There's a time in a person's life where they have to make a very hard decision that shapes them; usually it's a person's career choice, where they want to go to college, or rather they want to still date that cheating boyfriend of theirs. However, some people do not have it that easy... some people like myself, who's stuck between a rock and hard place and if they make the wrong choice they'll lose everything they have.
When I first found out my life was slipping out of my hands was when I received a phone call from the general hospital over fifty blocks away from my house. It was late, heavily raining, I was up studying for my college finals when the house phone rung- no one ever called the house phone, it was usually used as decoration. However, I had one in my room for odd reasons- mainly just in case I needed to call the cops and I didn't have my personal phone with me, some random caution like that. Anyway, I answered.
I remembered that dull female voice, the strain and exhaustion in her tone made my heart skip a beat. "Is this Joy Wesson, I'm calling for your father- Thomas Wesson."
"Y-yes, this is she." I remembered my throat going dry, I could hear the hospital's intercom in the background, along with the loud screaming of a man that was suddenly rushed into the ER.
The nurse gave off a sigh, it was a warning of bad news... a warning that my life was going to change for the worse. "Your father has been involved in a car accident an hour ago, he arrived to the ER with critical conditions."
"Is he okay?" There's various ways to ask that question, one of them being if he's alive. However, the question: 'Is he okay' could mean just that with the right sense of tone; worry, concern, sadness- I had that tone.
"He's in the ICU right now, the doctor had to do surgery- your father is barely holding on. It's best if you come to the hospital, to say your goodbyes. I'm sorry." She wasn't sorry, there's no need to be sorry for someone you barely know. The nurse was sorry to be a bringer of bad news, to ruin a young woman's life when at it's prime. I wasn't at the age to worry rather my father would die or not, I should be worried rather or not he was going to like the boys I bring home from school. I should be worried about him being alone when I leave to live on my own in another state. I shouldn't be hearing he's dead, not when we're both so young.
After hearing the news, I didn't cry or punch the wall, I didn't even move from that chair. I just sat there and stared into space, dumbfounded, not able to wrap my head around that call. I wanted it to be a prank from my idiotic and reckless friends from school, I wanted cameras and Ashton Kutcher to come out of my closet saying I've been punk'd. I felt my life slipping away, the picture fading and burning away into ashes.
After that long moment in staring at the wall, unmoving, and waiting for some sick joke to play out; I walked out into the rain and ran to the hospital with nothing but my flip flops and pajamas on, being drenched from head to toe, not caring about the long distance or honking I've received for being a lunatic. Maybe I was crazy, I sure felt like my mind was playing tricks with that phone call.
I remembered everything from the night, the rain, how the cold air filled my lungs and caused me to become sick that very next day, drenched from head to toe and almost slipping on the clean hospital floor, the stares from the nurses and patients when I stormed straight to the registration desk, me demanding to see my father and three nurses having to calm me down so security didn't have to get involved. I also remembered it feeling like forever when walking down that hall to ICU with an itchy wool blanket around my shoulders and a spare nurse outfit they gave me to put on; it could of been out of sympathy.
The breath I had left escaped my lungs, the disbelief of my father's accident turning into despair and loneliness, the silent cry in my throat firmed onto panic gasp as I grew closer to my father. He was hooked up to many machines that did so much to keep him alive for another eight hours, just enough time for me to say my goodbyes, make phone calls so family and friends can say their goodbyes too.
At that moment I felt lost, confused and fearful. I was alone, both of my parents were the victims of tragic death, my mother being target practice on her walk from work, my father being apart of a car crash after checking on his best friend in hospice. Right then and there, my life unraveled.
I never dared to use my father's death as an excuse for my life turning into shit, I blamed myself for it all; me no longer attending school and losing my full ride scholarship, selling the house to make ends meet, moving to the worse part of the city, and landed the only two jobs that gave me enough money to get by- I wore two identities as an exotic dancer and a waitress in a country club. What happened to me? Where did my life go? It seems the will and power I had left was buried with him, all the effort I had to shaping my future was gone, and the only thing I made for myself was exposure while living off of paycheck to paycheck in order to survive. My parents would be ashamed if they were to come back, but they're never coming back.
