by Glenn, Roy
We’d spotted a couple of celebrities and I remembered feeling like I wanted so desperately to be a part of Sasha’s world. We’d talked for hours about the ins and outs of the ‘biz,’ as she called it.
It would take about a month before I felt completely comfortable with the idea of sleeping with men for money. Even though I had already done it, the idea was still somewhat foreign to me. I gave some thought to how I’d been livin’ for the past year. None of this was part of my great plan. Well, almost none of it. I had always planned on makin’ this kind of paper, just not like this.
One Friday afternoon, I had just finished a mud bath at a spa Sasha recommended, when I got her call. She informed me that Douglas, no last name provided, was in a pinch and needed a date for an exclusive event.
Once I agreed, she informed me that I should check into the Peninsula Hotel on Fifth. Douglas would be picking me up at the hotel room. I chose a caramel-colored Channel skirt suit with soft, camel leather sling backs, and a matching Channel evening bag. Sasha had warned me to dress tastefully when I checked into the room.
When I walked into the grand lobby of the Peninsula Hotel, it was like stepping into Wonderland. A cascading staircase that forked into two directions took center stage in the massive lobby. I stepped to the right and went to the front desk. “Good evening, madam,” the clerk greeted.
“Ms. Green,” I said like Sasha instructed. “I have a reservation.”
He checked his screen, then looked up at me and smiled. “Of course, here’s your key card. Will you be needing help with luggage?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks,” I said as I took the card and headed toward the bank of elevators. I stepped off the elevator and into the deluxe suite. It was a one-bedroom corner suite with a glorious view. I opened one set of French doors that led to a terrace. I looked over the rail and felt my stomach nearly give way when I looked down.
The room was luxuriously furnished in earth tones and neutral colors. There was a decorative fireplace and even walk-in closets. I marveled at the separate dressing area with its own vanity and a separate guest bathroom. The room had a stereo system with a CD player, and the master bathroom had double sinks with a television mounted over the bathtub.
Maybe thirty minutes after I was relaxing in the California king-sized bed, there was a knock at the door.
“Shit!” I bolted upright in the bed. I looked at the clock, wondering if I could’ve misunderstood Douglas’s pick up time.
“Ah, who is it?”
“Room service,” the cheerful voice called back.
I jumped up, a bit confused. “Room service?”
“Yes, ma’am. Compliments of Ms. Deverox,” he answered.
I rushed to the door and pulled it open. When I did, the bellman wheeled in a silver cart, like they do in the movies.
“Fresh strawberries with melted chocolate and a bottle Moët,” he announced in a grand way.
“Oh, wow,” I said as I searched the room for my purse.
I slipped him a ten-dollar bill and giggled as he closed the door behind himself.
“Shit, I could really get used to living lovely like this!” I plucked one of the juiciest looking strawberries and dipped it into the bowl of melted chocolate. I bit into it and savored the flavor.
An hour later, I stumbled over to the bed. I had indulged in too much champagne and I knew I needed to pull myself together before Douglas arrived. I was glad Sasha suggested the earlier check-in.
By the time Douglas knocked on the door, I was still hanging on to a nice little buzz. I leaned against the open door wearing a simple but elegant Donna Karen silk slip dress. The fine fabric felt so good against my skin.
Douglas was a big man, with great taste in clothes. He was wearing a tailored tuxedo that looked like it may have been made specifically for his body. “You must be Stacy,” he said.
I thought about correcting him, but I wasn’t sure what Sasha had told him, so I figured I’d be Stacy tonight. “And you must be Douglas. Please, come in,” I said and I moved to the side so he could come into the room. He looked around and I could tell he was impressed.
“Ah, this is nice,” he said as his eyes rolled over my body. “Real nice,” he added.
“So where are we going tonight?” I asked.
“Excuse me?” he asked looking a little confused.
“I was asking where we were going tonight.” I repeated. “I was under the impression that we were going out for the evening.”
