Not funny.
“Remember that
Penthouse
playmate on
Momma's Boys
a few years ago?”
“No.”
They don't have
Penthouse
playmates on Animal Planet.
“The ratings for that show went through the roof when she revealed that secret. Oh, yeah, she got dumped and vilified on all the entertainment shows right after that, but the ratings were fantastic.”
But I'm her opposite.
“I doubt I'd be good for ratings.”
“Why?”
“I'm
good,
Michelle. I'm a Christian, remember?”
“You never let me forget, Sonya.”
“And I'm boring. I am a home-girl homebody. And if I revealed my true age to the man I eventually chose, he would dump me in a heartbeat, and I'd look foolish.”
“Oh, one can only hope! Then you could do
another
show! Dumped by a punk, she's back to win her hunk. It will make TV history.”
Michelle is a seriously damaged woman.
“You're kidding, right?”
“No, and that would almost be better. You'd be on TV for up to
two
years and we could easily clear half a millionâor
more
with endorsements and appearances.”
We. She said “we.” Michelle must be hurting for money. I stopped paying her a long time ago.
“Two
years
of that foolishness? That's insane. If I did do it, I know I wouldn't last more than six months.”
Why does it sound as if I'm talking myself into this? Why am I still talking to Michelle at all? Is part of me actually intrigued by this?
“And when the younger guy dumps me in the end, that's it. No sequels.”
“Oh, you never know. The man you choose might
like
cougars. And you played for the Lady Cougars in college, too.”
“Once upon a time when
both
of my knees worked, Michelle.” Sonya returned to the couch, digging her feet under the cushions. “I can't believe you told them I was interested.”
“You could have been a movie or a TV star and you know it. You still could be. Look at all the older women out there raking it in. Halle Berry, Vanessa Williams, Regina Hall, Nia Long, Kimberly Elise, Tyra Banks, Angela Bassett, Sanaa Lathan, Vivica Fox. Every one of them is forty or older. Older women have staying power. You think the Kardashians will look that good in their forties?”
I don't think they look that good now.
“Who cares about the Kardashians?”
“See, you're already sounding like a diva.”
Me? Never!
“That's not the life I wanted after basketball, and it's not the quiet life I crave.”
I want only what God wants. I have always wanted that, and I hope I've done Him proud. I wouldn't have had all that injury-free success in the WNBA without His almighty help. “How does she keep doing it year after year?” those so-called basketball experts asked. Hard work, dedication, and the God in me. So what if I haven't been fruitful and multiplying. Not every woman has to be married with children to be fulfilled.
“Michelle, I don't think this show is right for me.”
“It's
perfect
for you.”
“Nothing is perfect except the love of God, Michelle.”
“Okay, okay, I'll level with you. I, um, I already sort of . . .
okayed
the contract. All you have to do is sign it.”
Sonya nearly threw her remote control across the room.
I can't believe I thought about throwing my remote control across the room. How would I function?
“You just . . . sort of . . .
okayed
the contract.”
“Um, yeah.”
“You can't do that!”
“I already did it.”
“Not without my permission!”
“True, but it was actually kind of easy. Just a few strokes of a pen. I hope I spelled your name right.”
“I don't even pay you anymore.”
She forged my signature! This is not happening!
“But they haven't even met me yet!”
But why aren't I just saying no and hanging up on her? Why am I still even talking to Michelle? What is it about being a Nubian princess that is keeping my interest? Okay, I've never been one. Not many people have. I'm sure there's something psychological about all this, but I'd have to be crazy to go on this show!
“They
need
you, Sonya. Their first choice took a spot on
Survivor
instead.”
“And that's a show I might actually
like
to do. It's athletic, outdoors, a challenge.
This
show, I mean, where's the challenge? All I have to do is kick guys off until I'm left with one man, right? Where's the challenge in that? I could probably do it on the first episode. I am good at saying no, and I'm sure I could say it eleven times in less than thirty seconds!”
Only I'm not saying “no” now. Nubian princess Sonya. It has a nice ring to it.
“Sonya, they are so desperate that they're willing to fly you out to LA, pamper you to death, and do whatever it takes to make you happy.”
Sonya rolled her eyes. “But I'm happy right now.”
Oh, that wasn't very convincing.
“I
am
happy, Michelle.”
And I've always thought that people who say they're happy usually aren't happy at all.
“In fact, for them to
keep
me happy, they'll understand if I
don't
do this.”
“When's the last time you kissed a man?”
Geez, stay with the conversation. She's so random.
“Sonya, when's the last time you kissed a man?”
Middle school? But that was a boy.
“I don't remember.”
“I didn't think you would. When's the last time you even talked to a man?”
High school? Those must have been the days. I wish I could remember them.
“I don't need a man. A man is too much trouble.”
But how would I know that? I haven't been with any man long enough for him to give me any trouble. Maybe that's why I'm so happy.
“On this show, the men come to you, and you decide who stays or goes,” Michelle said. “I would give
anything
for that kind of power. I would give up Starbucks forever if I could have that power for even one day.”
That is a
lot
of power. Michelle practically lived in Starbucks when I was in the league.
“Michelle, there has to be someone else out there who
craves
that kind of attention. I'm not that person.”
