Craved

  I pull away from Lena, ignoring her tears. ‘What? Is that true?’

  She gives me an innocent look but says nothing.

  ‘Unfuckingbelievable!’ I take my handbag from the couch and walk out after Natalia.

  ‘Can you believe it? What’s got into her? I don’t understand!’ Natalia utters as soon as she starts the car and takes off.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘He was fucking her on top of the basin. And they didn’t even bother to lock the door. And you know what she did when I caught her?’ Natalia throws her hands in the air, letting her anger take a full swing around the car cabin. ‘She laughed! She laughed, then pulled her panties back up and left the bathroom, as if nothing had happened.’

  ‘Just like mom... no wonder.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Do you know what she was up to in Turkey? It was before you went there with her.’ The heavy mixture of anger, shame and denial are pressing onto my chest.

  Natalia looks at me and then back at the road.

  ‘What is it? Does it have something to do with that phone call, when you were crying?’

  ‘I wish she’d never told me. But our mom decided that she had to save me from this cruel world by telling me that she used to whore in Istanbul. Did you know that?’

  ‘God no! I had some suspicions when after one of her first trips she arrived home with bruises on her arms, neck and face. She said she’d fallen down the stairs. Father believed her, or just pretended to. But he would do anything not to face the truth. I remember the doubts, but after all we were still young and didn’t really know anything.’

  We stay quiet for a while, each loaded with thoughts about Mom and Lena.

  ‘It must have been awful for her,’ Natalia says, her voice filled with sorrow.

  ‘Seriously?’ I look at Natalia and then turn away, ‘Unfuckingbelievable. She was cheating on our dad and you feel sorry for her? Maybe we should feel sorry for Lena as well, then?’

  ‘I think you are wrong. Mom did it for us, don’t you understand? Times were tough, and God knows what she had to go through to pull our family through.’ She glances at me. ‘Of all of us, you should be more sympathetic to the choices she made. I don’t say they were right or wrong, but at least she was trying to do something. Maybe you’ve forgotten, Jul, but in those days we didn’t even have food. What was she supposed to do?’

  ‘I can’t believe my ears! She was a married woman, our father’s wife! I can’t believe you’re defending her!’

  We fall silent and don’t exchange a word until we get home.

  33

  It feels amazing. The only way I can describe this feeling is that it’s as good as a cocaine high. I no longer walk into the club – I glide. I no longer work in the club – I gracefully accept the attention.

  Together with Natalia’s useful tricks and strategies, which come to me more and more effortlessly, my new boobs complete my ne plus ultra.

  I walk through the Monday-night club. It’s pretty quiet but I’ve managed to make some money already. I still prefer the downstairs crowd to the VIP. Only now, after a few songs in private with me, the clients beg for more. They agree to spend extra to upgrade to a VIP pass and splash out a grand on a touching dance. I produce my own, custom-made VIP clients who are less pretentious and arrogant: clients for whom a few minutes spent with me in an intimate set-up is a precious gift.

  ‘Hey, sexy?’ I stop in front of the guy, who is anything but sexy. ‘Would you like to join me for a dance?’ I bend forward then recline on the armrest of his chair, making sure that his stare can't escape.

  He blushes like a teenager. I stay quiet for a moment, letting him enjoy the scenery. He realizes he can’t stop staring and gets even redder.

  These moments of absorbing power are so intoxicating.

  ‘Come on, handsome, today’s special is ripe and tangy sweet melons. Are you going to try?’ I smile, squeeze my breasts and rub them against each other, moving them up and down.

  He laughs and I see his face relax.

  ‘That’s funny. You are funny, and very beautiful,’ he mumbles, unable to look away.

  Here we are, my big fat boy. Don’t fight it. You’ll come with me anyway.

  ‘I’ve spent too much money already. I’m broke. You should have got to me earlier.’

  I lean forward again, this time tickling the back of his neck with my nails and looking him straight in the eye. Ignoring his repulsive sweat on my hand, I give him my you-are-the-sexiest-man-I-have-ever-seen look and whisper, ‘I want you to see my pussy – it’s wet and really naughty.’ I move and my sharp nipple, sticking up under the fabric of my dress, brushes his face. ‘We are going to have a dance. The question is, which one would you prefer?’

