Ladies Night (16 page)

It was just a few minutes before the doors would open at Club Eden, and Amp and Babyface were in the stage area, shooting the breeze. Babyface was talking with Amp about a private party he'd done the night before, but there was something more interesting holding Amp's attention. He could hardly maintain eye contact with Babyface, for his attention was traveling off elsewhere—specifically, the DJ booth. Dime had been on his mind quite a bit lately.

“I meant to ask what's up with you and Dime,” Babyface said when he noticed how hard Amp was focusing on Dime as she set up for the night. “I see you two getting a little close.”

Without taking his eyes off Dime, he answered, “I don't know. We cool. I'm just really starting to get to know her a little better.”

Amp couldn't lie to himself, though. There was a part of him that definitely wanted to get to know more about her. She was cool people, had a good head on her shoulders, and was a hard worker like him. She was definitely someone Amp wouldn't mind connecting with on a personal level. The look in his eyes as he stared at her was a dead giveaway of his true feelings.

“I see you.” Babyface laughed.

“I'm telling you, it ain't like that—at least not yet.”

Dime looked up and caught Amp checking her out.

“See, you starting shit. She prolly heard you.” Having made eye contact with Dime, Amp couldn't be rude and not go over there and speak. “I'll get up with you in a minute, man.” He dapped Babyface and walked over to the DJ booth.

“You two over there talking about me?” Dime asked Amp as he approached the booth.

“Possibly.”

Dime took that as a yes and cracked a smile, trying not to blush. “So, when are you going to stop being so distant with me? I know you like me.” Dime looked away from Amp and continued setting up her equipment.

“And I know you like me.” Amp wasn't beneath playing along in their flirting session. Now it was now Dime's move.

Before she could respond, a woman came rushing out of Madam's office. She looked bound and determined to make it out of that club without being stopped or asked any questions. She kept her eyes and feet straight on the exit path. Seconds later, Madam came out of her office looking pissed.

“Let's pick this up later, love,” Amp said to Dime.

“Okay,” she agreed. “We'll talk later.” They were both looking at Madam to see if she was going to comment on what had just happened.

“Where the hell is Doc?” Madam yelled, fists on hips and chest rising up and down. She was pissed to the tenth power.

“I don't think he's here yet,” Dime replied.

“As soon as he gets here, send him in to see me!” Madam stormed back into her office.

Amp and Dime shot each other a look that said they were both glad they weren't in Dr. Feelgood's shoes. Madam was on the warpath, and she had made it clear that he was her target.

No sooner than Madam had slammed her office door behind her, Dr. Feelgood entered the club.

“Yo, Doc,” Dime called out. “Madam came out of her office looking for you. And she didn't look too happy.”

“Yeah,” Amp jumped in. “You better see what she wants before she comes back out—”

“And finds you,” Dime said, finishing his sentence.

Their warning was too late. Madam had already come back out and was standing in front of him with a letter in one hand and a baby in tow.

“Someone left this for you.”

He grabbed the letter, noticing that it had already been opened. “Okay, thanks.”

“No, this.” Madam raised up the baby in the carrier so Dr. Feelgood could take a good look. He was absolutely speechless.

“His mama stopped by a little earlier,” Madam said, looking down at the baby in his blue onesie with a blue baby cap on his head. “I was on the phone, finishing up a call, so I didn't see her set this child down and walk out.” Madam nodded toward the letter in his hand. “But per that letter, looks like this little bundle of joy is yours.”

Still, words escaped Dr. Feelgood.

“This is the type of shit I mean when I say don't let your personal lives spill over into my place of business.”

Shaking his head, Dr. Feelgood replied, “I don't know anything about this. I don't even know that this baby is really mine.” He looked from the letter to the baby, then back to the letter again. This had to be a joke. This couldn't be happening—but the sound of the baby cooing let him know this was very real. That was no baby doll.

