Millionaire Wives Club

by Tu-Shonda Whitaker

  “Kendu!” Milan ran into the kitchen and over to him. “Please stop.”

  “Catch that angle, Carl,” Bridget said. “This is one helluva season finale.”

  “Bridget,” Carl said, “this is a little rough. I think maybe we need to call the police.”

  “Just do your job!”

  Kendu was oblivious to the conversation going on around him. He pressed his fingers deeply into Evan’s cheeks. “I asked you a question!”

  “Let her go!” Milan pushed him. “You gon’ kill her!”

  “Answer my fuckin’ question,” Kendu spat.

  “Daddy!” Aiyanna came running out of her room. “Why are you screaming like that?”

  “Go in your room!” he yelled at Aiyanna, never taking his eyes from the child’s mother. He could see in Evan’s eyes that her age-old lie had exploded in her face. Now he was certain he had to kill her, and as if death were in the palm of his hand, Kendu reared back and smacked Evan so hard that she slid across the room and hit her head on the front door.

  “Daddy!” Aiyanna screamed. “Don’t hurt my mommy!” She threw her small body on Evan.

  Kendu picked Aiyanna up, and as he was moving her out of the way Evan was able to crawl outside. She struggled to stand up, and everyone followed her out onto the front lawn. She watched Milan beg and plead with Kendu to stop. Milan grabbed his hands and looked into his face. “Stop it, please,” she spoke quietly, calmly, and with a voice that radiated I love you a thousand times. Evan couldn’t believe what was unfolding before her eyes. She charged toward Milan, but when Kendu blocked her path, it was as if she’d hit a brick wall.

  “You better not touch her,” he said.

  “Oh…my…God!” Evan screamed. “Oh…my…God!” She looked at Kendu and squinted her eyes. “You want this bitch? After everything I did to keep you loving me, you’ve been using me?”

  “Is Aiyanna my child?”

  “Hell no,” Evan spat with venomous rage, “she ain’t yours, motherfucker!”

  “Don’t say that, Mommy!” Aiyanna ran over to her and screamed. “Don’t say that about my daddy!”

  “He ain’t your fuckin’ daddy. You ain’t related to this motherless bitch! This bastard’s a stranger!” She took a step back, and all the sanity she’d felt leaving was finally gone. All she could see was kicking Kendu’s ass and running over him and this bitch Milan.

  Evan hopped in her fingerprint-activated Mercedes, revved the engine, and whipped her car in the direction of Kendu.

  “Mommy!” Aiyanna screamed, running in front of her father. Evan’s brakes screeched as she tried to stop, but it was too late. Aiyanna was thrown into the air and landed on the hood of the car.

  “Aiyanna!” Kendu yelled as he ran over to her, and everyone on the estate started to panic.

  “I told you we needed to call the police!” Carl screamed. “This isn’t right. It’s gone too far.”

  Evan crouched to her knees. She could hear Kendu yelling and screaming, “No … not my baby,” and she could hear people buzzing around her, but she couldn’t make out what exactly they were saying.

  She wasn’t sure why the police were there, when they needed an ambulance for Aiyanna. The problem was relating that to somebody… because she couldn’t speak … but then again … someone must’ve read her mind, because the ambulance arrived and Aiyanna was carefully placed on the stretcher. Then the police lifted Evan from the ground and placed her in handcuffs.

  Evan

  T he moon’s reflection bathed Evan’s exposed back as she stood in the center of the bamboo floor, dressed in a violet evening gown. Jaise had bailed her out of jail, and she’d been home for two days contemplating what she needed to do and where her life should go from here.

  Her bare feet crackled as she walked through the bits of broken and crushed glass from the window she’d pushed her arm through in an effort to chase away the dark-haired phantom who called her name all night.

  She kept her right shoulder hunched forward as she felt the sea’s breeze blowing against her skin and raising the hair on the back of her neck.

  Everything haunted her, from the seagulls flying above to the echoing of her own voice. And everything haunted her because it was all finished. Everything: the show, her marriage, her ability to be God to Aiyanna and to control Kendu’s emotions, the limelight, the money … her life … everything. Everything that she needed to use to hide from who she really was—it was over. All she had left were the whispers in her head, calling her out to sea.

