Money Never Sleeps

by Tu-Shonda Whitaker

  His tongue returned to tap dancing on her clit as he buried his entire face between her thighs. “Sssss,” he hissed. “Damn, I even love the smell of this shit. Sweet pussy … sweet, sweet, pussy … tell me you love me, Milan. I need to hear that shit. I need to hear it.”

  She warred with keeping the truth inside, but as his tongue did her pussy’s favorite dance, she could no longer contain the obvious. “I love you.”

  “I know you do,” he said, seducing her pussy to churn more of its butter into his mouth. “That’s why we gon’ get past that bullshit, you gon’ put your ring back on, and we gon’ be all right. Now promise me you’ll love me forever.” He looked into her face, continuing to finger her wetness.

  “Knoooootttttt!”

  “Promise me!” He looked into her eyes.

  “Forever. I’ll love you forever.”

  “You better.” He lifted her from the sink and carried her to their master suite. They lay on the bed, both now completely naked. Kendu lifted Milan’s legs in the air and placed his tongue at the base of her ass. He licked a creamy trail that ran between the slit, and then he opened it, making certain to leave nothing but tongue tracks behind.

  After he literally kissed her ass, he slid his steel into her heated sex, forcing her to gasp. No matter how many years she’d experienced his ten inches, each time felt like the first time. “I love you,” she whispered against his neck.

  “And I love you.” He pounded, his dick creating just the right rhythm. “Listen to that shit.” He moaned. “Listen to that pussy. That pussy loves me.”

  Milan couldn’t respond. Shivers tangoed from her belly to her spine over and over again. His penis made loud splashes through her heated river as waves crept up her back. She wrestled with him a bit and flipped him over. He proudly lay back and watched her ride him. “I’ma give you whatever you need,” he said and she reached down and bit his bottom lip.

  “Fuck.” He hissed from the pain.

  “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.” She bucked.

  “I never say shit I don’t mean.” He gripped her ass and pushed her double Ds into his face, and she fed him her nipples like grapes. He sucked them as if they were the sweetest he’d ever tasted. Milan could feel Kendu’s pelvis contract and the muscles in his six-pack clench. His face contorted and at the exact moment that his liquid gift exploded between her thighs, her sugar walls melted and coated him.

  With vanilla icing between them, Kendu pulled Milan to his chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I love you so much, and I want nothing more than for you to be my wife.”

  She cradled his face between her hands. “Are you sure?”

  “You the dopest chick I know,” he said.

  A smile crept onto Milan’s face and pushed past her bruised heart. “The dopest chick?” She twisted her lips to one side. “Like the hottest? Like, real super-fresh-funky-fly-dope? Or you just a lyin’ niggah?”

  Chaunci

  Chaunci leaned against the glass wall in her living room and stroked her index finger down the center of her reflection. She was dressed in a beige camisole, fitted jeans, and a navy Gucci blazer. She wondered what had possessed her to unpack her vulnerability and display it before Idris. She couldn’t figure it out.

  All she knew is that an aged sore spot weighed down her chest; and for the first time in her life she couldn’t push it to the side. And now the iron fist that she’d grown up with had risen and was too stubborn to leave her throat.

  That fucked with her.

  And the longer she stood there and stared into the ghostly eyes of her image, the more fucked-up and fucked-over she felt.

  Her feelings had nothing to do with silly-ass love and its consequences. This was about escaping meekness and weakness, and plain and simple being independent, strong, an anti-damsel in distress.

  She’d always prided herself on being whoever she needed to be: a mother, a friend, a lover, a boss, a bitch … and she’d never slipped. Ever.

  Until now.

  Chaunci swallowed and said to no one in particular, “I can’t believe he did that shit to me. And I know I wasn’t perfect …” The lump in her throat swelled and forced her voice to rise. “I had my faults. But for him to run off with some bitch as if we didn’t have an unspoken agreement that he was my man—ring or no ring. He was my goddamn man … in ways she will never understand. This is just—” The lump threatened to explode and she began to scream, “Is just. Fucked. Up!” Chaunci’s eyes became cloudy, and she did all she could not to drop a single tear.

