Skin Game

by Lawrence C. Ross

  “She looks a bit like Vida Guerra, the girl on FHM. She’s light skinned with perky, real breasts and a beautiful ass. She doesn’t have a big ass like the regular bitches at Chi Chi’s, but it’s in proportion to her body. She’s tight, man, she’s really tight. I think she’s mixed with something. Maybe Mexican or Puerto Rican.”

  “Measurements?”

  “Probably about 36C-24–36. She’s tight, I tell you.”

  “But tight doesn’t mean that she can fuck. Okay, then bring her in. I want to see this star. And if she’s as good as you say she is, then we may find ourselves making a lot of money.”

  “I’ll get back to Sean about getting her in here,” Ray said.

  “Wait, I want to cut Sean out of this,” Steven said, standing up. “If she’s anything like you say she is, then I want to make her the black Jenna Jameson. We need to get her in some scenes and then test how she sells. But if I’m going to be investing my money, I don’t want some Negro out there making money off of her. Pay him for the shoot, and then tell him that’s it.”

  Ray got up to leave. “Not a problem. He’s going to be pissed, but what the fuck can he do? The nigga’s got no choice but to take the deal.”

  “And it’s your job to make that happen,” Steven said. “If she’s as good as you say she is, then it’ll be worth it.”

  Tonight, the Chi Chi Room was packed early because Keisha was going on early. She was rapidly building a loyal following.

  She’d turned to stripping in the first place because it was the only place she knew where she could make a lot of money in a short time. South Central wasn’t like the richer areas of Los Angeles. If you got a low paying job that didn’t make you drive across town, you felt lucky. But no job was going to pay Keisha the money she needed for UCLA. So it was the Chi Chi Room for now.

  For Keisha, getting onstage was power, both economic and sexual. The attention she got from the men made her feel like she could control them with each shake of her breast, every wiggle of her ass. She liked the fact that because of her body, she could pull money from the pockets of leering men. It turned her on, and yeah, it was sort of addicting.

  “Now gentlemen, coming onstage is a girl who has been at the Chi Chi Room for only a few weeks, but we think she’s going to be a star,” the DJ said. “Please put your hands together for Keisha!”

  Keisha walked up to the stage in clear high-heeled pumps, a silver thong, and a bikini top to the sound of Ice Cube’s “Jackin’ for Beats.”

  “Shake that ass, baby,” one shouted. He was damn near frothing at the mouth, as he balanced his drink and cigarette in his hands.

  “Show me those tits,” said the other.

  Normally, Wednesdays were slow at the Chi Chi Room, but it was important that new girls build their fan base on off nights so they could get prime nights like Friday and Saturday, otherwise known as Payday and Get Laid nights. So Keisha brought her ass to one, and showed her tits to the other.

  Keisha gripped the pole in the center of the stage and began humping it. She wasn’t a natural dancer, but she had a sensuality that the men seemed to like. She remembered how awkward she’d been only a month before, but now she was feeling like a natural. It was all about the tease.

  She held her hands on the pole, stuck out her ass, and began making circles in the air with it. Dollar bills began raining down by her feet. A couple of deep knee bends, then a slap of her own ass, made the pervert pit go wild. It was now the middle of the song.

  “Come on, guys,” the DJ said, “make some noise for Keisha!”

  Give every section a chance to see me, she thought, walking around the stage.

  Keisha began playing with her bikini top and teasingly took off one string but kept her breasts covered. More bills began flying. She began to shake her breasts, giving the men a glimpse of her milkshake. With one hand on her breast, she then used her other hand to untie the other string. The bikini fell, and she stood there bare.

  “Look at those beautiful, all-natural breasts, gentlemen,” the DJ yelled over the song. “Keisha is tight, tight, tight!”

  With “Jackin’ for Beats” almost done, it was time for the thong to come off. But before that, she needed to make some contact with the pervert pit. So she slid along the floor on her belly, making eye contact with a thirty-something man. He had a wedding ring but tried to hide his hand.

