Money Never Sleeps

by Tu-Shonda Whitaker

  “Chaunci?”

  “Yes, this is Chaunci.”

  “This is Emory.”

  “Hi …” She hesitated.

  “I owe you an apology for my lateness,” he said. “I had a rough evening at work and it delayed me getting out of my house on time. Now I’m playing bob-and-weave through New York City traffic.”

  “I understand that.” Chaunci smiled.

  “Understanding,” he said. “I like that.”

  She chuckled. “I understand a few minutes. Not an hour.”

  “I wouldn’t waste your time like that, which is why I’m calling. I’m only a few minutes away and I hope you don’t mind but I called the restaurant and asked that the server bring you a bottle of Merlot while you wait. I promise on the next date I won’t be late.”

  “Aren’t you presumptuous?” she teased. “A second date?” She wondered why his comment made her blush.

  “Based on everything Milan told me and from how sweet you seem and sound right now we definitely have a second date in the near future.”

  “In that case, I’d love to have Merlot.”

  “Well, if you’d love to have it, then I have to make sure you get it.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “That you will.”

  Damn … Chaunci thought as she squeezed her inner thighs. His deep voice made me horny as hell … maybe I am desperate … or maybe I just need Jesus …

  “Merlot, ma’am?” the waiter said as he placed a chilled bottle in the center of the table. He poured Chaunci a glass, smiled, and walked away. As she took a sip she said a silent toast. Here’s to the night getting better …

  Five minutes later, “The party of Chaunci Morgan, please,” floated over Chaunci’s shoulder.

  “Right this way, sir.”

  That’s him. She sucked in her stomach. What am I doing and why the hell am I nervous? She quickly popped a dinner mint into her mouth. Relax. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. “Please let this negro be sane.”

  She opened her eyes and to her surprise stood the same fine ass, six foot two, trifling mofo that she’d just fired hours ago, holding a bouquet of red roses. Only now instead of wearing a blue jumpsuit he was dressed in black Armani slacks and a lavender button up. He had the audacity to be even more beautiful than he was before: chestnut colored eyes that sparkled, beautiful dark mocha skin that reminded her of the actor Djimon Hounsou, and a strong African chief-esque presence, complimented by an edgy swagger. Goddamn.

  “Oh hell no,” they said simultaneously.

  “Did you set this up?” Chaunci spat.

  “Did I set this up—?” He said baffled.

  “You knew who I was all the time!”

  “How would I know that?!”

  “I don’t believe this. I’m soooo sick of men and their bullshit!” Chaunci snapped and stood up. “There’s no way in hell you didn’t know who I was earlier today! This whole deal was a set up, you just wait until I call Milan and cuss her ass out. Ugg! I don’t believe this. Oh I’m going to—”

  “Shut. The. Hell. Up. Damn,” he said exhausted. “What is your problem?” He stepped into Chaunci’s personal space, his minty breath landing directly on her lips. “Really, sweetness, what’s good with you, because you are way too beautiful and too sexy to be this over-the-damn-top. Like I said I didn’t know who you were earlier today, but I know who you are now, which is why I’m leaving, but before I go I’ma hit you with this—I don’t know what your ex did to piss you off, but you need to chill before you miss out on everything and everyone meant for you.”

  “And what does that mean? Don’t tell me you think you’re meant for me, Romeo?”

  “The name is Emory and I know damn well I’m not meant for you, because you talk too damn much and have gotten on my damn nerves, fa sho’.”

  “Then that makes us even.”

  “It doesn’t make us shit.” He slapped the roses and a hundred dollar bill on the table. “That’s for the wine. Have a good night.” And he walked out, once again leaving her center stage.

  Chaunci looked at the roses and then into the camera, pissed that he’d made her panties wet, and her nipples hard. “Fuck him!” she said as she grabbed her purse and stormed out the door.

  The Club

  Seven o’clock … He should’ve been here two hours ago, Milan thought as she opened her apartment door and smiled at her guests: a few of Kendu’s friends and some of his ex-teammates, who walked through the door bearing gifts and well wishes.

