Millionaire Wives Club (10 page)

Jaise paced the corner until she was able to hail a cab. After giving her address to the cabby she tried not to cry, but when Carl, who’d slid into the cab with her, pointed the camera at her and asked her to express how she felt, tears slipped from her eyes and before she knew it the busy New York City streets went from a dance of traffic to a faded blur.

“I
love to cook,” Milan said, smiling at the camera as she cracked three eggs into a hot and oil-popping frying pan filled with red and green peppers and onions. “That’s why you don’t see any staff around here.” She paused, almost gagging at the thought that she’d spat out such an outrageous lie. She didn’t know how to cook, and Yusef refused to eat any of her experiments. “Yusef loves it.” She waved away the burning smoke that rose from the pan. “I have him spoiled.” She took a knife and cut off the burned ends of the omelet, then slid it onto a plate and garnished it with parsley.

Milan poured Yusef a glass of orange juice and hummed a Kirk Franklin gospel tune. She looked toward the bedroom and called, “Yusef, breakfast is finished, honey.” Milan stood silent for a few seconds and then said into the camera, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed for a new volunteer position I’m starting at the hospital.” She gave a Miss America wave to the camera and eased into the guests’ bathroom. It was the only place she knew she would get absolute privacy.

She showered and dressed in her white nurse’s uniform. She hoped that she would do okay, because she wasn’t volunteering,
she was actually starting a new job as an emergency room nurse. And although she might have a degree in nursing, she hadn’t worked in a hospital since her internship in college.

“Hello, my name is Milan Hernandez-Starks.” She stood in front of the bathroom’s full-length mirror. “I mean Nurse Hernandez-Starks, I mean Nurse Starks. I don’t know what the fuck I mean,” she said, exhausted. She struggled to sound chipper. “Hello—I sound … so damn stupid.” She sucked her teeth and gave up.

“You sure do,” Yusef said as he tossed the bathroom door open without knocking and squeezed himself past Milan, not caring that the space wasn’t big enough for the two of them. He slid his feet over the cold subway tile, stood over the toilet, and started to piss. “Where is you goin’ today?” He shook his dick and flushed the toilet.

Milan frowned. Not only had he just pissed with the door wide open; he’d paraded in front of the camera naked. “You are so fuckin’ nasty,” she said under her breath.

“What, you don’t piss?” he asked as if she’d lost her mind. “Yo’ kidneys probably rotten than a motherfucker.”

“Yusef, just be quiet.”

“You gon’ get enough of trying to shut me up.” He looked at her white fitted nurse’s uniform and overcoat.

“What is you, Muslim?”

Milan rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I start at the hospital today, Yusef.”

“Doing what?” he snorted.

Milan whispered, praying that the camera crew and Bridget wouldn’t hear her, “Remember I told you I applied for a nursing job?”

“You kidding, right? You tryna play me?”

“This isn’t about you!” Milan said in a forceful whisper.

“Like hell it ain’t.” He looked up at the cameraman who stood in the doorway. “You a freak or some shit, lookin’ at my dick!

What, you gay? What the fuck are you standing there filming me naked for?!”

“Hold it, buster!” Bridget interjected. “You don’t talk to my camera guy like that! Go put some clothes on your ass if you don’t want it filmed!”

“Trick, fuck you!”

“Yusef!” Milan said, surprised. “Don’t say that.”

“She should mind her business!”

“No!” Bridget pointed. “Fuck you, you porno freak! Hmmm,” Bridget went on before Yusef could respond, “wouldn’t that be interesting, a reality show with a buncha porno freaks? And sonny here could be the star!”

Yusef slammed the door in Bridget’s face and turned his attention back to Milan. “You ain’t going to work.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said sarcastically.

“Fuck that. I got my wrestling and I just invested some money in this trucking company, so we about to blow up again. My coach gon’ see that I’m straight, and the next thing you know I’m back on my team and runnin’ the fuckin’ court.”

“Okay, Yusef.”

“Okay, Yusef, what? You tryna patronize Da Truef?”

“Listen, not this morning. I’m not going to argue with you. I’m tired and the day just started. I can’t live another moment of this fantasy life with you. We have no money left.”

“I have businesses. They just need a minute to get poppin’.”

“There’s no business, Yusef, and you’re too high all the time to wrestle.”

“Oh, so … suddenly you above Da Truef now?” Milan ignored him.

“I asked you a goddamn question.” He mushed her in the side of her head. “You think you better than me?”

