Baby Brother's Blues

by Pearl Cleage

  The sound system was blasting Lil’ John and the East Side Boys just like it did when the place was full and something in the music made Brandi decide to really dance. The fact that Montre’s patrons didn’t know how to appreciate real class didn’t mean she had to stoop to their level. She hooked her arm around the pole and shook her breasts like she was trying to wake them up. I’m gonna do this one for me, she thought. I’m gonna do this one like I’m already in Vegas!

  Closing her eyes, she began to move to the music. Her sudden energy hit the guys at the bar like a splash of cold water and they looked at each other and then back toward the small stage. Brandi was twisting herself around the pole in a series of positions that amazed and excited them. They clutched their beer, hoping she wouldn’t stop. Johnny, behind the bar, grinned at their reaction and, in a sudden burst of uncharacteristic generosity, handed them each another cold beer, on the house.

  “Tell your friends what kinds of girls we got in here,” he said, enjoying the shock on their faces.

  Their unexpected good fortune, plus the shaking, shimmying vision of feminine pulchritude dancing her ass off only a few feet away, took them by surprise. They thanked Johnny, assured him they would tell everybody they knew, and moved to a table down front, determined to make the most of whatever other good fortune came their way. Brandi ignored them. In her mind, she was dancing at the Paris Casino. So focused was she that she didn’t even notice the new guy at the bar ordering a rum and Coke.

  He noticed her, though. Baby Brother had spent the weekend trying unsuccessfully to get laid. Since his drunken scene at her front door, Zora was no longer a possibility. He woke up Sunday with a hangover and a hard-on and walked over to Montre’s only to find out that they were closed for a private party. Over the bouncer’s head, he could see a fine woman with a tiny little waist and a beautiful behind doing things with a strip pole he’d seen only in X-rated movies. Something in the way she was moving produced an instant erection and he tried to draw out the conversation as long as he could, but the bouncer slammed the door in his face.

  That night, all he dreamed about was that stripper, twisting herself around that silver pole. He’d spent the morning making deliveries and wondering if she’d be working there tonight, too. Since he hadn’t had to pay for any drinks on Saturday night, he had a couple of dollars left to play with. Even if all he got was a lap dance from a woman that fine, he thought, he’d be a happy man.

  It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dim light in Montre’s, but he spotted her instantly. She was working that pole again, to the amazement of two guys down front, but otherwise he had her all to himself. He took a table near the stage, but as far away from the dynamic duo as possible. He didn’t want her to think he was with them. They looked even broker than he was.

  On the stage, Brandi was winding up with her trademark upside-down rump-shaker finale. In her mind, she was already breathing desert air and learning to play blackjack. When she slid to her feet and looked around, a new guy she hadn’t seen come in held up a five-dollar bill and smiled. She smiled back and headed over to him. Keisha, late for her shift again, passed her with a wink.

  “Make that money, girl!”

  Brandi did not consider five bucks cause for celebration and she was tired of Keisha always showing up late. “Get a damn watch, bitch,” she snapped, brushing past the woman.

  Baby Brother watched Brandi head his way. She wasn’t as fine as Zora, but she was fine enough.

  “Hey, baby,” she said, plucking the money from his fingers. “You want me to dance for you?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, sliding down in the chair and opening his legs a little wider. Touching the dancers was not allowed, but if a girl knew what she was doing, you didn’t have to touch her to get off. Brandi was a pro. She danced so close to him he could feel the heat coming off her body and smell the sweat running down between her breasts. From the way she was moving, he thought she might be getting turned on as much as he was. He hoped she was. He had ten dollars left. Maybe that would be enough for a little something extra.

  The song ended and Brandi unstraddled his leg and smiled at him like she’d just had the best time of her life. He had no way of knowing her Vegas fantasy was still in full effect. She was pretending he was Busy Boy Baker and he’d come to the Paris and asked for her exclusively.

  “How about another one, baby?” she cooed. “I can make it special.”

  “How special?”

  She slid back into his lap and bounced up and down slowly. “How much you got, baby?”

  This was the moment of truth. She hoped he had some money. He was young and kind of cute. Looked like he might have a few bucks on him. At least he was clean. So many of these guys smelled like sweat and urine. He smelled like soap.

  “I got ten dollars,” Baby Brother said, still smiling, trying to make it sound like a hundred.

  Ten dollars. That pretty much blew Brandi’s Busy Boy fantasy. He probably didn’t carry anything smaller than a fifty. Who was she kidding? This was a long way from Vegas, but she was still at work and ten bucks was still ten bucks.

  She sighed. “Let me see it.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his last ten-dollar bill. She took it without looking and smiled at him again.

  “Thank you, baby. I’m gonna give you something really special.”

  Brandi closed her eyes and tried to conjure up her fantasy again. She turned around in his lap so Johnny couldn’t see her initiating contact and put Baby Brother’s hands on her breasts while she rocked and rolled her hips against him. On the stage, Keisha was just going through the motions, but Brandi was pulling out all the stops. She rocked her behind just like she did onstage, and when Baby Brother groaned, she pretended it was Busy Boy she was driving crazy.

