joint. A VIP area. Pool tables. I was alone at a round table in the back. Inside a gentlemen’s lounge on the Sunset Strip called Blondies. A very kick-back atmosphere with concrete floors and psychedelic neon lights advertising pretty much every brand of liquid crack ever made. Everywhere, movie posters of every blonde from Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot to Kim Basinger in LA Confidential.
From the sidelines, a white man yelled at Gerri, “Cinnamon Deeeeee-light, I’ve been waiting for you all damn night!”
Gerri licked her lips, shook her ass, smiled, and let the man slide sweaty and wrinkled-up money in her paisley garter. Her act was hotter than Joan of Arc’s last barbecue; the men were going crazy.
This was a world she controlled.
I bumped through the crowd, fanned clouds of smoke out of my face, and made my way to the ladies’ room. Now I’d have to wash my braids so I didn’t run around smelling all funky tomorrow.
Married. With a damn rug rat. Masquerading like he was SINC all this damn time. Asked me to marry him and he hadn’t told me any of that shit. How fucked up could fucked up get?
By the time I finished cursing out the woman in the mirror for being so naive and came back out, The Commitments were singing “Mustang Sally” and an Asian waitress was on the main stage, grinning wider than a virgin UCLA cheerleader, swinging upside down from a golden trapeze bar like she was auditioning for Ringling Brothers. I shook my head. Yep, that was a talent she should stick on her résumé in big, bold letters.
Gerri came through the rainbow-colored beads on the floor level, a few feet left of the stage. A note was in her hand; the napkin I’d written my message on and had delivered to the back. She had thrown on a white button-down-collar shirt, but the shirt was unbuttoned.
Disbelief covered her face as she strutted my way, buttoning the two middle buttons on her shirt. She ignored men who smiled and grinned at her like she was Ishtar, came to me with a tight face and an anxious, embarrassed stride.
Her over-the-top mascara hid her freckles. The kohlblack made her eyes look deep and mysterious. She pulled a few strands of the fake curly blonde hair that framed her brown face aside as she said, “Somebody die?”
“No.”
“Well, this is one helluva surprise. How long you been here?”
Nervousness was in my voice. “Not long. Got a minute?”
She paused. “Well this is very, eh, weird.”
“I know it’s inappropriate.”
“I hope you didn’t come down here to try and make me quit.”
I told her, “No sermons.”
“I’ve got two minutes. What’s so important?”
I vented. Boy, did I ever get out everything. I opened up and emotions poured out like water from a ruptured dam. Told her everything.
“Whoa, slow down, Dana. Slow down.” Gerri let out a slow groan. “Keeping an ex-wife and a shorty on the down low. That’s whacked, but you could’ve waited until morning to tell me that.”
She sighed and glanced toward the owner.
I said, “I’m sorry. I know you need to go.”
“Well, O ye queen of stressed out, tonight you’re lucky. A lot of girls showed up and there’s a lot of time in between rotations.”
She smiled at me like I was her best friend. I smiled too.
“Dana,” her voice rang out with sensitivity. “If you want the truth, the lie was wrong, but Vince having a kid ain’t that bad. At least he ain’t HIV, on drugs, or fresh out of prison.”
“Shit, ain’t no telling what he ain’t told me.”
“Well, the only perfect people are dead people. They’re the only one who can’t make mistakes.”
“I never said Vince was perfect.”
She asked, “Cut to the chase. You love ’im, right?”
First I nodded, then I shrugged. Her eyes told me she had to go, people were watching us, but she wasn’t rushing, not right now.
A couple of girls were on the stage, both working different sides of the room. They switched sides a few times. Part of me had always wanted to see what she did down here. That curious, naughty girl side of me. The truth be told, those girls onstage, the ones men were feeding money, I could outdance both of them, had a better body too.
I changed the subject. “How much can you make doing that?”
“I pulled close to two hundred dollars on my last set.”
“Wow. You made that much cabbage in a few minutes?”
“That’s way above the norm. I’m talking