“Script Money” The Novel

Chapter Four

The First Season of Sak Life

Imani had received a text in the car as the episode began streaming live nationwide. Already 10.2 million viewers were tuned in and waiting to see what this new reality TV show was about.

She knew each contestant came here to find fame. Others were confident they could be rich and convince the sorry TV monstrosities worldwide that Kareem Cashmere scouted the right talent for his label. Thinking they'd be the first stars to rise from Sak Life. And begin living the 'Sak Life Way.'

So pulling up pop style was the first thing producers told them to do.

The Ferrari cruised into the curvy cobblestone driveway as the evening settled around the secluded Suwanee mansion. Camera operators stuck to the shadows in the distance as they scanned the coupe, the elegant three-story pad, and the front entrance double doors were opened and filled with twenty aspiring personalities. They were gazing at the foreign as it halted into view just outside.

Kareem got out wearing a patterned button-down, white chinos, and some Givenchy shoes that ranged price-wise with his outfit. He wore the diamonds heavily on his neck and wrists: all rose gold and dark frames to conceal his observations of each new contestant.

Wardrobe had Imani in more pastel. After the show, she planned to keep the Kate Ermilio dress and J. Mendel sandals. Imani noted that fans tweeted about her curves and how she slayed rocking pixie hairstyles. Tonight it was boyishly punk, with a hint of purple along the bang.

* * * * *

The Sak Life hosts entered the mansion together on cue.

Resembling Hollywood's ashy to classy young power couple and drinking in the applause that began as they padded into the foyer. Holding hands and scanning ten handsomely dressed men standing on a podium just behind the attractive women taking up the front row.

"Hey, guys!" Imani waves sheepishly at them.

The crowd responded giddily and hugged her nervously.

"What's good, ladies, fellas? Hope all of you are ready to get this thing popping tonight because this contest will be crazier than anything you've ever seen in the city." Kareem clarifies with swagger.

"Tonight, all of you will get a chance to enjoy our ATL spot. Getting to know each other and discovering what dreams you'll need to compete with around here. Some of you may be here for the same journey."

"Others may win a little differently." Kareem chuckles. "For real, man, I heard we gotta few models, some dope rappers, actors, we even got someone in here that hosts their podcasts, I think. That's crazy."

Imani nods, giving up the props. "But only one lady, one guy, can win their million-dollar contract with us...Sak Life Entertainment! The Sak Life Way enables you guys to do what you love."

"Major moves. Where the impressive, so sexy, and incredible Money, and I will personally work with you to be the biggest star in the world. Hollywood can be right inside this room for any of you willing to work hard, survive the house, and keep your eyes on the sack. Looking at this mansion's size, I don't think all of you will miss a damn thing up in here." Suddenly hooting and girls were cheering for her Cashmere man at the end of his speech.

"In a place like this, Kareem, I don't know. I think things will get wild for everyone chasing these big checks."

"Wild?"

"Um...yes, wild babe." Imani pretends he's an idiot, and the crowd laughs.

"What do you mean by wild?" He feigns, taking off his glasses. "Spending three months throwing launch parties in a crib like this, wild, or going on wild adventures where teamwork will get you closer to your wildest dreams. Are naked girls running wild? Huh?" winked Kareem at the fellas.

"Wow! I meant wild showmances that could be something like this at the top," Imani and Kareem sold the comedy until she turned, gripping his neck with her nails for the lip action. A little scripted PDA always promoted romantic unions. One that was unrehearsed and steamy as the contestants oozed nearby. Imani left him with words on the floor, shattered. "The kind of wild alliances where a power couple is a fair game on this show and even harder to maintain in Hollywood," smirked Imani.

"Some of you may use it to survive around your roommates, while others use it as a team to hold down the throne; believe me, every man loses power to one of these amazing women. However, no matter who's coupled together come elimination night, two of you will be voted out of the house," said Kareem with an ashen look.

"You guys have two hours to meet each other before we make our first elimination," Imani told them and exited the mansion with her mogul boyfriend.

* * * * *

Just like that, I was running the show every Tuesday night. Two hours before "Atlanta" came on, your wife demanded you to clean the dishes while she eye fucked all the drama on "Sak Life" and "Throned."

I kicked off "Script Money" at eight for the realist seekers who wanted to cheer for that unscripted character they could count on to make them laugh, throw shade for being the puppeteer everyone wanted out, or that perfect hook-up that looked so fucking magical on TV.

My shows made the networks rich after each episode clocked at ten million viewers. We were leaving Sak Life Entertainment with checks from all angles like an errant baseball machine.

But with every millionaire Script Money created, it brought along a selfish little bitch. Haters like Samirah's brother, Raleigh. She mentioned how the guy wanted to sue her family for $12,000,000 for making Script Money Hulu popular but eventually backed out after conversing with Glendall. Around the studio, I heard shit, rumors about Nick Cromartie sending some goons to rough up his son. But I grew up a gangsta, a tight-lipped street guy. I was not too fond of stories, and people who shared them were most times over none: snitches.