“Your last date was seventeen years agoâtoday.”
It was? Seventeen years ago? Geez. Who was the president?
“How do you know that?”
“I'm your publicist. I write stuff down. I update your bio. You remember who it was with?”
No clue.
“Who was it?”
“Archie Freeman.”
“I went out with him?”
What was I thinking?
“Girl, I rest my case. You can't even remember your date with the then NBA rookie of the year and future league MVP. You two made such a cute couple.”
Archie's now playing ball in China because no one in the NBA can afford him or his failed drug tests anymore. Or the arthritic knees that keep him out of thirty games a year.
“I didn't remember the date because it wasn't memorable.”
The man had the nerve to call me “Ma.” He said it was like calling me his “boo.” Right. He just wanted me to be another one of his baby mamas.
“Sonya, what are you wearing right now?”
There she goes being random again.
“What does thisâ”
“Sonya,” Michelle interrupted, “
what
are you wearing?”
“Sweats and a T-shirt.”
No socks. Old, comfortable house slippers. No makeup. A hair tie. Drawers. Standard outfit for watching shows on The Food Network.
“Who are you with?”
“No one.” Sonya turned on the TV. “Oh, I'm with the big guy on
Man v. Food.
He is a trip. Last night he put away seven
pounds
of seafood.”
Where does he put it all? He's not that big. I'll bet he has huge calves.
“And you're okay with that?”
No. Watching a man eat too much for my amusement is lamer than lame, but I get so many cool recipes this way.
“I'm not saying that I'm interested, all right? I'm just saying that I'll think about it. Please don't tell them I've agreed to this foolishness.”
“I won't. But they're on a timetable.”
And so am I. My time is
my
time.
Sonya sighed. “What would I have to do next?”
“Go to Instant Talent dot com and answer a few questions.”
“What kind of questions? Didn't you send them my bio?”
“Your bio doesn't answer
these
kinds of questions. Promise me you'll answer them.”
“I promise.”
“And promise you'll consider this opportunity carefully.”
“Carefully
and
prayerfully.”
“I'll call you tomorrow. Bye.”
Click.
That was rude.
Sonya booted up her laptop, which was always waiting a foot away from her on the lounge chair next to the couch, and got on Mozilla Firefox, her favorite Web browser because it was uncomplicated. In moments, she was staring at:
Â
To see if you qualify for
Hunk or Punk,
answer the questions on each page.
Question 1: How tall are you?
Â
Five-seven. That was in my bio.
Â
What is your hair color?
Â
Black with a few mean grays. I am so tired of plucking them, and they're right at my hairline, too.
Â
What is your eye color?
Â
Hazel. It isn't light brown. It's true hazel.
Â
What is your ethnicity?
Â
African? African American? Caribbean? All three? But I can only mark one. African American.
Â
What is your body type?
Â
Athletic? Yeah, right. Lean muscle? Not as lean as it was ten years ago. I guess I'm “Slim.” But where's “Thick” or “Big-boned” or “Stacked”? I thought they wanted a black woman for this show.
Â
What “body apparel” do you have?
Â
As a freshman at the University of Houston, I added a tiny cougar cub tattoo to my arm. It's faded to a birthmark-looking thing now. I have pierced ears but nothing else. I am so not the right person to be a Nubian princess.
Â
Thank you for your time. Please attach a recent photo and type a daytime telephone number in the box below. Click the “Make Me Famous!” button below to submit your answers, photo, and phone number.
Â
Michelle already gave them my picture and I am not giving out my e-mail address.
Â
Sonya hit the “Make Me Famous!” button, the screen went blank, and then she saw:
Â
Thank you for your time. Please attach a recent photo and type a daytime telephone number in the box below. Click the “Make Me Famous!” button below to submit your answers, photo, and phone number.
Â
“I don't have a recent picture, and you can't have my e-mail address,” she said to the screen.
She clicked the button again.
Thank you for your time. Please attach a recent photo and type a daytime telephone number in the box below. Click the “Make Me Famous!” button below to submit your answers, photo, and phone number.
Â
“Geez.” She sighed, and then she smiled. “A recent photo. They don't specify what
kind
of photo.” She browsed the Web until she found a cute baby cougar, right clicking and saving it to her hard drive. She typed “
[email protected]” and “1-800-000-0000,” attached the baby cougar, and hit the “Make Me Famous!” button.
Â
Thank you for submitting your answers. We will contact you if you've made the cut.
Â
Don't call us, we'll call you.
She laughed.
I don't know how.
On a whim, she checked her e-mail in-box and found a message from WB:
Congratulations, Sonya Richardson! You are a
finalist for “Hunk or Punk”!
What? I didn't even give my correct e-mail address! And so soon? They are seriously desperate.
She checked the time on the e-mail.
Were they sitting there waiting for my answers to arrive in LA? They only had about a minute to look at my answers. Creepy. But how'd they know it was me? I shouldn't have sent the baby cougar. That was a dead giveaway.
Please click below to view our eligibility
requirements:
Sonya clicked, and another Web page opened on the screen.
Â
All applicants must sign statements acknowledging that they have read, understand, and will comply with all of the eligibility requirements of
Hunk or Punk:
1. Employees, officers, directors, and agents of . . .