“Hello, CoCo Supremes. I must say it has been my week’s pleasure, hosting these hate-watch parties around the city. And who knew, my people would be interested in a former A list actress from the 2000s.”

The crowd cheered.

Not only did she have people attending the hate-watch party in person, but CoCo Sheir also live-streamed the event on TikTok. The comments were flooded with excitement about the event.

“Cheryl Woodlynn owes me a check for making her relevant again, at least a sponsorship deal and a thank you.” She lowered the mic to make the money sign with her free hand as she two-stepped briefly. She plucked her blonde, bob-cut hair away from her face. “Legal dramas aside, as you all know who I am,” she placed her hand on her chest, “let’s take a few to get to know one another.” She fanned everyone with her hand, as a sign to go mingle.

It was a crowd of one hundred people who attended the event at the luxury hotel. CoCo Sheir’s social media post told attendees to arrive at seven in the evening. She hired a local restaurant to cater for the event and had a few bartenders on hand. A music app on her iPad played DJ for the night.

The room was divided by fifty-fold-out chairs on each side, with a walkway in the center. The decor was black and gold, compliments of her sponsor. Two enormous speakers were posted on the floor, on opposite sides of the room. A ten-foot-wide black curtain and two security guards kept unwanted and non-RSVP people outside of the event.

In a stadium announcer’s voice, a male voice, unseen said, “let’s get ready to laugh. Coming to you from Brooklyn Heights, the only one who said yes to opening for a hate watch party on one day notice, Mr. Charles, the Riot.”

“Now, y’all already know, this gon be quick. I was given five minutes to tell y’all who Cheryl Woodlynn is.” He took a sip from his water bottle then sat it on the bar stool he brought with him.

“Here we go. Cheryl Woodlynn is the actress who, no one under the age of forty heard of until two weeks ago.”

He got a light laugh for that one.

“Cheryl Woodlynn is the actress who,” he stopped pacing to look directly at the audience, “never confirmed nor denied she gave an Academy member fellatio for a vote.”

The crowd gasped.

“Cheryl Woodlynn is the actress who,” he walked to the other side of the room, “may or may not enjoy the casting couch, whether there’s a role in it for her or not.”

Some, but not everyone laughed.

“Cheryl Woodlynn is the actress whose,” he walked to the center area of the room, “list of sexual partners is longer than the line at the DMV office.”

He got a louder laugh for that joke.

“Cheryl Woodlynn is so known for dating broke men, that when Hollywood stopped casting her in films, she tried to claim her exes, joysticks as dependents on her taxes.”

The audience loved that joke.

“Jokes aside, I say this from the heart, I really, really love this new play she’s in,” he paused for dramatic effect, “if I saw it. Y’all enjoy the show, I’m out.” He waved the mic in the air, behind his back, as he walked away.

The crowd applauded him.

CoCo Sheir grabbed the mic from him, to get everyone’s attention. “What’s good everyone? Give it up one more time for Mr. Charles, the Riot.” She waited for the applause to die down. “Now it’s time to see what we all came here for.”

The crowd started to silence as she spoke. With her hand, CoCo Sheir gently pressed out the kinks in her little black dress before continuing.

“This is a taping from a show of The Virgin Monologues, that happened earlier this week. I’m told she received a standing O, so we should have material worth the mock, ya know.”

The crowd cheered.

“Play it back, Herrod,” CoCo Sheir said to her assistant.

The sixty-inch-wide projector screen filled with the cast of The Virgin Monologue on a small stage.

Cheryl, as her character Amanda, is sitting on the couch, with her laptop in her lap, reading the results from her Anti-Mullerian Hormone test.

Then she grabs her phone to check her messages. Amanda reads the text message that just popped up.

Do you want me to get thirty-eight roses with the centerpiece for your birthday party?

She decided not to respond yet. Then she listened to her voicemail.

