Ladies Night (15 page)

“Face,” Madam called out.

Babyface turned to Madam as the other men headed out.

“Clean up that mess your psycho girlfriend made in the parking lot, before the club opens.”

“I'm on it,” Babyface replied.

“And don't let it happen again.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Babyface exited the office, and Madam went back over to her desk to finish her wine and get started on some paperwork.

Amp quickly found something to wear and turned to leave, not wanting to disturb Madam.

“Amp,” she said, looking up from her paperwork.

Standing in the doorway, he turned to face her.

“Thank you.”

Amp nodded. “You're welcome.”

 

 

A short while later, things were back to business as Dr. Feelgood took the stage as the opening act for the night. One eager woman was pulled from the audience and laid on his stretcher, while Dr. Feelgood used his upper body strength to do a dance over her without their bodies ever touching. Both hands planted above her shoulders, his left leg planted beside her right, he butterflied his right leg as if he were grinding her. From the audience's view, it looked as if the woman could possibly leave the stage pregnant, but Dr. Feelgood had managed to come just close enough to her where she could feel only the heat of his body.

Next to take the stage was Casanova. Although eighty-five percent of the audience was African American women who generally preferred their men darker, five seconds of admiring this specimen had them ready to play in the snow. The way they saw it, he had good credit, was always on time, and he could move like he grew up in the hood. What was hotter than that? He had the ladies going crazy, especially when he blessed one with the privilege of removing the single rose that rested in his mouth with her own mouth.

Once El Fuego hit the stage and did his Latin-themed show, the women were fit to be tied. In all the excitement, the audience started yelling random Spanish words that they probably couldn't even translate.

The best had been saved for last, when Amp killed his routine. He could just sweep the room with his eyes and have the women lose control. With him, it was his demeanor and swag.

“Take it all!” a woman yelled, throwing her whole clutch full of money on stage while Amp was dancing. Amp would laugh about it later, but right now he had work to do. The club was at stake.

There was one woman in particular—or one who mattered the most to him—who was mesmerized by how smooth Amp was on the stage. It was Dime. As Amp moved stage right, he could feel Dime staring at him in his peripheral vision. He liked knowing that he turned her on but that she was staying cool about hers. If Amp was going to make a move, he would have to take the lead. He hadn't decided if he would, but he liked that Dime wasn't thirsty and gave him the time to choose.

Amp's song was ending, and it was time for Dime to put on a new song. Amp smiled at her for a brief second before he got back in the zone and took his dancing up another notch.

“You have arrived at your final destination,” the GPS told El Fuego as he pulled into the driveway of the home in Woodland Hills, where he'd been hired to do a private party. He cracked a smile when he saw the beautiful, enormous home. A big house meant big money and big tips.

“Oh, great. It's one of those,” El Fuego said as it dawned on him that there were no other cars in the driveway or parked on the street in front of the house. Typically, when he was told to be there early, he was asked to hide in some back room and pop out to surprise all the guests when they arrived. “I just hope it's not another cake,” he complained.

He turned off the car, grabbed his duffle bag, and headed for the door. The doorbell played a ten-second serenade, but there was no answer.

He backed up and looked at the numbers on the house. They matched the address she'd given him over the phone, so he was definitely at the right place, although now he noticed that the house was pretty dimly lit for a party about to take place. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time: eight o'clock sharp, just like she'd said.

El Fuego rang the doorbell again, telling himself that if he didn't get an answer this time, he was out. A few seconds passed and once again, there was no answer. El Fuego shrugged:
Oh, well. I tried.

Just as he turned around to leave, the door cracked open and he saw a woman standing there in a plain, black, En Vogue–slinky, form-fitting dress.

“Karen?” El Fuego asked. He knew nothing about the woman who'd hired him, other than her first name and the fact that she'd been referred to him by one of her girlfriends.

“El Fuego?” she said.

“Yes.”

She smiled and sensually extended her hand, looking him up and down from head to toe. “My girlfriend was right. You are perfect for the job.” She opened the door all the way, moving to the side to let him enter.

El Fuego stepped into the marble-floored foyer as Karen closed and locked the door behind them. “Nice place you got here. Those chandeliers—” He pointed to the double crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. “Nice.” He was no home designer or anything like that, but he took note of nice things. Besides that, he knew women loved compliments. It made them happy, which meant they were more generous with their tips.

“Thank you. My husband does all the decorating,” Karen said, standing there looking at him like she could eat him alive.

“Well, your husband has great taste, I must say.” El Fuego returned his slick, intentional double entendre and gave her the once over she'd given him earlier.

Now that she was no longer partially covered by the door, he could fully take in all her thickness. She was a solid and curvy perfect size twelve.

“Thank you.” She blushed, sweeping her short bobbed hairstyle behind her ear.

There was a moment of silence before El Fuego asked, “Well, is there someplace I can change before everybody else gets here?”

Karen looked puzzled. “Everybody else? Did you invite someone?”

Now El Fuego was the one who was confused. “When you called you said you needed me to dance for a private party. I assumed it was for a group of your girlfriends.”

“I don't know where you're from, but I don't need a houseful of people to make a party,” she said with a wink.

“So, wait a minute. There is no one else? Just me and you?”

“Is that a problem?” she said coyly.

“I mean, what about your husband?” El Fuego was not trying to get caught up in any jealous husband drama. He'd witnessed enough of that going down at the club, and at least there they had security. He was now on someone else's turf.

“Oh, no. He doesn't get down like that. It will just be the two of us,” she said so nonchalantly that El Fuego got the impression that she and her husband had an “understanding.”

She walked closer to El Fuego, and he took a step back. “What if he comes home and finds a half-naked man dancing on his wife?” He shook his head and waved his hands. He definitely wasn't comfortable with this.

“Look, Karen, you're a sexy, lovely-looking woman, and what you're willing to pay me is more than I could even—”

“You're right. There is a risk factor involved for you that I didn't think about before, so I'll double it.”

El Fuego struggled to keep his mouth from dropping open. This woman had already agreed to pay him two thousand dollars, and now she was talking about doubling it to four. Any other time he might have had his doubts, but from the looks of that home and that designer dress she was wearing, which was probably tailor made to fit her curves, she was definitely good for the money. This was no joke. Ol' girl was serious about how she'd planned for her Saturday night to go down—and who was he to ruin a girl's plans?

“Is that a yes?” Karen asked. “The fact that you haven't walked out that door yet?”

El Fuego repeated, “Like I said before: Is there someplace I can change?”

Karen gave him a huge grin, pointing down the hallway. “Right that way.”

El Fuego entered a half bathroom that was the size of two full baths in a regular house, and he proceeded to change into a red thong with sheer black boxers and a sheer black robe. Barefoot, he exited the bathroom and saw that Karen was no longer standing in the foyer. The chandeliers were no longer lit.

“Karen?” he called out.

“I'm in here,” she replied, her voice coming from the direction of a dim, flickering light.

El Fuego entered the great room to find several candles lighting the space. The fireplace was burning, purely for ambiance, because God knows it was already hot in there.

Sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace was Karen, legs crossed. Her arms were crossed, and her hands were resting on her knees. She was patiently waiting.

“Isn't this how you all do it?” she asked seductively. “You place the woman in a chair and then lavish her, and only her, with all of your attention?”

El Fuego licked his lips. “Something like that.” He began to untie his robe as he walked toward her.

“Oh, wait! I forgot music. How could I be so—” She got out of the chair, but El Fuego placed his hands gently on her shoulders before she could move.

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I'll turn the music on. I don't need this chair, though.”

She watched as he lifted the chair with one hand and set it in the corner. On his way back to Karen, he pressed play on her iPod, and the Bose surround sound system filled the room with the sexiest of sounds. Miguel's “Adorn” would set the mood for them that night.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Nothing,” El Fuego said, brushing his lips against her ear and making the hairs on her neck rise. “I'm going to do everything.” He slowly walked around her until he was standing in front, tracing her spine with his hand the entire way. “Isn't that what you're paying me to do?” He looked her up and down. “But I'm sure you know how to work it.” He shook his head at all she was working with indeed.

By now, Karen was speechless as El Fuego stood in front of her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and began to gyrate his body in front of her while staring in her eyes.

With his robe swinging open, Karen placed her hands on his waist so she could feel the waves in the ocean rolling. She tightened her grip, unable to resist the feel of his hard body.

As El Fuego's body swayed, he lowered himself to his knees and then lifted one of Karen's legs and ran his face down her thigh, just barely touching her. In one swift motion, he'd lifted her other leg and had her sitting on his shoulders.

“Oh, my!” she said in surprise. She hadn't been expecting that at all. Karen was no tiny chick, either, standing five feet nine inches. How this man managed to keep her there while still waving his body, she had no idea. He wasn't even trembling as if he were struggling with her weight. No, he continued his body movements, now adding neck motion as his head danced between her legs.

Slowly El Fuego leaned back. He got lower and lower to the ground as if he were a contortionist. Positioning Karen on her knees, his face still buried between her legs, he blew hot breath on her, teasing her clit. Suddenly, a slight pressure made her think that he was pressing up against her with his tongue.

He managed to slide out from underneath her, leaving her on her knees, facing away from him. Her dress was flipped up and her butt cheeks were hanging out.

“I see somebody else likes thongs too,” El Fuego whispered in her ear then smacked her ass. He mumbled something else she didn't understand in his native tongue, but that Latin accent—not to mention that hard Latin body—made her want to take up Spanish. She wanted to be able to talk that talk as well. Right now, though, they were both speaking the same language: lust.

Karen's thoughts vanished when El Fuego slid his head underneath her and then lifted her up onto his shoulders. When he spun her around his neck so that her crotch was now in his face, she felt like emptying her entire bank account for this man.

“Oh, God!” This time she was sure that his tongue was pressing up against her throbbing clit.

“No, you can just call me El Fuego,” he teased, dropping her off his neck and then catching her effortlessly by the waist. He began doing a grinding dance that made her body go limp. It was as if they were on the erotic version of
Dancing with the Stars,
and Karen was partnered with the award-winning star.

Things only got more intense from there. El Fuego worked his way between her legs, and damn, he was a perfect fit!

Three orgasms later, Karen couldn't take any more. Plus, she had to wrap things up and clean up before her husband got home. She happily paid El Fuego and sent him on his way. He would definitely be returning for another private party very soon.

This time when Dime dropped Amp off at the halfway house, he wasn't in a hurry to beat curfew. He had about twenty minutes to spare instead of five, so the two stepped outside the car and chopped it up. Amp and Dime were side by side, leaned up against her car in the driveway.

“So, when you get out of here and get your own place,”—She nodded toward the house—“are you going to keep dancing?”

“Good question.” Amp stared off into the night. “I'm not sure. I don't want to. I'd rather get a regular job.” He folded his arms and looked to Dime. “What about you? How long are you going to keep DJ'ing at a strip club?”

“Not long. I'm looking for a good job in my field, then I'm outta there.” Dime shared with Amp that she had graduated from college with a degree in business and finance. “The money from my other job isn't enough to make ends meet, so until I find something that pays better, I have to keep DJ'ing at night.”

Amp was surprised. “Word? You have another job?”

“I have a part-time accounting job during the day, which bores me to death.” Dime let her head fall to the side, closed her eyes, and fake snored. “But it pays the bills. Student loans.” She shook her head.

Amp looked down at his wrist and realized that he wasn't wearing his watch. He must have left it in his locker back at the club. “What time is it?”

Dime pulled out her cell phone and checked the time. “Ten minutes to three,” she told him.

“I have to go in a second.” He wished he could stand out there all night and talk to Dime. If he wasn't mistaken, that guard she had up had lowered—and Dime could easily say the same about him.

“You want to grab breakfast in the morning?” she asked.

“Can't. I have to do some chores around here in the morning. I can do lunch though.”

Dime smiled. “Lunch it is.”

“You sure can do breakfast and lunch a lot to have a day job.”

“Part-time, remember.”

Amp stood up off of the car, unfolding his arms. “I need to get a cell phone and a couple outfits tomorrow, so let's eat somewhere close to the mall.”

“Okay.”

Amp gave Dime an authentic but slightly uncomfortable hug and walked toward the house. It had been a while since he had been so close to a woman that he was kind of feeling. Private dances at the club were the only up close and personal interaction Amp had received in a while, and none of those women kept his attention beyond the dollar bills they were dropping.

Amp had been a free spirit before he went to prison. Back then he'd dated plenty of girls, but he was never looking for anything serious, just a drama-free good time. He could see that with Dime, things were different. She wasn't the type that a man could have a casual relationship with. She was the kind of chick a man made his woman. He wondered if he was ready for that kind of grown-man, “Barack and Michelle” kind of love and commitment.

Amp was really contemplating the idea, though. Dime had proven to have brains plus beauty, and above all she had his back—not because he was “breaking her back” but because she seemed to genuinely care for his wellbeing. She could really be the one.

“See you tomorrow,” Amp said, grinning.

“Good night,” Dime said as she watched him walk up the steps onto the porch. Amp turned and waved then went inside.

It had been a long day. He went straight up to his bedroom, took a hot shower, and then got into bed, where he fell asleep almost instantly. Snoring deeply, Amp began to dream, but it wasn't his usual nightmare. Instead, this dream was about Dime, and she was calling him Black Magic over and over and over again....

As his legs shook and his core muscle tensed up with every release, Amp awoke to discover that he had been dreaming. His first thought was,
I like her
. He turned over and went back to sleep, hoping that there would be a second act to that dream.

 

 

The next morning, Amp was sweeping the sidewalk and cleaning up the front yard when Paul came out of the house to talk to him.

“How's it going?” Paul asked.

“It's going,” Amp replied as he bent over to pick up a smashed McDonald's cup off the sidewalk. He placed it in the bag he'd been using to collect trash and twigs then continued to sweep.

“Just curious.... You're a free man in about six weeks. What are you going to do then?”

Amp stopped sweeping and gave Paul his attention. “Not sure yet. I've been putting money up and looking at some apartments.”

“You got any family around here?” The only thing Paul knew about Amp was what was in his file, which made no mention of his family. The two had never sat down and had a personal conversation.

“Some. But they pretty much turned their backs on me. They stopped taking my calls when I went to prison.”

“I'll make some calls and see if I can help with your apartment search. If there's anything else you need help with, let me know.”

“I will. Thank you.”

As Amp went back to his cleanup work, he reflected on how grateful he was for the people God had sent into his life. Although there were a lot of challenges for him to overcome, he felt he was finally headed in the right direction. Everything would be all right.

 

 

Amp got off the city bus and walked a couple of blocks, stopping in front of a building that housed the University of Southern California administrative offices. Being back on this campus brought back a lot of memories for Amp, both good and bad. A smile spread across his lips as he reflected on the good ones: the parties, the music, the laughter with friends.

There was always something fun and crazy going down, and Amp was always a part of it. He was serious about his business, but he really did know how to take the edge off when it came to winding down and relaxing. He enjoyed reliving those memories—until his mind traveled back to the night he'd had a little too much fun. That was the night that changed everything.

The smile on his face was soon replaced with a frown as the sober reality of that night cast a dark cloud over his past and continued to rain on his present. He had to make things right, and being here was the first step.

Taking a deep breath, Amp walked into the building and followed the signs that led him to the front desk of the academic records office. There were a couple of students standing in line, so Amp took his place behind them.

When it was finally Amp's turn, a forty-year-old woman in a navy blue skirt and blazer signaled for him to approach the desk.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted Amp. “How can I help you?”

“I need to get a list of the classes I've taken and credit hours I have completed here,” Amp told her.

“Okay, so you need a copy of your transcript.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The receptionist punched some buttons on her keyboard. “The cost for that is twenty-five dollars.”

“Damn. For a piece of paper?” Amp had definitely not been prepared to come off of twenty-five dollars of his savings. It might not have sounded like a lot of money to someone in a different situation, but for Amp every dollar was a step closer toward his independence and future. He had to think about this one, so that's just what he did for the next couple of seconds.

“You want it or not?” the receptionist asked with a hint of impatience.

What choice did Amp really have? He needed the transcript, so if he had to pay twenty-five dollars to get it, what else could he do? “Yes, I want it.”

“Name?” she asked.

“Amp Anthony.”

She typed his name in the computer, and moments later the transcript printed out. Retrieving it from the printer, she held it in her hands in front of Amp.

“Will that be cash or check?” she asked.

“Cash.” Amp handed her the money, and in return she handed him the transcript and a receipt.

“Anything else I can help you with?” she asked.

“Yes, actually.” Amp cleared his throat and leaned in a little. Upon instinct the receptionist leaned in too, close enough so that the scent of her perfume flirted with Amp's nose.

“I'm trying to locate someone,” he said. “I think she's a student here. Can you check the name Shannon Ellis, please?”

The receptionist typed the name into the computer and waited for the results. Amp was hopeful that it would be more than just a photo, which was all he'd been able to come up with on his search for the name Patricia Ellis.

“Well, it says here that Ms. Shannon Ellis is a graduate student,” the receptionist told him, “but I'm not allowed to give you her personal information.”

Amp could hardly contain his excitement on hearing the little bit of information the receptionist had decided to share. He leaned into the desk with a look of desperation in his eyes. “Ma'am, it is very important that I talk to her. How about giving me the day and time of one of her classes? I promise, I'm not a stalker or some weirdo. Please.” He hoped that she could sense his sincerity as he pleaded with her.

She didn't shut him down immediately, and the look on her face told Amp that she was considering granting his request. Thinking it might help his cause, Amp gave her the smile that few women could resist. He thought he saw the hint of a smirk pass over her face.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Anthony, but I can't give you that information either.” While she spoke, she turned her computer screen so that Amp could see all the information on Shannon Ellis. She then placed a piece of paper and a pen on the counter and walked away.

Amp quickly wrote down information from the screen and left. He had what he needed. Now came the hard part.