Ladies Night (13 page)

 

 

After Amp finished the private dance for the woman in red, he mingled with some other women throughout the club until it was closing time.

“Yo, Dime,” Amp called out as the DJ passed by him. He wanted to make sure he saw her before he left, but she kept strutting on by.

He rushed to catch up with her. “I need to settle up with you.” That stopped Dime in her tracks. Amp sensed that Dime had a slight attitude for some reason, but he chalked it up to it being the end of a long night.

“Here you go.” Amp handed Dime some money. “Thanks again.”

“You're welcome.” She looked down at the money, folded it, and then tucked it in her pocket. She looked up at Amp. Even if she had been a little salty with him, what woman in her right mind could stay mad at a face like that?

“Hey, you two,” Madam said as she walked up to them. Putting a hand on each of their shoulders, she said, “I was thinking we should have a drink to celebrate Mr. Black Magic.”

Amp visibly tensed up. “No, thanks. I've gotta get going.” He was not about to miss curfew, and he definitely didn't want a drink.

“Suit yourself.” Madam shrugged.

“I'm not trying to be rude,” Amp said. “It's just—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “No need to explain. But listen, I have a few more high-dollar friends coming this weekend to see my new star,” Madam told him. “Don't let me down, okay?”

“I won't,” he promised.

Amp was walking on the outer edge of the parking lot toward his home. It was late, so there wasn't a lot of traffic; just a car here and there rolling by. As Amp was about to cross the street, he looked up and saw the same dark-colored car with tinted windows that he'd seen outside Mr. Lam's store the day after the robbery. Just as Amp was about to step off the curb, another vehicle pulled right up in front of him and stopped. Amp watched cautiously as the car window rolled down.

“Oh my! It's Black Magic!” Dime squealed, throwing her hands up in the air.

Amp laughed with her, watching her overdramatic impression of an ecstatic fan. “Whatever. You pull over just to heckle me?”

“No, I was going to ask if you wanted a ride.”

Amp shrugged. “Why not?” Since she'd taken the time to pull over, it wouldn't hurt to accept the offer. The halfway house was pretty close at this point, so it wasn't likely that he'd be sending her out of her way.

As Amp was opening the door to climb in, he looked up and saw that the dark-colored car was no longer there. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It did seem a little peculiar that the same vehicle had been sort of lurking around—or maybe he was just being paranoid. Years of constantly watching his back was a tough habit to break. He shook it off, getting into Dime's car, and the two took off down the street.

Moments later, Dime pulled into the driveway of the halfway house and put the car in park.

“So . . . you live here?” she asked Amp.

“Yep,” he answered, short and sweet. He knew she was just trying to make conversation, but he didn't feel the need to go into details.

The way Dime sat there looking at Amp, it was obvious she expected him to continue, but that was not about to happen. Amp was a private person who minded his own business and expected folks to stay out of his just the same.

There was an awkward silence between them. Neither one was talking, yet Amp wasn't hurrying out of the car. Though he'd spent only a little bit of time in her presence, there was something about this woman that Amp liked.

Finally Dime spoke. “I don't know what's still open. You hungry? Because I'm starving.” She obviously liked Amp's company as well.

Amp checked his watch. It was 2:55 a.m., only five minutes before his curfew. Now, back in the joint there might have been occasions where he scarfed down a meal in five minutes, but it wouldn't exactly make a good impression on Dime if he tried to do it tonight.

“Not really,” Amp replied to make a long story short—or more like to keep the long story to himself. In truth, he was pretty hungry after dancing and showing out for the past few hours . . . and he definitely wouldn't have minded sharing a meal with Dime. “But if you're around in the morning, we can grab a late breakfast.”

Besides,
Amp thought
, breakfast is a better first date, because everyone knows dinner always ends with dessert.
He wanted to take his time with Dime. Something about her seemed special, and he wanted to treat her that way.

Dime nodded, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sounds good. What time?”

“Ten.”

“I'll see you then.”

Amp opened the door. “Thanks again. Hope you didn't have to go too far outta your way.”

“I stay ten minutes from here. No big deal. See you tomorrow.”

“All right.” Amp got out of the car and walked into the house as Dime drove away. He couldn't wait until morning . . . for more reasons than one.

 

 

At ten on the dot the next morning, Dime was back at the house to scoop up Amp.

“Where to?” Amp asked Dime when he got into the car.

“What do you have a taste for?”

“I'm good with whatever,” Amp told her. “You're the driver. You decide.”

Dime thought for a moment then said, “I know just the spot.” She put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. “But first things first.”

“What do you mean?” Amp asked.

“You'll see. Trust me.”

“Trust you, huh?” Amp laughed.

