Noah by Bader A. Shehab

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

I’ve been everything a good family man wouldn’t wanna be, or perhaps would out of guilty pleasure; I’m right out of the hoods of Terrytown, New Orleans, Louisiana. The home of the blues, home of the Cajun, or the “Big Easy” if you wanna call it, but it’s been home to me, made me who I am and showed me my years. I started out as a boxer at Jim’s gym, old Jim taught me well, gritted my troublesome hands into good use, and boy did I ever not leave a stone unturned or a lesson learned, I trained my butt off every day for him. He got me out of trouble and got me into matches after matches, I fought at venues across the state and I went on undefeated, I used my training and charismatic personality to land me on and off jobs at bars and nightclubs, I bounced the doors and I even performed stand-up with one liners on some nights. And right into my 18th birthday old Jim told me I’ll fight for the Louisiana golden gloves, a coveted prize of every young boxer, this will get me into the big leagues, I’ll get my professional license, real money gonna start flowing in! I was ecstatic, I then trained harder. I showed up twice a day, I even dropped high school to keep up with his work, but then, I fucked up my neck pretty badly, and just like that, I had to pull out from the tournament. It was over, that was it.

Man, I was devastated, I sat on that bench out on our front porch, my own mother couldn’t look at me and my father later died that same year from a heart attack. I was depressed and borderline suicidal, no school, no job, no future. Decided then to just run away, I didn’t know where to go, I just packed my shit and got out, I simply left and kept walking for miles, and miles.

I was on my own, until, one time at a McDonalds, was browsing the one-dollar menu, then this big black Cadillac pulls up, everybody twists their head and this man, white man gets out, fancy suit cut on the shoulders, boots shine a mile away, he lost the thousand-dollar shades just to catch his thousand-yard stare. His grey hair nearly covered his grey deep eyes, he flicked it back as he approached the counter, and at this point we were shoulder to shoulder, minding my own business by then. I ate, got out, walked to the bus stop about to go home that is the public park where I sleep at. Strangely enough the man only had a drink, not that it is of any importance, but suspicious nonetheless. The black Escalade stopped right across the street from where I was, the driver’s door unlocks open, a younger man in full black suit stepped out, and I could tell he was eyeing me down behind them shades, and then the same man from the restaurant got out from the back passenger seat, this time smoking a thick cigar, crossed the street and walked gracefully towards me. “I know who you are” he puffs and exhales fumes of thick, expensive-smelling cabaña’s “I know your face” he turns towards me and lowers his glasses, takes a step closer “You’re Noah, Neat Noah, so they call you.”

“What the fuck? Whose they? Who the fuck is you?!” I replied angrily or more so shockingly since he knew who I am, “I’ve seen your fights in New Orleans a few years back” he answered while smoking and keeping his calm collected smooth self “They called you Neat ’cause your punches are so crisp and sharp, you’re a knockout artist!” he continued as he placed the cigar in his mouth and threw his fists punching in the air as though impersonating myself. “An artist now, is that right?” I thought aloud “well, sir I ain’t no more that neat former self I was, I’m just a… drifter now, here and there, you know how it is, sir” I cried that last word out “I gotta head home, so you have a nice day now” I caught the bus turning the last corner and as it slowed down to a stop “You don’t have a home, Noah, you sleep at truck stops in the back of alleys, you grit your way around, you fight every day to eat bread off the dollar menu, you ain’t going home, Noah. You’re just gonna drift somewhere and get in trouble with the law again, and again. Then run away to another state, repeat. For how long, Noah?” his words were preparing a bigger question, he then pointed at the bus before continuing “Now you got two choices, Noah. You take that bus and go back to your pot hole of a shit-stink you call home or you come and work for me, gonna get you cleaned up and make some good do’, what do you say?” I don’t remember pausing that long to reply, in fact, I didn’t even think “Well, you’re right, fuck this shit, I’m coming with you.”

I never got the man’s real name. He asked me to call him “McDonalds”, I didn’t even know what he did for a living, but it ain’t legal that’s for sure. Hell, I didn’t even dare ask, not after what he did for me, got me cleaned up, suit, place to stay and I had it all. At first I just carried his bags and escorted him or his girls, he then had me deliver cash from point A to point B, I even went with him overseas, he fixed my paper work and passport. Anything he asks, I do, no second thinking him, he was punctual, proper and always, perfect. Soon enough, I was his right hand man, I would stick with him for the next 8 years of my life, he knew my worth and what I done for him in exchange to what he has given me, our relation remained strictly professional, and to this day I still know him as “Cadillac” Mr. McDonalds. He showed me the world in its truest form.

I then went back to working in nightclubs with more than enough pocket cash to get by, I did stand up just like how I used to in New Orleans and it felt good to be back, apart from my drifting life, beating people up and taking a beating, or transporting briefcases of god-knows what was in ’em, I always knew I belonged on a stage with people below having an innocent laugh, a good time is what I needed, and I needed it nightly. The shows got bigger, then I started giving myself more chance to go from one-line jokers to full written pieces that I performed myself, people loved me and my name “Neat” Noah became somewhat marketable, I thought I always belonged to the nightlife, this is what I was supposed to be doing all along. I would even get called up by some local celebs to host their birthday parties or New Year eves, I was the hit of every town and my name only grew, it grew like my dick when it was on hard erection as Elektra grinded that soft firm ass of hers on my junk in the champagne   room of Stiletto’s Cabaret, New Orleans. Yeah, I found myself back home again, I was doing a show up in Penthouse club then I decided to stop by at one of the bikini bars or “strip clubs” so they call ’em, I was never too fond of such places, I just went in a couple of times with friends. But that night, I wanted to walk in after signing autographs and just to do the “whole thing”; drinks, a couple girls and naked lap dances. Now, I am a celibate man, I’ve been so all my life, I never married nor I ever envied a relationship, I had sex from time to time but nothing serious, just one night stands.

But boy this was something else! That night, I got hooked from the first time, something about the shining-sweat skin, fake titties, blues and hip hop music to the rhythm of the girl’s body flow and scent that sends me to awe, I can say it’s almost better than sex. If I get bored of Bubbles, I get Lemon, oh, Lemon ain’t here, let’s get Foufou with her fake French accent and her “allez vous couches avec moi mon cherie” trademark line every now and then. I asked the manager after he took a photo with me, “big fan Mr. Noah, I loved your show the other night!” he recalled, “Do you guys happen to need an MC here, mic handler by any chance?” I asked carefully into his ear over the music, “as a matter of fact we do, if you got someone that would be really helpful, this is my e-mail and…” I stopped him right there as he was reaching his business cards which were stacked in his hand, “It’ll be me, you’re looking at your new master of ceremonies” I replied slowing down at each word, “What the fuck… Neat Noah is gonna MC my joint, oh my god!” he cried aloud and shook my hands firmly for a full minute “welcome aboard man!”

I like it here, in fact I love it so much that I’m well into my 10th year in the gentlemen’s club business, I even partnered with the owner, Mike Virago, improved the place and Stiletto’s Cabaret only grew bigger and more popular, especially after everyone knew that I was on mic, I got a live band while I played the harmonica myself and introduced all the girls. But the women, ahh ahmm, my favorite part was when I get to cast new girls in, I still did comedy shows from time to time. I like it here on Bourbon Street; it is where it’s at! This is the place where you wanna be! Now if you’ll excuse me I gotta introduce Kiki and Lexus, they’re working the pole in a double dance, enjoy the show.

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