******
New York City, Harlem... The place wasn't as bad when I first arrive to leave in a shitty apartment with the money I had left from my father's insurance money and the money I made on my first night dancing. It was the middle of summer; hotter than the devil's balls over a pit of fire, the fans in my bedroom wasn't enough to ease my torture from the heat nor opening all the windows to get the little amount of breeze from high above. However, no matter how hot it is outside, it brought everyone together in the neighborhood- block parties, children playing in the streets with the fire hydrants bursting with water, old school music played on each end of the block, and the smell of all sorts of food mixed together made me smile from ear to ear.
Harlem was changing, it became friendlier, the rich man's money was following in; which means no more crime, more police on the streets, and glass sky rises everywhere you go are being built- shutting down small businesses by making unnecessary ones. Unfortunately, I had to work through this hot day at the country club in Staten Island, a very long train ride with a smelly bus that would take me straight to the front gates.
I dressed in the ugly khaki skirt and bright blue shirt with my name tag on it, hair pulled into a neat ponytail while my face was clear of makeup from last night- only lipgloss and diamond stubs. Exiting out my tiny apartment, I was hit with the usual nose coming from my neighbors; yelling, babies crying, loud music, and pans being thrown at walls. However, it's only one sound that concerns me.
The door across from mine slam open and closed, a woman just a few years older than me came running out, her back pressed against the chipped wood, she painted for air, her left cheek bruised, and lip held a small cut along the corner, her dyed sliver hair was a bird nest.
"Olivia." I voiced, startling her to gasp and stare down at me as if I were another abuser. When I moved into this apartment, it was six months ago after I landed a job at the All Men's Club downtown- that's where I first met my across the hall neighbor. "Are you okay?" It's unusual to see your co-workers outside of work, and it's hard to not butt into their lives when it unravels in front of you the first week you're around. Olivia was a serious victim of domestic violence, her boyfriend abused her every chance he gets and takes all her money. Unfortunately, she didn't want to leave him.
She combed back her silver hair and gave me a weak smile, "Yeah, I'm fine. You off to your day shift?"
"Yeah. Am I going to see you for the night shift?"
"Of course, have a good day."
"You too. You know, if you want to take a breather, you can always go into my apartment."
Olivia smile slightly dropped from the offer, her gaze started back to the closed door- he was ease dropping, like always. "I'm fine, thank you. Have a good day a work." She opened the door just enough to slip back inside... back to the danger that would get her killed one day if she doesn't wake up from the nightmare.
The route to work was a long one, however, I tend to entertain myself with music and watch the world transition from low to high class just by crossing a bridge or turning into a street. The country club held an opened field for their gold course, tennis and basketball courts; all the stuff old men would waste six hundred dollars a month on. The job was decent, not really good pay and the tips sucked ass more than at the club, but it kept me busy and my head on straight.
"Miss Wesson, a minute early this time, keep it up." The afternoon manager, Robert, praised me with his usual thin lips and raised brow as if scorning me of my presence- in fact, he hated all the female workers, but dare not to shared his mere hatred for us. Robert was worse than the club owner, at least he wasn't passive aggressive and loved woman- maybe a little too much, but we bring in the money.
I cursed him to hell for being an asshole while clocking in, just a quick signature and running my work card through the system. My locker was all the way at the end of the room, in between the most annoying frat boys I've ever met in my life. Mostly all the employees around my age were doing summer jobs to get some money for school, they all reminded of the one thing I use to fight for, now I gave that part of me up and stuck to getting by instead of building a future for myself.
I shook those thoughts away by taking a deep breath and locking my personal belongings away before heading off to start my day. Rounds around the restaurant was torture; serving that one percent of wealthy arrogant families in this state, being crapped on for their own amusement, and gaining cold glares from Robert every time a customer had some shit to say. However, there was one customer that stuck out like a sore thumb in my mind.
Unlike all the other shitty tippers in the restaurant, he wore a suit in the middle of summer during one of the hottest days no to man, no signs of sweat nor dark brown hair out of place, his eyebrows were slightly bushy but it fits with his narrow eyes, chin held enough stubble to be in a form of a beard if he allowed it to grow a little thicker, lips slightly plump and pink, his facial features ended with elf ears. I had better looking customers; underwear models, track stars, professional tennis players, and even business men. But it wasn't his normal looks that stuck out nor the fact he was really tall and fit, it was his attitude.