“Oh, that stuffy affair,” Douglas said and took a seat in a chair by the window. “I showed my face and snuck out to see you,” he said, his pudgy cheeks broke into deep-set dimples when he smiled.
“Oh?” I wasn’t sure what to say or do.
He used thick fingers to tug at his bowtie. In my mind I had prepared myself for polite conversation over a nice meal at his stuffy affair, maybe even some dancing. I thought I’d have enough time to think through what I had to do and get myself motivated over drinks. But Douglas made it clear the only thing he had on his mind was getting me out of the dress as quickly as possible.
I looked at Douglas again. Although his clothes fit him well, Douglas was shaped like a pear. He wasn’t exactly the type of man that I found particularly attractive. But that was something I would have to get used to if I wanted to get paid in this business. I thought back to my experience with The One. Being with him was easy because he was fine as hell. This was going to be a bit harder.
I started thinking about the kind of man I wished Douglas was, and that’s when I noticed I was getting wet. Visions of being loved by my faceless man flashed through my head and I zoned Douglas completely out.
“So, what do you think about that?”
I snapped out of my wishful thinking and shook my head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said you should come over and sit on my face so I can suck you dry,” he repeated without as much as a flinch or stutter.
I hesitated.
“Oh.” He held up one of his fat fingers. Douglas pealed his jacket off, quickly unbuttoned his shirt, and stepped out of his wing tip shoes. He then dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash I hadn’t seen since my nights at the club.
He quickly peeled off several bills and held them out toward me. “I guess once we get this out of the way, we can get down to business.”
I looked at the cash then up at him.
“I know this isn’t a freebee, so let’s cut the theatrics and get to it,” he said in a cold, no-nonsense fashion.
I took the bills from his hand, careful not to snatch them, and placed them on a nearby table. I fought the urge to count as I turned and tried to lead him into the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I thought you wanted me in the room,” I offered.
He held out his hand. “Nah”—he shook his head and extended his arms to me—“why don’t you come over here?”
The instant I walked over to Douglas, he snatched up my dress, ripped off my panties, bent me over the edge of the couch and was about to ram himself into me when I said, “Condom.”
“Oh yeah,” he said and did what amounted to a giggle.
By the time I got the condom out of its package, Douglas’s dick was hard and his pants were down around his ankles. Once I got the condom on him there was no caressing, no gentle touching or foreplay. Douglas spun me around, bent me over the edge of the couch again, and rammed himself into me. He banged me like he had something on his mind and the work he put in with me might help make things better.
When Douglas grabbed the back of my hair and slammed himself into me deeper, I wanted to howl out in pain, but I bit my lip and dug into the sofa’s upholstery.
“Emmm, you are gorgeous!” he squealed. He grabbed my waist, holding me in place before slamming into me again. After the sofa, Douglas took me on the coffee table, a nearby sofa table with my leg hiked up on one side, and then again on the floor.
When w
e were done, I thought he might want to relax on the bed and catch his breath, but he didn’t. I watched as he picked up his discarded clothes and went in search of the restroom. Ten minutes later, a fully dressed Douglas was standing in front of me. “I like you. Tell Sasha we need to see each other again,” he said.
Before I could think of what else to say, he was gone. I picked up the money he had given me and counted it. My fee was fifteen hundred dollars. I counted it again and realized there was an extra three hundred dollars there. I saw that as a bonus Sasha didn’t need to know about. She and I had worked out a deal. My fee for use of her connections was twenty-five percent, until she thought I was ready to do my own thing.
Sasha had two hotels we used for our business. And it was simple really. I’d go to the Peninsula about twice a month, and that was always my favorite. In the past six months, I had seen Douglas twice since our last encounter. During that time I was starting to get the hang of things. I knew what to expect in most, if not all situations, and was very comfortable with myself and what I was doing.
I was at home one afternoon when my BlackBerry rang. I reached for it and answered without checking caller ID. It was Diane. I hadn’t seen or talked to her since I stopped working at the club. She and I tried to keep in touch with one another, but we had been playing phone tag for months.
