Money Never Sleeps

by Tu-Shonda Whitaker

  “Not really. I like to hit the sack before I go to bed.” He slapped her on the ass. “Why don’t you cut the stove off and we can head upstairs?”

  Jaise blushed and turned toward her husband. She draped her arms over his shoulders. “You are so fresh.” She did her best to sound bubbly.

  “And you love it.”

  “That I do.”

  Bilal kissed Jaise lightly on the lips and ran his hands up her thighs. “Seriously, though, when I came in from work this morning my intention was to make love to you.” He placed one of her hands on his hard dick. “I even called you to tell you that, so you’d be upstairs waiting for me, but you didn’t answer the house phone or your cell phone. Where were you?”

  Jaise hesitated and looked Bilal dead in his eyes. Should I tell him? She stared at him a moment too long. Not yet. She ran the back of her thumb across his lips and did all she could not to sound mechanical. “Look at all this food. Now where do you think I was? I had to go to the grocery.”

  “Really?” Bilal said more to himself than to Jaise. He took a step back and looked her over. “What’s up?”

  She pointed to the kitchen table. “All your favorites: pancakes, grits, cheese and eggs, apple turnovers—”

  “Not the food. With you. You seem a little … I don’t know.” He paused. “Is everything okay?”

  “No.” She landed a peck on his lips. “I feel like I really don’t show you enough how much I love you. And you are such a good man, so understanding. I know we have our times but I feel like I can tell you anything—”

  “You can.”

  She gave him a half smile that barely rose above the corners of her lips. “I know, sweetie. I’m just blessed to have you in my life.” She began to fix his plate.

  Bilal sat at the table. “Did something pop off that I should know about?”

  Jaise quickly turned back to him. Does he know? She read his face. No, he doesn’t. “Lieutenant Asante, can’t your wife just shower you with love?”

  “Or is it guilt?”

  “Guilt about what?” she said a little too quickly.

  “Missing our anniversary. I accepted your apology. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind—”

  Jaise rolled her eyes. “Are you going to toss that shit in my face forever?” She gave a hard flick to her wrist as she set his plate before him, causing some of the food to shift and the plate to slide a few inches to the side of him. “Please, I have apologized a thousand times and all you really need to accept is one of them.” Jaise felt her shoulders tense. “I really don’t want us to argue.”

  “I wasn’t trying to argue,” he said, baffled. “And what’s with the attitude all of a sudden? Were you even listening to me? I said I accepted your apology.”

  Did he say that? “Good, because we’ve been arguing too much lately.” She struggled to collect herself. “Besides, I go through enough with the bitches of New York.” She handed Bilal his cutlery. “These women cause me so much grief and havoc, especially when there are cameras around.” She poured two cups of coffee. “It’s like they become mean girls, nasty and self-inflated, bougie bitches, when there’s TV involved.” She handed Bilal his coffee.

  She sat directly across from him. He reached for her hand, said a simple blessing, and began to eat.

  “Truthfully,” Jaise said, “it makes no sense. We’re all successful women and you’d think we’d all get along. And have a nice, you know, family show filled with our husbands and children. But we, well, not me, but they don’t know how to get along for five minutes.”

  “Taping just started and already it’s a problem?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, they’re not the only ones who lose their minds when you all get together,” Bilal said, lifting a fork full of eggs to his mouth. “All of you add to the reason TV is mindless brain candy.”

  Jaise carried on. “I try to tell them to calm down.” She sipped her coffee. “That we have enough shit that jumps off in our lives that we don’t need to be amped up all the time. Wait a minute …” She swallowed. “What did you say?”

  “I said they’re not the only ones who lose their minds. You lose yours too when you’re on camera. You become somebody else.” He sipped his coffee.

  “What?” she said, taken aback.

  “Someone I don’t always like.”

  “Oh, really? And how long have you thought that?”

  “I’ve wanted to talk to you about it for a while.”

  “And say what?” she snapped.

  “That we, well, you, really, no longer need to do the show.”