  And she had to go—no two ways about it; she had to answer Poseidon’s call. But first she had to let these motherfuckers know. Evan ran her hands through her wild and untamed hair, brushing it from her shoulders so that it fell down her back. She splashed on some Chanel No. 5 and applied lipstick from her chin to her upper lip. She brushed both sides of her face with blush, and with dark eyeliner she painted half of her eyelids. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw majesty. She couldn’t be more beautiful, and everyone watching her would know. She flicked the video camera on, stood back, and began to speak. “I am a survivor, and my life isn’t finished until I say it is. Fuck the fat lady, I have to sing. I have loved every one of you to death. My daughter, my man, my life… and what have I gotten in return? Silence. Gloom. Hell. I have always wanted a reason to genuinely smile, to feel good about life, and yet every day and every step of the way it was a tussle. So I pray you all understand why I have to make my own way. I don’t know where I’m going, all I know … is where I’ve come from.”

  Evan quietly stepped away from the camera. She gathered the beaded hem of her long and flowing gown, swept it over her forearm, and walked out to the back of the estate. The surface of the earth beneath her feet changed from grass to sand, to bits of rock … to water. A smile lit up her face as a thought entered her mind: She would touch the moon.

  As she started on her journey the water rose around her, and Evan began to slowly disappear into the night. She closed her eyes and somewhere in the midst of darkness the chariots came, the limelight faded, and the curtain fell.

  Live from the Four Seasons Ballroom, It’s the Reunion Show!

  The Club—Reunion

  Millionaire Wives Club brought the station its highest ratings ever. The show was an instant hit, the women were all reality stars, and it seemed as if everyone in America had an opinion about their lives, making this one of the most anticipated reunion shows ever.

  Jaise took a seat on one side of the host and crossed her legs. She sat alone on a blue chenille sofa across from Milan and Chaunci, who sat together on the adjacent sofa.

  “Welcome,” the blond host with the too-bright highlights said to the camera and the live audience. “My name is Don McBride, and we have quite a show planned for you today,” he said, holding a stack of blue index cards in his hand. “We are here with our Millionaire Wives to catch up on their lives.” Don sat down. “So ladies”—he nodded his head at them respectively—“Jaise, Chaunci, Milan, I think we should start by saying that we are dedicating this show to Evan. As some of you may know,” he said, looking toward the camera, “Evan passed away a few weeks before the first episode aired.”

  Jaise wiped her eyes, while Milan swallowed the guilt in her throat, and Chaunci shook her head in sorrow. “She was a great part of the cast,” Don said, “and she is definitely missed.”

  The studio went dim for a moment as a large photo of Evan appeared in the background. After a few minutes of silence, Don tried to get the show back on track. “So,” Don said, clapping his hands together, “on a brighter note, we have our first question.” He looked at Jaise. “Taylor, from Union, New Jersey, wants to know what’s going on with you, Jaise. She said that she related to your life and wants an update.”

  Jaise shot a Barbie-doll smile at the camera. “Thank you for your question, Taylor. It’s good to get the niceness out of the way first,” Jaise said as she flicked her hand, showing off her pear-shaped diamond engageme
nt ring and matching wedding band, “because then we can get to what the hell I’ve been wanting to say for the last few weeks. Now about me.” She pointed to her chest. “I’m married, my husband is stankin’ rich, thank you very much. We were married last month on a small island he owns in the Bahamas. Jabril has a son, Jabril Jr., or my little J.J., as I call him. Jabril is also a straight-A student and he wants to attend Morehouse in the fall. Now”—she looked at Milan—“on to lowering the boom on your ass.”

  “We weren’t friends,” Milan sneered, “so you shouldn’t have shit to lower to me.”

  “Well, I do.” Jaise pointed her finger. “’Cause seriously, I wanna kick your fuckin’ ass.”

  Milan crossed her legs and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Air and opportunity,” she said, and looked Jaise directly in the face, “is all that lies between us.”

