Читать книгу Skin Game - Lawrence C. Ross - Страница 9

The self is not something ready-made, but something in continuous formation through choice of action.

—John Dewey

The Pimp magazine headquarters was in a nondescript building in Inglewood, so Steven always had to rent out a place for photo shoots. When Steven thought about his hopes and dreams, he saw himself living in a Playboy mansion as the black Hugh Hefner. But that was his dream. Right now, he was conducting a photo shoot with a man holding a ten-inch dick and an uncooperative model with size 38F titties. His photographer Jeff straddled them both and clicked away with his camera.

“All right, Gabrielle, now I want you to lie on your stomach while Mr. Bigg is on top of you.”

“Okay, but make sure that he doesn’t mess with my hair,” Gabrielle said, turning her naked body over.

“Mr. Bigg, please make sure to not mess with her hair,” Steven said with a smirk.

“Right,” said Mr. Bigg, yawning.

“She doesn’t mind having a strange ten-inch dick laying on her ass but is tripping off her fucking hair,” Steven whispered to Marty.

“That’s the business you’re in.” Marty laughed.

“Okay, Jeff, let’s get the shots,” Steven said, motioning to the photographer.

This photo shoot was taking place at the Studio. The Studio was in the San Fernando Valley, and almost every nude magazine used it from time to time. About ten years before, a porn director, tired of trying to find locations for his shoots, had built an all-purpose studio. The studio was divided into five sets. You could have your models use the kitchen set, the living room set, the office set, the pool room set, or the bedroom set. Steven liked to use it because his readers weren’t that discerning when it came to what the background looked like. They just wanted to see the ass in the photo. And that’s where Gabrielle came in.

This shoot was in the bedroom set, and Mr. Bigg and Gabrielle were on the bed. Jeff had to climb on top of the bed to get the shots for the magazine. Things had been rocky because Gabrielle didn’t follow instructions well, and when a model didn’t follow instructions, it made for long hours of shooting. They were now into hour four of a two-hour shoot.

“Goddammit, Gabrielle!” Steven shouted. “How many times do I have to tell you to keep your face to the camera? I mean, what the fuck is going on? You’re fucking wasting my time when you can’t follow even the simplest instructions.”

Gabrielle was not moved by Steven’s histrionics.

“If you think it’s so damn easy, then why don’t you put your ass in the air with a dick on it and then turn your head? I’ll bet you that you’d find a way to keep your head down.”

“But I’m putting the money in your pocket,” he reminded her. “And if you can’t do what the fuck I say, then get up and I can keep my money. Just let me know.”

“Well, if you just shut up, maybe we can get this damn shoot done and I can get the fuck out of here,” she said sharply.

Jeff kept shooting, even through the conversation. He wasn’t paid by the shot, but he did like to give Pimp a bit of an artistic touch, even if Steven always deleted it. Maybe the argument could be used as a theme. It would have helped if Mr. Bigg was a bit more animated in his facial expressions, but he always had the same dull look.

“All right, enough of that,” Jeff said, climbing down from the bed. He changed the lens on the camera.

“Let’s have you guys lie on your side,” he said. “Gabrielle, raise your leg just so.”

Jeff moved Gabrielle’s leg so that it was high over her head. Mr. Bigg was behind her.

“Mr. Bigg, take your dick and put it on her leg so that it straddles it.”

“Just like this?” Mr. Bigg asked. He picked up his dick like it wasn’t even part of his body and tossed it on Gabrielle’s leg. “Do you want it soft or hard?” Mr. Bigg was just trying to help.

“What do you think, Steven?” Jeff asked, leaning back and looking through his camera lens at the scene.

“Uh, let’s go with hard.”

“Okay,” Jeff said, looking around. “Where’s Kevin? Kevin!”

Kevin came running into the room.

“What?”

Jeff pointed at Mr. Bigg. “He needs some oil.”

