Don't Tell A Soul (8 page)

“Absolutely. On the songs that you write, you get credit.”

“So if she goes platinum, Troy is a millionaire again?” I ask.

Logan turns his attention to me. It's like he forgot I was there and just now noticed me again. “Well, that's not exactly how songwriting credit works. The songwriter gets nine cents per song, per album. So, for every song on a platinum record, Troy gets ninety thousand dollars. I know it's confusing.”

“It's not confusing,” I say with a tight head shake. “It's really simple math.”

Logan laughs out loud. “Troy, you ought to hire your wife to mind your books. It sounds like she'd do a great job of it.”

“Maybe she would. Or maybe she'd spend up the money getting her nails and hair done,” Troy says.

“No, Troy, that would be me,” Aria says. “I think Ms. Pam would do the right thing.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get y'all off track by asking business questions. I was just curious,” I say.

“You were just counting my money,” Troy says.

“I thought when you got married, it became the both of yours,” Logan says with a chuckle.

I give Troy an unblinking stare, wondering how he's going to get out of this one. “You're not married,” Troy says. “So you wouldn't know.”

“I'm not married, because I haven't found a great woman like the one you have.”

I feel myself blush, so I look away from Troy and at the floor. I don't think I've ever had a man say such nice things about me, not even Troy. Thank God Gretchen comes in with her tray of fajitas before I have to respond.

“Troy, I'm going to get out of your way now, so y'all can do your thing. I need to work on my next book,” I say.

Troy walks over and gives me an extremely intimate and embarrassing hug. “Good. 'Cause I think you're distracting my homeboy here.”

“Boy, stop playing!”

On my way out of the room, I lock eyes with Troy and he gives his eyebrow a slight lift, which lets me know we're not done talking about this. Well, he can talk all he wants; it'll just be noise. He can't get mad at me because another man looks my way. I
still
got it. He needs to recognize.

EVA

 

 

 

 

L
oud music filled the dressing room, where dozens of dancers scurried back and forth in scant lingerie. It was almost eleven o'clock, the time when the club really started jumping. It was when the ballers came through to make it
rain
dollars on the dancers as they gyrated away their dignity and every good lesson their mamas ever taught them.

Eva sighed as she stared at her tear-streaked face in the mirror. The fake mink eyelashes, which were supposed to make her look glamorous, just made her seem more melancholy. The red lipstick and glittery eye shadow couldn't hide the turmoil in her heart.

Earlier in the week, she'd tried her hand at a square job. An employment agency sent her to a collections call center site to make harassing phone calls to people who owed money on their credit cards. She didn't know who she was fooling trying out that job. She couldn't compel anyone to pay their bills. Heck, she was one of those people that hid from those collectors' calls herself.

So here she was at the Gentlemen's Den strip club, trying to decide if she should go and make her money for the evening. Rent on her apartment was due in a few days, and even though she could find a church to give her a free meal, her only other option for somewhere to stay was a homeless shelter. Eva didn't have any family or friends that she felt comfortable contacting.

Eva took two steps toward the stairs that led up to the dance floor.
God, forgive me please.
As she walked up the stairs, the music got louder and the beat was so intense that the walls shook, but it still wasn't enough to drown out the sound of her conscience and a small, quiet voice.

Eva stopped at the top of the steps and sighed as the last few dancers ran past her and out into the club. It was packed. Wall-to-wall men and a few women, all ready to toss their money at her. Money that she'd use to pay her bills. Money that she'd put on the offering plate on Sunday. It was dirty money, but it was still spent the same.

Eva envisioned herself stooping to pick up the money from the floor as every part of her body was exposed. The thought of it made her stomach churn. She didn't want to do it, but what choice did she have? She couldn't pray about it, either. Eva had promised God she'd leave the business for good if her HIV test was negative. And she wasn't doing films anymore, but even if there was no sex, stripping was still part of the sex industry.

The song changed, and Eva didn't move. She stayed planted in her spot through another song, and then another. Every time she tried to will herself to move, she just couldn't do it.

One of the girls walked past Eva and said, “Girl, you better come on out on the floor. I just got all my bills paid for the month. The ballers are being generous tonight.”

“For real?”

“Yeah, girl. They paying for lap dances and everything. If you go in the back room, you could probably get your bills paid for two months.”