“Well, if you had read any of the letters that had been left here for you, you would probably know. She's been trying to contact you about this for a while now. And she's willing to take a DNA test to prove that it's yours—at least according to that letter she is. So, you need to take this baby out of here now.” Madam extended the baby to its maybe-daddy.

“And go where?” he asked Madam.

“I don't know, but this isn't a day care center,” she told him. “Maybe you should go track down Ms. Alicia and get your life together.”

Dr. Feelgood took her advice and walked off, still stunned.

Madam then realized that Dime and Amp had been standing there listening the whole time.

“And you two, get to work,” she barked.

Amp and Dime immediately picked up their belongings and kept it moving. The show was over, and it was time for them to get ready for the real show and make that cash.

It had been yet another great night at Club Eden, for the women and for the dancers. Amp had done especially well.

Once the bartender announced last call, Amp headed to the locker room to get changed. He came back out and did what had become an evening ritual for him: He helped Dime carry her things to her car.

“Now, about our conversation from earlier . . .” Dime said, as if she'd been waiting all night to see where Amp's head was at.

Amp didn't mind. He enjoyed the fact that they were making progress in this . . . thing they had going on. Like he'd told Babyface, he didn't even know if it could be called a relationship, but whatever it was, it was progressing.

“Okay. Here it is then. I'm dealing with some stuff,” Amp told her.

“What stuff?”

“I don't go around discussing my life with people—especially people I don't know very well.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at Dime with curiosity in his eyes. If whatever was going on between the two of them was headed somewhere, he didn't want to put a halt to it by exposing more information than he needed to. Amp had a feeling, however, that just like him, a part of Dime did want things to go somewhere between them. She hadn't run off yet, even though she knew that he had been in prison.

“And why you want to mess with a guy like me anyway? I'm damaged goods. I'm trying to fix some of these things, but I'm just not there yet.”

Dime sucked her teeth, expressing her disappointment with being once again brushed off by Amp.

“I promise, in time, I'll tell you what you need to know,” he said.

“Okay, but at least tell me this: Why, when I offer you a ride, do you almost always say no? Is it pride?”

Amp went back to helping Dime load the car. “Yes, partly. I don't want to feel like a charity case. But it's also because after being locked up for a long time, it's nice just to be able to walk anywhere.”

“That makes sense,” Dime said. “You want a ride?”

Amp smirked. “Why not?”

They loaded the rest of Dime's equipment and got in the car. Like she'd done on a few occasions now, Dime drove Amp home—or at least the place he called home for now. It was only a matter of time before he'd have a place of his own.

After bidding Dime a good night, Amp went in the house, grabbed a plate of leftovers, hit the shower, and then hit the hay. As dog tired as he was, he thought he'd fall into a deep sleep just as soon as his head hit the pillow. He had hoped to dream about making love to Dime again, but that wasn't the case. He was sleeping restlessly, tossing and turning.

He sat up in his bed and looked at the clock. Although it felt like he'd been lying there for hours, it had only been about thirty minutes. Next to the clock lay the newspaper article he was always rereading. He shook his head in frustration at the roller coaster ride that was his life. One minute he was in the car with Dime, feeling like things were moving in the right direction, and then he was in bed, staring at an article that reminded him of the terrible mistake he'd made that put him on this rocky path. Clearly sleep was nowhere in the vicinity of his bedroom, so he got out of bed and headed downstairs.

Amp was creeping through the house as quietly as possible. He went into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and then went into the living room, where he saw Paul in the corner, headphones on, listening to his records. Amp went over and sat on the couch across from him.

Paul took off his headphones. “Can't sleep, huh?”

“Yeah.” Amp sipped his water. “You would know a little something about that, wouldn't you?” That was Amp's way of letting Paul know he could talk about what it was that gave him his sleepless nights if he wanted to. Amp would be a listening ear.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It may not be the same thing haunting you, but something keeps you up at night.”

“Listen,” Paul said. “You focus on getting your shit together. Don't worry about mine.” He picked up the headphones again and adjusted them. That was the end of the conversation that never really got started.

