Brooklyn Brothel (4 page)

“You gotta shower, do your hair, and all the other shit that comes along with this gig,” she continued with urgency. How long does it take you to create that mole?” she ended, tryna play me.

“It’s permanent,” I boasted.

“Yeah, right.”

Cinnamon giggled while standing ova my bed, pinnin’ her hair to the sides. She obviously didn’t believe me. Hell, it was hard to believe she’d been a stripper. She kept movin’ back and forth blockin’ my view from the otha side. I needed to get a visual of the whole room. From where I sat, the set-up reminded me of a huge dorm; not that I’d been to college, but from what I’d seen in movies.

“You got make-up? You got perfume? You got lipstick?” Cinnamon ranted all in one sentence. Then she reached out to me holdin’ an old beat-up tube of pink lipstick.

“I only wear red,” I said, moving her hand away from me. “It’s my signature.” I showed her my tube and smiled. “It’s sexy isn’t it?”

Finally, she moved from blockin’ my view. When I snuck a peek and noticed the otha naked bodies across the room all gettin’ dressed in a hurry, I thought maybe I was in trouble. They pranced around like showgirls behind the stage of an off-schedule Vegas performance. Since I had chosen the bed by the window, I darted across my bed thinkin’ maybe some guys were already on their way in. I looked outside only to see nothin’, then glanced ova at Sasha who I’d met last night, too.

Sasha sat on her bed in a nonchalant manner lotionin’ up her milky white legs. She was cool last night, but acted like I didn’t exist today. There was only a single dresser that separated my bed from hers, yet from our conversation she seemed like we had the most in common. Of course the fact that she was white and I was black didn’t count. But strangely, she seemed like somebody I could get close to. Just like that, Serita’s words rang in my head. She told me as soon as she showed me to my room last night, “Forget about getting close. Nobody will be here too long. Keep it professional,” she lectured.

Sasha didn’t look like she needed any new friends anyway. She was from Baltimore and had been in jail several times, mostly for check and credit card fraud. Everyone could tell she was a high maintenance chick. While the rest of us could fit most of our belongings into the shabby closets provided, Sasha had shoes lined under her bed; Jimmy Choo, Giuseppe Zanotti, and Prada. All that designer shit was there, you name it, she had it.

Cinnamon’s bed was situated about four yards across the room from ours, yet she showed me the most attention. By the time the otha girls came in last night, I was already knocked out and didn’t get a chance to meet them. Still, Cinnamon was the first one back in my face again this mornin’, showin’ me love.

I got up, made my bed, and sashayed ova to the shower area. I didn’t wanna seem too overly friendly, which caused me to keep my face straight forward. Friendliness was a sign of weakness that I had adopted from jail. But I did speak to a black girl near the large window by the toilet stall. If an ally was needed, common sense told me to choose the roughest black chick. She shot me a shallow wave, and a low soundin’, “Hey.”

“I’m Co-Co. And you are?” I extended my hand.

“Shemeka,” she replied, before examinin’ me up and down. She walked away to her side of the room before I could say anything else. The gullible side of me wanted to follow her to meet the otha girls. It would probably be the only time we were all together in the same room. I changed my mind quickly, ’cause the stares didn’t appear to be too welcomin’.

I hopped into the shower, and was out within ten minutes. I rushed ova to my small, cluttered area, and pulled out my toiletries. Before even sittin’ on the bed, Sasha caught my eye. She had transformed into a chic Barbie doll. Her style was beyond high class, and her beauty was infectious. Her
tightly fitted, black rayon pants accented her small hips perfectly, and the black corset blouse gave her mid-sized boobs the touch they needed. She flipped her brunette hair like all white girls do, allowin’ her strands to flow ova her shoulder. I could feel the envy in the room, so I stepped up the pace tryna make myself look half as good.

The more I saw the girls rushin’, the more I picked up the pace. My real hair was extra short and had been wrapped in a scarf all night, which helped it to lay down smoothly for my wig choice of the day. I slapped on a short black bob with bangs, like Rihanna used to rock, along with mounds of make-up and glossy lip gloss ova my usual red lipstick.

Next, I grabbed a sexy plungin’ V-neck shirt that allowed me to show off my push-up bra, and showcased my edible necklaces. Bo had bought me those, along with tons of otha necklaces before I left, but told me to save the edible ones for the big money men. I loved when Bo recognized things that I loved; and jewelry was certainly priceless as far as I was concerned.