“Yeah, trust me. You got a problem with trusting people . . . or just females?”

“Nope,” Amp was quick to say. “Got no problems trusting anybody who earns it.”

“Okay, I feel you on that.” Dime nodded.

Dime drove for about five more minutes before pulling up at a Bank of America.

“Here we are,” she said, turning off the ignition.

“Since when does B of A serve pancakes?”

“They don't,” Dime said. “But you're gonna need someplace to put all your money, because I can't keep it every night, Mr. Stripper-man.” She smiled at him.

“I hear you. I hear you,” he said happily.

“Go ahead. I'll wait out here while you go in and open an account.”

Amp nodded, opening the door. Before he stepped out, he said to Dime, “Good looking out.” Her thoughtfulness had definitely taken him by surprise. He was so used to being alone and on his own. It was refreshing to have someone looking out for him for a change.

Amp headed inside the bank. Fifteen minutes later, he returned and the two drove off to grab breakfast.

“Thanks for stopping by the bank so I could set up that savings account,” Amp said as he and Dime sat in the restaurant eating and talking. “I was getting a little nervous walking around with all that money.”

“I bet.” Dime took a bite of her pancakes.

“You should have seen their faces in that bank when I pulled out all them damn ones.”

Dime laughed, and Amp caught himself watching the way Dime's lips spread into a perfect arch when she laughed. He looked away quickly. If she caught him staring at her, she might take things the wrong way. Yeah, shorty was a cutie, but Amp wasn't trying to start anything serious right now.

Still, he couldn't resist asking, “So how many of the dancers at Eden have asked you out?”

She finished a mouthful of food, looking up at the ceiling as if counting in her head. “All of them, pretty much—but I never went out with any of them. Like I told you, I don't date dancers.”

“So, why me?” Amp set his fork down and leaned back against the seat to listen.

“Why you? This ain't a date. This is just breakfast.”

Amp smiled, not sure if he should be offended or relieved. “Oh, okay.” He leaned back, picked his fork up, and resumed his meal.

Dime said, “If you don't mind me asking, who else lives in that house?”

Knowing women and how curious they were about everything, Amp was willing to bet Dime had been wondering about that since dropping him off last night. Surely she didn't expect that he lived alone in a house that size. Amp figured the real reason she was asking was to make sure a wife and kids weren't waiting for him in that house. If she didn't date dancers, then no doubt she wouldn't date a married man either.

As she sat there waiting for a response, he decided to just go for it and tell her the truth. After all, they weren't on a date, so it wasn't like he had to try to impress her. If his truth turned her off, then so be it.

“It's a long story,” Amp offered with a sigh. “Here's the short version: I did a little time. Don't ask me for what. That's a halfway house that I live in. I'm on parole. That's the only reason I started dancing. Need to get my money right so I can get a place and a car. Go back to college.” He gave her an I-have-told-you-all-that-I'm-going-to look and then quickly turned the table. “That's my story. What's yours?”

Amp discovered that he felt much better now that he'd told her the truth about his situation. He still had regrets that he had not told Mr. Lam sooner, and he did not want to make the same mistake again, especially with someone who might turn out to be a good friend . . . or more.

To Amp's relief, she didn't press him for any more details. She also didn't hesitate to answer his question. “Well, I used to dance on the other side of Eden back when it had another owner. Needed money for school once my student aid ran out. I heard Madam was purchasing the building, and she had heard I was a good DJ. They needed a female DJ on the men's side, so she hired me. It's a perfect situation. I still make good money, and I get to keep my clothes on.”

Amp looked at her through squinted eyes. “Wait, how you gonna say you don't date dancers and you used to strip?”

“I know what that life is all about,” she said. “I don't want to have to deal with that.”

“I feel you.” Amp could only imagine all the emotions one has to go through when dating a dancer, foremost being jealousy.

Dime fell silent and picked at her pancakes with her fork, as if she'd lost her appetite.

“You're all right,” Amp said. “I thought you were just some pretty chick that played records. Guess I was wrong.”

“And I thought you were just some muscle-bound pretty boy,” replied Dime. Amp could tell that calling her pretty did not go unnoticed, as he caught the smile she was trying to suppress.

Amp took one more bite before laying his fork across his plate and wiping his mouth. “Well, Allison, I have to take care of a few things before work tonight, but I think we should do this again sometime.”

Dime smiled. “I agree.” She took a sip of orange juice. “You need a lift somewhere?”

“Nah. I'm good. Going to look at some apartments.” Amp reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He placed enough money on the table to cover the bill and the tip, and then stood up. “I'll see you at work.”

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said.

“No problem.”