Eva frowned. The back room was where all the rules of the club disappeared and men paid for extra favors that they couldn't get out in the open on the dance floor. Eva wasn't going anywhere near the back room. It was too much like the set of one of her adult films.

“Well, are you coming?” the girl asked.

“I'll be out there,” Eva said.

As soon as the girl left, Eva walked back down the stairs to the dressing room area. She got dressed quickly, before she could change her mind or think about a bill that needed to be paid.

Just as she was about to go out the basement exit door, the owner of the club, a guy named Roe, walked into the dressing room. He frowned at Eva as she tried to make her exit.

“Where you going? You trying to keep my cut?”

For a second, Eva didn't understand what Roe meant, and then she realized that he wanted his percentage of her tips. “I didn't dance at all. There's no cut.”

“I advertised that you were gonna be here. Film stars make a lot of tips.”

“I'm a former film star,” Eva said, eyeing the door warily. Roe was standing between her and the exit.

Roe licked his lips slowly and stared lasciviously at Eva. She pulled her jacket tightly around her midsection and started to shift her weight from one leg to the other. She knew the look that Roe had on his face. She'd seen it on the faces of countless johns when she was a teenager. It was a look of lust multiplied by evil.

“If you ain't gone dance, you gone have to do
something
. You losing me money, girl.”

“Look, Roe, this was a mistake. I just wanna go to the house.”

Roe rubbed his hands together as he walked toward Eva. “You gone undress, or you want me to undress you?”

“Neither. Why don't you just let me go?” Eva didn't plead, because she wasn't afraid. She'd fought off bigger creeps than Roe. But she wasn't in the mood this evening. She wanted to go home and erase the entire night from her memory.

“I will. After.” Roe stopped in front of Eva and snatched open her jacket. That was the only move he got to make.

Eva stepped in close and gave Roe a swift knee to the groin. When he doubled over from the intense pain, Eva delivered a roundhouse kick to his jaw, which took his consciousness.

As Roe lay in a crumpled mess on the floor, Eva picked up her handbag and rushed to the exit. She didn't want to be anywhere nearby when he woke up. Men were always meaner and more vengeful when they were taken out by a woman.

Eva opened the exit door and stepped out into the chilly spring night. Her career as a stripper was over before it even started. Once Roe told every club owner in a hundred-mile radius that she'd flaked out on him, she wouldn't be able to get a gig to save her life. But then . . . not getting a gig probably would
save
her life.

YVONNE

 

 

 

 

P
am and Taylor forced me into having this lunch. I do not feel like being interrogated about my date with Kingston, but by the way they are both staring at me across the table, I know their nosy behinds want to know all my business.

“I think I'm going to order the coconut shrimp,” I say as I look back down at my menu and away from their demanding stares.

“Me too,” Pam says. “I want some dessert, too. The bread pudding sounds good.”

Taylor says, “A dessert, Pam? I guess that means the diet is over, huh?”

“No one asked you to remind me about my diet. You could stand to lose a few, too,” Pam says.

“I know it, girl. That's why I'm eating a salad.”

I shake my head at both of them. “Why can't we ever enjoy a meal without you two wondering which thigh is going to get fatter?”

“You hush, Yvonne!” Pam says. “You've never been plump, and you aren't ever going to be plump.”

“I'm thick. I ain't plump,” Taylor says.

“Thank you for reminding us, Taylor. You're vixen-like,” Pam says with much attitude.

“Yes, baby,” Taylor says. “Yvonne, you could end this bootleg conversation at any time by telling us all about your new boo, Kingston.”

“He is not my new boo. He is the director of the choir and a very good friend.”

“Well, how was your date?” Pam asks.

“I don't know if I would call it a date. It was more like two friends sharing a meal.”

Taylor throws her hands up in the air and groans. “Would you please stop? Kingston has been drooling over you forever! I mean, if I didn't know any better, I would think you wanted to get back with Luke.”

“No, you didn't!”

“Yes, I did, Yvonne! Yes, I did! And that woman-beating, no-child-support-paying fool is getting married.”

It feels like Taylor just knocked the wind out of me. When I saw Luke out with that young girl, I had no idea he was planning to marry her. I just thought that she was his new flavor of the month.

“Who would marry him?” Pam asks. “Women just don't do background checks these days.”

