Millionaire Wives Club

by Tu-Shonda Whitaker

  But Jaise’s denial was not about Jabril; her denial was about her being thirty-five and a single mother who had tried and retried, and tried again to maintain a balance of being this child’s mother, his friend, his critic, and his support system. Yet a monkey wrench had been thrown into the deal—a baby that, like it or not, was on its way.

  This was not what she had dreamed of for Jabril. A lifetime of baby mama, child support, and barely-making-it drama. She envisioned him as one day outgrowing his silliness and suddenly becoming Ivy League with the ability to make it happen for himself. Not this, not having to figure out how to take care of a baby and take care of himself at the same time.

  Jabril walked into the kitchen where Jaise was cooking dinner for the three of them. “Ma, can I hollah at you for a moment?”

  “Yeah.” She paused. “What’s going on?”

  “I noticed that you’ve been quiet ever since you found out about Christina.”

  “I’m disappointed, Jabril. I mean, we’ve been through some things together, but damn, I never expected this.”

  “Me either, Ma. But I have to deal with it.”

  “Well, Jabril, I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “Yes you do, Ma. You deal with it like you taught me to deal with things: head-on. We don’t look back. We keep it movin’.”

  Jaise blinked. “Who did you say taught you that?”

  “You did. You never gave up, Ma. You were always right there, fighting whatever came your way,” he said, hunching his shoulders, “and I guess you know I gotta be the man you raised me to be.”

  Jaise couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had her son grown up in front of her eyes and she had missed it? Had he really just become a man without Jaise having a self-help book to help her do it? Well, damn, maybe she wasn’t that bad of a mother after all.

  “Okay, Jabril, I guess we’re in this together.”

  “So does that mean I can invite Christina over?”

  Jaise did her best not to twist her lips. “Yeah, and I guess you need to invite her ghetto-ass mama, too.”

  “She ain’t ghetto, Ma. She got a lot of class.”

  “I just told Christina,” Al-Taniesha said, popping her chewing gum, “I thought y’all motherfuckers was tryna pull the okeydoke. I’m glad y’all called ’cause word up I was bought to bust a crip walk out this motherfucker.”

  “Come in.” Jaise swallowed, promising herself that she would do her best to accept Christina and her family, but the mere fact that she’d just opened the door for them and already wanted them to leave wasn’t a good sign.

  “Dis my man Rafique.” Al-Taniesha pointed to the man dressed all in lavender with a pink boa around his neck walking behind her into Jaise’s living room.

  “But er’body calls me Lollipop,” Rafique said, flinging his wrist, and for a minute there Jaise could’ve sworn he was switching his ass.

  “Umm,” Jaise stuttered, “Al-Taniesha and ummm…” She pointed to Rafique.

  “Lollipop,” he answered. “Yes, Lollipop, this is Bilal.”

  “Hol’ up.” Rafique snapped his fingers. “Al-Taniesha,” he attempted to whisper, “we gon’ need to roll. You know I got them two warrants for indecent exposure and that niggah there is five-oh.”

  “How you know?” she attempted to whisper back. “’Cause he arrested me before.”

  “Is everything okay?” Jaise asked.

  “We scraight,” Rafique insisted. “Lollipop is da hell scraight.”

  “Where’s Christina?” Jaise asked.

  “She’s comin’,” Al-Taniesha answered. “Li’l T.I. helping her out the car.”

  “His name is Jabril.”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “’Niesha,” Rafique said with a high-pitched twang, “this fish is pa’yaid. Ho’ shit.” He picked up a piece of Jaise’s china. Lowering his voice while covering his lips, he said, “You know how much I could make on the street for this?” He flung his wrist.

  “Rafique,” Al-Taniesha attempted to whisper back, “be quiet. I told you we couldn’t lick them off. Christina started crying as soon as I mentioned it.”

  “Ai’ight, ai’ight, baby. We gon’ let ’em live, we gon’ let ’em live.”

  “We would appreciate that,” Bilal said. “We certainly don’t want any problems.”

  “Told you he was five-oh,” Rafique said. “This niggah all in my mouth.”