“No problem. Good night.” Amp got up and headed for the stairs.

Looking back, he saw Paul sit for a moment in thought before he put his headphones back on.

Amp entered his bedroom and climbed back in bed. After a few minutes, sleep finally took over, but no sooner than he closed his eyes did it seem it was time to start a new day. Something had to give.

 

 

“Here you go,” Amp said as he came downstairs with a drug-test sample in hand.

Paul took the container. “Any surprises in here?”

“No.” Amp shook his head.

Brad came downstairs carrying two large duffle bags. “All right, guys. It's been real, but my ride is here.”

“You outta here?” Amp asked.

“Yep,” Brad answered happily.

“Where you going?”

“Probably live with my mom for a little while. Just 'til I get on my feet.”

“Good luck out there,” Amp said.

“You too.” Brad then looked to the man who had served as his house manager for the past ninety days. “Later, Paul.”

“Later,” Paul replied. “And remember what I told you. Don't be an asshole all your life.”

Brad smirked.

“Later, Brad,” Amp said.

Paul walked away as Amp stood and watched Brad walk out the front door. His time was coming shortly, and seeing Brad released made him even more determined to focus on life outside of this place. His day of freedom couldn't get here fast enough. All the sleepless nights were starting to take a toll on Amp, so he figured he was going to have to go face the ghost that was haunting him. Soon.

The stage at Club Eden had been transformed into a professional photography studio. A huge backdrop was set up between the pulled-back curtains, and there were two cameras to capture the models from different angles. There were people doing makeup, costumes, stage/prop design, and assistants setting up to make sure everything went smoothly.

Madam was talking with the photographer, bouncing ideas and themes off of him for the calendar shoot, when Dr. Feelgood walked in. All eyes shot toward his direction and stayed glued—not to him, but to what he had in his hand. He stood there with a baby carrier in one hand and a Winnie the Pooh diaper bag hanging on his shoulder.

“Uh-uh. No you don't.” Madam stepped away from the photographer and approached Dr. Feelgood. “The sign says twenty-one years of age and older in this club.” She looked down at the baby. “He ain't even twenty-one months.”

“Come on, Madam,” Dr. Feelgood said. “I got a sitter for tonight, but I couldn't find anyone to watch him this afternoon.”

“You talk to his momma?”

“Yes, but until we get DNA results, my hands are full.” He looked down at the baby. “Literally.”

Dr. Feelgood's words were not moving Madam to change her position, not one bit, as she stood there shaking her head. “Doc . . .” she said with that don't-play-with-me tone.

Amp, standing off to the side while one of the female assistants rubbed baby oil on him, spoke up. “Madam, if I may put my two cents in . . .”

Madam gave him a look, advising him to speak at his own risk.

“We do need Doc for the calendar,” Amp started, “and we need the calendar to help save the building.”

Madam thought about his words for a moment and then gave in.” Okay—but do
not
bring that child back here tonight.”

Dr. Feelgood exhaled. “Thank you.” He looked at Amp and nodded his appreciation.

Dr. Feelgood set the baby down, and Amp teased, “That's a really nice diaper bag,” to lighten the tension in the room.

“Shut up!” Dr. Feelgood replied.

They both laughed as everyone finished preparing for the shoot. Within a half hour, it was “Lights, camera, action!” as the photo shoot began.

It was Madam's idea for each of the guys to shoot individually and then take some shots together. No one tried to outshine the others. This was a group effort with one purpose in mind: to save Club Eden, which meant saving their jobs.

By the time the shoot was a wrap, the photographer had more than enough photos to work with in order to produce the moneymaking calendar. But would it make enough money to help keep the doors open?

 

 

Later on that evening, the night's business was just as successful as the photo shoot. Amp and the guys even had to help Madam set up some extra tables and chairs. The club was reaching capacity every night.

Amp had settled up with both Madam and Dime, helped Dime load her car, and was now walking across the parking lot toward home. He was in the middle of the lot when he noticed a black Jaguar parked across the street with the lights on and the engine running.

