“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m exploiting all of the men,” Keisha said. “It’s their sorry asses that come into the Chi Chi Room wanting to see me. They know that they can’t get me, but the suckers keep spending money in the fantasy that I will come to them. So they may see me as an object, but I’m doing the exploiting.”
“Oh, really?” Mary said with a wry smile creeping onto her face. “That sounds like some quote-unquote postfeminist thought. Do you know what I mean when I say that?”
“No, I don’t.”
“A lot of postfeminists like to say that their bodies are their own commodities and if they want to exploit them, then it’s okay. If you want a perfect example of that, then take a look at Madonna.”
“I agree with that,” Keisha said. “I exploit my own self.”
“And that makes it better? Being exploited is being exploited. There’s no difference in whether you’re doing it, or someone else is doing it.”
“Okay, but then let me ask you a question,” Keisha said.
“Shoot.”
“Isn’t everyone exploited? I mean, you have an education and the university is exploiting you, isn’t it?”
“You got me there,” Mary said. “I am being exploited as a wage slave.”
“Aha! So you can admit that there’s not a big difference between you and me,” Keisha said triumphantly.
“No, I didn’t say that. There is a difference. When you have to use your sexuality rather than your brain to exploit, you are being stripped of your humanity, as I said earlier. When you use your intelligence, it is not to the detriment of either yourself or the people who pay you for your knowledge. And that’s a big difference.”
Mary got up and picked up a book, opened it, and found a page. “I remember a quote about exploitation that still rings true. It’s by the poet W. H. Auden. There it is. He says that ‘Almost all of our relationships begin and most of them continue as forms of mutual exploitation, a mental or physical barter, to be terminated when one or both parties run out of goods.’ So now I ask you, Keisha. You’re a smart woman, and you’re going to get smarter. What is going to run out faster, your youthful, sexual body, or your brain?”
Keisha thought for a full minute, letting Mary’s words wash over her. She’d always been conflicted by the feelings she’d had about stripping, versus the money she got. There was a resentment over the men in the pervert pit, and yet she thought herself superior because she had been exploiting them. Now that argument had been undercut, and she knew she had to get out, and get out now.
“Thank you, Mary,” she said, tears welling in her eyes because things were now clear. “I needed to hear that.”
“I did nothing,” Mary said, standing up. “You asked the questions and you came up with your own answers. Now it is up to you to make the decisions.”
On her way home, Keisha thought about all of the decisions she’d made and all of the decisions the women in her life had made. Her mother, stripping at the Chi Chi Room and then chasing after every boyfriend who promised her love; Debra, hanging on to a fading beauty and sexuality because that was all she had; and Patra, young like Keisha, but doomed to follow in Debra’s path. In each one of them, she saw a little bit of herself.
As Keisha took her keys out and prepared to walk into Patra’s apartment, she heard Patra clearly and loudly yelling, “Ooh, baby, fuck me just like that!”
This wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t something that had particularly bothered her in the past. She’d normally go through a routine of turning up the television and staring straight ahead as the john left the apartment in a huff. Patra would typically go into the kitchen and make something to eat, just like nothing unusual had happened.
“Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you cum inside of me!”
Keisha turned on the television, but still she could hear the telltale sounds of a man finally cumming. Then there was silence.
Patra opened the bedroom door and went into the bathroom, where she turned on the water. She went back into the bedroom, and Keisha could hear a little bit of talk between her and her john. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the two left the bedroom and began making their way to the living room.
“So you gonna call me?” Patra asked in the hallway.
“Yeah, I think I will,” the male voice said. There was something about that voice that struck Keisha as being familiar. And when the man walked into the living room, she knew why.
“Ray?” Keisha asked, as Patra and Ray walked in. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Ray smiled. “I didn’t know you guys lived together. Damn, that’s some freaky-ass shit.”
Patra walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of soda. “Ray came by the club yesterday and asked if he could spend some time with me. I thought I might have some time available, for a price.”
