Braver (12 page)

“That’s it,” Blue said. “Their backs are turned. Let’s go, baby.”

We left the office, skirting along the wall as Mama laughed and patted a patrolman’s arm. Both of us dashed up the stairs, me grunting at a pain in my ribs. Had Mike bruised or broken one of them when he fell on top of me? Another thing to get checked out at the clinic tomorrow, I decided. They never asked questions, particularly in this neighborhood.

“Are you okay?” Blue asked once we got to the hallway. Her eyebrows were knitted together in concern.

“I’m fine,” I said, laughing. “I’ll just go to my room and wait till this all blows over. You can go on back downstairs. Make some money.”

That was always our rallying cry: “Make some money.”

Blue walked me to my room anyway, taking the key from my quaking hand to open the door.

“Thanks, Blue,” I said. I started to walk in the dark room, the only light coming from the orange street lamp that did a poor job of illuminating the alley.

“Cocoa, wait.” I turned, and she enveloped me in a hug, crushing me to her chest. I didn’t care that it hurt my ribs and the bite on my breast. I clung onto Blue like she was a life preserver floating in the middle of a stormy sea.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she said. “I know it is.”

“It is,” I agreed. “It’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, I pulled away, smiling for Blue’s benefit.

“Now, get back down there and make some money,” I urged.

“I’ll be back up to check on you,” she promised.

“Don’t bother,” I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be busy, anyway.”

As soon as Blue left, the full magnitude of the situation hit me. Mama was furious with me; the cops were here, asking questions, and there were photos proving that prostitution was taking place in the nightclub. The situation was very bad, indeed.

I took my uniform off and pulled on my kimono. The silky fabric of the robe soothed me a little bit. I turned the television on just for some background noise and tried to relax, tried to forget about how Mike had made me feel, tried to forget about the old fear of not being in control. I curled up in bed with a magazine in an attempt to distract myself. Maybe I’d fall asleep. The nothingness of my dreamless slumber would be a welcome break from everything that had happened.

A knock on my door sent me to my feet again. I opened it and was surprised to see Mama. She rarely left the floor of the nightclub while it was opening, looking to impart a personal experience to each and every customer.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, almost dreading the answer.

“It will be,” Mama said. “I have some pigs to grease, but that’s par for the course.”

“I’m sorry about everything,” I said, feeling the tears threatening to fall. “I never wanted this.”

“Neither did I,” Mama said, her face devoid of emotion. “You’re my best and most senior girl, Cocoa, and the situation I find us in is inexcusable.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, feeling confused. “None of this was on purpose. This just happened. I had no control over it.”

“That’s a sad fact,” Mama said. “The cops were here and described you pretty accurately. Whichever customer called this in got a good gander at you and could probably pick you out of a police lineup. We have photos of you again, engaging in prostitution on my premises. Now, what would you do if you were me? What would you have to do?”

I knew the answer even as I shook my head no. “You can’t,” I said. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I can’t go back to my old neighborhood. It’s bad there. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You have to give me another chance.”

I hated myself for begging, but there wasn’t any other choice. Mama was about to turn me out onto the streets.

She shook her head, her emotionless mask still in place. “I’d give you another chance if you dropped a tray of dinners on the nightclub floor,” she said. “Hell, I’d give you another chance if you were bad in bed. But your very presence here now is damning. All the media has to do is get a hold of those photos — who’s to say they don’t already have them? Then they put two and two together: the photos, the police responding to a call of male on female violence here at this club.”

Mama shook her head, the thought of it the only thing that was making her tear up.

“With the connections I have, with the people that come in here, I’d get thrown under the bus, along with all the girls,” she said. “I can’t have you here anymore. It’s too big of a risk. I can’t take it. Leave for the sake of the nightclub — for the sake of the other girls. Hardly any of them have a place to go, just like you.”

Angry, desperate tears were rolling down my face. “You want me to pack up my shit and just leave now, in the middle of the night, like Jazz did?” I demanded. “That how you do your girls, Mama, sending them out on the streets all bloodied up from your business?”

