Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
It Take Two to Tango
N adia sat back in her black Ford Fusion at the red light, anxiety sputtering through her like a lawn sprinkler on the fritz. She couldn’t stop thinking about the dinner. About him. About everything.
The black, tree-shaped ice-scented car air freshener waved about as she punched the air in frustration, hitting it in the process. She shook her head and stared out of the driver’s side window. Just the other day, she’d seen a man who’d occupied her heart and mind for years walk away from her, get into his big silver Chevrolet Silverado, and drive off without a word. He didn’t give her an ultimatum. Rather, Lennox had told her what the future would be. She hadn’t spoken to him since that night at the soul food restaurant, but she knew that this wasn’t the end of it. Not by a long shot.
When he said he was going to do something, he did it, even way back when they were in their early twenties. When the light turned green, she pressed her foot on the gas. She turned up the radio in the car and bobbed her head to the sounds of Tanner Adell’s, ‘Buckle Bunny.’ Rapping the lyrics, she found herself smiling from ear to ear as the music proved to be a perfect distraction. When the song was over, she seized the half-crumpled bottle of water from the cup holder, twisted the cap, and took a deep swallow of the warm liquid. Now it was all empty.
She checked the time, then her fuel gauge. Minutes later, she was at the filling station, in need of some gas, an ice-cold Pepsi and a packet of hot Cheetos before heading to Sweet Soiree, the gentlemen’s club where she worked.
After filling up and grabbing her goodies, her phone rang the moment mehro’s, ‘K3TAMINE’ started to play. She looked at the Caller-Id and her stomach clenched.
“What do you want?” she blurted as she turned the radio down. It was her ex-boyfriend. A terrible relationship she wished she could forget.
“I want my fucking money. You been dodging my calls for months.”
“Boy, I don’t owe you any money, and the judge already ruled on this! Is this the best you can come up with? I knew I shouldn’t have answered this phone.” She made a left, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
“That shit wasn’t fair, and you know it.”
“Life isn’t fair. Being with you wasn’t fair. The judgment though was definitely fair.”
“You lied to the judge. Eight thousand, not includin’ interest, is what you owe me, and I’m gonna keep my foot on yo’ neck until you give me my mothafuckin’ money, Nadia. I don’t give a damn what the courts say.”
“For the hundredth time, I didn’t ask you for that money. You offered it, LeRon. I used it for my rent, some bills, and to pay toward my student loan, just like I said. I even brought that documentation to court, despite it not being required.”
“It wasn’t no gift. What man you know give a bitch eight thousand that ain’t his wife?!”
“You. That’s who,” She threw the words at him like stones. “I thought you did it because you cared, but of course, like most men, you had ulterior motives. If anyone should be talking about someone owing money, it should be you to me. Not once did I ask you for the money back for all of those car rentals, the trips, and your harebrained business ideas. When we first got together, I didn’t have much, but as I stacked my money, I was more than generous with you. Instead of you callin’ it even, you decided to take me to court. Funny how that happened right after I broke up with you.”
“It ain’t have nothin’ to do with that.”
“Bull! Get yo’ own shit. Ain’t nothing more pathetic than a grown ass, able-bodied man beggin’ a woman for cash, or wanting to be kept. I see you’re standin’ on business in your feminine energy era. You want a soft life, don’t you? Like Janet Jackson said in ‘For Colored Girls,’ ‘Oh, so you was doin’ the bendin’! ’ Hobosexual ass.”
“That’s what’s wrong with you Black females. When we set yo’ ass straight, you try ’nd say we gay. We just sick of y’all shit, and that’s why I’m red pill, and a Passport bro, now. Fuck y’all Black bitches. Most of y’all never support your man, but always have your hands out.”
She burst out laughing and shook her head. “King Gaslighter strikes again. Man, you ain’t nothin’ but a disgruntled, bitchy ass degenerate. I never accused you of being gay– I’m just highlightin’ your feminine ways. Besides, most gay men I know have far more masculinity in them than you have in your baby toe, and they ain’t waiting on a woman to take care of their needs. Now just admit it: You were trying to buy me, but I can’t be bought, and when I had the nerve to leave yo’ ass after all the mess you did to me, you were salty.”
“You crazy! Ain’t nobody had—”
“You thought that money would make me owe you for life. Put up with your nonsense indefinitely. Like my whole existence is only worth eight racks. Boy, please!” She cackled as she slowed to a red light. She turned up her music, and ‘Interior Crocodile Alligator’ by Chip Tha Ripper almost drowned out his noise.
“I need that money, and you’re going to give it to me. I don’t care if you have to sell yo’ ass to the highest bidder, or what the judge said. That money belongs to me. Besides, I know you’re good for it.”