  He fidgets in his chair, nervously sips his brandy and Coke, without taking his eyes off my nipples, then sluggishly gets up.

  ‘I want to touch.’

  I take his hand in mine, turn and walk him up the stairs.

  Disgusting. His is so big and so sweaty. Because of his pregnant stomach and wide hips, it's impossible to get on top of him. It’s almost like going to a public toilet with a dirty seat, squatting over to make sure you don’t touch it. That is how it feels for the long fifteen minutes with fatso on the couch.

  When the music is over, I get up slowly, holding onto the couch, feeling sore in my muscles and knees.

  Fat clients should be charged double. It’s fair. Double the size – double the effort – double the price!

  ‘I want you to come with me to my place. I’ll pay you well,’ I hear when I finish with my bra and slide the door open.

  ‘I thought you were broke,’ I reply without enthusiasm and walk out of the room.

  He sees my I’m-not-interested expression and hurriedly adds, ‘10k! That’s big money!’

  I note that my greed has swallowed the bait, trying to convince me to consider an opportunity to make more money, chirping something like, ‘It’s nothing. Just a half-hour fuck. What are you holding out for? What, are you a nun now? An extra ten grand is never overmuch.’

  I open my purse to take out the cigarettes and my lighter – a few minutes of smoking will help me to think things through and make the right decision. I battle with the wad of cash as I try to close my bag again. As I finally do, I light a cigarette, smile at the fatso, say, ‘No thank you,’ and go back to the floor.

  34

  I put on my jeans and sweater and drop into a chair, waiting for Natalia to finish getting dressed.

  Saturday night had gone the way it was supposed to: the club was full and I didn’t have a free minute, even to go to the bathroom.

  The moment I stepped onto the floor at seven, until four o’clock in the morning, I made money. At one stage I thought I was going to pee in my pants. At about 11 p.m., I ran into a bachelor party. All youngsters. A dozen sweet, well-dressed, well-mannered boys. First I gave them a table dance. Then it started. One by one they took me for a lap dance: as I was done with one, he would walk me back to their table, making sure no one else snapped me up, and pass me to his friend. All that with belly laughs, admiring discussions of how amazing I am, and avid breakdowns of my anatomy, including detailed chats about all the physical specifications of my extraordinary pussy and out-of-this-world tits. Three hours of passing me around ended up with them leaving the club broke (but happy), and tearing the bachelor out as he yelled: ‘Julia! I want to be with you! I don’t want to get married!’

  Yeah, the night was a definite success.

  I yawn and glance at my phone. I have five missed calls from Mark. The last one was just a few minutes ago. I hadn’t heard it – it had been on silent. I call him back.

  ‘Are you girls still out?’ Mark sounds wide awake. It’s obvious that he’s trying to sound casual, hiding the worry in his voice. I cover the receiver and walk out of the dressing room. ‘I know you two are accustomed to the late nights, but how is Lena keeping up with you there?’ He gi
ves a titter. ‘She is probably sleeping on Natalia’s shoulder already?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Crap, why did I lie? ‘Sorry we didn’t call you. It was just too loud in the club. We are back home, but Lena had too much to drink and she is in bed already. I was going to call you.’

  I turn. Natalia is standing behind me, ready to go. Her brows are up to the ceiling.

  I put the phone down. ‘She is out somewhere. I told Mark she is partying with us.’ Natalia gives me a heavy once-over and heads towards the exit.

  Why is it me who is in trouble?

  Natalia opens the door and drops into the driving seat, cursing out loud.

  ‘Why did you cover up for her? You know what she’s up to! I don’t care that she’s doing it, but I refuse to be a part of her cover-up for Mark.’

  I dial Lena. ‘Hello?’ All I hear is loud music. ‘Lena?’ Louder this time. ‘Where the hell are you? Mark called me.’

