by E. N. Joy
Guess I got my answer. And just like that, not only did I not have a car and my own place, but I didn’t have anybody’s place. Nana’s house ended up selling after only two weeks on the market, which was two weeks before she was set to leave for Florida. According to the closing agreement, Nana had thirty days to vacate the home, which technically meant I had thirty days to vacate, because Nana would be long gone.
Before heading to Florida, Nana ended up helping me get my own apartment by cosigning a lease for me. I probably could have gotten it on my own if I hadn’t gotten my new car first. It wasn’t brand-new, just a nice little Toyota to help get me from point A to point B. But by the time the apartment complex pulled my credit report, the car was already on it, which didn’t look good for my debt ratio.
Nana had vowed that she would never cosign anything for anybody after she cosigned on a car for one of my uncles and ended up having to pay off the balance when the loan went into default. But I think Nana felt responsible for me having to move out in the first place, so she obliged without a second thought.
“I promise, Nana, you don’t have to worry,” I told her. “If I don’t pay anything else, I’m definitely going to pay my rent.”
That lasted all of about four months. It was already pretty rough keeping my head above water while paying rent, utilities, a car note, and car insurance, but when that student loan became due, I simply could not manage. I’d graduated with a bachelor’s, but now it was time to pay for it.
I ended up going to one of those cash advance places to take out a loan, but all that did was put me in this viscous cycle of robbing Peter to pay Paul. I would go to one cash advance place after another, taking out one loan to cover the last loan and so on. Before I knew it, my answering machine was filled with messages from the cash advance place and all my other debt collectors. I’d dug myself into a deep hole that I saw no way of getting out of.
“Why can’t I win for losing?” I cried out, overwhelmed with all the collection calls and paper bills that sat before me. I needed money, quick money, because I needed all my problems to go away quickly.
I ended up going next door and borrowing my neighbor’s paper in order to check out the want ads. I was set on finding a quick way to make cash, such as babysitting, dog walking, whatever. I just needed money now, quick, fast, and in a hurry! I was past the point of having to go through some long, drawn-out interview process, only to then have my first paycheck held.
Dancers needed! No experience necessary! Cash every night! Start tonight!
I picked up the phone and dialed the number that was listed on the ad.
“Club Shake ’Em Up. This is Troy speaking,” a guy answered.
“Uh, yes, hi. I’m calling about the ad in the paper, the one about dancers needed.”
“Yes, I’m the manager. You interested?”
“Yes.”
“Anyway, you can come in today for a quick interview?”
“Uh, yeah, well, sure.” I was a little thrown off, but happy he wasn’t beating around the bush. After all, I did say I needed this thing to move quickly.
“Good. What time can you be here?”
“Uh, I can come now,” I said enthusiastically.
Troy gave me the address. I jotted it down and then hung up the phone, promising I’d be there in the next hour.
I raced to my closet and tried to find something sexy to wear to my so-called interview. I ended up piecing together a pair of thin white pants, a lacy white bodysuit, and some white stilettos. Underneath the see-through lacy bodysuit, I wore a lacy Victoria’s Secret bra and a matching thong. I chuckled at the irony of Dino once saying it looked like a stripper outfit. If the shoe fits . . .
I put on my Mary Kay cosmetics, pulled my hair back in a nice, neat ponytail with a couple of strands purposely left out, and then I headed to Club Shake ’Em Up. It was clear on the other side of town, but there was no traffic, so I was there in under a half hour.
When I got out of the car, my knees almost buckled. I was so nervous. Here I was, somebody’s mother with a college degree, about to go apply for a job as a stripper. This was surreal. Do you really want to do this? a voice in my head asked right as I made it to the door, placing my hand on the doorknob. I paused, then heard the voices on my answering machine of those who had made all those threatening collection calls.
I took a deep breath and answered out loud, “No, I don’t want to do this.... I have to do this.”
