Caught Up. Shannon Holmes

went wild. They showered Dixyn with bills of all denominations, making it rain in the club. The sight of the money made her go at it even harder. She licked her lips and twerked around all angles of the stage. She rose to her feet and made her way to one of the poles, gyrated against it slowly, and shook her ass like a professional. Hands and hard dicks were everywhere, grabbing for her ass and trying to touch her pussy, although Kendra had promised there would be little to no physical contact. But with a bunch of hood niggas wanting to fuck something and only one chick on stage, it was hard to control. Finally, the bouncers descended on the stage in an attempt to keep the order. The crowd was forcibly kept at bay. Dixyn was free to concentrate back on what remained of her stage show instead of fretting over her own safety.

      All the bills that cluttered the stage floor brought a smile to her face. Dixyn needed every penny of this money, and now it was hers for the taking. As the music faded, signaling the end of her set, Dixyn got on all fours and began stuffing the money—her money—in her clutch bag. What money she couldn’t carry in her bag, Dixyn balled up in her hand, clinging to it for dear life, while she carefully walked off the stage. Now the only thing that really worried her was falling in the heels Kendra bought her the night before. As Dixyn made her way back toward the locker room, she was sexually propositioned more times than she could remember. She just smiled and kept it moving. All she wanted to do was get back to the locker room so she could count up her stash. As soon as Dixyn opened the door, Kendra met her and slapped her on her ass.

      “See, bitch, I told you it was easy. You looked like you knew what the fuck you were doing out there. Made me proud, bitch.”

      “I was scared as fuck,” Dixyn said. “Where were you?”

      Kendra ignored her question. “You did good though. Now let’s see how you handle ya’self in the VIP.”

      “Aw, hell no, Kendra, I’m not doing no VIP. I already told you that shit ain’t for me. I got all the dough I need right here. This is enough.”

      “There’s no such thing as enough,” Kendra countered. “Think big, you’ll get big.”

      Dixyn began to straighten out her bills. Kendra quickly exited the locker room, leaving Dixyn to silently count up a little over three hundred dollars. Then suddenly Kendra reappeared, interrupting her.

      “I have a business proposition for you, Dix.”

      “I’m not doing VIP, Kendra,” she repeated. “You need to go find someone else for that.”

      “It’s better than that. All this dude wants is time. He just wanna kick it wit’ you. Just you and him. This is legit. Straight up. No funny business.”

      “I’m not for sale, Kendra,” Dixyn declared.

      “He just wants to spend time, Dix. He’s willing to pay for it. You should at least go see what he wants before you shut him down.”

      “Who is this guy who’s willing to pay for ‘time’?”

      Kendra guaranteed, “He’s legit.”

      “Send someone else,” Dixyn insisted.

      “He wants you,” Kendra fired back.

      “Let him want someone else.”

      “Dixyn, ain’t you the same bitch that the bank is foreclosing on her town house? And ain’t you the same bitch who didn’t have lights on in the crib up until a few days ago? And ain’t you—”

      “I see your point, Kendra!” Dixyn yelled out.

      “Good! I had to remind you ’cause I thought you forgot. Now lemme go line this nigga up for you.”

      “Is this dude really willing to pay for time? Don’t bullshit me! Don’t have me go up there thinking it’s one thing and he’s expecting something totally different.”

      Kendra leaned down and whispered in Dixyn’s ear, “You’re in no position to turn down any money.”

      “Okay, I’ll meet the nigga. Just give me a few minutes to clear my head.”

      * * *

      When Dixyn reemerged from the locker room, she could have sworn she was in the wrong club. There was gratuitous sex happening all around her, everywhere she looked. It resembled a wild orgy. What Dixyn didn’t know was that she had stepped in the midst of a locked-door sexual smorgasbord for strippers that the club owner Notti threw monthly. Not every dancer in the club participated, but the real moneymakers did. They chose to stay and sell their services under the guise of VIP and lap dances. Compensation came in many ways—drugs, cash, or both. If a dancer was really on her job, she could walk out of one of Notti’s locked-door events with a few stacks easy.

      Dixyn maneuvered through the club, utterly astounded by what she was witnessing. She hoped that patrons who weren’t having sex were too preoccupied with getting drunk or getting high to notice her. She was grateful that she had slipped into street clothes. As soon as the secret rendezvous with the unknown client was over, she promised herself she was leaving.

      Dixyn moved swiftly through the mobs of men who started reaching for her arms and smacking her on the ass. She spotted Kendra without even trying. Pausing momentarily, Dixyn witnessed her friend sitting in the corner next to some dude with her head buried in his lap, bobbing up and down. Dixyn moved on carefully, trying not to draw any attention. As she made her way to the stairs that led to the VIP area, she literally ran into Fonda.

      “Dix!” Fonda shouted.

      Dixyn smiled as they passed on the steps.

      “Go get that money, girl. That nigga is waitin’ for you in room two,” Fonda told her.

      Heading up the steps, Dixyn’s mind began to race. Who was this dude who wanted to buy some time with her? The closer she got to the top of the stairs, the faster her heart began to beat. Dixyn reached the upper level, unsure of which way to go. She followed a trail of doors to her left and counted down the numbers until she reached room two.

      Dixyn knocked softly on the door, hoping no one would respond.

      “Come in,” a deep voice said.

      Dixyn turned the doorknob and cautiously entered the dimly lit room. The first object that caught her eye was a stack of money that lay neatly on the table alongside of a bottle of champagne placed in a bucket of ice.

      “Don’t be afraid. Ain’t nobody in this room gonna hurt you.”

      There was something about the dude’s voice that was reassuring. He didn’t sound like a rapist or a pervert to Dixyn. She pushed the door open all the way, revealing a dark-skinned black male fashionably dressed in a blue denim True Religion outfit with matching blue and black Nike Foamposite sneakers. He had an oversized snap-back New York Yankees hat pulled over his eyes.

      “Sure took you long enough, Dix,” he chided.

      She stood silently in the doorway, unsure of what to say.

      “Dixyn Greene!” he spat. “Stop playin’ wit’ me! Come in and close the door.”

      Now the stranger had her undivided attention. She entered the room for no other reason than to ascertain how this dude knew her government name. She closed the door slowly behind her and stood near it in case she needed to make a quick escape.

      “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Dixyn asked with sarcasm.

      “Oh, you got jokes, huh, ma?” the man replied. “The pleasure is all mine, Dixyn. Since you’re being funny, what is a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

      “None of your business!” she countered. “I’m not here to talk about my personal life. Or me, for that matter. Those things won’t be topics of discussions. So, like I said before, it’s none of your business.”

      “I beg to differ, sweetheart. It is my business. You probably don’t know me, but you know of me . . .”

      Dixyn