Page 14 of Body Language
“Instead of talkin’ all that shit, maybe practice more and y’all will make the cut next time,” she said coolly. “Matter of fact, you should be paying MissBehavior and MissCommunication for lessons.”
The room erupted with under-the-breath mumbles and side-eyes. That’s when Ty leaned forward with a big smile and no filter.
“Hit up PoleItUp Fitness! Lanette will get you right, baby.”
I snorted on the low. One girl stomped out, heels loud and raggedy. Another muttered, “Ain’t even all that…”
Arlette didn’t flinch. She just waved the rest of them off like background noise and walked straight toward us with a smile that said business was booming.
“I’m hosting a private poker event here tonight,” she said, stopping just in front of us. Her eyes were sharp, smile unbothered. “I want to keep it sexy but classy. Champagne. Big wallets. Celebs. A few regulars with money and too much ego.”
Then she turned to me and said,
“MissCommunication, I want you in the private room. The VIP. That flexibility of yours is something crazy. Baby, you stretch and spin on that pole like you were born on a turntable. You belong in that private room. The minute you hang upside down, they gon’ hand over their whole 401K.”
Then she turned to Ty and grinned.
“And MissBehavior, I need you headlining. Dead center. That ass moves like water. I ain’t never seen no natural body float like that.. You could clear the stage and empty pockets with a two-step.”
Ty bowed like a princess at a petty pageant. “You already know.”
Arlette leaned back and added,
“And after everything… I want y’all to close out the night together. Side by side. The final set. The finale of the century. The soft opening people talk about for years.”
She took a step towards us, hands on her hips.
“So. What y’all say?”
Me and Ty looked at each other, smirking like the setup was already ours. At the same time, we said,
“Sounds like a motherfuckin’ plan.”
5
Niveah
If pressure had a location, it wasGivGold.
From the second you stepped on the black marble, you could feel it—sex appeal with security clearance. It wasn’t a regular club. It was a curated experience… and broke was not on the guest list.
At the door, security didn’t play. Big men in black with voices that didn’t rise, just cut straight through the noise. If you looked like you weren’t there to spend heavy or lose big, you weren’t getting in. Men. Women. Didn’t matter.
They weren’t letting any dusty, clout-chasing, screenshot-taking, section-hopping folks mess up the vibe. If you didn’t come to drop a bag or risk your last check at the blackjack table, security would look you up and down and hit you with a polite:
“Not tonight.”
And baby, I respected it. You could smell money in the air mixed with Cuban cigars, coconut body oil, and the faintest whiff of jealousy. There were no lines inside. No pushing. No yelling.Everything moved like somebody planned it down to the last bottle sparkler.
Arlette had the shit figured out. She didn’t just build a club. She built a damn economy. She had bottle girls in rotation looking like art pieces. Some of them were real servers. Some were just… plants. Pretty girls paid to flirt and fish for high rollers. Dressed like guests but really surveillance with lashes. Their job was to find the men and women with money and make sure that money never left the building unless it was on a tip.
I’ll give her that. She thought of everything. I knew right then that it wouldn’t be long before GivGold became the spot in all of Antionette.
Not the biggest. Not the loudest. But the most intentional, and intentional is where the real money lives. The cherry on top was that she set me and Ty up real proper with our own dressing room. Private and away from the rest of the girls. Full-length mirrors. Plush white chairs. Scented candles burning. A little fridge with champagne and pre-cut fruit. Even our names taped to the door:
MissBehavior & MissCommunication — Private Suite.
That’s the type of shit I’m talking about. It wasn’t a broom closet, but a space. A reminder that we weren’t just there to shake ass and disappear. We were assets. And Arlette earned herself some extra brownie points in my book for that. What started as a quick money grab, A lil “lemme slide through, hit a lick, and go home” type deal? Turned to something permanent real quick…
