Brooklyn Brothel Read Online Free Page A

Crawford looking mole on your face. Men should like that shit.”
    “Mike said brown skin does well here,” I said proudly.
    “Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back. “I said you might be alright.”
    I swallowed hard. “Yes, Mrs. Betty.”
    “First of all, don’t call me no fuckin’ Mrs. Betty and secondly, drop the innocent, Miss Nice Girl routine. If you came here to fuck, you not so innocent.”
    If her words could cut, I’d need a blood transfusion within minutes. We sat in the office for another half an hour while I listened to more do’s and don’ts, and more degradin’ comments. I was so hungry from not eatin’ since I left Pittsburgh, but was afraid to let my stomach growl freely.
    Finally, she got to the nitty gritty; the pay.
    “Everything is a split with the house. This is an in-house, so we got expenses. If you wanna be welcomed back you gotta show us what you got. You make up your own prices within reason. When the guys come in, charge according to what services they want. Serita can help you with that.” She eyed me. “Tips are yours. Turn in what’s owed to me by midnight every night.”
    “Got it,” I said, tryin’ to sound confident.
    “You’ll know if I’m happy at the end of the night, ’cause I come in here and smoke one of these here Cuban cigars.”
    I scanned the area where her finger pointed. She had several cases of cigars lined on the shelves against the custom built wall; along with awards that showcased her name, Betty Strutherford in large letters. I couldn’t make out what the certificates and awards were for. She was a Madam, not a certified professional.
    Betty sat her flabby-ass on the end of her desk, and fondled a cigar in front of me. “Co-Co, if I don’t smoke my daily cigar, know that there is a problem. It’s what makes me feel successful at the end of the day.”
    Again, I nodded.
    “Last thing,” she said, lifting her body at a snail’s pace. “All your business takes place upstairs. So don’t let me catch you snooping around down here. Serita is the house motherwho sees everything. I call her, Snake Eyes. And know that as nice as she appears…that bitch will snitch on you.”
    My head titled back to see if Serita was in the doorway. She wasn’t but a shadow was.
    Betty continued, “2 A and B is where you girls sleep. 2C is our great room where the girls lounge and wait for customers to be brought up. Those are your two areas. You can use the kitchen on this level, but it better be spick-and-span when you finish. My suggestion…order out…or eat at the corner. But before midnight! It’s just like when you were in prison…we got lock down here, too.”
    She gave me a fake, devilish-lookin’ grin. The woman was incapable of smilin’.
    I was into my feelin’s wonderin’ why Bo had told Betty my business. She didn’t need to know that I’d been locked down. I rubbed the back of my neck, and glanced at the clock tryna hide my true feelings in front of Betty. The clock read 9 p.m. I guess when Betty noticed the troubled look on my face, she figured that was enough torture for one night. She pushed the phone in my direction.
    “Call Bo and let’em know you got here safely. Tell’em you’ll start tomorrow. Then Serita will get you settled in your room.”
    Betty walked ova to the door to summon Serita. I needed more privacy, but figured what I was gettin’ wouldn’t get any better. I punched Bo’s cell number into the old-fashioned phone hopin’ he would answer.
    “Yo, yo,” Bo answered real slick-like.
    “I made it,” I whispered.
    “That’s my girrrrrrrrl.”
    He appeared to be in a joyous mood. I could tell he was out and about from all the noise blarin’ into the phone. I wanted to ask him what the fuck had he gotten me into, and why he told Betty I had been locked up. Instead, I spokenicely for fear of Betty.
    “I’m gonna start tomorrow,” I told’em.
    “What the fuck!” he shouted. “Time is money. The bitch Betty