HUNTER (The Corbin Brothers Book 1)

by Lexie Ray

  I liked to get outside as often as possible, even if it didn’t happen every day. I liked to see the world outside, remind myself that there was more than the nightclub. That place was everything to me, as it was for so many other girls, but the outside world had a lot to offer, too.

  Finally, I reached the corner store. We all called it that even though it wasn’t located on a corner proper. It was more like a “right around the corner” store. It was the closest place to the nightclub. The employees there probably wondered why so many pretty girls frequented it.

  “Hello,” I called cheerfully as a ringing bell on the door announced my entrance.

  “Hey, Cocoa,” Jimmy called from behind the counter. He was a sweet kid — several of the girls had enormous crushes on him. Jimmy was very much the boy next door.

  “How’s business today?” I asked, heading into the beauty aisle.

  “Not bad,” he said as I perused the cans of spray. “How’s business with you?”

  It was just a polite question. Jimmy didn’t actually know how I earned the money I spent in the store.

  “I can’t complain, Jimmy, I really can’t.”

  I located the brand I wanted and brought it to the front. A case of nail polishes glittered on the counter. I wondered idly if the purple sparkly one was the type Blues had picked up.

  “You have yourself a great day,” Jimmy said, presenting me with my plastic bag and change.

  “You, too,” I replied warmly.

  My errand was done, but I wasn’t ready to go back to the nightclub, yet. I wanted to enjoy the feel of the sun on my skin before it set and I went to work.

  I passed by a few more bodegas and a homeless shelter before reaching a dingy park. This wasn’t a great part of town to linger, but during the day, it was mostly harmless. Certainly no worse than the place I’d been raised.

  I sat gingerly on a dilapidated concrete bench, gazing at the park’s lone tree. It was in full leaf, the green foliage rustling in the wind just audibly over the dull roar of people and passing cars. A wino’s head lolled on a neighboring bench, but I didn’t mind. It was nice to be relatively alone, outdoors in the daytime. Working at night didn’t often give me the chance to be out in the sunlight.

  When no less than three bums approached me for change, I decided it was time to go back. There were probably other parts of the city where you could sit and enjoy the outdoors without getting approached by the homeless, but this wasn’t one of them.

  I walked back to the nightclub, enjoying the last of my freedom before getting ready to work. When I let myself in the back door, the kitchen was a flurry of activity. A majority of girls were getting their first meals of the day, still fuzzyheaded and in their pajamas.

  A chorus of “Hey, Cocoa” rose as I walked in to grab a banana to take upstairs.

  “Hey, girls,” I said, waving. “Don’t forget — meeting at five-thirty before we go downstairs to open.”

  I pointed at the whiteboard to emphasize my words and left, eating the banana. I didn’t like my stomach to be super full before work. It made me self-conscious despite Blue’s assurances to me that I wasn’t fat and never could be no matter how much pizza I wolfed down.

  Once in my room, I turned to a dog-eared page of a beauty magazine that had circulated through the rest of the girls. I encouraged them to share the publications they didn’t want to hang on to anymore with everyone. A little table downstairs in the lounge hosted all of the “community” magazines. Some of them were several years old, but still held valuable information.

  This magazine in particular featured a how-to section on braids. I’d always had trouble braiding my own hair. It was something Granny always did for me when I was younger. I could do it on my doll and other girls with no problem at all, but I had to take special efforts to do the same styles on myself.

  I took my mussed braids down and combed out my hair. If I let it go naturally, I’d undoubtedly have a fro. It was that kind of hair — unruly and impossible.

  I parted it to the side and glanced down at the magazine. Following the directions exactly, I painstakingly wove the wiry strands together, smoothing the way with the comb and new can of hairspray. Such an operation was impossible without hairspray.

  After what seemed like hours, my arms aching with the effort of contorting them to make the delicate actions dictated by the magazine, I finished. I used tiny black rubber bands to secure the ends and hid these with bobby pins, tucking them beneath the existing braids. I gave one last spray over everything, my eyes watering at the fumes, and took a look at my masterpiece. It looked really fine.

  I stepped outside to wash my hands in the bathroom and was met with a gasp. It was Shimmy, dancing down the hall and tossing an apple up in the air.

  “Girl, your braids are amazing!” she gushed. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

  “From a magazine, just now,” I said, grinning at the compliment.

  “You think you could do that on me for tonight?” she asked. “They’re going to throw themselves at you.”

  I knew that by “they,” Shimmy meant our customers. She was probably right, especially after I strapped on my push-up bra and did my makeup.

  “Of course I will,” I said. Even though I’d just mastered the design, I knew it would be infinitely easier on somebody else’s hair.

  “You busy now?” she asked. “I was just gonna watch a movie with Cream.”

