Brooklyn Brothel (2 page)

I shook my head up and down takin’ it all in. I remembered before he told me somebody from the in-house named Mike would pick me up. I wanted to ask right then why the hell it was called an in-house. All I knew was that people
went there to fuck, and get paid for sex. I started to ask Bo if I could get locked up for it, but the sound of the driver clearin’ his throat startled me.

“Umm…if you’re headed to New York, I suggest you hurry. I’m pulling out.”

The driver stepped up on the bus with an expression that told me he would definitely leave me. As soon as his evil-ass disappeared onto the bus, I gave Bo a speedy kiss and took off runnin’. All I could hear from behind was Bo’s last command, “Chantel, you need a name. Call yourself, Co-Co. Co-Co,” he repeated. “You hear me? And make sure you keep that coochie smellin’ good!”

I ran up the few short steps and onto the bus completely out of breath. Quickly, I found myself a seat near the back, next to the window, and plopped down into the seat. People were still eye-ballin’ me, but I didn’t give a damn. It could’ve been the short spandex black skirt and sexy cropped shirt I wore, or they could’ve seen me with Bo, which always attracted attention.

Either way, I shot back disapprovin’ stares and reflected on my own life. I couldn’t believe I really ended up with Bo. I just smiled watchin’ him zoom off in his raggedy Buick, and waved out the window as we pulled off right behind’em.

I thought back to when we first met in the visitin’ room at Alderson Federal Penitentiary in West Virginia. He was there to see his sister when my ex and my son were leavin’ from my visit. I remember being real down in the dumps that day ’cause my ex-boyfriend had just told me he was takin’ me to court, and would request full-custody of my son.

I remember bein’ all teary eyed when they left. One, I was servin’ a five year bid for a no-good drug dealer who had me transportin’ his shit across the state line. I had already served four of my five, and still had another year to go. Two, I
felt unwanted, and not much like a lady in my manly lookin’ tan khakis.

Bo neva knew he made my world when he blew me a kiss across the visitin’ room floor. That attention meant everything to me. I knew his sister well, so when she got back to the tier, she said her brother wanted to come visit me. I smiled and told’er to lemme call him a few times first.

Before I knew it, we were talkin’ day after day like old friends. At the time, Bo claimed he had a good job workin’ at some fancy strip club. He said he did marketin’, and played host to the frequent ballers in town. His sister told me he was into some otha shit, too. I asked him on one of our many phone conversations if he sold drugs. He told me, “Hell no. I’m too pretty for that.” I laughed it off, but made sure he knew I had been caught up because of a drug dealer and was doin’ time for conspiracy, after transportin’ six kilos for him.

Before long, Bo started visitin’ me every weekend. He was charmin’, funny, and gave me the attention I needed at the time. His sister told me not to fall for his hypnotic personality, and that the sweet shit would wear off. I just didn’t listen, especially when he started puttin’ money in my commissary account.

That did it for me, ’cause I had no one else on the outside who would look out for me financially. I didn’t have any siblings, no idea who my father was, no aunts or uncles who would even speak to me because of their bad relationship with my mother, and no one who would claim themselves as my family. From what I’d been told, my mother was alive and well, still shiesty as ever, but I hadn’t seen her. Bo was all I had to hang onto.

We both knew once I got out, we would be together. I just didn’t know he would change professions and become a pimp. As soon as I got released, Bo was there to scoop me into his lovin’ arms. Within days, he’d gotten us a place, and
promised to help me get custody of my son, Carlton. A part of my release requirements was to enroll into a drug program on the outside. I confessed to snortin’ coke occasionally when I was transportin’ cocaine, but also managed to do a lil’ somethin’ even on the inside. Bo knew all of this, so he kept me grounded.

Things were good in the beginnin’ until his money got low. He hooked up with Sugar G, an old high-school friend who’d become a pimp, and before the month was out, he had decided to join his boy in the life of a pimp.

