Dangerously In Love Read online

  Of course, Reed realized that her threat was empty. In her line of work—exotic dancer, hooker, and a booster, as well as having a drug habit—Buttercup would not bring unnecessary police attention to her own door. Still, he felt bad. He hadn’t meant to hurt her; he didn’t understand what had come over him.

  Buttercup was an affordable and easy-going girl and he definitely didn’t want to lose her. She’d been a beacon of light for his carnal yearnings on many a dark night. He held his head in his hands, trying to figure out what the hell had made him go ballistic on Buttercup.

  Trying to get his bearings, Reed stood up, tucked in his shirt. He gazed at the leather belt uncomprehendingly, as if it had come to life and acted in such a vicious manner on its on accord. Confused, he quickly threaded the belt through the loops on his pants.

  “How much do I owe you, Butter?” He felt completely disgusted with himself, but he spoke in a casual tone. He sounded cheerful, actually, as if he were inquiring about her fee for giving him something as normal as a haircut.

  “Yo, nigga, I don’t want shit from you!” she shouted. “You better save your money ’cause after I let the police take pictures of the bruises on my ass, I’m gonna sue you for every cent you got!”

  Reed sighed, more in response to his own insane behavior than to Buttercup’s empty threats. He pulled out all the cash in his pockets. “Here you go, Butter. I have eighty-nine dollars, but I’ll give you some more the next time I see you. All right?” He put the money on top of the junky dresser.

  “Next time?” Buttercup blurted, still sequestered under the bed. “Ain’t gon’ be no next time, you sick muthafucker!”

  “Take it easy, Butter. I’ll see you later,” he said, as he playfully kicked the bed. Then with a lame smile plastered on his face, he put his hand on the doorknob and slowly pulled it open, but before he closed the door behind him, he gave the bed that sheltered Buttercup one last regretful look.

  Chapter 6

  Chanelle Lawson was not a prostitute. Using the name Sensation, she danced exotically, gave halfhearted couch dances, but was steadfast in her refusal to engage in sex with any of her customers. Her benefactors paid for her company at dinner, the movies, or whatever, but she always let them know in advance that she was not a prostitute.

  The club owners and girls she worked with were aware of her moral standards, and thus only invited her to gigs outside of Lizzard’s that were of the highest caliber—events where she’d never be expected to perform sexual favors for pay.

  So when Lexi, a willowy blonde co-worker with big fake breasts invited her to dance at a bachelor party that paid two hundred and fifty dollars an hour plus tips, Chanelle didn’t hesitate. Well, she did hesitate for a few seconds because she had a date with her so-called boyfriend, Malik.

  But Malik wasn’t really her boyfriend; she just allowed him to think he was. He was Stone Allen’s cousin. However, they looked so much alike people thought they were brothers. Malik was in the Allen inner circle, which included perks such as access to Stone’s cars, great seats at Sixers games, and VIP passes to just about everything that was anything in the city as long as Stone didn’t want to go. And the fact that Malik never knew if he could get tickets to high-profile events until the last minute was the exact reason why she didn’t consider him her real boyfriend. He was just fill-in; someone to fool around with until the real thing came along.

  The man she would eventually marry wasn’t going to be pushing someone else’s whip; he’d have his own Bentley, Porsche, Hummer, or whatever.

  Chanelle rode to the bachelor party with Mandy, another bosomy blonde. Mandy pulled onto a tree-lined street somewhere on the Main Line—Narberth or Bryn Mawr, she wasn’t sure. Chanelle had only recently become acquainted with the ritzy Main Line through Malik, who often took her to his cousin’s sprawling estate.

  Sadly, her visits to the celebrated NBA player’s lair were not formal invitations. In fact, she’d never even met Stone Allen. When the Allen family went on trips or vacations, Malik was delegated the task of housesitting the mansion. Chanelle didn’t mind helping Malik look after the fabulous estate. It was fun to pretend to live in a mansion and practice the lifestyle she envisioned for herself in the future.

  Unlike most exotic dancers, Chanelle did not have her head in the clouds with aspirations of becoming a celebrity. She didn’t expect exotic dancing to land her a cover on Playboy or catapult her to stardom.

  But she did expect to snag a husband—a very rich and handsome husband.

