can be arranged if you’re serious,” Strawberry drawled in her deep Texan accent.
“Damn right, I’m serious, baby. As serious as a life sentence. But I was wondering if you could get a few mo’ girls together so we can have us a lil’ party somewhere.”
“Like where? Where we headed?”
“Shiiiiiiiit, we gon let y’all pick the spot,” Mike said, still slurring.
“And what about the price? How much y’all willing to pay for this lil’ show?”
“Look,” said Ant, “Money ain’t no issue at the moment, so I don’t see no reason for you to make it one. Name the price, get ya’ girls, and let’s go. Fuck all this talkin’,” he stated. He was ready to put all that conversation in a casket, and get inside one of those freak bitches.
Strawberry got up off Ant’s lap, and left him with an erection that was harder than a brick. She licked her lips, and said, “It’s gon’ cost y’all $500 per girl. If you can handle that, then I know I can get at least 6 or 7 other girls to come with us.”
Ant D reached into his pocket and pulled out several stacks of bills wrapped in rubber bands. He flashed them at Strawberry, and asked. “Why is we still talkin’?”
Seeing that those dudes were indeed serious, she told them, “I’ll be back in a sec’.” She sashayed back in the dressing room, making her ass shake and jiggle with every single step she took. She knew her every move was being watched by more than a few patrons at Platinum. Strawberry called that her Presidential Walk. It was the walk that got her the presidents that mattered most, the dead ones.
In the urban community, female adult entertainers, such as strippers, exotic models, and porn stars, were popularly looked upon as the female versions of hustlers. Just as their male counterparts were trapped by black market pharmaceuticals, the ladies mirrored their position, except their product was themselves. It wasn’t about America’s societal opinions, or its capitalistic hypocrisy. It was simply about dead presidents.
Chapter 9
Earlier that day, Meka was at Sylvia’s, a hair and nail salon located off of Laurens Rd. Owned and operated by Sylvia Brown, Sylvia’s was the spot where women from all over the upstate went to get the latest hairstyles. And the latest dish of ‘hood gossip.
Sylvia was a big boned, light brown skinned sister who loved talking shit almost as much as she loved doing hair. Raised in one of the grimiest sections of Greenville called Woodland Homes, Sylvia saw her environment as an inspiration to succeed, despite what the crackers said about people from the projects being lazy and uneducated. She knew what the statistics were, but was determined to prove them wrong against all odds.
So after she graduated from Woodmont High School, she enrolled in Greenville Tech’s cosmetology program. She went on to obtain her license in cosmetology, all while continuing to do hair out of her project apartment. So many women loved the way Sylvia hooked them up, that she soon she had more customers than she could handle by herself. She got the idea to open up her own shop, and hired some other girls who were nice at doing hair and nails too. Before long it was one of the top shops in the upstate with a steady clientele.
Being that it was Saturday, and also Labor Day weekend, all six of Sylvia’s chairs were occupied. There were six other women waiting, and reading the latest assortment of magazines kept on hand at the shop, such as Sister 2 Sister, Vibe, Black Hair, Essence, and XXL to name a few. There was also a large flat screen television mounted on the wall, which was playing the
“Damn right, I’m serious, baby. As serious as a life sentence. But I was wondering if you could get a few mo’ girls together so we can have us a lil’ party somewhere.”
“Like where? Where we headed?”
“Shiiiiiiiit, we gon let y’all pick the spot,” Mike said, still slurring.
“And what about the price? How much y’all willing to pay for this lil’ show?”
“Look,” said Ant, “Money ain’t no issue at the moment, so I don’t see no reason for you to make it one. Name the price, get ya’ girls, and let’s go. Fuck all this talkin’,” he stated. He was ready to put all that conversation in a casket, and get inside one of those freak bitches.
Strawberry got up off Ant’s lap, and left him with an erection that was harder than a brick. She licked her lips, and said, “It’s gon’ cost y’all $500 per girl. If you can handle that, then I know I can get at least 6 or 7 other girls to come with us.”
Ant D reached into his pocket and pulled out several stacks of bills wrapped in rubber bands. He flashed them at Strawberry, and asked. “Why is we still talkin’?”
Seeing that those dudes were indeed serious, she told them, “I’ll be back in a sec’.” She sashayed back in the dressing room, making her ass shake and jiggle with every single step she took. She knew her every move was being watched by more than a few patrons at Platinum. Strawberry called that her Presidential Walk. It was the walk that got her the presidents that mattered most, the dead ones.
In the urban community, female adult entertainers, such as strippers, exotic models, and porn stars, were popularly looked upon as the female versions of hustlers. Just as their male counterparts were trapped by black market pharmaceuticals, the ladies mirrored their position, except their product was themselves. It wasn’t about America’s societal opinions, or its capitalistic hypocrisy. It was simply about dead presidents.
Chapter 9
Earlier that day, Meka was at Sylvia’s, a hair and nail salon located off of Laurens Rd. Owned and operated by Sylvia Brown, Sylvia’s was the spot where women from all over the upstate went to get the latest hairstyles. And the latest dish of ‘hood gossip.
Sylvia was a big boned, light brown skinned sister who loved talking shit almost as much as she loved doing hair. Raised in one of the grimiest sections of Greenville called Woodland Homes, Sylvia saw her environment as an inspiration to succeed, despite what the crackers said about people from the projects being lazy and uneducated. She knew what the statistics were, but was determined to prove them wrong against all odds.
So after she graduated from Woodmont High School, she enrolled in Greenville Tech’s cosmetology program. She went on to obtain her license in cosmetology, all while continuing to do hair out of her project apartment. So many women loved the way Sylvia hooked them up, that she soon she had more customers than she could handle by herself. She got the idea to open up her own shop, and hired some other girls who were nice at doing hair and nails too. Before long it was one of the top shops in the upstate with a steady clientele.
Being that it was Saturday, and also Labor Day weekend, all six of Sylvia’s chairs were occupied. There were six other women waiting, and reading the latest assortment of magazines kept on hand at the shop, such as Sister 2 Sister, Vibe, Black Hair, Essence, and XXL to name a few. There was also a large flat screen television mounted on the wall, which was playing the
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