Money Never Sleeps

by Tu-Shonda Whitaker

  She slid to the floor and brought her knees to her chest. She wanted desperately to open the door, let him in, make love, and forgive him, because for so long—no matter what had happened between them—his dick had been their mutual soothing stick.

  But it couldn’t be this time. This time she needed to deal with his bullshit and he needed to face it.

  Kendu continued to bang. The last thing Milan remembered before her tearful and exhausted eyes closed, and the morning sun came up was Kendu whispering “I love you” into the crack of the door.

  Chaunci

  “Please, God,” was all Chaunci could pray. No matter how she tried, no other words came to mind. And yeah, she’d grown up in the church. Surrounded by amen corners and church mothers who knew the right words to put together and lay on the altar so it wasn’t that Chaunci couldn’t spew a religious soliloquy. She could. She just hated the contradiction of praying out of habit and not desire.

  And besides, how could she change her prayer midstream? She’d been praying all this time to be happy with who she was, and now she had to change and shake shit up by praying and asking God to change her, just when she thought He’d perfected the task?

  Chaunci was supposed to be independent, take charge, and do her own thing. And she did. But somehow in the midst of her emancipation and becoming a strong black woman, she’d never given herself permission to love and be loved without fear. Which is why she was at Emory’s office, reality-TV camera in tow. She leaned against the doorway and as Emory spun his chair toward her, she said, “Don’t turn around. Please just let me speak. Listen.” she paused. Just say it. “Scared as hell.”

  Pretty girls get lonely too. She hated that her mother’s voice and piss-poor advice haunted her at the wrong times.

  “All of my life I watched my mother cry at night because she was lonely, had been hurt, and made all the wrong decisions with men. I promised myself I would never be as weak as she was. So whenever I felt like I was about to lose myself in something, I ran from it, and that included love. I didn’t know how to love a man and not compromise who I was.

  “I could love my daughter unconditionally because she was an extension of me. But a man? Men. As fine and as pretty as they were, I watched them tear shit up all of my life, and I was scared of that.”

  Chaunci felt anxiety crawl up her back. She thought for a moment that she needed to turn around and leave, especially since Emory hadn’t said one thing. Finish. She drew in a sharp breath and eased it from between her teeth. “I want to love you, Emory. I do love you, and I’m willing to let all of this animosity from my past go. I’m willing to let you love me. And I’m sorry for being such a bitch.” She nervously chuckled. “I just hope you’ll be able to see past it and we can get things back on track.”

  She watched Emory’s chair turn around and her heart dropped. What the hell? She was beyond pissed. She placed her hands on her hips.

  Dressed in a navy blue and greasy jumpsuit was one of Emory’s workers. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, leaving streaks of grease and oil beneath his eyelids. “I would take you back if I could.” He sniffed. “But I think we would need to get to know each other first.” He walked over to Chaunci and extended his hand. “I’m Hank.”

  She left him hanging. “I don’t believe this shit.” She looked from side to side. “Where’s Emory?”

  “He just left. He let me use his computer to check my Black Planet account. I got a few honies hitting me up.”

  Chaunci had never been so embarrassed in her life. She looked into the camera and the only thing she could think to say was, “Shit happens.”

  She held herself together long enough to make it back to her apartment, sit in her living room, and give Bridget an interview of trash talking about her costars, with the exception of Milan. Instead she talked shit about Kendu. After she called him “sucker” and “dumbass” for hurting her girlfriend, the camera crew and Bridget were on their way out the door. “Thanks, Chaunci,” Bridget said as she stood in the hallway. “You’ve certainly kicked things up a notch this season. I just hope it’s enough. Otherwise you’ll be replaced by Shannon.”

  Chaunci slammed the door in Bridget’s face. No sooner had she walked away and headed toward her bedroom to sulk than her bell rang. “This goddamn Bridget.” She snatched the door open. “Bridget.”

  “I look like Bridget?”

  It was Emory.