  “No longer need to do the show?”

  “I know Bridget will threaten you with a lawsuit, but we can speak to an attorney about our options.”

  “So you have it all worked out?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I do. We have other things to deal with.”

  “Like?”

  “Jabril. And we need to work on our life together.”

  Jaise was completely shocked. This was not the way she’d planned or needed their conversation to go. “What’s wrong with our life together?”

  “Right now this whole ‘lights, camera, action’ bullshit is tearing us the hell up. I didn’t sign up for this—”

  “I was already signed up when you met me, and the show’s only for the summer.”

  “But it’s a summer of being fucked-up,” Bilal said. “We have other shit to do.”

  “You can’t just decide on your own without consulting me that I should leave my show, excuse me, my job, because you think it’s mindless brain candy.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, the stupid-ass candy means something to me!” she spat.

  “Apparently it means more to you than I do.”

  Jaise paused and tried to regroup. “You know that’s not true. You know I love you.”

  “Then listen to me, baby.” He reached for her hands. “I love you so much,” he said softly, stroking her face. “And I want us to have a long life together, but we have some things we need to work on.”

  “I don’t like the way this conversation is going. Are you trying to tell me something? Are you thinking about leaving me?”

  “No, Jaise. What I’m thinking about is being with you forever. But I need you to trust me and to follow my lead with some things. We’re young, baby. You’re only thirty-seven and I’m forty-one. We need to live, or did you forget?”

  “No, I didn’t forget. It’s just that I’ve got Jabril, and this girl accusing him of fathering this baby.”

  “That’s his problem.”

  “And he needs my help!”

  “No, I need you!” He let her hands go. “Can you be there for me? Be my fuckin’ wife?”

  “Since when did you start cussin’ so much?”

  “Since I got pissed off. This shit is crazy. I don’t like living my life on TV. I don’t like my wife becoming this high sadity, money-over-everything big-mouth. And I especially don’t like and can’t stand the fact that I’m laying up in the house with another grown-ass man, taking care of his ass, while all he does is skip off and make babies for you to take care of. That’s why I’m glad you left him in jail, because he needed to learn a lesson—”

  “Daaaaaang.” Jabril’s bare feet slapped against the floor as he dragged himself into the kitchen. He wore a white wife beater and a loose pair of boxers as he stretched and yawned in the doorway. “I can hear y’all all the way upstairs.”

  Jaise gasped. Her eyes quickly read the disbelief in Bilal’s eyes. She shouted at Jabril, “Didn’t I tell your ass to stay upstairs until I told you to come down here?”

  “I was getting hungry.” He looked around the kitchen and his eyes landed on the food. “You cooked my favorite, Ma. Apple turnovers.” He walked over and began to fix himself a plate. “I haven’t eaten like this in days. They serve some real messed-up food in Rikers. I hate that place.” He turned toward Bilal. “Law enforcement needs to fix their jails before
they start running out to men’s houses and arresting them for nonsense.”

  Bilal continued to stare at Jaise and she could’ve sworn that he’d stopped blinking. “Is this why I couldn’t reach you this morning?” Bilal clenched his lips tightly.

  Silence.

  “Yeah, this is exactly why.” He pointed. “Because you took your ass and bailed him out after I told you not to.” He arched his brows and his nostrils flared. “Cigarettes and food. I should’ve known.”

  “This is not the time,” Jaise whispered to Bilal. She looked toward her son. “Jabril, don’t touch my food without washing your hands.”

  “What do you mean, this is not the time?” Bilal yelled and pounded his fist on the table. “This is definitely the time! I’m sick of this! And you and your son need to get your shit together.”

  “Whoa.” Jabril spun on his heel, holding his full plate of food. “Bilal, you know I respect you, and I usually don’t get in y’all’s business—”

  “Bruh, you all up in our business. All the time.”

