Black Pearl
Jessica Watkins Presents
Black Pearl
The Black Burlesque Series
Tiffany Patterson
Copyright © 2015 by Tiffany Patterson
Publisher: Jessica Watkins Presents
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Let’s see what is there to tell you about me….hmm.
I am a daughter. A sister. An aunt. A former teacher. Non-fiction writer. And now, a fiction writer!
I love to laugh and am a romantic at heart. No wonder I’ve chosen this genre of fiction writing. I fell in love with African-American/Multicultural romance about eight years ago, upon reading my first Francis Ray novel. I’ve been hooked on the genre ever since. A few years ago I got the idea to pen my own romance novel. It took me awhile to follow through, but I’m ecstatic I finally did! Now, I get to share the stories that have taken up space in my head for so long.
My goal is to provide diverse and interesting stories that center around women falling in and being loved. For me, representation is important, and it is my aim to represent the diversity of who we are. My stories will also feature diverse social and personal issues that plague us.
I look forward to working and growing as a writer. And I especially look forward to your feedback.
Happy Reading!
Contact the author:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTiffanyPatteron
Music is a very important part of this book. Click
HERE
to get the Black Pearl playlist… Enjoy!
“It doesn't matter what size or shape you are. Burlesque is about feeling positive about who you are, about knowing how to shake what you have and being proud of it.”
-
Baby Doe
, burlesque dancer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re in for a real treat tonight!” The emcee known around the club as Mistress Coco announced to the crowd of a hundred and fifty patrons.
“Our next dancer is a relative newbie, but her moves will leave you sweating harder than a whore, in church, in a fur coat, in the middle of July!” The audience cheered at Coco’s over the top introduction.
“So without further ado, welcome to the stage, Black Peeeeeeearl!”
The audience shouted and stomped their feet.
The lights went low, leaving only a spotlight on the large stage. The gritty opening chords of Koko Taylor’s
I’m A Woman
began to play as a thick brown leg jutted out from behind the curtain, twirling to the music saucily. The next second, Black Pearl emerged from the curtain and stepped fully onto the stage, swinging her hips, wearing a long black cotton skirt that went down to her ankles, a wool red vintage overcoat, black lace peep toe heels, and carrying a red cane. Black Pearl closed her eyes as she set the cane in front of her and used it to pivot around, bending at the waist, presenting the audience with her butt, shaking it in time with the music. She opened her eyes as the yells from the crowd washed over her. She felt the crowd amping up as she began shaking her hips in time to the music. She spun back around to face the audience, reaching for the buttons of her coat. Teasing the audience, she opened one side, closed and then pulled open the other side, before pulling off the coat entirely, throwing it to the side for the stage kitten to collect. She spun back around allowing the audience to view the black lace corset from the back, and just as her hands reached for the zipper of her skirt the cheers of the audience rose. Slowly and methodically, she peeled the skirt down her curvaceous legs, stepping out of it, pushing it to the side with her leg. She moved closer to the audience, teasing the men and women in the front row, bending over to allow them ample view of her cleavage. Stepping back, she stuck a black, satin gloved finger in her mouth and bit down, pulling her hand out of the glove. Tossing the glove to the floor, she did the same for the other hand and just as Koko Taylor’s raspy voice sang, “
Shake hands with the devil, make him crawl in the sand,”
Black Pearl dropped to her knees, crawling, seductively towards the audience. At this, the audience whistled, and once again stomped their feet at the performance.
Black Pearl’s glossy red lips turned up into a lascivious smile. She stood showing off the elasticized black and red laced skirt that hugged her hips to perfection. She pivoted on her heels, bending over to give the audience a view of her plentiful behind, isolating each cheek to the beat of the music. With her back still to the audience, she dropped to her knees, gyrating her hips with the music, as she pulled the string to her corset, freeing it from her body, but holding on to the front, so it didn’t fall just yet. As she stood, she again, teased the audience, allowing the corset to fall achingly slow, until she finally let it go leaving her top half exposed, except for the red, tasseled pasties she wore on her breasts. Moving across the stage, she gyrated and shook her breasts so the tassels spun in circles, as the song ended. The audience yelled and whistled as Black Pearl took her final bow, waved and left the stage.
