Page 48 of Can't Get Enough

“Oooh, I like that analogy. My last boyfriend taught me everything I know about prostate orgasms. Most men are really missing out. The gays know. If you tap that button, he going off, honey. We used a dildo because I couldn’t imagine my finger in his booty hole. I mean, that’s where he shits. I could have used a latex glove, but he—”

“Can we, um, stop this line of… of talk?” I practically beg.

I thoughtIhad no filter, but Imani is the gold medalist of mouth diarrhea, which is why she shines on reality television.

“But I was just sharing—”

“Too much,” I tell her, allowing a bit of humor into my tone to remove the sting. “I promise you I don’t want to hear about you sticking your finger up nobody’s ass unless you’re sitting on Andy Cohen’s couch telling a million other people and we’re both getting paid for it.”

“Whew, chile,” Imani cackles. “That’s why I love you, Hennessy. You don’t pull no punches.”

I’ve gotten used to the nickname. Considering how much money this woman stands to make if we steer her career properly, I’ll tolerate a corny moniker if it means a hefty commission.

“We got most of what we wanted,” I tell her. “But there were a few sticking points they won’t yield on.”

“Like what?” Her gum chewing on the other line escalates, which is always my gauge for how close we are to a meltdown. “It better not be the wardrobe allowance. I’m on TV and have an image to maintain. If they think I’m—”

“They are fine with a modest wardrobe allowance, but the thingthey can’t really budge on is you not being filmed with half the cast members.”

“But I hate them.” The gum smacking increases, popping like bullets at a shooting range. “That’s not just for the cameras. I legit can’t stand them two-faced bitches.”

“They’re aware. That’s kind of the point of the show.” I explain what should already be self-evident. “That’s why they put you guys in these situations where you’re bound to attack each other. It’s good television. If you don’t give them that, you may as well leave the show.”

“Leave the show?” she screams, gum popping halting altogether. “I built that show. Folks are tuning in to seeme, not them gully ex-stripper hos.”

I don’t point out that she got her start on the pole because who cares. She was once a diamond in one of Atlanta’s elite strip clubs. She grew up hard, and audiences want to find any grime that’s left under her newfound glitter.

“I’ve reduced your on-air time with the cast members you specified,” I tell her, trying to keep us on course. “And the producers have agreed to integrate your new sex toy business into the show.”

“Oh, yes! I’ll make sure the team has Issa Vibe ready to go in time for filming the new season so we can time our launch with episode one. That was a great suggestion, by the way.”

“I’m glad. The producers love bringing in that storyline so it’s win-win.”

“And did you like my gift?” she asks, a salacious note slinking into her voice.

“The vibrator?” I come close to a guffaw. “I haven’t tried it yet, but I’ll let you know.”

“We call it the Roll Back because it’s gonna make your eyes roll back in your head.”

“Could we focus on business for another second? I know it’s a foreign concept, but some clients don’t share this much sexual information with their managers.”

“That don’t sound fun at all,” she bemoans on their behalf. “We not like them.”

God, I wish we were.

I manage to redirect the conversation long enough to get her agreement on the terms as I’ve negotiated them. I don’t have a law degree, but I have my doctorate in relentless bitch. I know what my clients want and deserve and won’t stop until they get as much as possible. The lawyer I keep on retainer gets into the legal details and makes sure we’re crossing and dotting and not leaving cash on the table.

Three phone calls and two video conferences later, I welcome the shifting light of sunset in my office. Finally this day is over, and I can go home. I’m packing up for the night when my resolve not to see if Maverick replied weakens. I reach into the top drawer of my desk for my cell phone. Probably half a dozen messages have come in since I started my meeting marathon.

No messages or missed calls from Aunt Geneva, to my relief. Some memes and GIFs on my thread with Soledad and Yasmen, which makes me smile. A text from Nelly to Kashawn and me about an “out-of-the-box” founder she wants to discuss tomorrow. There’s even a message from a one-minute man I had the misfortune of smashing last month. I was tempted to notifyGuinnesswe had a new world record for fastest to come with complete disregard for his partner’s pleasure, but I figured they’re flooded with women claiming that daily.

Delete. Block. Never again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… well that ain’t happening.

There’s even a message from Imani.

Imani:I know I’m a lot, but I love you and appreciate all the hustling you do for me, Hennessy. I have three tickets to the Waves game in San Diego next Wednesday. It’s the Western Conference playoffs! I have an event I can’t get out of, so they’re all yours if you want them.

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