H-E was aware her beauty was prized, but not her intelligence.

She had not the slightest idea why her beauty was prized– not the slightest.

Nor why her intelligence, such as it was, same as her beauty such as it was, was deemed negligible.

Associated with both her beauty and intelligence, was her personality, such as it was, which was also deemed negligible.

H-E had a gripe about that.

She didn’t mind if her beauty was bait. That was fun. She liked folks hitting on her, basically complimenting her, just by wanting to go deeper. Beauty is skin deep. That’s right. So H-E might use her beauty to entice, but only to go personality to personality, experimentally, a sacred feel, slow, smooth– Mannahattas.

If you look at Mannahattas from an aerial projection, it is blobby.

This is great real estate? You kidding me? You want to rent me a pad?

L-C, scooped up and loving the view– he/she could see that beautiful cleavage H-E, from age eleven to forever, exhibited, regardless of whatever dress or undress, or address, and maybe this upper east side address where she had, her career as a model in tatters, except tatters were in fashion those years, “the roaring seventies”, “the roaring eighties”, “the roaring nineties”, the sky of diamonds, the lust of indigo, the bless of having human warmth and seeing vulnerable warmth neglected.

L-C knew right then he/she wanted nothing more than to nestle in the hollow of H-E’s ample bosun boohoo big hoodoo blow, he’d see her skies in snow, he’d feel her bless his aching feet, and, given time, L-C would give H-E return on investment. ROI. Taking a swat at the royal, sultan of swing.