Mistress Coco came back to the stage. “Didn’t I tell you?!”
The audience yelled louder.
“Give it up again for Black Pearl. She keeps moving like that and I might get to thinking she’s trying to take my job.” Coco joked as the audience laughed and clapped.
Backstage, Black Pearl worked to catch her breath. She’d been doing burlesque performances for a year, but every time she went on stage the rush was the same. She felt electrified by the audience; everything became a blur besides the music and electric pulse that ran through her body pushing it to move with the music.
Black Pearl strode down the long hallway to the performers’ changing room, still dressed in her pasties and short lace skirt. In this space, she was not ashamed to be half naked. Pictures of nude or nearly nude burlesque performers lined the walls. Black Pearl passed the images of the famous shake dancer Jean Idelle, with her signature white feathered fans, and the incredible China Doll Dickerson pictured in the middle of her infamous balloon performance. All of the women featured in their element, looking gorgeous. Black Pearl stopped in front of Mistress Coco’s office door, admiring the enlarged picture of the woman she got her stage name from. In the picture, Josephine Baker was dressed in her well-known banana skirt, a tiny performance bra, and not much else, holding her hand on her hip, bent at the waist and smiling brightly for the camera. Black Pearl admired the picture for a second longer, moving towards the locker room again.
“Pearl – you were great tonight!” As she entered the locker room, Pearl looked up to see Jazmine, a long time performer at the club following her into the room and congratulating her. Jazmine wasn’t her real name. At the club, they all used their stage names, whether they were on stage or not – most of the women who performed, had day jobs and lives outside of burlesque. Some did not want their real names leaked, to keep their two lives separate. This was the case with Black Pearl, as well.
“Thanks, Jaz. This was my first time doing that performance. It felt great!” Pearl responded excitedly.
“Keep it up girl. Your name may be headlining one day,” Jazmine said as she rushed out of the dressing room to prepare for her set.
Pearl watched her leave, and then turned her attention to her belongings. She looked in the mirror at her face, noting the milk chocolate complexion, the wing tipped eyeliner, golden eyelids and long lashes, down to her contoured cheeks, and finally looking at her full lips covered in a red glossy lip color. She smiled. The woman staring back at her certainly had come a long way. She never would have had the confidence to wear such makeup, let alone get practically naked on stage in front of a group of strangers, had it not been for her best friend, Mercedes.
Mercedes was Black Pearl’s, a.k.a Devyn Williams’, lifeline after her break-up with her live-in boyfriend of nearly five years. Devyn had been devastated in more ways than one when she and Marcus broke up, but Mercedes refused to let her mope for too long. After a few months of listening to Devyn cry over Marcus’ betrayal, Mercedes bought Devyn eight weeks’ worth of burlesque classes, as an early birthday present. Burlesque was something Mercedes had been doing for a few years and she thought it would help Devyn restore her confidence after that asshole destroyed it. Devyn smiled at the memory of her friend giving her the gift certificate.
“Girl, forget that asshole. He didn’t deserve you any damn way. He did you a favor by cheating on you. What you’re going to do is take these classes, put on some high heels and use the gift God gave you for dancing and forget all about Marcus Thomas.”
Devyn always enjoyed dancing and wanted to take some type of dance class, but Marcus was dead set against it. Sighing at the memory of all she allowed in her relationship with Marcus, Devyn rose to change her clothing and get ready to leave.
A knock on the door sounded two seconds before Mistress Coco strolled in with Devyn’s discarded costume. Usually the stage kitten brought the clothes back to the locker room. Devyn cocked her head to the side, looking over Mistress Coco.
“Here you go miss thing. You did your thing tonight.” Devyn felt her pride growing and she brightened at the compliment. Mistress Coco was not one to beat around the bush, and if your performance was lackluster she had no problem telling you so in a heartbeat. She had owned The Black Kitty for nearly twenty years, and ran her club with an iron fist. At just 5’4”– a mere one inch taller than Devyn—she was a spitfire who would make grown men tremble. Mistress Coco was a retired burlesque performer herself, who decided to open her own club in her forties. Even though Devyn believed Mistress Coco was in her mid-sixties, her smooth brown skin, few wrinkles, and still in shape frame betrayed her age; making her appear much younger than a woman in her sixties. Her office was lined with pictures of her own performances and many notable performers. The few times she’d been in her office, Devyn spotted a picture on Mistress Coco’s desk of Coco and a woman who looked vaguely familiar, though Devyn couldn’t place her. “Thank you, Mistress. That’s high praise coming from you.”