  When Keisha got to him, she used her breasts so that they just barely touched his face. Now on her knees, she began to slowly take off her thong. His eyes were as big as saucers.

  As Keisha took off her thong, more dollar bills flew down on her, and she continued to concentrate on her married man. Finally the thong was off, and she put it on his head, stuck out her tongue, and then put her ass in his face.

  “Damn, girl, that is a beautiful ass!” a voice yelled.

  And suddenly the music was off.

  “Gentlemen, please give Keisha a round of applause,” the DJ said.

  Keisha instantly stood up and picked her thong off the head of her married man.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear. He was absolutely enthralled, as they all were.

  Keisha walked around the stage, picking up as many bills as she could, and she tried to avoid the groping hands of the pervert pit. If given the chance, they would try to get a quick and cheap feel from one of the dancers.

  Finally, Keisha walked offstage, and ran into Patra, who was about to go on.

  “You make much?” Patra asked.

  “At this cheap-ass club? Hell, no,” Keisha said, trying not to drop the dollar bills she’d collected. She held them pressed to her left breast. “See you later.”

  “Later,” Patra replied.

  Keisha walked into the dressing room. No one was there except for Sean, who was sitting in a swivel chair.

  “When are you going to let me work on Fridays?” Keisha asked, putting her money on the counter. “I bet I only made one hundred, and after the tip-out, I’m probably only getting about fifty dollars tonight. That’s some bullshit.”

  “Look, you’ve got to draw more people into the club before I can give you a Friday or Saturday,” Sean said. “Bring niggas in, and you’ll get paid. If not, then you won’t.”

  Keisha kept counting her money, not looking at Sean.

  “Have you called Ray yet?” Sean asked, twirling in his chair.

  “Nah.”

  “Well, if you don’t want the $250, then I’m sure they’ll find somebody else to take it.”

  “That ain’t it,” she said, looking up. “I want to go to UCLA and I don’t want a whole bunch of niggas knowing that I strip.”

  “You still talking that college shit?” Sean asked, waving his hand. “Fuck that shit. You could make way more than those college muthafuckas by dancing. What do you get after you leave college anyway? Getting some fucked-up job giving some white boy some coffee every day? Fuck that! It’s all about the scrilla, baby, and the faster you learn that shit, the faster you’ll make it.”

  Keisha kept counting her money.

  “But if you do want to do that college shit, think about it. How many muthafuckas are going to see Pimp magazine anyway? Go get your money and then forget about that shit,” Sean continued. “And besides, what do you think will happen—some college muthafuckas figure out that you’re dancing at our club? Do you think they’ll look on that better than if you’re in some muthafuckin’ magazine? Nigga, please. The genie’s out the bottle, so don’t worry about what you can’t worry about.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Keisha whispered, putting the dollars into her purse.

  “What? I couldn’t hear you,” Sean said as he stopped spinning.

  “I said, I’ll think about it.”

  “That ain’t good enough. Ray is coming in here tonight, and he wants to know yes or no. So you better make a decision in about five minutes, or he’s moving on to another bitch.”

  “Why the fuck are you so concerned about whether I do this s
hoot or not? What do you get out of it?” Keisha said, curious.

  “I don’t get shit out of it, but I do want to make sure that the Chi Chi Room is always providing the best women to magazines like Pimp. The men who buy Pimp want to know where they can see you. If you say you dance at the Chi Chi Room, then you make more money and we make more money. Again, I keep telling you bitches that it’s all about the money. Y’all just never learn. So, again, what’s it going to be?”

  Keisha closed her purse and stared at Sean. She didn’t trust his ass as far as she could throw him, but that was neither here nor there. She needed money, and he was right.

  “Tell him that I’ll do it,” Keisha said, putting on her pants and blouse. “But this is a one-time thing. No more, no less.”

  “Tell him yourself,” Sean said, pointing to the door, where Ray was standing. “Trying to catch a look, nigga?”

  “I already paid for my looks,” Ray said, walking into the dressing room. “So, Keisha, are you ready to shoot for Pimp?”

