Millionaire Wives Club (27 page)

She knew he had to be beyond pissed if he was sitting in her living room with Bridget and the camera crew.

“I had so much fun with my daddy and my mommy!” Kobi
screamed in excitement. “We went to American Girl Café, the makeup lounge, and I have a new puppy. His name is Bird. The next dog I get I’ma just name him Dog.”

“That sounds really nice,” Edmon said, speaking to Kobi but never once taking his eyes off Chaunci.

“Kobi,” Chaunci said, placing her bag down on the couch, “why don’t you go play in your room for a while.”

“Okay, Mommy.” Kobi waved. “Bye, Mr. Edmon.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

Once Kobi was in her room and her door slammed shut Edmon stroked his chin. “Where have you been all weekend?” he said a little too calmly.

“Oh, Mr. Montehugh,” Chaunci said in her best valley-girl voice, “is it possible that we can meet at the office perhaps tomorrow and discuss the article?” She attempted to play off the reason for his visit.

“Fuck that shit. Now, I asked you, where have you been? You spent the weekend with this man?”

Chaunci paused. Her whole life was spinning on its ass on TV. This was not supposed to be a soap opera about her life, but an inffomercial about why people needed a
Nubian Diva
subscription. “I couldn’t just drop my daughter off at his house. I didn’t know him like that.”

“That’s her father. What are you talking about? You couldn’t stay for a few hours and bring your ass back home? So what else did you do with this motherfucker? Did you fuck him?”

“Oh, my,” Bridget gasped. “Well I’ma just have to clutch my pearls.”

“I don’t think now is the time to discuss this,” Chaunci said, tight-lipped. “You are way out of line. This is not the time.”

“Is that a yes, you fucked him? Let me know so we can end this shit.”

Chaunci thought about how this would’ve been the perfect time to tell Edmon how she felt—maybe not share the details of
how she was doing more than riding Idris’s dick, but that she was loving him, and feeling him, and wanting him. But nothing in life could ever be that simple. Edmon was too entangled in her dreams, in her life, and in her struggle to maintain her status quo. She couldn’t afford to be spewing out a bunch of carefree words about a weekend filled with carefree actions.

She swallowed. “Edmon, I am really sorry.” She walked over and grabbed his hand. “I didn’t mean to be inconsiderate, and I know that we have been having some trying times, but I really want us to work past this, okay?”

Edmon stood astonished. “You really think I’m crazy?”

“Damn, Edmon, I just apologized. What more do you want?”

“Let me ask you this again, while I think we have a chance to part amicably. Did you sleep with him?”

“No,” Chaunci said a little too quickly.

“Do you still want to marry me?”

“Cut.” Bridget stepped in between them and turned to Edmon. “I didn’t know she was engaged, and that caught me a little off guard, so I wasn’t able to direct you. So do you mind saying that again?”

“Not now, Bridget,” Chaunci snapped as she grabbed Edmon by the arm and pulled him to the side. “Edmon, baby, I care about you.”

“You never answered my question.” Edmon looked at Chaunci with a disbelieving look on his face. “I said that I care about you deeply.”

“That’s exactly what you said.” Edmon walked toward the front door and opened it.

“Edmon, wait.”

But he didn’t. Instead he continued down the hall and Chaunci watched him step onto the elevator. As she thought about what had just happened, she heard Bridget behind her. “Carl,” Bridget attempted to whisper, “perfect scene. There won’t be any need to edit this.”

E
van had her publicist release a statement to the papers, the gossip sites, and the bloggers that she was in the hospital after a car accident, and the cause was due to stress, as she’d been working long hours with her charity and had fallen asleep at the wheel. It was almost believable considering her life had returned to semi-normal.

Kendu had been home all day for the last two weeks; the scent of Chanel No. 5 no longer lingered on him; and that along with the shot of lithium the hospital gave her before she signed herself out made her feel sane.

They were in the middle of a family photo shoot for the cover of
Essence
magazine. Kendu’s story of rags to riches and the money he’d raised for his charity had attracted national attention.

Evan sat on the floor, with her arm draped across Kendu’s lap, and Aiyanna stood behind the leather wing chair Kendu sat in, an awkward position for a family photo, but one that Evan insisted the photographer take and she was adamant that they use it for the cover. She could feel Kendu pushing her off of his lap after the picture was taken.

