Chapter 14 Hendrix
CHAPTER 14
HENDRIX
S o are you ready to tell me what happened Saturday night with Bolt?”
“A mistake is what happened.” Skipper all but slams my Monday morning grande on the corner of my desk and turns to leave.
“He just seemed so aloof and downright belligerent,” I say, hoping the comment will draw her out of her uncharacteristic reticence. Skipper once told me about a threesome she had in the botanical gardens. A woman who will copulate with a dude and a chick behind a bush is not what I’d call circumspect. Skipper pauses on her way to the door, turning to look at me, chagrin smeared in shades of shame all over her face.
“I don’t know what came over me.” She stomps back into my office and flops into the chair across from my desk.
“Oh, do take a load off. Not like I have work to do or anything.”
“You asked and now I’m telling you.” She runs a hand over her eyes wearily. “It was like a wild animal took over my body.”
“If this story gets bestial or even anal in nature, I’m good on the details. You can keep ’em.”
“Would you stop joking?” she asks, even though her lips twitch. “I’d never felt that way before. Especially not for someone shorter than me. Ewww.”
“Nothing wrong with short men. I’ve fucked a short man with a big dick. An excellent redistribution of inches if you ask me. Height won’t make you come.”
“You didn’t say that when you smashed that basketball player who was a good six seven.”
“Chile, I slept with that man thrice , but I deeply regret it because it was mid every time. I just kept trying , though. Kept hoping it would get better. A man that big, it just had to be better.”
“When we first met him, you said he had BDE.”
“He got the B and the D but no E. Dick included. Energy sold separately. I was like, bruh, you working with all them inches, and I still got to rub it out with the Rose when you leave? Sir, you are redundant.”
“You really have no shame, do you?” Skipper giggles.
“Says the woman who slept with a man she was actively combative to three seconds after meeting him. And in the women’s bathroom no less.”
She covers her face and screeches, “It was unisex!”
“Now, you know I stay out your business.”
“That’s a lie.” Skipper parts her fingers, allowing space for one eye to glower at me. “You always in my business.”
“At least tell me if it was good because I have to know what he is packing under that bow-tie.”
The barest hint of rose crawls over Skipper’s cheeks in a light-skinned blush. “It was surprisingly satisfying given the… quickness of it all and that he repulses me in every nonsexual way.”
“Did you come?”
“Yes.”
“Then your pussy must like him, even if you don’t.”
“Hendrix, please,” she groans. “Don’t remind me I slept with a man who insulted me as soon as we met.”
“You gave as good as you got.”
“What’d you hear?” she demands sharply.
“Nothing. I don’t mean sexually. I meant banter, sparring. Ya know, verbally and upright, not on your knees in a unisex bathroom.”
“Oh, my God. When did I tell you that?”
“Not until just now.” I chuckle. “Has he called? Have you?”
“No. It’s like nothing happened.” She might try to hide her disappointment, but I know her too well.
“He’ll call,” I tell her gently, not sure I can make that promise with any certainty, but wanting a return of her usual spark.
“I really don’t care.” She stands and walks toward the door. “Don’t forget your favorite housewife is calling at noon after your meeting with the network.”
Technically Imani Jo is an ex-wife, but the drama surrounding her divorce from the NFL player is what landed her on the show in the first place.
“We’re just back-to-back today.” I press my fingers to my temples, preemptively massaging the pain Imani always gives my head. A pain in my ass, too. “I’ll be ready. Could you close the door? I need to focus on the contract we’re discussing before this call.”
I dig into the details and red line the changes we need to make to the agreement. Changes the network must have known I would demand.
“Y’all really tried it, though.” I chew the tip of my pen and shake my head. “Playing in my face and pissing me off. Oh, I’m ’bout to get this bag for real.”
My phone screen lights up on my desk with an incoming text. I nearly drop the pen when I read Maverick’s name.
My fingers creep toward the phone like it might bite me if I get too close too fast. I slide the phone to the edge of the desk so I can read the message.
Maverick: Thought these might be of interest to you.
My breath hitches when I see it’s a link to in-person Alzheimer’s support groups in the Atlanta area.