“Hello, this is Caryn from Dr. Wiseman’s office calling to confirm you’ve reviewed the test results. We would like to put you on the schedule ASAP to review the results and discuss a course of action for fertility and treatment options. Please give us a call back before 5pm today, have a nice day.”

Amanda ended the voicemail and sat her phone down on the coffee table.

During the intermission, CoCo Sheir announced to the crowd, “and now we’re going to take a break; you can charge your phones, refill your cups, whatever you need, the play will resume in ten minutes.”

People got up from their seats to go to the bathroom, which was outside of the hate-watch, party room. Some guests went to the charging stations, which consist of two medium sized pedestal tables with six portable chargers on them. The bar drew the largest crowd, where a plethora of top shelf liquors and wines sat on a rolling bar in the back corner of the room.

CoCo Sheir checked social media and engaged with her followers during the break.

The play resumed on schedule.

Amanda records a video diary entry.

I can’t believe he would file a complaint, trying to get me kicked off the app. Really. Who would do such a thing? The nerve of him, so sensitive to rejection, that he would try to get an app to call me unmatchable. I know I’m not the problem here—he is. He’s the one who doesn’t know how to make a girl feel special, especially on a first date. He can’t even master good manners; no wonder he’s been getting matched for three years now, unsuccessfully. I bet it’s news to him that I’m still on here; active profile and all, with matches waiting for my response. Wendi, from the dating app, assured me they know how to pacify members like him, who try to use retaliatory methods to get someone they had an unpleasant experience with, forced off the dating site. It will not work. It won’t work!

After the play ended, the crowd gave a weak, slow applause. CoCo Sheir, in her designer six-inch heels, ran over to the front of the room to grab the microphone.

“Everyone, how was it for you? I know what I have to say about it but, I’m curious about your opinions.” Her perfectly drawn red lips were undisturbed, in spite of the drinking and finger-eating she did throughout the night.

“Why was she wearing that robe? I don’t know. I feel like she is trying to compete with the young Insta models,” a lady wearing designer shades and a glittering gold jumpsuit stood up to say.

The crowd became raucous in agreement.

“Yeah, she did seem like she was trying too hard. And how is she still a virgin when she went to college in Atlanta? Lies.” Another woman said.

CoCo Sheir raised her eyebrows in confusion. “So, the consensus is that we hate this play and find it unbelievable? And thank you to my online audience for staying present. Let me know in the comments what you thought as well. To confirm, we big hate this play, right?”

“Yes,” the crowd said in harmony.

She confirmed, on her phone, that the online community shared similar opinions.

“That was easy,” CoCo Sheir said. “I thought there would be a few minority opinions but no, we’re all in agreement.” She pulled out her phone and asked the crowd to comment on her recent TikTok video.

She looked into the camera and said, “If you’re in the NYC, this is where you should be.” Then she motioned her camera guy to turn the camera around to scan the audience. “And thank you everyone for helping me reach 500,000 followers on Monday.”

Cheryl was taking a stroll in Central Park with her son Amir, who was riding his bicycle, when she took a call from her agent, Axel.

“Cheryl, I’m sending you the updated offers for the book proposal. We have three publishers lined up with above acceptable contract offers. I’m sending them over to you right now. Let me know when you get my e-mail.”

“Yes, Axel. I received it.”

Cheryl took relief from the sun, under a magnolia tree.

“Not too far, Amir,” Cheryl called out to her son.

“OK, good. The first one is the strongest offer. You should give that one the utmost consideration,” Axel said. “And it goes in that order from highest dollar amount to the least. The third offer is more a last resort if things fall through with the first two.”

“I’ll have to look it over, Axel. I’m with my son right now. Can I call you when I get home? Say 4?”

Cheryl dodged a man on a bike who was more occupied with his phone than avoiding hitting pedestrians walking by.

“You need to take this seriously. Home runs like this don’t happen everyday. The public is interested in you now. We don’t know how long this will last for.”

“I know, I know. You tell me this every day. I get it,” Cheryl moaned.