If it were my business, I'd get the memo.

Before I knew it, the $12,000,000 lawsuit was also just studio talk, and Raleigh was somewhere being hush-hush again.

Today, I was in a Mercedes Sprinter with Kelby, the make-up guy. On the industrial parkway near Pleasentdale Road, we searched for a warehouse parking lot for our 2:00 run of the "Ms. Fines' Traffic Orgy."

Since this shoot had failed to appear on my planner, Imani called me back to back, having a goddamn fit. "Kareem, where the hell are you?

Parker has screening today, and you said you'd be here!" She yelled out on speakerphone.

Oh god!

"Hey babe, relax; I'm shooting this movie-flick thing I forgot." Silently laughing as I glanced over at Kelby.

"What kind of movie-flick thing? You didn't run shit by me about no damn video shoot. Or some date you felt was so fucking important you had to miss your baby cousin's screen test."

"I did tell you, remember? Remember I told you about the porno joint I'm using to get old girl to sign off on probation early. We can get married in the Maldives or something, baby. Don't you wanna chill on a private island together while I keep that thing wet-wet."

"Whatever, boy!" Imani cuts me off. "Ugh, Kareem, if this little flick has anything X-rated to do with you and that lame-ass make-up guy, and it gets out that I let you miss Parker Jay's big day... I'm going to make sure you jack off to that shit 'til our season finale, you hear me?"

"Money baby, I got you, and I'm sorry, alright? Tell Parker Jay I love her." I hung up before the make-up guy saw me playing "happy wife, happy life."

Both of us are tripping out like long-time homies. "Ah, man, you're so dope with the chicks. I have to kidnap a stripper just to get her to chill." Kelby says with regret.

"When they get the word, you hook up the finest thots in the business; you won't," I reassure him.

Samirah told me I could put together my production crew, so I went and handpicked a bunch of horny thunder cats who loved fucking beautiful women, filming amateur dubs of their girlfriends, and downloading PornHub on their iPhones more than Youngboy albums. I wanted to take this gang of Cromartie film mutts and turn them into filmmaking franchise players.

"Alright, I think this is the spot. Let's go." I said, pulling into the lot and getting out discreetly as if I was back to B and E's again. Wearing black specs and moving fast because I didn't want America to know Kareem Cashmere, the mogul, was also Kareem Cashmere, the adult film producer.

Today was my definition of a part-time job.

We were met immediately by a tall black guy with nappy-budded dreads, a dolly, and the paranoid look that came with moving stolen merchandise swiftly. His name was Chill Will, our location scout. Chill could get permits on any location we needed for our sets as long as he could put the squeeze on the deed owner. "I told this cat we were shooting a hostage situation here, so we got privacy and control of the electricity." He said.

"Okay, hand me the permit," I said, reaching for our licenses.

"For what? I told you we good shawty. Why do you need to see a permit every time you send me out to rent some building?"

"It's policy. Did you pay the man the $15,000 like I told you?"

"Yeah, I gave it to him, and I promised this motherfucker we ain't gone do no fuck shit to no little kids. Why you don't trust me?"

"Because you're a dumbass and an extortionist, bro," Kelby stated, chuckling.

"Yeah, you better shut the fuck up before I make a Hood-to-Hood DVD beating up lame white people all over the Northside." Chill kills the roasting, making Kelby blanch. Then digs for the contract. "Why are you always acting like that man? Damn, have some fun, homie."

"Cause I ain't going back to a box just because your stupid ass wants to strong-arm the set," I said. "Now hand over them goddamn papers." Chill Will gave me the contract for HubExpress, and I skimmed the lines to be sure he did his job. Shaking my head as I walked off into the warehouse.

Chill Will sealed the deal. Rather handsomely for $11,000 and skimmed four grand of the top instead.

While the crew unloaded the equipment from the van, I took in the interior of HubExpress and began pointing out different ideas for the scenes. We had enough room to remake Melissa Cardona's office and a large break room to create a courtroom, and the walls were soundproof, which seemed ideal for my probation officer, who took dick at the top of her lungs.

"Hey Kareem, what time is Ms. Fines coming through? I got all my airbrushes ready to do some eye candy painting," said Kelby pumping his airbrushes with pressure from his helium tanks.

"You'll see her once the crew arrives," I replied. Seeing a kinky slate in a daydream as I checked the setting.

The crew I had rounded up and offered to meet me here minutes later was Trung Tran, my casting director, and Brock Freeman, our prop master. Ara Jones did the cinematography, and "Booger," our grips guy, was our hood flunky. Booger found us on Instagram.