  Mandy squinted at the address when they approached a gorgeous stone Colonial-style house. “Yup, this is the place. Pretty snazzy, huh?”

  Chanelle ogled the beautiful home and indulged in a quick fantasy. Her wealthy future husband was right inside waiting to share with her all his worldly goods.

  “What did you say these guys do for a living?” Chanelle asked, coming out of her daydream.

  “Investment brokers…I think. I’m not sure. I know they have a lot of money,” Mandy said as she parked her BMW at the end of the long driveway that was crammed with expensive cars.

  Chanelle surveyed the impressive territory and noticed a gleaming Escalade parked at the curb near the house. There was a detached two-car garage with the doors left open revealing two Benzes: one black, the other white.

  “Oh! I forgot to mention something,” Mandy said. “The two guys paying for this little soiree are expecting to see a two-girl show at some point tonight.”

  “A two-girl what?” Chanelle snapped her head away from the sea of luxury vehicles. “Count me out,” she said, shaking her head adamantly. “You can just turn this car around and take me back to Philly because you know I’m not into girl-on-girl shows.”

  “I know. I know,” Mandy soothed. “Relax, Sensation. The guys specifically requested to see two girls dance together. All we have to do is dance provocatively. We can fake it—you know, just give the illusion of the lesbian stuff.”

  Chanelle rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you and Lexi pretend to be lesbians? And while we’re on the subject.” She glanced at Mandy. “Why the hell did she forget to mention this important detail when she asked if I would work this party?”

  “Beats me.” Mandy shook her head and shrugged.

  Chanelle sucked her teeth in disgust. “Every time I accept a gig outside the job, I always end up regretting it. There’s always some small-print shit that no one bothered to tell me.” Chanelle glared at Mandy. “So, why the hell did you wait until we were way out here in east jeblip before you decided to tell me the whole story?”

  “I…um, I thought Lexi had already told you. I was just reminding you.” Mandy threw her hands up as if Chanelle were making a big deal over nothing. “Look, I’ll do all the work, you just dance. It’ll be fine. Okay?”

  “It’s not okay. I should curse Lexi out for even putting me in this position.” Chanelle shook her head angrily. Instead of mentally gearing up for the possibility of making a couple thousand for the night, Chanelle was now pondering the colossal waste of time she’d spent coordinating costumes, shoes, jewelry, hair, and makeup. It was all for nothing.

  Feeling vengeful, she decided she’d put zero effort into her performance and made peace with the fact that she’d probably earn only the minimum pay, two hundred and fifty dollars an hour. A lousy five hundred bucks. Oh well!

  She gazed at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s nine o’clock, and I’m dancing for two hours and that’s it! So don’t have me waiting around when the party’s over; I want to get out of there by eleven sharp. Understand?”

  Mandy responded with a noncommittal sigh.

  Inside the elegant house, well-groomed white men with good skin and even, white teeth quietly milled about. Some had drinks in their hands, but Chanelle doubted they had yet to feel the effects of the alcohol. They were too calm. No one seemed anxious to see the girlie show.

  Small groups of men clustered in sections of the main room, the dining room, the kitchen,
and other parts of the house. They bantered among themselves, seemingly intent on sending out the message that the arrival of the strippers was no big deal.

  Fuck those uppity assholes. Chanelle then gazed around and caught sight of Lexi.

  Fully clad in white Dolce & Gabbana everything—jeans, shoes, and a tight T-shirt with a sequined number 20 glittering across her implanted breasts—Lexi drank champagne from a crystal flute while she schmoozed it up with a few of the guests. She glanced at Chanelle and Mandy and nodded toward the staircase. “You girls can change in the first bedroom at the top of the stairs.” Her tone was crisp and authoritative, as if she were the lady of the house and Chanelle and Mandy were nothing more than pesky but necessary scullery maids.

  Mandy smiled obligingly and made her way toward the stairs. Chanelle, however, stood stock still, arched a defiant brow, and cocked her head to the side. “Can I speak to you? In private!” Chanelle demanded.

  Lexi smiled helplessly at the male guests and promised to be right back.

  “Mandy said you expect me to—” Chanelle stated loudly with a hand on her hip.