“You don’t know what I’m good for because my financial status is no longer your concern. Now, do you have something worth discussing? Because some of us know how to make our own money, and do it twenty-four-seven. Take notes.”
“Yeah, I got something worth discussing. I heard about yo’ ass on Only Fans now. They say you hittin’ six figures just for playin’ with yourself. ”
“What I’m doin’ or not doin’ is none of your damn business. You don’t need to be pocket watchin’ people—mind the business that pays you.”
“Yeah, it was definitely you. I know what your titties and ass look like. Egyptian tattoo…They ain’t call you Nadia thee Stallion for nothin’. You got a video called, ‘Cookie Monster.’ Stuffin’ Oreos in your pussy. Nasty ass bitch.” In fact the particular video he was referring to wasn’t her, but several people had told her about this doppelganger model several times in said viral video. The woman was originally an IG model. When she Googled her, she noted the resemblance. They definitely could be sisters, but that was neither here nor there.
“I don’t care what you believe, and I don’t have anything to prove to you. Now I bid you goodnight.”
“Just pay back six thousand, and we can call it even. I still love you, by the way… I miss your crazy ass, too, you know that?” He chuckled. Forcing it– spinning into another whirlwind of twisted psychological maneuvering.
“In ten minutes, you went from demanding money and calling me a bitch to trying to strike a deal and declaring your feelings. If life was fair, I’d be filing charges on you . If there was a court that was truly just, I could file a lawsuit for habitual cheating. Habitual lying. Habitual love bombing and mental abuse. You don’t know what love is, LeRon. Your entire identity is built on mind games, misery making, and manipulation. If I could sue you for emotional trauma, I’d be a millionaire.”
“Hey, save that attorney and therapist shit for the professionals. You ain’t no lawyer. You dropped out, remember?” He chuckled nastily. She was breathless with rage.
“Go to hell. I block your number, you call from a new one. Around and around we go. Don’t you have a new girlfriend to harass? What the psychologists call new supply?” She caught her face in the rearview mirror. Her eyes had turned almost pitch black with sheer anger.
“I’m done playin’ with you, Nadia. Don’t make me come to Houston and drag my money out of you. You know I will.” The aggressive version of him returned just like that… the mask slipping so damn fast.
“Oh, really? Bring yo’ silly ass on down here then, LeRon, since you big and bad! But I promise you it’ll be the last thing you do. I’m packin’, and I ain’t talking about no penis size, or for no road trip, either. I’ll shoot you in the ass and ram some Oreo cookies in both holes. How’s that for Only Fans, bitch?!” With that, she abruptly ended the call, her nerves on fire like freshly lit torches.
Ol’ narcissistic ass. I wish I’d never met him. She was so pissed that by the time she reached the club, she barely recalled making the twists and turns down the various streets to get there. She sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, chugging her Pepsi and smacking on the Cheetos until there was nothing left but orange dust. Once she calmed down, she blocked his latest number, slipped her phone into her purse, and grabbed her gray and purple duffle bag from the back seat.
When she entered the establishment, the beat of ‘Buttons,’ by the Pussycat Dolls, made her body pulse. The odor of cigarette and cigar smoke filled the area, while dizzying red lights spun along the ceiling, walls, and floors as she made her way to the dressing room. Zigzagging past early patrons and waitresses still setting up tables for the evening, she found herself below soft yellow ceiling lights and the smell of various intermingling fragrances. She greeted a few other dancers who were milling about, then entered her small private area. Her sanctuary.
She jerked the thick black curtain that served as a door closed, then plopped down on the black leather stool and wiped her hands with an alcohol pad, removing the Cheeto stains from her fingertips. And then, she just sat there… regrouping. The music from the dance area throbbed within her, getting her into the right state of mind after her disturbing conversation with her ex-boyfriend.
Every now and again, LeRon would pop up out of the blue. She could tell he’d been drinking, so she didn’t lay into him the way she really wanted to. He was draining, and though she was no stranger to ex-boyfriends trying to rekindle relationships that were in no way desirable for her to return to, he was on a whole different level. He was attractive to most of his prey, and out of his mind. Crazy, selfish, and controlling.
Shoving thoughts of him away, she focused on herself. On her job. On love that she knew didn’t really exist…
She closed her eyes and thought about sexy things like black and white silk, long kisses with men that made her heart thump, sex in a hot tub with incense and candles burning, and the romantic embraces she’d longed for, but never received. Her pulse raced as she replayed Lennox’s words that he’d whispered in her ear. ‘…Invoice paid in full wi th interest.’ Her stomach fluttered, but she couldn’t entertain that thought. She’d been down this road before—it never ended well.