Before I knew it, I was on the other side of the door. I walked back out a few minutes later with my new work schedule in hand as the newest dancer at Club Shake ’Em Up.
Stone Number Thirty-nine
“What the . . .” I cursed upon pulling up in front of my apartment door and seeing a paper taped on it. I got out of my car and walked up to my door, only to find an eviction notice plastered across it. I was like a woman waiting on her period after a night of unprotected sex. I kind of expected it but wasn’t sure when it would come. After all, it had been a couple of months since I had last paid my rent in full. I mean, I had put some money on it like it was a nice outfit I had in layaway that I couldn’t afford. It was a good faith effort on my part, but not good enough to hold off their threat of eviction.
I ripped the eviction notice off the door, cursing again, only to find that underneath the eviction notice was a disconnect notice from the gas company. “God, you’ve got to be kidding me.” I’d been paying bits and pieces on the gas bill as well. Couldn’t they have at least given me a break? I guess Columbia Gas has no layaway plan, either.
I could only guess at how many people had walked by and seen the notices. Even now as I stood there, I felt eyes burning my back, watching me, heard people laughing and snickering at the broke chick in apartment F. F for failure.
I made sure I ripped all remnants of both papers off my door and then went into my house. I closed the door behind me and just stood there. I felt so lost and confused. I was trying my best to handle all my bills, but it just wasn’t working out in my favor.
I earned three dollars an hour dancing at Club Shake ’Em Up. I knew that sounded like cheap labor, but the bulk of a dancer’s money was supposed to be earned in tips and drinks. Drinks for a dancer at Club Shake ’Em Up started at ten dollars and could go all the way up to one hundred dollars. The dancer received a forty-cent commission on every dollar a customer spent on her for drinks. The ultimate goal was to get customers to buy you as many drinks as possible.
Even with the commission I earned on drinks, the tips, and my modest hourly wage, the money was still not coming in fast enough. Granted, I had been working there only two weeks and hadn’t really had time to get any regular customers who were willing to spend a car note on me. Yes, the money was fast, somewhat easy, and pretty decent, but the money I made from dancing had to be put right back into dancing. What I meant by that was that I couldn’t just show up to work in cute bra and panty sets. Costumes were required. I hadn’t taken into consideration at all the fact that I would need dance outfits to perform in.
If everything turned out in my favor, though, I wouldn’t have to do this any more than two or three months or so, to at least get my head back above water. But right now I was drowning in bills and needed a life jacket quick. Still, I was confident I’d make my way back to shore in time. I was gonna be in and out of this game before the waters got too deep.
My head began to throb as I put my back against my door and just slid down to the floor, the tears sliding down my face simultaneously. “God help me!” was all I could say. This pity party couldn’t last too long. I had to be at the club in an hour.
“So what’s it gonna be, Ma?”
I could tell by his tone that Damon was getting a little impatient. I mean, in his mind, what was there to think about? He was offering me five hundred dollars not just to dance for him, but also to hook up with him tonight? He was as fine as all get out and paid! Heck, most women would be willing to let Damon hit it for free, so why was
I tripping?
The second song to my set came on. As R. Kelly’s collaboration with the late, great Notorious B.I.G. was playing, I swayed my hips across the stage, almost in a trance. The irony of the lyrics and my situation at hand almost made me laugh out loud. But this was no laughing matter. I had an eviction notice on my door, my gas was off, and an opportunity to change all of that by morning was staring me in the face.
Damon gave me a wicked grin as he extended the five-hundred-dollar bill to me. I knew it wasn’t just a regular tip. It was a proposition, and I was sure if I passed it up, I’d kick myself for refusing in my cold shower tonight. I closed my eyes. I needed to shut the rest of the world out and think in peace.
This is a bigger one-night come up than I could have ever expected dancing in this club, I thought to myself. Even though I’ll be able to do good things with this money, like keep a roof over my head, is all money good money? For every thought I had with positive reasons for taking the money, a negative one followed and crossed it out. Within seconds my mind was caught up in a tornado.
