Rich Girl Problems

by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker

  “No, ma’am,” the officer said. “I’ll wait here for him.”

  “Darnell,” Jaise heard Bilal say as she walked into the house, “what are you doing here?”

  Jaise walked upstairs to her master floor and before she stepped into her dressing room she pulled her cell phone from her purse. While at the party Jabril had called her at least twenty times, but at Bilal’s insistence, she didn’t answer. Every time the phone rang he would say, “He needs to know you’re serious.”

  Jaise quickly dialed Jabril’s number and tapped a foot nervously. “Boy, would you come on here and answer this phone.”

  Jabril’s phone rang four times before his voice mail picked up, and Jaise mumbled, “Damn it, boy. I know your ass is somewhere raw doggin’ it with some fast-ass ho!”

  Jabril’s voice mail began its spiel: “This is Jabril. You already know what to do. But if this is a chick and you’re calling because I didn’t call you back, get a hint and hang the fuck up.”

  Beeeeeeep!

  “Jabril,” Jaise began her message, “this is Mommy and that message is ridiculous. Now I can’t talk long and I’m not going to keep calling you back. I hope you still have your ATM card because I’m going to put five thousand dollars in your account tomorrow morning. I love you, son, and I miss you.”

  “Jaise.”

  She dropped the phone. “Oh, Bilal.” She jumped, spotting him in the doorway. “You scared the hell out of me. I was . . . umm . . . just checking my voice messages.” She walked toward the door. “I have a taste for some apple pancakes tonight. How about breakfast food for dinner?”

  “Jaise—”

  “I know you hate eggs at night. But I just have this urge to whip up a pancake feast.”

  “Jaise! Damn, I just need you to be quiet and listen to me for a moment.”

  “Oh, that was rude. I don’t know what your officer told you, but I didn’t piss in your Cheerios.”

  “I need you to sit down.”

  She looked into his eyes and they were bloodshot. A chill ran through her. She’d never seen Bilal cry. Ever.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down.”

  “I think you should.”

  “I said no. I’m not sitting down. The last time I was told to sit down my daddy had dropped dead in his mistress’s bed. So I’m not sittin’ down.”

  Bilal stared at her in silence, his eyes completely wet with falling tears.

  Jaise’s heart raced and she felt like a bomb was building in her chest and set for an explosion. “Would you just tell me! Did something happen to Vera or one of my sisters?”

  He shook his head. “Jaise, baby . . .” His voice trembled. “I’m so, so sorry. I never thought—”

  “Never thought what?”

  “Jabril.”

  Her breathing stopped and her heart was on its way to follow suit. “What about Jabril?” She felt her body shutting down.

  “Baby, he was out in Brownsville and he was shot.”

  Jaise felt like a bullet had soared through her chest. Everything burned. Her eyes. Her arms. Her thighs. Her feet. Her stomach. She could barely breathe, but somehow she managed to swallow. “What was he doing in Brownsville? Of all the goddamn holes in the earth, he picks the most dangerous part of Brooklyn, and I know he was chasing some damn ho!” She wiped her eyes and grabbed her purse.

  “Darnell, the officer, said he was selling drugs.”

  “Selling drugs? My son? Oh my God. It’s like he seeks to outdo himself every damn time!” She wiped more tears. “Let’s just get to the hospital.”

  “Jaise.” Bilal reached for her hand.

  “Bilal! I have to go! My son needs me. He’s been shot and I don’t want to hear shit about him needing to be a man. Right now he needs his mother!”

  “Jaise!”

  “I don’t want to hear it! I have to get to the hospital!”

  “I need you to listen to me!”

  “No, you don’t!”

  “Baby, Jabril . . .”

  “No.” She backed away from him.

  “Was killed.”

  Black . . .

  All she could see was black, and then suddenly a gray fog settled in and she could see her body on the floor, knees pressed into the carpet, and she could hear a wail sounding as if it had come from the pit of her womb. She could see tears slicing through her cheeks and snot oozing like glaze over her lips and running into the saliva that dangled from the corners of her lips.