I put this team together, knowing all these boys wanted was to get paid. They were Zoo Atlanta's own, Money hungry, and I could get them to run a skit on any trick without ratting to the tabloids. The cops, I knew first and foremost, no one was exempt from being a snitch. So I kept us legit as possible. I even gave the crew their very own nickname: Sakchasers.

Anyways, these guys were solid. Trung could find the sexiest girls in twenty states. From "honor rolls," which were your feature film women that Samirah usually hired for her lead and supporting roles, to your "backup roles," which were those women with breast shots in most of their scenes and convinced you they were getting fucked for real when the camera panned their way then you had your "day players" who we usually paid $1,000 to appear butt naked and fucked up on a hotel floor, or passing by the actual actors. Trung was the casting king. If you wanted to audition, you got with him.

Brock brought the set to a unique realm with mercurial verve. He created props for his admiration, not the characters, which was weird. Brock could turn your living room into a nightclub, and you'd believe a rapper was scheduled to hit the stage any second. "I wonder how many millions of years a judge can sentence before he retires." He murmurs as he's building a podium artfully.

It spooked the fuck out of me. "Um...we don't daydream about bullshit like that around here, man," I said, shaking off the creeps as I walked off.

Ara had the sweetest job next to Kelby because the second most fantastic job of painting a naked woman was filming a naked woman getting double penetrated. "I'm not doing any close-ups of this fool's ass humping up and down either." He demands.

And Booger had a vision, I guess. "Hey Kareem, whenever we finish, you think we can use the extras to make my shit. I want you all to film me fucking my baby mama in a hospital." He drops on me without warning as he coils the wires near the HD cameras.

Trung lowers his phone during a call. "Who the fuck wants to see you smashing your ratchet ass triage nurse Booger?"

"Marlo ain't even working that wing anymore. My baby's the finest bitch working at Manor Park, and she fucks like a pornstar every time I buy her Gucci scrubs to wear to work," said Booger defensively.

"Manor Park? Isn't that a nursing home?" I ask with a grim frown.

"Just because they old, them old motherfuckers still turn up. If you know you're about to fucking die this year, why not be high as fuck, break out at night and go wheelchair racing up the block, and get jerked off as much as you can, man."

Ara adds. "He's right. Gotta end this bullshit somewhere on a high note."

"I feel you on that man, but don't nobody wanna see Booger or some shriveled dick that looks like Booger owns it while they are trying to catch a nut, alright." I laugh, cycling non-disclosure agreements around to everyone. "Take these. I need everybody to sign this contract before our girl walks through that door. No exceptions. I'm the only iconic motherfucker in here who's been to prison and has a woman crazy enough to kill me if we ever get sued for this. Got it!"

Chill mugs the contract. "Kareem always got us signing some shit. From now on, I'm bringing my lawyer, all these permission slips, licenses, and shit. I'm starting to feel like this motherfucker trying to fuck us over like Cash Money did with the Hot Boys."

"Well, gimme that four grand back," I note.

Chill signs the NDA quietly.

"What's the non-disclosure for Kareem?" asked Brock.

"Sign the paper and see for yourself," I say as words fail me. I suddenly heard my iPhone ring as I gazed through the window. "Yeah, babe, I see you came in the cruiser. Come on up. We're ready to start." I told Cardona, getting excited.

Right after I hung up, Melissa Cardona strolled into the warehouse, and for the first time in my life, I saw a bunch of men beg for a citation. Dressed in khakis, a polo shirt, and her Glock .9mm, she walked up to me carrying a dark gym bag and a whimsical expression. "Kareem, are you sure this is a secure location? Do you know these guys?" She murmurs, kissing me nonchalantly.

"It's fine, baby. They with me, and they on papers." I say, helping her settle her nerves. "You got what I need."

Cardona waited at length, then removed a dossier of my criminal records and a passport. Complete with valid credentials and the whole nine. "Just for pressing me to do this on such short notice, I still want that Ferrari, too, seeing as though you made baller status out of nowhere."

"That's it?"

"Make sure this is clean."

I glanced over my expunged probation terms and grinned. "Fellas... I'd like you to meet Ms. Fines." Escorting Cardona onto the set and taking her bags gallantly as if she was already a superstar.

"Oh my god Kareem Cashmere you're a reprobate god, you son of a bitch." gasps Ara as they bask in my PO and her outrageously thick ass.

"I got four grand if you fuck all of us right now." Chill blurts flummoxed.

The crew was on this woman like a hooker at a brothel.

I passed Cardona around the crew for introductions and handshakes. Once she was content her full-time career was safe, she became the slut all the boys fondled until their dicks ached. Preparing for her set and waiting for her wardrobe, Cardona pulled out her collection of sex toys and began arousing herself before the Sak chasers. Here, she was in Atlantis.

