When last we saw our love birds, the dashing Trevor Carrington was trying to get the lovely and sophisticated Shelly Steele to shake it fast and the Midnight Booty Clap strip club.
Now we bring you another episode of the Pulitzer Prize winning novel:
Trevor Carrington entered the DJ booth and motioned to get DJ Fuzzy’s attention. Fuzzy acknowledged Trevor and continued with his rants.
“Yo, y’all give it up for Pertty Shirly. Comin’ strait to you from the New Orleans where she found out first hand that Bush don’t care about black people. I told y’all she’d drop it. But stay tuned, we have a surprise guest coming your way. Go to the bar, pick up a drink and get ya dollar dollar bills ready. Hey, and somebody in security get Petey’s drunk ass away from the buffet… nigga slobbering in the gravy n’ shit.”
Fuzzy switched the mic off and turned to Trevor. “Yo, so who is this freak that is so hot that you didn’t even want to tell me her name,” ask Fuzzy.
“Sorry, bruh. I had to make sure she was reeled in all the way. I couldn’t take a chance with her name getting out before the deal was closed.”
“That’s cool, but who is it?”
“Shelly? Buck-tooth Shelly from down on Cedar street?”
“Hell nah. Big booty Shelly. You know, her father owns all of that land.”
“Oh snap, Trevor. But I thought you were hitin’ that.”
“I am. The bitch loves me, man. If we play our cards right, she’ll throw down here, we’ll get paid and we can move on to part 2.”
Fuzzy smiles as he ponders Trevor’s evil plot. “Dawg, one of these days you’re going to have to let me in on this little plot of yours. “
“Soon enough my brother. Soon enough.”
“Well, don’t just stand around. Go get the bitch, it’s almost midnight.” Fuzzy yelled.
Shelly sat at the vanity putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Her eyes were red from crying at the idea of having to hit the pole. She thought about asking her father for the money to save Trevor but she knew Trevor’s pride would stop him from accepting any assistance from her father.
But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered her. She couldn’t quite understand how a man would allow her to compromise herself for money. Mookie would never allow her to hit the pole she thought. Mookie was a good man, but he was ordinary. Trevor was extraordinary and he lover her. That made the sacrifice worth it, she rationed.
Trevor barged into the dressing room interrupting her thoughts. “Darling,” he said as he sat next to her. “I just want to thank you for doing this. You are saving me. No, you are saving us.” He pulled her close and firmly kissed her. “They’re getting ready to call your name. Make me proud.”
“Call my name” Shelly said worriedly. “You can’t have them call my name. This can’t get back to my father.”
“Darling not to worry. We made a mask for you and have given you a stage name.”
“What’s my stage name?”
“Jungle Booty Jane.”
“That’s a horrible name.” Shelly yelped.
Just then, the DJ announced the midnight show. Shelly heard the chanting of over-liquored men synchronized with the sounds of Two Live Crew. Trevor motioned Shelly to the stage door.
“Don’t worry, darling. Tonight, you’ll be a star.”
Suddenly, the back door swung open allowing the wind and rain from the storm to engulf the dressing room. In the doorway stood the silhouette of a man dawning a trench coat and cowboy hat. Shelly, startled at the sight, slid behind Trevor.
“So, are you going to come in or stand there looking like the Son of Svengoolie.”
The wind swirled leaves around the dressing room and the outline of the strangers was defined when dark sky behind illuminated with lightning. The roaring thunder drowned the drunken chants of the rowdy men waiting impatiently in the next room. Sweat poured from Trevor’s face and Shelly, terrified from the strange figure standing before them, held on tightly to Trevor’s shoulders.
The imposing figure took a stepped forward. Water dripped from his raincoat. Shelly held her breath as his face came into full view. She was caught off guard by what and who she saw standing before her. The word was out of her mouth before she had a chance to contemplate thoughts.
“Mookie! What are you doing here…”
Is Trevor about to get his butt kicked?
Will Shelly ever reach the pole?
And what’s up with plan 2?
What diabolical plot is Trevor Carrington hiding behind his dashing good looks?
Who in the hell uses a strip club for the setting of a romantic novel?
Find out these answers and more in the next exciting episode of:
“The Midnight Booty Clap”