Skin Game

by Lawrence C. Ross

  Steven scrunched his face, like he was trying to figure out whether or not he should come clean right at that moment.

  “I told you that I’m expanding Pimp, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, we are about to launch Pimp adult videos, and I see you as being our star, our black Jenna Jameson, so to speak. If you let me, I can make you more money than you’ve ever thought about making. Fuck UCLA. You don’t need that shit.”

  Keisha was truly taken aback. Of all of the things he could have said, she wouldn’t have guessed offering her porn.

  “What makes you think that I want to be a porn star in the first place?” Keisha asked, slightly angry. “I dance, but that doesn’t mean that I want to get fucked by some muthafuckas I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know, but that’s why I’m here to ask. If I don’t ask, then I won’t know. Do you have anything against it?”

  “Hey, whatever floats people’s boats. It’s just not for me.”

  Steven took another sip of his drink.

  “What if I paid you five thousand dollars per movie?” he asked.

  Where Keisha had been taken aback before, she was simply stunned now.

  “You would pay me five thousand dollars to fuck on tape?”

  “DVD,” Steven said. “We use DVD now. And yes, I would pay that much per movie.”

  Keisha stopped for a second. Five thousand dollars, she thought, was a lot of money. And it would basically change her life.

  “Why me, and why are you going to pay me that much? What makes me so special?”

  “It’s because I think you have a look that other men will want.”

  “Do you want it?”

  Steven smiled. “That’s why I know other men will want you. I told Sean to put you on weekends because I wanted to get some feedback. Did the regulars want to see you, or did they not give a shit? Well, they give a shit. Sean says that sales are up 35 percent when you are onstage, and I know he wouldn’t bullshit me. So if they are coming to see you on the dance floor, I figure that they’ll buy a video.”

  “But what made you think I’d fuck somebody for money? I’m not a ho.”

  “I never said you were,” Steven said, finishing his food. “But you are a businesswoman, and I could see that. So I present this simply as a business transaction. I’m pretty sure that you want to get out of Patra’s apartment and have enough money to go to school.

  “What I suggest,” Steven continued, putting down his napkin, “is that you realize that you’ll fuck men in this life without getting paid, so you might as well get paid.”

  “It seems like I’ve heard that before,” Keisha said. “Look, I’m going to think about it. As funny as it may seem, I don’t particularly want to have people at UCLA thinking that I’m some ho. Right now, you have to walk into the Chi Chi Room to see me, and not that many folks are going to be able to point me out during the daytime. This issue of Pimp? It’s one issue and then thrown away. But muthafuckas tend to keep their porn. And I don’t know if I want to get my degree and then not get a job because of some fucking I did years before. So I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that,” Steven said. “But realize that I’m on a schedule. And if you don’t want to do it, then I’m going to have to find someone else. But someone is going to get five thousand dollars. I just think that someone should be you.”

  “So this meal was all about me fucking someone for cash? What about you?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, what about me?”

  “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

  “Oh, that ‘what,’” Steven chuckled. “Oh, yes, I want to fuck you. But in my world, business comes first. After that comes pleasure.”

  “Well, you’re not going to fuck me tonight. I may strip, but I’m not like that.”

  “I figured as much, so I wasn’t going to ask,” Steven said, rising from the table. “But there’s one thing that you’ll soon learn about me. I’m a very patient man. So I don’t mind waiting, especially for you.”

  Keisha smiled. “Good, because you may be waiting for quite a long time.”

  Chapter 12

  The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.

  —Flora Whittemore

  “How did you find me?” Keisha asked Donovan. It was Sunday morning and she’d gone to the Vons supermarket on Manchester Boulevard for some fruit, when she’d run right into Donovan. There he was, standing in the middle of the vegetable aisle, like he was waiting for her to show up. “I mean, what the hell are you doing here? You never come to this goddamn store.”

  “Whoa, slow your roll,” Donovan said. Keisha’s ex-boyfriend was a tall, light-skinned brother with wavy hair and green eyes. Her girlfriends used to rave over his eyes, but she always thought they looked sort of spooky. The hair was wavy because he constantly combed it, as he was doing right now. He never, ever tired of combing his hair. She’d been attracted to him because he was a smooth talker and he somehow always made her smile. Today he was dressed in a blue suit and tie, with light brown shoes. They’d first gotten together when she was a freshman in high school, and for four years, she’d put up with his shit. Now, she thought she’d made a clean break.

  “I didn’t come here because of you, and I think it would be damn dumb of me to stake out some random-ass supermarket in hopes of seeing you. That wasn’t gonna happen. So let’s just treat this as two old friends running into each other. How have you been?”

  Keisha calmed down. She still liked Donovan, but she had no desire to get back with him, after what he’d done.

  “I’m fine. How’ve you been?”

  “You know, the same as always. I talked to your brother and he told me what happened. That was pretty fucked-up. He said that your mother goes around the house cursing.”

  “Well, I don’t think about it or worry about it,” she said, getting some grapes from the produce section. “I did what I had to do, and now I’m fine.”

  “Where you staying?”