  ‘Wait, I need to get out of here. Can’t hear a word you said.’ Her voice is tipsy.

  A moment later it goes quiet.

  ‘I said, Mark called me. What’s going on?’

  ‘Nevermind him. He didn’t want to let me go out, so I told him I’m with you. Just wanted to have some fun. No big deal. What did you tell him?’

  ‘I played along and told him you were already asleep at our place.’

  ‘Oh Jul, thank you so much. I’ll be back in a few hours and will stick to our story. I’m sorry I made you worry.’

  ‘We aren’t worried, we are mad at you.’ But she’s already put the phone down.

  35

  I walk up to VIP. There aren’t many people, except for the big party that is going on. All of the clients, who are now spread around in smaller groups, are black and wearing suits. Probably some kind of corporate party. Most of them are occupied by other dancers. I notice two men, obviously from the group, but sitting on the opposite side of the lounge. They drink whisky and talk quietly to each other. I walk towards them.

  ‘Hi guys! May I join you?’

  ‘Yeah! We would like to have a dance, but in a minute,’ one of them says in a heavy Xhosa accent. He shows me onto the couch next to him. ‘Have a drink, girl. Let us finish our conversation.’ They turn to each other and continue talking.

  All day at work, then most likely a business dinner. And here we are, two o’clock in the morning, and they still have the urge to talk business. Useless pretentious fucks!

  I keep a smile, sit next to them, and order another bottle of water. I’ve had a hustle night. I decide to use this waiting time as a break and to be patient, ignoring the strong suspicion that they are bullshitting me.

  Ten minutes later I am about to finish my water and leave, as they haven’t even looked at me once. Natalia approaches us.

  ‘What’s up with these guys?’ She checks out the status while scanning the room. I explain her the situation. She smirks. ‘Okay, let’s see what we can do.’

  After a few polite but insistent lines and moves, Natalia convinces the men to take us for a double touch dance.

  As soon as the private room’s door closes and we take off our clothes, the well-mannered appearance vanishes as in a fairy tale. With the wave of a magic wand, two well-dressed gentlemen turn into pigs who have no respect for Natalia or me.

  Tell me something new.

  ‘Sir, you are not allowed to touch my pussy.’ My sister admonishes, while I, annoyed with the fighting, push his hands to the couch and pin them with my knees. ‘Please restrain yourself so we can give you our best performance. We can't do our job if we’re forced into self-defense in here.’

  ‘What? We are going to do whatever we want! Money is not an issue. Let’s go to your other VIP, where we can do more. I want you to suck my black cock!’

  ‘Sorry sir, but we are dancers. We don't sell sexual services here.’ I get up, following Natalia’s move, and continue to dance in the distance.

  ‘Bullshit!’ His face turns ugly. He looks at his watch. ‘Okay, come in here, I will not touch down there.’ But as soon we get back to their laps they begin touching everywhere again. Once again, Natalia and I step back and dance in front of them so they can’t reach us.

  ‘Sir, as soon as you understand the rules, we’ll get back to our position. Until then we will dance at a distance.’ Natalia tries to sound polite, but the overtone of annoyance still breaks through.

  The dance finishes. We dress. The men straighten their jackets and we walk out.

  ‘That’s R2 000 please.’

  They pretend not to hear me, walk back to their table and resume their ‘business’ conversation.

  Natalia and I look at each other, sigh, and follow them.

  ‘I knew they were going to be a problem,’ my sister needles.

  ‘Sir, you received a dance and you have to pay for it. It's R2 000,’ I repeat louder, but still smiling.

  One of them turns to me. His face has a forgiving expression. ‘Don’t worry, girl, of course we'll pay. Come back a little later.’ They turn to each other, go on with their talking.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘Would you like to pay cash or with your card, sir?’

  The other one now looks at me with disgust. ‘Ladies, we told you we will pay. Stop nagging. Come back a little later.’ They do it again – turn to each other and carry on talking.

