Page 10 of Body Language
“Ty,” I said, dragging her name. “I’ve been dancing at ‘Her Majesty'for six years. Me and my regulars—and their wallets—are paying my bills just fine. I’m not out here trying to prove I can make somebody nut off a pirouette.”
“First of all,” she snapped, “that’s why you THAT bitch and not a bitch. Second, PLEASE. Ugh. I’m not saying quit our club. I’m saying we hit this one-night lick and be out. It’s woman-owned. New crowd. Bougie clientele. We ain’t gotta pull nothin’ but a look and a vibe. Just imagine the money.”
Money.
See, Ty knew the magic word. With my life, you could never have too much. Somebody always needed something. Groceries. Tuition. Bail. Therapy. Bail again.
“I don’t know…” I said.
“Please?” she begged. “Just come through. I really wanna check it out. We might end up with new clients—hell, new sugar daddies. Upgrade the roster. New meat.”
I rolled my eyes but smirked.
Me and Tyceona had been best friends since elementary. She grew up in the next building over. Her mom was an alcoholic who couldn’t put the bottle down—not as bad off as mine, but just enough to raise a survivor. Me and her both knew what it felt like to walk home without a parent waiting for you and cook dinner at eight.
We learned early how to laugh through pain, how to read a room, and how to get a dollar without getting undressed. Our bond was trauma-born, but grown on loyalty and stupid jokes.
“Come onnnn,” she begged. “Please. If you do this, I swear I’ll never say nothing again when you bring that weak-ass salmon dip to girls’ night.”
I gasped. “My salmon dip is elite.”
“It's an Elite Disappointment. That shit tastes like fish regret.”
I sucked my teeth. “What time do they need us?”
“Uhhh… in like 45 minutes.”
“Bitch.”
“It’s okay!” she rushed. “I already got everything you need. Fit, shoes, even your hoop earrings I borrowed last month and ‘forgot’ to give back.”
I paused. Tight-lipped. “Bitch.”
“You love me. Now hurry up, hoe. And I’ll let you pick whatever song you want.. first round.”
“Mmhm.” I unlocked my car and slid into the seat. “I want some of your cut too.”
“Done. I owe you anyway.”
“I’m on the way,” I said, hanging up.
I wasn’t planning to dance, but when life called …I knew how to answer.
4
Niveah
I pulled up slow, windows down, lashes longer than my patience, music bumpin’ just enough to let them know THE problem had arrived.
GivGold looked like a baby daddy with good credit opened a club.
Black and gold everything. Velvet ropes. The smell of hookah, Black Ice air freshener, and broken dreams swirling in the air.
Ty was already outside, leaned on her car, eating Flamin’ Hots with a pickle stuck in the bag. Red dust on her fingers, bonnet tied around her purse strap.
When she saw me, she laughed and said,
“Bitch, finally! You tryna dance or you waiting on Jesus to do your makeup?”