  “No, well, I don’t know.” What the hell am I saying? “What are you doing here?”

  “Is that really what you want to say to me?” He looked her over.

  No. “I came by your shop looking for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And I practically made love to one of your attendants.”

  Emory laughed. “Yeah, I saw that.”

  “And—” Chaunci paused. “What do you mean you saw that? You were there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where were you? And if you heard me, why didn’t you come out?”

  “I’d left and when I came back you were there. So I listened. And I thought about what you had to say.”

  “And?”

  “And I think maybe we should try again.”

  Jaise

  Jaise listened to raindrops beat against her skylights as she lay faceup in bed and stared at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and ran her hands over the sunken spot that Bilal’s body had spent the last year carving into the mattress. The coldness of her Egyptian sheets chilled her palms and felt cool to her thighs as she rolled into his spot, clutched his pillow, and buried her nose into his fading scent. She wondered what she’d do when it was all gone.

  She desperately wanted to bury her need and desire for his touch, his nipple-sucks, his shaft pressed against her shaved middle, and his twelve inches of hardness sliding against her clit and slipping into her stream of thick cream. She mourned yesterday. She wished she could bring their good times back into existence. But she couldn’t. They were memories, and the only thing alive, well, and showing its existence were their bad times. And the bad times were what had cut off her windpipe and stuffed her esophagus with pain.

  A part of her knew—actually her whole existence more than knew—her fairy tale would turn tragic. Bilal was too good to be true, and the goodness, the fruitfulness of his kind of love wasn’t meant for her life. She’d been fated for fucked-up circumstances and no-good motherfuckers. Who was she really? Who was she to have such a man love her unconditionally?

  So maybe she’d willed him to leave her. Yeah, that was it. She’d envisioned that he would disappear from her life, because he’d become tired of the exact same thing she was tired of: her baggage.

  Tears rolled over the bridge of her nose and sank into her pillow.

  A few moments into embracing loneliness her phone rang. Jaise contemplated not answering, especially since her heart wanted it to be Bilal, but her Caller I.D. revealed that it was Jabril.

  Be strong. Being firm doesn’t mean you don’t love him. And hell, no, he cannot come back.

  Jaise wiped her eyes as she sat up in bed. “Hello?” she answered.

  “Ma,” Jabril said as if he were in a hurry.

  “Yes, Jabril.”

  “Ma, seriously, I need to come home. I’m sorry about all the shit I’ve done. I can’t take staying with Nicole and all these damn kids another day. I see what you and Bilal were trying to tell me.”

  “No, Jabril, you cannot come back.”

  “Ma, I know you’re mad at me. But I know what to do. I need you.”

  “I know you need me, baby. You need me to let you be a man.”

  “Ma, what am I going to do?”

  “You’ll figure it out.” And she hung up before the knotting in her stomach that told her this was her baby, the child she’d carried for nine months, pleading for her help on the phone forced her to give in. She prayed like hell she’d made the right decision.

  What kind of mother throws her baby away?

&nbs
p; You’re not throwing him away. You’re loving him.

  And who’s loving you?

  Jaise shook her head. She looked around her bedroom and did her all to chase the demons of memories away, but she couldn’t. She reached on her nightstand for her cigarette case. She tried to pop the case open and fumbled with the clasp.

  “What the fuck am I doing? What am I doing?” She swallowed. She knew she was a fool to have fucked up such a beautiful thing. He loved her. He loved her. And here she was, lying in bed, dead. Well, maybe she wasn’t dead, but she was damn sure dying.

  She tossed off her covers and got into the shower. She quickly dressed, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door, practically knocking down Bridget and the camera crew, who were standing on her stoop preparing to ring the bell.

  “Where are you going?” Bridget screamed. “We have to film your final episode!”

  “Fuck the episode,” Jaise spat as she slid into her car. “I have to go get my man!”

  Vera

  Vera held the phone to her chest, took a deep breath, and dialed Taj’s number.