  “And about three more months!” Bridget yelled, as she walked onto the stage. “Save that for next season. Do you know how high the ratings will turn out to be, please put that ass-kickin’ on pause, until the new contracts are signed.”

  Jaise rolled her eyes at Bridget and continued on, “Milan, you are the reason that Evan killed herself. Yo’ ass!” She pointed.

  “Evan killed herself because of her own demons,” Chaunci said, getting into the argument.

  “Milan fucked her husband!” Jaise shouted.

  “No.” Milan sneered again. “The day she decided to put another man’s baby on him, is the day she fucked him better than I ever could.”

  “How dare you?!” Jaise shouted.

  “Let me tell you something,” Milan said, “I’m not saying that I was right, but I am not responsible for Evan losing her mind. For once in my life I didn’t give a damn what anybody else thought or what anybody else wanted. I allowed myself to love and to be in love with my best friend. And no, I didn’t give a damn that he had a wife, and yes, I made love to him… good love to him; several times. But I will not apologize for it.”

  “Wait a minute, Milan,” Chaunci said. “Now, you’re my girl, but right is right but wrong is what you are.”

  “I loved him!”

  “He was married,” Chaunci said.

  “Thank you,” Jaise interjected.

  “You act as if we are still together.”

  “Well,” Don said, “that brings us to our next question.” He turned to Milan. “Janice, from Murfreesboro, North Carolina, wants to know ‘Are you and Kendu still an item?’”

  Milan swallowed. “Kendu and I are friends and that’s all either of us can handle right now. He’s in the process of adopting Aiyanna; that’s his focus and I am my own focus.”

  “This is such bullshit,” Jaise snapped. “All of a sudden you are the poster child for getting your shit together? Please, you are a home-wrecking tramp. You tore this family up, and now you act as if you are proud of the shit?” Jaise started clapping. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you give yourself a hand. Evan is dead and you’ve won.”

  “Wait a minute.” Chaunci jumped in. “Don’t be trying to come at her as if she’s responsible for Evan getting out of jail on bail, overdosing on pills, and getting the bright idea to swim out to sea. Did you forget she was poisoning her daughter?”

  “Thank you,” Milan said, and clapped. “Does Münchausen syndrome by proxy ring bells for you? Aiyanna wasn’t sick. Evan was feeding her damn Pine-Sol and bleach and all sorts of shit. Are you kidding me? And you want to blame me for that?” Milan pointed to her chest.

  “Yes, she was wrong,” Jaise said, “but she needed a friend, she needed help, not for her husband to have a mistress.”

  “Speaking of Aiyanna,” Don said, “where is she?”

  “At home,” Milan answered, “with her father, Kendu.”

  “Speaking of fathers,” Don said, “how’s Idris, Chaunci?”

  “He’s fine.” She blushed.

  “Are you two an item?”

  “No, but we haven’t closed the door on being an item, Don.” She chuckled.

  “And Edmon?” Don pried. “What ever happened with your magazine?”

  “He sold me his interest. We ended up parting like adults.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever get back together?”

  “No, but maybe one day we can be friends again.”

  “You two are really fuckin’ selfish,” Jaise snapped. “Like your love life is so important.”

  “Well, everyone can’t be perfect,” Milan said.

  “When you invest in your own man then you’ll find out how perfect life can be.”

  “Boorring!” Bridget said. “Listen, on to something people want to hear about. I would like to introduce you to Yusef ‘Da Truef’ Sparks.”

  Yusef walked out onstage wearing a white unitard and knee-high wrestling boots. He sat next to Bridget. “I told you I was coming back, Milan,” he said, “but you didn’t believe me.”

  “Yusef will be starring in his own reality show, Da Truef: A Wrestler’s Story.”

  “This is too much for me.” Jaise sighed. “Nobody cares that Evan isn’t here?”

  “Yes, Jaise,” Milan said, “believe it or not, I care.”

