Topless

by Relentless Aaron

  “Tell me, Ken . . . what kinds of things do you buy with all of that money?” asked Brenda.

  I couldn’t believe Brenda asked that question. She hit the nail on the head. But I didn’t share my thoughts with her. I didn’t tell her that I had Ken as a main suspect. Perhaps it was coincidence . . . I don’t know. He didn’t seem fazed by the spontaneity of her being all nosy and stuff. She can be so crass sometimes. But I guess it comes with the package. Now that I had Ken’s attention, I was sure to keep an eye on his every move. I found it pretty peculiar how the metal detector wasn’t working and that he was here. I was thinking that his motive might be jealousy; that Moet told him about her altercation with Douglass. Ken may have taken his frustration out on her . . . then, maybe he just went killing people all over the place. There was one other thing . . . I checked the national firearms registry. Every state has to comply and every gun owner is listed. Ken purchased a piece less than 2 weeks before Moet was killed. I also had Star check ballistics to see what kind of gun the bullet came from. It was most likely a .45, which is what Ken had. I couldn’t help thinking: he was the one all along.

  So there were plenty of good reasons for me to go to the big New Year’s bash at Gilmore’s. Plus, Brenda wanted to see where I’d be working. I think she wanted to see what kind of girls she was up against, and how I would react in that type of environment. If she only knew. I also believe that she was intrigued to experience the topless environment for herself. She did say that she’d never stepped into such a place before. I’m always looking for motives! Ken, on the other hand, was all over the club when I expected him to hang tight in the VIP area. He must be freakier than I thought. His roaming was enough to keep my attention off that Adina chick. Talkin’ about how she’s a freak in the morning, freak in the evening. And that Foxy rapper gal. I was absolutely appalled with her talkin’ about “ain’t no nigga” . . . and her “ill na na,” as if we couldn’t see that she was referring to her vagina. Those girls needed to have their mouths washed out. I may be gettin’ too old for this stuff, but it seems to me that the young people are taking the next generation straight to hell. They’re exploiting all we worked for, all we got beaten for, and all we got lynched for preserving. Now that we have most of our human rights, what do they do? They threaten scores of sacrifices and sufferings, with whimsical, four-minute songs. Whether it’s singin’, rappin’ or the spoken word, these youngsters will go to any limit to record their voices and to fabricate a core of like-minded, weak-minded followers. I suppose that’s freedom of speech for ya. Besides, Gilmore wouldn’t be selling it, or hiring me, if men weren’t buying it. So I guess I’m even caught up in this self-perpetuating, round-robin of unscrupulous behavior.

  Walter Wade

  Oh? That’s a new trick . . . Wade was as close as could be to Brenda, maintaining her confidence, sharing her cranberry juice. Blowing his mind was a dancer who was holding onto the brass pole and stretching her bare leg and foot out over the bar. The customer just next to Wade had his tongue almost hanging out of his mouth, eyes red and singles flashing. A bartender followed the dancer’s wishes, placing a champagne glass before the patron and subsequently handing the dancer a bottle of Alizé. With her toes hovering over the glass, inches away from the man’s nose, the dancer reached down as far as she could with the bottle and began pouring the champagne against her calf and then her knee and then her thigh, until the bubbly trickled down her leg, enough to fill the glass. Wade couldn’t help wondering if . . . and then the man answered Wade’s question, drinking every drop of the champagne and savoring it with a glow in his puffy-red cheeks. Brenda kept her eye on the man to whom she pledged her love, closely monitoring his reactions. Wade knew he was being held under the microscope, so he took the opportunity to head for the men’s room. By his leave, that same dancer bent over towards Brenda and asked for her autograph.

  In the bathroom, looking at the mirror over the sink, Wade threw some cold water on his cheeks, wanting desperately to revive his complexion and thinking of how he’d have to witness these activities as a requirement of his new job. He didn’t mind. What man wouldn’t? He just didn’t want Brenda to know he didn’t mind.

