Sex, Secrets and South Beach (2 page)

"
Sí, bastante
," the girl replied,
telling her she spoke enough.

"
De dónde eres?
” Ginger
questioned.

"
Nueva Yol. New York, mami. Y tú?
"
the girl answered, loosening up. "
De aquí.
Eres dominicana?
” Ginger asked the girl if
she was Dominican.

"Yeah, how'd you guess?" The girl
looked surprised and reverted back to English.

"I always know my people. I'm Ginger,"
she said, extending her hand.

"I know. I saw you onstage. You were
real good." The girl complimented her, hoping she wouldn't think
that she was flirting. Ginger had been good. Before Dewante came
in, Ginger had the entire club crowded around the tiny stage. It
was like she came alive on the stage. When Ginger danced on the
floor, the girl noticed that she didn't dance with very much
effort. Mostly, she just wound her hips like a reggae dance-hall
girl or whispered in the man's ear. But on the stage she did
splits, swung around the pole like an acrobat, and could drop it
with the best of the club's dancers.

"Everybody keeps asking me if we're
related! But I'm not as pretty as you," the girl admitted. Ginger
laughed.

"What's your name, shawty?" Ginger
asked her.

"Desire." Desire stuck out her hand.
"But my real name is Desiree."

"Cute. My real name is
Genevieve," Ginger told her, emphasizing her name with a heavy
French accent. "But
everybody
calls me Ginger. They have since I was little. I
don't know what the hell my mama was thinking, nicknaming me
Ginger. Watching too much
Gilligan's
Island
, I guess." Ginger and Desire
laughed.

"So you makin' money?" Ginger asked
Desire, eyeing her garter. Ginger estimated she had about three
hundred dollars. Chump change.

"Yeah!" Desire enthused. "It's pretty
good here."

"Wanna make some more?" Ginger asked
carefully.

"How?" Desire asked. She wasn't new to
dancing. She'd been solicited for sex before but had always
resisted. She wasn't trying to get caught up in prostitution. But
the thought of more money appealed to her. She could use it. She
would at least hear Ginger out. She would probably say no like she
always did.

"You like basketball?" Ginger asked.
"Love it," Desire answered, wondering what basketball had to do
with anything.

"What about basketball
players?"

"Don't know any."

"Well ... tonight's your lucky night,
Desire." Ginger grinned, going in for the kill. She knew it
wouldn't take much convincing. A girl like Desire was probably
starstruck. She explained to Desire that Dewante Reid had wanted to
hook up with her.

"Oh my God!
The
Dewante Reid?"
Desire bugged out just as Ginger expected. "He's gonna pay to go
out with me?" Desire asked, lowering her voice.

Ginger looked at her in
amazement. She had to be from out of town
and
fresh out of high school. Either
that or straight-up dingy.

"He wants to fuck," Ginger stated
bluntly. She didn't have time to waste with this amateur. She was
either down or she wasn't.

"Oh! You or me?" Desire asked, slowly
catching on.

"He wants to see us
together."

"Oh." Desire frowned,
crestfallen.

"Look, if you don't get
down like that, you can fake it. I'll
pretend
I'm eating you out and let
my hair fall all over the place. All you gotta do is moan and
wiggle like it feels good. Then we can suck his dick for a while or
fuck him or whatever."

Desire sat in thought.

"Shit, you
know
you wanna fuck him!
Who doesn't? He's fine as hell! He's paid. You'd fuck him for free
if you met him out somewhere else. And he's gonna pay us a grand,"
Ginger explained.

"I don't know." Desire hesitated.
"Couldn't we get in trouble if we got caught?"

"Why would we get caught?
Dewante is married! He's not gonna tell anybody. Besides, even if
someone found out, the only way we'd get in trouble is if
you
told someone we got
paid for it. Otherwise, it's just sex between three consenting
adults. Do you plan on telling anyone?" Ginger asked
her.

"Well, no," Desire
answered.

"So then what's the big
deal?"

"I don't know. It just seems wrong,"
Desire confessed.

"Yeah, okay." Ginger rolled her eyes
and stared at Desire in disbelief. "It feels wrong to take a grand
for something you would have done for free under different
circumstances? You're trippin'! But hey, you can't make nobody
wanna make no money." Ginger shrugged and turned to walk away.
Desire watched as an easy thousand dollars began to walk away with
her.

"Okay," Desire answered
quickly. Every time she had been solicited before, she'd say she
wanted five hundred dollars, and that was usually the end of the
conversation. A grand was a
lot
of money.

Ginger turned to face
Desire and smiled knowingly. She knew that no woman in her right
mind would turn down such a deal. At least not one who had the
cojones to dance at the Lex. Desire eyed the diamonds on Ginger's
fingers and in her ears. She noticed that she wore a diamond tennis
bracelet with large clear stones, not diamond chips, which had to
cost a fortune. The anklet she wore had baguettes in it. Plus,
she
knew
Dewante.
Desire guessed that Ginger had plenty of paper. She could probably
learn a thing or two from her.

"Cool. Get dressed. You'll roll with
me, and I'll fill you in on the details in the car," Ginger
ordered. "I'll take care of management for you." Ginger strolled
out of the dressing room.

Ginger broke management off with fifty
dollars to leave early and tipped the DJ, then quickly changed her
clothes in the dressing room. Within minutes she was leading Desire
to her BMW, following Dewante's Porsche out of the parking lot and
onto 95 North. In the car they rode in silence until Ginger's voice
pierced the night air.

"How old are you ... Desiree, right?"
Ginger asked.

"Call me Dez," she said. "I'm
twenty-one."

"Right. Now, how old are you really?"
Ginger glanced sideways at Desiree, who was squirming nervously in
her seat.