  “Hi, Ms. Williams, how are you?” Christina said as she walked in with Jabril holding her hand.

  “I’m fine, honey.” Jaise smiled, noticing that Christina was a very pretty girl who resembled Ki-Ki Palmer. “I hope you guys are hungry,” Jaise said, showing them to her dining room.

  Jabril and Bilal respectively held Christina and Jaise’s dining chairs out, while Rafique sat down and left Al-Taniesha standing there. “Don’t catch no beat down,” Al-Taniesha spat. “You better have some class.”

  “Oh, ’cuse me,” Rafique said, throwing his hips to one side. “Lollipop’s fault.” He stood up and pulled Al-Taniesha’s chair out.

  Jaise attempted to hold it together for Jabril’s sake, and from what Jabril had told her about Christina, she was a sweet girl, so Jaise promised herself that she would hold her tongue and not lose her damn mind over the fact that she would be tied to these people for life.

  “So,” Jaise said, smiling while attempting to hold a conversation that didn’t involve the word “niggah” or “motherfucker,” “Chris, what are your plans after the baby is born?”

  “Moving in here,” her mother interjected. “We done already worked it out.”

  Jaise batted her eyes. “What?”

  “She gon’ come live here. You got all this room, this your grandbaby, and we gon’ have to share this responsibility. Why should my man be the only one losing sleep behind a crying baby?” She looked at Bilal.

  “And Lollipop needs his sleep.” Rafique snapped his fingers.

  “Aren’t you a lively li’l thing,” Bridget said. Everyone had forgotten she was there with the camera crew.

  Jaise looked at Al-Taniesha. “If I were you I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

  “And why not?”

  “Ma, chill,” Jabril said.

  “You know what, Jabril, no. These people are not coming in here and turning my life into stone-ass crazy.”

  “But, Ma, it’s not Christina’s fault.”

  “Jabril, I’m only thirty-five years old. This being a grandmother shit is not my steel-o.”

  “Well, how you think I feel?” Al-Taniesha spat. “You lucky, your ass is old, but I’m only twenty-nine—”

  “Thirty-nine, baby.” Rafique tapped Al-Taniesha on the hip. “Thirty-nine.”

  “Would you shut the fuck up!” Al-Taniesha snapped.

  “Oh, wait a minute, I know you ain’t telling Lollipop no shut the fuck up, ya stank ass.”

  “My ass don’t stank. Yo’ ass be the one stankin’, drippin’, and all kinda shit. Now don’t show off in front of company.”

  “You love me, don’t you, girl,” Lollipop growled. “Wit’ yo’ feisty ass.”

  Al-Taniesha blushed and turned back to Jaise, whose mouth had dropped open. “Don’t be acting like y’all don’t argue,” Al-Taniesha said. “Just ’cause you on this show the shit don’t make you better than nobody else.” She looked at Bridget. “What’s the requirements? I’ve been on Wife Swap and I got three kids… three kids and four daddies. What? A bitch like me is what y’all need. ’Cause I will turn it out.”

  “Three kids…” Bridget grabbed a napkin to write on. “Four daddies.”

  “My baby is the truth. They don’t know you, baby,” Rafique screamed as Al-Taniesha hopped out of her seat.

  “They’ll be like hold up, wait a minute, is that”—she shielded her eyes—“Al-Taniesha Rayquana Jankins? They don’t know, baby.” She snapped her fingers. “They don’t know.”

  “They ain’t ready for you, ’Niesha. They … is…not… ready for y
ou.”

  Al-Taniesha sat down. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah, li’l Fifty-Five Cent done knocked up my Christina. So what we gon’ do about this?”

  “Listen,” Jaise said, “Christina cannot live here.”

  “Ma, can we please talk about this later?” Jabril said.

  “No,” she said, tight-lipped.

  “Jaise.” Bilal waved his hand under his chin.

  “So my advice to you all,” Jaise continued, “is to figure out some other alternate plan for this child’s living arrangement.”

  “Ma, I’ma move,” Jabril blurted. “I’ll find us a place.”

  “Shut up, Jabril. You can’t even scrape five dollars together.”