  She could see Jabril shrinking into the little boy she never wanted to grow up. The one who used to beg to sleep in her bed with her. The one who always thought he was Superman and could fly through the sky—which was why he walked across the kitchen table, jumped off, and landed on his elbow, breaking his arm in four places.

  She could see him dressed in a black tuxedo on his way to his fifth-grade prom. His face chubby and his stomach pudgy.

  “Mommy, girls don’t like me.”

  “Jabril, why would you say that? You are quite handsome!”

  “But I’m fat.”

  “You’re perfect just the way you are. One day, I promise, you won’t be able to keep the girls off you.”

  She could see Jabril at sixteen. Skinny. Tall. And thinking he was the coolest sixteen-year-old in all of New York. “Ma, I think I can sing.”

  “I know you can. I told you, you got it from me.”

  “I want to try out for this talent show.”

  “Try out and you’re sure to win!”

  And he did.

  She could see him at twenty packing his clothes and screaming, “You don’t love me! Fuck you!”

  “I do love you! Mommy loves you more than life itself!”

  She could see him running out the door. “Come back, Jabril! Come back!” And no matter how loud she screamed, he wouldn’t come back and he wouldn’t get up.

  Jaise wasn’t sure how she’d gotten to the hospital, if she’d magically appeared or someone had driven her there. All she knew was through the gray fog she could see Jabril’s lifeless body on the gurney and she could hear glass-shattering screams as every part of her wept. She could see her face pressed against his as she called God and cursed him. “Your word said I could move mountains! That if I believed in Your son! That I had not because I asked not! That all I needed to do was knock and the door shall be opened! Your word said it and I’m here standing on Your word and in need! Please bring my baby back to me! Please! Please! Give him back. I want him!”

  She could hear the doctors, nurses, and Bilal begging her to calm down. But she couldn’t calm down. All she could do was bellow in agony.

  She could see herself holding Jabril’s lifeless body. She could feel her blood pressure reaching its peak, her womb about to burst, her head due to explode, and she could see herself passing out and silently asking God to not ever let her wake up.

  CHAPTER 34

  JOURNEE

  Two Days Later

  God is good! Dressed in her erotic Catholic school uniform, Journee stood over Zachary and watched his lifeless body in bed. She pressed two fingers into his neck—and nothing.

  Dear God, You may not come when I want you to, but You are always on time!

  She eased out of Zachary’s room and headed back to her wing of the estate.

  “You give that ole dirty bastard his pussy for the morning?”

  “He’s dead,” Journee said in glee, as she hurriedly changed clothes.

  Xavier hopped out of bed. “What you mean ‘dead’? Out of this bitch? Like slow singing and flower bringing? Like will reading and half of my money about to grease my damn palms? That kind of dead? Or you playing?”

  “Dead. Like bye-bye motherfucker.”

  “You call the nurse?”

  “No.”

  “Journee, you’re fucking up. You need to ride this doting wife shit out to the end.”

  “Look, I got this and I know what I’m doing. I
’ve had this day planned out for years. I’m going to go downstairs for my morning tea and wait for the nurse to come and get me.”

  “You do that. And while you’re sipping your tea make sure you map out how soon you’re going to give me my money, and I mean it. You and Chaunci think I’m playing with your asses, but I’m not. Now I’ll admit, the pussy has been sweet, but it ain’t like that.”

  “You have to be patient. The amount of money you’re asking for is not that damn easy to get my hands on! Now I don’t have time to argue with you. I have to get to the kitchen.”

  Journee changed into a fitted navy skirt and beige blouse. She pulled her hair back into a bun and draped pearls around her neck.

  Should I break down and cry when the nurse comes in? No. I did that the last time. I’ll be strong. No tears. That may seem odd though.

  She walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, you two.” She greeted the house manager and the chef as she sat at the table.

  I’ll sit silently and let a single tear slide down my cheek.

  Journee watched the kitchen door, waiting for the nurse to bolt in at any moment.

  The chef handed her a cup of tea. Journee sipped and waited. A half hour went by and no nurse.