Kevin pulled a white bottle of oil out of his pocket and handed it to Mr. Bigg. After sprinkling some oil on his dick, Mr. Bigg immediately began jacking off, like there was nothing wrong with masturbating in front of a crew of photographers and staff. And for him, there wasn’t.

Suddenly the ten-incher turned hard, and he gently laid it down on Gabrielle.

“Damn, nigga, that dick is hot!” Gabrielle said. “And oily too.”

She looked at his penis as though it was an alien.

“It can get hotter,” he responded with a smirk.

“Yeah, in your wet dreams,” she said. Gabrielle raised her head like Steven wanted and held the pose.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” she said.

Jeff took more shots, and in about five minutes, it was all over.

“That’s a wrap, everybody,” Jeff said. “Thank you, everyone.”

Gabrielle and Mr. Bigg hopped up off the bed, and Kevin handed them a towel.

Steven and Marty walked off the set, not even bothering to thank Gabrielle and Mr. Bigg. For Steven, once a shoot was done, then the people in it didn’t matter to him. They had worth to him only when they made him money.

The Studio had a room for viewing photographs, so Steven and Marty started looking at the day’s shoot.

“Sit down, Marty, while I take a look at these photos,” Steven said.

Steven Cox looked over Mr. Bigg and Gabrielle’s photos in his office, and he was pleased. They gave him that simulated porn look that he wanted, and Gabrielle actually looked like she had been enjoying herself, even though he knew she hadn’t been. And that was all he wanted—to give the reader what he wanted to see. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Steven had bought Pimp magazine after having lost his job as a lawyer. He’d gotten into a fistfight with another lawyer at the first law firm he worked for, and that didn’t help his career track being subsequently blackballed from every other law firm. That was because he’d taken a kickback from Sean, and had manipulated some evidence to get him out from under some racketeering charges that had been the last straw. The agreement was that he’d leave quietly, and never practice law again, and the firm would keep the evidence under wraps. Steven negotiated a severance, and then signed on the dotted line. And Steven let Sean know that he still had the evidence, and if he wanted to stay out of prison, he would make sure the women of the Chi Chi Room were available to him.

Steven really didn’t like law anyway, and with Pimp he’d taken a magazine that had previously had a weak regional circulation and turned it into the biggest-selling black magazine, next to Essence women’s magazine. He was making money hand over fist and it all came from shooting titties and ass for horny men. Now he was going into another venture. He was going into porn, and Ray was his talent scout.

“Okay, so what do ya got?” Steven asked. Marty and Ray had been scouring the clubs for damn near a month now, looking for the right one. Steven wanted someone fresh, something that could capture the imagination of the black porn-buying public. He needed a star.

“I think I’ve found our girl,” Ray said. “She’s going to start off Pimp Video with a bang.”

“Where are her pictures?”

Ray leaned back in his chair.

“I don’t have any yet. I met her at the Chi Chi Room the other day. Believe me, she’s a star.”

“The Chi Chi Room? Goddamn it, that means Sean is going to want a cutback, isn’t he?”

“Of course.” Ray laughed. “But then again, this piece of ass is worth it. And I think she’s a video virgin.”

“Description, give me a description.”

“She looks a bit like Vida Guerra, the girl on FHM. She’s light skinned with perky, real breasts and a beautiful ass. She doesn’t have a big ass like the regular bitches at Chi Chi’s, but it’s in proportion to her body. She’s tight, man, she’s really tight. I think she’s mixed with something. Maybe Mexican or Puerto Rican.”

“Measurements?”

“Probably about 36C-24–36. She’s tight, I tell you.”

“But tight doesn’t mean that she can fuck. Okay, then bring her in. I want to see this star. And if she’s as good as you say she is, then we may find ourselves making a lot of money.”

“I’ll get back to Sean about getting her in here,” Ray said.