  “I like to keep that to myself,” Keisha responded, continuing to walk through the store.

  “What, you don’t trust me?” Donovan asked, picking a bunch of grapes and eating them. Keisha stopped her shopping early because she didn’t want to have a long discussion with Donovan. It was over, and she wanted to make sure it was over.

  “It’s not that at all,” she said, walking to the checkout line. “It’s just that I’m living with someone right now, and I don’t need to bring all that drama to her house, because I know you can’t keep a secret, and then my momma will be pounding on my door. I don’t need that shit at all.”

  “I feel you. I feel you. Your momma has always been a loose cannon,” Donovan said, picking from Keisha’s grapes and putting another in his mouth. “So you’re not going to tell me where you live, what you’ve been doing, or where you’re going. So I’m just going to assume you’re still shakin’ your ass at the club.”

  The cashier looked up when Donovan talked about “shakin’ ass” and in one of her rare times, it embarrassed Keisha. She quickly paid for her groceries and started walking out the supermarket door. Suddenly she stopped.

  “Donovan, I don’t want to get into it. I’ve moved on and for me to keep moving on, I need you to let go and do the same.”

  “Baby, I am over you,” Donovan responded. “I’m about to head over to the Forum, and that’s the only reason I’m in this store in the first place. The only reason I even stopped was to say hello.”

  Keisha looked into Donovan’s face, and she noticed that there’d been a change somehow. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but it wasn’t the look of the in-and-out-of-jail drug-dealer boyfriend she used to have. He looked somehow serene.

  “Can I offer you a ride?” he asked, as they stood in the parking lot. “Church doesn’t begin for about an hour, and I think I can still get a seat—”

  “Wait a second,” Keisha said. “Church? You are going to church? When in the hell did you sta
rt going to church?”

  “I started going about two months ago,” he said. “I got tired of going back and forth to jail, and as you know, I was up to no good. So I found God.”

  Keisha rested her arms on the shopping cart and stared at Donovan. “Okay, what’s your angle, Donovan? Who are you trying to scam now? What, you’re going to church so you can sell dime bags to old ladies?”

  “Naw, Keisha, I’m done with that. I’ve turned my life over to the Lord. I’m not about that anymore. I’ve turned my back on evil.”

  “I know you, Donovan, and you’ve never turned your back on anything,” Keisha said skeptically. “Sell that shit to someone else, and somewhere else, because I’m not buying it.”

  “That’s your choice,” he responded, straightening his tie. “But I know who I am and what I’ve done. But let me ask you a question. Do you know who you are, and what you’ve done?”

  Keisha stood up straight and moved to go. “Goodbye, Donovan. Have a great time at church.”

  She began walking away from him, and he just stood there. “You still have time to come to the Lord,” he yelled after her.

  Keisha didn’t look back as she walked out of the supermarket parking lot. He’s full of something, Keisha thought skeptically, but it isn’t the Lord.

  As Keisha walked into Patra’s apartment with her groceries, a small black man came walking out of Patra’s bedroom. He was nervously fiddling with his shirt and appeared spooked when he saw Keisha. Patra, on the other hand, was as cool as could be.

  “So, are we on the same time next month?” she asked the man as he made his way to the door. Keisha kept on going to the kitchen, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

  “Yeah, I’ll be here. It’s good to see you again, Patra,” he said. Patra opened the door.

  “See you, sweetheart.”

  The man walked out and Patra closed the door.

  “What did you get from the grocery? I’m hungry,” she exclaimed.

  Keisha pulled out a bag of grapes and handed them to Patra, who then started picking them one by one and popping them in her mouth. She sat on a bar stool as Keisha kept putting groceries up.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Keisha asked.

  Patra leaned back and stared at Keisha. “Not another one of your damn questions again.”

  “I’m just curious,” Keisha said, picking a grape and tossing it into her mouth.

  “Shoot, then,” Patra replied.

  “Do you enjoy sex with them? I mean, does it feel like a job, or do you enjoy it?”

  Patra kept munching on her grapes. “It all depends. I love sex, and if the guy is cute, then yeah, I can get into it more. If the guy’s not cute, then I pretend that he is cute. But that’s no different than meeting some guy at the club.”

  “But do you feel any pleasure?”

  “Of course. If the guy has it going on, then of course your body reacts. That’s just natural. I can definitely orgasm with these guys. But as far as emotion, there’s not a chance. I don’t want anything to do with my clients after they’re done. They could fucking walk out of here and get run over by a truck for all I care.”

  Patra got up from her stool and slinked toward the living room. “But you know what’s the trippy thing about escorting? After we’re done, I can see in the eyes of the guys that they’re really hoping for some type of connection. I think they actually come here because of that hope and not because of the sex. But that’s not my problem. If they want a connection, they should get a shrink. Did you get some coffee?”

  “Yeah,” Keisha said, pulling the coffee out of the cabinet. She opened it, scooped out a mound of coffee, and put it in a filter. She filled the glass pot with water, added it to the coffeemaker, and turned it on. She then walked back into the living room.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you about my date with Steven,” Keisha said, sitting next to Patra. Patra took out a cigarette, handed one to Keisha, and then lit both. “So?” Patra asked. “What happened?”