  “Lemme just wash my hands,” I said.

  I entered their shared room with a knock, laughing at their panties and bras hanging from the ceiling.

  “What’s gotten into you two?” I asked, looking at the bright array of cloth.

  “We think they look pretty,” Cream said in that slow, smooth way of hers. Her face was covered with a layer of lotion, which was how she maintained her marble-like complexion.

  “It’s a shame to keep them hidden away in drawers, ain’t it?” Shimmy added. She plopped down on the floor in front of a chair, wriggling around to get comfortable before pointing a remote at their little TV.

  “What’re we watching?” I asked, sitting in the chair and drawing Shimmy back between my knees.

  “Independence Day,” she said. “God, Will Smith is hot.”

  “If only he’d come into the nightclub,” Cream said dreamily. “The things I would do to him.”

  “Free of charge,” Shimmy put in.

  “Free of charge,” her roommate agreed.

  Both girls shrieked when the object of their affections popped onto the screen.

  “Step off, Vivica!” Shimmy hollered at the television. “That boy is mine!”

  I couldn’t help but giggle at them as I ran my fingers through Shimmy’s hair. The strands were softer than mine, making my task even easier. I was even able to watch some of the movie as I braided. It’d been forever since I’d seen it.

  I finished the hairdo with a flourish of spray.

  “All done,” I announced.

  Shimmy popped off the floor and checked herself out in the mirror, striking several different poses.

  “They’re going to be lining up for you,” Cream observed.

  “Anything for the money,” Shimmy declared. “Thanks, Cocoa. If I get the booty I’m expecting tonight, I’ll tip you out for this.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I said. “The hairdo is a gift. Enjoy it.”

  I left to get ready. It was nearly 5 and I wanted to be sure I was prepared for the meeting.

  My uniform was clean and pressed, waiting for me in the closet. I’d helped Mama develop the uniforms years ago. Black was flattering on anyone — and hid any stains that might be accrued throughout the night. The jeweled buttons added just enough pizzazz for us to stand out while still remaining in the background. Even though we girls were the main event at the nightclub, we didn’t want to seem like it.

  I swept on my makeup with a practiced ease. The last thing to go on was always red lipstick. For me, that was required. There had been
a time when I’d considered asking Mama to make it an official part of the uniform — that’s the effect it had on customers. They hung on my every word if my lips were red. However, I hadn’t wanted to tread on any of the girls’ creative licenses. Blue sometimes went with a satiny blue lipstick to match her eyes.

  When I stepped into the hallway, the girls were ready, assembled and waiting for me. I felt a rush of affection toward them. There were many different personalities among us, but we really came together when we had to.

  “Is this everybody?” I asked, doing a silent headcount. An even thirty. We were all here.

  “Mama asked me to talk to you all about a customer complaint she received,” I continued.

  “Ain’t nobody complaining in my bed,” someone called from the back of the group. I waited for the titters to die down.

  “I just want to take this opportunity to remind everyone of a few protocols,” I said, trying to be as professional about this as possible. “Please shower between seeing customers. If there’s no time for a shower, at least wash up. Don’t try to fit too many customers in during one night. Lavish your attentions on one or two. They’ll give you as much money as three or four, I promise you.”

  I paused after I repeated Mama’s advice to me, letting it sink in for the other girls.

  “Make sure you’re doing everything — and I mean everything — to make the customer’s experience one he’ll never forget,” I added. “Get that hook into him, girls, and you’ll have a fan for life. Are there any questions or concerns?”

  “Whose cooch is the stinker?” another girl hollered.

  “That’s enough,” I said before the laughter could really erupt. “Please keep what I said in mind tonight and going forward. You know Mama won’t tolerate the same complaint twice.”

  There were murmurs of agreement. Mama could be a strict taskmaster.

  “Let’s have a good night tonight!” I cheered, effectively ending the meeting as the girls took up my cry with whoops of their own.

  “I feel like you could lead us into war or something,” Blue remarked, walking downstairs with me. “You’re good at this kind of thing. I’d have just told everyone to wash their stinky bodies.”

  I laughed at her, imagining the response the girls would have to that kind of angle. Not good.

  “It takes a little bit of tact,” I said.

  “I believe it, baby,” Blue said. “You’re going to have a good night tonight, I can tell. That hair is amazing.”

  I touched it self-consciously. “Thanks. Yours is awesome, too.”

  Blue had scrunched her blonde tresses into soft waves, looking like she was just coming in to work after a day at the beach. The bronzer she’d buffed over her cheeks added to the illusion.

  Once we were down in the nightclub, Blue left to make sure the bar was stocked and ready. She wasn’t the only girl who tended bar, but she was the undeniable best. She was one of the girls who could artfully twirl the bottles while making the drinks. This was what got customers’ attention most often.