  “We’ll talk upstairs,” Lexi whispered, cutting Chanelle off. She quickly threw the party attendees a look that said, “I’ve got everything under control” and then trotted up the stairs.

  Under normal circumstances, Chanelle would have been impressed by the designated dressing room, but not tonight. She was too angry to enjoy the richly decorated bedroom, furnished completely in sturdy mahogany furniture. The bed was so high off the floor it seemed one would need a ladder to climb on it. Fuchsia-colored curtains of a light fabric adorned the windows, and a gorgeous Persian rug lay in the middle of the room. There was also a working fireplace with brass andirons, as well as a full-sized bathroom. Three steps in one corner of the room led down to a smaller dressing room, which was the area to which Lexi walked Chanelle to have their little tête-à-tête.

  Mandy followed and instantly dropped her workbag on the floor when she spotted four delicate crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne that sat on ice inside a silver bucket. She snatched the champagne out of the bucket, ripped off the shiny wrapping, and began anxiously working on the cork until it finally popped. She filled one of the flutes and then sank down into a cushy small sofa situated very close to the bubbly. She had a ringside seat to watch Chanelle and Lexi go at it.

  “Jesus,” Lexi snapped at Chanelle. “Did you have to get so loud and boisterous in front of the fellas?”

  “Jesus,” Chanelle mimicked. “Did you have to lie to get me here?”

  Lexi’s face turned crimson. “I didn’t lie. I’m paying you two-fifty an hour.”

  “To do what?”

  “Dance. And to…you know…keep the guys entertained.”

  “I’m not a prostitute,” Chanelle reminded her.

  “We know!” Lexi and Mandy shouted in sarcastic unison.

  “So, why did you book me to do a lesbo show when you know I’m not into that type of party?”

  “Why are you twisting an innocent, sensual dance with Mandy into a full-scale lesbian exhibition?”

  Chanelle paused as she considered Lexi’s words, then she raised her head. “If it’s such an innocent dance, why aren’t you doing it? And come to think about it, how come you were sitting downstairs acting all chummy with the men?” Chanelle looked Lexi over. “You’re still wearing your street clothes; aren’t you gonna change into your stripper gear, too?”

  Indignant fingers fluttered to Lexi’s chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m coordinating this event and I’m the person who’s going to pay you. I never told you I was planning to participate. Besides, you shouldn’t concern yourself with what I do.”

  Enraged, Chanelle got so close to Lexi she imagined she could hear Lexi’s heart beating through her plastic tits. “Bitch, I know you must have bumped your head talking to me like that.” Acting confrontational, Chanelle pressed her shoulder into Lexi’s arm. “Don’t think because I’m the only black person out here in whitey’s world that I won’t pull off my jewelry and proceed to whippin’ your ass.”

  Lexi gave Mandy a frantic look and took a step backward; Chanelle took two steps forward.

  “Why do you have to resort to violence?” Mandy interjected on Lexi’s behalf. “That’s so not cool.”

  “I’ll resort to whatever I have to because I don’t appreciate being used. Mandy, I guess you’ll be dancing by yourself since Miss Diva is too good to strip tonight.” Chanelle looked heavenward. “Fuck this. I’m out!” She snapped her cell phone off her belt loop, flipped it open, and pushed 411. “Can you connect me with a cab company. I don’t care which one. Just get me a cab that will take me to Philly,” she barked into her cell phone.

  The operator asked for Chanelle’s location.

  “Where the hell are we? What’s the fucking address?” Chanelle asked in a high voice, twisting her head toward Mandy.

  Intent on defusing the situation, Lexi stepped forward. “Okay, listen. I’ll pay you an extra fifty dollars if you stay—that’s three hundred an hour and all you have to do is dance.”

  “You just insulted me. Do I look like my name is Kizzy? Fuck off! I said I’m out!” Chanelle put the phone back to her ear but got dead air; the operator had hung up. She let out a huge sigh, but before she could push redial, Mandy popped out of her seat and quickly poured Chanelle a glass of champagne.

  “Please don’t leave the guys hanging like this; they’re trying to give their buddy a nice send-off,” Mandy cajoled. “Here, have a drink and just sit tight for a minute while we try to figure something out.” Encouraging Chanelle to have a seat, Mandy inclined her head toward the sofa.