I was devastated and totally against it. The first thing I thought about was my probation officer. I still had another three months on paper, so shit needed to remain legit at our place. But Bo assured me it wouldn’t affect our life at all. He already had two girls on call who wanted to make money prostitutin’. They just needed protection, and Bo was the man. His hard-core talk game, and deeply-rooted, irate temper was perfect. Little did he know, five months later, they’d run out on him, and I would have to save the day.

We’d gone two months with little to no money, just tryna make ends meet. Bo had tricked this new girl last week to start workin’ for him, which paid our back rent, but he said she wasn’t trustworthy enough to send outta town to his new jackpot connection.

All I kept sayin’ to myself was, “I need stability to get my son. And Bo is that stability.” All of a sudden I caught the lady from across the aisle starin’ at me. “Can I help you?” I snapped.

She turned her head. I thought to myself,
hater
!

I got tired of thinkin’. My brain seemed to be fried, and my migraine hurt like crazy. I leaned my head onto the cold window watchin’ the cars go by, and comin’ to the realization, I was headed to become a whore.

Chapter 2

When my eyes
opened, I realized I had arrived in the Big Bad Apple. The darkness had me shook, and instantly nervousness took ova my body. The bright lights and blinkin’ signs which shone off the tall buildings made me feel like I was headed to something big; bigger than Chantel could handle. My background in travelin’ was shallow so I took in the sights with oohs and aahs. Outside of Pittsburgh and Alderson, I had been no where, so I had no idea what to expect. Back at home, unfortunately, I was considered trailer trash by all Bo’s associates. Bo promised me all these luxurious vacations when I was locked down, but up until now…nothing! No where!

When the bus turned onto 42
^nd
Street, my mind went berserk. I had my face plastered against the window, checkin’ out the tall billboards, people ridin’ bikes in the streets, and the tons of yellow cabs zoomin’ by. All kinds of thoughts played ping pong in my head. What if the guy, Mike, didn’t show up? What if this wasn’t the right stop? What if I got robbed? What if someone was watchin’ me? I even started thinkin’ about all the stories Bo recited to me, after being told by his friend, Sugar G. None of those stories made me feel at ease.

As soon as we stopped, I grabbed my purse and duffle bag. Quickly, I made my way off the bus, grabbin’ my suitcase in the process. I rushed in between the otha travelers, bumpin’ into many, tryin’ to get to where I needed to be. It
was wild how I was no longer the center of attraction like I had been in PA. In the grimy streets of New York, everybody looked strange. We were all weird and our issues showed. I spotted one man pissin’ into a plastic Pepsi bottle, while another rushed me like a linebacker tryna sell his latest heist, a fake Rolex. I shook my head back and forth so many times I got dizzy. Hopefully, he knew I meant
hell no
!

The funky smell in the air mixed with the hot, humid weather started to make me a little dizzy. I started a quick trot tryin’ to break away from the crazies. I was instructed not to talk to anyone otha than Mike, and certainly didn’t want anyone followin’ me ova to the McDonalds. With my suitcase in hand, I kept lookin’ behind me and panted the whole way. When I made it to my destination, I stood beneath the large yellow blinkin’ arches. The area where I’d chosen to stand seemed so isolated. It was weird, almost unreal for a big city. I started talkin’ to myself and movin’ around a bit to ease my nerves. Of course my tightly fitted, white laced camisole, and my shapely body got me a few looks. Back in Pittsburgh, I was considered a dime, with a height of 5’9’ and shaped like Beyonce. New York men would welcome me for sure.

Standin’ alone, I decided to tug at my skirt hopin’ to lower it a bit. The skirt appeared to be shorter than what it was, but I didn’t want men walkin’ by to get the wrong impression. My heels weren’t high at all, but I still had strong sex appeal. It was one of my natural gifts. I neva had to do much but be myself. It dawned on me…I wondered if people thought I was a prostitute. Instantly, I formed my lips and mouth into a slight pout, and slouched my body like I lacked confidence.

I had only been in the city less than twenty minutes, and had thought about every single thing that could go wrong. My patience had run thin. My eyes searched for a pay phone to call Bo. I didn’t know what kinda games this Mike guy
played. I reached into my purse for a piece of Big Red gum. It happened to be the only thing that I knew would calm my nerves. People told me it was crazy how I chewed gum to help with my fears.

