by Zach Tate
She crouched in the hot water and folded her hands as if she was praying. “I want things, Johnny. I know you do, too. I been around the block too many times, but I feel like you can give me a better life. I can’t do shit right, but dance and sell my body. The way I feel now is like I want to go back on the Ave, make us some real-real money, and you can make things happen with that.”
She put both of her hands on my face. “I ain’t lying to you. I never even kissed a man until I kissed you. And I won’t violate you or nothing. I just want you to have my back, and show me how to have a better life. I know more women gonna come to you, and I won’t trip, ‘cause I really love you. Just don’t dog me, Johnny. I feel like you that prince in Cinderella that came to change my whole world. I been asking you to let me turn some tricks ‘cause I feel like we running outta time.”
“Come on, Roxy. What the hell I know about being a pimp?”
“It ain’t about what you know about being a pimp. It’s what I know about being a hoe. Doing what I gotta do for me and my man. Forget about all that stuff you see on TV. All you gotta do is have my back, and I’ma do the rest.”
I didn’t understand her thinking, so I didn’t want to condone her putting her life at risk, especially for me.
“Listen, paper is gonna come and go, but you ain’t gotta go out there and sell yourself for me. Why that?”
Her hands were still on my face. “Ain’t nothing gonna have my pockets swollen as fast as hoeing. That money can change my life and help me do something with myself. Johnny, I like being a hoe. And the only reason I started dancing was cause I didn’t have nobody to have my back from them gorilla pimps out there. It’d be just like when you take somebody money. You ain’t thinking about the heat, the risk, or who judging you. You be thinking ‘bout the thrill and the quick pay off, just like me.”
She had me there. But how do you send someone to put themselves at risk, when every other person you cared about got sucked up and died because of the streets? John and Johnny Hustle were having a fight, but John won when I said, “But I care about you, I don’t want them crazy tricks to do nothing to you. I just heard about some psycho that been killing chicks down here for months and they still didn’t catch him.”
She sighed and folded her arms. “Johnny, do you know what I represent to dem John’s? I’m the answer to them trick's problems. I give them satisfaction that they can’t get at home. I’m the one that shy boy, who needs to know if he a man, can practice on and feel good ‘bout hisself.”
Her head moved side-to-side while her long painted nail pointed at me. “Or you got the lonely man that ain’t got nothing in the world, but he know I’ma always be there for him. What about the perverts that want to hurt a little girl, but they see me and I be that little girl for them?”
“What?” I asked, amazed at what she said. That’s when her voice got louder and her eyes started rolling while her head was moving from side-to-side like sisters do.
“What? Yeah, Johnny. I’m that freak that conservative man comes to see. ‘Cause his wife too conservative. Busy judging and looking down on me, without realizing that I mean more to him than she do. But for the sake of their kids, he stick around. I’m the social worker for the men whose wife sex drive died out years ago. Shit, baby, half of dem tricks just want to talk about they problems.” Her tears were gone. All I needed was a tambourine and an organ playing. I was hearing a hooker’s sermon, because Roxy was just warming up. “And the married ones? All they want is to feel in control for once. Ain’t no drama and commitments between us like when they have an affair with some skeezer. Them sluts don’t know, the only difference between a slut and a hoe is a fee. My tricks won’t be judged by me, like the way they wife judge them ‘cause they want to get kinky. They never hear, ‘No,’ like they wives tell ‘em, and I treat them real good, with kind words all the time. So when they get home, they self-esteem is so high, they deal with the mental bullshit they wife got for them. I give a man all a-dat just for some money. And any man will take pussy over money in the long run, any day. ‘Cause as long as his dick work, that’s the reason why he want to make some money. Shit, baby, I’m Doctor Ruth and Oprah all mixed into one, and I’m gone take all them tricks money. All you gotta do is say, ‘yes.’” She grabbed my limp member. “Now relax.”
