Millionaire Wives Club

by Tu-Shonda Whitaker

“For being disrespectful.”

  “Now bounce.” He uncuffed him.

  Jaise didn’t know whether to say thank you or to cuss the detective out for speaking to her and her son like that. After deciding that Jabril deserved the treatment he received, and maybe she did too, she signed the papers releasing him into her custody and they headed home.

  Jabril was quiet the entire ride home. A zillion things raced through Jaise’s mind. She knew she couldn’t lose her son to the streets; the only problem was she didn’t know how he’d gotten there. The last she remembered he was riding in her car in a booster seat with his feet barely touching the floor, and now suddenly and without warning he was sixteen, towering over her, with the body of a man.

  “Jabril,” Jaise said as they pulled into a parking space, “I can’t condone your drinking alcohol.”

  Jabril looked at his mother, sucked his teeth, slammed the door behind him, and headed into the house.

  “Do you wanna smack him again or something?” Bridget asked, startling Jaise, who had forgotten that Bridget and the camera crew were there. “Let us know,” Bridget carried on, “so Carl here can run in the house first and get a close-up.”

  Jaise started to read Bridget, but she quickly changed her mind and decided the drama wasn’t worth it. Instead she opened her front door and slammed it, leaving Bridget and the camera crew outside.

  Chaunci

  Chaunci sat in the center of her king-size bed, her back resting against the seven-foot-long black leather headboard, with her six-thousand-thread-count sheets caressing the back of her thighs. The evening lights of the New York City skyline bathed her sage bedroom walls as she did her all to focus on the sketched designs for her wedding gown.

  Yet no matter how hard she tried to focus or reason with herself that brokering a marriage based on financial security made more sense than marrying for love, she couldn’t nix the loneliness that slowly crept into her chest and hung out there. She hated wondering what it would be like to love again, because it forced her to ponder a series of what-ifs, and she despised that, because in all of her thirty years what-if had turned out to be one great big hopeless motherfucker.

  This was why she had accepted the marriage proposal of her silent business partner and lover, Edmon. She knew he loved her, but she also knew that her not being in love with him placed her in the position of control. She wasn’t interested in their situation being upgraded to romance. She wanted to be a power couple, sharing the perks of money, influence, respect, and good sex.

  Love was always easier for Chaunci when she could pretend it didn’t exist, or better yet when she could act as if she didn’t need it, didn’t want it, and wasn’t lying in her bed at night aching for it. She could do without the risk of bruised emotions and hurt feelings. Everything in her life was about business. Marriage, sex, work, play—even the reality show she considered to be a season-long infomercial for her magazine.

  “Okay, Mommy, Anty Dextra said it’s time for your party!” Chaunci’s six-year-old daughter, Kobi, pushed Chaunci’s bedroom door open, relaying the message from her au pair. Kobi hung on to the doorknob and swung into the room.

  “What are you doing? And what are you wearing?” Chaunci looked at Kobi, who, decked out in a Cinderella gown with a towel wrapped around her neck, was spinning in a circle.

  “This my freakum dress.”

  “Excuse you?” Chaunci snapped.

  Kobi slapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean this is my ball gown.” She curtsied. “Anty Dextra and I just had a tea party. Would you like a cup of tea, ma’dum?” she said in a playful British accent while picking up her mini porcelain teacup.

  “No.”

  “Why?” Kobi placed the cup to her lips and pretended to sip. “You’re going to be late to Ms. Evan’s party?”

  Chaunci rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She couldn’t stand Evan, and the thought that she would have to pretend to like her for the rest of the night was unbearable. As far as Chaunci was concerned, Evan was the mistress of bitches, and the only reason Evan probably wanted Chaunci at the party was so that Nubian Diva would cover the event. Chaunci’s magazine was one of the hottest on the stands. It was the only African American magazine that ranked at the top with Vogue and Glamour, so anybody who was anybody would of course invite her to their party, especially if they wanted it to be the event of the year.

  She looked at the clock and realized she had only an hour to prepare for the evening. “No,” she said, her spirits dragging, “I won’t be late for the party.”