“You all are really a lovely family,” the photographer said. “What’s your secret?”

“Love.” Evan smiled. “Nothing but love.”

Kendu looked intently at Evan. His life was extremely controlled by image and position and bullshit about what other people thought and their values and opinions. He’d only been home around the clock because he was scared to leave his daughter with Evan. And he hadn’t called Milan, because he couldn’t think of any way to explain that he needed her to hold on just a little while longer. So he took the hit on the chin and risked losing the woman he loved forever, because he knew if he called her or he went to Soho and Milan told him she was leaving him, the script would flip and he would be the one to act crazy.

Evan tried not to look in Kendu’s eyes. She knew he was only doing this because of his image, and since he was this year’s recipient of the Arthur Ashe Courage Award, the last thing he needed was a scandal. So she decided she would take what she could get. Besides, if she couldn’t have him the way she wanted and the way she needed, then his reputation would pay dearly for it.

“Mrs. Malik,” the governess called, walking into the dining room and standing near the door, “Bridget is on the phone.”

Evan looked at the photographer. “Are we done?”

“Yes, we are?”

“Great”—Evan turned to Kendu—“honey, I have a lunch date with the girls: Jaise, Chaunci, and
Milan.”
She rolled her eyes. “So I’m sure that’s why Bridget is calling.” She looked back at the governess. “Tell her that I’m on my way.”

W
hen Evan arrived at the Russian Tea Room, Jaise and Bridget were already seated and the camera was rolling. Evan was confident that in her gray and white diagonal-striped Fendi dress she looked beautiful; the long bell sleeves covered the scars of her self-inflicted wounds and the voices in her head were silent for the moment. She walked over to Bridget and Jaise and air kissed them both on the cheeks. “Darlings.” She batted her eyes.

“Hi, sweetie,” Jaise said. “How’ve you been?”

“Wonderful.”

“Really?” Bridget said. “You want to tell the camera why you were in the hospital?”

“My publicist released a statement.”

“I mean the real story.”

“Bridget, you’re pathetic,” Evan dismissed her, waving her hand. “Histrionics at any and all cost.”

“Pretty much the name of the game.”

“You know what,” Jaise said defensively, “why don’t you give it a rest, Bridget. She doesn’t have to keep explaining herself.”

“Okay, well, why don’t you explain yourself,” Bridget said snidely. “Explain why a woman of your caliber would fall in love with a Brooklyn cop. Not the chief of police, not the captain, but a low-level detective. Would you like to explain that to the camera?”

Jaise twisted her lips. “What business is it of yours? Bilal is a great man. You act as if his being in my life is a secret. He’s been in front of the cameras.”

“My sentiments exactly, so why don’t you explain.”

Evan looked confused. “What happened to Trenton?”

“He was cheating on me.”

“So you just up and dump him?” Evan batted her eyes. “And for a cop? Are you crazy?”

“Look,” Jaise said, clearly agitated, “so what if he isn’t rich.”

“So what if he isn’t rich? Did you forget about your little alimony situation, or are you really that desperate? Damn, Jaise, be for real. If you get remarried your forty thousand dollars a month in alimony stops. My God.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bridget said. “Mo’ drama unveiled.” She looked toward the camera and arched her eyebrows. “Stay tuned. So if you marry a broke man, Milan won’t be the only has-been, is that what she’s saying, Jaise?”

Jaise cut her eyes at Evan. Her alimony settlement was something she didn’t want anyone to know about, not since her divorce decree had a gag order in it. Jaise never thought the details would slip out, let alone on national television. “Who said I was getting married?”

“I don’t believe this.” Evan shook her head. “You have hooked up with the local fuckin’ Jamaican cab driver.”

“He’s not a cab driver.”

“He might as well be. What’s the difference? As a matter of fact, a cab driver makes more money.”

“Why is everything about money? Maybe I actually love him.”

“What does love have to do with it?” Evan shook her head. “You would really lose it all for a cop?”

“You losin’ all for a football player.” She looked Evan over. “Everyone knows what you were really in the hospital for. It’s no secret that you have a mental health diagnosis. People talk, doctors get paid off. Please, that shit is all over the Internet, which is why you released a statement saying the opposite. So when you get your thoughts in order, you tell me about my man, broke or otherwise.”

“Fuck you, Jaise.”

Jaise crossed her legs. “No, honey, for all intents and purposes”—she pointed at Evan—“fuck you.”