  Debbie’s Words

  I have to say that, next to our trip to see the Sultan, this party ranks pretty damned close. Isn’t that Patrick what’s-his-face, and that Oakley guy from the New York Knicks? And I know I’ve seen those dancers before, grinding in some BET videos. I may not have been born in New York, but I wasn’t born yesterday, either. This party is the bomb! The lights are shootin’ everywhere. There’s so many dancers that I stopped counting, and everywhere I turn there’s a television monitor facing me. I haven’t been to too many other clubs, but I have been to a few . . . and those two jacuzzis looked a little extra to me. I mean, they definitely work. Guys are standin’ all around them like the jacuzzis are actually stages. Stages! And more stages! There’s like ten stages in here, with spotlights lighting up the dancers . . . and there’s even more girls dancing on the catwalks. I swear, if I didn’t have a tuxedo on, stickin’ by Douglass and all, boy, I’d be out there turning it on right now.

  Debbie

  “Did you say something, Debbie?”

  “Valerie, I feel like I’m in a dream, and if I wake up I’ll . . . I’ll be dizzy. Is this shit in-cre-dible or what?”

  “Or what! Are you diggin’ Kid Capri? He’s like . . . given me a fuckin’ orgasm with this music. The whole club is an orgasm!”

  “I believe it, I be-lieve it.” Back and forth, the girls traded opinions, leaning into their conversation across the front of Douglass’s chest. Meanwhile, he reclined on the couch in the VIP area. He was bubbling with joy inside, basking in the dream he’d originally put to paper . . . living the reality that he put in motion.

  Adina and Foxy put on incredible shows. They were about as provocative as some of the topless dancers themselves, almost naked up there on the stage. Douglass was thinking that he might offer them a job if their music careers ever fell off. And they would fall off. Eventually.

  At 15 minutes to twelve, the excitement took another step forward as the club full of pleasure fell deeper into anticipation. Demetrius was just behind Douglass, keeping an eye on everything. He held his middle finger to his earpiece, wanting to be clear about what he heard.

  “Hold on, Danni . . .” Demetrius moved in close enough to whisper.

  “Danni says Fumi’s outside. He has six with him.”

  “Oh! Most definitely!! Let him in now. Tell Danni to have Dino escort them directly to VIP.” Just then, Wade was approaching. He snatched a nearby chair, and in one swift motion, he sat it immediately facing the couch, blocking a part of Douglass’s view.

  “We’ve gotta talk.”

  “What’s up, Wade?”

  “Gil, I believe I’m right on the tail of . . . ” Wade was even having trouble uttering . . . totally believing his speculations on the case. . . . “I think there’s some trouble lurking. For you . . . and for you Valerie.” Wade pivoted his gaze from Douglass to Valerie. He wanted them to see the sincerity in his eyes and that he meant business.

  “Okay . . . I’m hearing you. But the thing is,” Douglass took deep breath, “that I’m not surrendering to fear. Me and my people are being protected by the best in the business. Aren’t you the best detective in New York? That’s what they tell me. And look at Demetrius behind me.” Douglass didn’t even have to look behind him to know that his good friend was posting like one of those Salam-malakim-dudes that watched Farrakhan’s back. “He’s one of my closest friends. He lives with me for God sakes, Wade. I feel like I have my own exclusive guardian angel who doubles as a bona-fide ninja. And after Demetrius, there’s Danni and then Dino. I’ve taken precautions because I realize that I’m an endangered species. What else can I do?” Wade was listening to Douglass, but his eyes easily wandered to a far corner of the VIP area. Ken Stevens stood tall over 2 dancers while his agent had eyes glued on the abundant breasts
before him.

  “I guess everything’s okay then . . .” Wade looked up at Demetrius, indicating that he should keep an eye on Ken. Wade had already alerted Danni and Demetrius as to his suspicions and theories. Even they felt that he was far fetched, but agreed to keep it tight anyhow. Fumi and his men were approaching now. So, Wade respected their privacy and stepped out of the way, taking the chair with him. He looked down, almost 100 feet away, and saw that Brenda was talking with the bartender, expecting that the conversation was nothing but cordial. His eyes instantly captured a shot of the entire club, highlighted by a giant neon sign that hung high above. It was a loud orange:

  GILMORE’S

  BLACK BEAUTY

  “May I speak with Valerie for a minute?” Wade started his question before he even turned to address it. Douglass sent a confident expression her way.