“Well, it’s about damn time you actually answered the fuckin’ phone. A bitch been tryin’ to call your ass for mo’ than a minute,” Diane’s voice rang out in my ear.
“I swear I was just gonna call you,” I quickly defended.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, bitch. What’s been up wit you?”
“Nothing much.”
“Cut the bullshit, Jada. Crème told me she saw you pushin’ a new big-body Benz. Bitch, I need to know what you been doin’! And let’s not even talk ’bout how your ass just bounced and been MIA for months now!” she hollered.
“I know, I know,” I said.
“You know my nosy ass; I gots to know what the fuck is up wit all that. I wanna know what you been up to. I mean, you hit the numbers or something?” she asked, bringing back memories of a similar conversation I had had with her.
My other cell rang and I checked to see Sasha’s number flashing across the screen. “Dee, I need to grab that, but I swear we’ll get together soon. I promise,” I said, wanting her to hurry and hang up because Sasha was calling with information about my appointment for the evening.
“If you don’t call me back, I swear-fo’-God, bitch, I’ma hunt your ass down like a runaway slave,” she testified.
“Dee, I’m gonna call you back, I swear!”
My heart was racing at the thought of missing Sasha’s call, but luckily, Diane let me go. “Hey, Sasha,” I said.
“Randolph is meeting you at the Peninsula at nine,” she said.
“Are we going out?”
“No, he wants a romantic evening in. He mentioned something about pay-per-view movies in the room and all. Oh, he wants you in a teddy and high-heeled slippers,” she informed me.
“Okay, cool.”
“Remember, ease up on the slang. Remember, classy and elegant, not ghetto and fabulous,” she warned before hanging up. I had already learned a lot from her.
Six months after that, I felt I had a nice little list of my own clientele. Sasha and I had agreed when the time came for me to venture out on my own, we’d talk about it, so there wouldn’t be any kind of hard feelings. That talk was to take place at The Pen-Top Bar & Terrace inside the Peninsula Hotel.
When Sasha arrived we ordered drinks and some food. I had marinated shrimp cocktail with Marie Rosé sauce, while Sasha ordered sushi and sashimi with wasabi, pickled ginger and soy sauce. “How’d it go last night?” she asked, sipping a Blue Crystal: a drink made with Beefeater Gin, Triple Sec, and a splash of Blue Curacao. I had a Godiva Chocolate Martini made with Absolute vanilla, Godiva White Chocolate Liqueur, and cream.
“Everything went fine,” I said and discretely handed Sasha her cut of my money for the last time.
Sasha took the money and put it in her purse before taking a sip of her drink. “You know I just absolutely love the view from up here,” she said.
“I know what you mean. It makes me feel like I’m on top of the world,” I said.
Sasha folded her hand in a very ladylike way in front of her and looked at me. “So, Jada, tell me what you wanted to talk to me about.”
“Well, . . . Sasha, . . .I, um—”
“Don’t tell, let me guess. You think you’re ready to fly solo. Is that what you think you wanna tell me?”
Her attitude caught me a little off guard. I had known Sasha for almost a year and in all that time, she had never copped the kind attitude that she was throwing off now. But I never had to tell her that the envelope I’d just handed her would be her last. I had become a good earner for her. Most weeks I’d give her no less than twenty-five hundred dollars, and all she had to do for it was pick up the phone. On top of that, my company was requested quite frequently and by some of her better clients. Some of which I planned on taking with me.
“I think I’m ready—No, I know I’m ready.”
Sasha laughed at me and I wanted to kick her ass over it, but I did business regularly at this hotel, so I kept my cool.
“Look at you, Jada, all dressed up tryin’ to be a lady.” Sasha took a sip of her drink. “Do you remember who you were when I met you?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Now it was me that had the attitude.