  “Whatever, man. All I know is that lately I don’t like the way you’ve been coming off on my mother, and I’m definitely not gon’ stand here while you talk to her crazy, coming all out the side of your neck and shit. Now, what you need to do—” Jabril poured syrup on his pancakes and stuffed a piece in his mouth. “—is lower your voice or you gon’ have a problem.” He chewed. “And that’s on my word.”

  “A problem?” Bilal said, shocked. “A problem?”

  “A problem,” Jabril assured him.

  “Jabril!” Jaise sprang from her seat. “You need to mind your business. You don’t speak to Bilal like that! Now apologize.”

  “Apologize?” Jabril said, surprised. “You trippin’. I’m up here standing up for you—”

  “You don’t even know how to stand up,” Bilal barked. “Up here with babies and shit all over the place.”

  “And what, you mad ’cause you don’t have one?” Jabril asked.

  “Jabril!” Jaise screamed.

  Bilal smirked. “You know what, Jabril? When I married your mother you became my son, which is why I really should be reaching across this table and fucking you up.”

  “Bilal,” Jaise said, “you’re going too far.”

  “Somebody needs to pick up where you drop his ass off. But don’t worry, I’ma let him live.” He looked back at Jabril. “Because I realize that you’re stuck. You don’t know how to be a man because nobody ever taught you. You don’t have a job, or any skills, and apparently the only thing you know how to do is make babies and live off somebody else’s money. So I’ma place the ass-whippin’ that you really deserve on reserve. But if you ever—” He stepped over to Jabril and stood so close that his breath blew into his eyes. “—and I mean ever, tell me how to speak to my wife, call yourself checkin’ me, or threaten me, then I’m gonna bust yo’ ass, youngblood. And that’s on my word.”

  “Bilal, stop.” Jaise slid in between them. “Leave him alone!” She then turned and screamed at Jabril, “I said apologize!”

  “Apologize? Did you just hear what he said to me?” Jabril asked.

  “You were wrong!” Jaise insisted. “As much as Bilal has been here for you!”

  Jabril shook his head. “Know what?” He walked to the cabinet and grabbed the roll of aluminum foil. He wrapped his food to go. “Let me just get my shit and bounce.”

  “Yeah, do that,” Bilal said. “And make sure you take enough to last a while.”

  “Jabril!” Jaise yelled as he stormed out of the kitchen. “Come back here!”

  “What the hell are you screaming after him for? Really, where the fuck is he going?” Bilal said, pissed, as Jabril ran up the stairs and slammed his door.

  “You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that!” Jaise spat at Bilal.

  Bilal stroked his chin and said, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have had to, because you should have taken some time out from your glitz, Gucci, and glamour to teach him how to be a man. Because I can’t clean up after you anymore. Fuck it, let his ass fall and fade to shit! I’m done with him! And if he gets in my face again you’ll be putting him the hell up out of here or I’ll be leaving!” Bilal walked out of the kitchen. As he reached for his car keys, Jaise snatched them and held them to her breasts.

  “Oh, hell no, motherfucker,” she said, fuming. “You think you’re going to say that to me and then run out the fuckin’ door?”

  “I’m not about to argue with you.” He reached for his keys and she snatched them away.

  “Well, then, you will fuckin’ listen. How dare you say some crab ass shit like that!”

  “Give me my keys!”

  “I’m not giving you anything but a piece of my mind. My son is nineteen, goddamn it! Haven’t you ever done anything fucked-up?”

  “This is not about me. This is about Jabril and where he’s headed!”

  “Who died and left his future in your hands? How dare you look down on my son! I know he’s not perfect but he’s mine.” She pointed to her chest. “And so what if he’s a teenage father? Shit, I had him when I was seventeen! Had my mother put me out and turned her back on me like you want me to do, where the hell would I be? Fuck that.”

  “So the solution is to coddle him? Oh, that makes a lot of goddamn sense.”

  “Don’t you worry about it! That’s my child. You weren’t there when he was born premature, weighing a goddamn pound. Or when he was nine and was diagnosed with leukemia. I don’t remember seeing you at his radiation treatments or when he was losing his hair. And you damn sure weren’t there when I cried every night and begged God to let my baby live. And now that he’s cancer-free and has survived nineteen years, I should just abandon him, ’cause you said so? Fuck that.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying!”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You’re not saying shit!”

  “You better watch who you’re talking to.”

  “And who would that be? Because from where I’m standing I don’t even see Bilal Asante, the man I married. What I see is a rotten asshole who’s worked my last fuckin’ nerve!” She tossed his keys at him, hitting him in the chest. “From this moment on, my son is off-limits.” She picked up her purse and stormed out the front door.

  Milan

  Milan snaked her tongue lightly over Kendu’s pecs and through his chest hair, working her way down his stomach. She dipped her tongue in and out of his navel, before making her way below his pubic bone.

  She took him into her mouth, softly caressed his scrotum with her thumb, and French-kissed his dick. The taste of him was so sweet and so exquisitely rich that Milan was certain that she was receiving a gift. His manhood was more than filling; she actually had to use a special technique in order to deep throat him without gagging.

  He pulled her hair gently, yet rough enough for her to feel his grip as she jaw broke him, forcing his cream to explode between her lips, some of it oozing from the corners of her mouth.

  She swallowed. Then smiled.

  They kissed, she eased up on his dick, and for the next hour he guided her hips until his pelvis contracted and he filled her vulva with more creamy gifts.

  “Sssss …” he hissed as his sticky candy flooded between her thighs.

  Milan came twice before collapsing and rolling over to his side. He cradled her in the crook of one arm. She tossed a thigh over his waist and wiped sweat from his brow. “I think you’re pussy-whipped,” she said proudly.

  Kendu gave Milan a playful smirk. “The pussy is good.” He caressed her thigh. “It was always good, from the moment I first popped that cherry—”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are so crass—”

  Kendu continued, “But it ain’t like that.”

  “What. Ever.”

  “If anything”—he pointed to his middle—“Double Barrel got you going.”

  Milan’s eyebrows rose. “Who the hell is Double Barrel?”

  “My dick.
”

  “Oh, puhlease. Get off your sack.” She laughed. “Who names their dick Double Barrel?”

  “What you want me to call it? Johnson? That shit is corny.” He cupped his dick. “And besides, look at all this dick, what would you call it?”

  “Damn,” Milan said as she suggestively stuck one index finger in the corner of her mouth and ran the wet tip down the spine of his dick. “That is a lot of dick. Alright, since it’s your birthday, I’ll give you Double Barrel for the day.”

  “Oh, you’ll give it to me, or is Double Barrel gon’ give it to you?” Kendu said and Milan noticed that every time he looked at her his eyes lit up.

  “You love me, don’t you?” she asked.

  “What you think?”

  “I think I can’t wait to be Mrs. Malik.” She cupped his face and kissed him on the forehead. “I was thinking.” She straddled him and stroked his box beard. “What if our wedding color was black?”

  “Black?” He frowned. “It’s not a funeral.”

  “Okay, what about coral?”

  “Orange.” He frowned. “Nah.”

  Milan sighed. “So then what’s your suggestion?”

  “I really don’t care what the colors are.”

  “Yeah, right.” Milan chuckled.

  “I don’t. What I care about is the budget. No more than ten thousand.”

  “You’re getting high, right? Ten thousand? Are you kidding me? My dress is more than ten thousand.”

  “More than ten grand? Who the hell is the seamstress? Jesus?”

  “Funny.”

  He placed his hands on her waist. “Why can’t we have something simple? We go downtown, tie the knot, I give you my last name, and be out.”

  “You are so cheap.”

  “You weren’t saying that when Double Barrel was freaking you.” He softly bit her chin. “I was the man then.”

  “That’s because you were the man, then, but now you’re being a cheap-ass.”

  He laughed. “You know you’re fly, right? Like the dopest chick I know.”

  “The dopest chick?” She twisted her lips to one side. “Like the hottest? Like, real super-fresh-funky-fly-dope? Or you just a lyin’ niggah?”