Heartbreak of a Hustler's Wife: A Novel (11 page)

Yarni introduced Desember and Bambi. “I love it down in N.C.,” Bambi said when she found out Desember was from North Carolina. “I put a few nice events together down there.”

Lava and Desember talked to Bambi for a split second and then went back to the party chitchat. It was no secret both girls were excited about the upcoming event.

They all ordered: Yarni, spaghetti and meatballs; Bambi, fried fish and shrimp; Lava, baked chicken; and Desember, the smothered pork chops. Five minutes or so after two of the entrees arrived at the table, Yarni got an urgent e-mail. Cathy had apologized on behalf of the cook for the extra time it was taking to complete the order.

“Damn, y’all!” She’d forgotten all about the meeting with the superintendent of the school board. Thank God for Layla. Yarni had almost blown a half-million-dollar account. “Sorry, girls, but I gotta go.” She plucked a hundred dollar bill from her purse and laid it on the table. “This is for the food. Lunch is on me.
Call me later, sis. You two too,” she said to Desember and Lava, “and try not to have too much fun.”

“Aren’t you at least going to get your food wrapped up to go?” Desember asked.

“Don’t have time.” Food was the last thing on Yarni’s mind right now. Another round of good-byes and she was out the door.

Bambi looked at her watch, then placed three twenties of her own on the table. “I might as well take off too. I have millions of things to get done. Nice meeting you, Desember. Welcome to the family.” She popped a shrimp in her mouth and was ghost.

When Cathy returned with the other two meals and the check, she asked, “Are they returning?” Her eyes were bouncing back and forth from where Yarni and Bambi had been sitting.

Desember took one look at her newly arrived meal and gasped. “I can’t eat this,” she complained. “It has onions on it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cathy sucked her teeth. “It’s smothered with onions and gravy, the way you ordered it,” she snidely added.

Desember’s face was as tight as a Naomi Campbell weave. “The menu ain’t say nothing about no damn onions. You can take that shit right back where you got it from.”

Cathy didn’t verbalize her displeasure, but it was obvious in her body language. She jerked the plate from the table, almost spilling it on Desember, and stomped off to the kitchen.

Lava dropped her fork in the center of her dish. “Let’s get out of here, girl.”

Desember didn’t budge. “I’m not giving this bitch no hundred sixty dollars for some food nobody ate.”

“You must’d misunderstood me, cuz. I said let’s go, not let’s pay.”

Desember found an ink pen in her purse and for kicks they scribbled a note on a five-dollar bill. Courtesy of Lava.

The waitress was headed back to the table with the plate of food she had spit in, when she realized that the two girls were settling into a pearl white Lexus, giggling.

She was pissed because the four arrogant women had taken up the booth space for almost an hour. Too bad, she’d been looking forward to serving the loudmouth one pork chops with no onions but warm spit mixed in the gravy. When Cathy picked up the five-dollar bill she noticed the writing on it.

Fantasy Island

The evening had dragged along like a snail hungover on an extra-salty margarita. Yarni just hadn’t been able to get the girl—Roxanne—out of her head since lunch. So much so, she called Bambi and convinced her to meet at the Fantasy Island strip club at nine.

“And why are we here again?” Bambi asked when they hooked up in the parking lot of the club.

“Because I think one of the chicks who works here might know something about what went down at the church. I saw her with one of the robbers right before church service that day.”

“Stop me if I’m wrong, but didn’t them boys have machine guns? Why don’t you let Des and dem deal with this?” Bambi asked.

“Because I don’t know if she really knew what was going on, that’s why. And if I tell Des, it may not matter—her ass will be grass.”

“Oh okay, so we here because you feel some type of compassion for this girl?”

“Yeah, basically.” Yarni thought about it. “But I do feel sorta bad also for not mentioning this to Des.”

“You better than me, girl. But I guess, as crazy as it sounds, we are doing the right thing. I just hope this chick appreciates the favor you doing for her.” Bambi knew the girl probably wouldn’t understand that they were actually preserving her life by not first telling the boys what they knew, but she was only there to watch her sister’s back.

The sisters entered Fantasy Island, for the first time.

The Fantasy Island Gentlemen’s Club was where the upscale and wealthy went to unwind. It was a private club and management was very selective about the people they let in. The cover charge for men to get in was $250 with a kickback of $50 in drink coupons. However, female customers paid $350 without the kickback.

“As much as it costs to get up in this bitch, we better find out something,” Bambi bitched.

“It’s a gamble, I know.” Yarni wasn’t even sure if the girl really worked here. But she was willing to bet her money on Sister Mary’s word. She just hoped that the mystery girl would be cooperative when they found her.

Once they had their hands stamped, they proceeded down a corridor called the International Hall as directed. The hall,
which led to the main club, was lined with huge glass cages. They were all connected, but each was separated by partitions like one would see in a museum. And each had an opening designed for tips to be slid in.

“Damn, this shit is fly.” Bambi looked around the club in awe at how laid out it was. It truly was like a mini fantasy world nestled in the outskirts of the city.

“It is,” Yarni admitted. “They are cashing in off the oldest profession in the book.” And in the next breath, she advised her sister, “You need to get the guy’s card who owns this place. I could see you planning a hell of a bachelor party here.”

“Me too, but let’s focus on what we’re here for.”