She opened her eyes and checked herself out in the mirror. I’m going around and around and not getting anywhere . Her tired eyes would soon be covered by globs of concealer and red eyeshadow. Black eyeliner. False lashes.
Shoving her wayward thoughts aside, she got to her feet and slipped into her outfit: A neon black and red catsuit that glowed in the dark, with the cleavage, stomach, and ass cut out. Though it had cost a pretty penny, it made her feel sexy all over and helped to earn her big tips.
High ballers came into this club, and she was determined to drain their pockets dry. Only the best girls worked here, the ones that could really dance and not just twerk. Besides, the managers and security were top of the line. She’d worked a lot of clubs in Atlanta, dealt with crappy promoters, dudes that wanted to get some pussy before hiring or take big cuts of her pay. It was a complete circus—an arena full of monkeys, clowns and piranhas parading as humans. Ring leaders of bullshit. She was a veteran at this point and in this line of work, that wasn’t a plus. Clients wanted young flesh, something to make them feel youthful. Some were na?ve and too trusting. But she was book smart… street smart… life smart.
She was thankful that she looked significantly younger than her actual age as that helped her buy some time. She was black sand in an hourglass, and time was running out. She sat back down to do her makeup, then her hair to the tune of ‘Contact,’ by Kelela. She took her time prettying herself up, ensuring that everything was just right. Last but not least was her perfume. She went for one of her favorite scents: Mugler Alien Goddess Eau de Parfum. She sprayed it behind her knees, ears, neck, collarbones, breasts and a spritz above the navel. Then, a final pump between the thighs before slipping her perfectly pedicured feet into six-inch black heels, the bottoms bright red…
She bobbed her head to song after song as she waited for her turn to go up on the stage. Some of the beautiful dancers were high on cocaine, speed, and uppers. Others were drunk. Many were sober. The majority of them were addicted to trauma. If they weren’t before they took the job, they definitely got there afterwards. Sometimes, the dancing came easy. Other times, it took two cocktails for her to make her way out there. It was easy to be intoxicated in a place like this.
This club was known not only for its premium adult entertainment and acoustics, but the top shelf liquor which they offered the dancers at a deep discount. She sipped on a rum and coke from a short cocktail straw, not needing much coercion tonight. She loved to perform, to make a man feel ten feet tall… like she only had eyes for him. Not because she gave a shit about him and his feelings, but because it felt incredible to pretend to be someone else. She also loved to make money, way more than she ever made at any other job. Besides, she didn’t feel shame or embarrassment when she danced. Rather, she felt free…
“Now, comin’ to the stage is the one… the only… the long-legged, and good head givin’, Veeeeeeel-veeeeet!” The crowd began to applaud as she stayed out of view and hand ed her drink to one of the bouncers. She adjusted her attire, making sure it looked just right, and braced herself as the song, ‘Snatched,’ by Big Boss Vette began to play. Catching her reflection in a full-length mirror, she smiled. The glitter on her skin made her look as if she’d been rolled in crushed red ruby dust and dipped in broken diamonds. Head held high, she emerged gyrating from behind the curtain, the crowd now hyped. She fast danced, popped and shimmied until the song slipped into another tune: ‘Pussy Poppin’,’ by Ludacris.
Slow spinning purple lights flashed across the stage as she flirted with the pole, then did the splits on the floor, bouncing up and down, making the men melt. She got up, her abs and hips bucking, her skimpy attire glowing under the orbing lights. The raucous crowd full of horny men and lesbians roared and cheered when she jumped quickly on the pole and climbed up it, then slid down fast… and slowly, her long tongue curling out of her mouth as she hugged the pole like a long-lost lover. She slowly undid a strap across her chest, exposing more of her breasts, then swung around and around the pole, her acrobatics something she’d practiced to perfect for years.
Long, curly dark brown hair whipped around from each movement she made. Cool, wet strands stuck to her skin as she worked up a well-deserved sweat. She slipped down the pole in reverse, her body winding like a snake as men cat-called to her, clapped and lost their shit. Slipping her finger into her mouth, she sucked it like she would a thrusting dick, driving them crazy.
At last, she crashed hard on the floor and rode it like a man she pretended to love. Crawling across the hard surface like a tiger, she paused then fell onto her back, waving her long legs in the air and bringing them back by her ears. Gripping her ankles tight. The hoarse male yells of lust were deafening. Some of these motherfuckers were there strictly for her. She was the best dancer in that club, and she knew it. Hands down. She didn’t have to be the prettiest. All she needed to know was how to entertain her ass off, move like a seductress, and play her part.
