Page 7 of Queen of the Pole

She made it over to the velvet rope that led to our section. The security raised the rope, so that the four of them could step into the section, and once she was close enough, and I got a better view of her, all I could say is that my brothers weren’t exaggerating from the fanned-out way that they were acting towards her. Easily, the prettiest girl that I’ve ever seen in my life. The body was banging! The face was something that should be put into a lab and studied. Truly, her features were out of this world, but that was all that I had for her. Beautiful girl, but I wasn’t willing to damn near sell my soul the way my brothers were carrying on.

I had nothing against strippers. I wasn’t looking down on anyone when it came to how they made their money. As long as it didn’t involve doing fucked up shit to kids, killing innocent women, and things of that nature, then it was fair game. Women were beautiful to me, and if a woman wanted to use her features, and her body to make a few dollars in the club, I wasn’t judging that. At the same time, I’m such a cocky, selfish ass nigga, that I wouldn’t want what every other nigga is lusting after. I wouldn’t want my brothers or other niggas knowing what my girls pussy and titties looked like. I don’t mind niggas thinking that my girl was pretty, but to lust over her because you know what she looks like without clothes, I don’t think I could handle that shit. I’ll be ready to take a niggas head off and have that shit sitting on his mama’s doorstep.

“She look good,” I let Kendrix know. When I was nonchalant in my response, he cocked his head to the side, looking at me like I was crazy. Kingston did the same thing.

“Nigga, that’s putting it mildly. I know it’s Marco birthday, but Ima call her over here so that she can give you a dance. You need it, with your uptight ass,” Kendrix stated.

“Man. I’m good. Tell her to give the dance to Demarco,” I let him know, but he’d already stood up from the couch, pulled up his jeans that were hanging off his waist a little bit, and headed over to the dancers that walked into the section.

As he was doing that, Demarco walked away from the railing, where he’d been standing with a few of his home boys, and came over with us. He slapped it up with me, taking the empty spot that was next to me.

“You good? Don’t it feel good to be outside?” he asked me.

I turned my head, laughing and shaking my head at my handsome ass brother. I loved all my brothers the same, but Demarco was the one that I loved in a way like he came from me. I think the love was so special because he was the only little brother that I had. Both Kingston and Kendrix were older than me, but I was much more mature than them, so at times, I felt like I was the oldest, when I really wasn’t.

I was just three years older than Demarco, but you would think that I had him by at least 10 years because of the shit that I liked to instill in him. I was thirty, and Demarco just turned 27.

Even though Demarco was the baby, he didn’t have that stigma of being the younger, wild brother. Did he fuck up from time to time? He did, but it wasn’t one of those situations where we looked at him as the family fuck up. He’ll do his dirt, learn his lesson, and whatever fuck up he made, he wouldn’t engage in it for a second time. It was Kendrix that would constantly fuck up and wouldn’t learn from his fuck ups. I tell my mama all the time that she had to have been drinking while she was pregnant with him because it’s no way he turned out the way that he did.

“Nah man. I would rather be home, chilling right now. You probably the only man in the world that could get me to come to the club on a Monday. All the shit I got to do in the morning. I need to be home, resting,” I let him know, and with a smile on his face, he shook his head.

I wasn’t an outside kind of nigga. I took my ass to work and went home. I had one friend, and three brothers. A lot of niggas knew me though, but there was only one person in this world that I considered to be a friend. His name was Jamal. I’ve known him since we were in elementary school. Jamal retired from the NFL because of an injury about three years ago, and now he works as an NFL broadcaster. He was married with two kids. He lived a busy life just like I did, so we weren’t able to see and talk to each other every day, but we both knew it was heavy love for each other.

“I don’t understand you big bruh. You run the fuckin business, yet you move like you gotta make sure you’re on time every morning, or the manager going to dock your pay. It’s a billion-dollar company over there that you running. Business filled with staff, that can handle that shit without you being there. The kind of money you making, what the fuck you need rest for?” Demarco asked me.

“And the goal is to keep my billion-dollar company, nigga. It make sense to you for me to slack off, while my business continues to grow? I’m hands on with this shit. I don’t ever plan to slack off,” I let him know.

I owned Wolf’s Jewelers. I had two locations in Miami. My business was one of the biggest luxury jewelry companies out. I knew I was that nigga for real when niggas would fly in from all over the world, just to get custom pieces from me.

I’ve always had an infatuation with jewelry. Me, and my brothers come from money, so growing up, my pops had us in Cuban’s since we were little boys. He was the kind of pops that would buy us pricy time pieces to add to our collection. That’s where my love for jewelry came into play. Now, I was running my own shit, with a private showroom, an online operation that was booming, and the kind of clients that I had spending with me, I knew it’s some jewelers out there that’s willing to kill me for my clientele.

I was the only one in my family that was running my own business. My brothers took over the family business. The family business was Bennett Aviation Group. It was the business that our pops was able to build on drug money. Our pops put his time in the streets, made a shit load of money from being in the game, and eventually had to have that moment to sit down, and think about what the future had in store for him. A lot of street niggas don’t get happily ever afters, neither do they get a chance to grow old, and enjoy the fruits of their labor. My pops could have opened clubs, got into real estate, done all of the things that a lot of these retired dope boys have done over the years, but he didn’t. He moved different, doing something that’s never really been done before.