  “Yeah,” Keisha said, getting ready to leave. “I’m ready to shoot.”

  Ray smiled.

  “Good,” he said. “Look, meet us at the Vision Theater on Saturday at nine A.M. Don’t be late, because Steven hates models who are late.”

  “Who’s Steven?” Keisha asked.

  “Steven is the man who can take you beyond this club,” he responded with a laugh.

  “Hey, nigga,” Sean said, “don’t try to take my bitches.”

  “Simmer down, baby. I’m just making a joke. Damn, a nigga can’t even kid around anymore.”

  “Whatever, you two. I’ll see you at nine,” Keisha said, opening the door to leave. “Just have my money ready.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll have your money.”

  Chapter 5

  The sufferings that fate inflicts on us should be borne with patience, what enemies inflict with manly courage.

  —Thucydides

  Veronica was pissed, and Andre had no idea why.

  “Andre! Andre!” she screamed. She was stomping up and down in the house. “Andre! Bring your black ass in here.”

  Andre slowly got off the couch and began making his way to the back of the house. Veronica was in Keisha’s room.

  “Where the hell does Keisha keep her money?” Veronica asked, rifling through Keisha’s room. She went through drawers and was throwing clothes on the floor.

  “Momma, what are you doing?” Andre asked, slightly appalled. He was high, but not that high. “Keisha is going to be pissed.”

  “You think I really give a shit? Where the fuck is her money?” Veronica asked again, turning toward Andre. “I know the bitch doesn’t have a bank account, so it has to be in here somewhere.”

  Veronica walked into Keisha’s closet, continuing to look for Keisha’s money.

  “What do you need her money for?”

  “I just need it,” Veronica said. “Robert’s back in town and he needs it.”

  Robert was Veronica’s sometime boyfriend who tended to be either on the run or in jail. He was always into a little bit of everything, but nothing good. Andre couldn’t stand him being around, and Keisha refused to even acknowledge his presence. To her, he didn’t deserve to be in her father’s home, no matter if her father was not there.

  Andre sat down on the bed. Veronica had taken the sheets and had thrown them against the wall.

  “Momma, come on,” Andre said. “Don’t take her money, especially for Robert. Your boyfriend should get his own money.”

  “Muthafucka, you don’t tell me what to do. Now get off your ass and find that money.”

  “Come on, Momma,” Andre pleaded. “Robert hasn’t been around for six months.”

  “Find that fucking money, Andre, or you’re gonna find your ass out on the street.”

  Andre reluctantly began looking for the money. She kept looking in the closet, while Andre looked down and noticed a shoebox at the foot of the bed and pulled it out.

  “I think I found it,” he said, with a low whisper.

  Veronica came rushing out of the closet and walked over to Andre. She took the shoebox away from Andre and opened it.

  “Shit,” she said, looking at Andre. She started pulling out dollar bills, and they began falling down on the bed. “That bitch must have over a thousand dollars in here. She’s got a thousand goddamn dollars in here and she’s bitchin’ over buying me cigarettes? Nigga, please.”

  Veronica gathered the money and put it in her pockets.

  “She didn’t need it anyway.”

  “What does Robert need the money for?” Andre asked.

  “Robert has to pay back a debt,” she said, walking out of Keisha’s room. Andre followed her into the living room, where Veronica now was putting on her coat. “And what does she need the money for anyway? She don’t pay rent. She don’t pay for groceries. And she sure as hell doesn’t give any to you or me. So fuck it, she’s just paying back rent.”

  Veronica opened the door to go.

  “What should I say to Keisha when she gets home?” Andre asked. “She’s gonna be pissed off.”

  Veronica looked back at Andre. “I don’t give a fuck what you tell her. I took the money and I ain’t givin’ it back. So she’ll just have to deal with it. I’ll be back tomorrow. Here’s fifty dollars. Go buy your girlfriend something.”

  Veronica threw a wad of money at Andre and then left. Andre sat down on the couch again and pulled out a joint. He lit the joint and looked at his watch.