As they strolled down the International Hall, every glass cage had a girl’s name and what country she originated from. There was a look only, no touching policy for these girls, but if a patron wanted a private dance, he could get it by dropping a minimum of a hundred dollars in the cage. After doing so he would put on headphones that rested in front of the window, prompting the girl’s theme music to automatically come on for her to dance to in a fashion indigenous to her country. It was customary that the gentleman would tip her while she danced. Other bypassers could tip her without hearing the music. It was a creative and innovative idea, and it worked.

Seeing the women from around the world decked out in their native but skimpy costumes was intriguing. Both Yarni and Bambi admired the thought put into creating this gentlemen’s experience as they surveyed the glass cubicles. They saw a Moroccan belly dancer, a girl from Switzerland looking like she was
about to yodel, a dark-skinned Nigerian girl who could have been a model, a Japanese geisha and a Tahitian treat.

“Damn, this shit is entertaining. I’m about to get me a dance,” Bambi said, distracted by a sexy Indian girl with a red dot on her forehead doing an exotic Bollywood dance.

“Girl, how about we get what we came here for first,” Yarni said. Her eyes caught sight of a woman dressed in a burka. At first all that could be seen were her eyes, then she started undressing, seductively. It didn’t matter what the name of the god her admirers prayed to was, they unanimously agreed she was divine.

“Okay, now I got why people say this ain’t your average strip club. It really isn’t.”

They spotted a room with a sign over the top that read, “Welcome to Atlanta,” and they could hear Young Jeezy’s song “Make It Rain” playing as they walked in. This was obviously where the club kept the big booty black girls with bodies like superheroes. There were a couple of big spenders flipping money around like it was counterfeit.

A girl that had to be at least six feet tall wearing a shirt that read
These are my real boobs
walked over and greeted them. “Welcome to Atlanta. I’m sorry, but it’s a private show. A lucky man has rented the entire city.”

“There’s no way we can get in?” Yarni asked. She wanted to be sure Roxanne wasn’t inside before they left.

“Sorry.” The girl shook her head. “Not for at least another two hours. But I assure you there are some dynamite acts in other parts of the club.”

“Well, we’ll have a drink and be back, but if you can get us in sooner, we’d appreciate it.” Yarni handed the amazon chick a crisp Franklin. The girl took the money but looked at her like she’d been insulted. Yarni’s ego was bruised a bit because she could usually persuade a pitbull off a meat truck. “Damn, am I losing my swag?” she asked her sister.

“Naw, we just out our lane, that’s all,” Bambi said. Exotic dancers ran the entire place.

They took a seat in the main forum and ordered a drink. “Do you see her?” Bambi asked, as Yarni scanned the club. “Because this doesn’t look like the right place—excuse me, the right part of the world we’re in.”

“I know she works here. At least that’s what Sister Mary told me. Now, how she knows that’s probably another story. It seems like the only black chicks—well, American ladies—are in Atlanta, and Roxanne does have that stripper look.”

Yarni was observing how the men were going crazy.

“Well, all we can do is wait until Atlanta ain’t under siege anymore,” Bambi told her, then was distracted by the girl performing on the main stage. “Damn, look at that chick.” Bambi was amazed at what the girl was doing. “That’s talent, and please, by all means keep that hooker away from my man.”

The girl was performing an acrobatic move that required a handstand and the flexibility of a rubber band. Then she rolled or tumbled, into a split.

Yarni stared at the young contortionist in awe, then, for the first time, she got a look at her face. “That might be our girl!”

“Damn, she musta been the Twister champ back in the day,” Bambi said.

After getting a better look, Yarni was sure it was Roxanne and nodded her head in confidence, “That’s her, that’s Roxanne!”

When the waitress returned with their drinks, and Yarni asked her, with an extra forty-dollar tip, “Is there a way you can set up a VIP for us with her,” she pointed to the stage, “Please?”

The waitress eyeballed the expensive clothes the two ladies were wearing, looked at Bambi, then back at Yarni. She tucked the two twenties into her bra. “It’s possible, but I need a little more incentive.” She cracked a greedy smile.

For a split second Yarni considered ringing the washed-up broad’s neck, but she caught herself. Coming to the aid of her sister, Bambi handed the waitress another bill, this one a Franklin. “Now, make it happen.” Bambi shot the girl a look as if to say, “And if you think you get one iron dime more than that, you must be smoking crack; you better be able to do some tricks or something.”

The buck forty did the trick.

The two sisters were about to discuss the greedy waitress getting her hustle on when they were approached by a funny-looking, rail-thin black dude with high-water pants and round glasses. “You two look good,” he complimented. “If you ever need a man to join your twosome, I’d love to be of assistance,” he offered with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. “You won’t be disappointed.” He winked.

They shot him down in unison. “No thanks.”

After he left, Bambi leaned in and said to Yarni, “Girl, they think we gay.”

“Ahhh, yeah. Well, we are together at a strip club with female dancers,” Yarni reminded her.

Just then the waitress returned with a guy wearing a tight black suit. He had no salutations for the sisters, just got straight down to business. “To VIP with Roxanne it’s a thousand for one of you and five hundred for the other, plus tips—cash. But if you run it on your credit card, it’s a twenty-five percent processing fee.”

The lawyer in Yarni wondered if all that was legal, but her thoughts were interrupted when Bambi leaned in and whispered into her ear, “You still wanna save this bitch’s life?”