Roxy sunk her head down to the water and put all of me into her mouth. I knew I should have been focusing on the pleasure, but her life story showed me that I hadn’t gone through a damn thing. I was uncomfortable about her age, but she was an adult way before the law said she was. I grabbed her head and stopped her. “Why did you leave home?”
She moved her blond hair from out of her face. While holding my erection she said, “My mother married a preacher and he wouldn’t accept me. He hated me ‘cause I wasn’t his child. He used to physically abuse me because of it. He made my life a living hell. So I left the house. When I told my mother what he was doing, she picked him over me ‘cause he gave her everything she wanted. To her, I was just a mouth to feed.”
Her head went back to the water and that night we made passionate love. From that point forward, I made the best effort I could in treating Roxy like a woman, and not a whore.
$$$
For a week we watched movies, ordered room service, and we were in our own little world. The amount of eating and sleeping I did had me feeling well rested and focused.
Roxy was changing right in front of my eyes. I could tell that she was having the time of her life. I treated her like my woman and put my ego to the side. All judgements went out the window. The only opinion I had of her was that she had been through too much. It became my job to give a little life to her. I had my issues about her putting her life at risk, but I didn’t know how to deter her without making it seem like I was being judgmental.
After that week Roxy, and me started looking unkempt. I hadn’t shaved nor had a hair cut, and she wasn’t looking like her regular polished self. From me having her in and out of the tub, her blonde hair faded from the lack of treatments. Her blue contacts were out, and her eyelashes had fallen out. The hair on her legs and eyebrows were growing in. She was turning from a star into a homely woman.
That morning I got dressed, and she slid her thick body into a pair of my pants. She put her spike heels on and wore one of my buttoned down Daily N.E.W.S shirts tied at the waist. She draped my suit jacket over her shoulders; I’d never seen a woman wear baggy clothes that fit so well.
We went down to the salon and spa at the hotel. We received full body treatments from head to toe. For the first time in my life, I saw how the hair of a Black woman could be ironed out and turned into platinum blond. A gift shop provided a pair of black spandex pants and a leather jacket for Roxy. A short trip to the optical center solved her contact problems. My chocolate star was back, and I was cool with having her by my side.
After leaving the spa, the elevator stopped at the lobby. Roxy suggested that we go for a walk since we were in doors for a whole week. The cold air reminded me that I didn’t have any winter gear, so somebody was gonna have to pay for my wardrobe.
We took a cab to the Pink Pussycat boutique in the East Village. Roxy handed me a wad of cash and told me to go shopping for her “work.” For me, it was cool to be out with a woman. I felt like I was on a date, but then things got crazy when we reached the boutique.
Women in patent leather, lace, and negligees were walking around in the dimly lit store. By the way they all pranced around, I thought I was at a Victoria’s Secret fashion show.
I sat while Roxy went to the changing room. She came out wearing patent leather mini-skirts, with fishnet stockings and crotch-less panties. My love muscle bulged and the liberal women in the store had a laugh about the whole thing.
I was the only man in the store. I felt like I was getting my own private performance. While Roxy tried on outfits, she did her best at parading in front of me while doing her seductive dances. I knew her calculated movements were foreplay, a
nd the different outfits were made to get different reactions out of me.
When she stepped out of the dressing room wearing a catholic schoolgirl outfit, with white knee-high stockings, I was ready to burst. She did a dance, spun around, and put her rear in my face. She then bent over. While looking through the spilt in her legs, she seductively said, “Baby, come with me to the dressing room and give me a hand.”
I was out of my seat before she had to ask me twice. A salesperson yelled out, “Don’t you hurt yourself in there.” The other scantily clad dressed saleswomen thought her statement was hilarious.
“I want to suck you right here,” Roxy whispered while kneeling in the dressing room and fumbling with my zipper.