Suddenly, one of the girls walked ova to ask Sasha a question. They weren’t too friendly with one another, but had obviously met before. We made eye contact, but I kept quiet. Her skin tone reminded me of a dirty bar of ivory soap.

“Maybe skin tones attract,” I said to myself trying to hear their short conversation.

“I’m Darla,” the tall, skinny female turned to say to me.

“I’m Co-Co.”

That’s it; all that I would say. Soon, the 11:45 bell rang, lettin’ us know it was time to get ova to 2C. The girls that remained in the room with me all started runnin’ like crazy, bracin’ themselves along the way because of all the high heels slidin’ along the hardwood floors. I rushed to pull up my fish net stockin’s when I looked up to see Cinnamon.
She didn’t know how glad I was that she stayed behind. I stood up twistin’ my short, black leather skirt into place.

“Cinnamon, I’m sooooo nervous. I don’t even know what to charge.”

“It’s easy,” she said. “When the guys walk in downstairs, they pay a house fee. When they choose you over in 2C, they take you to a room over there and pay whatever you ask. Usually, $150-$200 for straight sex. Anything other than that, ups the price.”

She held her hand out for me to slap, and then gave me an encouragin’ smile. I gave her five and followed her across the hall.

“Remember, it’s a fifty-fifty split with the house, so try to get a few blow jobs in there to make a little more money,” she whispered.

I nodded ’cause we’d entered 2C. I stood for a moment scannin’ the room. There was a lot of open space, which had loungin’ chairs, and a few sofas. Toward the right side of the room I could see several doors shut which all looked like separate bedrooms. I didn’t want the girls to think I was a rookie. I followed Cinnamon through the spacious livin’ room area, or what Betty called the great room. I finally understood why. It was really two apartments joined together by cuttin’ out the wall. On our side we had just as much space, but it didn’t seem that way because we had eight beds with closets, showers, and drawer space. My eyes zoomed in on two love seats, three recliners, and two long couches. The décor was nothin’ fancy, just a lot of sex appeal. Sex toys lined the center table, all laid out on a silk table cloth.

I heard Darla ova to my right braggin’ to some otha girl about how much money she made the last time she was at Betty’s place. Apparently, Betty had a hot spot. All the girls bragged on how much they were able to charge.

“How much you get for Doggy Style?” she turned to
ask me.

It caught me off guard at first. “$300,” I told’em. My mind started calculatin’. If I could make $1,000 a day, give Betty half, I would still have $500 each day for myself.

No more than three minutes into my thoughts a short, bald-headed guy entered the room. The girls hopped up and headed his way like sharks on attack. He was the first of the day. I licked my lips, tryna appear comfortable in my environment. When I walked ova to line up, I tried to squeeze between Shameka and another white chick. Shameka elbowed me lettin’ me know the spot next to her wasn’t available.

By the time I hurried into a sexy pose at the opposite end, the gentleman had already chosen Darla. A few girls gave her high fives, while the othas shot her stares full of hate. I sashayed ova to the velvet couch and sat down.

As the day progressed, two more clients came in, but chose otha girls. The competition was thick; somethin’ I hadn’t expected. My 36 inch hips and plump round ass wouldn’t be enough to snag as many men that I needed to reach my goal in seven days. My game would have to be stepped up, I told myself.

When the next guy walked in, I snatched a dildo off the table and decided not to line up. He wasn’t that attractive, and resembled skin and bones. Didn’t matter though, ’cause I needed his cash. With my left leg thrown across the arm of the couch, I pretended to insert the dildo up my skirt. I chanted inside, “Chantel, you can do this.” I repeated ova and ova again until jackpot! My tiny target glanced in my direction and called me ova. Within seconds, he chose me, and we headed to one of the rooms off to the side.

As soon as we got inside, his body odor filled the small room. I was more interested in the décor of the room, than my trick. There was a minimal amount of furniture inside. A stool, nightstand, bed with an old-ass, wooden
headboard, that looked like it was about to collapse and a small stand alone sink. I had no idea why the sink was there, but assumed it was an area to go and freshen up after business was taken care of. I wanted to get a better look, but ‘ol boy pulled me close. Immediately, he started tryin’ to kiss me. In return, Bo’s words rang in my head. “No kissin’!”

Adam introduced himself and started strippin’ before I could ask him what he wanted. I had turned my sex appeal completely on, hopin’ to help Adam bust a nut quickly and send him on his way.