Maverick: I know you said you’d be staying in Charlotte while your aunt recovers from her surgery, so here’s a list of virtual ones I found, too. My mom did those when she didn’t feel like going out.
I stare at the message, at his name. My fingers freeze around the phone, tightening with the effort of not hurling it across the room to get it as far away from me as I can. To get him as far away from me as I can. I cannot bond with him this way. I can’t connect to him. Like each conversation, each text message is a thread strung between us that slowly, inexorably pulls me closer. It’s not his chest, ripped and muscled. Not that dark gold of his skin or that protractor-perfect jawline. It’s not his wealth or power. His kindness, his consideration, his caring is the lure. I’ve been on plenty of dates where men pretended to listen long enough to get in my bed, but probably couldn’t tell you one real thing about me beyond that I have a glamorous job and give good head.
This is not that. I know it’s not.
Maverick: You may see this message later. I know you’re busy. It’s not hard information to find, but sometimes when we have a lot going on, we just don’t occur to ourselves. And a friend sending you something you could have easily found on your own prompts you to act.
A line of bubbles starts and stops on the screen, and it’s hard to envision this powerful man unsure of the next thing to say, but I sense that in this, whatever bond we’ve formed in just a few conversations and text messages, he’s as uncertain how to safely govern this as I am.
Maverick: I know friends is a stretch since we’ve only been face-to-face twice, but I’m familiar with what you’re navigating and am here if you need anything.
I caress the screen, moved by his sincerity, but firm my lips and straighten my shoulders.
Me : Thank you so much for this. I’m going into a meeting, but wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Have a good one.
That have a good one is how I shut shit down. That’s my exit line and signals I’m done with this for now. I have to be done with this… with him for now. Maybe for good.
The way he made me feel Saturday night is dangerous. Not just the way his eyes flowed over my body, or the way I could feel him watching me throughout the event. There has been something inordinately intimate about every conversation we’ve had, even though there haven’t been many. He has managed to peel a layer back each time, exposing what only a few people ever get to see.
I have goals. One of them is to EP my first show, Chapel’s show. Moving into television and film is the next phase of my career, and I’m not squandering this opportunity, ruining it for a man who makes my heart race. I’ve seen too many women prioritize other people and sacrifice their own dreams. I see mothers do it all the time, further solidifying it couldn’t be me. I’ve seen wives do it. I saw Soledad do it for years with her gutter-rat husband, Edward. Hell, I saw Mama do it with my father, neglecting many of the things she wanted to do for her small business to help him with his. I won’t be led around by my heart and my pussy with some man holding the leash.
I take the screen dark, putting the phone away without waiting for his reply. My goals are the priority.
Nothing will make me lose sight of that.
My desk phone buzzing breaks the quiet of my resolve.
“Yeah, Skipper?”
“Got the network on the line,” she says over speaker.
Sons of bitches trying to get over on my client.
“The hell you say,” I mutter under my breath and press the button to pick up the call. “Gentlemen, let’s discuss this contract.”
By the end of the call, my blood pressure is probably through the roof, but I’ve gotten most of what I want. Some things they won’t budge on and I can’t blame them. Imani thinks that her on-screen diva persona works everywhere, but I got a wake-up call for her. It doesn’t always work in the boardroom.
“So did you shove it all the way up their ass?” Imani asks when I call after the network conversation. “That ridiculous offer?”
“It got pretty far up the ass,” I answer breezily. “Not far up enough to feel good.”
“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 thought I had 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 thing they 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 see me , 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 notify Guinness we 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.
I already know Soledad and Yasmen won’t be able to fly off to Cali in the middle of the week with their commitments. They’d be my first choice as plus-ones for this event, but I have a lot of good second ones.
Me: Would love to get out of the city for a night. Send deets to Skipper.
Finally, I come to a new message from the almost-billionaire I’m avoiding.
Maverick: You have a good one, too.
I don’t think his “have a good one” means the same as mine. Mine is a dismissal, a way to shut things down. When Maverick says have a good one, I think he really hopes I do.