Rich Girl Problems

by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker

  “I sure did. And don’t even get me started on how I woke up to a series of text messages from him this morning.”

  Vera’s mouth flew open. “Are you serious?”

  Jaise turned to Vera. “I meant to tell you that hozilla said that . . . I mean our new good girlfriend, Journee, told me that she and Kendu did a little bust-bust back in the day and that she whipped it on him so bad he continues to call and text her years later.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said,” Journee chimed in.

  “It’s the same point.” Jaise shook her head. “And me angry? How dare that bitch say that about me when every hashtag on Twitter is ‘Whitetape yo’ ass!’ And this tramp wants to insult me?”

  “She cussed out every black woman in the world,” Vera said. “Not just you, Jaise. She talked about me and Journee too! This is a mess!”

  “And I told Milan to keep my damn name out of her mouth,” Journee added.

  “Somebody’s looking for me?” Milan stepped into the room.

  Thank you, Jesus, for perfect timing.

  “Hey, girls!” Milan air-kissed them all before taking a seat at the table and picking up the menu.

  “Milan.”

  “Yes, Jaise.”

  “I’m trying to think of a way to say this.”

  Milan placed the menu on the table. “Say what?”

  “That it’s come to our attention that you’ve been—”

  “Why the hell were you talking shit about us in your Sister2Sister interview?!” Vera pounded on the table, shaking the silverware.

  Milan looked completely caught off guard. “Because it was my interview,” she retorted as she looked over at the waitress who walked toward the table.

  “Good evening, I’m Tara. And I’ll be your server. May I start you off with a bottle of Romanée–Conti?”

  “Yes, Tara,” Milan said. “That would be great.”

  Vera slid her earrings off and placed them on the table. “I don’t think I heard you correctly, Milan. Now what did you say?”

  “I said it was my interview. Now you either accept what I said or you don’t. But those are my views. Period.”

  “Guuuuurrrrrl, I will elbow slap the shit out of you!”

  “Oh my, look at what a weekend in jail teaches you,” Jaise remarked.

  Journee smirked. “Chile, Vera, that’s too much work. I got a thirty-two that will end this real quick.”

  Milan blinked and wagged an index finger. “You three bitches are trippin’. All of this because I told the truth? This just further proves that you three are a squad of angry bitches who add to the population of fucked up people, and if you think I’m going to sit here and let you all gang up on me, you are sadly mistaken. Now either we speak civilly and eat or I’ll leave.” She pushed her chair back.

  “There’s no reason for you to leave, Milan,” Jaise said. “You need to suck it up and apologize. Then we can all have some wine.” She pointed to the server, who set the wine on the table and filled their glasses.

  “Milan,” Vera called, “don’t let Jaise steer you wrong. I advise you to tuck your clutch back beneath your arm. Because if you keep sitting there, you will have a problem called knocked the fuck out.”

  “Vera!” Jaise said sternly. “Listen, Milan, all we’re simply saying is that you cannot say whatever you feel like saying about people. You really need to find yourself a filter because your mouth is disgusting. And you’re a young lady and that is really not attractive.” She sipped her wine.

  “Is this what you invited me here for, Bridget?” Milan asked. “So they could gang up on me? Really? You already know I don’t do messy hos!”

  “Journee”—Vera looked to her left—“do you have any Vaseline?”

  “No. But as long as there’s a wine bottle on the table and a loaded thirty-two in my bag, we got this.”

  “Ladies, please,” Jaise stressed. “All they’re saying, Milan, is that instead of being concerned about what the three of us are doing and calling us angry, you should hone in on your husband. Who keeps calling Journee and inviting her for sex? She’s not about that ho-ass life anymore, but apparently your husband is!”

  Milan quickly glanced at the camera and then back to the other women. “Y’all bitches stay trying me. You all created that lie because you’re mad about the interview I did. Stick to the facts.”

