you what they would pay a white man. And then, once you've done that, every penny from it will be yours.” “Mine?” I say, stunned. “You should drink some water. You look ready to faint.” “Evelyn, an authorized biography about your life, in which you talk about all seven of your marriages .. .” “Yes?” “A book like that stands to make millions of dollars, even if I didn’t negotiate.” “But you will,” Evelyn says, taking a sip of her water and looking pleased. The question has to be asked. We’ve been dancing around it for far too long. “Why on earth would you do that for me?” Evelyn nods. She has been expecting this question. “For now, think of it as a gift.” “But why?” “Next question.” “Seriously.” “Seriously, Monique, next question.” I accidentally drop my fork onto the ivory tablecloth. The oil from the dressing bleeds into the fabric, turning it darker and more translucent. The chopped salad is delicious but heavy on the onions, and I can feel the heat of my breath permeating the space around me. What the hell is going on? “T’m not trying to be ungrateful, but I think I deserve to know why one of the most famous actresses of all time would pluck me out of obscurity to be her biographer and hand me the opportunity to make millions of dollars off her story.” “The Huffington Post is reporting that I could sell my autobiography for as much as twelve million dollars.” “Jesus Christ.” “Inquiring minds want to know, I guess.”