  “Hello?” he answered on the first ring.

  “Taj,” Vera said, stopping herself short of completing her sentence with “Hey, baby.”

  “Vera.” He let out a sigh of relief. “It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “I’m okay.” She hesitated. “Listen, I wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight so we can talk.” She closed her eyes. She knew him well enough that she knew he was nervously stroking his chin.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’d love that, because we really, really need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  He’s stroking his chin again.

  “I just want to explain,” he said. “And I hope like hell that you understand how much I love you and that it’s not what it looks like. I didn’t cheat on you. I’m too in love with you for that. I—”

  “Taj, baby, sweetie,” Vera said calmly, “Let’s not discuss this over the phone. Okay?”

  “All right. What time do you want me to come over?”

  “In an hour.”

  “I love you, Vera.”

  “I know you do.” And she hung up, the sound of his voice replaying in her mind a little longer than she wanted it to.

  Vera stood in her dressing room and slipped on a fitted sleeveless black Chanel dress that stopped midway down her thighs. She stepped into her magenta snakeskin Louboutins and proceeded to do her makeup to perfection. Her long sweeping lashes curled at the ends, and her lips were colored with a deep rich plum lipstick.

  Her family, a few of her friends, her costars, and the camera crew were due to arrive at any moment, and she had to be sure everything was perfect and in its place. After all, this was her final episode of the season, and then she was done with reality TV.

  Hell, she had to deal with her reality, a space she’d been avoiding until now. Because now she had no choice but to deal with the turn of events that had suddenly and without warning grabbed her by the jugular.

  Ding-dong …

  Vera looked at her watch. It was exactly an hour. Just as she came out of her dressing room and headed to the front door, she noticed that Bridget and the camera crew had arrived and were setting things up. The closer she got to the door the more she heard Taj’s keys jingling and trying to twist in the lock. They were jammed.

  A smile ran across her face and a slight snicker escaped from her lips as she thought about how she’d had the locks changed.

  Taj pressed hard on the bell. A few moments later Vera opened the door and his presence filled the doorway. No matter how disappointed she was, there was no way she could ever deny his beauty. He leaned against the doorframe with one hand slipped in the side pocket of his navy blue linen pants. He wore a white linen button-down, with the top three buttons open, giving sneak peeks of his smooth chest hair.

  Vera felt a rush of mixed emotions, wanting to be wrapped in his arms yet also wanting to slice his throat.

  “You changed the locks?” He filled the doorway.

  “I did.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” He stepped into her personal space.

  She took a step back. “Are we really going to rehash what’s a bit much?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I think we should.”

  Breathe …

  Taj stroked his chin.

  Breathe again.

  “We’ll talk about the keys another time.” He slid the useless keys into his pocket and lightly pulled her into his arms.

  Almost instinctively she melted into his embrace, and he buried his nose in her hair, taking long breaths of her scent. “You feel so good.” He tightened his hold on her.

  Feeling her eyes fill with tears, Vera backed out of his embrace. Taj tangled a pinky finger with one of hers before completely letting her go. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed.

  “What’s all this?” He took a step back and observed the living room. There were linen-covered tables with caviar, shrimp, lobster tails, exotic cheeses, desserts, and buckets of chilled champagne. “You’re having a party?” Taj asked, puzzled. “I thought we were going to talk.”

  “We are.” She squeezed his hand. “We’re celebrating a new turn in our lives.”

  Taj stared at Vera and she wondered if he was tapping into her thoughts, so she quickly turned away and poured herself a glass of champagne.

  “So you want us to get through this?” Taj watched her closely.

  “Yes.” She made eye contact. “I do. I want this to end.”

  “Mrs. Bennett,” Vera’s assistant, Deborah, said as she walked into the room. She gave Taj a small wave. “Hello, Mr. Bennett.”

  He nodded. “Hello.”

  Deborah turned back to Vera. “Security called and said your guests have arrived.”