Ray walked over to Keisha and sat down. He had a leering sneer on his face, as though he was a house cat that had eaten the pet canary.
“And that was a great time, well-spent,” he said, leaning close to Keisha. “The next time, I might want to spend some time with you, Keisha.”
“Get the fuck away from me,” Keisha said, standing up and moving to the computer desk. “I wouldn’t fuck you for any money.”
Ray laughed. “Now, you know you have a price, just like every ho, or you wouldn’t be shakin’ your ass at the Chi Chi Room or getting fucked on camera. By the way, your video is selling like gangbusters. If you want a copy, I can probably sell you one.”
Ray laughed even harder at his joke.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Ray said, walking to the door. “Patra, it was great getting to know you, and for five hundred, I think I might know you some more next month. Keisha, it’s been good.”
Ray then walked out the door.
“What are you doing fucking Ray?” Keisha asked angrily.
“What do you care about who I fuck?”
“I just thought you wouldn’t fuck somebody like Ray, that’s all.”
“Girl, I’d fuck you for five hundred dollars.” Patra laughed. “It’s all about the money, darling. All about the money.”
“You’re better than that, Patra,” Keisha said.
“Excuse me?” Patra put down her Coke and stared at Keisha.
“You heard me. You’re better than this, all of this. You shouldn’t be fucking the Rays of the world. You should be doing something that makes you feel good, that makes you feel like you have worth.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, just a second,” Patra said. “Who said that I don’t like to do this? I like fucking, and more important, I like fucking for money. Don’t put your shit on me.”
“My shit? What is my shit?”
“Come on, Keisha, we both know that you don’t like your body and you don’t like sex.”
“That’s some bullshit,” Keisha exclaimed. “I do like sex.”
“No, you don’t,” Patra said. “You haven’t liked sex from the day you walked into the Chi Chi Room and you know it. All you talked about is how you hated the men in that club.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t like sex. It just means that I don’t like those men.”
“Yeah, but let me ask you this. How many men have you fucked, and I’m not talking about the porno, in the past three months you’ve lived with me?”
Keisha stopped.
“That’s right,” Patra continued. “Zero. Nada. No one. If you gained pleasure from sex, you would have at least fucked one person.”
“Look, I’ve just been focused on—”
“Keisha, face it. You’ve got a problem, and you haven’t addressed it. Hey, that’s on you. But don’t come around here feeling bad about who I am and what I do. Because if I remember correctly, you’re staying in my house, something I’ve paid for. You’re working at the Chi Chi Room, the same as I do. And you’ve done porn, something I haven’t had to do. If a stripper is a
stripper is a stripper, then you are the same as me. And don’t forget it.”
Patra walked out of the living room and back to her bedroom.
Keisha sat there, stunned.
Well, she thought, hasn’t this been a fucking life-changing day?
Chapter 23
Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide.
—Napoleon Bonaparte
“I want out, Sean, and I don’t want to hear any bullshit. I want out and I want out on my own terms,” Keisha said. She’d come to the Chi Chi Room early, right before she had class, because she wanted to get this out of the way.
“Whoa, baby, why are you doing this to me?” Sean asked, twitching as he looked at Keisha. “Haven’t I treated you nicely? Haven’t I been good to you? You’ve made money hand over fist.”
“Hey, I give you dap for letting me strip but now I think I have to move on. It’s nothing personal, but I can’t go back onstage anymore.”
Sean looked around the empty club and then focused back on Keisha. “Look, if you’re going to leave, don’t leave me in the lurch. If you just up and quit, then I’m not going to have a headliner for this next week. Give me at least a week and go out with a bang. After that, you can cut with no hard feelings.”
Keisha thought for a second. Sean was the very epitome of the sleazy strip club owner, but he’d never been harsh or bad to her, except when he’d tried to screw her out of two hundred and fifty dollars for the Pimp shoot. But he’d been cool for the most part.