  “Alright. But she’s been a warm bookend next to me. Don’t keep her for long.” Douglass flashed a quick smile. Valerie got up while Douglass made some more room for Fumi to sit comfortably. They shook hands and both took a seat.

  Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven . . .

  “My friend . . . I expected nothing less from you.” Fumi maintained his warm smile, while his eyes canvassed wide and far. His comrades were shaking hands with Demetrius, directing their focus on the events down below.

  “I don’t know who you’re foolin’, Fumi . . . I couldn’t have done this without you . . .”

  “That’s not so, G’more. You had a plan, and yes, we met some time ago. But you stayed with your dream and you were relentless enough to perfect it. Maybe ninety percent of the human race doesn’t take it that far. You probably did not know where you would get the money . . . but you did know that you would get it somehow. Every resource you’ve ever needed was with you all of the time; in jail, at home . . . here,” Fumi stretched his palms out like a birds wings, “at Gilmore’s Black Beauty. Your every resource that I speak of is right here.” Fumi pointed to Douglass’s forehead. It was a gesture that felt forceful, just a pointed finger; but somehow it had a grip on his soul.

  “Listen, G’more . . . I want to stay and enjoy all of this with you, but I cannot. I must go . . .”

  “So soon? Come on, Fumi . . . it’s almost twelve . . . the New Year . . .”

  “G’more. I have a trying situation to face at home . . .”

  “At The Point?”

  “No. At my home. Nigeria. There is a new President that has been voted into leadership. He is a lifelong friend. He was once a General in the Nigerian Army, and even one day saved my life . . . to make this short and sweet for you; a brother of mine has taken the post of General in the Army and there is talk of rebellion. There is a discussion of a coup. Our people have struggled long for democracy, like your people here have struggled and died for human rights. I must step forth and persuade my brother from his dissension. If I don’t, the new President will crush him and there would be massive bloodshed in the interim. My family has called upon me and I have no choice but to heed to the call.”

  “What about the investment, the club . . . the . . .”

  “G’more . . . I shall return. And even while I’m away, I shall always be with you. As well, I will keep you in my thoughts . . . Sefu?” Fumi called to one of his men. He handed a small box to Douglass. Douglass took little notice and passed the box to Debbie. He was more concerned that his friend had to leave. “Now I must go to catch my flight.” Fumi stood up. Douglass had to shake out of the sudden shock, finally standing himself. They hugged as men do.

  “G’more . . . remember something. If we stand tall it is because we stand on the backs of those who came before us.”

  Suddenly, there was a bell that sounded. The one minute bell. Douglass watched Fumi lead his men out of the club, leaving the New Year’s celebration behind. Waitresses had been on standby all along with trays of freshly poured champagne. Foxy and Adina were nearby and Ken Stevens also grabbed a glass with 40 seconds left till midnight. Ken stepped closer to Douglass. Demetrius observed, unexpected.

  “Congratulations! I saw your proposal. My agent came to your Investor’s Day presentation. Wish I could have invested.” Ken was feeding into the growing energy.

  “Thanks. Maybe one day we can do something.”

  “Cheers!” Ken lifted his glass.

  “Cheers!” Douglass lifted his to meet Ken’s.

  “THIRTY SECONDS TILL THE NEW YEAR!”

  Douglass kissed Debbie, then Mechelle before he signaled for Valerie; and then he kissed her. As Valerie left Wade’s side, Wade was reminded that Brenda was not with him. He noticed that she was already climbing the steps towards the VIP area. Douglass finished with Valerie and hugged his two performing guests. A photographer’s flash was bursting with blinding light all the while.

  “FIFTEEN SECONDS TILL THE NEW YEAR!”

  Almost spilling the champagne, Douglass held his glass up high.

  “HIP-HIP—”

  “HOORAAY!”

  “HIP-HIP—”

  “HOORAAAY!!”

  “WHOSE HOUSE?”

  “GILMORE’S HOUSE!”

  “I SAID, WHOSE HOUSE?”

  “GILMORE’S HOUSE!!!” And at ten seconds till midnight the crowd of 50 in the VIP room led their own countdown, while the thousand-plus below roared simultaneously. Wade captured the moment before it actually arrived, grabbing Brenda.