He got butt naked within seconds and told me not to take off my clothes. “Panties only,” he instructed.

“Wait…you gotta pay me first,” I stuttered. My hands shook, but I had to stay in control.

“How much?” Adam asked.

His breath smelled like raw fish, so I turned away when he spoke. “$200 for straight sex.”

He grabbed his pants, removed his cash, and shoved two crisp hundreds in my face. In return, I tossed him a condom that I’d pulled from my bra. Before I knew it, he’d shoved me onto the bed and kissed me even though I resisted. I had my lips playin’ hide and go seek, until he said, “How much extra for a kiss?”

“A hundred,” I mouthed and fell into a frozen stance.

I closed my eyes and thought about, Carlton. Pretendin’ to be somewhere else kept me from pukin’. And kept me from reality. The smell was rotten, especially when he entered me. I couldn’t get wet. I tried hard, I even tried to think of Bo.

Nothin’ worked. I laid there gettin’ pounded by a disgustin’ guy who looked like he delivered pizza for a livin’. I cried inside thinkin’ he was almost done, until he yanked my legs back toward my neck. He started rammin’ and makin’ sounds like he was blowin’ bubbles. I started screamin’,
“Stop, stop! You’re fuckin’ hurtin’ me!”

I prayed the girls couldn’t hear me, but the pain was too fierce to pretend like it wasn’t happenin’. Within minutes, he came, lifted off of me, threw the condom on my chest, and told me I was too dry.

“Next time, you should lower your price to fifty bucks,” he told me.

I didn’t respond. I just laid there and allowed the tears to pour from my eyes. My pussy hurt like hell. And when I noticed blood on the tip of the condom, I knew why. I wanted to jump up and fight, or at least get his info so Bo could kick his ass later. But Adam stayed away from me, rushin’ like I had a disease. The nasty bastard didn’t even clean himself. He threw on his clothes and tossed me the extra hundred for the kiss.

When my trick walked out the room, I cried out loud, wonderin’ what I’d done. Why was I at Betty’s brothel bein’ a whore? I barely lifted myself from the bed, hopin’ there wasn’t a lot of blood. My eyes zoomed in on two towels hangin’ on a small rack beside the sink. gettin’ off the bed, I walked ova and grabbed one of the stiff white towels to clean myself, realizin’ it was wet.

“What the fuck? That shit is disgustin’!” I shouted and grabbed another one. Even though it wasn’t wet, it was soiled. For the first time, I grasped the concept that the towels were bein’ reused. That realization took me overboard. I started hyperventilatin’, and feelin’ like vomit was travelin’ up my throat. I hurried to the mirror to fix my crooked wig, and had my clothes thrown on just enough to make it back to my room. There was no way I was going back out for another client.

When the door popped open, everyone looked in my direction. I kept my head low to the ground, hopin’ no one would ask me any questions. I ran like a wild woman into the
apartment, ova in 2A and broke down into a loud sob. Luckily, all the otha girls were across the hall makin’ money. I made my way toward the shower rubbin’ my arms continuously from top to bottom. When I entered the bathroom, it seemed like the mirror was callin’ me. I couldn’t look though, afraid of what I would see. A whore, a trick, a hooker. I turned the water on and ripped my clothes off as fast as I could. I cried and cried while steppin’ inside, allowin’ the water to cascade off my back. Reality had set in. I was officially what my mother always said I would be. I’d allowed an unknown man to use me, and signed up to have numerous men, all shapes and sizes to enter my vagina ova the next few days.

I scrubbed my pussy vigorously. Then I ripped my wig off and washed my hair as if Adam had touched my hair, too. The scorchin’ shower water ran for nearly fifteen minutes while I washed every inch of my body. As soon as the water stopped, I heard the door open in the otha room. It was Serita. I stood in my towel feelin’ like a target in a horror movie.

“Get your ass back in 2C,” she yelled with a straight face. “Suck it up! We got girls who waiting for your bed if you don’t wanna put in work.”

As bad as I wanted to pack my shit, and get the hell away from Betty’s place, I knew she was right. I did have to suck it up, especially if I had any plans on gettin’ my son back.

Thirty minutes later, I was back in action. A handsome, light-skinned brotha named Ray had chosen me next. He had jet-black hair with semi-waves and bedroom eyes. If we’d met under normal circumstances, he mighta made me melt. On the flip side, he wanted ass, I needed cash.