  “Thank you for coming.” She forced herself to smile, as she looked from her guests to the camera, and back again. “There’s food everywhere and plenty of champagne. Now all we need is my fiancé and we can have an engagement party.” She tried to joke but the humor fell flat. She walked over to the CD player and turned up the instrumental jazz music, hoping that it would drown out her thoughts. It didn’t.

  He’s not coming.

  Seven thirty.

  The bell rang.

  Please God.

  Milan cut through the center of the buzzing crowd and opened the door. Chaunci.

  “Hey, boo!” Chaunci said as she and Milan exchanged cheeks. Chaunci handed Milan a bottle of champagne. “I’m sorry I ran late. I was finishing up some last-minute things at the office.”

  “It’s Saturday, Chaunci. Why were you at the office?”

  “Kobi’s with Idris and I had some things to do.”

  “Which means you had nothing to do. I have to get you a boo.”

  “Oh, hell no you don’t.” Chaunci eyeballed the room. “Where’s Kendu?”

  “He didn’t get here yet.”

  “What?” Chaunci said, shocked. “Where the hell is he?”

  “I don’t know.” Milan shook her head as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ve called him a thousand times and he hasn’t answered.”

  Chaunci squinted. She was clearly confused. “What do you mean he didn’t answer?”

  “I’ve called every damn hospital in New York and New Jersey. Hell, I even called the damn police precincts.”

  “Well where is he? Did he know about the party?”

  “He knew,” Milan said as she walked toward the kitchen.

  Chaunci and the cameraman followed behind her. “He better hurry his ass up and get here then,” Chaunci said. “Or I’ma cuss his ass out like you need to.”

  Jaise gripped the steering wheel of her Range Rover with one hand as she raced up the West Side Highway with Vera in the passenger seat. “I don’t know what possessed me to be seen at Milan’s low-budget-ass hoedown.” Jaise eased a cigarette into the corner of her lips.

  “Low-budget?” Vera said.

  “Exactly. Who’s ever heard of having an engagement party where you’re not only asking for monetary gifts but also telling your guests to make the checks out to your charity? What’s the charity, Milan’s rent?”

  Vera laughed. “It’s a charity for homeless women and children.”

  “How tacky.”

  “Tacky?” Vera said taken aback. “How is that tacky?”

  “Because just last year Milan was homeless and now she wants to exploit it and capitalize off the shit, as if her man-stealing ass has ever spent a night in a shelter. Pathetic. What an attention whore.”

  “You really don’t like her, do you?”

  “And you do?”

  “Not really, but I’ve run into worse. Chaunci is the one I can’t stand.”

  “Yeah,” Jaise agreed. “Chaunci’s li’l country ass is a hot-barnyard-mess.”

  Vera laughed. “But Milan isn’t as bad. And when she called to invite me I felt like she was trying to be nice.”

  “First of all, calling to invite people … what happened to written invitations that arrive by mail?”

  “It’s an informal party.”

  “Invites to an engagement party should always be formal.”

  “Everybody is different.”

&nbs
p; “Either do it all the way or sit your ass down. As far as I’m concerned Milan’s living proof that you can take the hooker off the block but you can’t take the block out of the hooker.”

  “What?”

  “You did know she was from the projects.”

  “I’m from the projects.”

  “Yeah, Vera, but you were saved early in life.” Jaise waived her hand. “Milan is just a natural-born ’round the way-hood-ho in my humble opinion.”

  “You did not just say that. There’s no way in hell, with as much as you got going on in your life that you are really this bougie.”

  “Bougie?” Jaise said, taken aback. “I’m not bougie at all. I’m a little offended by that.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Jaise. But you seem a little … you know.”

  “What?”

  “Bougie.”

  “I’m really not and what a lot of people don’t know is that I come from real humble beginnings.”

  Vera batted her eyes, completely surprised. “Really?”

  “Yes, which is why I don’t discriminate. When I was a child, my neighbors received Section Eight and my sister and I played with them all the time.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Vera cracked up laughing. “I can’t even believe we’re holding this conversation.” She said more to herself than to Jaise.

  “I’m so serious,” Jaise insisted. “We liked to play with them, and sure, my mother made us wear gloves and a hospital mask when we went over there. But after she made us shower and shake our clothes out, we were fine. And she always let us go back the next day.”

  “Jaise,” Vera said. “Don’t tell anybody else that damn story.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it sounds crazy as hell and besides, the real reason you don’t like Milan is because of your friend from last season, Evan.”

  “Well,” Jaise hesitated. “That’s part of it. I mean, shit. Evan was mentally ill, don’t get me wrong, and I didn’t really know everything that was going on, but Milan was having an affair with her husband and now they’re together like that’s cool and raising Evan’s child, as if they’re a family.”

  “First of all, Kendu is the only father Aiyanna’s ever known and it’s not his fault Evan lied about him being her child’s biological father. What else was he supposed to do?” Vera asked.

  “You have a point,” Jaise conceded.

  “And I may not have been on the show last season, but I watched it, and Kendu clearly told Evan he didn’t want her but she wouldn’t let go.”

  “Yeah, she needed a psychiatrist, not for her husband to have a damn sex kitten.”

  Vera laughed. “Just be nice for the night.”

  “I will. I have my purse packed with my own wineglass, plate, and cutlery. So I’m determined to enjoy myself.”

  “You are way over the top,” Vera said as Jaise crept up the block. She pointed to a prewar brick apartment building. “This is it, and there’s a parking space.”

  “Oh, hell no.” Jaise blinked, as she whipped into the space. “She doesn’t even have a doorman?”

  “Jaise.”

  “What? I’m just admiring how they do it downtown, real ganglandish.”

  Boney James filled the air as Milan refreshed some hors d’oeuvres and Chaunci fixed a tray of champagne glasses for the guests. “Milan, I cannot get over you inviting Jaise and Vera. Hell, you might as well have invited Al-Taniesha.”

  “Oh, hell, no. I can’t stand Al-Taniesha. She and that Lollipop gross me out.”

  “But Ms. Bougie-ass Jaise is cool? That bitch is so phony. And you know I can’t stomach Vera.”

  “Don’t worry about Vera,” Milan said as she garnished her tray of shrimp and red pepper. “And maybe you should try and give Jaise a chance. I think she’s trying to be nice.” She dusted her hands.

  Chaunci looked at Milan and then dead into the camera. “That bitch wouldn’t know nice if it slapped her in the mouth.”

  “Just don’t you slap her in the mouth.”

  “I won’t. Just don’t you expect me to say one word to those heifers.” She picked up the tray of drinks.

  “Chaunci, if you don’t want to speak, then fuck it, don’t,” Milan said a little more abruptly than she intended. But she had other shit on her mind, like where the hell was Kendu and why hadn’t he answered her calls. Chaunci’s petty-ass catfight was not the dilemma she wanted to tackle at the moment.

  “Oh … kay.” Chaunci hesitated. “Maybe before you get really pissed and start cussing you should go into your bedroom and try calling Kendu again. I’ll handle the hors d’oeuvres and champagne.”

  “Yeah, maybe I should,” Milan said as the bell rang. “Maybe that’s him.”

  “I’ma try to be respectable and keep my thoughts, views, and opinions to myself,” Jaise told Vera as she pressed the bell, “but I can’t promise you a thing.” She curled her lip as she looked from side to side. “I swear Milan ought to be ashamed of herself living here.”

  “It’s not a bad building. It’s downtown. It’s trendy,” Vera said.

  “It’s ghetto. And besides, this is supposed to be Millionaire Wives Club, not Gold Diggin’ Boos.” Jaise rang the bell again. “I betchu this damn thing doesn’t work.”

  “You need some Valium and a drink.” Vera chuckled.

  “That reminds me.” Jaise searched through her purse. “I think I have a Zoloft in my bag. ’Cause if I see a roach I know I’m going to have a panic attack.” She pressed the bell once more. “What’s taking them so long?”