  Keisha took a drag from her cigarette. “The date wasn’t about getting in my pants. No, check that. It was about getting into my pants, but not how I expected.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know who set up my weekends?”

  “Sean, right?”

  “Nope, it was Steven.”

  Patra walked into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. “Why the hell did he care if you got weekends?”

  “It was a setup,” Keisha said, taking the coffee from Patra. “A setup for the dinner. Steven asked me if I wanted to do porn.”

  “Hmm,” Patra said, sipping her coffee. “The natural progression for a stripper—or so people think. What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that I’d think about it,” Keisha said. “But do you know how much he offered?”

  “What?”

  “Five fucking thousand dollars.”

  Patra damn near spilled her coffee. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘think about it’? He’s going to give you five thousand dollars to fuck on film, and you’re not going to take it?”

  “It’s deeper than that,” Keisha said, putting down her coffee cup. “Look, I got into stripping to make some extra money, but I ain’t a part of the whole fucking industry. I don’t have a problem with someone else fucking on camera—hey, whatever floats your boat—but I don’t know if I want DVDs of me distributed to fools for years and years. I have some dreams, and that shit could really derail those dreams.”

  “When you go to UCLA, what if some kid in your English class goes to the Chi Chi Room and sees you onstage? Wouldn’t that derail your dreams?” Patra asked.

  “That would be one kid on one night, and not thousands of videos for decades. I don’t know if I want to go there. But the money is tempting.”

  “Look, this guy obviously thinks you can drive sales,” Patra said. “He paid you five hundred bills to pose, and now he’s willing to give you ten times that to fuck. Why not just do it once, get paid, and then roll out?”

  Patra took the two coffee mugs to the kitchen. As she put them in the sink, she turned to the living room.

  “Do you know how much I get to fuck these men?” she asked Keisha.

  “No.”

  “Two hundred dollars. Two hundred muthafuckin’ dollars per fuck. So when you come in here and say that you have an opportunity to make, in one day, money that would take me all month, then I say take it. And if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

  “Well, I did say that I’d think about it. Maybe I can wear a mask.”

  “Yeah, right,” Patra said, smiling. “Those videos do well. Girl, if you do it, you’re going to have to do it all the way. My suggestion is to get the money and then roll out. Plus, you need to get out of my house anyway.”

  Patra kept smiling as she said it, but Keisha knew there was a bit of truth in her words. It had been two months since she’d moved into Patra’s apartment, and things were getting uncomfortable. Nothing had changed, but Keisha could tell that Patra was feeling squeezed, and her privacy was compromised. Keisha needed money for an apartment, and money to register at UCLA. School began next week, and she was still short. The five thousand could get her into the apartment, and pay some of her school fees.

  “I’m going to start looking for an apartment tomorrow,” Keisha responded. She wished she had a room to go to, but her room was the living room.

  “Look, I love you, girl, and you know that. But I think it’s time. I need my space again.”

  “No problem,” Keisha said.

  “I thought you’d understand,” Patra said, walking toward her room.

  Between the UCLA deadlines and Patra, Keisha knew that she was going to have to make a decision. Whether it was a good decision was up in the air.

  Chapter 13

  The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows.

  —Sydney J. Harris

  It was Saturday morning, and a group of abo
ut three hundred incoming freshmen and their parents stared wide-eyed at Belinda Enfield, a heavyset white woman with an easy laugh and a bright smile. The crowd was mostly white or Asian, and Keisha saw very few people who looked like her. She’d read in the Los Angeles Times that only two hundred black students had been admitted.

  “Welcome to the UCLA orientation. My name is Belinda Enfield, and I will be conducting this session. I want you to have a great time, and feel free to ask any questions you may have. School begins on Monday, so we’d sort of like you to know where to go when you get here.”

  Keisha looked around, scanning the campus.

  “I’ve been a counselor at UCLA for the past twenty years, so you can’t stump me or ask me a dumb question,” Belinda continued. “Well, you can ask a dumb question, but I won’t laugh until your back is turned.”

  The group laughed. Keisha stood to the side, listening to Belinda talk about the deadlines that were approaching for the coming quarter, and she wished she had a parent to handle things for her.

  “One of the most important things you must remember is that if you fail to pay your registration by next Monday, you will be dropped from your classes,” Belinda said. “There are no exceptions. Now that you understand that, let’s take our tour of the campus.”

  Like obedient little ants, the group followed Belinda as she walked around the campus and talked about the various buildings and their functions.

  “This is Murphy Hall, and this is where all students have to go to pay for their registration, check financial aid, get academic counseling, pretty much everything. I would suggest that once you come on campus, you walk through Murphy and get used to where everything is. Signs are everywhere, and you should be able to find everything you want quite easily.”

  The UCLA campus was beautiful, with green hills and old brick buildings presenting an idyllic setting for learning. Summer school was still in session, so there were students walking around, but the main body of students wouldn’t arrive until next week, when school officially started.