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revival. They sell chocolate fountains at CVS. It’s over. Let it go.
    â€œI saw a chocolate fountain on Real Housewives of Atlanta , and I wanted one at my wedding,” Donnica went on.
    â€œWill you shut the fuck up about that damn chocolate fountain?” Zachariah spat out, sounding more like Alarm Clock. “I told you my girl Rachel gonna plan everything. Keep shit classy. Fucking chocolate fountain is mad ghetto. Tell her, Rachel.”
    Alarm sat up and pointed at me.
    â€œWell, no,” I delicately answered, looking at Donnica, who was holding onto Alarm like she and I were two hens in a house with one rooster. “I wouldn’t say it’s ghetto to want a chocolate fountain. I’m just sure we can come up with something a little more sophisticated together.” Something that speaks to where this couple is going (a divorce paper fountain?). “To where you’re going, Donnica.”
    â€œWhat you mean?” she asked.
    â€œWell, sweetheart, you’re about to be married to one of the most powerful performers in the world,” I said. “You won’t be trying to snag a rich man like those allegedly married women on all those reality shows. You’ve got one. You’re it. You’re better than a chocolate fountain.”
    Alarm grinned while Donnica looked into nowhere at the possibilities.
    â€œThat’s why I fucks with you, Rachel!” Alarm said. “See, baby, you gotta think about where we going!”
    Donnica nodded and then asked, “Whatever . . . well, what about the horse and carriage? I always wanted to have a horse and carriage at my wedding. You know, with one of those pumpkin carriages that lights up—like in Cinderella?”
    â€œWhat the fuck?” Alarm fell back, deflated, in his seat.
    â€œWhat? What the fuck is wrong with that?” Donnica snapped back at Alarm. “It’s my fucking wedding. She fucking asked. Fuck! I don’t understand why we got to be answering all these fucking questions anyway. Uggh.” Donnica sucked her teeth, rolled her neck, and looked out the window in disgust.
    â€œWell, Donnica, the thing is, I work on inspiration. You tell me what you like and I use what I know to finesse it into something you’ll love. Something you’ll never forget.”
    â€œFuck. I don’t see why we couldn’t just get married in Miami anyway,” Donnica said, getting up from the chair and walking to the window with a sad, pouty face.
    â€œOh shit.” Alarm sank farther and spoke so only I could hear him. “Here we go with this again.”
    Donnica started crying and went on about wanting everyone in Liberty City to see her marry her prince charming. And how it wasn’t right that all her cousins couldn’t be there.
    Alarm was shaking his head at first, but then he started looking at her like he was a man in love. He got up and went over to the window.
    I sat back and watched the drama unfold. Planning a wedding is very emotional. Most of my clients, even the best ones, have these moments right in front of me. It’s usually best to just sit back and let it happen.
    He grabbed for her. She pushed him away. He kissed her shoulder. She cried some more. He kissed her chin. She shuddered. They started kissing like that was how you had an orgasm.
    Just as I was about to throw my bottled water on them, Krista, my assistant who’d probably heard the overuse of “fuck” a few minutes ago, poked her head into the doorway and announced my next consult.
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    A. J. Holmes had quickly become the most popular black face in news when he got his own show on CNN. Everyone was sad that he’d replaced the network’s first black female to have her own show, Sasha Bellamy, after she got a little power hungry and ended up getting fired, but A. J. was to news what Obama had been to politics—what everyone wanted to see, when everyone wanted to see it. Somehow,