Amp slowed his pace as a million things went through his mind. The car was parked in front of a vacant building with a
FOR SALE
sign in the window, so they obviously weren't waiting for someone to come out of the building.

As Amp stepped onto the sidewalk, the car door opened. He could hear his heart pounding.

A few seconds later, Amp felt the tension leave his body as he recognized a familiar face. “This is yours too?” Amp asked Jesse, who was crossing the street to meet up with him.

“Yeah, I got a few of these.” He gave Amp some dap then looked over Amp's shoulder at Club Eden. “You know, I didn't believe it when I heard, but I guess my boy Eric was telling the truth. You are up here working.” He tilted his head and asked, “You ain't dancing, are you, dude?”

“Yep.” Amp shrugged. “I don't have much choice, man.” He was no longer ashamed to admit that this was what he'd resorted to in order to make things jump off. At least it was legal.

“Yes, you do have a choice,” Jesse said. “I told you that you can come get this money with me. Real money.”

“I can't, bruh. Those years I spent locked up, I can't get that back. I ain't doing nothing that can get me sent back. Jay walking, nothing.”

Jesse nodded. “Was it really that bad?”

“The things I saw in there . . .” Amp's mind wandered back to his prison days. He had seen men brutalized, raped, murdered, beaten half to death, trampled, stabbed multiple times over the simplest of misunderstandings . . . and that was just the inmates. Some of the corrections officers were just as bad, if not worse than the inmates. They had actually gone as far as setting up beatings and stabbings among rival gang members. As far as Amp was concerned, the warden was a gangster and the corrections officers were the muscle. It was only by the grace of God that Amp made it out of there without experiencing any of the things he'd witnessed happening to others. That place was a special version of hell that Amp would do anything to avoid going back to.

“Yeah, it was really that bad.” Amp wasn't trying to stay on memory lane, and besides that, he had curfew. He knew that if they kept talking, Jesse was only going to keep trying to talk him into something illegal.

“Look, I gotta run, bro.”

“Yeah, me too. I'll see you around.” Jesse walked back over to his car and Amp started walking home.

Jesse drove past him and blew his horn. Amp watched the vehicle, not in envy, but knowing that if he did the right thing, that would be him rolling one day soon. For now, he would focus on helping Madam keep the club so that he'd have a place to make that legit money.

 

 

Amp was truly using his black magic to get this particular female to float on cloud nine. It was the middle of his routine, and he'd brought a lovely full-figured woman to the stage. Just as he'd done with the petite school teacher–looking patron, he'd sat this woman in a chair in the middle of the stage and was gyrating around her.

That woman took it all in. Unlike the other girl, she didn't even try to play coy. She wanted everything Amp had to offer, and made it clear by bouncing and throwing right back to Amp what he was giving her.

All of the other women were going crazy over the show Amp and his accomplice were putting on. She became a part of his show, and the two led the voyeurs through a journey of visual ecstasy. Several members of the audience had their mouths open as well as their wallets.

Amp was fulfilling this woman's every fantasy, picking her up and down while showing her and all those watching that he was strong as steel indeed. Then Amp bent the woman over, pulled up her dress, and started grinding on her voluptuous, moist ass.

Amp caught a peep of the floor covered with an abundance of cash, and not just ones either. He made a mental note that if he ever saw this woman in the crowd again, he'd bring her on stage every time.

Once the song ended, Amp helped the woman back to her seat, almost feeling guilty about not sharing his tips with her. She had definitely been the highlight of the show. He knew, though, that the women did not come for the money. They came for the fantasy, and he had given it all to them tonight.

He finished up his routine, collected the money and underwear off the floor, and hit the locker room.

Babyface took the stage next, and as always, he killed his routine.

“Does the baby need breastfeeding, is what I want to know,” a woman shouted out during his routine.