“This could be a big paycheck for you. It could pay both our mortgages off. Why does it feel like carrying a dead body up a hill in the rain, trying to get you excited about this.”

“I don’t mean to be lackluster. Just worried about outing people who now live private lives,” Cheryl said.

“That’s the risk you take when you deal with public figures: in a professional or personal manner. We’re not talking kids here—they can handle it,” Axel said.

“I know but, can I keep certain people out of the book? I have some stories to tell but I don’t want to reveal who Amir’s father is. He’s a private person; even Amir’s teacher doesn’t know who he is.”

Cheryl scraped grassy mud off her shoe onto the concrete as she kept an eye on Amir, who was not far ahead of her.

“Amir’s father is non-negotiable. That’s written into every contract and the first thing that publishers bring up in phone negotiations. I doubt I can find a publisher willing to give you a contract without that revelation included.”

“Not a single publisher?” Cheryl said incredulously.

“You need to spend more time on social media. Then you would know what people want. Everyone is guessing who the father is.”

“Why now? I have always kept him a secret. Why is the public so interested in him now?” Cheryl whined.

“Major influencers are posting countdown videos, taking guesses, until someone confirms his identity. It’s only a matter of time before some journalist does the work and snatches this six-figure, book deal away from you. And then what are you going to do? Go back to headlining off-off Broadway plays? Cause that’s working so well for you?”

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Ok, Ax, got it. I’ll give the contracts a look over then call you back.”  Cheryl ended the call before Axel could respond.

Cheryl received a memory notification, on her phone, from Facebook that included a picture of her with her former best friend, Candace. She logged into her Facebook account to see if Candace still had her blocked. To her surprise, she was not. Cheryl scrolled her former friend’s page, looking at the pictures and reading the posts. After a few minutes, she exited her friend’s page and logged out of Facebook.

Then Cheryl sat her phone on the glass coffee table. She turned the TV on, relaxed on her green velvet sofa, and looked for something to watch. A comedy film from the 1980s caught her eye so she put the remote on the arm of the sofa.

As Cheryl tried to focus on the opening credits, her ex-friend consumed her mind. She grabbed her phone again to look for Candace’s number. When she scrolled down her contacts list, she changed her mind about giving her former bff a call. After backing out of her phone app, Cheryl sat the phone back down on the coffee table.

Once the first commercial break started, Cheryl picked the phone back up. Yet again she went into her contacts to look for Candace’s number. When she found it, she stared at it for a while. Then the commercial break ended. She decided to continue watching the film. Another commercial break later, she returned to staring at Candace’s phone number, on her phone, wondering if it had changed.

Cheryl pressed the green receiver on her phone and listened to the phone ringing.

“Hello,” Candace said like a question.

“Candace? It’s me, Cheryl.”

“Cheryl. Oh, my goodness. Honey, guess who’s on the phone,” Candace said to someone in the background.

“How are you and the family? I see you and Randy are still going strong.”

“Yeah, well you know he ain’t going nowhere.”

“What do I say? If you can survive empty nest syndrome, you can survive anything.”

Candace started laughing. “We were just talking about how we’re going to pay the kids tuition this month. You just wait til it’s your turn.”

“You’re right. But I do have time.” Cheryl took a deep sigh. After some silence, she said, “I came across a memory of us on Facebook.”

“Facebook can be so messy,” Candace said.

“Uhm hmm. We were at the premiere of my film, Trash Full of Daisies, remember?” Cheryl relaxed on her sofa.

“I sure do. That’s where you met Chase something. Can’t think of his last name but you two were pretty hot and heavy for a minute.”

“I forgot he existed. That didn’t even come to mind when I thought back on that day.”

“You know how you like to do: permanently erase people from memory.”

“Anyway, I’m going through this situation where I don’t know what to do and I thought to myself, who could help me make a decision?”

“Really? You haven’t replaced me by now?”

Cheryl didn’t respond.

“What did you do?”

