Brooklyn Brothel Read Online Free Page B

told me you was ’posed ta start today! I’m gonna call’er tomorrow. She owe Bo Rich some damnnnn money!”
    “That’s on you, Bo,” I whispered, then turned to see if Betty was still in the doorway. She had her back turned, talkin’ to some guy in a black suit.
    “Bo, seven days, that’s it, right?” I quizzed.
    “You questionin’ my integrity?”
    “No…I’m not,” I said sharply. “How’s it goin’ with findin’ us another girl?”
    “Lemme handle da business ova here. You get off da phone and make that money.”
    “Okay…love you, Bo.”
    All I heard was…Click.

Chapter 3
    “Co-Co, Co-Co!” an overly anxious girl named Cinnamon shouted in my ear. “Wake up! Wake up, girl!”
    I jumped from my bed thinkin’ there was a fire or somethin’. Luckily, I’d met Cinnamon the night before, ’cause when I woke up in a panic from her shakin’ me half to death, she woulda got punched if I hadn’t recognized her face. It was normal for me to have violent flashbacks from my prison days. I tried to change up my ways, tried to be the sweet, calm, and understandin’ Chantel my mother barely raised, but it was hard. I still kept a part of that prison life with me; the part where I had to fight bitches on a regular to defend myself. The part where I had to get raunchy and talk nasty just to get my fuckin’ point across. Then there was the trust factor. There were no girls who could be trusted in prison, none that I confided in back at home, and there were none who could be trusted in Betty’s brothel either.
    “What’s up? What’s the emergency?” I asked.
    “Girllllllll, it’s ten o’clock,” she said, with her plus- sized hips.
    Cinnamon was slender, yet had a bodacious set of hips and an ass just as plump as mine. She was a typical black girl, with a stylish, ear length hair-do, and long eyelashes; fake of course.
    “You gotta shower, do your hair, and all the other shit that comes along with this gig,” she continued with urgency. How long does it take you to create that mole?” she ended, tryna play me.
    “It’s permanent,” I boasted.
    “Yeah, right.”
    Cinnamon giggled while standing ova my bed, pinnin’ her hair to the sides. She obviously didn’t believe me. Hell, it was hard to believe she’d been a stripper. She kept movin’ back and forth blockin’ my view from the otha side. I needed to get a visual of the whole room. From where I sat, the set-up reminded me of a huge dorm; not that I’d been to college, but from what I’d seen in movies.
    “You got make-up? You got perfume? You got lipstick?” Cinnamon ranted all in one sentence. Then she reached out to me holdin’ an old beat-up tube of pink lipstick.
    “I only wear red,” I said, moving her hand away from me. “It’s my signature.” I showed her my tube and smiled. “It’s sexy isn’t it?”
    Finally, she moved from blockin’ my view. When I snuck a peek and noticed the otha naked bodies across the room all gettin’ dressed in a hurry, I thought maybe I was in trouble. They pranced around like showgirls behind the stage of an off-schedule Vegas performance. Since I had chosen the bed by the window, I darted across my bed thinkin’ maybe some guys were already on their way in. I looked outside only to see nothin’, then glanced ova at Sasha who I’d met last night, too.
    Sasha sat on her bed in a nonchalant manner lotionin’ up her milky white legs. She was cool last night, but acted like I didn’t exist today. There was only a single dresser that separated my bed from hers, yet from our conversation she seemed like we had the most in common. Of course the fact that she was white and I was black didn’t count. But strangely, she seemed like somebody I could get close to. Just like that, Serita’s words rang in my head. She told me as soon as she showed me to my room last night, “Forget about getting close. Nobody will be here too long. Keep it professional,” she lectured.
    Sasha didn’t look