“Wait, I want to cut Sean out of this,” Steven said, standing up. “If she’s anything like you say she is, then I want to make her the black Jenna Jameson. We need to get her in some scenes and then test how she sells. But if I’m going to be investing my money, I don’t want some Negro out there making money off of her. Pay him for the shoot, and then tell him that’s it.”

Ray got up to leave. “Not a problem. He’s going to be pissed, but what the fuck can he do? The nigga’s got no choice but to take the deal.”

“And it’s your job to make that happen,” Steven said. “If she’s as good as you say she is, then it’ll be worth it.”

Tonight, the Chi Chi Room was packed early because Keisha was going on early. She was rapidly building a loyal following.

She’d turned to stripping in the first place because it was the only place she knew where she could make a lot of money in a short time. South Central wasn’t like the richer areas of Los Angeles. If you got a low paying job that didn’t make you drive across town, you felt lucky. But no job was going to pay Keisha the money she needed for UCLA. So it was the Chi Chi Room for now.

For Keisha, getting onstage was power, both economic and sexual. The attention she got from the men made her feel like she could control them with each shake of her breast, every wiggle of her ass. She liked the fact that because of her body, she could pull money from the pockets of leering men. It turned her on, and yeah, it was sort of addicting.

“Now gentlemen, coming onstage is a girl who has been at the Chi Chi Room for only a few weeks, but we think she’s going to be a star,” the DJ said. “Please put your hands together for Keisha!”

Keisha walked up to the stage in clear high-heeled pumps, a silver thong, and a bikini top to the sound of Ice Cube’s “Jackin’ for Beats.”

“Shake that ass, baby,” one shouted. He was damn near frothing at the mouth, as he balanced his drink and cigarette in his hands.

“Show me those tits,” said the other.

Normally, Wednesdays were slow at the Chi Chi Room, but it was important that new girls build their fan base on off nights so they could get prime nights like Friday and Saturday, otherwise known as Payday and Get Laid nights. So Keisha brought her ass to one, and showed her tits to the other.

Keisha gripped the pole in the center of the stage and began humping it. She wasn’t a natural dancer, but she had a sensuality that the men seemed to like. She remembered how awkward she’d been only a month before, but now she was feeling like a natural. It was all about the tease.

She held her hands on the pole, stuck out her ass, and began making circles in the air with it. Dollar bills began raining down by her feet. A couple of deep knee bends, then a slap of her own ass, made the pervert pit go wild. It was now the middle of the song.

“Come on, guys,” the DJ said, “make some noise for Keisha!”

Give every section a chance to see me, she thought, walking around the stage.

Keisha began playing with her bikini top and teasingly took off one string but kept her breasts covered. More bills began flying. She began to shake her breasts, giving the men a glimpse of her milkshake. With one hand on her breast, she then used her other hand to untie the other string. The bikini fell, and she stood there bare.

“Look at those beautiful, all-natural breasts, gentlemen,” the DJ yelled over the song. “Keisha is tight, tight, tight!”

With “Jackin’ for Beats” almost done, it was time for the thong to come off. But before that, she needed to make some contact with the pervert pit. So she slid along the floor on her belly, making eye contact with a thirty-something man. He had a wedding ring but tried to hide his hand.

When Keisha got to him, she used her breasts so that they just barely touched his face. Now on her knees, she began to slowly take off her thong. His eyes were as big as saucers.

As Keisha took off her thong, more dollar bills flew down on her, and she continued to concentrate on her married man. Finally the thong was off, and she put it on his head, stuck out her tongue, and then put her ass in his face.

“Damn, girl, that is a beautiful ass!” a voice yelled.

And suddenly the music was off.

“Gentlemen, please give Keisha a round of applause,” the DJ said.

Keisha instantly stood up and picked her thong off the head of her married man.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear. He was absolutely enthralled, as they all were.

Keisha walked around the stage, picking up as many bills as she could, and she tried to avoid the groping hands of the pervert pit. If given the chance, they would try to get a quick and cheap feel from one of the dancers.