  “Happy New Year, darling.”

  “Happy New Year to you, lover.” They embraced and drowned each other in saliva.

  “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!” Douglass gave the thumbs-up to Dino, who was standing on the catwalk with 4 buxom dancers at his sides. They all held on to the rope which reached up high where a latch controlled the net. They all tugged the rope at the same time and the black and gold balloons, along with a thousand one-dollar bills, were released. The mass of gold, black, and green fell whiskfully towards the audience below. The money fluttered back and forth indecisively, swaying and cascading through the atmosphere, down-down-down, towards reaching, erratic revelers. The release of the attraction above also served as a cue for the deejay to let the record play. Douglass was tired of that ole lang syne and played God, replacing the old dusty standard with Mary J. Blige’s Be Happy. The bass was appropriate for the moment, and it seemed to perfectly kick-off an emotional high in the club. The dancers screamed in response. Some men danced around in circles and out of rhythm, others sang the words to the song in unison. All the while dancers on various stages either wiggled and gyrated to their heart’s content, or they kissed and hugged one another wishing in the New Year. Kid Capri hadn’t yet begun to put on his show.

  “Let’s take this back to the old school

  Let’s take this back to Union Square!

  Let’s take this back to the LQ

  And party like we just don’t care!”

  Kid Capri’s voice dominated the audience and the dancers went ballistic as he shuffled records, moods and the climate (as if by design) with his precise selections.

  “The bridge is over

  The bridge is over

  Biddy bye-bye

  The bridge is over

  The bridge is over, hey hey . . .”

  After Kid Capri dropped the KRS-ONE classic, he stung everybody’s emotions with “The Big Beat,” and seconds later he switched to “Roxanne” with terrorizing sounds crashing through the club’s powerful sound system. But the deejay didn’t know how to stop, fusing old-school hip-hop with old school soul; droppin’ big-beat-blastin’ jams and mixing them with the latest hits.

  Douglass was so high in the moment, receiving a king’s procession of kisses and congratulations, that he lost all sense of time and space. This was his utopia and nothin’ else mattered at all. Just when the nirvana seemed to lull, at 3AM, Douglass’s pre-arranged private-dancer session blasted off. Valerie was the one who picked the 5 hottest bodies in the legion for an exclusive hour in the VIP area. Half that exclusive crowd was celebrities from the worlds of basketba
ll, baseball and tennis. Big names. There was a famed boxer, some hip hop artists and also some radio personalities. Brenda was long gone; took a cab home at about 2 in the morning. Ken Stevens and his agent had their own lil corner locked down, with dancers stepping in his mini-playing field one by one. Wade was still standing by, frustrated but also glad that his theory wasn’t coming to life. Mechelle and Debbie simply remained fixtures at Douglass’s side, pointing out various faces in the club.

  Wade did get around to speaking with Valerie again once Brenda left.

  Valerie’s Words

  I was shaken when Detective Wade asked me about Bobby. I didn’t think anyone knew about him. Heck, I didn’t even know what happened to him until Wade told me that he was murdered, and that someone sabotaged his jeep. I think our last party was the night before he died, too. I told Detective Wade what I knew, how I met him at Moet’s house, and that I did some private parties for him. He was a kinky man too, wantin’ to wear panties . . . a woman’s panties and bra while I danced for him. It was pretty hilarious at first. I couldn’t stop laughing. But I think it was the fourth time when being around him was starting to make me sick. And then the detective started asking me about David and more questions about Moet and myself. I felt like a criminal or something, the way he was drilling me. But he says that these people were involved with me, and that may be why they’re dead now. And I made it clear that “No, I did not fuck David or especially that queer Bobby.” He also asked me about Ken Stevens, but I honestly never met him till New Years. I don’t even watch baseball . . . bor-ing! Finally already, he showed me this police drawing. It looked a little like a customer . . . I think, or maybe someone I once knew. But nothing came to mind right away. So he wants me to call him if I can remember. Oh brother!

  “Douglass, are you gonna open this?” I asked him and handed him this little box sitting on the couch. With all the action, he must have forgotten it.