Lucia: Hey, sissy! I’ll be close to your house tomorrow evening. Wanna do something?
Her name on my screen makes me smile.
Doing somethingwith Lucia usually involves margaritas and dancing—two things I love almost as much as I love her. But I know her and myself well enough to know that those things on a Thursday evening aren’t conducive to a productive Friday.And Mercy is coming on Friday.
My smile is cheesy as I pick up the phone.
Me: I have a big interview on Friday, so I can’t really go out. Takeout and gossip at my place?
Lucia: Yes! I’m going to try to remember your housewarming present this time.
Me: Gifts are always appreciated.
Lucia: Brat.
I swipe off my text app, immediately noticing a new notification from Social Messaging. The appearance of the little number in the pink bubble is enough to make me toe the edge of rage because the name at the top of my inbox is the one I expected it to be.Pearl Jenkins—extortionist.
Pearl: Okay, you’re playing hardball. I’ll decrease my asking price by another $10, but that’s the least I can do. Take it or leave it. I’m done messing around with you.
My thumbs fly across the screen with purpose, reminding me why my manicure is screwed up.
Me: We’ve been over this a million times. I’m not interested in your price point. Yet you keep coming to me with minuscule reductions that don’t change a thing. Save yourself the trouble.
Pearl: It’s antique mahogany. Don’t you know anything about antiques?
Me: It’s missing two hooks, has a gouge in the base, and the whole thing needs to be refinished. It sat in a barn for how many years?
Pearl: A lady is selling one just like this on Social for $3,000. Mine is $2,000. I’m practically giving it away. Do your homework.
Me: Then I’ll pick it up at the salvation center when they mark it down to $100.
Pearl: Fine. $1,500. Last offer.
Me: $99. Final offer.
Pearl: Complete disrespect!
“What?” I screech, staring at the screen.Is she serious?“I … I can’t.” My finger taps to exit the app, before I all-caps berate a woman with great-grandchildren. That’s the kind of energy that I don’t need returned to me.No matter how cathartic it might be.
I push the coat tree killer out of my mind and do a quick check of my hair and makeup. Then I grab my phone, position it onto the tripod, and test my lighting. It’s surprisingly flattering.
Then I hit the red button.
It takes a few seconds for the connection to link and the viewer count to rise.
“Hi.” I wave to the camera. Hearts and comments begin lifting across the screen faster than I can count them. “What’s going on?” I laugh as the requests to join the live roll in. Even I’m not ballsy enough to go that far and allow strangers to pop up on camera with me.Hard nope.“I’m in my office today, wrapping up a slew of meetings for Friday’s show. Have I mentioned how freaking amazing it’s going to be?”
I try to find a comment to respond to, so my fans feel like I’m talking tothem, notat them. I narrow my eyes, trying to focus on the messages flowing across the bottom of the screen. Finally, I spot a straightforward inquiry that I can answer.
“I got this shirt at a thrift store on Circle Grove for fifteen dollars,” I say, standing. “See? It has pockets on the side.” Glancing around, I grab the tripod. “Have I ever shown you guys my office?”
The wordnoin various forms spans across the bottom of the screen.
“We don’t have time for a grand tour today, but I can show you the gist of it. Hang on.” I gingerly lift the tripod and turn slowly in a circle. “That’s my one window, but it does look out on a park where guys play basketball on hot afternoons. Not complaining about that.” I twist a little farther. “And there’s my fake candle because the day I tried to light a real one, I nearly got fired. No pun intended. Those are pics of my sister and me, and of my best friends. I really need to get them to come on the podcast. You guys would love them. And I?—”
“Guess who left her keys on the—oh.”
I jump, swinging toward the sound of the very sexy, very male voice.