  “So what are you going to do at the party?” Kobi climbed into the middle of her mother’s bed as Chaunci sorted through her closet.

  “I’m not sure. What do you think I should do?”

  Kobi pretended to sip again. “I think you should get us a new French-say.”

  “A what?”

  “Mommy, the man you’re marrying. French-say.”

  “It’s ‘fiancé.’”

  “I thought his name was Edmon.” Kobi looked confused. “But anyway, I heard Anty Dextra say on the phone that she doesn’t think Edmon is right for you. I have to agree with her. We need another one.”

  Chaunci spun on her heels. “Who said that?”

  “Anty Dextra said it. And she said that you needed a real manringo to handle you.”

  “Oh, wait a minute, I know she wasn’t talking like that in front of you?!” Chaunci snapped. “Dextra”—she opened her bedroom door—“please come.”

  “Mommy,” Kobi whispered, in excitement, “you’re going to get me in trouble. Anty Dextra told me to leave the room when grown folks were talking, but I liked what she was saying, so I stood by the door and listened. Don’t give my secret away, Mommy.” She folded her hands. “Please.”

  “You are a little too grown,” Chaunci said, pushing the door closed, as she reluctantly decided to keep her daughter’s secret. “And whatever ‘new’ French-say I need or don’t need is a little out of your six-year-old league.”

  “Huh?” Kobi said, confused. “What does that mean, Mommy? To mind my business?”

  “Forget it, Kobi. Just let me get dressed.”

  “I wanna see what you’re going to wear,” Kobi insisted, pretending to sip her drink again.

  While Kobi sat in the center of Chaunci’s bed, Chaunci pulled on a supertight navy blue velvet corset, which made her D-cup breasts look like an overflowing river of flesh. Her curvaceous hips were complemented by a Dolce and Gabbana eighteenth-century-inspired formal navy chiffon skirt, which draped to the floor and covered her pencil-heel Manolos.

  “Mommy.”

  “Yes,” Chaunci said as she snapped on her sapphire bangle.

  “How come everybody in my class knows their daddy but me?”

  “I’m your mommy and your daddy.”

  “I told them that and they laughed at me. I had to tell Asia that I would kick her butt if she laughed one more time. And Mommy, I hate to break it to you, but you have to be a man in order to be a daddy. So do you think my daddy, the man-daddy, doesn’t like me?”

  Chaunci had always sworn that she would be the type of mother who was open and honest with her child. She promised that she would never speak an ill word about Kobi’s father, but the older Kobi got the harder it was not to say that her father was an asshole. That when Chaunci had told him she was pregnant he had lost his mind and tossed three hundred dollars in the air for an abortion, not caring that Chaunci’s pregnancy was too far along for that.

  Chaunci looked at Kobi and thought about ignoring the question altogether, but seeing the intensity with which Kobi watched her she said, “Your daddy is a great man, he loves you, and we’ll talk about him later.”

  “Well, Mommy, when is later? Because every time I ask, you always say ‘later,’ and later never comes. I keep waiting and waiting, looking at the clock, and later is taking its own sweet time.”

  “You’re too grown,” Chaunci admonished Kobi.

  “Why does everyone kee
p saying that? Can I sleep in your room?”

  “Only for tonight. Now go put on your pajamas.”

  “I want to sleep in this.”

  “Okay, well, I have to go. And you know the rules, no candy and nothing to drink.”

  “We have to pray, Mommy,” Kobi said as Chaunci headed toward the door. Kobi kneeled on the floor. “Mommy, come on.”

  Chaunci knew she couldn’t refuse, especially since this was their nightly ritual, but she hoped like hell she wouldn’t pop the hooks and eyes on her corset. She started to tell Kobi that in the interest of her girdle, she needed to pray standing up, but since Kobi didn’t know what a girdle was, Chaunci grinned and bore it, while slyly practicing breathing techniques. She kneeled. “Okay Kobi, it’s your turn to lead the prayer.”

  “Mommy,” Kobi whispered, “I always forget if I’m supposed to begin by saying Amen.”