  “The facts?” Vera said. “The facts are here in black and white. You talk too damn much. The facts are also in that damn YouTube video of you spinning out of control because your husband is out fucking some trick!”

  “And for the record, Milan,” Journee said, “no one needs to lie on your husband. Trust me, we’ve both seen that tiny black mole that sits on the left side of his head and you know what head I’m talking about!”

  “Fuck you!” Milan stood up and Journee and Vera both hopped out of their seats.

  Vera looked at Journee. “I thought I was the only one who didn’t do well when slick-talkin’ bitches start standing up.”

  “Hell no!” Journee said, giving Vera a high five.

  “My, my, look at these hood heifers here . . . bonding.” Jaise twisted her lips.

  Milan rolled her eyes. “See, this is why Chaunci said she wasn’t coming here today, and this is why my husband told me that I needed to stay home. Because you birds are nothing but drama, and since I don’t do drama, violence, or negative energy, I’m going to excuse myself.”

  “Guilty hos love to run.” Journee popped her lips.

  Milan stormed out the door and down the hall as Jaise sipped more wine. “Now that was not right, what y’all just did.”

  “Jaise.” Vera sat down and picked up the menu. “Order you something to eat and shut the fuck up.”

  CHAPTER 26

  JAISE

  The next morning

  They’d made love every chance they got—little sleep and even less to eat—and Jaise couldn’t believe that Bilal didn’t seem to notice the ten pounds she’d gained since they’d been separated.

  She thought for sure when he insisted that they make love with the lights on, so that he could see and enjoy every minute of her, that he would notice the extra jiggle in her belly or meat between her thighs. But he didn’t. Instead, he made love to her the way he always had. Slow. Deliberate. Passionate.

  “I love you so much,” Jaise said to Bilal as she watched him sleeping. She kissed his lips softly. Moved to his chin. His neck. His chest.

  “Don’t stop there,” he said, eyes still closed.

  “You are so nasty.” Jaise let her tongue trail down his belly to his erotic sweetness where she took him into her mouth inch by inch. Licking. Sucking. Bouncing the head on and off her tongue as he softly gripped her hair and moaned, “Damn, baby.”

  Thanks for the compliment. Her tongue glazed his scrotum before she deep throated him until she felt him shiver and creamy salt filled the space between her welcoming jaws.

  An hour later, Jaise lay with her head upon Bilal’s chest. Stroking his chest hairs, she said, “I’m so happy you’re home. I feel so complete.”

  “I’m happy to be here too, baby.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “And I want it to stay that way, which is why you can’t get off track.”

  “Off track?”

  “With what we agreed to.”

  Here he goes with this shit.

  “Agreed to what?”

  “Jabril has to leave.”

  Jaise sat up straight and looked Bilal in the eyes.

  He sat up beside her. “I know it’s hard.”

  Hell yeah, it’s hard. That’s my damn baby and I don’t think he’s ready to be on his own. “He’s my son. I can’t just toss him out in the street.”

  “Look, it may sound cold, but you will need to give Jabril two weeks. And that’s it. Or I will leave.”

  What? “What?”

  “You have coddled him long enough and it’s time for him to get his act together. Or else you will forever be raising
a grown-ass little boy. I know you were seventeen when you had him and you did the best you could, but if you don’t make a change now, he will always be in and out of your house. You’ll always be paying his child support—”

  “He’ll have his trust in five years.”

  “Jaise, you and I both know you’re not balling like Bill Gates. You’re talking a trust worth what? Two, three million?”

  “Five.”

  “And he will blow through every dime of it because he doesn’t have any skills and doesn’t know how to make it on his own. You won’t always be here to catch him, Jaise. Teach him how to be a man now by making him do it on his own. So that when he gets his trust, he will appreciate it and keep it.”

  “Bilal—”

  “Look, ultimately the choice is yours, but know this: If I leave again, I’m done. That’s it.”

  Jaise knew by the look in Bilal’s eyes and the tone in his voice that he was serious. And if he left again, he would never come back. She couldn’t risk that.

