Provocative Territory

Clarissa set aside another one of the folders that was in the tall stack of folders she’d been reviewing, to acquaint herself with the club’s most pressing local business concerns. “They should hear this from me.” Her manner was a smidge absent.

Rayelle took a deep breath, hoping her “soft touch” didn’t fail her then. “I understand what you’re saying, Clay,” she began, using her pet name for Clarissa. “But nobody expects you to jump mountains today, this week or this month if truth be told.” When Clarissa continued to shuffle through the files, Rayelle came over to put her hand over the folders.

“Jaz was like your mother and you just lost her yesterday.”

The reminder caused Clarissa’s lip to tremble and the folder’s contents to cascade to the floor.

“Honey.” Rayelle pulled Clarissa up from the desk and into a squeeze.

“I have to be involved in something, working on something. If I don’t—” she inhaled sharply “—I’ll lose my mind. I know I will, Ray.”

“I know, honey.”

Clarissa pulled back from the embrace. “No, you don’t.”

Rayelle, a former dancer and choreographer, currently served as manager for the Jazzy B’s clubs in the northeast. She was used to dealing with servers and dancers and the stressful situations they often encountered in the profession. Therefore, it was easy for her to detect the chord in Clarissa’s voice that had little to do with grief.

“You wanna talk about it, hon?”

Clarissa stooped to collect the papers that had fallen. If there was anyone she could or would talk to, it would have been Rayelle Keats. The woman had started working for Jazmina when she was eighteen. Something had always told Clarissa that Ray’s introduction into the world of adult entertainment had come much sooner than that, but Clarissa had never asked. Rayelle always said that her life began when she met Jaz.

Clarissa and her aunt accepted Ray and the circumstances of her life without question. Clarissa had taken an instant liking to the Miami-bred Rayelle, having met her during summer visits. They had been friends for almost twenty years.

“We’ll talk.” Clarissa nodded when Ray looked over at her from helping with the papers. Clarissa glanced at the silver watch adorning her wrist. “Later though, after we’re done with the girls, okay?”

“You only get to brush me off once,” Rayelle warned and then hugged Clarissa over the stack of papers.

Clarissa was slipping on a pair of clogs in time to meet the dancers. Jazmina Beaumont had established her first club in the late sixties. The seedy (or less nurturing) side of Philadelphia in those days was where Jaz was born. Who raised her had always been something of a mystery for Clarissa. All she had ever known of her aunt’s childhood was that when the Beaumonts picked up their roots and decided to start over out west, young Jazmina had refused to leave.

Clarissa knew that the woman had been on her own since the age of fourteen. How she’d survived was a tale Jaz had never shared with her niece.

Clarissa had a fine idea. Looking into the faces of the young, lovely women who made their living at Jazzy B’s Gentlemen’s Club, Clarissa guessed a lot of her aunt’s history ran parallel to theirs. Clarissa, whose job was akin to recruitment, saw those same hopeful yet guarded women when they were at their most frightened and defeated.

The stories of their upbringings were far removed from fairy tales and romance. Clarissa learned a lot about her aunt through the very girls she gave purpose. In them, she saw her aunt’s fears and shame but also the woman’s strength and intelligence.

The dancers walked into the expansive room. It had served as Jazmina’s office, lounge and private dance studio. The girls arrived in a silent, somber stream. They all charted a path right to Clarissa for warm hugs and cheek kisses. Once each girl had found a spot to sit in the vibrantly decorated room, Clarissa moved to stand in the clearing.

“By now you’ve all heard about Jaz’s passing. Yes, Meri?” Clarissa pointed to the young woman whose hand was raised.

“Um...we didn’t even know she was sick.” The petite girl’s tone was whisper soft.

A murmur of voices filled the room for a short while before Clarissa raised her hand for silence.

“I talked with her doctor. She’d been taking heart medication for a while and um...” Clarissa cleared her throat when emotion suddenly crowded it. “She didn’t want anybody to know, not even me.”

Rayelle came over to grip Clarissa’s hand. Clarissa welcomed the contact, which gave her the power to keep talking.

“I wanted to meet with you guys to assure everyone that jobs are secure. I’ve got no intentions of closing down or selling off the clubs.” Clarissa gave the news a few seconds to settle.

“I’ll never be able to replace my aunt in your eyes and I don’t want to. I will strive to give you the same sense of contentment and security you’ve always felt as employees of Jazmina Beaumont.” She managed to laugh although it was clearly shaky.

“I’m, uh, not one for speeches so I’ll just end it there. Either Rayelle or I will be in touch with the details about—” Clearing her throat that time did no good. The ball of emotion was wedged deep. She waved off Rayelle, who was moving close to offer more comfort.

“We’ll let you know about the funeral service,” Clarissa got the words out.

“All right, ladies, that’s it for now.” Rayelle gave a clap to rouse the young women from their spots on the sofas and settees. “You can head on to rehearsal, makeup or anything else on schedule. We open in three hours.”

The girls took time to kiss and embrace Clarissa again on their way out of the office. Rayelle watched until the last dancer had gone.

“You’re right,” Rayelle said, pulling her hands through her shoulder-length hair and clasped them behind her neck. “I think they were better off hearing that from you.”

“Hell, Ray.” Clarissa leaned against a corner of the white oak desk. “I don’t know a damn thing about running a business let alone a strip club.”

“Gentlemen’s oasis,” Rayelle corrected, using Jaz’s preferred description.

The words brought a smile and then laughter. The desire to laugh held on to Clarissa far longer than the actual humor the comment merited. It just felt so good to give into the urge.

“You know you’re wrong about that,” Ray said once they had sobered from the laugh attack. “What do you think you’ve been doing for Miss J all these years? I can’t think of a better person to handle this place.”

“I can.” Clarissa cast a pointed look toward Ray, who again laughed.

“Oh, no, Miss Clay. I am not the one for schmoozing and hobnobbing and grammatically correct speech.”

Clarissa’s brow rose. “Could’ve fooled me.” She shrugged when Rayelle waved her off.

“I don’t know half of what it takes to operate this place.” Clarissa glanced at the folders she’d been browsing before the meeting with the dancers. “I don’t even know the ins and outs of who might’ve been giving her problems...nothing....” She knocked a fist against a jean-clad thigh.

Ray laughed one more time. “What are you talkin’ about? This place runs like a lean machine. I never heard Miss J complain about any problems.”

“Yeah, remember this is the same woman who didn’t tell us she had heart disease and bypass surgery, either.”

Ray folded her arms at her waist. “What are you getting at, Clay?”

Clarissa spent the next few minutes talking of “the day” when she spoke to Jaz over the phone and how insistent the woman was about talking to her in person.

“That is weird, even for Miss J.”

“So, in other words you and the girls haven’t noticed anything strange. She wasn’t acting funny...before?”

“Nothing I can put my finger on.” Rayelle’s fair features appeared shadowed by worry. “I’ll keep an ear open around the girls anyway.”

“I don’t even know what appointments she needed to keep.” Clarissa was staring at the files again. “Only thing I was kept in the loop on was the new construction project. Jaz wanted me on hand to take any necessary trips.”

“Guess that’s where it pays not to be a control freak.” Rayelle referenced Jaz’s penchant for organizing all aspects of her business calendar. Working for Jazmina Beaumont, a secretary or assistant was left with little to do.

“Know what?” Ray began to leer indulgently. “That’s the perfect excuse for dinner out on the town.”

Clarissa frowned. “What is?”