  She lost and tears slid between her lips, filling her mouth with salt.

  Knock. Knock! “Chaunci!” Bridget yelled and pounding on the door, crashing Chaunci’s pity party. “We’re here! Open up.”

  Chaunci stood frozen. Bridget and Millionaire Wives Club were the last things on her mind. She wiped her eyes and sniffed.

  Bridget pounded again.

  I need a drink.

  Chaunci walked over to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of wine, and poured herself a drink. “Here’s to …” She held her glass in the air. “letting go …” She sipped and returned to her living room, eased onto her chenille sofa, and crossed her legs.

  “I know you’re in there!” Bridget banged. “Now open up!”

  Fuck that. She sipped again.

  “We have to get footage!” Bridget slid an envelope under the door. “And you need to let us in, while you have a chance to be a breakout star!”

  I don’t give a damn about that.

  “We’ve been trying to reach you for two days now. Two days too many!”

  Then take your hint and leave.

  “That’s a copy of your contract in the envelope. Now, we can do this nicely or we can play another way. But either way we’ll get in the sandbox. And we’ll get in there today!”

  Bitch, please. Before Chaunci could finish her thought her telephone rang. She leaned toward the end table and peeked at the Caller I.D. It was her mother.

  Don’t answer.

  The phone continued to ring and a moment later Chaunci sucked in a sharp breath and placed the receiver to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Honey.” Her mother spoke in a soft, steady southern drawl that flooded Chaunci’s mind with too many memories and with the reasons her visits home to Murfreesboro, North Carolina, were next to nonexistent. “I’m just calling to check on you.”

  Chaunci cradled the phone to her ear and resumed staring out the window. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine,” her mother said.

  “Mama, what did I just—” Chaunci stopped herself. Hearing her mother’s voice—especially at a time like this—unnerved her. She was already at war, but now the battle had switched from Idris’s bullshit to her mother’s, neither of which she wanted to deal with a moment longer. “Mama.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean to upset you, Chaunci. I’ve just been worried about you.”

  “I said I’m fine.” Why do I keep repeating myself?

  “Chaunci!” Bridget yelled as she steadily pounded against the door.

  Chaunci ignored Bridget as her mother continued. “You know yesterday was the pastor’s birthday. Your sister called, but you and your brother didn’t bother at all. He’s always been a nice man to you all.”

  I’ve never called on his birthday. “Mama, please drop it.”

  “I’m just saying that it would be nice if you and your brother called him. He’s always been there for you three. He baptized you, and he helped raise money in the church when you all went to college, so the least you can do is call him on his birthday.”

  Chaunci snapped. “Why, Mama? He’s your man and his wife’s man. Not mine! He’s not my father—”

  “Your father didn’t stick around! He went to the store when you were a baby and never came back.”

  “That’s the same story you told all three of us about our fathers. All three of them did not go to the store when we were babi
es and never come back!”

  “Chaunci,” her mother said calmly, but with an annoyed edge. “I am trying very hard not to hang up this phone but you’re pushing me. And I wish you and your brother would stop bringing up your fathers.”

  “I can’t!” Chaunci screamed.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I keep looking for him in every goddamn thing I do and I’m pissed off about it.”

  “You never wanted for anything. I did my best, and Pastor treated you three like his own children, and what he is to me is none of your business! I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “It’s the truth. And I have too much on my mind to pretend otherwise.”

  “Nobody’s perfect, Chaunci. I’ve made mistakes. That’s what I was trying to explain to you about Idris, you have to learn to give people a chance.”

  “What?” Chaunci said, taken aback, “Idris?” She paused. “I’ma ask you this last time to please stop.” She paced from one end of the room to the other.