  “No,” Chaunci whispered back, “you save that for the end. Start with ‘Now I lay me down to sleep.’”

  “Okay.” She began to pray, “Now I lay me down to sleep—Wait, I forgot to say, ‘Hi, God, how are you? I hope you’re fine, and I hope You and Jesus had a good day, too—’”

  “Kobi, God always has a good day.”

  “But we don’t know that, Mommy, and you said it’s rude not to ask people how their day was… Oh, and Anty Dextra said it’s rude to interrupt people when they prayin’, too.”

  “Just pray.” Chaunci laughed.

  “Okay. Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die—Wait, I don’t like that part. I’ma skip it. Dear God, bless my grandma, my pop-pop, Anty Dextra … God, can you ask my mommy to get me a dog? Oh, and God bless my mommy so that we can get a new husband. No one likes Edmon—”

  “Kobi!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Now finish praying.”

  “You think God is asleep, Mommy?”

  “No, Kobi.”

  “He doesn’t have a bedtime?”

  “Finish praying, Kobi.”

  “I’m done. Bye, God. Amen.”

  They rose from the floor and Kobi hopped into bed. “Goodnight,” Chaunci said. “Good-night and Mommy loves you.”

  “I love you too, and you look real fly.” “Don’t I always?” Chaunci started to pose.

  “Work it, Mommy!” Kobi screamed as Chaunci closed the door behind her and stepped into the living room, where Dextra was.

  “Anty Dextra,” Chaunci snapped, walking into the living room, where her au pair was directing the contestant on Wheel of Fortune to buy a vowel.

  “Yes, chile,” Dextra said in her thick Trinidadian accent, never once taking her eyes from the TV. “Aiye-yi-yi, but what de hell is dis? Just buy an A!” She looked up at Chaunci. “You look beautiful.”

  Chaunci sucked in a breath and a smile ran across her lips. “Good-night, Anty.”

  Dextra smiled. “Good-night.” She looked back at the TV, and as Chaunci closed the door she heard Dextra solving the puzzle.

  The Club

  The glow of the full moon complemented the flashing lights of the paparazzi as the A-list guests—athletes, music moguls, Hollywood stars, and politicians among them—arrived at Evan and Kendu’s sprawling Sag Harbor estate, all the while rocking their vintage masquerade finest.

  Nothing said new money like shallow excessiveness. Diamonds, furs, Bentleys, stretch Hummers, Rolls-Royces, Excaliburs, and horse-drawn carriages created a foreground of bling against the waving ocean. This was just one of the many fundraiser play dates for the rich, many of whom had their own charitable foundations.

  The live jazz band’s rendition of Nina Simone’s “I Put a Spell on You” drifted into the master suite, where the hosting couple dressed silently. Evan could tell by the look on Kendu’s face that being here with her was difficult for him. She felt as if she desperately had to find a way to regain control over the relationship, to make him love her more than she loved him.

  “Kendu?”

  “Evan,” he sighed wearily.

  She swallowed. “I just want you to know—that—Aiyanna may need a spinal tap.”

  “What?” Kendu said, caught off guard. “Why?”

  “So the doctors can find out what’s wrong and begin treating her.”

  “But she had a spinal tap last year, and I’ve never seen her cry like that. I don’t want her in that kind of pain again.” He turned around and faced her.

  This was the first time in a long while that he had looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. That bit of attention meant the world to her. “So what do you want? Her to die?” Evan asked.

  “Are you for real asking me something like that?”

  “I’m sorry,” Evan quickly relented. “I’m stressed out and it’s just so difficult.” She shook her head. “All I want is for my daughter to be a normal eight-year-old.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Kendu swallowed. He knew Evan loved Aiyanna, and her illness had taken a toll on both of them. “Listen”—he grabbed Evan’s hands and placed them between his—“this will work out. We have the best doctors, the best hospital. You said this new specialist she’s seeing is much more knowledgeable than the others.”

  Evan wasn’t sure but she thought she could hear the love he once had for her starting to reemerge. She knew if he was gently holding her hand that some of his coldness had to thaw. He loved her, and the softness of his touch said so.

