The Goddess Effect Act III, part ten

a coup blooms at Evolve

Not gonna lie, I’m pretty impressed with Anita’s chutzpah in this chapter. Not only does she gin up the courage to introduce herself to one of her favorite emcees, she also does it at 3 a.m., while he’s in his room at a veritable Four Seasons smoking a blunt and watching infomercials, and she manages to lift the curtain on the sleaze balls behind the thought leadership conference in which they’re both participating. Girl! Go on with your bad self.

An excellent place to come up with a coup.

If you’re catching up, might I suggest:

The Goddess Effect

Act III, part two

Act III, part three

Act III, part four

Act III, part five

Act III, part six

Act III, part seven

Act III, part eight

Act III, part nine

28

Aaron opened the door and blinked at the four people who, he was pretty sure, did not work for the Oracle of Lāna'i. “Uh, can I help you?”

“We’re looking for Cake,” said Anita. She smiled and batted her eyes coquettishly. She had changed from the navy blue dress into a t-shirt with a low v-neck and jeans. She reasoned that the most feminist thing a woman could do was use everything in her arsenal to her advantage, so she nudged Stacy, who wore a denim jacket over a padded sports bra, to deliver the line they had practiced. “Yes,” said Stacy, “we have a proposition for him.” She enunciated each syllable of “proposition” and let it linger, like the last drops of a Russian River Pinot Noir.

Draymond had appeared at the sound of alluring female voices. “Proposition? What the fuck these guys doing behind you, they security or something?”

“They’re cool,” Anita said, ducking under the canopy of Draymond’s outstretched arm. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

Anita’s Big Fucking Idea required a big stage, the sort of venue under construction for Cake’s show the following night. Gonzo was heavily promoting its exclusive live stream, and beyond the attendees of Evolve, millions of people around the world would be watching Cake take his first steps as a woke rapper. Anita knew there was more to Cake than met the eye — ahead of the release of his new album, the New Yorker had profiled him, dispatching a writer to accompany Cake to a Black Lives Matter rally. Cake had discussed his stint on the streets, railing against the tech giants who “talk a big game about saving the world but can’t even face the problems at their feet.” It was obvious that he was waking up. The question was, how woke did he want to be?

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Anita asked once Jay rejoined the group in Max’s room, his after hours deejay duties fulfilled, and she laid out her plan for the third time. “He slams the door in our face?”

“He calls security and has us booted off the island,” said Max.

“He writes a song about how pathetic we are,” said Jay.

“I don’t care, I’m in,” said Stacy. “You think he’ll do that ‘Champagne Campaign’ song for us? You know, ‘I’m over this campaign, let’s open some Champagne?’” She bobbed her head as she sang it. It was all the radio could play in the fall of 2016.

“Let’s get him on board first and then we can make our song requests,” Anita said. Leadership felt novel on her, if not exactly comfortable, like a fur coat on a warm day.

Finding Cake’s room was surprisingly easy. Jay called the front desk, pretended to be a courier for Moët & Chandon, and said he had a special delivery for Mr. Andrews that required a signature. Cake had repeatedly rapped about his insomnia and trouble sleeping in hotel rooms, which justified attempting the 3 a.m. door knock, and the music leaking out of 1738 when the group arrived confirmed that their target was woke in at least one sense of the word.