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Coochie 3



Sadness and euphoria always depends on how deeply committed you are to what you choose to do about tomorrow



As an old-fashioned street-walking ho, Stella found the present conversation distressing, but perhaps this is what she deserved for listening to this bitch about turning the art of slanging pussy into a very lucrative consulting business. Why tamper with a good thing? Traditionally, in the African-American community, “hooking” was like home economics because selling coochie was what kept the cable turned on or what kept the lights from being turned off. Maybe it should stay that way.

            Plus, selling pussy was personal to Stella, and she said as much. “Selling pussy is personal to me.” 

            Eve experienced a tightening in her throat, but still spoke calmly.  “I feel that if anyone can make this work, it’s you.”

            It would have been both unprofessional and unladylike even for a former ho to curse a bitch who offered her money, so Stella held her tongue for a split second while she weighed her options.  Instinctively, she knew she couldn’t afford not to listen to such a request although it pained her to know that her daughters wouldn’t be around to assist her in this crazy scheme, if by chance, she decided to attempt it. “I just lost both my girls.”

            “I’m sorry.” Eve quickly looked away.  “I always felt Brianna was just as much my daughter as she was yours.” She paused. “Plus, I just lost my best friend in a plane crash so I understand what it’s like to have to bury someone you love.”

 More or less what Stella saw in the stranger’s chocolate-colored face was mixed signals, but she, quite actually, wasn’t thinking about them. She was too busy trying to reach a conclusion about why she felt this crazy scheme was so appealing to her.

            Stella smiled. She was a dazzling combination of natural beauty and “store bought” perfection, everything so flawlessly sculpted that no matter how penetrating the scrutiny or how direct the examination, no one could figure out where one ended or where the other began. She smiled once more.

            Eve smiled back. “It’s time for black women to stop fighting each other and to make a stand.”

            Stella acknowledged that observation with a slight nod of her head. “What else is new?”

            Eve sat across from Stella in a booth at Boudreax’s, a Cajun restaurant in NoDa. She allowed the queasiness in her stomach to recede before she talked again. She touched the plain-brown, manila envelope in front of her. “We must reach for the stars,” she lectured, “because the greater our reach, the greater our chances of success.” Eve stared at her dinner guest. “You do understand, don’t you?”

            Stella’s dark, brown eyes widened. “What I do understand better than most, Miss Chambers, is how to sell pussy.”

            Across the booth, Eve gasped. “Stella, please.” The last thing she wanted or needed was to get into a heated debate with the blue-chip mother of a woman-child, Brianna, who had been an expert at selling dreams. “May I be honest with you?”

 Why not?” Stella made a tired gesture. “Go for it?”

Pussy Power!” Eve mumbled the words almost reverently, her tongue rolling clumsily over the curves of each alphabet, falling off the final letter like it was a lopsided roller-coaster. After this blunt announcement, she spoke firmly. “I’m not afraid to dream.”

“It feels like I might be the one who dreaming after all that shit you just told me about Brianna and that secret organization of yours. Got my baby trapped off.” Stella sighed. “And now, you want to start another one? That’s insane.”

Eve paid no attention to the remark. “Matchmakers Incorporated will not find its fame by accident which means that you are going to have to take your responsibilities seriously.” Eve’s voice grew more confident the more she spoke. “For black women, the future is right now. We deserve a break”

“And you’re going to give it to them?’

“No, you are.”

“But I’m only concerned about me.”

            “That’s how I used to feel until I gave it some serious thought. It hasn’t been easy for us.”

            Stella shrugged her shoulders. “And this is how you want to give back. This Pussy Power thang?”

            “Isn’t that your dream? Brianna told me all about your desire to use pussy power as the way for black women to get what they want.”

            “I wasn’t thinking on this large a scale.” Stella looked at Eve. “What I dreamed of was a way to elevate hoes, to teach young bitches, such as Neon and Brianna, how to use their coochies to make a way out of no way.”

            “What happened?”

            “My daughters dead and gone. At least, they missing.”

            Eve gripped Stella’s trembling hands. “Do it for them, in their memory. And what about all the other girls who look up to you as an idol?”

            “Them bitches sell ass. That’s what they know ‘cause that’s what I taught ‘em.”

“But it can be so much more than that because I want you to teach them how to sell dreams.” Eve released Stella’s hand. “You do that and you can put us in a position where black women run the country.”

That made Stella laugh. “Is that right?” Stella held back more laughter. “And just how am I supposed to do that?”

“By recruiting beautiful, black women into a secret organization.  Then I want you to marry your bitches only to powerful, white men who are in positions of authority in this country. I want these bitches married to lawyers, doctors, politicians. I want them everywhere, in every facet of government.”

“And then what?”

“I expect you to have one of your girls matched up and married to the white boy most likely to have his ass in the White House when Hilary Clinton gets finished.”

Stella picked up her napkin, wiping her mouth. “But we already have a sista in the White House.”

“This time it will be different.”


“This bitch will do what you tell her to.”

            Stella’s head began to throb. Terribly.



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