  Besides, he was right. The only way Jabril would ever change his life would be if she made him stand on his own.

  “Hopefully, he’ll be here today so that I can talk to him. He hasn’t been home in a few days and he doesn’t even know you’re back—”

  Bilal shook his head. “He’s been gone for a few days? Jaise, he doesn’t have any respect for you or your house rules. He thinks he can come and go whenever he chooses to. It doesn’t work like that and you need to let him know that too—”

  “I heard you,” she said with a little more aggravation than she intended to. “I get it. And I will handle it.”

  “When?”

  “Right after this.” She straddled him.

  Jaise stood at the stove cooking apple pancakes, maple bacon, and fried eggs. Jabril’s favorite meal.

  “Ma, that smells sooooo good!” Jabril said, slamming the back door and kissing her on the cheek.

  “Boy, where have you been?”

  He smiled and took a seat at the table. “I was over at this li’l chick’s spot for a minute.” He grinned.

  Jaise frowned. “Little chick’s spot? There you go again with these food-stamp hos! I just don’t understand why you are sooo addicted to ratchet. It’s like these bitches have sunshine tucked away in the lining of their pussies or something.”

  “Ma!” Jabril smirked as Jaise sat his plate in front of him.

  “Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Jabril. I just don’t know where I went wrong. Instead of dicking down some street whore, you should’ve been looking for a job.”

  “Here we go with this again.” He rolled his eyes and stuffed a few pieces of pancake in his mouth.

  “Don’t you think you need a job?” Jaise said.

  “I’m looking for one!” he said with a full mouth.

  “Looking where, Jabril? In some ratty asshole? Your dick doesn’t need any more employment!”

  “I just said I was looking for one! Dang! Why you sweatin’ me so hard?!”

  “Because I’m tired of taking care of your ass! You are a man! Not a child! And I’ve been babying you too damn long! When are you going to grow up? I could halfway understand it if you at least had a job and took care of your kids. Maybe went back to college or something, but you don’t even want to do that!”

  “If you would give me my trust, you wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of me!”

  “I’ll be damned if I give you your trust so you can trick off on some project hood ho! Hell no! Never. And the longer it takes you to get your ass together, the more I’ll push back that damn age for you to receive it! Now you have two weeks to get you a job so that you can pay your rent.”

  “Rent?” He looked confused. “You’re charging me to live here now? Oh, that’s how you doin’ me?”

  “No, baby, I would never do that. You’ll be paying rent at your own place. The one you’re going to get in two weeks when you leave here.”

  “What?”

  Jaise sat down next to him. “Brilly-boo, you know that Mommy loves you dearly.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah. And you just said I wasn’t a kid, so stop calling me Brilly-boo and just say what you gotta say.”

  “Look, I’m just trying to tell you in the best way that I can that you have to move.”

  “Move? And where am I s’pose to go?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that it’s been six months, when it was only supposed to be a few weeks. You haven’t found a job yet—”

  “The economy—”

  “Don’t give me shit about the economy. Walmart is hiring every goddamn day!”

  “Like they pay enough to live!”

  “You will have to figure that out. Because as of this moment, I will not be paying your child support anymore and I’m not going to be taking care of you. It’s time for you to make it on your own.”

  “Yo’, I don’t believe this.”

  “Jabril, I’m tired. Nothing I say matters. You come and go as you please. And don’t think I didn’t see you sneaking some skank out of here the other morning, because I did. And I’m tired of it. I want more for you than this. I want you to have a great job, be able to survive on your own, take care of your own children—”

  “And you think I’m supposed to be able to do this in two weeks?! Really, Ma? Really?”

  “Are those apple pancakes, baby? I can smell them all the way upstairs,” Bilal said as he stepped into the kitchen in his gray pinstriped boxers and bare chest. Immediately he locked into Jabril’s stare and then into Jaise’s. He looked back to Jabril. “I didn’t know you were home, Jabril. Or I would’ve come down here with some clothes on.” He mustered up a smile. “It’s been a long time. Good to see you.”