  “I’m not calling to fuss, Chaunci Renee. I’m only checking on you. So you need to stop getting so upset.”

  “No.” Chaunci stopped in her tracks. “You need to start getting upset. And start demanding more for yourself. Stop letting everyone run over you!” Tears filled her eyes again. “My God, Mama. I love you, but I’m tired of running away from anything that looks or makes me feel like you.”

  “And I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to have a husband. Now you need to talk to Idris and marry him. You’re not getting any younger. And in case you didn’t know or didn’t learn from my life, pretty girls get lonely too, Chaunci.”

  “I’m only thirty-four, I’m not desperate, and I can’t marry Idris because he’s married to someone else! And there’s nothing I can do about it!”

  Her mother gasped. “Chaunci!” She gasped again. “I can’t believe you were so stubborn and let that man get away from you. You better hope she doesn’t keep him happy and maybe he’ll be willing to keep you company at night.”

  Chaunci was pissed. “What kind of thinking is that? I’m not accepting that.”

  “It’s the truth. And I don’t understand how you could do something like that. You need to stop looking at men’s flaws and start looking at the goodness in their hearts. God provided you with a man, and not just any ole man, but a good man and you just spat on him. I don’t know where you get this.” She sighed. “You and your brother. You two could not have come from me. He’s on his third wife, and you’re so set in your ways you’ll never be a wife. I swear, I swear, like Pastor said, all I can do is get on my knees and pray for you.”

  Chaunci felt as if a jagged knife had ripped its way up her face and over her skull.

  To most people—church folks, neighbors, distant relatives—her mother was a saint, always kept her cool, did no wrong, and Chaunci was the problem. The mouthy child, the rebellious teen with impractical dreams, who grew up to be the ungrateful adult-child who moved to the city, made it big, and forgot where she came from—mama included.

  “Mama, I gotta go.” She hung up.

  Bridget continued to pound. “This is crazy!” Bridget screamed. “Do you know how many people want to be reality stars? Do you?”

  “What are you doing?” Chaunci heard Milan’s voice mix with Bridget’s tirade.

  “You need to talk to her!” Bridget yelled at Milan. “This is ridiculous. She’s acting as if we don’t have to script her a story line! As if she’s a natural!”

  “Milan.” Chaunci cracked the door. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “I know. I was just dropping by.”

  “Come in.”

  Milan walked swiftly into the apartment. Bridget and the camera crew tried to push past her, only to be greeted by a forceful shove and the door slamming in their faces. “Now stay out!” Chaunci screamed as she and Milan pushed the door completely closed with their backs and behinds. The automatic lock clicked into place and Chaunci looked at Milan, who held a bottle of merlot in one hand. After a moment of staring at each other they burst into laughter that shook their entire bodies and caused them to slide down the door, to the floor, with tears falling from their eyes.

  “What the hell are we doing?” Milan asked, as she kicked her stilettos off. “How did we end up on the floor, locking Bridget out? This is bullshit. You know this is bullshit.” She cracked up.

  “And I’m tired of it—”

  “Me too.” Milan smirked. “Hell, Kendu and I had the biggest argument the other night. We made up, though, which is part of the reason my ass is sore. I need to get in shape, truthfully. But no matter how I try to get Kendu to build a gym in his house, he looks at me like I’m crazy. He doesn’t give a damn …” her voice drifted.

  “This faking the funk bullshit isn’t for me. It’s like I’m strong for everybody—everybody—and when I need to steal a lean—”

  Milan fanned her face. “Nobody gives a shit. Don’t give a damn that I need to get this weight off of me—”

  “I feel like a bag lady.” Chaunci bit her bottom lip. “Like I’m constantly dragging shit—”

  “Me too.”

  “And dragging shit … and dragging shit. When at the end of the day, all I want to do is drop this defense and learn to love.”

  “What?” Milan whipped her head toward Chaunci and blinked. “Are we talking about the same thing? I’m talking about losing weight.”