  Finally the knob twisted and Milan stood there smiling. “Hey, ladies. I hope you weren’t standing out here too long.” She air kissed Vera and Jaise on both cheeks.

  “Well, when you don’t have a doorman, it’s not as if anyone can announce that we’re here.”

  Milan paused and her eyes clearly cussed Jaise out.

  “We weren’t out here too long.” Vera cut across their awkward moment of silence and handed Milan a bottle of wine.

  “Come in.” Milan smiled.

  “Hold tight to your bag,” Jaise whispered to Vera as they followed Milan. “There are some shady looking motherfuckers in here.”

  Goddamn. Chaunci looked up and into the eyes of the brick wall that her tray of filled champagne glasses had crashed into. She knew she’d seen those eyes before, that face, someplace. She just couldn’t pinpoint where.

  But at this moment she didn’t give a damn … or maybe she did. Maybe she cared enough to enjoy the warmth of his stare. Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his full seductive lips, thick neck, broad shoulders, and wide chest. He had an athletic build and was extremely tall, but she was too wrapped up in his smooth blackberry skin, to guesstimate how tall he was. All she knew was that he was the right height to hoist her into the air and fuck her.

  I have lost my damn mind.

  “I’m soooo sorry,” she said as the glasses crashed to the floor and the champagne ran from the man’s button-down polo to his slightly baggy jeans to his black leather Louis Vuitton sneakers. “I really am.” She dabbed the champagne from his shirt, which now clung to the center of his chest.

  Hard. Washboard. Six pack. Damn … And that’s when it clicked. She knew exactly who this was. “Emory?” She said and her blush quickly faded into a frown. “Oh, hell no.” She sighed. “I knew I forgot to ask Milan if you were invited, so I could’ve stayed my ass home.”

  “Then you’d be leaving home the best part of you,” he said, his eyes reflecting her thick hips, her hard nipples, her face. He took the napkins from her hand and dabbed at the spill. He smiled and immediately she thought about breast-feeding him.

  Why are the assholes always so fine?

  “And besides, you wouldn’t have stayed home.” He stepped over the mess they’d made and into her personal space. “You were supposed to be here and I needed to be here.”

  “You needed to be here?” She took a step back.

  He took a s
tep forward. “I wanted to see you.”

  “For what?” She attempted to take a step back but was halted by the wall directly behind her.

  He smiled. “You just gon’ run to the end huh?”

  Silence.

  “Look,” Emory continued. “We got off to a bad start—”

  “You’re right, we did. You quit and left me stranded for a cleaning service.” Chaunci said pissed as she bent down and began cleaning up the mess.

  “You fired me and you know it.” Emory reached for the broom that one of the guests handed to him.

  “I had no choice. You were completely out of line!”

  “I had to call my daughter. My cell phone died and my child is only seventeen and I’m a single father. Now maybe you don’t have any children, but understand this—”

  “Technically, I don’t have to understand shit. And perhaps you did have to call your daughter but you could’ve been a little more professional! And for your information, I do have a daughter. She’s seven, thank you very much!” she said sarcastically as she took the dustpan of glass, walked into the kitchen, and dumped it into the recycle bin. Before she could turn around she felt her hand being tugged lightly.

  “Let me speak to you for a minute.” Emory gently pulled Chaunci into the guest bathroom and locked the door.

  “Do I need to call the cops?” she asked, taking two steps back.

  “Listen to me, I—”

  “I don’t have to listen to you!” She pointed into his face. “Now open the door.”

  “Look—”

  “Let me tell you something—”

  “Would you shut the hell up! Damn,” Emory said exhausted. “You talk too fuckin’ much. What the hell are you so defensive about? You’re too pretty to be so damn angry.”

  “Oh, don’t try and put this shit on me, and I am not angry. I just want out of this damn bathroom with you.”

  “You know what?” Emory opened the door. “You can leave. Because apparently you don’t know how to accept an apology and you’re too uptight to hear when someone thinks you’re breathtaking. To hell with it. I’m a thirty-nine-year-old man and I’m not gon beg you to hear me out. Fuck it.” And he walked out of the bathroom, leaving Chaunci standing there.