The Glamorous Life (7 page)

CHAPTER 5

He Done Messed with
The Gig

I
t was 8:07 a.m., and the phone rang as Bambi sat at the kitchen table, writing checks to cover the minimum payment on her credit card bills—at least on the ones she felt were most important—and deciding which ones would have to wait. The stash money she had been saving when she was with Reggie was almost gone.

“Hello, can I speak to Bambi?” the caller said, like she was an old friend.

“Who’s calling?”

“Janey.”

“Janey, she’s not here.” Bambi knew that it was a bill collector.

“Well is her husband in?”

“Nope, and do you know what time it is?”

“If she’d pay her bills, then I wouldn’t have to call at 8:00 a.m., but I’ll call again tomorrow morning and wake you up again,” the bill collector said, and hung up the phone.

Now these people must know that times is hard on this end. That’s why I didn’t pay them. If times were sweet, then they’d be paid. These people call at eight o’clock in the morning, talking shit to me and think for one minute I am going to pay them because they are rude? I know for a fact that they get paid by commission off of how much they get me to pay them. Seems to me if they had any common sense they’d try to be a little courteous. As long as they get smart, I’ll never pay them—as simple as that.

But some bills
had
to be paid—the electric bill, the rent, the phone bill, and the water bill. Just covering the basics was dwindling her bank account balance.
Damn how they gonna charge me for water? Water should be free, but it ain’t a damn thing free in this world, believe that.
The phone rang again, but this time it wasn’t a bill collector. It was the answer to her prayers and her worries.

The voice on the other end belonged to Disco, the owner of the club where she’d had Egypt’s birthday party. He was so impressed with what Bambi had done with the VIP room in such a short amount of time that night of Egypt’s party that he wanted to meet with her and possibly bring her on as an events planner for the club. She agreed to meet with him the following morning.

On the way to the club the next morning she remembered that the night of Egypt’s party, some hater had broken off the side-view mirror of her car and she needed to get it repaired before she got a ticket. So she decided to drop the car at the dealership and have the oil changed while it was there, too. The dealership was only a block away from the club, and she could walk to her meeting.

Bambi arrived at the dealership and drove around back to the service department, where she was greeted by Joe, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. Joe had checked her in the few times she’d brought in her car before, and every single time
he was always nice, giving her pointers and helping her however he could.

“Joe,” she said, pointing to her mirror. “I am going to need you to fix my mirror for me.”

Joe nodded. “Ms. Bambi, that mirror is going to have to be ordered. It will take about a week or so to get here and it’s going to cost a nice piece of change.”

“Like how much?” she asked.

“Almost three … four hundred bucks, I’m guessing.”

“What?”

“Yes, sweetheart, you don’t have yourself a Chevette. You got yourself a Corvette.”

“Well, right now I got a Chevette budget,” she said.

He put his hand to his chin. He then put his finger up, motioning her to wait a minute.

“Ummm, let me check on something else first,” he said as he picked up the phone and made a call.

For several minutes he was on the phone, talking as if it was an old friend instead of a business associate. Finally he hung up, smiled, and said, “Look, Ms. Bambi, I found that mirror that you need for your car, but it’s at the junkyard.”

She frowned as he told her, “Hold your horses and let me finish. My friend owns a junkyard of salvage cars, cars that are wrecked, with the mirror you need. We can go down there when I get off. I can take it off the wrecked ’vette and put it on your car. He’ll charge you about ten or fifteen bucks for the mirror.”

Smiling, she asked, “And how much you gonna charge me to put it on?”

“Ummm, just buy me a cold beer, that’s all.”

“It’s a deal.” Bambi smiled and shook his hand. “I’ll make it a six-pack.”

Joe promised her the oil change would be done in thirty minutes, and that they could go get the mirror later. She left her car and headed to the club, eager to hear what Disco had to say.

Once behind the closed doors of Disco’s office, she walked around the room looking at all the expensively framed photos on the wall of what looked like pimps and players to her, but were actually snapshots of Disco and his friends who also owned clubs. She could tell he had put a lot of effort and time into his Wall of Fame. Disco took the time to explain who each and every one of them was, as if they were his kinfolks. She asked questions as if she were truly interested, but actually she could give a solitary fuck. She was mostly interested in the business at hand. Once he was done giving her the history of what seemed like every major club owner in America, they got down to business. She listened as Disco went on and on for about thirty minutes straight about how impressed he was with her.

“Bambi, I believe party planning is your niche, your gift, your talent, and if you play your cards right, it could be a hell of a hustle for you.”

Bambi had never quite looked at it like that before, but she was glad Disco had brought it to her attention. She nodded and smiled as he went on and on. The more he talked and flattered her with all the praise and glory, the more the wheels began to turn in her head.

Then he finally told her, “Look, let me cut to the chase. I want to bring you aboard, put you on my payroll, make you the special events coordinator for the club. I’ll pay you a nice salary—one that you can’t refuse. You know I heard all about that sad little incident.” He shook his head. “
Uump, uump, uummp,
so sad, but ummm …” He paused for a minute, then came around and sat on the front of the desk to be closer to her.