Even though putting dope money into a legitimate business has been done millions of times, this kind of business was different. My pops always had a thing for planes, so he invested in private aviation. With just money and hustle, he was able to get an entire company up and running. It started out as something small. So small, that for at least the first few years, he was still hustling in the streets because the new business wasn’t bringing in that much money yet. With it being a small company in the beginning, the only thing the company did was charter flights, and manage private jets for customers. Once that picked up a little bit, that’s when my pops was able to start investing into purchasing aircraft, building his fleet.

The hustle was in him, so he didn’t stop there. Probably ten years in, after spending millions, investing in someone else, buying their aircraft, this nigga got the wild idea to manufacture his own shit. Meaning, the Bennett aircraft was now a thing, and people flew out of them all the time. My pops company was a billion-dollar company, and just three years ago, he officially stepped down from it, and my brothers were in charge of running it. I’m sure you’ll probably want to know why I didn’t just work for my pops company, instead of branching out, and doing my own thing.

Most people would have just continued the legacy that their father started, especially since it was something that could be easily tossed into your lap, and it was guaranteed money. The thing is, before I started running my own shit, I was working for my pops company at one point. All I knew was aviation. We didn’t see the version of our pops that used to be in the streets. Well, I didn’t. Kingston was the only son that got that version of our pops, but even so, he wasn’t old enough to remember it because he was a baby. The only version I had of my pops is the one that was running Bennett Aviation Group.

I grew up around planes. When our pops would take us to work with him, we would chill with all the engineers, pilots, and everyone else. My brothers and I always knew that we would grow up and be a part of the business. I loved that shit. Loved being around it, but shit started changing as I grew older. I started becoming my own man. Started getting into disputes with my pops. Beefing with the nigga, falling out with him, and with that, I hated that feeling that I would be left with, knowing that I’m at odds with someone, and giving them the leverage of saying that they were putting food in my mouth. I was too prideful to ever let a man have that much power over me. Even if it was my own pops.

A lot of the issues that I had with my pops stemmed from the way he handled my mama. Since I was a little nigga, I didn’t like the kind of husband that he would be in their marriage. He wasn’t physically abusive. I’ll give him that. Man, if I even felt like that nigga was over there putting his hands on my mama, I would be ready to kill his ass. The thing with abuse, it came in different forms. My pops was the kind of husband that has been mentally and emotionally abusing our mom for years. He’s put her though a lot of shit. You would think that when a woman gives a man these beautiful children, that he wouldn’t wonder off, and entertain other women. That nigga was the biggest dog that I knew, and Kingston was right behind his ass.

It wasn’t just the cheating that he’s done to her that’s hurt her over the years. He would look my mama dead in her eyes and lie to her. He was so good at that shit that sometimes, I would even believe him. Embarrassed the fuck out of her over the years by having different women popping up on her, showing her screenshots of their text messages, along with pictures of my father with other women. It’s one thing for a man to cheat, but for the other woman to come around, and show all kinds of receipts, that was something totally different. My mama never left his ass though. Left, and go where? She’s never worked a day in her life.

My mom was born and raised in Ethiopia. She came to the states when she was just twelve years old. Humble beginnings is what she came from. Didn’t have much of anything as a kid, so it made her appreciate everything. She came over to the states with her parents, who were looking for a better life. With the humble beginnings that she had, her goal was to finish with school, and one day become a nurse. Had it all planned out. Fucked around and met my pops during her senior year of high school. She was eighteen. My pops was twenty- one. He was heavy in the streets. I’m talking, he was the kind of kid that most parents wouldn’t want their daughters dating. Kids are rebellious and would forever do what the fuck they wanted to do though.

My mom was no different because she ended up falling for the bait and started fuckin around with my pops. The day she graduated from high school is the same day that she found out she was pregnant with Kingston. I’ve heard the story from her over a million times. Her parents were angry with her, demanding that she get an abortion. On the other end, my pops was telling her to keep it, and that he would take care of my mom, and the baby. She chose my pops, and as a result of that, she no longer had a relationship with her parents. So, with that, we’ve never met our grandparents on our mom’s side. They carried on that fuckin grudge for years.

Our pops did take care of my mom, just like he always told her he would do. She never had to work. Never went to college to pursue that degree and become a nurse. She kept giving the nigga babies. My mom was the definition of a woman that was ‘put up’, but the fucked up part is that it came with a cost. Here we are, years later, my pops is 58 years old, and he’s still fuckin up in his marriage. My mom has gotten to a point where she’s become so numb to his wrongdoings, but I know that it still fucks with her. Knowing that it fucks with her is why I allow it to fuck with me. I check that nigga about it every chance I get, and that right there plays its part in why I had to walk away from his company and start up my own shit.

As I was sitting here in the middle of the club, daydreaming about personal shit that was happening in my life, Kendrix walked over, and he had the dancer Poison that I just learned about, standing right on the side of him. I was chilling, leaned back on the couch, still puffing from the cigar that was in my hands.

The music was loud in the club, everyone had their own thing going on, but for these few seconds, it honestly felt like I didn’t hear shit, or I didn’t see anything outside of the woman that was standing in front of me.

She had confidence. I could tell by the way she innocently stood there, with her legs crossed, and her hands folded behind her. There really wasn’t that much of a distance between us. Even with all the other smells that was going on throughout the club, it’s almost like it was only her that I smelled. I can’t tell you what the scent was because I never smelled it before. Her perfume wasn’t loud though, which I was happy about because I hated overly loud perfume on a woman. Just enough to get a whiff of it and question the scent.

“Poison, this my brother, Wolf. He’s an uptight ass nigga. Probably don’t even know the last time he got some pussy. Give him a dance for me, please. We got the money. Take him to the back. In one of the private rooms. Put a show on for my brother,” Kendrix went on to say.