Authors: Dakota Knight

Biker Chick (17 page)

BOOK: Biker Chick

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I walked away. I wasn't trying to watch. I took a couple more orders, from men not wanting anything but a drink. As the night wore on, I noticed that I wasn't the only Doll not giving up the goods. I felt a great sense of relief. The strippers, or exotic dancers, as they liked to be called, got most of the action on and off the stage. That was fine with me. The men at the Doll House were well-trained. The rule was, “You will be touched, but you can't touch.” And any time a man asked to touch me, I'd flirt with him and tell him I'd like nothing in the world but to rub against him, but the bar called. Then, I'd tell him that I had a nice friend that would be more than happy to do whatever he wanted. Ginger cleaned up that night. So did another lady I met, Shanika. My hustle was on again. At the end of the night, I may not have made as much money as I could have, but I did okay.

The word was out by the next night. When the ladies learned I was willing to give up a table, I had a whole new set of friends. Now I really had to work my hustle. “If I'm giving you a table, that's means you're getting extra ends. Do you think it would be fair to give me twenty percent of what you make?”

Ginger agreed. Shanika did too. Tasha and Rain told me “Hell to the No!” Yeah, they had an attitude at first. But then they saw how quick I worked. How I could identify the men who had the most cash and were willing to give it up. Ginger and Shanika had doubled their nightly take. Within a week, Tasha, Rain, and a couple of others were on board. Trading ass for cash may not have been right, but it did work for the moment. It wasn't like they were having sex with those men or anything. They were just providing the fantasy, and saving me from having to. Little did I know then how working at the Doll House would be my ticket to the next level, and my train to my greatest downfall.

Chapter Twenty-four

Because nothing feels better than something solid and sure . . .

Working at The Doll House turned out to be easy and fun. The ladies were a trip, but you can never have a large group of bitches together without having some drama. For me, it was about business, nothing else. I wasn't there to make friends. And because of my attitude, the dancers and the Dolls respected me. But I think they were also fascinated with me.

I would ride up to the club in my Ninja, and most of the ladies didn't know any women who rode a steel like me. Some of the ladies wanted to get their own. Not to be outdone, Lala started riding her Yamaha 600. It was a bad machine, with a custom blue paint job that matched her eyes. Even I was impressed.

After the Trio reunion, me, Dymond, and Lala started hanging again. Dymond even quit her little part-time job at CVS to work at the club with us. She was a Doll server too. Since she didn't want to do any extra duties, if you know what I mean, I gave her my tool of the trade. The ladies loved her too.

Lala had been right, the money was flowing. Me and Dymond were doing okay serving the drinks and getting tips, but believe me, we couldn't hold a candle to the money Lala was making wrapped around that pole.

Lala was the most popular dancer at the Doll House. When she took the stage, she commanded it. At first, I felt strange watching her take off her clothes and seeing her half-naked. But just like all of the other breasts and asses I saw in the club, I got used to it. The dudes in the club would be mesmerized when Lala danced. She knew how to tease, hold the moment, and leave the men watching her wanting more. And I definitely don't swing toward women, but even I had to admit that Lala's body was on point. She had filled out in all the right places.

I did like my job, but I wanted more. I stayed busy to dull the pain caused by my separation from Ray, and I was constantly thinking about how to make my own path. I knew I would never truly be happy until I had Ray back between my thighs and I was drafting my own checks.

Ray ended up pleading out on the stack of drug charges he had against him. In return, he got twenty-four months behind bars. Dymond found out through some old connects from Shadow that the jail time was actually a part of Ray's ticket out of the Cruz. The police thought they had done some good with their big raid, but it appeared the kingpin the Cruz worked under knew what was going down, especially with the death of that famous businessman on his turf. Ray, along with a couple others, agreed to take one for the team. I was crushed, of course, but the end of the trial meant the end of the silent treatment. It was safe to contact him.

I wanted to keep him happy on the inside, and let him know what was waiting for him when he got out. I enlisted my girl Steph from Ethereal Photography to take some shots of me on my Ninja. Her studio was located in the Short North, a neighborhood filled with artists' studios and art galleries. I had pushed Foxy Baby into the back, and Steph had hooked up her large studio just for my photo shoot.