Gesturing with his hands to express himself better, he continued. “I know things gonna get a little tight for you right now, if they ain’t already. Especially since you don’t have a job and all, no income coming in and that old punk up out yo’ life, so I know it is a struggle for you emotionally and financially, too. And the type of money that I’ll pay, it ain’t a doubt in my mind that you still can keep up that extravagant lifestyle that you used to.”

Bambi sat there as the words rolled off his tongue. She laughed to herself because Disco was throwing game like a quarterback threw a pass. It was a good thing that she had intercepted the game a few yards ago.

Disco was one of those old heads, in his sixties, who tried to be young. He wore the same clothes the twenty-year-olds wore, but he had a way of putting on a suit that made him look not like a dirty old man, but like a classy, disgtinguished old man. Although he was straight out of the heart of Richmond, Virginia, this old joker could dress like he was one of the real Ohio Players. He’d owned plenty of clubs in his day—strip clubs, jook joints, sugar shacks, after-hours clubs, motorcycle clubs, even a country-western club, but now he owned
the
biggest nightclub that the city of Richmond had ever seen.

Since Disco played his position well, he had the women flocking to him, young and old, but his famous saying was, “I don’t want nothing old but a dollar bill, and as soon as the bank open, I’m trading that in, too.” Bambi had secretly always had a crush on him, but she would never become one of his harem. He had a sandy red complexion and was bald. He had green cat eyes and a beautiful set of pearly whites. They were probably false, but who cared? He had bought them, so they belonged to him. He may have been pushing sixty-one or sixty-two, but he was in great physical condition and had a
body of steel. His muscles were enough to make any thirty-year-old man jealous. He walked with a slight limp, and bragged to everyone that the limp was from carrying around such a big weiner, which was no lie. Every girl who had been with him confirmed that fact and also revealed that his balls were the size of grapefruits.

Women congregated at his doorstep, wanting a piece of “Disco Almighty,” knowing that since he owned a club, he had money. And since he was an old head, he jerked off money on young girls. But instead of the women working him, Disco worked them to the fullest, any way he could.

Bambi knew he didn’t see her any differently from the other women, but she was sure that she had already peeped his game a long time ago. She knew Disco bullshitted a lot and was a slick-talker of old. There was one thing for sure and two things for certain that she knew weren’t a mirage when it came to Disco: He had money and a lot of it, and she knew for a fact if she rolled with Disco, her money would flow like water. It was no secret that Disco was a hustler on a whole other level, and if she made the wrong move, he would damn sure take full advantage and hustle her. And that she wasn’t having, so the game he kicked to her, she kicked right back to him.

“I mean, do you understand the opportunity I am giving you? It’s a hell of an opportunity, that’s fo real, if I must say so myself. I mean, baby, I can go get a renowned party planner from DC, Chicago, LA, New York, or somewhere to come in, and they’ll gladly take this job and run with it.”

Now you are taking it too far. You are really exaggerating now,
Bambi said to herself as she listened to him carry on.

“But I want to offer it to you, because you home-grown. You are from here, and you always used to come to my clubs to show love and spend dough. So, now that I see your skills, I
ain’t gonna overlook them. I want to give you some work. I mean, we can work out the details. I know the caliber of female you are. You don’t want to be working on front street, because, see, the mentality of our people is if they see you out there, it looks like you struggling or gotta work since that faggot left you. So I understand, and I can make you a behind-the-scenes type or however you want to do it. So, what do you say? You want the gig or not?”

Bambi knew she had Disco right where she wanted him: on the front burner, brewing. She looked into his eyes and said, “Look, I am just like you. I work for myself. I call the shots. So, as far as you hiring me, that’s not going to work. But”—she put her finger up once she saw his lip on the floor—“you can hire my company, if you’d like.”

He frowned, trying not to show that he was caught off guard.

“Your company? What company?” Disco somehow managed to close his mouth from the shock and asked.

“Yes, sweetie, Events R Us.” Bambi said it with such finesse that it sounded like the company had been in business for years, but she had just made it up seconds ago.

“Ummm …,” Disco said, still in shock.

“Is that a yes, or do you need a day or so to think about it?” Bambi asked him as she stood up.

“No. I mean, yes, I want to hire your company.”

“Good. I’ll have my secretary call you to set up a time when we can go over the contract,” she said, slipping on her full-length sable mink coat. She put her Gucci bag on her shoulder and casually strolled out of his office.

Just like that, out of an hour meeting, Bambi created her business and vowed to herself that it would be a lucrative one.

CHAPTER 6

He Done Messed with
Car Troubles

B
ambi couldn’t wait to call Egypt to share her good news. She picked up her car and promised Joe that she’d be back to get him later to go and get the mirror. She kept trying all Egypt’s lines but couldn’t get in touch with her, so Bambi decided to head to DC to go shopping. There was traffic on the highway, so she took Route 1, a two-lane highway that ran parallel with the interstate. When she was past Ashland, Egypt called her back.

As Bambi was boasting about her happy news, she suddenly noticed that her car was smoking like a forest fire.

“What da hell?” she shouted, which threw Egypt for a loop.