  Keisha should be home in thirty minutes, he thought. That’s enough time to get high. He miscalculated, because as soon as Andre lit the joint, he heard Keisha’s key hit the door. She was back from the Chi Chi Room.

  “Before you do anything, let me tell you that I didn’t have a damn thing to do with it,” Andre said to Keisha, stopping her in her tracks.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Keisha said, throwing her keys on the coffee table. Andre took another drag from the joint.

  “Here,” Andre said, coughing. “Take the rest of this.”

  Keisha took a look at Andre holding the joint and started walking toward her room. Andre pulled the joint back and finished it off.

  “What the fuck happened?” Keisha screamed. She came running back into the living room holding her empty shoebox.

  “What the fuck did you do with my money, Andre? Where the fuck is my money, you son of a bitch?”

  Keisha threw the box at Andre and sprang to hit him.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it, I told you!” he said, cowering on the couch. “Momma took your money.”

  “Momma took it?” Keisha said, breathing deeply. “That bitch! What the fuck did she take my money for?”

  “Because she had to get Robert out of debt.”

  “Robert? Robert?” Keisha asked incredulously. “She stole from her daughter to give money to her fucking drug-dealing boyfriend?”

  “In a word, yes. Look, I tried to stop her.”

  “I can’t believe this shit. I just can’t believe this shit,” Keisha kept repeating. It was surreal, as though she were in a dream.

  She paced around the house thinking about what she should do next. She walked back into her room and surveyed the scene. The bed was overturned, the covers were thrown on the floor, and her clothes were out of her drawers. But there was one piece of paper on her bed. It was the UCLA letter.

  “It was wrong, Keisha,” Andre said, as he walked into the room. “I told her that, but she just said that you owed her that money.”

  “I didn’t owe her a goddamn thing,” Keisha said, picking up the UCLA letter and crumpling it in her pocket. “I’ve never owed her a goddamn thing. But she blames me for every fucking bad thing that happens in her life.”

  “That’s not true,” Andre said. “She doesn’t blame you for her life.”

  Keisha went into her closet and pulled out a suitcase. She began picking up her clothes and stuffing them into it.


  “Like hell she doesn’t,” she said. “She blames me for Daddy leaving. She blames me for her not being this star she thinks she was destined to be. And she blames me for being me.”

  “Daddy was going to leave no matter what,” Andre said. “He was trifling, and you had nothing to do with it.”

  Keisha stopped putting clothes in the case.

  “Yeah, well, you tell her that. I can’t tell you how many times she’s said that she wished I’d never been born and that Daddy would have stayed if she hadn’t been pregnant with me. So if she doesn’t blame me, then she has a strange way of disguising it.”

  Keisha started packing again. The suitcase was overstuffed with clothes, and Keisha tried to close it.

  “Where are you going?” Andre asked. He really looked sad.

  “Why?” Keisha asked, finally closing the suitcase. “Do you want to tell her so that she can come by each night and take my money?”

  “No, because even though I may be a fuck-up, I’m still your brother and I do care about you,” he said.

  Keisha stared at him. “If you really cared about me, you would have fought the shit out of her and got me my money. You and her are the same. You only care about yourselves.”

  Keisha took the suitcase and made her way to the front door.

  “Wait,” Andre said, walking toward her. He reached into his pocket and took out a wad of money. “This belongs to you. Momma gave it to me from your money, but I don’t want it.”

  He held out the money and Keisha took it, putting it in her bra.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Take care of yourself.”

  Keisha took a quick glance around and then opened the door.

  “Yeah, you too.”

  And then she left Veronica’s house for good.

  As Keisha went down the street, she walked straight, and with her head up, dragged her suitcase. She got to the bus stop and sat on the bench, wondering where to go. She had few options, so for an hour, she watched as bus after bus stopped, opened its doors expectantly, and then drove off. She didn’t know where to go. She wasn’t particularly close to anyone from high school, and she definitely didn’t want to stay with Donovan. With no family around, Keisha simply picked up her cell phone and tried her luck.