Trung had auditioned a group of amateurs, mostly strippers, and corralled up an orgy party of five. With Ms. Fines taking on two sledgehammer cocks and her first lead role---there were also two girls performing cunnilingus on each other---occupying the crew with blowjobs as the body painting began.

For an hour, Cardona stood there naked in a pair of Jimmy Choo heels, cupping her juicy breasts while I sat in my canvas chair observing. "I shaved my pussy so you can paint black pants around my hips and booty. I want a badge on this tit, and don't forget you have to make me look like J. Lo in The Mother." She kept saying to Kelby as he caressed her thighs with a sponge.

"Booger, make sure the parolees can fit their jumpers. Tell Brock to get the courtroom ready." I'm directing, and I can't see how Samirah does it. "Ara! Hey, I want these angles to look like O. J's 'Made in America' right before the verdict get in there. But do that negative effect shit to block her face a little." When I turned, a yellow-toned woman was so close I could smell her aroused musk, her brown nipples pierced with black studs, and she stood just naked and prodigious. "You, with the nipple rings." I caressed her nape as I led her to a black gown. "You look like you can the fuck two people and make it look procedural. I want you to play Judge Jizz, okay?"

"Boss, it's done," said Kelby, darkening a shirt around Cardona's chest. "This paint will last the entire time she's on set. The paint won't come off for a few hours, whether she's working up a sweat or taking a load on her cheeks."

"Kareem, what should I say before these guys whip out and begin sucking their dicks?" Cardona asks curiously, putting on her service belt.

"Not much. Booger shows her the script," I stand and pad around her body as I inspect every detail of her body. Booger stands in front of her with her lines as I describe. "This is a wrongful violation revocation...and you're getting to Judge Jizz to be delicate since your client is an earnest union worker. I want you to do whatever it takes to woo this feminist slut on the bench. Make her believe that he deserves a free fucking ride."

Cardona knew what procedures she needed to apply to an order of the court. "Okay. So when the money shot comes, hold my breath or what?"

"Baby, do you ever hold your breath and swallow simultaneously?" I spank her cheek tartly, then groan intensely to her. "I want hardcore, okay! Cause courts send us to prison to do hard times. I want Ms. Fines to be able to shove both of those bars down her throat until it feels like breastfeeding. You understand me, sweetheart?" I palmed face up and down, then kissed her.

She is mesmerized and nods obediently. "Okay, Daddy, down they go." I can see her becoming the sub to my dominating roles in her green orbs. She was no longer aroused by fucking me before a sobriety test but enticed by her kinky cinematic role-playing. This shit could make a woman so wet---but the key was allowing her to feel comfortable in the right company. And I had a way of motivating people.

She kisses me, then prances on stage with the other actors as I settle back into my director's chair. I readjusted the bulge in my jeans and cradled my chin in my palm while Booger prepared the music and aimed the monitor tablet.

"Ms. Fines Traffic Orgy three, two, one. Action!" He snaps.

* * * * *

Kareem Cashmere reported back to her office a week later. With five hours of mastered video from the pornography slate he directed. Samirah basked in suspense as she listened to the actress screaming for more as her body bucked midair. "And this is your probation officer I'm watching right now."

He nodded. "Ms. Fines gives it up like that even when requesting restitution."

"Uh...well, I can't say it doesn't look legal." She paused the tape.

"It is, and Trung promised the whole cast got tested."

"I have to admit this is getting my neck damp. I'm pretty sure we can market this. We can expand into adult filming with absolutely no problem. Have you negotiated a deal with her for this?" Samirah felt her body tingling.

"Not quite," said Cashmere frowning at the screen.

"How much is she asking for? Pornstars pull bank these days."

"Um, she didn't ask for anything specifically upfront. We paid off the other people, but Ms. Fines did this exclusively for me."

"Just you. Okay, so what is it worth to you? You don't expect me to believe this chick took twelve inches up her ass to clean your file and make her come eight times. You have to pay her, Kareem. She's a headliner."

"An anonymous headliner," he shot back. "She doesn't want the fame. Cause of her career and all you feel me? And I can't stand another day of reporting and dealing with this nympho."

Samirah nodded at the video. "She does put out."

"So this is how it's gotta work; you drop this mainstream. However, you should consider giving me sixty percent of whatever we gross, and I'll advance Cardona and pay off the guys for running the sets. And I'm not done. You have to let me ride with you on your next film."

Samirah keels overthinking. "I'm impressed. This side gig could work because I have considered your next project. Not nothing pornographic, though. We can set up an official line reading tomorrow." She laughs as she glances at another scene. "Oh my god, I'm afraid to ask how many more hours can this slut give you."

Kareem kisses her hand and rubs her knuckles. "Don't be. She wanted my Ferrari for all the goddamn hours we'll ever need." He said, then went out the door.