She smacked his hand. “Do not fuck with me.” She pointed in his face.

“You can beat me now? Da Truef is such a bitch that a chick
can kick his ass, huh? That’s what you think of me?” He lunged his shoulders toward her. “I’ma punk in your Brazilian-ass eyes, huh?”

“My father was Dominican.”

“Whoo, I’m impressed.”

“Whatever,” Milan snapped as her cell phone started to ring.

“You look stupid.” Yusef laughed at Milan and said as she picked up her phone, “Fat, saggy ass.”

Milan tried to ignore him as she answered her phone. “Hello?”

“Milan?” came from the receiving end of the phone.

“Yes.” She took the phone away from her ear and looked at the caller ID. Not recognizing the number she said, “Who’s calling?”

“Kendu.”

“Oh.” She paused. “What is it?”

“Listen, I have Evan here and we’re calling to apologize.”

“For what? She was just being herself,” Milan snapped.

“And so were you,” Kendu retorted, “but I’ve put up with it all these years.”

“Funny.”

“Look, we really would like you and Yusef to come over for dinner on Saturday.”

“Oh hell—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. We’ll be serving steak and shrimp.”

“I’m—”

“Allergic to shrimp, I know, so scallops will be prepared for you.”

“Kendu—”

“We’ll see you then.” Before she could protest he hung up. She held the phone in her hand and thought about the invitation that had just been forced on her.

“Who the fuck was that?” Yusef snapped.

“Kendu. He just invited us over to dinner on Sunday.”

“For what,” Yusef laughed, “round two?”

“I can’t stand you.”

“Yeah, well, join the club. Now back to this job bullshit. You ain’t goin’.”

Milan snatched the bathroom door open. “The conversation is finished.”

“Oh, you must wanna be fucked up.” Yusef folded his arms across his chest.

“Would you go put some clothes on?” she said, tight-lipped. She looked at the camera. “I keep telling him I don’t want to be an exhibitionist.” She gave a fake chuckle.

Yusef slid a cigarette from the soft pack on the coffee table and lit it. Milan sighed as she placed her purse on her shoulder and slid her shades on. “Yusef, we need to talk when I come back.”

He tooted his lips and blew out a blast of air. “I hope this ain’t the same shit
we
keep fuckin’ talkin’ about every goddamn day.” He looked at the camera. “And I mean, every goddamn day.”

“Honey,” Milan said, doing all she could to sound sincere, “but you don’t even know what I would like to speak to you about.” She forced herself to smile.

“Then what you wanna talk about, Milan, how you don’t fuck me?”

Milan stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the camera. “Can you cut right here and give us a minute?”

“Nah,” Yusef snorted, “ain’t this reality TV? You said you wanted to talk.”

Milan knew for sure that he was high.

Yusef continued, “Let’s talk about how you got me jerkin’ off every morning and shit?” He grabbed his dick. “You see this, huh?” He flicked the tip. “There was a time I couldn’t keep you off the motherfucker. Now I don’t even get to put it in your ass no more. And why is that? Huh? Why is that?”

“Ask your broke-ass pockets,” she snapped.

“Oh, so what, you a whore now? You can only fuck me if I got some money? What kinda shit is that?” He looked at the camera. “Say this with me, kiss Da Truef’s ass.”

Milan sighed. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about a few things and we need to discuss them.”

“Oh, I see.” He blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Now you wanna turn yo’ back on Da Truef? What, Da Truef ain’t good enough for you?”

“Why are you always so extreme? I just don’t want this relationship anymore.” Milan shook her head; she couldn’t believe that she had just admitted that on camera. Image was everything and she was blowing the hell out of it.

“Oh, so just fuck Da Truef?” Yusef snapped. “So you been thinking.” He mashed his cigarette in the ashtray. “Well, Milan, Da Truef been thinking too. Da Truef been thinking about how he don’t even see you right now.” He pointed his fingers like a gun. “You done fuckin’ flipped, disappeared, and turned into some new shit.” He turned back to the camera. “What you see here, America, is a magic trick, Milan-style.”

“Yusef, like I said, this isn’t working out. I’m tired and I can’t do anything for you.”

“You ain’t never did shit for me, Milan!”

“Good, then it won’t be too hard for you to move on.”

“You want this to be over?” Yusef screamed.

“What, you missed the announcement!”

“Oh, now you usin’ compound words—phrases and shit.
Did I miss the announcement,”
he mocked her. “If you wanna step, Milan, then leave. Bounce ya big ass outta here, but Da Truef ain’t leavin’. You must’ve found some niggah who really wants your ass, but he won’t last. I’ll be sure to tell him that the big ass ain’t worth all the drama.”