When my flesh popped out she took me into her mouth. The pleasure I received had me on the tips of my toes. Roxy wouldn’t let me touch her head since it was newly styled, so I held the swinging doors of the small cramped space. Much to my delight, her sucking motions were professional. She sucked on my tip and licked circles around the rim, and then slowly deep throated me until her lips reached my testicles. I couldn’t hold back. I had to release my tension. Ever so tenderly, she swallowed every drop. My head was light when my heels finally hit the ground. Breathing hard, I thought of Roxy as my own piece of heaven.
Her shopping ended with my orgasm, and we headed back to the hotel with a grand worth of clothes. I answered with her pleas to let her sell her flesh, knowing deep in my heart I didn’t want to do it.
The following morning, Roxy went to work on the Ave. She bought seven boxes of condoms and stuffed them into her purse. I didn’t want her to go, and told her so, but I was acting like a lame. I accepted to the truth: I was dealing with a hustler that wasn’t much different than me.
$$$
Good Morning America was on the tube when a knock came at my door. I didn’t enjoy surprises ever since the police came my way, so I took my time to reach the peephole. When I looked through the small optical piece, the sight of Gloria calmed my nerves.
She stepped in with a food cart and looked all over.
“You looking for somebody?” I asked, while following her eyes.
“I wanted to make sure you were alone before I said what I had to say,” Gloria stated, after walking past me and peeking into the bathroom.
“So speak.”
“You mind if I use your bathroom first?”
I shrugged my shoulders and checked the food while Gloria went to the bathroom. An order of bacon, eggs, toast, orange juice, and fruit cocktail sat on the cart. My eyes left the food and a new appetite awakened. Gloria came out of the bathroom without any clothes on. Her hair was in a short ponytail. Her body was in decent shape, but I could tell by the little pouch under her belly button that she had at least two children.
“What’s this all about?” I asked as my erection bulged.
She patted the bed. “Let’s talk after we’re done.”
I was tempted, but I had enough sense to know that business and pleasure didn’t mix. In my head, the theme music from The Mack started playing.
“It doesn’t work that way. You want to talk, or you want to screw? When you walked through the door, you was saying something about talking.”
She sat on the bed, crossed her naked leg and began bouncing it. “This hotel is wide open. No one from the streets has claimed it yet.”
“What you mean by ‘claimed it yet?’”
“I mean, down here in Times Square, all the major hustlers claim a hotel like it’s their home. They call the shots just like the man of a house would.”
“So why you telling me this?”
“Word on the square is that you were the best protégé Yoda ever had. Brave Dave did what he had to do, but he wasn’t a sure ‘nuff hustler like you. He was a good man, don’t get me wrong, but he was a pocket thief. They don’t really last that long. He was important to us in this hotel, but he never really milked it for what it’s worth.”
“Milked it how?” I asked with serious interest on my face.
“It’s simple,” she said, the back of one hand hitting into the palm of the other for emphasis. “You have more than three hundred employees that all feel they underpaid in here. No matter how much money they make, a worker always gonna feel like they under paid when they counting the boss’s money. So what happens is, a group of us that had influence over the rest, we know that if we get what we can on the side, then we don’t have to worry about the executives of the Marriott Corporation.”
“So where do I fit in?” I naively asked.
“All right, that’s what I’m talking about,” she said with new enthusiasm. “You would be like our credit union, our security, and our go-to man. Guys in the basement like to gamble with dice. One of them can’t tell his wife that he’s broke, so you lend him the money until something comes along.”
I totally related to that one, but I still didn’t understand the whole angle.
“Alright, alright, how about this? Take the maitre‘d for instance. A whole lot of guests like to buy cocaine, but they can’t get to it. If he had some start up money, he could have it on stash and make some money on the side. He also likes to provide pretty women for certain out of town businessmen. There’s always some kind of liability involved with that unless the right man is in charge of the women.