  “Christina,” Al-Taniesha said, “you ain’t tell me li’l T-Pain was broke. This is some bullshit. Listen,” Al-Taniesha said, turning to Jaise, “what do you say you keep your son with you and I keep my daughter at home. I don’t know how y’all roll, but we goes to college around my house.”

  “Don’t sleep,” Rafique added. “We believe in Ed’jacation.”

  “So,” Al-Taniesha carried on, “Christina has already been accepted to NYU, so I guess since we family now we gon’ have to take care of our grandbaby.”

  Jaise blinked repeatedly. This shit was crazy, but somehow in the big scheme of things it made sense. “You know, Al-Taniesha and Rafique, I guess you’re right.”

  “It’s Lollipop,” Rafique said as they started to eat. “If we gon’ be family, y’all gon’ have to call me Lollipop.”

  Chaunci

  “I dris,” Chaunci said, her eyes combing him as she stood at his front door, “thank you for letting me bring Kobi over this weekend. I know you didn’t have to.”

  “She’s my daughter. She can come over whenever she wants to.”

  Chaunci leaned from one foot to the next. She knew Idris was wondering if she would change her mind and cross his threshold. “You know, I’m… going out to dinner with Edmon.”

  “I know.”

  “Idris,” Chaunci said as if she were exhausted, “it’s not that I don’t—”

  Idris walked down the three steps that led from his front stoop and stood before Chaunci. “Whatever you decide, I am okay with that. I’m grown, you’re grown, and we’re parents. We don’t have time to figure out what went wrong and how to fix it. We just have to be, just find a way to coexist peacefully. You will always be my first love, my love, my daughter’s mother. But I am okay if the closest we ever get to rekindling a relationship is the weekend we shared.”

  “I just can’t jump into this.”

  “I know, and I love you for that. Just be as honest with yourself as you’re being with me.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Enjoy your night and I’ll bring Kobi home on Sunday.”

  The eerie part about Chaunci meeting Edmon at the restaurant on top of the Empire State Building was that that was where he’d proposed to her. He’d rented the entire restaurant, hired the chef, had a candle-lit table, and the rest was today’s history.

  Chaunci wanted desperately to love Edmon. She wished at the moment that she had allowed herself to form a love thang or some type of emotional connection with him, because then maybe this day wouldn’t be happening and this evening wouldn’t be the last they would share. The problem was Edmon was not the type to understand that she needed space, because her mind was filled with dreams that had nothing to do with him.

  She just hoped that he was adult enough to swing with at least being tolerable; after all they had the magazine.

  “Chaunci,” Edmon said as he walked over to the small table in the center of the rooftop. “I see we had a memory worth rekindling.” He smirked, taking his seat.

  She kissed him on both cheeks. “Edmon, don’t start.”

  “I’m not a kid, and this is not a race.”

  Chaunci shook her head. Already this was going at a disastrous pace. She wanted to look him in the eyes and tell him, Fuck it and fuck him. They were done. But she didn’t; she owed him enough to at least deliver his heartbreak with respect.

  “Edmon,” Chaunci said, moving the wineglasses out of the way and taking his hand, “I have really appreciated having you in my life, and I know I haven’t been the easiest person to understand all the time.”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’m forty years old and I have no time for long speeches.”

  “So then maybe you can tell me, what do you do when your mind says, ‘Don’t look back,’ but your heart tells you that you have to?”

  “Idris. This is about Idris,” he insisted. “It’s more than that.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “I have something to give you.” Chaunci slid her engagement ring into his palm. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re right, you are,” he snapped. “You are sorry, and I can’t believe that I fell for you.”

  Chaunci faked a smile as the waitress came over and took their order. “I’m trying to be an adult about the situation,” she said as the waitress walked away.

  “Being an adult,” Edmon said, “would’ve meant telling me from the beginning that you didn’t love me and that you have been pining all of these years over some fake-ass ballplayer.”

  “Edmon—”

  “Don’t Edmon me, I’m pissed-the-fuck off. What did you think I was going to do, sit here and act like I was above being upset and that it was okay for you to walk all over me? You know I own part of your magazine. I could sell the shit.”