"Eighteen," she admitted.

"So why did you lie?" Ginger queried,
full of suspicion.

"I wanted to drink at the club, so I
used a fake ID. I'm not a good liar, but what can they say when my
driver's license says that I'm twenty-one?" Desiree
replied.

"Please. Them niggas at the club don't
care. Quietest kept, there's some underage girls working there. For
a minute I thought you were one of them," Ginger said.

"Nah, I'm eighteen," Desiree responded
quickly.

"Aww, you still got Similac on your
breath," Ginger teased.

"How old are
you?"
Desiree asked
Ginger.

"Twenty-five," she stated, as if
twenty-five were the wisest age on earth.

"You actin' like
you
thirty-five
and shit!" Desiree remarked, laughing.

They followed Dewante off the
interstate.

"So have you known Dewante long?"
Desiree asked. She definitely wanted to know more about Ginger
after seeing the BMW.

"Kind of. I've seen him at a few clubs
I worked at, you know, I've danced for him. And I've seen him at
clubs on the beach. He's a real asshole, though."

"Don't tell me that. I'm trying to
find me a baIler and get married." Ginger nearly rear-ended Dewante
because she took her eyes off the road to look at Desiree like she
had lost her mind.

"Damn! What I say?" Desiree gasped
with her hand over her heart.

"Please, girl! Them niggas ain't worth
all the trouble. You'll see. If you were smart, you'd be trying to
get your own money."

"I'm
makin'
my
own
money. I want
they
money!" Desiree
hooted, snapping her fingers dramatically.

"Okay. One night with this nigga, and
I guarantee you that you won't be trying to fuck with athletes. Or
maybe you'll have to learn the hard way. Shit, you might be one of
those chicks that can deal with they bullshit."

"You fucked with him before?" Desiree
asked.

"Nah. But they're all the same."
Ginger dismissed the question with a wave.

"How so?"

"You'll see. I'm telling you he's an
asshole. He's cocky as hell, just like most athletes. Don't go
falling in love with his ass if he makes you come and shit," Ginger
teased. She liked Desiree. Her naïveté was refreshing, even though
she was trying to play so tough. Ha! The girl had blushed when
Ginger said "come." Ginger couldn't remember the last time
something made her genuinely blush.

"Plus, I heard he was a freak," Ginger
added.

Desiree's eyes widened. "What kind of
freak?"

"I hear he's into some wild shit. This
chick Peaches tricked with him once, and she never gave me the
exact details, but she said she thought he went both
ways."

"What? I don't believe that!" Desiree
shook her head.

"Okay. Think what you want with your
young ass! Athletes are always doing shit like that. They call that
shit 'the other level.' They get so much pussy thrown at them that
they get bored. They probably start out doing threesomes, and then
one day they decide to leave the girl out!" Ginger
giggled.

"Ewww. That is so nasty. I don't see
how niggas do that shit. Or females either, for that
matter."

"Oh, come on!"

"Come on what?"

Ginger stared at Desiree
in disbelief. "You've
never
been with another woman?"

"Never!" Desiree stated
firmly.

"Don't knock it till you try it."
Ginger grinned.

Desiree turned up her nose. "What, are
you gay or something?”

"Or something."

"What's that supposed to mean?"
Desiree folded her arms, shifted her body against the leather seat
and stared at Ginger.

"It means, if I feel like getting down
with a female, that's what I get down with. If I feel like some
dick, then I get some dick. Basically, I just like to fuck. I like
being naked. I like to party. I want to get married one day and all
that shit. But until I decide to settle down, I'm going to have
some fun. Besides, no man can eat pussy the way a woman can. A
woman knows what feels good to another woman. You'll see." Ginger
briefly met Desiree's stare. Desiree averted her eyes.

Ginger pulled into the parking lot of
the Diplomat Hotel in Hallandale Beach and pulled her convertible
525 into the valet stand behind Dewante's black Porsche.

"When we get in, follow me. Act like
you know where you're going. We don't want the hotel staff to think
we're tricking. Look like you belong. If anyone stops you, you can
say you're staying with your parents," Ginger teased.

"Ha, ha," Desiree replied.

Classy,
Desiree mused, looking around. It had to be one
of the single most beautiful places she had ever seen. Since she'd
arrived in Miami, she had yet to see the sights.

"Give me a sec to get a room," Dewante
told them before entering the hotel. Ginger led Desiree to the
ladies' room. Desiree had to pee like a Russian racehorse, she was
so nervous. She'd never fucked for money before, and now she was
about to do it with a hoop star.

When they exited the restrooms,
Dewante was by the elevators with the cheesiest grin imaginable
spread across his face. They got on the elevator and pushed the
button to request their floor. Dewante immediately went to work. He
fondled Desiree while showering Ginger with sloppy, wet kisses on
the ride up to the top level. Ginger looked at Desiree over
Dewante's shoulders and made a crazy face as he mauled at her
breasts. She moaned, not to fake ecstasy, but out of disgust from
the slimy layer of saliva he left on her skin. Dewante was
plastered, and his breath reeked of Hennessy and cigar smoke. He
was so tart that Desiree could smell him, even though she was
standing an arm's length away.

This is not what I
imagined!
Desiree thought as Dewante
groped clumsily at her. She glanced at the reflection they cast in
the elevator's mirrored back wall. Ginger was getting a full blast
of his dragon breath as he kissed her dead in the mouth.

When the elevator stopped and the
doors opened, Ginger practically shoved Dewante out the car. She
gasped a sigh of relief and dramatically took in deep lungfuls of
fresh air behind Dewante's back. Desiree tried her hardest to
suppress her giggles and found herself relaxing because Ginger
seemed so cool.