  “We all care,” Chaunci said, “but we’re all different, and I guess that’s what makes—”

  “The show a success,” Bridget cut in. “We don’t have time for sappy shit. Forgive each other when the commercial comes on.” Bridget stood up. “Be sure to join us next season when we bring our new housewife on: lottery winner Al-Taniesha!”

  Al-Taniesha stepped onto the stage and paraded back and forth like a pageant winner in a full-length red rabbit coat. “Y’all ain’t seen shit. I ain’t nothin’ like these bougie bitches.” She snapped her fingers. “So be sure to look out for me and my baby, Rafique.”

  Rafique joined her onstage wearing a hot pink three-piece suit. “It’s Lollipop!”

  Bridget stood up and said to the camera, “Be sure to join us next time for a new season of Millionaire Wives Club!”

  “Milan,” Bridget could be heard saying as the cameras faded to black, “get your shit. We just canceled your broke ass for next season.”

  Acknowledgments

  To My Father, who is the God of Abraham, the God of Daniel, and the God of the three Hebrew boys, I say thank You for continuing to love me despite myself, and thank You for Your grace and Your mercy, for it is sufficient.

  To all of my ancestral African American authors who wrote when it was illegal, who wrote because they had something to say, and who wrote because the voice in their hearts and in their heads said to do so, I say thank you, because without you who knows where my stories or I would be.

  To my mother and father, who love me unconditionally, thank you for all that you do … oh, and my children thank you, too.

  To my husband, who is grilling the barbeque chicken I want right now, although it’s nine o’clock at night, thank you, my love, for you are truly the best.

  To my children, Taylor, Sydney, and Zion, whom I love and spoil soooooo much, you are my life!

  To my family, my grandma, my aunties, my uncles, and my cousins, I love you dearly! To my in-laws in Siparia, Trinidad, W.I., thanks for your support!

  To my “little” cousin Malik (the best artist in the world), although it is almost twenty years later, I promise to never tell your mother your secret. You know, the one where you had me call your school and tell them you had an emergency, and needed to leave right away. That will forever be between us.

  To my church family at Philemon Missionary Baptist Church, thank you for all of your support. I love you and many blessings!

  To my Ballantine/One World family, thank you all for everything seen and unseen that you do. Melody, thank you for your patience and your faith in my ability. You guys are amazing!

  To my agent, Sara Camilli, thank you so much for everything!

  To my friends, you are all so special to me, I don’t know what I would do without you. Thanks for being there.

  T
o my best friend in the world, Kenya Williams, thanks for all the laughs, the times we cut up, even the times we’ve cried. Thank you my sistah, for you are truly a best friend!

  To my friend Dywane Birch, stay exactly as you are, my brother.

  To K’wan and Keisha, one day we will get all the money we’re supposed to.

  To my homegirls: Nakea, Tiffany, Danielle, Keisha, and Adrianne, who all love reality TV like me, I wrote this one for you!

  To my crew at work: Cynthia, Diane, Terry, Tanya, Angel, Shannon, Maurice, Natasha, Marcia, Tamika (although you have a new crew—LOL), and to the one who walks past my office every day and calls me “Spring,” Shafequah and to all of my co-workers who I talk, laugh, and work hard with, thanks for your conversations, for making me laugh, and most of all thanks for your support! You’ll never know how much it means.

  Saving the best for last: the fans, readers, bookstores, websites, and message boards, thank you so much for your support in all of my literary ventures. I have some very dedicated readers who have been riding with me from the beginning, you know who you are, thank you, thank you, thank you.

  Be sure to email me at tushonda111@aol.com and let me know your thoughts. Oh, and check out me and my girls on Three Chicks On Lit every Wednesday at seven on www.blogtalkradio.com/chicksonlit.

  And now without further ado I say to you, “Turn the page and let’s do the damn thing!”

  Love ya!

  Tu-Shonda

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  TU-SHONDA L. WHITAKER is the Essence bestselling author of The Ex Factor, Flip Side of the Game, and Game Over. She received the Ella Baker and W. E. B. Dubois International Award for fiction writing. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, two daughters, and son. Visit her on Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter.

  MILLIONAIRE WIVES CLUB is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

  places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination