few moments, waiting for the soda he’d ordered. When his drink arrived, Shante walked over and smiled again.
The man extended his hand. “I’m John Long.”
“Shante.”
“So what’s up?”
“You tell me,” Shante said. “Are you looking for someone to kick it with? You know, have a good time?”
“What do I have to pay?” John asked.
Shante licked her lips and pouted them seductively. “Six hundred dollars for an hour.”
“Six hundred dollars is pretty expensive,” he said. “How about four hundred.”
Shante thought for a minute. She knew he was old and that a lot of times old guys had trouble cumming, so she might have to work extra hard. She couldn’t lower her price too much. “Five hundred.”
John opened his wallet, skimmed through his bills as if he were counting his money. Finally he agreed. They left the club an hour later.
Shante and John drove to a Ramada about a mile away from the club. As soon as they got into the room John smiled and touched her hair.
“No.”
John looked puzzled.
She looked into his eyes. “Don’t try to patronize me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, trying to hold back her tears, but she couldn’t contain herself. John dug into his wallet and pulled out five one-hundred-dollar bills and gave them to Shante.
“Thanks,” she said, looking confused. “What’s this for?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you giving me money? I don’t understand.”
“Just consider it a blessing from the Lord. Merry Christmas,” John said.
“Merry Christmas to you, but I have never had this happen to me.”
“What?”
“I never had anybody just pay me for not having sex with them.”
“I’m different.”
“Are you?”
“So, tell me about yourself,” John said.
“I don’t know what to tell you…. I’m a dancer, and sometimes I sell sex.”
“I know that much, but what led you to dancing?”
“Well, I really don’t have any skills. I mean, I want to go back to school and all, but—”
“But what?”
“I have kids.”
“And?” His warm smile made Shante feel like opening up. She turned her head slightly, avoiding his eyes. “I mean, kids kind of make it hard to go back to school.”
“Excuses—everybody has them.”
She made eye contact with him. “So, John, what do you do.”
An awkward silence came over the room.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said finally.
He looked into her eyes. “Shante, I’m a minister.”
Whoa. What was this world coming to? “I see…. What church?”
“Bethel.”
“Yeah? You have a big congregation.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I attended once.”
“So you’ve seen me?”
“No, they said the pastor was out of town for the week.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Said you were in Paris.”
“You must have come about four years ago.”
“Yeah,” she said, and dropped her head. “Do I disappoint you?”
“No. I mean, the world is what it is. I have no expectations for anyone, not even preachers.”
She smacked her teeth sassily. “Why, because you’re a man?”
“No, because I was weak.”
“The flesh is always weak,” Shante said.
“So you know the Bible?” He smiled.
“Not exactly, but I’ve heard that before.”
“Do you want to study the Bible?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Why do you want to study the Bible with me?”
“I don’t know. I think the Lord wants me to help you.”
She smiled a polite smile. “Well, I need five hundred more dollars to get my children’s Christmas toys.”
He chuckled but didn’t respond.
“So, John, are you gonna help me?”
“Do you know what Christmas is all about?”
“Yeah, of course I do. But I need money.”
John looked puzzled. “That’s not what it’s all about. Don’t you want to go to real estate school?”
Shante had thought about getting her real estate license but hadn’t told anybody. “How did you figure that?”
“I have a way of knowing things.”
“Lucky guess.”
“But again, do you know the meaning of Christmas?”
“Yes. Giving—and it’s Jesus’s birthday.”
“Yes, it is the day our Lord and Savior entered the world.”
“We all know this. Are you going to help me now?”
“Shante, if you died tonight, would you go to heaven?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked confused.
“Shante, you’ve tried everything else; now try Jesus.”
“Is Jesus going to pay my bills?”
“Absolutely!” John took her hand in his. “Trust me.”
His hands were warm, and his demeanor was friendly. She believed him, and at that moment she believed in God.
He held her hand tightly and asked her to pray with him. “God, I know that I’m a sinner, and I know that Jesus died for our sins, and I’m asking you to come into my life and take control over it. I’m asking you to save my soul, Father. Amen.”
Shante repeated the prayer, John kissed her and left the room. As the door closed behind him, tears rolled down her face. She felt new.
* * *
On Sunday, the day before Christmas, Shante went to John’s church. A young man was in the pulpit preaching about angels. He read the lesson from Hebrews 13:2: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained unawares angels.” Shante wondered where John was as she looked for him after the service was over. Maybe he’d gone on another trip again. Approaching one of the deacons, she asked, “Where is the minister?”
The deacon pointed to the young man who’d just preached the sermon.
“No, I’m talking about John Long.”
“John Long died three years ago,” the deacon said. “A tall man with a gray beard?”
“Yes, he was the preacher here for twenty years.”
The deacon led her over to the side of the room and pointed to a picture that hung on the wall. “Is this the man you’re looking for?”
Shante examined the picture. “Yes, that’s him.”
“Yeah, his wife died of lupus more than three years ago, and he died maybe six months later.”
Shante was frightened and confused. Had she been talking to a dead man? How was this possible? How had he come to be in the club? Why had this happened to her?
The man asked kindly, “Would you like to join the church?”
“No, not today.”
“Are you saved, young lady?” the deacon asked. “Yeah … Yes.”
He smiled and nodded. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you,” Shante said. While she still didn’t know what she was going to do about getting Christmas gifts for the kids and paying next month’s rent, she wasn’t going to worry about that now. She felt God was showing her signs and that her life would never be the same.
* * *
As Shante was about to unlock the door to her apartment, she noticed a message on the door indicating she had packages at the rental office. She went back down to her car and drove over to the office.
The apartment complex manager, an older white lady, smiled and said, “Hello, Shante. You have about twenty boxes in here.”
Shante was surprised. “Really?”
The manager lit a Camel cigarette. “Yeah, it appears you have a Secret Santa.”
“Oh yeah?”
“None of the boxes have a return address,” the woman said, before blowing out a smoke ring. “I’ll help you carry them to the car.”
“Thanks.”
The manager handed Shante an envelope. “Here, this is for you, too.”
Shante tore into the envelope, which contained a note: “Shante Morgan, you are registered for the next session of the Lawrence Real Estate School. Paid in Full.”
Shante wanted to cry, this time tears of happiness and gratitude. She looked at the manager and gave her a hug. “Have a Merry Christmas!”
“You too, doll,” the manager said with a throaty laugh.
It was the night before Christmas, and Shante and her kids looked around their apartment. It was bare. “Mommy, how big is my room again?” Makayla asked.
“As big as the living room and kitchen in this apartment put together,” Shante said with a smile.
“And I’ll have my own room, too?” her son asked.
“Yes, you will,” she said, hugging them both, tears in her eyes at the thought of moving her children into their own home.
It had been nine months since she graduated from her real estate program, and even though she was only a sales agent, she had brought her hustling skills to the forefront and had the highest sales of anyone else in her office. High enough to have saved for a down payment on a home and bought a new Mercedes SL500.
“Now hop in the car with me so we can go to the car wash before we go to church tonight.”
Shante and the kids drove to a nearby car wash that serviced many luxury cars. She wanted her new ride to look as shiny and new as she was feeling these days.
As they pulled into the car wash a guy stepped up to the car to take down the details of what she wanted done. Fumbling with her purse, Shante didn’t look at him right away.
“Hey, shortie, what you need today?”
That voice. Shante glanced up and right into Big Mike’s eyes. He looked a far cry from the successful player she once thought he was, in his dirty overalls with his ashy hands. Recognition slowly crept across his face, and he started to look fearful. But as he held her eyes, he couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Damn, shortie, you’ve done well for yourself.”
Not wanting to cuss him out with her kids in the car, Shante gripped the wheel and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes briefly and asked God for strength. “Was it worth it, Mike?” Shante asked quietly.
Not expecting her to approach him in that manner, Mike looked confused. He thought she would go off on him.
“Shortie, I was desperate. I did what I had to do.”
“So it was worth stealing from my kids? What’s a man driving a Benz doing stealing?”
“That car wasn’t mine, baby doll. One of our customers was storing it here while he did a bid, and I borrowed it on occasion. Shit, I usually take the bus,” he admitted.
Shante looked at him again, and, instead of disgust, she started to feel something else. Pity. Any man low enough to steal from a single mother and her kids wasn’t man enough for her.
“Mike, I gotta go. I’ve changed my mind about the wash. Yeah, I recovered, but no thanks to you. You really messed me up, but the good Lord restored my faith. I used to think I needed a man. I felt lonely without one. But I’ve now learned that I’m never truly alone because I’ve got the Lord. I hope you find that same peace.”
Shante backed her car up and drove out of the car wash, leaving Mike stunned.