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“Hey, Heaven,” someone said; her tone was just above a whisper.
Heaven placed the book she was reading, The Prisoner’s Wife, by Asha Bandele up to her chest, its worn pages (from many years of handling by countless hands) pressed to her breasts. She’d found the book on the tier and decided to read it. So far she was enjoying it.
She looked over at a square-bodied, spectacled woman with brown frizzy hair, who looked to be in her mid-thirties and was built like a Transformer, meekly staring back at her.
“Yes.”
“I was wondering if I can rent out”—she glanced around the tier, making sure no one else was around to hear her—“you know. One of your . . . toys?”
Ever since she’d gotten her sex toys from Rawlings over three weeks ago, she’d been renting the items out to a select group of women on the housing unit. And, thanks to Greta who’d planted the idea in her head, she’d been building up a nice little clientele. She kept record of each transaction and the initial of each inmate in a journal, indicating date checked out, and date returned almost like a library card.
But this woman here, she’d never done business with.
Heaven slid from her bed and walked over to her. She stared at her acne-studded forehead for a moment longer than she probably should have, before locking her gaze on hers.
“Exactly what toys are you speaking of?”
The woman looked around again. “One of your dildos,” she whispered.
Heaven tilted her head. “Well, before we go any further. I need to inform you of the terms.” She paused, and the woman stared intently, waiting for her to continue. “First, you must have a clean pussy. I don’t do business with women with filthy hygiene.”
“Oh, I’m very clean,” she quickly assured. “No bad odors. I wash and shower daily.”
“Good. Second, you pay up front. No layaways, and no IOUs. You wanna play, you gotta pay.”
The woman nodded. “Okay.”
“Third, you must bring each rental back in the same condition it was given to you. It must be washed and cleaned.”
“Okay.”
“Fourth, if you bring it back late, you’ll be charged a late fee—six cans of mackerel for every thirty minutes it’s late. Fifth, you must—and I can’t stress this enough—wrap it in a glove.”
The woman nodded. “Okay.”
“Six, if you get caught with it and it gets confiscated. Then it’s your debt to bear. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Great. Now, tell me. How long are you looking to rent for?”
She leaned in a little closer, and Heaven could smell her minty breath. “Well, I was hoping for the whole night.”
Heaven smiled. “Oh, you a greedy one. Huh?”
The woman’s lips spread into a toothy, shy grin. “And I was hoping for that real big one.”
Mirth shone in Heaven’s gaze. “You sure you want that one?”
The woman nodded. “I’m sure,” she said, her tone serious. “It’s been one of my fantasies. To be, well, you know . . .” She paused, gauging Heaven’s expression, “with a big one,” she said in a whisper. “I’ve never done it with, well . . . a black man. I’d never do it in real life, though. But here—”
Heaven lifted a brow but didn’t say anything, not wanting to embarrass her any more than she already was. And, well, it didn’t matter what the woman’s fantasies were while she was fucking herself as long as she was willing to pay for them.
Heaven put a hand up to stop her. “Say no more.” She briskly walked back over and pulled out a plastic bin from beneath her bunk and pulled out Cockzilla (she kept the severely long phallus wrapped in a towel), then sashayed back over toward, um . . .
“I didn’t get your name,” Heaven said, cradling the towel-wrapped dildo in her arms like a baby.
“Oh, right. It’s Penelope. After my grandmother.”