The guy could clear the room with cocky smile and enormous dick attitude that made me vomit. He loved talking about himself, and loved it anymore when someone else talked about him- no matter if it's good or bad. I know that part of him because my co-workers kept waving over his bad service, even though he's literally across the bar where we would meet up and judge everyone else- on every sentence his cocky smile grew wider, I would of thought his lips would split open any second. Apparently he stopped by the restaurant in the morning for breakfast to have a meal with his father, this time he was having lunch and was meeting someone else, a younger man around his age.
I served them both at a small table with a bunch of papers scattered around them, it was hard to place their drinks down without placing them on the documents. Let me just say I'm technically new here at the job, I've only worked at the country club for three months; before this job I've never worked as a waitress, I mostly worked retail in college and high school. My first mistake was accidentally knocking down the guy's drink on the table, low curses escaped my lips as I tried to clean it up with a rag and ducking my head and waiting for the wrath of man. But it never came, instead a low remark about how waitresses were the dumbest people on earth passed his lips, causing his friend to laugh right in my face.
"Like I said," I voiced after the unnecessary comment. "I'm sorry, sir." I gave him a cold glare that would of went over his head, but he caught it and returned that look. My second mistake was accidentally placing their orders in the wrong spot, basically the friend ordered a chicken but I gave him the beef, as the guy ordered the beef and I gave him the chicken. A simply diner mistake that mostly every waitress go through.
"Does it look like I ordered the chicken salad?" The question was the dumbest thing I heard, but it helped my register my simple mistake.
I quickly switched their plates and sighed heavily, "I'm so sorry, I don't know where my head is at today. I'll come back with your refills."
"Hopefully you don't spill it this time." Another slick comment.
Then the third mistake, actually it wasn't a mistake, it was more like revenge for speaking to me as if I'm nothing. Instead of targeting his friend as well, I foolishly missed out the dickheads dessert with something totally different. "Here you go sir," I gave him a bright smile as if my deed was a good thing.
He looked at his friend correct order, then back at his own, and at his friend's meal again. The dickhead blinked twice in disbelief while looking up at me, I only batted my eyelashes at him. "You're fucking with me, are you?" Instead of reporting me to my manager or cursing me out, he smiled and chuckled as if I just made his day. "Maybe you should try harder than giving me a coconut cake, even though that's the lowest thing anyone could ever do."
"I'll give you the correct cake then, wait, what was that again? Carrot or rum?" I can admit, I was having a little fun fucking with him, without these little moments- life would be miserable.
He chuckled again while scratching the side of his chin, "Rum would be fantastic."
"Coming right up sir." I took the coconut cake away. However, when I returned with the rum cake, the guys were gone and a hefty fifty dollar tip took its place. Honestly, if I had more memorable customers like him once every week, I wouldn't mind coming into work.
The day shift ended exactly at five o'clock, just in time to catch the bus back at the train station and get home by seven. Before my night shift I take a quick shower and fifteen minutes power nap to regain all my energy, along with a Red Bull to be on the safe side.
The All Men's Club was in Queens, it was best to make a cautious distance between my day and night job so the original members that go to the restaurant every week wouldn't coincidentally see me exposing myself on the pole, that would be a recipe for disaster. The club was packed like always, men of all classes clashed together to see young woman dance and satisfy their minds with a fantasy they'll take home to the Misses.
I walked straight into the back to get change before it was my turn to preform, my outfit consisted of booty shorts and a long sleeve mush crop top that can be untied at the front. I never go fully nude, I only show my breast and some ass cheek; but my kitty cat is fully covered at all times, no special private show.
Olivia set up shop next to me, her silver hair was used as drapes to hide her face, large sunglasses covered her eyes, and her lips were covered in bold red lipstick to cover up the cut from this morning. Her story wasn't any different from some of these girls here, but at least they got out in time. Olivia was playing with a time bomb, we all knew that, every night gets worse; sometimes she's not able to stand or perform because of the bruises, so out of sympathy the club owner, Donny, puts her behind the bar fully clothed under the dark lights. "Don't look at me like that." She hissed before tearing her sunglasses off to show the purple bruise around her right eye. As soon as she took off the cover, she implied concealer to it and the rest of her bruises scattered all over her face.