“Is that the new language for friends?” Bridget smiled. “Oh, and before I forget, Chaunci and Milan are on their way, and I need you two to be extrasensitive to Milan. No references to broke bitches spewed around, keep the welfare comments to yourself, and don’t ask her if her EBT card works here, because clearly this place doesn’t take food stamps.”

“Is she doing that bad?” Evan asked.

“Unfortunately, she is.” Bridget sipped her drink. “I just spoke with her last night, and she was sounding so pitiful.”

“Where was she calling you from?”

“I think she was walking the street, because I could hear the wind whipping in the background.”

“But they had so much money. How could they really be broke?” Jaise questioned.

“How many rich crackheads do you know?” Bridget asked.

“None.”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Jaise said, concerned, “should we give her money?”

“That’s awfully thoughtful of you, Jaise,” Bridget said, holding up her glass for the waiter to refresh her martini, “considering Milan called you a trashbox.”

Jaise practically choked on her drink. “Are you serious?” She cleared her throat.

“Looks like we’ve gotten here right on time, Milan,” Chaunci said as she and Milan walked in the door flashing mile-wide smiles. “I swear I heard someone calling your name.” She looked at Jaise, Bridget, and Evan. “Seeing as how the bitches have arrived”—Chaunci snapped her fingers—“let the chatter continue.” She laid her Ferragamo clutch on the table, and she and Milan took their seats.

Evan stared at Milan and she could clearly envision her riding Kendu’s dick. “Milan, Kendu and I—”

Milan couldn’t help how quickly her neck whipped around. “You and Kendu what?”

“Were thinking of asking you to be our new baby’s godmother.”

Milan started to cough. “Excuse me?”

“You’re pregnant?!” Jaise exclaimed. “Is that what’s wrong with you?”

“No,” Evan chuckled, “not yet anyway. But we are working on a baby. Aiyanna wants a little brother or sister.”

Milan looked around the room. She wondered if anyone else besides her and Chaunci heard the bomb ticking.

“Congratulations.” Jaise smiled. “Now, maybe you can judge your own business and stay out of mine.” She looked Evan over.

“I guess they stopped selling dogs,” Milan said as she crossed her legs one way and then nervously crossed them the other way.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” Evan snapped.

Milan sipped her drink, and said in the interests of peace, “Yeah, it was a joke.”

“So how long have you been trying to have a baby?” Jaise asked Evan.

“For the last two weeks.”

Milan looked around. The bomb had stopped ticking; it had exploded.

“Ladies,” Evan continued on, “my husband and I are getting it on all day long.” She sipped her drink. “I swear I’m turning into a freak. Every morning around nine we begin to make love all day.”

“Wow, Evan, I mean, I have to admit it took me a while to have sex in broad daylight,” Jaise confessed.

“Well, what is this,” Milan said, “confessions of the trashbox hookers?”

Bridget smiled and winked an eye at Jaise. “Told you.”

“Are you calling me a hooker, Milan?”

“Sure did. And what are you going to do? I’m so sick of this whole reality TV, cameras, and all of this other bullshit. Fuck it, I don’t like you.” She looked at Jaise. “And you, Evan, are pitiful. So I tell you what, shut the fuck up, keep my name outcha mouths, and don’t say shit else to me.”

Chaunci leaned against Milan’s shoulder and whispered, “I didn’t wear the right shoes to be bustin’ these bitches up.”

“Why the hell are you so angry?” Jaise looked taken aback.

“You know what,” Milan snapped, “cut the innocent, peacemaking bullshit.”

Evan looked at Milan long and hard, and the more she tried to contain herself the less control she realized she had. “Jaise, ignore this broke-ass, low-budget sleaze.”

“Don’t tell Jaise to ignore me. You need to be telling your man that.”

“I’ll kick your ass!” Evan reached across the table, and Jaise pulled her back.

Evan started screaming and Bridget snapped, “I can’t believe you just held her back! This isn’t the Layaway Hos, this is the
Millionaire Wives Club
. We don’t postpone shit!”

Jaise turned to Bridget. “You know what, I’m getting real sick of you. Most producers on these shows are quiet, and people don’t even know who they are, because they know how to shut up. But you, you are in everything! I can’t wait until this show is over because
then I can look at each and every one of y’all and tell you to kiss my ass.”