The rhythm of ‘Blow the Whistle,’ by Too Short, filled the room. She made her way back to the pole. Slipping and sliding, grinding and fucking the long, silver stick in slow motion, she fixed her gaze on the sea of men before her, becoming their imaginary lover. She looked for a sucker to lick—a man who was more than willing to shove hundred-dollar bills into one of the sparse slits of her attire simply to be near her. She hung like a bat from the pole, looking into the warped, upside-down faces of screaming men tossing cash in her direction. Her eyes focused on a figure in front. Her mouth went suddenly dry, and her stomach clenched.
Upside down. Right-side up. Left to right. She’d recognize those vibrant gray eyes from anywhere. Standing up. Front and center. She rotated until she was vertical. There the bold bastard stood—leaning slightly forward sporting a black wife beater, dark jeans, a gold chain with a dog head medallion, and a smug smirk. Lennox.
She continued to dance, a part of her fueled with anger, and another part with hot desire. She rocked her hips harder and harder until she had to be nothing short of a blur .
He pulled out his wallet as he stood like a beacon in front of the crowd, then placed a large wad of cash onto the stage. Facing away from him, she bent down and shook her butt in his face, showing off her nice, round ass, gyrating and shaking it faster and faster as she held her ankles and stared at him from between her legs.
After a while, she stood straight and walked right to the edge of the stage where he stood. Their eyes locked. She turned away and began twerking. He lunged forward, grabbed her roughly around the waist, and she shivered at the touch of his large, warm hand sliding down the crack of her ass. Her voice caught in her throat as her pussy pulsed.
The all-too-familiar feel of cold, hard cash against her flesh followed. Even through the pounding base of the music and the yells from the inebriated crowd, she heard his voice drift to her ear like ice against her soul. She kept dancing as he leaned in close, his breath minty with a trace of beer…
“I told you I’d be back, beautiful. Keep dancing. Dance all fuckin’ night if you want to, Velvet. Dance your heart out.”
When she snapped around, her mind whirling, he’d already stepped back and sat down. He picked up his bottle of beer, winked and smiled at her. A genuine smile. She wondered how he’d found out where she worked because she’d never told him the club name. And why had he decided to come tonight? So many questions churned in her head. More money was thrown at her by other customers, and when she was done with her show, the final song over, she collected her scattered earnings from the floor, waved to the crowd, and left the stage, a little weak at the knees.
Some of the other strippers smiled and tried to get her attention. She heard them talking about the big spender, the sexy stranger up front that had given her a wad of cash and extra on top, like whipped cream on mounds of ice-cream. She forced a smile in response, and finally made it back to her dressing room. When she sat down, her head was pounding. It felt like the whole damn place was closing in on her. The walls. Ceiling. Floors. Everything felt smaller. Tighter. The air thinner.
She freshened up in the restroom with a bar of soap and loofah, deodorant and powder. Hair in a ponytail. Dark brown Puma jogging suit on. Duffle bag packed. She moved fast out of there, as if her life depended on it.
Memories washed over her: flashes of rich, buttery eggs swallowed after a burst of salty tears. Lying against a hard, warm chest in a cold pantry. In his big arms. Being held. Being loved—and that man not wanting a damn thing in return but to be her peace.
She made her way out to her car, cutting out early and hoping she could just disappear, but it seemed this son of a gun understood her a little too well. She found Lennox waiting for her, leaning against her car, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.
“Security is lax tonight, I see.” She simpered as she pushed the button on her fob. “Excuse me. Move. You’re in my way.”
“You’re leaving so soon?” he sneered, his lips curling in a devilish grin, the words followed by a mischievous chuckle .
“I suppose you’re here to talk to me about how this isn’t a place for me, or how you think you can save me from myself?”
“Nope. You’ve never needed saving. Just a listening ear. I remember.” He tapped his temple. “You’ve been taking care of yourself for a long time, and I’m not your daddy.” She now stood right next to him, facing the driver’s side door as he leaned his back against her car. She took a deep breath and hung her head.
“Lennox, what do you want from me?” She boldly met his gaze then.
“I already answered that question. It sure as hell isn’t to talk to you about your car warranty.”
“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
“If you really wanted me to leave you alone, you wouldn’t be still standing here talking to me.” The words were a stab at her heart. Out bled the truth.
“Follow me to my apartment. Let’s talk.”
He nodded, and she watched him walk away. Getting in her car, she started up the engine, then slowly pulled out of the parking space. Moments later, his big truck’s lights lit up the area. His window was rolled down, and his arm jetted out from it. Garth Brooks’ ‘That Summer’ could be heard coming from his vehicle.
She took her foot off the break and drove, the lyrics of a familiar country tune about a man loving a woman drifting in the wind…