I had tried cocaine a few times, but I never really got anything out of it. “Nah, that ain’t my thing,” I said and took a swallow of my Henny.

“Okay,” Creme said and took the hit.

By the time it was my turn to dance, Creme had me pumped, a little drunk, and feelin’ the music. When Bruce Bruce called for me, I was as ready as I’d ever be. Once I got onstage, I sprang to life, surprising even myself. Every time I went down to the floor, I’d shake my behind and spread my thighs. The men loved it. I’d gyrate my hips to the music, stripping off pieces of clothes as I moved around the stage. When I was down to my last stitch of clothing, which was a thong with fringes, I pulled it to one side and used my fingers to stretch my lips real wide. That one really surprised me. These two men stood at the stage feedin’ me money like they had an unlimited supply.

Diane never came to the club that night and I didn’t see her at all for a few days, but by the time she came back, I was a pro. After three weeks into my new profession, the money was rolling in and I was ready to change my name. Delicious was okay, but this customer gave me an idea when he came stumbling up to the stage at the end of my performance one night. “I want to see my kitty,” he slurred. I was trying to clear my money off the stage before the next dancer came up, but he wouldn’t let up. “Miss Kitty!” he shouted. “I want to see her. I live for the part when you stroke that cat for me,” he said.

“What?” I yelled over the music.

“Them other bitches just dance. You put on a show for a nigga. Make him want you.”