  Besides, he was way too beautiful for her to let him get away. His skin was the color of midnight. Smooth, radiant, and beautifully black. He wore a well-groomed goatee with premature sprinkles of gray, and his regal nose complemented his full African lips and charming chestnut eyes. Evan found herself craving his touch. “You’re right.” Evan tried to calm the tremble in her voice. “And I’m going to try and enjoy this night.” She placed her arms around his waist.

  “There you go.” Kendra stroked Evan’s cheek.

  She smiled and straightened his tie. “And hopefully we will raise a lot of money so that other families who are not as fortunate as we are can get the help they need for their sick children.”

  “Exactly.” He wiped the tears from her eyes. “Besides, you look too beautiful to be crying.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  Evan closed her eyes. She’d found that feeling of heaven again. “You think so?” She stepped back to allow him to soak in the vision of her in an emerald green off-the-shoulder Vera Wang ball gown trimmed in Australian crystals.

  “I know so.” He brushed her cheek.

  Evan wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. “Kendu, I know what happened between us the other day was crazy, and I just want you to know that we can work this out—”

  “Work what out?” He took a step back.

  “Us. Our marriage. I know that you love me.”

  “Evan—”

  “No, Kendu, you don’t have to explain.” She could tell by the change in his tone that he was working on bursting her bubble. She thought for sure cutting him off mid-sentence would curb his rejection. At least for this moment.

  “Listen to me, you know I will always love you,” he said, then paused. “But I need you to know that I haven’t changed my mind about no longer wanting to be with you.”

  “But you were just—”

  “Evan, even if I laugh with you, smile with you, speak nicely to you, unless I specifically tell you that I want you, then I have not changed my mind.”

  “Kendu—” She could swear he heard her heart crack.

  “Listen to me: I do love you, Evan.” he said with confidence. “But I love you because of our child, because we have beautiful memories, but that’s it.”

  “No.” She shook her head while batting her extended eyelashes. “That’s not true. You love me because we have a tomorrow. We have years left. Eternity.”

  “Our divorce will beat us to eternity.”

  Evan shook her head feverishly. “Why are you saying this? You always claim you’re not good at expressing yourself, bu
t you have certainly found a way to say all of this to me.”

  “You don’t give me a choice.”

  “How fuckin’ dare you, Kendu!” Evan pushed him.

  Kendu took a step back. “I can’t do this.”

  “Kendu, wait.”

  “No.” He walked out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

  Evan stood, looking around the room, her eyes wandering from the balcony to the brushed nickel knob on the bedroom door. She could feel a manic episode coming on, and she knew she would never be able to function tonight without shots of vodka and a Vicodin. She opened her clutch and popped a pill in her mouth. She walked over to the small bar in their bedroom and poured a shot glass of Patrón to ease it down.

  “Why are you drinking that?” Milan asked Yusef as they arrived at the estate.

  “Because I’m grown,” he snapped. The brown bag he held in his hand crumpled as he took the forty-ounce of Ole English to the head. He wiped the sides of his mouth with the tips of his fingers and said, “Why, you want some?”

  “No,” she said, tight-lipped.

  He shoved the bottle to her lips. “Drink it.”

  “I don’t want it.” She slapped his hand.

  “Yes, you do.” He pressed the rim of the bottle so hard against her lips that she was forced to open her mouth.

  As Milan shook her head, the liquor splashed against her mouth and dripped down her cleavage. “Didn’t I say no?!” She slapped the bottle from his hand, spilling the drink on the floor.

  “Shit!” he screamed, rearing his hand back.

  “Please do it and we’ll box up in this motherfucker tonight.”

  Before she could continue the driver opened the door and she stepped out, leaving a pissed-off Yusef behind in the car.

  As soon as Milan stepped out of their onyx Phantom, which no one knew was rented but them, cameras flashed and photographers were everywhere. Instantly her counterfeit reality took over and she worked it to perfection.

  Milan went from pose to pose as her hair flowed like a calm ebony river midway down her back, while her smooth Dominican brown skin glistened like shimmering lotion.