At the end of Babyface's routine, the same woman smacked him on his bare butt cheeks as he walked past her in his G-string. When he stopped and turned to her, she said very unapologetically, “When you're ready for your sugar mama, you let me know. You can have anything you want.” She winked flirtatiously. The woman looked like money, with her red-bottom shoes and a ring that had to be at least five carats weighing down her finger.

Staying true to his motto, “Never leave money on the table,” Babyface walked over to her table and kissed her on the cheek. He inhaled the sexy fragrance sprinkled about her neck. Hell, she even smelled like money. He gladly took the business card she offered him, thinking it may come in handy one day.

Next it was show time for Casanova and El Fuego, and they showed all the way out. Those women couldn't handle Club Eden tonight. El Fuego even worked some fire-throwing into his routine.

All the guys were stepping their game up. If they were going down, then they were going down fighting.

 

 

Later on, once the club was cleared of all patrons, Madam, Dime, and all the dancers were gathered in front of the bar.

“All right,” Madam said. “Is that everybody?”

“Yep,” Babyface answered.

Madam reached into a box on the bar and pulled out a stack of calendars. She handed them to Babyface to pass out.

The calendars were amazing. Amp's picture graced the page for January. He was rocking only a pair of jeans, slung just low enough to show what he was working with. There was something about that V at the bottom of a well-defined stomach that drove women crazy. It was enough to make even the coldest month of the year feel hot, hot, hot!

Babyface, reppin' the month of February, was certainly going to put the women in the mood for love. The way he stretched out across the stage, resting up on his elbow with one leg bent, he was going to have the women wishing they were stretched out next to him, being fed the bowl of cherries beside him.

All the men had done an amazing job, from Dr. Feelgood with his doctor's jacket and nothing underneath for the month of March to Casanova holding the bouquet of flowers in the month of April, and El Fuego setting it off for the month of May, Cinco De Mayo style. The rest of the months were just as hot.

“Make sure everybody gets one,” Madam instructed. “I have a box for each of you, and when you run out, I have more.”

The guys were too busy looking at the calendar and not really paying much attention to Madam. They were surprised by how well the calendar had turned out. They looked like professional models.

“Listen!” Madam spoke louder to get their undivided attention. “We need to sell all of these, so hit the streets tomorrow. Beauty salons, beauty supply stores, family, friends, whoever. Just sell them. Ten dollars each.”

El Fuego held up the calendar, turning it sideways, admiring his own month of May photo. If he had to say so himself, the photos did his fineness complete justice. “We could easily sell this for twenty.”

“You're right,” Madam agreed. “But we got ten thousand calendars sitting back there, and it's better to sell all of them at ten dollars apiece than to sell half of them for twenty.”

“How are we doing so far on raising the money?” Casanova asked. The fellas had been putting in extra work. Hopefully it was paying off.

Madam tightened her lips. “Good, but not good enough, so we need to turn it up. Speaking of which, I need two of you to come in the rest of the week at seven instead of ten. I have private parties and bachelorette parties booked for the rest of the week. Some of you are gonna have to double up.”

Dr. Feelgood, El Fuego, and Casanova each raised their hands.

“I'm cool with picking up an extra gig every day,” Dr. Feelgood said. “Due to recent developments, I could use the money. Taking care of a baby is expensive.”

“Okay. I'll put you on each day,” Madam said to Dr. Feelgood. “Alternate with Fuego, Cass, and Face.”

“It's a blessing,” Casanova said. “Thank you.” El Fuego gave Cass the side-eye for his comment but laughed nonetheless.

“Are you going to sell the calendar here on the nights that we work?” Babyface asked.

“You better believe it,” Madam said. “We're going to be selling everything: photo opportunities with you guys at the end of each night, towels for the women to wipe you off with, and shirts for you to sign . . . everything.” Madam reached into another box and pulled out a stack of papers. “Also, I printed up flyers for the auction. Spread the word while you're out there selling them calendars. We've got a lot to do and a short amount of time to pull this off.”

The flyers and calendars were distributed to each of the dancers. Hopefully Casanova was praying and God was listening, Amp thought. All of their livelihoods depended on it.