An Urban Drama by Roy Glenn

have stories about the things men would say to her. Weak, lame lines. Starr gave me the rundown on all the other dancers—who was trickin ’, who got high, which ones stole money, the whole nine. Some nights she wouldn’t feel like being bothered and would dance only when it was her turn on stage, or she’d dance for me when a song came on that she liked.”
    “I guess she really liked you too.”
    “I guess,” Victor said quietly.
    I could tell by the way he talked about her that she really meant a lot to him. “You wanted to have sex with her?”
    “Bad. But for as long as the relationship lasted, there was no sex. Each night some guy in a gold Lincoln would show up to get her. She’d say good night and they’d drive away, leaving me broke and feeling foolish.”
    “She was just doin’ her job.”
    “So what about you, Nina? What do you do now?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “What do you do? Where do you work?”
    “Oh . . .” I laughed. I knew what he meant. I was just trying to decide how I should answer. “I’m in business for myself,” I said quickly.
    “What type of business do you do?”
    “Wholesale/retail business,” I said. “You know, I buy things wholesale and resell them for a profit.”
    “Really? What product, or maybe its products, do you carry?”
    “That depends on the customer,” I answered, trying not to trip over my own words.
    “So, you run a customer-driven business?”
    “Right,” I said. “Victor, would you mind holding on a minute? I got a call on my other line.” I put the phone on mute and left him there for a while.
    When I got back on the phone, Victor was more interested in my life as a stripper than knowing what products I carried.
    Ah, men.
    “Nina, you begin to interest me, and not just ’cause you were a dancer. Although that is a major factor, I am really enjoying this whole conversation.”
    “Well, I’m glad I’m able to amuse you.”
    “You never did say what you looked like. Describe yourself to me.”
    “I’m twenty-five; just turned, in fact.”
    “Happy belated birthday,” Victor said.
    “Thank you,” I said. “I’m brown-skinned with long, shoulder-length hair. A lot of people think I’m Puerto Rican ’cause my hair is wavy. I’m about five-seven, taller in pumps, and I won’t tell you how much I weigh.”
    “A woman thing, I guess.”
    “You know that. But I assure you that you won’t be disappointed when you see me.”
    “I consider this a good thing. I’ve been on blind dates before. Most turned out to be nights I’d soon forget.”
    After a bit more small talk, I told Victor I was tired and I would call him the next day, and maybe we could get together. Victor, on the other hand, didn’t seem too excited about meeting me in person. He kept saying that he had some business to handle the next day. If I’m nothing else, I am persistent, and I wouldn’t give up until I got my way.
    The next day, I was on the phone with Victor, and I was talking about him coming to get me for dinner, drinks, or whatever. I was going to meet the man behind the voice.
     
Ten
    “Victor?”
    “Nina?”
    “Come on in.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Well?” I said, standing with my hands on my hips.
    “Yeah, I can see where you could pass for Puerto Rican. You’re very pretty. No, that’s an understatement too. You’re beautiful.”
    “Thank you, Victor. You’re a very handsome man yourself. Have a seat. I’ll be ready in a minute,” I said and went into the bedroom. Very handsome was an understatement too. This man was sexy as hell. His voice was just the tip of the iceberg.
    We rode around for a while and talked. Once we settled on a place, we went inside and took a seat at the bar. I ordered my signature rum and Coke; I had to cut loose them Blue Muthafuckas. Victor ordered Remy Martin, neat. That means straight, if y’all didn’t know. I didn’t.
    We had the usual amount of uncomfortable, getting-to-know-you conversation over the first drink.