  Chaunci continued as if she were oblivious to Milan’s last statement. “It’s like no matter how I try to get it right with men, I keep seeing my mother and then I falter and screw up—and now I’ve really messed up.”

  “What happened?” Milan wiped the tears steadily slipping down Chaunci’s cheeks. “No judgment.”

  Chaunci picked at a thread on her jacket. “Well, girl, when Idris first came back to town, I asked him to meet me for dinner.”

  “Did he?”

  Chaunci hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  “I asked him to marry me.” She paused.

  “You did what?” Milan said shocked.

  “I asked him to marry me.” Chaunci shrugged. “He said no.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Because.” She swallowed. “He’s already married.”

  “What?” Milan screeched.

  “What’s going on in there?” Bridget yelled.

  Milan continued, “Why are you just telling me this? We’re girls, I would’ve cut that motherfucker and wiped your tears the same night.”

  “Milan, I’m just realizing that this isn’t a dream. That something has happened in my life and I wasn’t able to control the shit. Like, he really married this bitch? Did he really do that, without talking to me, without asking me if I was sure we didn’t need to be together.”

  “You can’t control everything, Chaunci.”

  “But I need to, because when I don’t, I lose.”

  “It’s not about losing, it’s about letting go, letting some shit ride.”

  “And how do I do that? If I’d let shit ride, I’d still be stuck in that damn country-ass town, barefoot and nursing goddamn babies. I have never been the type to let anything ride, because I knew I had to take what I wanted out of life, otherwise I’d be stuck.”

  “But it’s not that simple, you can’t take everything. You can work for it, work at it, but in the end you have to let the chips fall where they may.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “You need to take the S off your chest and just learn to be a woman.”

  “I did, the night I proposed and now I’m sitting here a damn wreck.” Tears fell from her eyes.

  “Have you spoken to Idris since then?”

  “Yes and no. He called for Kobi and I dropped her off. He asked me if he could speak to me and I told him no.”

  “You can’t hold everything in.”

  Silence.

  Milan hesitated. “I just can’t believe that he did that.” She wiped Chaunci
’s tears with the back of her hand. “If you want we can drop the maturity, go high school and whup both of their asses.”

  Chaunci laughed.

  “Dumb motherfucker,” Milan said.

  Bridget yelled. “Open. Up. This. Door!” She pounded.

  Milan flicked her wrist dismissively at the sound of Bridget’s voice. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Chaunci. But think about this: you weren’t exactly sure if you two needed to be together … forever.”

  “I keep telling myself that and it hasn’t made me feel better yet.”

  “You’re in shock.”

  “That’s an understatement. Anyway,” Chaunci steadied herself on her feet, dusting her clothes. “Let’s turn off this sensitive shit and get back in character. How does a diva look?” She ran her hands along the sides of her body.

  Milan stood up and looked her friend over. “We can’t always be in character. Sometimes we have to be the mess we really are.”

  “Can you save the deep shit for another time? Now let Bridget in, please.”

  Milan twisted the knob. The moment the door was ajar Bridget and the camera crew rushed through it, causing Milan to stumble and the door to swing wildly.

  “Don’t you ever do anything like that again!” Bridget pointed her finger and admonished Chaunci. “You know we have to get footage and here you are acting crazy and without the camera there to witness it. Oh, no, we will have none of that!”

  Milan looked at her diamond encrusted watch. “We need to get going.”

  “Oh, no,” Bridget said. “She’s not going anywhere until we interview her about the other night.” She pointed to Carl. “Roll.” She looked at Chaunci. “Now, tell us about when Idris dumped you and surprised you with his new bride.”

  Chaunci swallowed and pushed past her emotions. “Pretty much, Idris has lost his mind. I told him I couldn’t marry him a few months back and he was so distraught that he ran out to L.A., hit Skid Row, and married the first stripper who’d have him.”