Finally, Keisha walked offstage, and ran into Patra, who was about to go on.

“You make much?” Patra asked.

“At this cheap-ass club? Hell, no,” Keisha said, trying not to drop the dollar bills she’d collected. She held them pressed to her left breast. “See you later.”

“Later,” Patra replied.

Keisha walked into the dressing room. No one was there except for Sean, who was sitting in a swivel chair.

“When are you going to let me work on Fridays?” Keisha asked, putting her money on the counter. “I bet I only made one hundred, and after the tip-out, I’m probably only getting about fifty dollars tonight. That’s some bullshit.”

“Look, you’ve got to draw more people into the club before I can give you a Friday or Saturday,” Sean said. “Bring niggas in, and you’ll get paid. If not, then you won’t.”

Keisha kept counting her money, not looking at Sean.

“Have you called Ray yet?” Sean asked, twirling in his chair.

“Nah.”

“Well, if you don’t want the $250, then I’m sure they’ll find somebody else to take it.”

“That ain’t it,” she said, looking up. “I want to go to UCLA and I don’t want a whole bunch of niggas knowing that I strip.”

“You still talking that college shit?” Sean asked, waving his hand. “Fuck that shit. You could make way more than those college muthafuckas by dancing. What do you get after you leave college anyway? Getting some fucked-up job giving some white boy some coffee every day? Fuck that! It’s all about the scrilla, baby, and the faster you learn that shit, the faster you’ll make it.”

Keisha kept counting her money.

“But if you do want to do that college shit, think about it. How many muthafuckas are going to see Pimp magazine anyway? Go get your money and then forget about that shit,” Sean continued. “And besides, what do you think will happen—some college muthafuckas figure out that you’re dancing at our club? Do you think they’ll look on that better than if you’re in some muthafuckin’ magazine? Nigga, please. The genie’s out the bottle, so don’t worry about what you can’t worry about.”

“I’ll think about it,” Keisha whispered, putting the dollars into her purse.

“What? I couldn’t hear you,” Sean said as he stopped spinning.

“I said, I’ll think about it.”

“That ain’t good enough. Ray is coming in here tonight, and he wants to know yes or no. So you better make a decision in about five minutes, or he’s moving on to another bitch.”

“Why the fuck are you so concerned about whether I do this shoot or not? What do you get out of it?” Keisha said, curious.

“I don’t get shit out of it, but I do want to make sure that the Chi Chi Room is always providing the best women to magazines like Pimp. The men who buy Pimp want to know where they can see you. If you say you dance at the Chi Chi Room, then you make more money and we make more money. Again, I keep telling you bitches that it’s all about the money. Y’all just never learn. So, again, what’s it going to be?”

Keisha closed her purse and stared at Sean. She didn’t trust his ass as far as she could throw him, but that was neither here nor there. She needed money, and he was right.

“Tell him that I’ll do it,” Keisha said, putting on her pants and blouse. “But this is a one-time thing. No more, no less.”

“Tell him yourself,” Sean said, pointing to the door, where Ray was standing. “Trying to catch a look, nigga?”

“I already paid for my looks,” Ray said, walking into the dressing room. “So, Keisha, are you ready to shoot for Pimp?”

“Yeah,” Keisha said, getting ready to leave. “I’m ready to shoot.”

Ray smiled.

“Good,” he said. “Look, meet us at the Vision Theater on Saturday at nine A.M. Don’t be late, because Steven hates models who are late.”

“Who’s Steven?” Keisha asked.

“Steven is the man who can take you beyond this club,” he responded with a laugh.

“Hey, nigga,” Sean said, “don’t try to take my bitches.”

“Simmer down, baby. I’m just making a joke. Damn, a nigga can’t even kid around anymore.”

“Whatever, you two. I’ll see you at nine,” Keisha said, opening the door to leave. “Just have my money ready.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll have your money.”