“You couldn’t talk, you could barely walk without falling on your face, and you definitely had the most ghetto taste in clothes.”
This bitch was one insult away from getting this White Chocolate Martini thrown in her face.
“I made you”—Sasha leaned forward and said sternly—“It was me who taught you how to walk without falling; how to talk without having to end every sentence with a curse. And it was me who taught you how to dress like a lady. I taught you all those things. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be shakin’ your ass at that dive. I made you, Jada,” she said again, but this time she stuck her finger in my face. “Never forget that.”
“No, Sasha,” I said to her. “I won’t forget any of that.”
I was on fire. My eyes were squinted, my teeth were grinding together and my fists were balled. I seriously wanted to punch Sasha in the mouth. Although I hated to admit it, Sasha was absolutely right about me. When I met her, I was just a ghetto shake dancer. It was just the nasty way she said it that was pissin’ me off.
Then Sasha smiled. “Stop looking like that”—her smile turned into laughter—“I was just playing with you.”
“You sure?” I asked, but I was still hot.
“Yes, silly.” Sasha laughed and ate some of her sushi. “Had you going for a second there, didn’t I?”
“I was about to start acting very unladylike,” I laughed and tried to relax.
“Listen, honey, I am so proud of you and the way you handle yourself now. Jada, you have come so far. You’ve been ready to fly solo for a long time.”
“Really?” I questioned with childlike wonder.
“Of course you have. But I figured that if you wanted to keep giving me your money, it would be rude of me not to accept.”
“And you know a lady is never rude,” we both said almost in unison.
I was glad to go with Sasha’s blessings. Working with and studying Sasha taught me one thing: She was on top, in charge, the boss, and I worked for her. I walked the way that she did, talked the way she told me to talk, and I dressed and conducted myself the way she said a lady should.
Sasha was my madam—even though I hate the word, she was my pimp. That’s where the money was, not lying on my back with my legs in the air. I was ready to leave Sasha all right, but I wasn’t going solo. I was giving Sasha two, sometimes three grand a week. If I were to get a couple of girls working for me, I could pull in five, six grand a week, and whatever I made would be gravy. In the �
��New World” I would be on top, ’cause that’s where the money was.
And you know I was all about the money.
6
I looked around my new spacious two-bedroom apartment and marveled at how far I had come. I had a nice new luxury car, a large apartment, the finest clothes and tons of money in the bank; maybe not tons, but more than I’ve ever had in my life. I was finally living the good life.
I strolled over to my dining room table and glanced at the pictures I had laid out. Each one was personally selected to get started. And while I figured that one other person and myself would be good, I liked each one of them and I couldn’t choose, so I decided to keep them all. Diane was the only one I was iffy about, because she was straight ghetto. I was sure that Diane wasn’t ready to work with the kind of exclusive clientele I was working with. “Come on, Jada,” Diane pleaded when she arrived at my apartment. “I could be a good fuckin’ ho for you,” she said and laughed.
“That’s just it, Diane, I’m not looking for ho’s. I’m targeting a more upscale clientele,” I told her.
“Come on, Jada. I’m tired of dancin’ every fuckin’ night. And I’m so fuckin’ tired of them scandalous-ass bitches . Shit, if could make three times that layin’ on my back, come on, Jada, you gots to count a bitch in.”
“And that’s another thing, Dee.”
“What?”
“You curse too much,” I said.
“What about it?”
“It’s not very ladylike,” I said.
Diane looked at the expression on my face. Then she looked me up and down. “Look, Jada, don’t think I ain’t been checkin’ you out. You changed.”
“I have changed, Diane. But that’s how—” I started, but Diane stopped me.
“Like I said, the way you talk and shit. You even walk different; don’t be lookin’ like you ’bout to fall all the damn time.” Diane smiled and I did too. “You know, I been seein’—you know, how you dressin’ these days and how you carry it and shit, and I’m like yeah, Jada, you doin’ it. So, if that’s what it takes, then you gotta teach me to be like you.”