“You know how I don’t like people in my business, right?” Cheryl said as she lowered the volume on her TV.

“Of course.”

“I don’t know if you know what has been taking place on social media. My niece tells me I’m trending with the Gen Z crowd.”

“Oh, yeah. I see what’s going on on the socials.”

“Well, my agent is making me feel like a has been, wanting me to write a tell-all book. Like that’s all that is left of me.”

“So,” Candace said slowly, “what’s the problem,” her voice lowered to a whisper.

“You know I don’t like tell-alls; it’s so desperate.” She positioned herself like a pretzel on the sofa.

“How much are they willing to pay?” Candace asked.

“It’s good money. And my bank balance says I’m in no position to turn down a paycheck.”

“Ok. And the problem is?”

Cheryl hesitated.

“Go on. You know you want to tell me,” Candace taunted her.

“Everyone wants to know who Amir’s father is?”

“Girl, I don’t know how you kept that secret for as long as you have. Even I don’t know who he is, but that’s only because we stopped talking years before you even had Amir.”

“Yeah well, I know if I want to keep a secret not to tell it to you unless I want it told to the highest bidder. And you’re talking about tuition and all,” Cheryl reminded her.

Candace remained quiet.

“He is going through something, and I don’t want to put the spotlight on him. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Is it an option? Cause, the way they are going on and on, on social media, I’m sure somebody is digging in your garbage right now and put a tracker on your car too.” Candace started laughing.

“A tracker. Who would do that?”

“Girl, let me school you to how it goes in Hollywood and I’m not even in the biz,” Candace said.

“Uhm, I’m not sure if you’re being helpful right now. You have me more worried than I was before I called you.” Cheryl rubbed her forehead back and forth with her right hand.

“I don’t mean to alarm you. I’m just saying, it is intense on social media. All it takes is a little more ambitious than the rest to go the extra mile. Is all I’m saying,” Candace said.

“You sound like my agent. He’s pushing me to do this and collect a million before someone else gets it. He acts like he found a winning lottery ticket on the ground, and we need to cash it quick before someone else claims ownership.”

“And there you go. He knows it’s going to come out regardless.”

“Guess I should collect my coins since you and everybody else are cashing in on my secrets.”

“Now how many secrets have I kept. I only told one; and that’s because you know what my financial situation was at that time. They probably knew too, which is why People Magazine came to me.”

“Yeah, but you know you could have told me. We would have figured out a solution. We’re friends. You don’t do that to friends,” Cheryl said.  

“You’re right, and I lost a good friend over it; lesson learned,” Candace said.

Cheryl took a deep sigh. “I better get off this phone so I can call my agent back. If he were pregnant, his water would have broken by now from all the stress I must be causing him. He’s never called me so much until two weeks ago. Now I get calls daily from him.”

“I know you’ll make the right decision. Maybe you should give the father a call first. Discuss it with him; at least give him a heads up.”

“I should,” Cheryl said.

After Cheryl ended the call, she started thinking about her ex’s opinion, who she never considered talking to. Until now, she was making the decision on her own, assuming he would agree with it.

Coco Sheir was wearing a tightly fitted fuscia pink jumpsuit with bubblegum pink lipstick in her recent short: her guessing who Cheryl Woodlynn’s baby daddy could be.

“I have been doing some research of my own, and while I haven’t discovered much, I think I found her type. Cheryl Woodlynn likes them tall, dark, and handsome; not necessarily with moneybags galore, or in the black as they say, but a good-looking man, who’s physically fit is encouraged to apply. My educated guess is that her son’s baby daddy is the guy from the movie, Princess Uncrowned, that made her a household name. He was definitely in baby making age range at that time; maybe near the end of it still, that’s my guess. Let me know your thoughts.”

The chorus of Eminem’s, The Real Slim Shady played, in the background, until the short ended.

This is a continuation of earlier posts. You can check out the previous chapters of The Promiscuous Virgin on the Verses page.