Amp walked out of the restaurant wondering if he could make time for a relationship after all. Then he brushed away the thought, telling himself he just didn't have the time. At this moment, it was imperative for him to stay focused. His new life depended on it.

“I ain't used to being here this early,” Dr. Feelgood said, strolling through the club and into Madam's office. “This place looks different during the day.”

Madam sat behind her desk, sipping on red wine. She gestured with a nod for Dr. Feelgood to take a seat.

He sat on the other side of the desk. “What'd you need to see me about?”

She set her wine glass down. “Some young lady keeps coming by here looking for you. Today was the third time. You got a stalker or something that you need to let me know about?” He was one of her best dancers, and if there was some kind of problem, she wanted to nip it in the bud before it affected her business.

“Not that I know of.”

Madam stared at him momentarily to see if he wanted to add anything else. When he remained quiet, she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a handful of envelopes, laying them down on the desk in front of Dr. Feelgood.

She leaned back in her chair and took another sip of wine.

He sat there staring at the envelopes until she said, “What are you waiting for? Take a look.” Then he leaned forward and started flipping through the pile.

“I'm pretty sure that she's the one that's been leaving these letters addressed to you as well,” Madam said.

He picked up one of the envelopes with a puzzled expression on his face. “I don't know who this girl is,” he told Madam. “And I don't know anything about these letters.”

“Initially I thought it was just fan mail, so I wasn't going to bother you about it. But the letters kept coming.” Madam picked up the whole pile and handed it to Dr. Feelgood. “Now they're your problem.”

He took the stack of letters, paused for a moment, and then leaned over and dropped them in the trash. He looked to Madam. “Anything else?”

“No, but you know my policy, Doc. No drama and no nonsense at my club. I won't have anything up here interfering with my money.” Madam always told her dancers that she expected them to control their wives, girlfriends, fiancées, mistresses, side chicks, or whatever. She wanted her customers to know that they could come out and have a good time without one of the dancers' baby mamas going upside their head.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said as he stood up and left the office.

Madam returned to her wine and started flipping through a pile of her own mail. Coming across a certified letter marked
URGENT
, she opened it and began reading.

“Wait—there's gotta be some kind of mistake,” she said aloud as she stopped to reread the line that had taken her by surprise. Without finishing the rest of the letter, she set the document on her desk and picked up her cell phone.

Scrolling through her contacts, she found the number she was looking for and then pressed
Call
. “Damn it!” she spat when her call was sent to voice mail. She was irritated and anxious to get to the bottom of things.

She looked at the certified letter again and dialed the contact number listed at the bottom. After a couple rings, a receptionist picked up.

“Hi, can I speak to Lisa Howard please?” she said and was quickly placed on hold.

“I'm the owner of Club Eden,” she started when Lisa Howard came on the line. Madam was trying to maintain her composure amidst her confusion and frustration. “I got a rather disturbing letter from your office today. There must be some kind of error in your records. . . .” Madam relayed the details of the letter.

As she listened to Lisa Howard's response, all the blood drained from Madam's face. She felt rattled and anxious, and began pacing back and forth. Trying to calm her nerves, she sat on the edge of her desk and guzzled a large gulp of wine. With her back to the door, she didn't see Amp step into the doorway.

“Well, there has to be a way to fix this,” she said, continuing her call. “Fine. I'm on the way down there now.”

Madam hung up the phone and stood momentarily, with the wine glass in her hands, trembling. She drained the remaining liquid from the glass and then set it down on the desk, hard. As she poured more wine, she looked up to see Amp standing there and then immediately tried to collect herself. She began to pat her hair nervously, which was unusual because she never had a hair out of place.

“What do you need, Amp?” she asked him hurriedly. She needed to go take care of business, sooner rather than later.

“Um, one of the big girls from that birthday group last night tore my thong off of me. I was gonna grab a couple new ones,” Amp told her without making eye contact. He was clearly uncomfortable seeing her this way.

“Are you okay?” he asked, being uncharacteristically forward.

Madam nodded her head, struggling to be strong. She even tried to force a slight smile, but it was no use. Amp's worried expression let her know that she wasn't fooling anyone. “No, I'm not,” she admitted. “I just got some really bad news and I have to figure out how to fix this.”

Madam took another gulp of her wine. “I'm going over there,” she said, gathering the certified letter and her purse, and throwing back the last bit of red wine.

Amp went over and started rummaging through the box of outfits, but his mind was obviously still on his boss's atypical behavior. “You know, I'm not doing anything this afternoon. With your nerves being bad and that red wine in you, it might be best if I drive you where you're going.”

Madam only hesitated for a second before she tossed him the keys. Who knew? She just might need backup.