Just the night before, Reds had offered her a swig of scotch from a new silver flask and Dominique teased her about the upgrade from cheap whiskey to scotch. When she jokingly asked Reds if she had hit the number, Reds smiled slyly but declined to answer.
Reds had been known to divulge far more serious information. A few months back she had told Dominique every incriminating detail of the credit card scam that she and her boyfriend, Sonny D had gotten involved in. So why, Dominique wondered, was Reds acting so petty and mysterious now?
Pleasure’s unexpected appearance on the midnight shift had added to Dominique’s discontent. After her suspension had been lifted, Pleasure had been placed on the midnight shift—as a punishment of sorts, Dominique imagined. But was it a just punishment? She hardly thought so. Pleasure would probably get the little money that came though. Shit, if Gabrielle wanted to punish the girl, she should have sent her to work with those prissy white bitches on the morning shift. With Reds all dolled up in lace and Pleasure lounging elegantly in a jade kimono that covered a gold corset with iridescent threads, Dominique’s take for the night did not look propitious. Again, she thought about changing her costume and again she changed her mind. Fuck it! She couldn’t let those two bitches know that she felt threatened.
Dominique closed her eyes and sat with her arms crossed, ruminating, but the idle chatter between Victoria and Reds disturbed her, gave her an uneasy feeling. It seemed to Dominique that in less than an hour the two had become quite chummy and she imagined the soft murmurs of their voices to be conspiratorial whispers.
When the doorbell sounded, instead of making a beeline to the door as she was inclined to do, Dominique sighed then lazily raised herself from her seat, giving the impression that having to greet a customer was terribly inconvenient.
No sooner had Dominique gotten on her feet when Reds brushed past her saying, “Oh that’s probably the delivery guy with my food.” She gestured Dominique to sit down.
Dominique rolled her eyes and grumbled as she eased back into her seat. She didn’t like Reds telling her what to do.
Reds opened the door for the delivery guy. He was a plump young man with a ready smile and a baby smooth chocolate face. Instead of handing Reds the package, he insisted on carrying the soggy, bulging bag for her. It was a good excuse to get into the lounge to gawk at the women.
“How y’all doing tonight?” he asked, overly-friendly and wearing an excited grin. He took great care in placing the package on a rickety table; it afforded him more time in the forbidden room. It was obviously a thrilling coup for him because on previous deliveries he’d never even gotten past the front door. As if on a spindle, his head turned in every direction, trying to capture all there was to see.
Victoria acknowledged the young man’s greeting with an uncomfortable nod and self-consciously clutched her kimono.
Glowering, Dominique looked from Reds to the delivery guy. Reds knew darn well that deliveries were to be handled at the door, not in the lounge.
Reds fumbled around in her purse, then discreetly extracted money from its secret hiding place. As he waited, the cherubic-faced young man cast furtive glances in the direction of the hallway, but was unable to get a clear view. He boldly moved to the doorway and leaned out into the hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of any of the other women who may have been tucked away in one of the rooms. “Anybody else working tonight?”
“Ain’t none of your fuckin’ bizness,” Dominique sputtered, amazed by his audacity.
The twinkle left his eyes. “You better watch yo’ mouth, bitch.” His face contorted as he spat out the words.
“Get the fuck out!” In a flash, Dominique was out of her chair, ready to shove him out the door.
With an outstretched arm, the delivery guy cautioned Dominique to keep her distance. “You better chill! ’Cause if you put your hands on me, I’m gonna knock you on your black zebra ass!”
His words brought Dominique to a halt. She was wise enough to heed his warning, and she didn’t touch him. Instead, she mouthed off a string of threats and obscenities that included reporting his behavior to his employer and the cops.
Reds quickly stuffed a twenty in his hand. “Keep the change,” she mumbled.
“Hey baby,” he called out to Dominique as he swaggered toward the door. “You can call my boss! Go ahead! Call ’em! He don’t give a fuck about a bunch of hoes. Y’all should be glad that we even make deliveries to this fucked up joint. A mothafucka liable to catch somethin’ up in here.”