“I’ll do this,” Keisha said. “I’ll work next Saturday. After that, I’m done. That should give you enough time to find another girl to take my place. Why don’t you just use Patra as a headliner?”
Sean took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “Patra’s on a short rope with me. And I know that you’re her roommate, so I don’t need to tell you that this is strictly between you and me. But I think she’s been hoeing on the side with some of the customers. If that’s true, then I’ve got to let her go. I can’t risk losing my license because she wants to make some money on the side. Plus, they’ll put my ass in jail for pimping, and I don’t do jail. That’s for the niggas who come here. I do money. And I’ll always protect my money.”
Keisha wondered if she should give Patra the heads-up about Sean’s plans. She decided not to say anything until she was gone.
“So we good?” Keisha asked, sticking out her hand.
“We good,” Sean said, shaking her hand. “Too bad, because we were just about to blow up. From what I heard, and you know I haven’t seen it yet, but your video is the hottest seller on the market right now.”
“Yeah, I heard that from somebody,” Keisha said evasively. “I’m not going to pick it up, though.”
“Why not? It’s your work.”
“Yeah, but I’m not proud of all my work.”
“All right, but I can tell you right now that you’re going to hear about it. Negroes have been phoning the club all week, asking if you’re going to be dancing. So expect it.”
Keisha left the Chi Chi Room and took the bus to campus. Classes had been going well, and she’d found the pace to be fast but manageable.
When she got off the bus, she made her way to Belinda’s office. She had sent Keisha an e-mail that said it was urgent that she come see her that day. So as Keisha walked up the Murphy Hall steps, she wondered what Belinda wanted to talk to her about.
“I asked you to come in today,” Belinda said, closing the door behind Keisha, “because I have some great news. Remember—I told you that I would work on your case, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Keisha said, intrigued. “What happened?”
“Well,” Belinda said, opening up a file, “I was able to find a special scholarship that had been forgotten and not even applied for. It is a scholarship donated by an alumna named Felecia Hall. Felecia went to UCLA back in the ’70s and made it big with IBM. She sent money to the university under the stipulation that it go to a needy female from the South Central area of Los Angeles. That would be you. It is a renewable scholarship whose only requirements are that you maintain a 3.0 grade-point average and keep high moral standards.”
“So let me get this straight. I’m getting a scholarship?”
“No, you have a scholarship,” Belinda said, beaming. “Congratulations!”
Keisha suddenly felt as though she were floating above Belinda, as she was in a state of euphoria that she’d never felt. There was a sense of relief, as though all of the tension she’d been carrying had suddenly left her shoulders.
“I—I don’t have words,” she stammered. “The only thing I can say is thank you. Thank you very much.”
Keisha stood up and hugged Belinda.
“Now stop this before I start crying,” Belinda said.
They both sat down, with Keisha smiling like a kid at Christmas.
“Now, the scholarship pays for your room and board, so do you want to move into the dorms?” Belinda asked.
“Yes, I do. I’ve been trying to save my money to get an apartment, but something always messed me up. So yes, I want to move in as soon as possible.”
Belinda picked up some papers and handed them to Keisha. “Take these papers home and get them back to me as soon as possible. After you get them back to me, it should take about a week for the checks to be cut, and then we’ll pay for your dorm for the year. In the meantime, you should get ready to move.”
Belinda looked in another drawer and pulled out even more papers.
“Fill out these housing papers and indicate if you want to have a roommate. If I’m correct, you can get a single with this scholarship, but you might like—”
“I think I’m done with the roommate thing, thank you very much,” Keisha said, smiling. “I’d rather meet new friends on campus and then come home to my own space.”
“I am with you on that,” Belinda said. “Okay, that seems to be all. Just get this back to me and then do well in your studies, and you should be fine.”
“Thank you very much, Belinda,” Keisha said, standing to leave. “I can never pay you back.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong. You can pay me back by graduating. I pulled a lot of strings, Keisha, and I’m counting on you not to blow it.”