“I can’t believe I sacrificed so much to be with you. This is crazy.”

“Sacrificed?” He cracked up. “Sacrifice something that makes a difference, sacrifice a goddamn sandwich, hungry ass! Must think you hot shit.” He laughed. “Think you gon’ get somebody else, when, how soon? Bitch, please.” He flicked his wrist.

“Bitch?” Milan couldn’t believe it. “Bitch?!” she shouted. “You called me a bitch?!”

“Yep,” Bridget interjected, “that’s pretty much what he said.”

Milan pushed Yusef in his chest.

“What’s the problem,” Yusef continued, “I should’ve called you a fat-ass bitch? I knew it. Okay, fat bitch.”

“You a bitch.” Milan paused. “A bitch-ass, sloppy, triflin’, sorry, wack-ass, lost-his-contract, non-ball-playin’, crackhead asshole of a bitch! You’re a useless-dick bitch!” She slapped his dick, which was now soft. “If I’ma bitch ya’ cockeyed, cane-walkin’, greasy-ass cookin’ mama is a bitch, bitch!”

“Greasy-ass cookin?!”

“And your goddamn ADHD kids and their mamas are bitches, bitch!”

“Oh, hold it.”

“I’m the one who put up with your sorry ass. I swear I shoulda listened to your son’s mother who told me you weren’t shit. She wasn’t fuckin’ crazy. She had good goddamn sense!”

“Now you listening to other motherfuckers about us, Milan? You know she hatin’ on me and you!” He pushed her into a corner.

“Ain’t nobody hatin’ on us!” she screamed. “That bitch knew you weren’t shit. It was me who didn’t know!” She pushed him in the chest again. “Get the fuck outta my way!” She shoved past him.

“So people can tell you anything about me, right?” He snatched her around by the arm. “That’s exactly why I just made you look like a fool on TV. You wanna pretend like you so much, but I just showed the world that you really ain’t shit.”

Instantly Milan stopped dead in her tracks and looked up in the camera. He was right. It was all hanging out now. A lump filled her throat and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t swallow it. After a few seconds of realizing that Yusef had set out to make a fool of her and she had fallen for it, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

J
aise checked her online computer orders from her customers and then forwarded them to her warehouse manager. She thought about going to a few salvage yards and flea markets but quickly changed her mind and instead walked over to her fully stocked wet bar and popped open a bottle of Patrón, threw four shots back, and then chased them with chardonnay. She was tired of falling for men whose fucking her well equated to air.

Jaise wiped tears from her eyes as she pulled a Newport from the soft pack resting on the coffee table and lit it. She stared at the crackling flame and the rising smoke from the cigarette before she slipped the butt into her mouth and took a pull.

As tears continued to pour from her eyes, she wished that she could rewind time and take herself back to a place where she felt okay with being by herself. But after a few minutes she wasn’t so sure that such a time had ever existed.

She heard Jabril’s keys in the front door and quickly wiped away the tears. She held her wineglass in one hand and her cigarette
in the other. As soon as her son walked in she felt like a lush. She was sure if she stood up she would fall.

“Jabril,” she said, glancing at the clock, “what did I tell you about coming in this house so late? You’re on punishment, or did you forget?”

He closed the door behind him and before he could respond Jaise yelled, “Don’t slam my goddamn door!”

“What’s wrong with you?” He frowned. “I just walked in the door and already you’re startin’.”

“You’re not obeying my rules.”

“Ma”—he pointed to the clock—“it’s five o’clock.”

“But you get out of school at three!” she screamed.

“What are you screaming for? I took a few minutes and kicked it with a li’l shortie. You buggin’!”

“Don’t tell me I’m buggin’. I’m tired of ungrateful-ass men, and you growing up to be one, just like your daddy and just like Trenton.”

“I’m not like neither one of them! And I don’t appreciate you saying that to me, because I didn’t do nothing to you. What you need to do is go base off at ole dude who treats you like garbage.”

Jaise felt the dam in her eyes giving way. She was doing her best to hold it together and project her anger onto her son’s behavior, but the truth was he hadn’t done anything recently, well, not today at least, and he didn’t deserve the way she was speaking to him. But who the hell else was there for her to take her anger out on, who had no choice but to take it? “Just go to your room!” she screamed, and before she could go on tears raced from her eyes and she was crying like a bumbling fool.