  Jabril ignored him and looked up at Jaise. “So this niggah’s home now and suddenly I gotta go. You choosing this niggah over me?” He stood up. “This niggah is more important than your own son!”

  “I never said that!”

  “You didn’t have to!”

  “Jabril, you’re grown!”

  “I’ve been grown, but now that he’s back, it’s a problem with my grown ass staying here! I should’ve known you would do some shit like this! You don’t give a damn about me—”

  “Yo’, you don’t speak to your mother like that!”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Jabril!” Jaise screamed.

  “Man, fuck both of y’all!” Jabril muttered.

  WHAP! Jaise backhanded Jabril so hard that his face flung to the left and seemed to get stuck there. Fire filled his eyes as he looked at Jaise. “You ain’t never cared nothing about me! Everything’s about this niggah! He don’t give a damn about you! You want me out of here so he can lay up here and fuck you in peace. Then, cool, I’m gone!” He charged toward the basement.

  “Jabril!” Jaise followed behind him with Bilal on her heels.

  “Just calm down!”

  “Calm down?” Bilal scowled. “Don’t you dare let him speak to you like that! That’s your damn mother, Jabril! Don’t you ever speak to my wife like that!”

  “Like I said, fuck your foul ass, Bilal! You want me to be like you! Got all up in my mother’s head and got her kicking me out just so you can get your dick sucked in peace! You ain’t—” Jabril started to gag as Bilal rushed him against the wall and pressed his elbow into his throat.

  Jaise jumped.

  Bilal commanded, “Don’t you fuckin’ move, Jaise.” He turned back to Jabril, who was struggling to breathe. “You could never be like me. You’re too busy wanting to be a street niggah and it’s not an ounce of street in your punk ass. ’Cause if you knew any damn thing, you’d have you a fuckin’ job and handle your damn business so your mama wouldn’t have to throw your ass out!” He pressed harder.

  “Bilal! Let him go!”

  “Sit down.” Bilal eyed her. “Jabril, you’d better get yo’ punk ass together before you find yourself running up on the wrong motherfucker, ’cause if I was half the niggah that
I used to be, you’d have one to the head already.”

  “Bilal!”

  “Now your mother said two fuckin’ weeks, but if you look at me wrong or say one goddamn thing crazy to her, I will throw your ass out immediately!” He released his hold.

  Jabril grabbed his neck and struggled to catch his breath. A few seconds later, he tossed some of his things in a backpack.

  “Jabril,” Jaise said. “Just calm down. Let’s talk this out!” She grabbed his arm and he snatched away.

  “Let him go!” Bilal said sternly as Jabril took off for the stairs.

  “Bilal, please, this is not how it was supposed to be! Jabril, just listen to me.”

  “I don’t want to hear shit you have to say! I’m outta here!”

  “Jabril!” Jaise cried. She turned to Bilal and as she went to speak, her words died in her mouth and tears poured from her eyes.

  Bilal pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Listen to me. You have to let him go. It will make him a better man and one day he will thank you. I promise you, baby. I know it’s tough, but it’s love.”

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAUNCI

  Chaunci lay in her king-size bed next to a sleeping Emory, holding her engagement ring in the palm of her left hand and drifting into the memory of Emory dropping to one knee....

  Six months ago, he’d popped open a burgundy velvet box revealing a cluster of white diamonds designed to look like a single solitaire. She hated it. It screamed cheap, and struggling, and trying entirely too hard to be something you were not.

  She’d told him a million times that she wanted to pick out the engagement ring with him, especially since she had to wear it; and she wanted a Tiffany ten-carat, emerald-cut, chocolate-diamond solitaire.

  Yet, what he did and what he presented her with was the exact opposite. And the media dragged it, titling the ring “the ugliest thing they’d ever seen.”