Page 11 of Thirst

Shay is from a broken home, like far too many of us. She was kicked out of her mother’s house when she was only thirteen years old, and immediately met Von and fell into his trap. If I'm being honest, I think she's in love with him, which is a waste because she's so beautiful she could have anybody she wants. Shay is five-foot-eight and thick as a bowl of cold grits, with a forehead and ass to match. She has mocha brown skin, full lips, monolid brown eyes, a dimpled smile, and perfectly sculpted eyebrows. When she walks into a room, everyone watches as she commands attention with a raised brow and a long braided ponytail that hangs all the way down to the top of her ass. Shay is no joke, and I don't take her as one because she has Von wrapped around her finger, and she can't stand me—for reasons I've never truly known.

As she descends the stairs, men in main seating break their necks to watch. She looks at each and every one of them like she holds their secrets, knowing that if they want to lay a finger on her, they have to pay, and nothing about Lashayda Greene is cheap. When she reaches the first floor, she goes over to the bar and orders a shot of something dark for herself, then leans against the bartop and looks out at one of her friends working the pole on the main stage. She smiles, silently approving of what she's seeing, and I decide that now is the best time to ask a question I hoped I would never have to ask. I swallow hard and make my approach. When she sees me, her smile fades.

“What up, Shay?” I say with a head nod.

She nods back. “Sup?”

“Listen, I know you and I have never really been friends, but … I'm sort of going through something. Times are getting tough—”

“Ugh, girl would you spit it out and stop beatin’ around the damn bush?” she snips, cutting me off. “I only came down here to get a break after a trick tried to blow my back out up there, and here you come stumblin’ and bumblin’. What do you want?”

Well damn.

“Alright,” I say, shaking my head. “I was wondering if you could tell me what it’s like being a Viper Girl. Like, don't sugar coat it. What’s it really like?”

Shay furrows her brow and squints at me. “Why you askin’?” When I don't answer, she comes to her own conclusion and smiles big and wide. “Oh, you wanna come upstairs? Life kickin’ you in your ass, Aaliyah?”

“I don't wanna get into my business,” I say, trying to keep my composure because I need this to go well. “It just might be time for change. That’s all I'm saying.”

Shay twists her lips together while looking me up and down. “Hm. You tell Von about this?”

I shake my head. “Nah.”

“Well, as annoyin’ as it is, I know he’s always wanted to see if you could handle it up there. I told him you couldn't. Maybe I was wrong, though. Look, we both know I don't like you. You're pretty as hell, but I think you're bougie and don't belong here. But I know what Von wants, and if you get that stick out of your ass, you might do okay upstairs. But you can't go up acting the way you act. Men up there know what they want, and they have the money to get it. As long as they use protection and respect if you tell them to stop, the world is theirs. You can't be shootin’ clients down because they're ugly.”

“I don't even do that down here.”

“None of the ugly motherfuckers down here are trying to stick their dick in your mouth.”

I nod my head to the side because that’s valid.

“Alright, but what is it like?” I ask again. “Are they aggressive? You ever feel scared one of them might try to hurt you, or won’t stop if you tell them to? Does your jaw get tired? Pussy sore? Give me the details.”

Shay scoffs, shaking her head. “What do you think? You think I could suck off fifteen men a night and not have my jaw hurt? You ever see some of the mandingos that go up there? Bitch, of course my pussy gets sore. But when you're makin’ money, none of that matters. I don't even step into a room for less than a thousand dollars, you hear me? Then again, I'm the main bitch up in here, and you're not. Your knees are gonna hurt. Your mouth is gonna cramp. Your pussy is gonna dry out. Your entire body is gonna be pissed at you, but you're gonna be paid, and money solves all problems in America. That’s if you're willin’ to do what you gotta do to get it. It’s not a walk in the park.”

Shay and I share a moment of eye contact, and it’s obvious that neither of us cares for the other. We’re thinking of this as a business inquiry and hoping we don't actually have to work together. I only asked Shay about it because I know she's the one who will tell me the truth, in the hopes that it’ll deter me from wanting to go into her world. She doesn't want to compete with me for money or clients, but she may not have a choice.

Part of me wants to tell her that I'm not afraid and that I'm going to do it, but when I stand by and watch her get approached by one of the staring men from main seating, I freeze as the scene plays out. A skinny kid, no older than twenty-one, whispers something in Shay’s ear. She smiles and whispers something back while still looking at me. Then the kid pulls out a wad of cash and starts counting it right here at the bar. Shay stops him by grabbing his hand and shoving it under her shawl, before turning and leading him up the stairs. They disappear from my view, but my eyes never leave those stairs. Not even five minutes goes by before they're walking out from the dark together. They descend the steps and split into separate directions—the boy heads for the exit, Shay returns to me with the kid’s wad of cash in hand. She holds it in front of my face.

“A thousand dollars, and he came in ten strokes,” she says with a devilish grin.

While she smiles, my brain conjures up images of me being in that position. Some kid four years younger than me and barely able to drink, spreading my legs and sliding into me with giddy anxiety in his eyes. Bliss-filled expressions and gasps taking over his body, then immature, inexperienced pumping. No skill. No love. No brakes. All gas until the moment he loses control and fills the latex while he convulses over me. When it’s all done, he slides out, pulls off the condom, and exits the room while I go clean myself up with a pocket full of his money. Both of us demeaned. Neither of us truly satisfied. No happiness. Just a dirty business transaction.

“So, you ready to take a trip upstairs and see what it’s really about?” Shay asks. “Because there's only so much I can tell you. If you want to make it official, then we need to go up and tell Von. So, what’s up? You in?”

Try as I might, I can't stop thinking about what it will be like the first time I lay on my back for a stranger. All the props in the world to the women who endure that kind of thing, because I know some of us just have to do what we have to do. But as Shay angles her body toward the stairs to lead me up, I can't get my feet to follow her.

“Look, either you're comin’, or you're not,” she says with an attitude when she notices my hesitation. “I don't have time for this. Follow me up, or don't ever ask me about this again.”

She walks away, never pausing to look back. I watch her go, knowing I'm not built for it. She reaches the top and disappears, and I head to the locker room to change into a new outfit.

But my rent isn't going back down. So what the hell am I going to do now?

Eight

“To sex, adventure, money, and danger.”

I remember toasting in my apartment with Janae, hoping that it would make my life better. As if saying the words was the same as a prayer that would actually work. Funny. Nothing has changed since that night. In fact, my outlook has only gotten darker.