"How did you think this is going to end, Olivia?" I whispered before placing my makeup back into the bag and walking out from the back to make my rounds around the club to give out a few lap dances.
The night was a little slow, being that it was Wednesday and two weeks from payday; mostly the rich old men were here getting private shows while discussing business, but they are never interested with the stage performances. I gave two lap dances, earned at least over a hundred dollars without even removing my top. I ended up at the bar five minutes before I had to hit the stage, I took the normal shot of vodka to give me the liquor encouragement and relax my muscles. The crappy rock music suddenly stopped when Lucy, one of the girls, walked off stage with her clothes and money. The crowd whistled and clapped, praising her body even more.
"Now welcoming to the stage, Jasmine!" The announcer gave me a cue to get up there. I managed to do just that by going through the crowd, I allowed them to grope my ass while helping me up. The spotlight blinded me instantly, but I pushed past it by twirling around the pole to get my bearings together before lifted myself up to do a split in mid air upside down. For the first time ever, I almost lost my grip, not because my palms could of been sweaty- but mainly because of the familiar narrow eyes that stared straight at me with the equal amount of confusion, but that look was coated with amusement.
Dickhead was here! Why the fuck is he here?! Staten Island and Queens are too far apart, and there's over a hundred strip clubs better than this one that he could of gone to. Don't focus on that Joy, you'll break your neck if you do... I took my own advice by finishing the performance, however, I was a little hesitant when it came down to removing my top; so, I pictured dick head as a regular guy that I may or may not see on the streets, chances are pretty thin if I ever do. Besides, the crowd grew wild when I did expose my perky breast to the world.
I wasn't ashamed to be an exotic dancer, it's not exactly the rock bottom for me; I've met a few girls in my past that hit rock bottom and managed to crawl out of that miserable pit. Although, my family saw it as a signed document to Hell, I didn't care because at the end of the day I'm all alone and fending for myself; I don't see them giving me advice on how I could pick myself back up nor knocking some sense into me. The performance was over once the song was over, I collected my top and cash before dashing off the stage so the next girl can work her magic in squeezing some money out of those men.
By time I arrived at my vanity, my top was already on and the cash I managed collect was folded up in my side pocket. I placed it in my safe with the rest of my stuff, the girls here are like family, but we all had trust issues when it comes to our money.
"Yo Jasmine," Donny stood at the entrance of the dressing room, back slightly turned as a way to give us privacy. "There's someone out here for you."
I sighed heavily, I already knew who decided to pay me a visit, because of my shirt six months of being here I have not yet granted myself regular clients. Before exiting the locker room, I touched up my lipgloss and puffed up my hair. Dickhead stood at the end of the hall, having the courage to lean on the walls with both hands stuffed into his pantsuit pocket. "How may I help you, sir?" My voice was dull and full of irritation, arms crossed in front of my chest as I put all my weight on one leg to shoe my 'not in the mood' attitude.
"Jasmine, wow." His eyes scanned me slowly when finally looking me in the eyes, he also stood up straight and showed me his full height that made me to bend my neck back to continue in staring in his eyes. Instead of straining myself, I took several steps back that helped me out. "Isn't that a little too obvious, considering your name is actually Joy. Jasmine, Joy... the two connects."
"Well, it's not everyday when my night and day shift combines. Are you going to report this to my manger? Use blackmail?"
"Blackmail? Heavens no, that's commoner's business." He removed his hand from his pocket to show the stack of cash held by a gold clip he apparently carries around everywhere he goes. "How about a private show, I have a few friends here that would love to see you dance again." With no question, he offered me the entire stack of fifties, of course removing the clip along the way.
I held the money in my hand, oddly it burned my palm as if I were too cheap to have it all. That's the thing, I'm not cheap, nor am I just going to stand here and act like he sees me as some thing that would do what he says because he has money to blow. In retaliation, I flung the stack of cash in the middle of his face, the money floated to the ground all around us like rain. "You and your friends can go fuck yourselves." I could of just said I don't do private shows, but a guy like him needs an aggressive response so he can register the rejection. I stormed away before he can lash out, rich boys like him has a history in putting their hands on woman like me. I oddly felt happy for doing that, as if I stood up to the man and ended poverty in black neighborhoods- I know that's a stretch, but it's the little things you have to look forward to.
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Imani Hakim as Joy Wesson...