  An hour passed.

  Nothing.

  Where the hell is she?

  She shot the chef a Barbie doll smile as she got up from her seat and headed to Zachary’s room.

  “Where the . . . hell . . . have . . . you . . . been?!” Zachary peered, as Journee stepped into the doorway. “You’re late! Now . . . let’s . . . go . . . back . . . upstairs!”

  Journee felt a wave of heat come over her body as she saw Zachary sitting there in his chair.

  Maybe I’m seeing things.

  “Journee, do you hear me?!”

  It’s really him. She dropped like a stone, her head making a thumping sound as she hit the carpet.

  CHAPTER 35

  VERA

  “Mommy!”

  “Ms. Vera!”

  Skyy and Aidan, Taj’s son, greeted Vera with bear hugs around her waist as she opened the door.

  “Mommy! Mommy! Me and my brother—”

  “My brother and I,” Vera corrected Skyy.

  “My brother and I saw you on TV!”

  “You did?” Vera forced herself to smile.

  “Yes, Ms. Vera.” Aidan giggled.

  Why is he here? I just want him away from my door. He’s a child. I know. But every time I look at him, I see my husband making love to his mother.

  This shit is sick.

  I need to shake it.... He hasn’t done anything to me.

  But I feel like he has. Just saying hello to him is a struggle.

  Act like an adult for once.

  Damn.

  “Ms. Vera,” Aidan carried on, “I was sooooo excited when I saw you on TV. I had no idea you were a star!”

  “Don’t worry, Mommy, I checked ’em on that,” Skyy interjected. “I let him know that you were a star, you were rich, and that when you stepped into a room, you give all the chicks fever. Oh, and you know what Aidan asked me, Mommy?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why you and Daddy don’t live together if you’re married.” Skyy placed a hand on her hip and twisted her lips like a miniature Aunt Cookie. “I told him, ‘Li’l boy, you’re being a little too nosy. You ain’t, I mean you haven’t, lived but thirty bleep-bleep-bleepin’ minutes—’ ”

  “All right, Skyy,” Taj warned.

  “Daddy, I wasn’t being grown. Was I, Aidan?” She turned toward her brother.

  Aidan hesitated, and Skyy said, “Boy, don’t make me elbow slap you. ’Cause I will cut you so deep down past your bone marrow that the only thing left of you will be your shadow!”

  “Skyy!” Vera tapped her lightly on the mouth. “Apologize right now!”

  “Mommy!”

  “Or would you like to be marched into the bathroom so you can do a little painful tap dance from my hand slapping those thighs?”

  “Sorry, Aidan.” She dropped her head, her two ponytails swinging forward over her shoulder.

  “And it won’t—” Vera stressed.

  “And it won’t happen again.”

  “Now you need to stop being so fresh.”

  “Mommy, I was just trying to tell Aidan that Daddy didn’t live here because you tossed all of his clothes over the balcony. And when you two stop being mad at each other, then you’ll stop crying at night and Daddy will come home. And, Mommy, did you know that someone broke into Daddy’s place and tore it up? Killed the fish and everything!”

  Vera didn’t respond. Instead she glanced at Taj and then back down to the children.

  “Mommy, can I show Aidan how we redecorated my room?” Skyy pulled Aidan’s hand and brushed past Vera and into the house before Vera could say “hell no.” She turned back to Taj, who stood on the opposite side of the threshold. “So what are you going to do? Sit in the hallway, wait in the lobby, or come back in an hour or two?”

  “None of the above; I’ll be coming in.” He placed his hands on her waist, moved her to the side, and walked in.

  “Aren’t you violating your restraining order? And why didn’t you call for me to come to the police station? Isn’t that the arrangement, Dr. Bennett?”

  Taj placed his hands on Vera’s waist and pulled her into him. “Is this what you really want to do? You want to argue? Did you drop her off at the police station or did you call me like you had some sense and ask me if Skyy could please stay with me for a couple of days while you stayed with Jaise?”

  Silence.

