Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Let me put it like this. I have a lot of upset boyfriends, Lennox. I tend to rub men the wrong way when I’m not dancing for them, or doing some performance to cater to their fragile egos. The ‘real me’,” she gestured with air quotes with her fingers, “gets under a lot of men’s skin. Some say I’m too loud. Too opinionated. Too independent. Too unemotional, I guess. None of that is true except the opinionated and independent part.
“What is true is that I have a short fuse for bullshit, and I call out all red flags as soon as I see them. I was a people-pleaser as a child. Life taught me to cut that shit out quick. When I end these relationships, if you want to even call them that, usually I just get a ‘Fuck you, bitch,’ and they go on their merry way. Sometimes I get drunk butt-dials or whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “But it eventually stops sooner than later, and then it’s over. This one isn’t working out that way. This one just happens to be crazy and a little unpredictable.”
She picked up the remote and turned the music back down.
“Why is he threatening to hurt you if you don’t give him some money?”
“Because LeRon thinks I owe it to him, but we already went to court and the judge ruled in my favor.”
“Then he’s using it as an excuse to still be in contact with you?”
“Yeah, but he really does want the money. I think he wants to see if I’ll break. If I told him right now I wanted him back, I believe he’d drop this.”
“So he wants you more than he wants the money?”
“No. He doesn’t give a shit about me. It’s what I represent. What I can do. Some guys get off by dating strippers. It’s a kink for them. Especially one like me that had to be booked in advance, made a lotta money, and was a crowd favorite. Dancing is highly competitive in Atlanta. I got a lot of top billing for shows. My name was well-known in these stripper streets. He enjoyed that. He doesn’t want me, though, Lennox… not really. He wants the lifestyle.”
“He wants to ride your coattails? This is ridiculous.”
“It is, but it’s true. The riches. The glamour. Atlanta strip clubs hit different. It’s a part of the culture. A way of life. I had a nice apartment. A real nice one. A penthouse, actually, and I had just about all the things that money could buy. I have a nice savings, and he wants a slice. Says he deserves it. Says he helped promote me, get me bookings. He ain’t do shit that I was already doing by myself before I even met him, and I was doin’ it well. I didn’t benefit from being with him. He benefited from being with me. He got to go with me on trips and rent expensive cars to floss in. He’s a schemer and a user. Now he’s callin’ me every week from blocked numbers threatening me.”
“Just tell me his full name. I promise I won’t do anything.”
They both burst out laughing.
“Boy, stop. Lennox, I know you. I ain’t tellin’ you that boy’s name ’cause you’ll end up on the news. You’ve got enough problems as is. Anyway, like I said, he’s not even here, so chill. He’s in Atlanta. I ain’t worried about him.” She scoffed. “And besides, if he is dumb enough to bring his silly ass over this way, I got Dolly and Parton waitin’ for him, and trust ’nd believe, they work 24/7, not just 9 to 5.”
“Who’s Dolly and Parton?”
She smiled at his question as if she’d been waiting to be asked.
“My Glock 43X and Springfield hellcat. They can sing their asses off, too. Got a mouth full of pretty, shiny bullets, and both of ’em can foxtrot through any dancefloor. I hold one in my left hand, and the otha in my right. I say… ‘Jolene, please don’t make me put a hole in dis here man…’”
“Cheers to that.” They tapped their glasses and cups together. “Do you shoot well?”
“Does a bee like honey?”
“Who taught you how to shoot or did you just learn on your own?”
“Didn’t learn on my own. Got it from my mama.”
“Of course.” He laughed.
“…You already know.” Her face flushed deeper and her high cheekbones rounded when she smiled. “She taught me and my brother how to use a gun. I was fifteen. Mama said, ‘Listen you two. Y’all gonna learn how to fight, and how to shoot a person dead, today.’ My brother piped up and said, ‘But we can just call the police like Nana says.’ Mama laughed and put her hand on her hip. “Boy, the world don’t give a fat fried fuck a duck on a truck for good luck ’bout no black folks getting justice in this world. So, we have to make our own justice ’cause it’s JUST US. Now pay attention or you’ll wish you did.’ Mama grabbed some bottles, pop cans, and some of my old dolls, took us out in the mornin’ to a field, and we stayed there for hours until we could shoot those dolls square in the middle of their glassy eyes. There was a lot of tears and yellin’, swearin’ and not caring, but we did it. She made sure of it.”