“I can’t believe I let these chicks talk me into this.”  I look at the front door of the infamous “Clove” and immediately want to go back home to my wine and Lifetime. Seedy would be an understatement for what I saw. The sign, crooked with only the “v” and “e” of the word clove lit in bright green, is barely hanging on above the doors, and I don’t even know what to say about the ladies – and I use the term lightly – walking through them. (tap! tap!)

Startled, I turn to my passenger side window and see Tracie. “Are you just going to sit in your car?” she asks.

“No, I was just waiting for you or Lynda to get here before I left the safety of my truck,” I say, stepping out.

“Uh huh, well Lynda is already inside,” says Tracie. “She got here a little earlier to try to talk to Killer before the show.”

“Wow,” I say shaking my head. “So she had a pre-stripper show date?”

Tracie fluffs out her short cut, looking fresh out the Dominican shop. “Girl, I don’t know,” she says laughing. “But let’s head inside because she texted me to say tables were running out. Oh, and they sell fried chicken if you’re hungry!” My girl is laughing so hard that tears are forming in her eyes. “Clearly the ladies who frequent this establishment must partake in that chicken, frequently.”  

I can’t help but laugh out loud. “Ok, so you saw the women walking in there too?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t mean to be evil, but I saw some nice-sized chicks.”

“Yep, there are some healthy women in there – prepare to be hated on mama.”

Tracie pulls my arm and leads me to the doors of the Clove. I repeat, “What have I gotten myself into?”

I lead Nyla into the club, just short of kicking and screaming. I can’t WAIT to see her face once we get inside. The Clove is nothing like the posh spots we normally frequent downtown and my girl is, well, bougie.

“You ready mama?” I ask after we show the big security guard named Oz our IDs.

“I guess,” she says.

We pay at the cashier and go through the curtains into the main room. Nyla’s face is priceless as she surveys the room. Directly in front of us stands Muscle, the dancer that reminds me of a runaway slave, all huge and chocolate with chains around his neck and shackles on his feet. He, quite frankly, scares me.

“Whoa,” says Nyla. “Who is that? Kunta Kente?”

Laughing, I scream, “I can’t and I won’t! Come on, I think I see Lynda.”

Nyla and I walk through the maze of tables occupied by women, birthday cakes, chicken with fries and various liquors. The stage, a small square in the center of the dimly-lit club, is enclosed by rails on its sides and mirrors to its rear. Currently, the rails are being ridden by the “pretty” dancer Erotic and another one that I don’t recognize, performing to Prince’s “Adore.”  I spot Lynda sitting at a table near the front right of the stage.

“Hey girl!” I yell. Lynda looks up from her conversation with Killer and waves us over. “Tracie, you remember Killer, I mean Dylan,” says Lynda. “Nyla, this is the guy I was telling you about.”

Nyla looks the entertainer known as Killer up and down before saying, “Hello.” Dylan smiles as he pulls his locks back from his face. “Nice to see you again Tracie, and nice to meet you Nyla,” he says before kissing Lynda on the forehead and moving on to the next table where he proceeds to grope the behind of another young lady.

“You know, that’s part of the job,” starts Lynda. “They have to love everybody.”

Nyla takes a seat next to me and looks at our girl disapprovingly. “Right. They are community dick,” she says, adjusting her baby Sponge Bob t-shirt. I gasp and fall out laughing.

“Whoa mama,” laughs Lynda. “I guess that’s one way to put it!”  

I am laughing so hard that I don’t notice Tyler walk up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. I turn around and my big smile is immediately replaced with a nervous one.

“Hey Tyler,” I manage to get out. “Nyla, this Tyler.” I shift uneasily away from Tyler’s touch as Nyla gives him the once over.

“Hello Tyler,” she says. “I hear my girl is sketching you a tattoo.”

Tyler pulls up a seat a little too close to me. “Yes, that’s what she promised anyway,” he says before moving a strand of hair out of my face. I clear my throat as the waitress walks over to our table. I have never been so happy to order a drink in my life.

I can tell that Nyla and Lynda are thoroughly enjoying my discomfort, trying unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter. “Well I said I was going to bring you some sketches and I did.” I reach for my art case and Tyler stops me.

“Later,” he says. “Enjoy the show. Pleasure before business.” He smiles and walks away, vanishing behind the doors to the back of the stage.

“Um, you can breathe now,” says Lynda.

---

The Clove

I can’t help but laugh at my girl Tracie. She is trying so hard to act uninterested in that fine man. “So, this thing with Tyler is strictly business, huh?”

Tracie shoots me a look that could melt ice. “Yes, you little slore,” she says, downing her Bacardi and coke.

“Right, keep telling yourself that,” I say.

I look at Nyla who looks both amused and horrified. “So, what do you think so far, mama?”

“Well,” she starts but is interrupted by a man by the name of Sexy MF (Dylan had introduced him to me earlier that evening) who is now standing directly in front of her – in leather g-string.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

Sexy MF rubs his hands up Nyla’s thigh, his smile revealing two gold teeth. “What’s up Ma, you don’t like me?” he asks.

Tracie is shaking her head, and I am waiting for the explosion I know is coming.

“If you don’t take your hands off of me, I will dislocate them from your wrists,” says Nyla, her big brown eyes growing dark and her cheeks turning red. Sexy MF puts his hands up in defeat, laughing as he walks away.

“Damn girl, he was just looking for a tip!” I say. My girl can be so uptight sometimes.

“Well, he should have just asked,” she says laughing.  “But to answer your question, it’s dirty in here, I’m scared to drink from my wine glass, and I’m already tired of the big girls looking like they want to either eat me or kick my ass.”

Tracie, while slipping a dollar into Erotic’s shorts, smirks. “I told you she wasn’t going to like it.”

Nyla looks at Erotic like ‘I wish you would’ when he starts in her direction and he leaves. “Why do they keep walking up to us like that?”

“Oh, well they are floating,” I say. “That’s what they call it anyway. When the guys are done with their performance sets, they walk around the room trying to get the tips they didn’t get during their show.” As soon as I said that I regretted it, knowing the commentary was coming.

“Look at you,” says Tracie. “You’re turning into a regular PhD in stripper-ology.”

“Shut up,” I say. “I told you me and Dylan talked a lot the other night – he just told me a few things about the business and how things work in the club, that’s all.”

“Well it’s always good to meet a man who can expand your mind and teach you new things,” says Tracie, being her normal smart-ass self. Nyla, on the other hand, is oddly quiet.

“Ok mama,” I start, “I know you have something to say about my night with Dylan. Go ahead and let me have it now so we can enjoy the rest of the night.”

Nyla continues to say nothing, distracted by something or someone on the other side of the club.

“Nothing to say?” asks Tracie. Tracie and I look at each other and then follow mama’s gaze. Coming through the doors behind the stage with Tyler, aka Punisher, is what’s stolen our girl’s attention.

Coming to the stage, if you like hard bodies, ladies, put your hands together for Punisher and Pleasure – DC’s own Hot Boyz.

“Pleasure,” Nyla repeats, almost in a trance-like state. I think I see drool.

Snap. “Hello? Earth to mama!”

“It looks like mama has found herself one,” laughs Tracie. As Pleasure walks by our table, he looks directly at Nyla, tilts his head and smiles.

“No,” I say. “I think he’s found her!”

*Photography by GMO Photographer, Billy Montgomery.