The next thing I knew, I saw my hand taking the bill from Damon’s hand.
Stone Number Forty
“This is a really nice place you have here,” I said, complimenting Damon as I stood in the middle of the living room of his luxury apartment located in Reynoldsburg, Ohio, a suburb of Columbus, Ohio.
“Thank you,” he replied. “Can I fix you a drink?”
“No, I’m fine. I think I’ve had enough drinks for one night.” I smiled.
“Cool. Well, then, you just have a seat right here.” He bent over and patted a spot on his white leather couch, which sat on the fluffy white carpet that covered his floor.
I took a seat.
“I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared up the steps. He had been gone for about ten minutes when I heard the sound of a toilet flushing. A few seconds after that he reappeared.
“You all right?” he asked, twitching his nose, then taking his hand and wiping it.
“I’m fine.” Believe it or not, I was fine. Not the least bit nervous. Damon was a regular at the club, he had money, he had a nice, clean place, and that Corvette he drove us over here in was off the chain. I’d made up my mind that he was no serial killer. As a matter of fact, he just could be my Richard Gere.
Damon grabbed a remote and turned on his stereo system. One of Jodeci’s songs played as Damon poured himself a shot of a dark liquor, downed it, then came and sat by me on the couch. “Dang,” he said, then started feeling around his pockets.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, noticing how quickly he was becoming agitated. He ignored me and just continued patting himself down. Next, he started digging down in the couch. I watched him as beads of sweat began to form on his head. “What’s wrong? What did you lose?”
Damon stopped and looked at me like it was his first time remembering that I was even there. “You have it, don’t you?” he growled at me.
“What?” I was stunned. Damon had undergone this immediate transformation. He was no longer a sweet, smooth, debonair type of dude. He was now this clammy, aggressive creep.
“Give me that!” Damon snatched my purse, which was sitting beside me, and started throwing everything out of it.
“What are you doing?” I stood up.
“You got me? You tricked me, didn’t you? All the tips, the drinks I bought you, the five hundred dollars, that just wasn’t enough for a whore like you, was it? You had to go and steal my wallet.”
“Dude, is this a joke?” I asked as a matter of fact, letting a laugh slip out, because this had to be a joke.
“You think this is funny, huh?” Before I could react, Damon’s hands were around my throat, choking the life out of me. After what seemed like forever, he removed his hands from around my throat, pushing me back onto the couch. “I had three thousand dollars in my wallet, so now, instead of working five hundred dollars off, you owe me three thousand worth.”
I watched as Damon stripped down until he was buck naked. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. I was not even sure how I was able to breathe. I closed my eyes and did something I hadn’t done in a while. In fact, I couldn’t even remember the last time I had done it. I began to pray.
Just like in movies, my life began to flash before my eyes. I saw Lynn and myself drawing and playing hopscotch as little girls. I saw my cousin and myself playing with our Barbie dolls at my grandparents’ house. I saw myself comforting Lynn in high school when she found out she was pregnant. I saw Lynn comforting me in the hospital after I gave birth to Baby D. I saw Baby D laughing, playing, and pointing at his favorite cartoon characters while he watched television. I saw Dub and myself in the park, talking. I saw Dub beating me and holding me a prisoner in my own home. Next, I saw myself that day in court when I was set free from Dub. I saw Nana and myself garage saling. I saw Dino and myself on our wedding day. I saw Dino and myself arguing, and then I saw myself filing for divorce.
Finally, I saw this casket and all these people surrounding it. I saw my mother, my father. I saw Rochelle, Synthia, Konnie, and my aunt Lisa. Practically the only person I didn’t see was myself. Then it dawned on me. If I wasn’t one of the people surrounding the casket, then that must mean only one thing: I was the person in the casket.
“No!” I shouted. “No!”