  “Oh yeah, baby,” she said, feeling his excitement and her own. As long as she kept her eyes closed, this was Busy Boy.

  Baby Brother groaned again, realizing he was about to climax right there sitting at that little scuffed-up table in this hellhole of a strip joint.

  “Come on, baby.” She urged him on, moving faster and faster. “You know you want to.”

  No longer caring about the rules, he held on for dear life until Brandi arched her back, threw back her head, and did something that felt so good to him that he did come. They both did. Baby Brother groaned once more and it was over.

  Brandi couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real sexual response to a paying customer. She opened her eyes and stood up. That’s when she saw General watching her from the dark end of the bar. Something about the way he was staring made her nervous, although there was no reason for it. She was at work. If a guy paid five dollars, he got a lap dance. If he paid ten, he got a little extra.

  “Come back and see me,” she said, moving toward General without a backward glance, leaving Baby Brother plucking at his sticky clothes and trying to think of something to say.

  A couple of more guys had come in and Keisha was giving one of them a lap dance that didn’t seem to be doing much for him or her. Johnny was talking on the phone and General was sipping his scotch.

  “Hey, baby,” she said. “What you doin’ in here so early? Want me to dance for you?”

  “You going to give me the same dance you just gave that yellow nigga?”

  Brandi froze. The harshness of his tone surprised her. “What you mean, baby? You know I’m at work.”

  “That didn’t look like work to me.”

  How General recognized a real orgasm from the fakes she usually served up in his bed, she didn’t know, but she just played it off. “That’s because I’m good.”

  He jerked his big head in Baby Brother’s direction. “How long you been knowin’ this guy?”

  “I don’t know him,” she said, getting more annoyed by the minute. “He’s a nigga with fifteen bucks to buy my time. This is my job, remember?”

  General knew that as well as she did, but he was getting tired o
f seeing this young fool everywhere he went. He hadn’t been in West End for more than two weeks and he had already overstayed his welcome. “Well, maybe you need to find another one.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He put down his drink. “It means I don’t want you doing any more lap dances. You stick to the stage from now on.”

  “You got no claim on me,” she said. He was acting like a jealous husband, and if she’d wanted one of those, she’d have gotten married. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I please, and anytime you don’t like it, you can kiss my black ass.”

  She turned away to illustrate her point and there it was. Juanita’s birthmark right there at the small of Brandi’s back. What was wrong with him tonight anyway? It wasn’t her fault she was doing this for a living and it wasn’t his job to make her feel bad about it. His job was to give her a better option.

  He reached out and grabbed her arm before she walked away, but she shook him off like a bad kid defying the principal.

  “Get off me!”

  The few other patrons were all down by the stage waving money at Keisha. Only Johnny at the bar was watching General and his star dancer out of the corner of his eye. He hoped Brandi’s smart mouth didn’t write any checks that beautiful ass couldn’t cash.

  “I’m sorry,” General said, dropping his hand. He had to admire her spirit. She wasn’t scared of him even though she probably should have been.

  She rubbed her arm, pouting now. “You should be sorry. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ but workin’ and here you come, actin’ all crazy.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “What you think?”

  “I think we both need a vacation.”

  Her eyes searched his face for a clue as to what he was talking about. “What you mean?”

  “I mean I made some calls and put some things in place.”

  “What kind of things?” She was smiling again, hopeful.

  General smiled back at her. “The things a brother needs to show a lady Las Vegas for the first time.”

  “When?” She was barely able to contain her excitement.

  “Two weeks from today.”

  “You not just sayin’ it ’cause I got mad before, are you?”

  “No.”

  He wanted her to turn around again so he could see the mark on her back, but she squealed and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth right there in the middle of Montre’s. At the end of the bar, Johnny let the no-contact rule slide, relieved at a happy ending.

  “Oh, baby, I can’t wait! You too good to me, you know that?”

  He smiled and finished his drink in one long gulp. She didn’t move away from him, just stood there smiling like all was forgiven.

  “Am I gonna see you later?”

  “How about now?” he said, suddenly not wanting to wait for her. Suddenly wanting to hold her body close. Wanting to sex away the image of her bouncing Juanita’s mark around in that young nigga’s lap.

  “Now?” She glanced at Johnny, who was back on the phone.

  “Right now.”

  Brandi grinned. Obviously, Johnny was not a problem. General had it covered, and as long as she was his woman, she had it like that, too.

  “Let me get my coat,” she said. “I’ll meet you out back.”

  By the time she came outside, General was sitting in the car with the motor running and Baby Brother was gone.

  44

  Kwame dropped Joyce Ann at school and doubled back for coffee and conversation with his wife. As she poured them each a steaming cup strong and black like they both preferred it, he knew it was time to tell her about the house. He had been procrastinating for a week, and tomorrow night, they were due at Bob’s house for cocktails and Kwame knew that at some point in the evening, Bob was going to turn to Aretha, smile, and say, “So how did you like the house?” and Aretha was going to smile back and say, “What house?”