“Come on, baby,” Reds prodded, taking his arm. “Just leave, okay?”
He jerked away from Reds and pulled a cell phone from the deep pocket of his shirt. “Here, baby!” He taunted Dominique. “While you at it, call the po-lice!”
“Would you please just get the fuck out?” Dominique said in a low, controlled voice, that she hoped still held at least a modicum of menace.
“I didn’t think you wanted to call no cops,” he sneered. “You know you don’t want 5-0 up in this mothafucka.” His mouth twisted cruelly, his eyes narrowed into slits. He looked demonic, a cherub gone mad. He left, slamming the door, and leaving behind the echo of his raucous laughter.
For a moment, the three women shared stunned silence.
Then, smiling unhappily, Reds muttered, “He didn’t have to go there.”
Dominique planted one hand on her hip combatively and gave Reds a look of contempt. “You didn’t have to go there. You know you’re not supposed to let…” But, tired from the delivery guy’s verbal assault, Dominique stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes dimmed with resignation as she collapsed into her seat. She picked up the magazine again and listlessly began thumbing through it as she waited for customers to arrive.
Victoria was sick of the constant bickering and fighting at Pandora’s. She had hoped that whatever was going on between Dominique and Reds would not erupt into another stupid fight. She couldn’t afford any more suspensions and decided that if Dominique and Reds got into it, she would just ignore them; she’d act like they didn’t even exist. They could call each other every name in the book, pull hair, rip clothes off, and scratch each other’s eyes out; it didn’t matter to her; she was not going to get involved.
She wished she could detach herself as easily from the incident that had just transpired. Victoria wrapped her arms around herself as she rocked back and forth on the loveseat. The heat of the young man’s words still burned her ears, seared her insides, making her want to throw up. In the den of iniquity called Pandora’s Box, Victoria had taken great care in presenting herself with as much dignity as she could muster. She applied very little make-up and never wore outlandish wigs or weaves. She dressed in tasteful outfits and perceived herself as prim and capable of appealing to the romantic side of men while her co-workers flaunted themselves vulgarly, squirming and writhing as if they were in heat. She was a lone flower in the midst of weeds. Or so she had thought. Her inclusion in the delivery guy’s hateful tirade had given her a different perspective. When his angry eyes swept the room and settled on her, Victoria had expected to see them soften. But his eyes and words denounced her, too.
Though she tried not to make eye contact, their eyes had locked briefly. Victoria had seen his face before, but couldn’t remember where. And she was certain that she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes also. She sure hoped he wasn’t one of the neighborhood thugs who hung out in front of the deli around the corner from her apartment. She hoped he wasn’t one of the thugs who uttered uncomplimentary innuendoes whenever she passed by. She wouldn’t be able to show her face if any one in the group of rowdies got wind of the fact that she worked at Pandora’s Box.
Suddenly, she remembered him! The obnoxious guy who had delivered her coffee on the unforgettable day when she had worked the morning shift without profit. “Hmph,” she uttered involuntarily as she recalled how he had lusted openly for the white girls on that shift, white girls who did not conceal their loathing for him, for his blackness.
> Victoria covered her face with her hands and continued rocking. Sudden heart palpitations caused her to sit up. She clutched her chest and waited for the erratic heartbeat to subside. Her throat became dry and she struggled to breathe. The sensations were horribly familiar. Oh no, she thought, as she gripped the fabric of her kimono. It can’t be happening here!
She felt an urge to jump up and flee from the stifling environment, but knew there would be severe repercussions if she did. She’d be suspended again, or even worse—fired! But if she was going to die, she certainly didn’t want to do it in a whorehouse! She had to get out of there. She had to get home.
“Are you okay?” Reds asked Victoria with a look of earnest concern.
Victoria ignored her. There was no time to appease her curiosity.
“Dominique!” Victoria managed to gasp. “I feel sick. I have to get out of here.”
“Go ahead,” said Dominique in an unconcerned tone. Her expression said: Good riddance!