“Dang, calm down. That’s all you had to say.”
I opened my eyes to see Damon sitting on the stage in Club Shake ’Em Up. In the background I could hear the R. Kelly and Notorious B.I.G. song fading out. I looked around frantically, trying to figure out where I was.
I could hear the song “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly),” by Missy Elliott, starting to play.
“You done made your money. Get off the stage and let me make mine.”
I looked up at Angel, who smiled and winked, then proceeded to work her body to the song as if I was no longer standing there.
I was here. I was still in Club Shake ’Em Up. On the stage. I wasn’t in Damon’s apartment. Even better, I wasn’t in a casket.
“Thank you, God,” I murmured, the words escaping my lips almost subconsciously.
Next, I turned and looked at Damon, who was extending the five-hundred-dollar bill to me. I hadn’t taken it. I hadn’t sold my soul for five hundred dollars.
“Thank you, God.” This time it was a conscious choice.
This overwhelming feeling came over me. I looked down at the bill, and then I looked into Damon’s eyes. After about a five-second stare down, Damon shrugged his shoulders. Next, he tucked the bill back into his wallet, finished up his Hennessy, then stood. He gave me this one last look, his eyes questioning, “Are you sure? Going once, going twice . . .”
Then he was gone.
I quickly turned around, almost doing a sprint. The pole that I had almost run dead smack into stopped me in my tracks as I stared at it. Just moments ago I’d complained to myself how wrong the cleaning man was for making the pole so sparkling clean. On second thought, maybe it was me who was wrong. Deep down inside, maybe this side of myself was exactly who I was supposed to see. After all, how could I clean up a dirt spot if I had no idea that it was there? Looking at my reflection in the pole, I realized that maybe the pole wasn’t so clean, after all.
I hurried off the stage and into the dressing room. I brushed past another dancer who was coming out and headed straight to my locker. I began pulling all my belongings out and stuffing them into my duffel bag. In one swoop I cleared my dressing table of all its contents, scooping them into my duffel bag as well. I snatched up any costumes, shoes, hair accessories, whatever, and stuffed my bag to the point where it wouldn’t close.
I sat down at the dressing table for a minute in order to catch my breath. My chest was heaving up and down, I was breathing so hard. Before I stood up, I happened to catch my reflection in the mirror. Until looking at myself in the mirror, I hadn’t even been conscious of the fact that I’d been crying. Even then, tears continued to pour o
ut of my eyes.
“How did you get here?” I asked the girl in the mirror, truly expecting an answer. I swallowed hard and then took a deep breath, thinking back to how just moments ago my life had flashed before my eyes.
My life?
Was that what one would call my years of existence here on earth? A life? It had been full of struggle and pain. Was that really living? And now that I’d overcome so much, was I really still that stupid, where I’d continue to make the same mistakes and get the same results, which was exactly what I’d done for so long?
“On earth as it is in heaven.” That scripture, prayer, or whatever it was, instantly came to my mind. I knew there was a Bible term for it—revelation, or something like that—but I got it! I got what that meant. It meant that God wanted me to live life here on earth just as He would have me live in heaven. He did not mean for me to have a miserable existence on earth and wait to get to heaven to live life abundantly and happily, with peace, love, and joy.
“You are dead.” Those words escaped my mouth and hit the reflection in the mirror like daggers. The person I was looking at had been a dead woman walking. And look where that long walk had gotten her.
“I don’t know how you got here,” I said to my reflection. “You can stay if you want. But me . . . I’m out of here!”
On that note, I stood up and exited the dressing room, heading for the exit doors of the club.
“Hey, Almond!” I heard Candace shout out. I ignored her. “Almond,” she repeated.
I had to stop in my tracks and remind myself that I was Almond. That was my stage name. My skin reminded me of the color of an almond covered in that dark chocolate on the package of one of those Almond Joy candy bars, and that was how I came up with my stage name.