As soon as I popped the gum into my mouth, my eyes lit up. I knew then, the gum wouldn’t help. A tall, white, muscular guy with tattoos plastered all ova his body stood three footsteps in front of me. He kept rubbin’ his scaly arms and noddin’ his head for me to follow him. My heart thumped just before skippin’ a beat. His hair was short and messy makin’em look even crazier. He started churnin’ out weird sounds and clutchin’ at his dick. I stood frozen for ’bout five seconds.

All I could think about was the story Sugar G told us about when he sent his girl out to NY on the bus. Unfortunately, she was a crack addict who couldn’t wait to be set free. So when she got off the bus, instead of keeping quiet until Mike picked her up, she approached the first brotha she saw. She asked him if he had any crack for sale. He told her what she wanted to hear, but said she would have to go with him to get it.

He turned out to be a Guerilla pimp, which in pimp slang is the meanest type of pimp alive. He took her to an abandoned buildin’, beat her senselessly, and tied her to a sewage pipe. A call was then made to Sugar G, requestin’ $5,000 for her safe return. Sugar G didn’t pay the money, and the rest is history. She was neva heard from again.

That last thought had me shakin’. I took off runnin’ only to run dead smack into a tall, dark-skinned guy with dreads. He appeared to be normal, and comfortin’ as he grabbed me softly by the arms.

“Bo sent you, right?”

“Yeeeeeeesssssss.”

I shivered, gazin’ up into his warm eyes.

“I’m Mike. Don’t worry about that guy over there. I’m
here now.”

Mike shot a nasty scowl ova to the crazed man who was still strokin’ at his dick print. He grabbed my suitcase, and guided me along by the arm like a protective parent.

“What’s your last name Mike?” I asked.

“Let’s go. I’m parked over here,” he laughed.

Mike’s accent puzzled me. He looked just about as black as a piece of charcoal on the outside, but his accent was of French decent. Maybe even from the islands. Either way, his voice soothed me, so I followed him to an older model black Lincoln Towncar. Before I could even hop in the front, Mike had the back door open and his palm turned upward, invitin’ me to the back seat.
Damn
, I thought,
a chauffeur
? This wasn’t the picture I’d expected on my way to an in-house.

As Mike pulled off and into traffic, I watched him closely through his rear-view mirror. I liked his style of dress with the shirt unbuttoned half-way and hairs protrudin’ from his chest. I especially liked the short bob style he’d chosen for his dreads. I felt like I was cheatin’ on Bo already, ’cause I was feelin’ Mike with no last name. Call me stupid, but it seemed like he was feelin’ me too. He didn’t say it, but there seemed to be an electric attraction.

I suddenly became comfortable. “So…Mike, just where is this house we’re headed to?”

He smiled into the mirror. “Oh, so another one where the pimp didn’t tell you much, huh?”

“Oh, he’s not my pimp. He’s my man. We’re partners.”

Mike got a big kick outta that. “Oh, I see,” he finally said after gettin’ all his chuckles out. “Well, we’re headed to Brooklyn. The Bensonhurst part of Brooklyn.”

I shook my head as if I had been hipped to Brooklyn already.

“You’ll do fine, don’t worry,” he said as if he sensed
my anxiety. “I’ll say this…this week you have little competition.” He smiled. “You look good, perfect shape, and beautiful brown skin, like you’ve been dipped in dark caramel a few times. Our patrons like brown skin.”

“Oh,” was all I could utter.

“You’ll love New York,” he told me. “This place is so big you never have to see the same thing twice.”

I glared out the window at the beautiful sights that lined the water.

“This is West-Side Highway that we’re on. It’ll get us to the Brooklyn Bridge,” Mike continued with his tour guide.

I shook my head and continued to look out the window.

“Where you from anyway?” he asked me out the blue.

“Pennsylvania. Born and raised in Philly off Broad and Erie. My family moved to Pittsburgh when I was a lil’ girl, and I’ve neva left since then. Well once,” I added sadly. It reminded me of my stupid drug move that landed me in prison.