  That would not be the optimum way for her to hear that moving to midtown was a fait accompli, not simply a topic for another of those endless, interlocking conversations where the real story of any marriage can always be found. The move was going to happen. The best thing to do would be for him to tell her about Bob’s offer of the house, apologize for not telling her sooner, drive her over to see it, apologizing all the way across town if necessary, and then lobby like hell until she finally acquiesced and started packing.

  At first he thought his nervousness about whether or not she would like the house was making him put off telling her about it. Then yesterday, he realized that wasn’t it at all. The problem was, he couldn’t figure out how to present the house as if it was up for discussion when it wasn’t. He had already committed them. When she understood that part of it, he knew she’d be angry and that was absolutely the last thing he wanted. The peace in their household lately had been a real blessing. He didn’t know if the job offer was responsible for the change in her, but he knew the difference it had made in him. He felt like he was in the process of reclaiming the life he’d been born to live.

  “Thanks,” he said as she put the mug down in front of him and curved her graceful fingers around one of her own. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of the morning’s blueberry waffles were soothing and familiar, just like the cozy room in which they were sitting. He tried to imagine Aretha making waffles in her elegant new kitchen as she took the chair nearest to him and smiled.

  “Will we still be able to do this when you’re downtown working for the big shots?”

  “Working with the big shots, okay?” He smiled back. “Give me a little credit. I’m not exactly coming in as an entry-level draftsman.”

  “You got that right,” she said. “Not with a salary like that.”

  Bob Watson’s offer had been almost twice what Kwame had expected and included a schedule of merit raises and a generous benefits package. Even Aretha “I never think about money” had been impressed by all those zeros.

  He put down his mug. “There’s more.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “More money?” Her voice was incredulous.

  “No. There’s a house.”

  “A house?” She put her mug down, too. “What house?”

  Kwame took a deep breath. “I told Bob we were considering a move to midtown and it turns out he has a house in Ansley Park that he wants us to take a look at.”

  “He wants to sell us his house?”

  “It would be a long-term lease, actually. He designed the house himself and he doesn’t want to sell it.”

  “He wants us to rent his house?”

  “More of a lease situation, but I think he’d sell it if we really like it.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Kwame.”

  Dragging it out was only making it worse. “The house is a showpiece, Ree, but his wife got tired of it or something, so they moved into a bigger place. He’s prepared to let us have it dirt cheap and I know he’d really appreciate having someone in there he could trust.”

  Aretha was frowning. “Is this part of the package? If we don’t agree to rent his house, you don’t get to join his firm?”

  “No, baby, no! Nothing like that. He didn’t even mention it until I told him we were looking.”

  Her frown stayed where it was, but Aretha couldn’t deny she had agreed to look at some houses in midtown.

  “We are looking, right?”

  “Have you seen it?”

  He nodded slowly, not sure if that was good or bad. “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “The same day Bob and I had lunch.”

  “You’re just now telling me?” She sounded more hurt than angry.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to figure out a way to make you see what a good thing this is. I guess I didn’t do such a good job.”

  She smiled a little when he said that. “Not so hot, no.”

  He clung to the slim promise of that half smile as she leaned across the table toward him.

&nbs
p; “You don’t have to treat me like I’m some kind of crazy woman, you know? You can tell me stuff when it happens. I won’t go off. I’m an adult, remember?”

  He took her hand. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

  “You sure?” She laced her fingers through his.

  “I’m positive.”

  Then she surprised the hell out of him by leaning over and giving him a big wet kiss. When they came up for air, she was smiling.

  “You don’t have to work today, do you?”

  He grinned at her. “I’m all yours.”

  “Good,” she said. “Then why don’t you show me this fabulous house so I can decide if it’s fit for my family to live in.”

  Kwame felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Thanks, Ree.”

  “Don’t thank me. Get your keys.”

  So he did.

  45

  Samson Epps was shorter than Regina had expected him to be and louder. He was one of those people who can shatter your eardrum on a cellphone as well as informing everyone within a six-foot radius of a matter you had hoped to keep confidential. His picture in The Sentinel had given her the impression of a tall man, and when she called to schedule an appointment, his big voice had suggested an imposing personality that she had mentally translated into physical size. She was surprised when they shook hands and looked at each other eye to eye.

  “Mrs. Hamilton. Please come in,” he said, ushering her into his office and closing the door behind them. “Sit down.”

  Regina took a chair and Samson Epps went back to sit behind his desk. Something in his manner made her feel like she was imposing, although he himself had chosen this time for their meeting. She had said she’d like to explore some fund-raising ideas that might get the neighborhood involved and he had been enthusiastic. Now he seemed to have no memory of her or of their positive telephone exchange.

  “I appreciate your time,” Regina said. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

  His smile was restrained. “We’re always busy, but I do appreciate your interest in our program. What can I do for you?”