“Crystal, that outfit is
too
sexy,” Steph said as I posed in a skimpy black thong bikini I found at Nordstorm.

“Thanks, Steph, I hope he likes them.”

“Bend over and arch your back a bit more.” I followed Steph's orders as she directed me into the right poses. I felt sexy and good, and I knew Ray would love getting the pictures.

“How does this look?” I asked, bending into position.

Steph nodded and began taking pictures. I tried not to blink as the light flashed in my eyes.

“Good. Good. Now, lean back over the seat of your ride and stick out your chest a bit.”

I moved into position. “Like this?”

“Yeah, that's it. You're working it like a model.”

“I learned from the ladies of the Doll House,” I said, laughing.

“They taught you well, then,” Steph responded. “Pout your lips a little bit.”

I did what she said. Steph twisted and turned me around in a couple more positions on Foxy Baby. I changed into a couple more hot and sexy outfits. Finally, after two hours, Steph took the final shot and told me, “That a wrap.”

Before I left Steph's studio, we set up a meeting so I could pick out my prints. I was so excited about my shots, I was bursting at the seams by the time the day rolled around to pick up my prints. I almost floated into the studio. I had never handed over cash with so much enthusiasm.

“You better hope nobody takes these pictures from your boy,” Steph said the day I went to pick up the prints. “Wait until you see them, you look like a first-class model.”

While Steph went to the back of the studio to pick up my prints, I sat down on the couch in the small waiting room and fumbled through a copy of
The Other Paper
, a local weekly. When I got to the ad section of the newspaper, a light bulb went off in my head. Suddenly, it was all coming tome.

I was staring at an ad featuring a white exotic dancer named Mystique. Carefully placed words covered up her most intimate parts, but her face and eyes said a lot. She was oozing sex through the printed page. The ad said she was going to be in town for one night only. A cover charge just to see one woman! But at the bottom of the ad, in small print, the key to my success was born. The ad told interested readers “the first fifty men who come to delight in Mystique will receive a free poster.”

I wasn't interested in the free part. But the poster part caught my eye. I thought about Lala and some of the other girls in the club. About posters large and small for the men who came in and out on a weekly basis. They could have something to take home so they bust a nut in their secret places while looking at and fantasizing about their favorite exotic dancers. And for Lala, I would make her a star. By the time Steph came back with my pictures, I was almost jumping out of my seat. I was so busy thinking about my new plans, I almost left my own prints behind.

“Crys, you've been bothering me about these prints almost every day, and now you don't have the time to look at them?” Steph asked, waving the envelope containing my photos in front of me.

“Whew, Steph, I . . . just . . . something came up ...and I need to . . .” My words came out in short breaths. I could barely speak. I reached for the envelope and took a sheet, willing myself to calm down.

“Okay, I know I've got it going on,” I smiled up at Steph, “Now let me see how good you made me look.”

I pulled out the pictures. I almost didn't notice the person in the photographs. It was me, but sexier, with a sultriness I didn't know I possessed. I sat back as I marveled at Steph's work. “Wow, Steph, I didn't know they would come out like this.” The quality of the work convinced me that my plan to feature the ladies of the Doll House would work like a charm.

“Thanks,” Steph said proudly.

I studied the prints for a couple more minutes, telling Steph, “If things work out like I want, I'll be bringing a lot more business your way.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

I was so amped, I wanted to test the waters to see if Steph would want to deal. “I can't give you all the details just yet, but if I bring a good deal of business your way . . . I'm talking major business, what would be your terms?”

I decided to see where her head was at before moving forward. She looked at me with a gleam in her eye. I had known her for a minute. She was a product of the Meadows, and she knew I was a hustlette to the core. “If you're really serious, we could work something out where we could both benefit. Maybe a percentage deal or a major discount. How about that?”

Jackpot. The first step in my hustle had legs. Now I had to put the rest of the pieces in play.