The second Victoria breathed in the night air all symptoms subsided. Thinking of her empty purse, she briefly considered going back inside the massage parlor. She shook her head and continued walking. She desperately needed to talk to somebody. Kareem! But no, she couldn’t call him. He’d made one obligatory phone call since taking her to the show, and he sounded aloof, preoccupied. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and she felt empty, heartsick—weak. But what did she expect? Disappointment was all she had ever known. She should have known better than to get her hopes up. It was foolish to have believed that someone like Kareem, a young brother with a bright future, would get himself entangled with the likes of her. No, Kareem was out there somewhere, busy carving out his piece of the American dream. She and all her problems were the last things on his mind.
CHAPTER 29
A few minutes after Victoria left, the first customer of the evening finally arrived. He was a portly middle-aged white man with heavy jowls, protruding eyes and a pouch that hung over his belt.
“Hello!” the man said cheerfully.
“Have you been here before?” Dominique asked, unsmiling.
“A few months ago.”
“Who’d you see?”
“I can’t recall her name.”
The man looked vaguely familiar to Reds, but then all men looked like tricks. She wondered why Dominique was giving him the third degree, and then decided that the altercation with the delivery person—his threats about calling 5-0 had made Dominique paranoid—caused her to suspect that every man who walked through the door was a cop. Reds checked out the customer. Looked him over long and hard. Nah, he was too old and too fat to be a cop.
Frisky as a pup, the man’s entire body was excitedly involved as his bulging eyes roamed back and forth from Reds to Dominique. He reminded Reds of a Pekinese.
“My name is Reds,” Reds said, without trying to sound sexy. A calm she hadn’t felt in years washed over her. She merely smiled as she confidently waited for the man to make up his mind.
The man pointed a stubby finger at Reds. “I’d like to make your acquaintance.” In an old-fashioned gesture, he offered Reds his arm.
Dominique twisted her face in disgust. But the couple, oblivious to her gaze, chatted amicably as they walked up the hall, arm-in-arm.
He introduced himself as Hubert when Reds escorted him into the first session room. Before she had even collected the payment, Hubert began pawing and tugging on the straps of her new teddy.
“Whoa. Slow down, partner,” Reds said playfully, though she was slightly annoyed. “Let me take care of the books first.”
“I beg your pardon, you must forgive me for the oversight,” Hubert said wearing a surprised expression that caused his eyes to bulge even more.
Reds giggled. Hubert looked and sounded comical. He needed to cut that shit out before she lost it, and fell down to the floor, laughing.
Hubert pulled out a thick wad of money held together by a silver money clip and presented Reds with a new, crisp bill. With a wink he put the wad back in his pocket.
At the sight of all that money, Reds quickly pulled herself together. “Make yourself comfortable, Hubert. In other words, STRIP!” she said gaily. “I’ll be right back.” But before she left the room Reds kicked off the high heels she was wearing. She had his money in her hand and Hubert’s wink promised that there was more to come so there was no need to try to heighten her allure by continuing to cramp her poor feet in those miserable heels.
Pleased with the world, Reds padded down the hall in her stocking feet.
Rover always locked the office when his shift ended and never provided Dominique with any cash to make change. This was a terrible inconvenience to the girls on the midnight shift. Customers frequently paid with hundred-dollar bills and the girls usually had to wait until the pizza shop opened the next morning to exchange the money for smaller bills. But when the shop owner was in a foul mood and didn’t want to be bothered with making change, someone (usually Reds) had to go out into the morning light and trudge to the bank at the corner. Sleepy and feeling ridiculously out of place with flashy clothing, big hair and smeared makeup, the unhappy massage parlor employee hated standing in line and mingling with the normal work-a-day people in the bank.
“Here you go,” Reds said as she handed Dominique the money. She was startled by Dominique’s appearance and gave her a sidelong glance. Dominique, the self-proclaimed dominatrix, had changed her image. She was draped in a pale pink flowing gown and wore a long black wig.
Reds expected Dominique to comment on the image change, but Dominique kept her head buried in the magazine. She extended her palm without a word and avoided looking at Reds. Unfazed by the slight, Reds placed the bill in Dominique’s open hand.
“I’ll pay you when I get change,” Dominique said mechanically.
“Oh! In that case, give it back. I can break it.” Reds opened her purse and gave Dominique two twenties and a ten.
Dominique looked surprised, then acted annoyed and put-upon when she returned the money to Reds.
Reds was greeted by Hubert’s potbelly when she reentered the room. He was lying on the bed, shamelessly naked as a jaybird. Reds cringed at the unattractive sight. Modest men or those who were polite covered themselves with the towel that was provided at the foot of the cot. It was a common courtesy. Admittedly, her own tummy could use a tuck or two, but she didn’t go around flaunting it. Oh well, she’d seen worse.
“I see somebody didn’t waste any time getting ready for me,” Reds said in song-like tones, as if the sight of his nakedness filled her with extreme pleasure.
Hubert’s bulbous eyes flickered with excitement. “Why don’t you join me?” He heaved himself up on one elbow and fondled the lace that ruffled around the edges of the lavender nightwear. His fat fingers trailed down to her inner thigh and found its way between her legs.
“You enjoy being touched there, don’t you?”
Reds closed her eyes, dreamily. “Hmm,” she softly moaned while guiding his stubby finger.
Though it didn’t seem possible, Reds noticed with partially-open lids that Hubert’s eyes bulged even more when he touched the moist fabric between her legs. He gasped as if he’d just struck gold.
“Ah, yes, darling. Yes, my darling,” Hubert rasped. The panting Pekinese hunched over her, frantically working his finger, and breathing like he’d just finished running a marathon.
“Oh, Hubert,” Reds cried out dramatically. She joined him on the cot, sidled up to him, purring softly, but her thoughts were focused on the money clip inside his pants pocket. She didn’t know how much money he had, but she knew she wanted it all. She deserved it.
“Darling,” Hubert said. “You look so delicate and pure. I’d love to taste your sweet pleasure.”
Taste her sweet what? Give me a fucking break, Reds thought. This motherfucker had been reading too many romance novels or something. Her acting ability, along with the lubricant she’d used for fake moisture, was working like a cha
rm. She really had old Hubert going!
“Oh honey, I can’t let you do that?”
“Why not? You look clean. My dear, you’re impeccable.”
“It’s not that. It’s not included in the service and as much as I want it, I’d have to ask you for a tip.”
Hubert looked troubled. “Well, can you service me?”
“You want oral sex?” Reds asked.
Hubert nodded. “My wife finds it offensive.”
“Well, I don’t find it offensive. I enjoy it,” Reds said convincingly.
“Why don’t you give me another hundred and we’ll service each other,” Reds suggested. She hated using the word service, but managed to say it in a sultry voice.
Quick as a flash Hubert was off the cot and was bent over fishing around in his pants pocket, mooning Reds with his big, pimpled behind. Reds winced, then shrugged and smiled sweetly. She could endure just about anything for the right price.
This time Hubert paid with two crisp fifty-dollar bills, which Reds graciously accepted. Damn she was good! She wondered if ol’ Hubert realized he wasn’t going anywhere until she had his very last dollar.
At the end of the shift, Reds started packing up. She was five hundred dollars richer. She usually hung around to help Dominique straighten up the rooms, but she and Dominique were barely speaking so she didn’t bother.
As Reds sat waiting for the cab she’d called, she peeked in a compact mirror and scowled at the tired, puffy face that greeted her. The dark circles around her eyes, the sagging cheeks, and droopy eyelids were worn testaments of time that makeup could no longer camouflage. She applied a dab of lipstick, hoping to brighten her image, then threw the mirror and lipstick inside her purse. As soon as she snapped her purse shut, Reds heard the quiet jangle of her new tiny compact-sized cell phone. Reds’ heart skipped a beat. The person who’d provided the phone was calling and she never called to simply shoot the breeze. Arianna was strictly business and only called when she had a client for Reds.
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