Millionaire Wives Club (7 page)

“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, but 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.

The Michael Knight royal blue gown she wore snaked like the number eight across her tight midsection, giving sneak peeks of her full and firm breasts, and the skirt rested perfectly on her hips.

Yusef walked up behind her, placed his arm around her waist, and posed for pictures. “You gon’ fuck around and get your ass kicked,” he whispered against her hair.

Milan hated how quickly she was failing at being the reality star she’d envisioned for herself. “You really don’t care about the cameras, do you?” she asked Yusef, tight-lipped.

“Of course I care. Isn’t this a reality show?”

“You know it is.”

“Well, welcome to your reality,” he said as they posed for another picture.

Jaise sat in the back of her silver Rolls as the driver cruised up the highway. She pressed her cell phone to her MAC-covered lips, wondering what exactly she should say to Lawrence about Jabril. She hated calling him for anything, unless it was about her alimony check or child support, because she knew outside of that he didn’t care.

“Hell with it.” She dialed Lawrence’s number.

After several rings a soft female voice answered, “Hello?”

Jaise sucked her teeth. She was instantly pissed as she realized the drama that was sure to arise with Lawrence’s jealous and overbearing
wife picking up his line. “Robyn?” Jaise snapped with a little more edge than she intended.

“Who is this?” Robyn’s soft voice quickly dropped an octave and picked up a tinge of attitude.

“It’s Jaise”—she sucked her teeth—“how are you?”

“Look, my husband is busy.”

Jaise chuckled. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“What do you want?”

“I need to speak to Lawrence—”

“If you think you’re calling here to start your around-the-way drama, you’re dead-ass wrong. And if you have a problem with me telling your son that he is not to call our house after nine at night because the baby is sleeping, then tough. Like I explained to him, his little ‘I’ve been to jail’ story didn’t impress me, especially since we don’t deal with hoodlums. So I don’t need you calling here to defend your son and argue with my husband about a sixteen-year-old gangster.”

Jaise was in shock. Jabril never told her he had called his father. Now she knew what his most recent attitude must’ve been about. “What you tell my baby, bitch?!”

“How intelligent of you. I see why your son’s a thug.”

Jaise tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Cancel Sag Harbor and drive me over to Montclair, New Jersey. I got a bitch I need to drag.”

“In case you missed the memo, I’m not scared of you, so you can approach me if you want to and see what happens. Oh, and I’m not going to be too many more bitches. Now, what do you want? My baby is crying.”

“Are you crazy? Really? Are you? Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? Fuck you and that goddamn baby. All I know is that Lawrence has a son with me, and I need to speak to him about him. Now, my suggestion to you is to put him on the phone, because if you don’t, wherever you are and whenever I see you, I’ma kick yo’ motherfuckin’ ass!”

“Who the hell are you talkin’ to?” Lawrence shouted into the phone, while Robyn screamed and cried in the background, “I’m tired of her. How could she say that about our son? I really don’t believe this!”

“Oh, now you’re on the phone, asshole?! Tell your wife to meet me someplace and see if I don’t backhand the shit outta her!”

“You better cool your heels, Jaise, because I’m not going to have you calling here and speaking to my wife and talking about my family like this.”

“You must be punch-drunk. You think I give a damn about trashy? I’m tired of going through this every time I call you. You need to have her understand that I don’t want you, Lawrence. I’m glad you’re off kicking her ass and not mine. Oh, and tell that ho if she calls my son a gangster again, I’ma burn a bullet in her ass and let her see who the real gangster is, trick.”

“I’m hanging up. We don’t have to take this.”

“We?” she said in amazement. “Are you still shaving your balls, ’cause I swear you need some hair on them. Jabril is your son! Or did you forget you had more than one!”

“What about Jabril?”

“He’s been getting into trouble lately, hanging out with the wrong crowd. And the other day he was arrested.”

“Yeah, Robyn mentioned something like that to me.”

“And you didn’t think to call me?” Jaise said, confused. “We may be divorced, but we are still parents.”

“Well, had you stayed and worked on our marriage and understood me, we wouldn’t be going through this.”

“This isn’t about us. This is about saving our son!”

“All I can say is send him to live with me and I’ll straighten him out.”

“What?!” Jaise shouted. “You don’t even call him. I have to call you and remind you when it’s your fuckin’ weekend, which over the last six months you have yet to keep. Let him live with you?” she said in exhausted disbelief. “You didn’t even think enough of
him to check your wife. Here she is calling my son a hoodlum, and I should send him to simply live with you, like he’s a pest I need out my house? What the fuck is really good with you, Lawrence?”

“Is that how you speak to me now, like a homeboy? Is that show you’re on called ‘Ghetto Superstars’?”

“Fuck you.”

“You lost that privilege.”

“Look, what are we going to do about our son?” “I already gave you my answer.”

“You’re his father, I’m his mother, and he’s going to do what he needs to do. And you and I are going to raise him.”

“I’m done raising him. He thinks he’s as grown as I am.”

“He’s sixteen.”

“Tell him that. And you know that all of this is upsetting my wife. So how about this: If you won’t send him to live with me, then don’t call me anymore. You get more alimony and child support in a month than most people make in a year, and if that’s not enough to solve the problems and keep his ass off the street, then oh well, not my issue. The bank is doing my part. Now you need to do yours.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it. Now I have to go. My wife has cooked dinner, something your gold-diggin’ ass never did. I’m still paying the bill for the goddamn chef you hired.” And he clicked off the line.

Jaise sat there staring off into space. Although she and Lawrence hadn’t gotten along and he hadn’t always done his part, never in a million years had she expected him to act like this when it came to their son. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and did her all to smile as the driver opened the door and the paparazzi rushed to the car and began flashing their cameras in her face.

After stopping for a moment to speak with her magazine’s photographers and giving them directives on what exactly she needed
them to capture, Chaunci posed for a few pictures on the red carpet and then headed toward the double doors of the mansion. She promised herself that she wasn’t going to let anything piss her off. She’d already been featured in the entertainment section of the
Daily News
, with them calling her the one-minute diva. One minute she was a diva like no other and the next minute she was threatening to whup somebody’s ass.

Chaunci grasped the sides of her skirt and lifted so that she wouldn’t trip over the hem, while her fitted corset felt as if it were choking her waistline.

As she smiled once again for the cameras and paparazzi, she realized that the man walking in front of her was Idris. She’d just learned yesterday that he had been traded to the New York Knicks as their starting point guard. Her stomach flipped. She hadn’t seen Idris since her senior year of college, and though she always knew that one day she’d run into him, she had prayed it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Chaunci tossed her shoulders back and acted as if she hadn’t noticed him. But, once the French horns sounded and the hostess announced her name, she saw Idris watching her intensely. She quickly turned the other way and headed toward Milan, whom she’d just spotted.

“Chaunci?” Idris walked up behind her and she turned around. Immediately she felt a heated rush. Idris was six four and towered at least six sexy inches above her. He was the rich color of toasted almond or sunbaked brown. He reminded most people of Tyson Beckford, with the slanted eyes and charismatic smile.

He looked down at her and his chocolate eyes told her that she’d been missed over the years.