  “Listen, if you want to sell it, sell it. What the hell do you want me to do? I can’t help it if my heart won’t do what my mind tells it to.”

  “You can’t help it,” he said more to himself than to Chaunci. “Well, you know what, Chaunci,” he said, rising from his seat, “I can’t help it either.” And he walked out.

  Chaunci sat there for a moment, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts of how this could’ve ended differently. She looked from one side of the restaurant to the next, greeting the other customer’s glances with a smile. She held up her glass of white wine and said, “Well, Chaunci, here’s to you.”

  After driving around for hours, stopping by her apartment, and then coming back out and riding around even more, Chaunci found herself right back where she had started, sitting in her car, in front of Idris’s house. She thought at least a million times how she should ring Idris’s bell and fall into his arms.

  But she didn’t know if she would be happy living in such a fairy tale. It was true that she loved Idris, but the Idris she loved was the Idris she had known more than six years ago, before the pregnancy, before life set in, before she knew that being every woman was more than a song. She loved him, yes, but could she run and jump in his arms … she didn’t know. And because she was so uncertain and so unsure, she decided she needed more me time, to know who Chaunci was and what Chaunci wanted. Suppose Edmon sold part of her magazine? She needed to be focused enough to deal with that, not fucking, not lying up in Idris’s arms as if all that mattered in the world was having a man. She needed to get things back in order for Chaunci and find a balance between being in control and submitting to love.

  Tears sat at the base of Chaunci’s eyes as she started her engine again, made a U-turn, and headed back to her apartment.

  Jaise

  “J abril!” Jaise walked out of her bedroom and screamed, “Come get these bags for me please.”

  “I’m not the bellhop,” he said, walking past her.

  “No, but you will be hearing bells if you keep talking smack.”

  Jaise walked behind Jabril as he carried her bags. “I’m trusting you, Jabril, to behave while I’m gone. Please don’t let me come back and find you’ve made another baby.”

  “Ma, would you cool out? You’re coming back tomorrow night.”

  “It only takes five minutes, Jabril.”

  “Ma, I start my new job at the mall and I’m not going to mess that up. And I definitely am not going to mess up your trust in me.”

  “You
have all the numbers, right?”

  “You could always come with us, Jabril,” Bilal said. “There’s more than enough room. We could bike ride—”

  Jabril laughed. “Bike ride? Yo, I’m not bike riding in the spring with a grown man.”

  Bilal cracked up. “Yeah, that does sound a li’l suspect.”

  “You feel me?”

  “Yeah, I got you.”

  “You two done speaking in uneducated code?” Jaise asked.

  “Ma, it’s cool, stop worrying,” Jabril said.

  “Okay. And you keep Al-Taniesha and Lollipop’s ass out of here.”

  “Alright, let’s go,” Bilal said, taking Jaise’s suitcases from Jabril. “Damn, baby, what do you have in these things?”

  “Not too much, I hope,” Bridget said, “because the Super 8 doesn’t have that much space.”

  They ignored Bridget and continued out the door. “Jabril, here,” Jaise said, and handed him some money and a credit card, “only for emergencies.”

  “Okay, Ma.”

  “Call me.”

  “Okay, Ma.”

  “And if you eat over at Christina’s, smell the food first, I don’t trust them.”

  “I got you. You can go now.”

  “And if that trick, Al-Taniesha—”

  “Alright, Jaise,” Bilal said.

  “If that bitch,” Jaise whispered, “tries some shit or talks crazy to you, call me, ’cause I will leave and come kick her fuckin’ ass.”

  “Ma, I got you.” He pointed to Bilal, who was holding the door to his Deuce and a Quarter open. “You can leave now.”

  “Thank you.” Bilal laughed as he and Jabril exchanged dap.

  Jaise looked at Bilal’s car and said a silent prayer, and then she figured sometimes prayer needed a little human intervention. “Sweetie, we can always drive my car. Please, I really am scared we may break down in this.”

  “You think I would put you in jeopardy like that, Jaise?”

  Jaise didn’t respond; instead she got in the car and they took off. Jaise watched Jabril in the side mirror until he became a small figure in her sight.