Going Broke Read Online Free PDF Page A

pressed out over my 5-foot 7-inch, 147-pound body. My naturally pouting lips were glistening, and the way my fitted, one-sleeved purple shirt hugged my breasts, I was sure a few people would ask me for the name of my surgeon. But I wasn’t a nip/tuck victim. It was just pure luck.
    I turned around and examined my backside, slapping my butt through my black pants a few times to make sure that nothing would be seen jiggling when I walked. I slipped on a pair of three-inch black sandals, put on my purple, green, and yellow-gold feathered butterfly mask and smiled.
    â€œDamian, I’m gone, baby,” I yelled from the front bathroom.
    â€œOkay. See ya in a few,” he shouted from somewhere in the back of the apartment.
    I decided not to remove my mask for the drive. Motorists were doing double-takes all the way to the beach, trying to be certain that the chick in the black Expedition actually had feathers coming from the sides of her face.
    I loved the attention. It was wild. I found myself waving and blowing kisses back, something I wouldn’t do in plain face. I was hiding, no one knew my name, no one knew my face, and I could do whatever I wanted. If everyone at the party had the same feeling behind their masks, it would surely turn into an interesting night.
    If there was a Mardi Gras section in Heaven, it must look just like the room that I walked into. It was an absolute dream. The purple sheets were spread tightly over the beds, and the sexy green and yellow-gold silky material fell from the ceiling, as though it was being poured from the skies. There were no lights, just hundreds of candles carefully placed around the room, and the disco ball sent white sparkles circulating on the walls. The party wasn’t set to start until 8:00, but Natalya and I wanted to make sure that everything was exactly the way we wanted it. We hung the topless pictures around the room and sat at the bar awaiting our guests, enjoying a few cocktails.
    The non-black guests showed up at eight, and the first of the black guests strolled in around nine. I was working the door; I didn’t stop anyone. I just assumed that no one was tacky enough to just walk in. With my wineglass in hand, I bounced to 50 Cent—“Go shorty, it’s ya birthday. Go shorty, it’s ya birthday.”
    Natalya and Li’l Dick Nick were bumping and grinding to the song like they were really going to get it on hot and heavy-style after the party—Error!
    I handed out ten strings of beads to every man and also handed them a key. There were locks all around the room, on tables, at the bar and on the walls. Also every woman received a belt with a lock attached. In order for a man to be granted unlimited access to the bar via a stamped hand, he had to approach the bar with not only his key, but also the lock that it belonged to. The women had their hands stamped from the moment they walked in. However, they had to work to get beads from the men. There were no rules, but the three women with the most beads at 12:00 a.m. would win prizes. The man who kept the most beads would also receive a prize, so the women had to really work their stuff to take beads from the men. The games were a way to get people to interact.
    I was at the door sipping on something and flowing to Lil’ Kim’s rap about how she had the magic, when a guy approached me from behind. “Will you turn my key?”
    I spun around. Before even checking him out, I looked around the room for Damian. He was at the bar with his three uninvited friends. I glanced up at the man less than two feet away and smiled nervously. He was wearing a white mask that extended from his forehead to mid-cheek, just like the Phantom of the Opera. He wore a black dress shirt and slacks. His curly, black hair was cropped neatly against his scalp, and his goatee accentuated his sexy, pinkish lips. They looked as if he had just kissed the surface of the Red Sea.
    â€œI’m sorry.