"What's up?"

"I'm in your hood. Can I come over?"

"Why?"

"Can't a girl stop by and see her former boss? Catch up on old times?"

"Why?"

"I want to see how you're doing."

"Yo, Amanda, it's MLK day. That's a national holiday. That means I don't have to think or work or do shit except help my a my ass to meet my couch so they can make sweet, sweet lazy love. They're doing a pretty good job right now, actually. I'm thinking about getting a webcam and charging people to watch slacker porn. Now that's original content! So if you need something, call me post-coitally. Like, tomorrow."

"But..."

"And besides you always want something from me. You're pushy."

"I learned from the best. Come on, it'll only take a minute."

When would I learn to say no? I took a puff. A woman on the Jenny Jones show was cursing at another woman she had deemed a "ho." The woman with ho-like qualities had slept with two brothers, and was now pregnant and uncertain who the father was. The sister hurled an impressive stream of obscenities, which were unfortunately marred by an insistent beeping noise. What was the point in watching this crap if I couldn't learn the latest in insults? Maybe Amanda knew some new ones.

"Yea, all right. Come on over."

About ten seconds later there was a knock at my door. My former imaginary assistant had been waiting in the hallway. Damn, she's sneaky. I let her in and checked out the new look for the Millennium.

"What, did you get a crimping iron for Christmas?" I laughed.

Amanda's blond tresses were crimped to a 't', and lay gently on her bare shoulders. She had already removed her faux fur coat to reveal a pink, sleeveless t-shirt, and a pair of deep burgundy leather pants. The word "Cock" stretched tightly across her right breast, and the word "Block" across her left.

I stared at her breasts for a few seconds, and read carefully from right to left.

"Cock block?"

"Oh I'm a lesbian this week. Don't worry about it. It's just for fun."

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No, no, no." She sat down, stretched her tight, long legs out on my couch and fingered the angles in her hair. "I came to talk to you about work. I'm no longer an imaginary assistant now. I'm an imaginary journalist. I've got a staff writer position at a fashion website, and I'm supposed to be writing all these articles. The problem is..."

"Yes?"

"Uh, you know that whole thing about me not being so bright?"

"I recall. But I will never be able to thank you enough for all of those great back rubs you gave me." I smiled at her. She still didn't understand how smart and funny she could be sometimes. "Oh come on, Amanda. Don't be silly. You got that job for a reason. No one ever wanted to hire me as a staff writer for a fashion website."

"I got that job because I looked the part."

"You got that job because you represented yourself well and you clearly have a good eye for fashion."

"I need your help."

"You don't." I insisted.

"Yes I do! I'll pay you. I can write the articles, and then you can fix them, and then I'll submit them, and they'll never know." She looked like she was about to cry. Her lower lip, creamy with light pink lip gloss, trembled.

"No. I don't have the time, and, more importantly, you need to do this yourself."

"But I can't. It's hard. I can't."

"You can. You must. Otherwise you're going to be an assistant for the rest of your life. Plus, I don't know shit about fashion - you do." I patted her head carefully, so as not to muss up the intricate pattern.

"Remember when you told me my hair was circa 1990?" I said. I pulled up on her chin slightly and made her look me in the eye.

"Yes," she sniffled.

"And remember all those times you said to me, 'You're not really going to wear that shirt with those shoes, are you?'"

"But --"

"And how about your fantastic social life? Do you think you get on the VIP list of every club in town if you don't know your shit?"

Her eyes brightened. "I do know what's hot, don't I?"

"Yup. God knows more than I do. Look, you've made it so far really fucking fast. You're actually reinventing yourself. Don't stop now."

"Thank you. You're right. What would I do without you?" She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Then she rose and began to put on her coat.

"You'd find someone else to bother, I'm sure."

"I'm going to remember your words," she said, and looked me in the eye.

"Good. You're doing great, you really are. Except..."

"What?" She buttoned up her coat, but kept her eye on me.

"I think you should lose the lesbian thing. It's really not working for you."

"That's what you think," she said and winked at me. "It's working just fine for me."

And with that, she was gone.

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