“Probably a woman who wants to be the first lady of a church, because he's calling himself a pastor, too,” Taylor says.

My jaw drops, and I stand up from the table. I just can't stay seated on this one. “He's a pastor now?”

Taylor nods. “Yep. You know that was always part of his game. That's how he traps the honeys, talkin' 'bout they gonna be in ministry together.”

I shake my head and walk back and forth in front of our table. Taylor knows all about Luke's
game
and the come-ons that he has for his women. She was one of them. But when I met him, he was just starting out in ministry. He was truly impressive in the pulpit, and he charmed me from day one. I didn't know until after we were already married that he was an abuser and a cheater.

“I bet she's young too!” Taylor says. “He likes 'em young!”

I give Taylor an evil glare, and Pam says, “Can you
stop?
”

“Stop what? She knows that Luke is a hot mess! I 'on even know why she trippin'! I'm the one that needs to be trippin'! He probably taking up tithes and offerings and everything else. I wonder if they can put a child support order on an offering.”

Now Pam and I both are glaring at Taylor.

“What? Luke is a super villain. Can we at least agree to that?” Taylor says.

I plop back down in my seat. “He is a villain, but I used to be married to him.”

“You
used
to be married to him, and God has taken the shackles off!” Taylor exclaims.

Pam chuckles. “I do have to agree with her. You are free of Luke, girl. Free to see someone else if you want.”

“Someone like Kingston!” Taylor says.

I let out a big sigh. Kingston is so nice. He is a gentleman, and he is very much interested in me. And to top it all off, he's incredibly sexy.

I'm so glad that Pam and Taylor can't read my mind! I wouldn't ever want them to know that I thought of Kingston, or any man, that way, but I can't even pretend that the attraction between us is happening only in the spirit realm. Something carnal is definitely taking place.

“Well, Kingston is fine,” Taylor says. “You better be glad I'm already with Spencer, because I'd definitely let him chase me.”

“And what makes you think that you're his type?” I ask.

“I am every man's type. But why you getting all touchy, Yvonne? I am in love with my man. I don't want your boo.”

“Stop teasing her, Taylor.”

“Okay, I'll tell you,” I say. “I enjoyed myself with Kingston. He is a lot of fun. Rhoda and Rochelle were there.”

Taylor scrunches her nose into a frown. “All bad.”

“I know.”

“So are you going to go out with him again?” Pam asks.

I shrug. “Maybe. I haven't made up my mind yet. He's already asked me to dinner after Bible study on Wednesday.”

“First brunch and then dinner?” Taylor asks. “He sounds very interested.”

“He is, but like I said, I haven't decided yet to take him up on his offer. How do you know about Luke being engaged?”

“He asked me to have coffee with him. He wants to see Joshua, but I don't know if that's even a good idea.”

When Luke first went to prison, he called me collect and sent letters declaring his love. I suspected that he wanted me to take care of his money while he was gone and not give it over to Taylor for Joshua's needs. But I stopped reading his letters after the first one and gave Taylor twenty thousand dollars out of our joint account. Then, when I finally decided to divorce Luke, I got half of what was left—a piddly thirty thousand. I had always thought we were better off financially, but Luke had mortgaged our home and he'd blown lots of his money on his various mistresses.

Not once, with all of Luke's begging and pleading for me to stay by his side, did he ask about his son or the grown daughter he'd left behind. He acted as if Joshua didn't even exist, but now he wants to be in his life? If I were Taylor, I'd tell him to go somewhere that is extremely hot and smells like sulfur.

“How is Joshua? Have you figured out what you're doing about school yet?” Pam asks.

Taylor says, “He's fine, but I am definitely going to have to homeschool him for a while. There's no other convenient solution.”

When Taylor called and told me about Joshua's problem at school, alarm bells went off in my mind. Immediately I started praying, because I couldn't think of anything but Luke putting his hands on me.

“Joshua sounds like he picked up something from Luke other than his looks,” I say. “I've got the scars to prove Luke's anger management issues.”

“Well, that's why I've got y'all, right?” Taylor asks. “Y'all gonna help me pray?”

Pam and I answer by each taking one of Taylor's hands and bowing our heads. Praying is what we do when we have no idea what else to do, and I surely don't know what to do about Taylor's situation.