“All the employees, and I mean all of them, want to know that they can get a loan. You give a slight interest, and get paid on payday. Then the last thing is, instead of paying your bill for food and lodging, we can bounce you to different rooms, send you two meals a day, and you pay us two hundred a day instead of what you paying for this place. There are fifty-eight different suites in here. The boss can’t detect if a room the computer says is empty really has you in it. We can hook you up. That money you give us takes care of the cooks, security, and the maitre‘d, because he’s the one that really run’s this place day and night. All you have to do is be there for us, and we’ll be there for you.”
She unfolded her legs, brought her D-cup breast to her mouth, licked her nipple and said, “As for me? I get horny and I like to know a man can take care of that without all the headaches involved in a relationship. I guess you can call me a female trick or John. If you take care of me, I’ll take care of you. It’s as simple as that.”
I partially liked what I heard, so I asked, “So who will be my go between for all the employees?”
“You looking at her.”
My wheels started turning. There was a lot of potential there, but I just didn’t know how to figure it out.
“Alright, you take care of me for a week, and I’ll give you a grand if you bring me some new opportunities. In the meantime, get dressed and hit the door.”
“I love a man that knows how to take charge,” she said while putting on her uniform.
$$$
The water from the shower soothed my skin as I thought about the different opportunities coming my way. I was a good hustler, maybe a natural like everyone said, but I didn’t know as much as people made me out to know. Another knock came to my door.
I snatched my robe and walked over to the door. I pulled it open thinking Gloria was on the other side of it, but I was wrong. A short, red-faced Black man wearing a bowtie and suit was standing there. He looked me up and down, and I did the same to him. It was obvious the man knew his clothes. I guess I must have been approved by his once over. He asked, “You Johnny Hustle?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Wow,” he said while shaking his head in pity. “Yoda sent me to you. I’m the original PeeWee from uptown. Yoda said you too cooped up and slacking on your hustle, so get dressed in a suit and let’s make it quick.”
The man barged in the room, sat in the lounge area, and then folded his legs so that he could read a copy of Cigar magazine.
I didn’t know if Yoda really sent the man. Since I didn’t tell Yoda where I was staying, and he knew, I figured I was leaving with him one way or the other.
I dr
essed in a dark blue suit with a white buttoned down shirt and a pair of Lorenzo Banfi shoes.
“Nice shoes,” the stranger said as we stepped out the door.
“So where we off to?” I asked when we reached the elevator bank.
The elevator arrived with two other businessmen in the car. We stepped in and stood behind the men. PeeWee leaned to the side to look at the back pocket of the man in front of him while I watched. He removed the man’s wallet, looked at me and said, “I’ma take you to the other side of the world.”
While looking through and seeing a wallet full of cash, he threw the wallet on the floor, tapped the man on the shoulder, and said, “Pardon me, sir; you seemed to have dropped your case.”
The businessman was astonished when he saw his wallet on the floor. He picked it up, thanked PeeWee, and then slipped it back into the same pocket it so called fell from. When the elevator stopped, and the door chimed, the two men in front of us exited the elevator. PeeWee lifted the man’s wallet again, removed the cash, and left it on the elevator floor before we walked out of the hotel.
“So what was the sense in that?” I asked as the cold air hit us like a ton of bricks.
PeeWee shrugged his shoulder. “Practice. Plus he’s gonna swear that it was his fault that it dropped again, and you and I will never cross his mind as being the perps. It was only five bills involved anyway, but it can pay for the toll that I need to pay.”
“Toll? What toll? What type of hustle you into anyway?” I asked.
He ignored my question and rubbed his hands on his arms. “Damn. You cold? I’m cold.”
As the neon lights and the car horns of Times Square lit our path and announced our existence, PeeWee reached into the right pocket of his suit jacket. “Here, hold this,” he told me.
While crossing over to Broadway, he handed me a red plastic card with the Bloomindales logo on it. We stopped into an Ace Hardware store, where he picked up a pair of wire cutters and asked, “You cold? Damn, I’m cold.”