“I won’t blow it and I won’t let you down.”
Keisha walked to her next class, knowing that her perseverance had paid off. Donovan had been right. If you make good choices, then good results would come.
I’ve got to call him, Keisha thought, and thank him.
“All right, is everyone here?” Steven asked. Ray, Marty, Rosario, and Joseph Silva, Steven’s head of promotions, were all sitting down waiting for the meeting to start. Steven had been exceedingly excited over the past few days, and no one knew why. The magazine had been going well, and Inside Keisha! had been flowing out of the warehouse, but Steven had been jumping around like he had a secret to tell and couldn’t hold it in. But all the principals were there, so they knew it was about to jump off now.
“I wanted to give all of you an idea of where we are at Pimp,” Steven started. “Marty, could you please hand me that packet over there?”
Marty walked to the desk, picked up a brown manila envelope, and handed it to Steven.
“This,” Steven said, waving the envelope in the air, “is from the Magazine Association of America.” He opened the package and pulled out a certificate. “It says that Pimp magazine is the leading adult black magazine in terms of sales for 2006. I want everyone to give themselves a hand! You guys made this possible!”
There was sporadic applause, but nothing very enthusiastic. In most of their minds, Pimp was simply a place to go to work, see some naked women, and then pick up a check. If Pimp made money, cool. If it lost money, cool. It didn’t matter to them either way. But Steven liked to think of Pimp as being one big family. So they played along with the facade.
“But this isn’t the real reason that I have you gat
hered. I wanted to bring you here because of Inside Keisha! The video has been a blockbuster in our normal retail stores, and it looks like we might have a breakout star with Keisha. So I don’t want to limit ourselves to just the brown-bag and trenchcoat crowd. I want Pimp videos to be as mainstream as a risqué music video on BET. I want people to feel good about buying a Pimp video, and I think Inside Keisha! is the video to do it. But we have a small problem that needs to be fixed. And for that, let me yield the floor to our head of promotions and advertising, Joseph Silva. Joseph?”
Joseph was a small, dapper man who looked like he should be selling insurance rather than adult videos. But he did sell adult videos, and he was good at it.
“As many of you know, our initial strategy was to take a girl that had some sex appeal, a local following, and then propel her to adult video stardom, so that Pimp Video would have an identity. In other words, we were looking for our own Jenna Jameson. We needed someone who we could not only promote to the pervs, but also to the suburbs. And I think we found our girl with Keisha Montez.” When Joseph talked, he spoke in a very matter-of-fact manner, as though he were talking about widgets rather than adult actors.
“Inside Keisha! has been flying off the shelves, but Keisha herself has presented us with a problem. Steven has informed me that she has threatened to quit the business. Ladies and gentlemen, we can’t allow that to happen. So we have to move to Plan B.”
Joseph shuffled through an oversize black presentation case and pulled out a poster.
“This is what our Plan B centers on,” he said, pointing to the poster. It had Keisha on all fours, obviously being penetrated from behind. The facial expression either read passion or pain, depending on your point of view. “The poster reads, ‘UCLA’s Keisha Montez stars in Inside Keisha!’”
“Why are we putting UCLA on the poster?” Ray asked.
“We’re doing that for a number of reasons. One, through marketing surveys, we know that the men who buy our videos like to believe that the women in the movie are just turning eighteen, or who are college students. That’s a great hook. And we’re doing it for another reason. We need to smoke our Keisha out. The reason she doesn’t want to do any more videos is that she thinks it will mess up her reputation. Well, we’re going to create her reputation. Beginning next week, we’re going to plaster the campus with thousands of these posters. And then we’re going to do as many press conferences as possible. Los Angeles Times, the Daily News, and the student newspaper, the Daily Bruin will all hear from us. Keisha is going to be a star, no matter what she says.”
Skin Game Page 17