  With all the girls helping, we readied the nightclub in a flurry of activity. This part was always fun, girls trading jokes and good-natured insults across the floor. When the customers flooded in, it was a lot harder to chat, even though we gossiped a bit with the bartenders, of course, and when we had to wait in the kitchen for dishes to come up.

  “Showtime!” Mama hollered, the standard cry for when it was time to open the nightclub for customers. The band that we’d hired for the night launched into their set as customers filed in, paired up with the girls who would take care of them for the night. Mama greeted them as they came in. I noticed she was wearing a uniform just like us but with considerably more bling. “MAMA” was spelled out on the back of the blouse in jewels, and a glittering choker sparkled around her throat.

  I cocked my head and smiled curiously at the party I was assigned. It was a trio of couples, which was rare indeed.

  “Cocoa will take care of everything,” Mama said sweetly, holding her hand out at me. Six pairs of eyes looked at me appraisingly.

  “Right this way, please, ladies and gentlemen,” I said grandly, slipping into my “nightclub Cocoa” routine. It was a lot different from how I usually acted. Nightclub Cocoa was flirtatious bordering on scandalous. She encouraged naughty behavior. She was down for anything.

  I got the party seated in one of our larger booths. Everyone was dressed up, the girls in micro miniskirts and strips of cloth that barely covered their breasts. I could tell that at least two of the sets of tits in front of me were fake.

  “Look at how hot everyone looks tonight,” I said, lavishing special attention on the ladies. If I ignored them, they would probably make snide comments behind my back, prompting their dates to tip less — or dissuading them from doing anything else.

  “I like your hair,” one of the girls said.

  “Thank you, baby,” I gushed. “Tell me if I’m being too forward. Your boobs are to die for.” I leaned forward and tweaked one through the thin fabric of her tube top, causing all the girls to shriek and giggle.

  “Thank you, Cocoa,” the girl said, blushing, and I knew I had endeared myself to them for the rest of the night. I got their drink and food orders and put them in, watching Blue operate.

  “What’s the deal with all those dames?” Blue asked, eyeing my ticket before grabbing three beers for the guys. She popped the caps off and wrapped the bottles in napkins.

  “Dunno,” I said, shrugging.

  “You think they know what we really do here?” she asked, placing three shots of Patron alongside three cosmopolitans.

  “They’d have to, I think,” I said, picking up the tray carefully. It’d taken me whole months to master carrying the beverages without spilling them, but now I could do it without a second thought.

  “Nasty surprise if they didn’t,” Blue commented, watching me balance the tray before walking across the floor.

  The band was a rock band — also a rarity at the nightclub. Mama usually preferred swankier fare, big band and jazz numbers that she felt increased the nightclub’s classiness. She couldn’t deny the popularity of R&B and rap, though, and booked DJs for several nights a week to accommodate that set. I knew the rock band had to be one of her efforts to attract new clientele.

  After I delivered the drinks, I stayed to cheer on the girls as they took the shots of Patron.

  “I can tell we’re going to have a wild night,” I announced, collecting the empty shooters and setting them back on my tray. “What’s the occasion?”

  “We don’t need an occasion to have a wild night,” the girl whose tit I’d touched said.

  “I believe it, sweetheart,” I said, batting my eyes at her. “Now, lemme get your tapas so you can put something down on top of that tequila. All of you are so skinny and gorgeous! You probably never eat.”

  The giggles told me my suspicions were true. These girls were going to be quick drunks. I could probably sell them even more dishes after they worked through the ones they ordered.

  I got drinks for a couple more tables before collecting the dishes from the kitchen. At my recommendation, the couples had ordered the pot stickers, one the nightclub’s most popular tapas. The little dumplings came with a number of sweet and savory sauces to dip them in. I piled on an artful little plate of nachos as well as some bruschetta and minuscule little pulled pork sandwiches. The couples had ordered a wide assortment of goodies from the menu.

  They all dug in immediately as soon as I distributed the plates around the table.

  “Oh my God, this is amazing,” the girl said.

  “Was I right or was I right?” I said coquettishly. “Stick with me, I’m telling you. I’ll make sure everything’s taken care of.”

  This last part I directed at the guys, whose eyes couldn’t seem to get unstuck from my cleavage. This bra had been my finest investment, and it was repaying me many times over.

  I got absorbed into my routine, which happene
d often. Fetching drinks, putting in food orders, and flirting with the customers all blended into a driving rhythm. My mind and body melded perfectly, making all the right decisions, saying all the right words. This was a magical time.

  When I saw Mama at the table with the couples, I dropped what I was doing and came over. Her presence let me know that bedroom business was being negotiated. I smiled to myself. I’d done well, then, if I could inspire guys with dates to purchase time with me.