Page 39 of Can't Get Enough

Me: So my assistant will email your office a more formal invitation with all the details.

In other words, I did what you asked, now no more personal attention.

Maverick:Guess I’ll see you then.

Yeah, see you then.

CHAPTER 13

MAVERICK

There’s no such thing as Black Girl Magic.”

Hendrix, the last of the three Aspire Fund partners to speak, looks out over the hotel ballroom for the founders’ showcase. The muted color palette reflected in the dove-gray walls and soft peach accents, along with the dazzling chandelier suspended overhead, creates an atmosphere that is somehow intimate and elegant. Radiating power and confidence, Hendrix takes her time assessing those assembled. Even at the back of the crowd, I feel how this woman just being in a room manages to stir its air.

“I know as soon as I said that,” she goes on, her full lips tipping into a wry grin. “Many of you inwardly responded the way my grandfather did when I was growing up in the country:The hell you say.”

Laughter trickles through the room, and Hendrix waits for the humor to abate. She’s standing up front now, but even all night mingling with the crowd, she’s been hard to look away from; beautifully conspicuous, like a flamingo, standing tall in her bright pink dress. The bodice is some kind of bustier, the ribbing subtly sequined. The waist nips in and flares to accommodate her rounded hips, but tapers to the long line of her legs. Instead of shying away from her height, Hendrix plays it up with glittery stilettos that put her at eye level or above most men in the room. On many women, it would feel like a statement. On some, it would telegraphI’m trying too hardorI’ve got something toprove.But on Hendrix, theI don’t give a fuck what you thinkmessage resounds throughout the room as surely as if she had rung a bell.

“I know that for many of you,” she continues, “shoot, for me, there was a time when questioning Black Girl Magic would feel like sacrilege. It’s our battle cry, our hashtag, our reassurance that there is maybe something mystical propelling us to rise above every obstacle every time.”

Determination sweeps the last residue of laughter from her eyes.

“We are not magic,” she says. “We are resilient. It’s not a wand. It’s work. We work harder and shine brighter to survive. Excellence for us has been a matter of necessity. In a climate where less than half a percent of venture capital funding goes to Black women, women founders still perform sixty-three percent better than all-male founding teams in the first round. With those odds, we can’t leave our success to chance and we for sure can’t depend on magic.”

She relaxes the line of her jaw, settling into a smile. “But we can depend on some of you. The brilliant, industrious women who are our Aspire founders are not asking for charity. They are counting on your gut instinct for a great investment, depending on the most successful among us to know a good deal when they see it.”

She points to a young woman in the crowd, maybe in her late thirties, who wears a colorful headdress and flawless makeup.

“Take Hannah Carter, for example,” Hendrix says. “You may have met her tonight, or maybe you saw her inForbesor on CNN or inWiredmagazine. Hue, her cosmetic company utilizing groundbreaking technology for full-proof color matching, is approaching nine figures in revenue. She was part of our first round of funding, and like so many, has more than fulfilled the promise of greatness we recognized in her from the start.”

Hendrix’s eyes soften, and she shares a quick smile with Hannah before continuing.

“She downsized her car, crowdfunded the first six figures to launch her company, and at one point in her journey…” Hendrix says, pausing to make room for her next words, “… took out a second mortgageon her house. That’s not magic. It’s sacrifice. It’s grit. It’s the best kind of obstinacy that refuses to stay down when put down. And it embodies the spirit of the Aspire Fund.”

She nods to another woman seated near the front who sports an abundance of natural curls.

“Or Halle Jenson, who recognized that Black hair care is a three-billion-dollar market, with only three percent of it owned by Black women. Watch out for Coil, her new hair-care line that we are looking to scale.”

It’s so quiet, I hear the people beside me breathing. Hendrix holds us all rapt and eating out of her well-manicured hand.

“The definition of ‘aspire’ is to long for, aim, or seek ambitiously,” Hendrix says. “To be eagerly desirous, especially for something of great or high value. Too often, ambition becomes a dirty word when applied to women. Not here. We encourage the women of Aspire to long for, to aim, and to seek. We want to be an incubator for Black women’s highest ambitions and hopes and accomplishments.”

She spreads a smile around the room. “As you mingle and meet our founders, we hope you’ll consider joining us for the second round.”

The other two women, Nelly and Kashawn, rejoin her at the podium and they link arms.

“We’re so glad to have you here,” Nelly, the senior of the three women says. “Don’t let all this good food and booze go to waste.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Kashawn adds. “We’re available to answer any questions. Thank you for coming.”

Needing a distraction from the hint of cleavage Hendrix’s dress revealed and the way her voice dipped the whole room in honey, I swiftly leave the ballroom and head for the veranda. As I make my way through the crowd, people grab drinks and heavy hors d’oeuvres from trays. Several of them recognize me, try to catch my eye, but I ignore them. I’m not here for whatever they have in mind. I slip through the balcony doors and take in a lungful of cool air after the stuffy room.

“We’re leaving soon, right?” Bolt asks, joining me on the balcony and surveying the illuminated Atlanta skyline.

“Yeah.” I rest my half-empty glass on the flat balcony railing.

“Tell me again why we’re here,” Bolt says, standing next to me and nursing the one alcoholic drink he’ll allow himself all night.

---