  Taj said. “What guests, Vera?”

  “Those who are going to help us celebrate.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Taj, it’s not that big a deal.”

  “Why do you keep cutting me off?” he snapped.

  “Listen.” She held his hand. “Sit back, relax, and enjoy the moment. Just be patient, okay? These are our family and friends. As a matter of fact—” She handed him a glass of champagne. “—have a drink.”

  Deborah opened the door and Vera’s guests quickly filled the room. Jaise and Bilal were the first to walk in.

  “Bilal,” Vera said with surprise. She smiled and greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s really good to see you.” She pointed to Taj. “You know my husband, right?”

  “Yeah.” Bilal walked over to Taj as Vera and Jaise embraced.

  “Long story,” Jaise said as she and Vera exchanged cheeks. “But he’s home.”

  “Hey, hey, now,” Aunt Cookie announced as she walked into the room with Boyden beside her profiling. “Whatcha workin’ wit? Aunt Cookie is in the building.”

  Shannon and Idris filled the doorway. Idris kissed Vera on the cheek and quickly made his way over to where Taj and Bilal were chatting.

  Shannon and Vera hugged tightly. “Whatever you decide,” Shannon whispered to Vera. “I’m here for you.”

  “And don’t forget about us, now.”

  Vera looked up and standing there were her childhood friends Angie and Lee. “I didn’t think you guys would make it.” Vera cried as they fell into a group hug. She wiped her eyes and said, “It’s so good to see you guys.”

  “You called and asked us to come,” Lee said. “And there’s no way we wouldn’t be here.”

  “That’s right,” Angie said. “And just so you know I came up from Atlanta packing, okay? That’s why I drove. Just in case we had to cap us a bitch, a kid, or a fine-ass doctor.”

  “Oh, my God!” Lee clutched her chest. “You had me riding in the car with you and a gun? You gon’ mess around and go to jail. And I will testify against you. I can promise you that.”

  “
Lee, would you calm down?” Shannon looked at her as if she were crazy. “It’s not that serious.”

  Lee snapped, “Shannon, you’re in New York. You’re not riding shotgun with Annie Oakley.”

  “Would you two stop it so I can introduce you to my friend?” Vera interrupted. “Jaise, as you can see, these are my sister girlfriends, Angie and Lee.”

  Jaise smiled. “I feel like I already know you guys.”

  For the next hour everyone chatted and mingled. They ate, drank, and moved a little to the jazz grooving through the surround sound.

  Vera glanced over at Taj and she could tell he was uncomfortable.

  “Can I have everyone’s attention?” Vera tapped her champagne glass with a fork, “Excuse me, excuse me.”

  “Shhh” floated around the room until everyone fell silent.

  Vera walked to the front of the room and her guests gathered in a semicircle around her. “I want everyone to share a toast with me. So please grab a glass of champagne.” Everyone complied.

  Vera continued. “Taj, come here, please.” She smiled and she could tell he was leery, yet he did.

  Vera clapped her hands. “I have exciting news. We have a new addition to our family.”

  Jaise gasped. “Are you pregnant?”

  “No, silly.” Vera gave her a half smile.

  “The reports and the blogs were true: Taj has a son.” She smiled. “By his old high-school sweetheart.”

  “What are you doing?” Taj mumbled.

  Vera continued. “And his name is Aidan. He’s a little younger than Skyy. And from what I hear, he looks exactly like his daddy.” She pointed to Taj. “He is such a proud papa. He has a boy and a girl.”

  “Vera—”

  She turned to Taj. “Baby, you know I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. You have been my everything and we’ve been through it all, but there are just some things in life I can not forgive.”

  “Vera—”

  “No, baby, let me finish. I know you thought that maybe we would be able to get past this and the truth is, I did too, until I started thinking—that all of these years I thought that your ass was perfect. All-American doctor, saving the world, good ole boy. Superman. Coming to save me from myself.”