  Breathing like a dragon while grumbling that slavery was over, Chanelle surprisingly complied and plopped down on the sofa. Mandy exhaled with relief and then turned to Lexi with a steely look that said, “I’ve done the immediate damage control; now, you have to clinch the deal.”

  On queue, Lexi scooted over to the sofa and sat next to Chanelle. “I’m so sorry for forgetting to tell you about the girl-girl thing. Don’t give it another thought. I’ll dance with Mandy. And look, I don’t usually pay up front, but here’s your money.” Lexi flicked open the buckle of her white leather Dolce & Gabbana purse and pulled out a wad of cash. She counted out the money. “That’s six hundred for two hours,” she said, pressing the bills into Chanelle’s hand. “Just do your usual routine, okay? You brought your music, right?”

  Mellowed by the champagne and the sweet smell of currency, Chanelle wore a wary expression, but nodded in agreement, rooted around in her bag, and handed Lexi a CD.

  “I can sense the natives are getting restless, so I’m gonna go back downstairs and smooth things over. You girls go ahead and get dressed. By the way, you’re up first Mandy. Sensation can work the crowd before her set. After Sensation’s set, Mandy and I will do the hot grand finale,” Lexi said excitedly, as if being demoted from hostess to sleazy lesbo stripper was the best news of the day.

  Lexi poured herself a drink, a reward of sorts for winning Chanelle over. She checked her watch and floated back downstairs to announce that the show was about to begin.

  Chapter 7

  Chanelle slipped her foot into a red strappy stiletto. She was wearing a red fringed fishnet gown with long slits on both sides, matching thong, and an underwire bra that pushed her natural D-cups up to the rafters.

  She strapped on the other shoe and then gazed in the full-length mirror. Lingerie and heels—a combination that had become as familiar as her own skin. But not for long! Once she hooked a husband, she would never again put on anything shimmering, slinky, or see-through. She’d be sleeping in flannel pajamas and padding around her dream home in fuzzy slippers.

  Hanging up her G-string for good was her favorite fantasy.

  “Toxic” by Britney Spears, which was Mandy’s corny theme song, broke into Chanelle’s reverie. As much as she disliked the tune, oddly, she felt a strong desire
to dance. Suddenly parched, she rotated her hips to the beat as she danced over to the bubbly and poured herself another glass. She took a few swallows of the extra dry champagne that delighted her taste buds. It may have been her imagination, but the second glass seemed to taste even better than the first.

  Less than a half-hour ago, Chanelle had to restrain herself from putting her fist in Lexi’s mouth, but now she felt, well…fabulous! This is weird!

  One last cursory glance in the mirror confirmed her belief: she looked hotter than ever. In fact, she was the finest mocha chocolate mama on the planet and those uptight white boys downstairs had better act like they know and have her money ready. Chanelle no longer had the feeling of being an outsider. Giggling and bouncing rhythmically, she descended the staircase.

  It was time to shake her moneymaker.

  Still garbed in Dolce & Gabbana instead of stripper wear, Lexi gave Chanelle a warm smile. How strange. Considering that Chanelle was late and should have been downstairs attending to the men fifteen minutes ago, she expected Lexi to give her a scowl of disapproval or to mouth off some type of chastisement, but Lexi maintained a pleasant expression.

  Yes, the mood in the room had definitely changed. Not only was Lexi more relaxed, the men also seemed less uptight. They were more animated and actually looked entertained as Mandy slithered around on a leopard sheet, gyrating to Britney’s awful song.

  Chanelle leaned over to Lexi. “Where’s the groom? I want to congratulate him and uh, you know, give him a special dance before I start my routine. Oh, yeah, where’s the best man—is he tipping for the groom?”

  Lexi scanned the crowd and then shrugged. “The groom was here a few minutes ago. I’m sure he’ll be right back. In the meantime, why don’t you go make nice with Brad over there?” She nodded toward a muscular young man who was watching Mandy’s performance from the back of the room. “Brad and the best man are paying…” Lexi paused; her head swiveled around until she located the best man. The best man had his head buried so deep in Mandy’s bosom it was impossible to get a clear view of his face. Lexi chuckled as if the best man’s behavior was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. “They’re paying for this shindig. I told them not to worry about the groom. His dances are free—part of the cost.”