  ‘I don’t want to sound disrespectful, but clients have to pay for the dances straight after receiving them. Right now, by avoiding payment, you are simply wasting our time,’ I say while praising myself for my patience, repeating Natalia’s words – not to take anything personally – like a mantra. ‘So sir, my deepest apology but one more time. Would you like to pay by card or cash? If we do not settle this now, we’ll have to call the manager to deal with it.’

  ‘Do you think because we are black we can’t pay?’ The hatred and disgust are smeared on both their faces.

  My eyebrows rise up. I glance at Natalia, hoping she has a better understanding of what is going on, but her face is stunned as well.

  Hmm. Unexpected turn of events.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ one utters, then sits back. Complacent, he throws one foot over the thigh of his other leg. ‘The president is my uncle!’

  The other one leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees and hisses, ‘We rule this country. And we don’t take any shit from white trash like you.’

  ‘Wow! The president’s nephew? That changes everything!’ I pretend to be impressed. Natalia nods as well, taking a part in my little act. ‘Well, if you are the nephew of the president then… it’s R2 000, sir. Would you prefer to pay cash or by card? Or should I call the manager to help you to decide?’

  ‘Get out of my sight. I will not tolerate some white sluts trying to spoil my evening.’

  Natalia grins and walks away. A few minutes later she is back with Alan, to whom she had already explained the situation.

  ‘Gentlemen, these two ladies gave you a dance, I believe. It’ll be R2 000 plus ten percent if you wish to pay with your card?’ He gets straight to business.

  They both check Alan out, but finally the one who claimed to be the celebrity nephew takes a wallet out and throws a credit card onto the table, as if it’s a grenade with the pin out.

  Alan swipes the card and returns it.

  ‘Gentlemen, I also believe you would like to apologize to these ladies for something I am sure you didn’t really mean to say?’

  The show is so amusing that it takes great strength to control myself and keep the smile off my face.

  ‘If you think it’s unnecessary I’ll have to ask you to leave the premises. We like to know that our clients treat our dancers with respect, just the way we expect our dancers to treat our dearest clients, regardless of their family or personal connections, the importance of which we don’t want to doubt.’

  They fidget and then speak through gritted teeth.

  ‘Ladies, it was a misunderstanding, our apologies.’

  ‘W
e didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Natalia answers first. I don’t even bother to reply. As we walk away, we high-five each other loudly, hoping they don’t miss it.

  36

  Another month flies. I’ve made record money. I feel that every client who follows me to the private room, like a lamb to the slaughter, makes me more powerful. The more I succeed, the more my confidence grows; I feel more comfortable and act more amicably, no matter what.

  Even on the quiet nights, like tonight, I make money. I don’t get that panicky expression on my face like the other girls. I treat the clients with the same confidence as I would if there was a queue of them waiting for me.

  Nikita and I walk up to two men. They’ve just arrived and have already ordered drinks while flirting excessively with the pretty waitress.

  ‘Hey guys, how are you?’ Nikita says, and we both drop onto the couch without waiting for their approval.

  A little aggressive, but what can we do – it’s Monday.

  ‘Would you like to have some fun with two gorgeous girls?’ We smile and rub our tits against their arms.

  ‘We aren’t interested in cock-teasing. We are looking for girls who would like to join us at my place tonight. Ladies, no dancing, we are up for a good fuck only!’ One of them says boldly, and the other laughs out loud.

  On quiet nights clients often act like this. They feel superior, and the arrogant side of them instantly comes to the surface.

  I see elation on Nikita’s face, and before she can say anything to spoil the trade, I jump in. ‘How about a warm-up, gentlemen? We are not just some girls at the side of the road. I'm sure that’s not what you’re looking for or you’d be enjoying blowjobs in your car on Koeberg Road for R50.’ They laugh, ducking their heads. I continue, using some bossy notes. I can’t let them feel they rule this party. It’s a risk to push too hard, but I think it’s a good strategy. ‘You’re talking to the hottest girls in town. Don’t you want to buy us a couple of drinks, spend some time with us in private? And who knows? Two elegant and decent men like you may not find it difficult to make us like you so much, that we’ll go out with you because we want to, not because you’ve paid for it.’