“You’re damn right it is,” she winked, handed Devyn her clothing and left. Having no more sets for the night, Devyn changed into a pair of skinny jeans, black flats, and a white three-quarter length t-shirt. Instead of going to her car, she decided to go to the front of the club and sit in the audience. She always had a ball watching the other performances, and often learned something new. For the rest of the evening Devyn cheered just as loud as the paying audience members for the performers.
It was Monday morning, and Devyn was running early, as usual. She stopped at the local Starbucks to grab her boss his usual Venti dark roast coffee and bran muffin with butter. Strolling into her office at 8:25, Devyn walked down the long hall, past her own desk, to her boss’ large corner office. She unlocked the office door and walked to the desk placing his breakfast on it and turning on his computer to boot up. Devyn paused for a moment to take in the view of downtown Atlanta out of the large glass pane window. She knew Andre would be walking through the office doors within the next five minutes, as he was rarely late. Just like clockwork, by the time Devyn reached her own desk and booted up her computer, Andre Collins breezed through the main office doorway.
“You know, one day I’m going to actually beat you into the office,” he said smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. “Well, today is not that day,” she retorted. In the three years Devyn worked for Andre, they had developed a friendly rapport with one another. Andre was easy to get along with, in spite of his intimidatingly good looks. With his tanned skin inherited from his mother’s Mediterranean ancestry, Andre made heads turn wherever he went, and if his looks didn’t do the job, the last name Collins certainly did. Andre’s family was major in the business world after his father established Excel Financial Services Corporation more than thirty years ago. Andre was a natural with numbers, having attended business school at Stanford before settling into the position of Chief Financial Officer at the company his father started. Andre enjoyed numbers and was grateful to not have to be the leader of the family company. That job was left to his older brother, Nikola.
“Your breakfast is on your desk, computer is booting up, and I was just about to prepare your phone messages to bring to you.”
“What would I ever do without you?” He asked with that typical Collins charm.
“As long as my paychecks go through, you won’t have to find out,” Devyn said causing Andre to laugh out loud.
“Well, as long as I’m CFO, you don’t have to worry about any problems with your paycheck,” he said winking at her and moving to his office. Devyn laughed. She thoroughly enjoyed working for Andre. He was a hard worker, but never overly demanding or inappropriate. “Oh, Devyn,” he said pausing at the door. “When you get a chance, can you call Nik’s assistant and confirm lunch today at 12:30 and then reserve a table at the bistro around the corner?”
“Sure thing.” Andre and Nikola had a standing lunch meeting every Monday, but Nikola had been out of town the last week on business, just returning the day before. Picking up the phone to call Nikola Collins’ assistant, Sheryl, Devyn pictured Nikola. He and Andre were similar in looks, both inheriting their mother’s dark features and their father’s muscled frame. However, while Andre’s face was open, displaying his playful personality, Nikola’s was closed and intimidating. His intense gaze could burrow through to your soul. Devyn shivered remembering that look he often gave, as if he could see through her.
“Hello, Mr. Collins’ office.” Devyn was thrown out of her reverie by Sheryl’s greeting. Remembering the reason for her call, Devyn confirmed Andre and Nikola’s lunch and then called the bistro to reserve a table for the men. Hanging up the phone, Devyn began cataloging the phone messages that were left over the weekend to pass to Andre or another office, and then her emails. Devyn’s thoughts again drifted to her boss’ brother, Nikola Collins. She wondered if he would meet Andre in his office today. The two men’s offices were on separate floors, and when they had meetings, Andre went up to Nikola’s office. As a result, Devyn rarely saw Nikola more than once or twice a week, but it was more than enough to elicit an increase in her heartbeat. Shaking her head, Devyn attempted to rid her thoughts of lusting after the CEO of her company. She knew Nikola was a notorious playboy, and she would never have a shot with him.
She contemplated taking Mercedes up on her offer to try a double date with her latest boy toy. Maybe it was time to get back out in the dating world.