I was fishing for anything, anything to break that businesswoman’s façade, to make her experience any kind of human emotion that wasn’t linked to her greed, but it fell well short. I wondered if there was anything in the world that could make Mama human anymore.

“You can leave in the morning,” she said. “First thing. You can pack up and say your goodbyes to everyone after their shift ends. You’ll stay up here, of course. You’re through working.”

I set my jaw even though it hurt to do so. “And what about my money?” I asked, turning to a topic I knew Mama would better grasp. “I’ll be needing all of it.”

She shook her head. “I’m putting the bulk of it toward damage control,” she said. “You’ve cost me hundreds of dollars tonight just having to buy people booze. Now I’m going to have to pay off the NYPD again, maybe even the DA’s office. Those fuckers are expensive.”

“I have worked here for years,” I said, my voice as sharp as knives. “I know for a fact that you’ll have money of mine leftover, even if you do have to make all those payments.”

“Maybe a couple hundred,” Mama said.

I laughed without a trace of humor. “More like a couple thousand.”

“Who do you think is doing the books here, girl?” she spat. “I know how much money you have now, after you repay the damage you’ve done to this nightclub, and it is not in the thousands.”

“It is in the thousands,” I said, lifting my chin. “And it will be if you want me to leave quietly. Otherwise, you’re guaranteed a shit show. Bring on the tabloids.”

It was Mama’s turn to laugh. “Oh, my Cocoa,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re a snake biting into my heel the moment I try to walk away.”

“I learned from the best,” I said.

“I’ll have Blue bring up two grand for you after the shift,” Mama said, turning her back to me and walking out into the hallway. “You’re dead to me, girl. I never want to hear from you again, no matter what kind of trouble you find yourself in. And if you show up here at the nightclub, that dead part will become a reality.”

I bristled at Mama’s threats, knowing full well she had the connections and money to make them viable. But I didn’t say a word as she walked down the hallway and down the stairs, knowing she was probably busy stitching together a smile she could wear for the rest of the night.

Getting the money was a twisted little victory, but I still felt the rest of the loss. I was losing a home, a job, and friends all at the same time. I would be thrust into the world tomorrow morning without hope of finding a place to live or way to earn a living.

It was hard to fight off the feeling of hopelessness.

Taking a deep breath, I set my shoulders before retrieving my rolling suitcase from the space it had occupied underneath the bed ever since I started living in the boarding house. I’d never had any use for it until now.

And at least I had it, I told myself. At least I was going to go out better than Jazz went out, bloody and with only the uniform on her back after the beating she took. I would have clothes and money. It would be morning. I hadn’t nearly died.

It was going to be okay, I told myself, because it had to be.

Before I started packing, I took out the letter that Jazz had sent to me just a few short months ago. I kept it tucked away in my dresser drawer. It had come as a surprise, bundled into other letters. I hadn’t heard anything from her after she had fled, assuming the worst. But the letter gave me hope — hope that if Jazz could make it, I could, too.

"Dear Cocoa," it read. "I want to start off by saying how sorry I was to leave the nightclub the way I did. Tracy messed me up so bad, and I was sure my only option was to escape. It wasn't fair for me to leave without saying goodbye or thank you for all that you did for me at the nightclub.

"I know that you had my best interests in mind and were always looking out for me. You're a real friend. The truth is that I was never cut out for the life that you're leading. I just wasn't going to survive.

"Well, as this letter proves, I am surviving. In fact, I'm doing more than surviving. The year after I left Mama's was maybe the hardest year of my life. Long story short, I'm HIV positive.

"HIV isn't a death sentence. I have to be careful, of course, and always take my medicine on time. But I'll die a happy old woman, which is how I want to go.

"I met this amazing guy, Nate King. He's a writer — and my boyfriend — and he's been so good for me, Cocoa. He's the reason I'm doing as well as I am. I never knew love could be like this. I never had any reason to believe in it.

"Now, I'm focusing on giving back to the community. When I turned up at Mama's, I was  in need of help. When I left there, I was still in need. I know that I can do more for people in similar situations as mine, and that's what I'm doing. I'm also CEO of a cancer research foundation, an issue that's pretty close to my heart.