  “Exactly. Now cut that shit out and act like you remember how to hold a decent conversation with your husband.” He kissed her lightly on the lips and tapped her on the behind. “How’s Jaise?”

  “Not good.” Vera felt a rush of tears inching up on her. “The funeral was yesterday. And every time I think about Jabril lying in that casket, it breaks my heart.” Unable to hold back her tears any longer, Vera wept into Taj’s chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “It’s painful, baby. I know it is. And you and Jaise are so close.”

  “And he wasn’t that bad of a kid.”

  “I know. But some of his choices were, baby.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She wiped her eyes and softly stepped out of his embrace. “Are you hungry?”

  “No. But I’ll have a glass of—”

  “Perrier.”

  Vera poured Taj a glass of the French mineral water and dropped two ice cubes in it. “You can keep the glass.” She placed it in front of him as he sat at the kitchen island. “There were only two in that set and being that you’re going for half of everything . . .”

  “You just can’t help yourself.” Taj shook his head. “Why can’t you just give in to the feeling of enjoying my company? Are you that scared to admit that you made a mistake when you filed for divorce?”

  “I’m not—”

  Bzzzz . . . Bzzzz . . . Taj’s phone vibrated on his hip. “Who is this?” He squinted at the phone. “One minute, Vera. Let me get this. “Hello?” He paused. “Uncle Boy, why are you calling me from a blocked number and why are you whispering?”

  “That’s a damned good question,” Vera said.

  “No, I can’t meet with you right now,” Taj said into the phone. “I’m with my wife at the moment.” He paused again. “Producer? What producer—I’m not talking loud, Uncle Boy. . . . Maury Povich? Why do Maury Povich’s producers keep calling you?”

  “What is he talking about?!” Vera demanded. “I know his ass doesn’t have a baby!”

  “Uncle Boy, that’s ridiculous. I will not be using my lab to run some bootleg blood test for you. And a forty-five-year-old woman is not a baby. Her mother can threaten you all day, but she cannot get any child support from you, so your Social Security is safe. Now who you need to worry about is Aunt Cookie. I won’t tell Vera. A’ight, bye.”

  Taj looked up at Vera. “My uncle
is crazy.” He laughed.

  “He’s my uncle.”

  “Damn. We’re not even family anymore either? So you want me completely out of your life, huh?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that perhaps right now we’re family, but that has an expiration date. I know you received your letter for the divorce hearing.”

  “An expiration date?” Taj said, and looked at Vera in disbelief. “You know what? Maybe I need to leave before this turns into another argument. Let me get my son, whom you really don’t want here anyway.” He stood up.

  “I resent that! I don’t mind him being here, and if I did, he wouldn’t be here, or your ass either. Now sit down and stop starting shit that you can’t finish.”

  “I can finish everything that I start.” He stepped around the island and into Vera’s personal space. “I’m not the quitter in this marriage.”

  “You’re calling me a quitter?”

  “If the shoe fits.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  “Look, let’s talk about something else.”

  Taj shook his head. “If you insist. Uncle Boy told me that Rowanda was here visiting from Chicago. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Vera said matter-of-factly. “I haven’t seen her for two days.”

  Taj looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “In the middle of the party Milan gave for her husband, she up and told me that she had to go. That she couldn’t breathe.”

  “Why didn’t you go after her?”

  “She flew out the damn door before I could say a word or follow her.”

  “Vera, what the hell do you mean? You expect me to believe you couldn’t follow her?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what the hell’? Look, we both know that my mother is a junkie, okay? There’s no hiding and no escaping that. This is part of the reason I hate for her to come back to New York, because . . .”

  “Because what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Say it. Tell me.

  Unexpected tears streamed down Vera’s cheeks. “I’m just tired of her always pulling this shit! And no matter how damn grown I am, I still feel like that same little kid on edge, waiting for her mother to bust out the crack pipe of disappointment.” She wiped her eyes. “Look, ummm . . .” She turned toward the hallway. “How about you let Aidan spend the night with his sister and you come back tomorrow and pick him up?”