Prologue #3
“Thank you, auntie. Ima save it. Stack it with the other money that I’ve been putting up,” I let her know, reaching down for my purse that was sitting at my feet.
It was a small Louis Vuitton Nano Speedy that my aunt blessed me with a couple of months ago for my 18th birthday.
It was the purse I told her I wanted. It was small, but I was able to fold all the bills up, and stuff them inside.
Once I closed it, I kept the purse in my lap, instead of putting it back on the floor.
“Alright, so let’s talk about it. You already know my thoughts.
I love you so much that I don’t want you to be shit like me.
I want you to be different from me and Meka.
Have your own mind. Live your own life without following in our footsteps.
It’s plenty ways out here for you to make money.
You know you don’t have to do what I’m doing,” my aunt started, and when she said that shit, I rolled my eyes, while leaning my head against the headrest.
I processed what she said to me for a few moments, before turning my head so that I could look at her.
“Auntie, you can’t put ten bands in my hand on a random Friday and then turn around and tell me that there are other ways out here for me to make money.
I know it’s other ways. Those just aren’t the ways that I want.
I’m not trying to be rude or disrespectful, but you and Meka should have been a little bit more mindful of what ya’ll exposed me to because maybe my goals would have been a little different.
You can’t put designer bags, fresh hair and nails, stacks of money, designer clothes and shoes in front of me, and expect me not to want it, and to get it the same way that ya’ll got it.
I’ve watched the way you and Meka lived and made money for years.
I watched the friends that ya’ll brought over to the house that lived the same lifestyle as ya’ll.
You want me to dream bigger, but how when I’ve never seen anything but the shit that was exposed to me? ” I asked her.
I could tell that it was a hard acceptance for her.
I saw the stress all over her damn face.
It was too late for her to try and change my mind.
I already knew the life that I was trying to live.
I wanted what she said. I wanted what my mom once had.
My mom used to dance herself, but she stopped about six years ago.
Her name was just as big as my aunt’s. I’ve heard so many stories about the two of them.
From what they say, there wasn’t anyone in Miami that was killing it like the two of them.
“Alright. I’m not going to try to sway your opinion anymore.
This is a fight that I already know I won’t win, so I’ll stop.
Let me just tell you the real though. The cutthroat version that people leave out.
Growing up, you saw the money. You saw the glitz and the glam of it.
You didn’t see what came with getting the money.
Before the club, I used to be sweet. The club made me tough.
It’s a dog-eat-dog world in there. It’s no fuckin manners, etiquette, or people like your principal Mrs. Watson who actually gave a fuck about your dreams. The only thing you are inside that club is a fuckin body,” she started.
We were sitting at a red light now, so as she was speaking to me, she was able to look me in my eyes.
“They not going to call you Deja in there. That’s fine though.
Never tell your customers your real name anyways.
Shit, they probably won’t even call you by your stage name.
In there, most times, you going to be called bitches, and hoes.
That’s how they view us. Just a woman that’s selling her soul, showing off her pussy and titties to make a view dollars.
Some respect us, but most don’t,” she finished, and even with me hearing all these things, it still wasn’t enough to sway me. I knew what I wanted.
“And when I get in that club, everyone in there can call me a bitch and a hoe, and it still wouldn’t compare to the number of times that my own mama called me that.
She’s been calling me out my name my whole life.
That’s not new to me. The way I look at it is this…
she’s been calling me that since I was little for free.
At least when they say it in the club, I’ll make a few dollars off it,” and that was all that I had to say in conclusion of this conversation.
I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. My mind was made up.
I was getting ready to be the hottest shit that ever came out of Miami.
I was going to shake shit up at these clubs.
With this face on me, this body, and my dancing skills, I’m telling you that the world has never seen anything like me before.
Miami has had a lot of legends in the stripper world. So many beautiful women have made their mark here. I’m going to be different though. They were going to be calling me the queen of the pole. Just watch.