First, I had to convince Lala. She was the best dancer at the club, a leader in a lot of ways. If I could get her on board, I knew the other dancers would fall in line. I asked her if I could come to her condo and she said yes. I was brimming with confidence by the time I rang her bell and she buzzed me into her place.

“What's going on?” she asked, me, her blue eyes sparked by concern.

“Something good,” I said, walking into the condo. I held an envelope in one hand and a bottle of AlizÃ©.

“Are we . . . celebrating something?”

“That's entirely up to you.” I walked toward the kitchen. “Where are the glasses, La? We need to get this party started.”

We drank and I told her about my grand plan. She would be the headliner for the posters I wanted to make. I showed her the picture of Mystique I had cut out of the newspaper and said, “We can make you into a star. Instead of being just Lala at the Doll House, you could go on tour to different places with your routine.”

“You really think we can pull this off?” Lala asked as she studied the clipping of Mystique. “I mean, do you really think it'll work?”

“With the way you work that pole? Hell yeah. And your look is so unique, the guys will be fighting to get close to you.”

Deep pools of icy blue stared cautiously at me, and I saw the vulnerability that had been a part of Lala's personality since we were young. “You really want to make me a star?”

“Definitely.” I reached for a shoulder. “You're a member of the Trio . . . we're girls down with each other for life.”

The pools began to flood onto Lala's cheeks. I backed away from her as she began to sob. She buried her face into her hands. Her entire body was shaking.

“Yo, Lala, you okay?” I said, surprised that the excitement had overwhelmed her so much. Lala had never been one for too many tears. I looked down at the nearly empty bottle of AlizÃ© and wondered if our drinking had an effect on her behavior.

“You're such a good friend.” she said between her sobs. “I don't deserve you.”

I moved closer to her and put an arm over her shoulder. “Don't say that, La.” I rubbed her arm. “We've had our good times and bad, but you and Dymond are the only two people I really see as true friends.”

Lala looked up at me. Her eyes were puffy and there was something . . . there. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I could tell she wanted to talk to me about something, and that she was holding back.

“Don't you just wish you could change the past sometimes? Like if you knew then what you know now, that everything would be different?” Lala asked me.

Seeing that my man was in jail, our house was in shambles, I was living with Dymond instead of on my own, and working in a strip club, my answer was not only yeah, but “Hell yeah!”

“You know what, Lala, I have my regrets, but not that many. I mean, Mom used to tell me that everything happens for a reason. And even though things aren't going like I want them to right now, I know that in the end, it'll all work out as it should.”

Her eyes were pleading with me, prompting me to ask the right question. I just didn't know what that question was. “But what if you hurt people? I mean, you didn't mean to, but maybe know you did?”

Lala's question made me think of Mom, somewhere with her new man in California. “I'm sure I hurt my Mom.” I confessed. “I can't even begin to tell you how she looked at me when I told her I wasn't going to college. It was like I stabbed her or something. And now, she won't even talk to me. I could be lying in the street right now, and I wouldn't have a way to contact her.”

“Damn, that's messed up.”

“It is. But you know what?” I asked, squeezing Lala's shoulder. “I know that Mom will forgive me one day. I know she'll find a way to contact me. She also used to tell me that âTime heals all wounds.' I believe that. So, if you feel like you hurt somebody, just give it time. They'll get over it.”

Lala sniffed and nodded, wiping her face before displaying a slight smile. “I know you're right. I just got this shit eating at me. But I know you're right.” She wiped her face again before pointing at the empty AlizÃ© bottle. “You know how drinking makes me cry, right?”

“Sure do. I've been known to shed tears over bottles many a time.”

Lala chuckled. “Me too, girl.”

“It'll be our secret. I won't even tell Dymond.”

“All right.”

I rose from the couch and headed for the kitchen, taking the bottle and our glasses with me.

“Oh, Crys,” Lala yelled out.

I turned back. “What?”

“I'm totally down for your plan. Just let me know what you want me to do.”

“You sure?”

Lala eyes cleared. She stared at me seriously and nodded before saying, “I'm one hundred percent sure. Make me into a star.”

BOOK: Biker Chick

12.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub