Page 40 of Church Girl
Yeah, that’s going to take an act of God.
Seven
“Honor thy mother and father...except when in the strip club.”
Aaliyah
“Donotanswer that.”
I glance up from my mother’s name on the vibrating cell phone screen to meet my cousin’s glare.
“I wasn’t,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to my ears.
And from the arch of her perfect eyebrow, Tamara doesn’t seem to believe me, either.
Sighing, I slide the still shaking phone under my thigh. She has a right to doubt the strength of my backbone. Ever since I answered Mom’s call weeks ago and she issued that ultimatum, and I didn’t show up at the Birmingham airport in two days’ time, she’s been calling nonstop. Her, my father, my uncle and, of course, Gregory. It’s been relentless. And every time, I waver. One time I caved, and my mother’s guilt trip had me curled up under the covers, crying for hours.
Even though I know this is a matter of survival, I bear their disapproval like wet sandbags around my neck, weighing me down. Except for the last few weeks, I’ve spent my whole life avoiding this feeling; it’s not easy tonotfall in line.
Tamara sees my struggle, but she’s appointed herself my personal bodyguard and partner in rebellion. And she’s on the job tonight. Literally and figuratively.
“Girl, stop lying. If you wasn’t, you were damn sure thinking about it.” She crosses her arms, and because they’rethere, my gaze drops to her breasts, which are lifted in a black bra covered in silver sequins.
Glitter dusts the dark brown mounds, and under the LED lights flashing across the strip club, she sparkles. Sequined bands crisscross her flat stomach and thick upper thighs, bracket the small black triangle covering her sex. Silver stilettoes adorn her feet, and the straps wrap around her calves, ending under her knees. My cousin is gorgeous and built like the proverbial brick house. And from the way all the men’s eyes—a good amount of women’s, too—keep traveling over to the section she insisted on getting for me tonight, I’m not the only one who thinks she’s stunning.
Compared to her, I must look like a country bumpkin...
“Don’t you do it,” she snaps, and my hand pauses just before I reach the slit in my dress to tug the sides closer together. “Stop fidgeting and leave that dress alone. You look like the bad bitch you are, now let it go.” She jabs a finger toward the leather couch. “Let itallgo. I brought you out here tonight so you can finally have some fun. Life is more than work, school and worrying over helicopter parents. You didn’t just move here for school. You came to experience the kind of life that’s impossible in Parsons with Uncle Tim controlling every move you make. If you’re going to hell, you might as well include partying in a strip club on your list of sins. Now—” she flicks her hair that’s nearly hanging down to her ass in a beautiful, auburn weave “—I’m sending drinks over here, and I want you to get. Fucked. Up. No one deserves it more than you. When I leave here with you tonight, I wanna be pouring your lil’ runaway bride ass into my car.”
Giving her a small smile—which is a major feat, considering my phone is ringingagain—I hold up a hand, palm out. “I solemnly swear to get drunk off my ass.”
“That’s my girl. And enjoy the show. These girls ain’t me, but they’re aight.” She smirks. “Don’t worry about anyone bothering you. I have one of the guys looking out for you while I’m up there.”
“Got it,” I assure her.
“Okay. Remember. Have fun.”
I don’t have a chance to reply before she steps out of the section, descending the short flight of stairs to the main floor. In seconds, and right before my eyes, she ceases being Tamara, my cousin, and morphs into Jade, the featured dancer at the sophisticated and sexy Inferno.
It should feel really wrong, looking at my relative’s barely covered body as she works the room. Given all the denigrating things Daddy preached against places like this, and Tamara in particular, guilt should swarm me like a drone of angry bees. But...it doesn’t. There’s nothing sleazy about my cousin.
On the contrary.
Watching her strut among the people here to see her on that stage, I’m envious. She’s comfortable with who she is—both TamaraandJade. She’s proud of her full breasts, small waist, thick thighs and behind, as evidenced in the confident stride that carries her past all the people reaching out to her. She’s like a celebrity here, and from the videos of her on YouTube, I see why they’re fawning over her. Tamara’s a gifted dancer who defies gravity with her erotic acrobatics on that pole. And I’m not saying other strippers don’t bring customers in, but it’s Jade listed on the club doors.
People are crowded three deep at the bar that extends across one length of the wall and at all the circular high and low tables. Especially those close to the stage—like an LED-lit runway but with poles. Other private areas like mine—encased in glass with couches, tables and a private pole—dot the area. They sit above the rest of the club, offering unrestricted views of the stage and patrons below. I don’t know how much Tamara had to pay to get me this space for tonight, but I’m guessing it wasn’t cheap. Especially since I’m the only one up here.
God, I feel so conspicuous and out of place.
“Hey, boo. Jade said to take care of you and bring all the alcohol.” A beautiful woman, her stacked body wrapped in a black bralette, boy shorts and boots, walks into my section, her long ponytail swinging over her shoulder. Her dark brown skin gleams under the low lighting. “She wasn’t lying when she said you were gorgeous.” She beams at me, her hazel gaze like a warm, physical caress over my face, breasts and thighs. “I’m Nikki. What can I get for you?”
Why does it feel like she’s offering more than what’s on those bar shelves? A little flustered—and shoot, flattered—I shake my head. “Nice to meet you, Nikki. I can’t lie, I’m not much of a drinker. What do you suggest?”
Again, her gaze sweeps over my body, and nope, I’m not imagining the interest in her eyes. “Not much of a drinker, huh? Well, we don’t want to overwhelm you, so how about I start you off with a cranberry and vodka and a bottle of champagne? If you don’t like either of those, I’ll bring you a different drink. But I think you’ll love trying something new.”
I’m pretty sure the “something new” isn’t just the cocktail. And I can’t help the smile that curves my mouth. I’ve never been sexually attracted to women—admired the hell out of them, yes, but not attracted. But Nikki’s like the female version of Jason Momoa. Not Samoan. No, she’s a beautiful Black woman. But I can’t see anyone laying eyes on her and not having parts of themselves tingle.
I cringe a little at the queer-curiosity vibe I must be radiating. Like I said, I’m not really curious. I’m just not blind. And this woman is gorgeous.
