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Authors: Evelyn Lozada

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BOOK: Inner Circle
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“So
you’re finally getting your association,” Amber said as she sat across from Eve at the kitchen table, reading through the documents.

Following the ladies’ agreement to establish the association, Eve had spent two weeks drafting bylaws, rules, and regulations based on everyone’s input. On her recent visit to Miami for business, Andrew Rothberg had offered the services of the firm to oversee the legal preparation and filing of the documents, and Eve and Amber were working feverishly in order to forward the first draft for review. They had spent the entire morning making additions and changes.


Our
association,” Eve corrected. “This is not just about me.” She continued writing, stopping periodically to cross items out and highlight others.

“Okay,
our
association. But still I don’t get it. You and Chase have the perfect marriage. Why is this so important to you?”

“Well, I can thank my mother for planting that seed of doubt. And let’s be real. There are no perfect marriages, and only fools thinks there are. There are good marriages, and I’m thankful that that’s what I have, but the association is what’s called insurance. It’s what you have for your car, your house, and your valuables, but we never think about protecting our lifestyles. Our husbands have their prenups as their
insurance so that if we ever want out of the marriage, we leave under their terms. Think of the association as our postnup.” Eve smiled, amused by her own wit.

“There’s a lot of stuff here,” Amber said, continuing to read. “But it looks like you’ve covered everything.”

“There’s a lot here because there’s a lot at stake. We’re protecting our livelihoods and our children’s futures. Olivia will thank you for this someday.” Eve sipped her latte and continued. “Take a look at page fifteen and make sure we covered everything that was discussed about creating a board to direct any business ventures.”

Amber ran her finger down the page, making notes where necessary. She reached in her purse and pulled out a handful of Smarties. Ignoring Eve’s dramatic eye roll, she plopped them on the table, opened one, and poured the entire contents into her mouth. “Maybe we can word this a little better,” she said. “It’s not clear how we determine profit sharing.” She handed the page to Eve.

Eve read slowly, then made a note in the margin. “I’m kind of sketchy on how that should work. I’ll have one of the guys at the firm outline that for us.” She inserted the page back into its place.

“How does this sound?” Eve asked, reading from her notes. “Rule #1: you must be the wife of a professional athlete. Baby mamas, long-term girlfriends, and common-law wives are not applicable. Rule #2: you must be willing to provide any and all personal information requested by the association (such as players, schedules, financial statements, credit scores, business ventures, etc.). Rule #3: you must be willing and able to provide the agreed upon financial support to the association. If you are unable to pay your share into the association, the difference will be paid from an emergency fund that we will establish, and you will be required to reimburse the fund within a given period of time. Rule #4: you must have access to credible resources that are available and useful in support of the association’s objectives.”

“Exactly what does that mean?” Amber asked.

“It means you can’t just come to the association with your hand
out. You have to bring something to the table. The association is not going to be some sort of charitable organization catering to every whining wife that finds herself in a shitty situation. We want women who have something to offer us. They need resources that we can use like attorneys, therapists, and doctors. We’ll need private investigators that we can trust. Hell, we’ll even need a friend in the police department! I’m getting excited just thinking about it!”

“That’s some heavy shit. Where do we find wives with those qualifications?”

“See, that’s the problem,” Eve said. “Everyone thinks that the wives of professional athletes are just a bunch of lucky bitches that found a way to marry a baller. The reality is that that description only represents a small percentage. If you did a background check on a lot of us, you’d find women with degrees, professional jobs, and entrepreneurs with businesses of their own. Those are the wives we want to attract, and in answer to your question, we don’t find them, they find us. We make this shit so attractive that we’ll be turning bitches away.”

“And how are we going to make it attractive?”

“By making it successful. When we start posting success stories about the support from The Wives Association, they’ll be lining up like we were giving away free weaves!”

“Damn, Evie, this could be big!” Amber said. Eve’s excitement was becoming contagious.

“Damn straight! The NFL, NBA, and all those other organizations won’t have shit on TWA. The Wives Association is going to put women’s lib back on the map! Only this time, instead of burning bras, we’ll be burning prenups and any negative press releases related to our marriages.”

“I’m starting to really feel you on this, Eve. Is there a rule #5?”

“Yep,” Eve said. “Rule #5 is probably the most important rule of all. You will be required to sign an agreement that forbids sharing any information regarding the activities of the association with any persons outside of the association. It’ll be damn near like a team’s playbook. You
don’t want another team to get their hands on it, because once they know your plays, they can beat you at your own game. Confidentiality, loyalty, trust, dedication, they’re all words that must be synonymous with the association. We’re going to be documenting some serious shit on a lot of important people. That information will be the foundation of The Wives Association, and we will use it when and
only
when one of our own is threatened. But we have to protect that information as if it were one of our children, because in the wrong hands, at the wrong time, it could be lethal.”

“I know. I can just imagine how bad it would be if word got out about Sean and Sa’Myra,” Amber said, unwrapping another Smartie.

“My point exactly,” Eve smiled.

Amber chuckled. “So definitely no fiancées, no ex-wives, and no baby mamas, huh?”

“Hell, no. It’s sad to say but even fiancées don’t make the cut. Unfortunately, if they haven’t earned the title, they can’t participate in the process. Ex-wives have already lost or lucked out, and baby mamas are one of the main reasons why we need The Wives Association in the first place. With any luck we can protect our husbands from any trick out there hoping to get a DNA payday. I’m not trying to share Chase with anyone, and I definitely ain’t trying to have none of them damn blended-ass families either. The fact that Chase has no children outside of our marriage is a fucking miracle, and one that I’m most grateful for. My only prayer is that he remains patient with me until I’m ready to give him some of his own.”

“I hear you, girl, but knowing Chase, you’re enough for him,” Amber added.

“For now . . .” Eve mumbled.

“So once we’ve got all the kinks worked out, how do you become a member?” Amber asked with hopes to lighten the mood.

“In the beginning I would say that you have to be vouched for by a member of the inner circle. We’ll thoroughly check each candidate out to make sure they’re legit, because I’ll be damned if we go through
all this trouble to establish an association, only to have to protect the association from itself!”

“But that’s what we’re working on. This is our protection of the association, right?” Amber quizzed.

“Right! But every time we bring in a new wife, we run the risk of someday letting someone in who will seriously test the loyalty of the group. My thought is we keep it nice and tight. Exclusive! Kind of like having a black card. You’re invited in, and if you break a rule or find yourself in certain circumstances, your ass is out!”

“And what do we do when that happens?” Amber asked.

“Well, I say we beat that bitch’s ass, but I haven’t been able to figure out how to write that into the rules.”

“Once you figure it out, I want to be on the beat down committee,” Amber laughed as they high-fived.

“So right now we limit it to the inner circle,” Eve said, becoming serious again. “And we nail down this charter to make sure there are no loopholes, no ambiguities, and no oversights. In order for the association to work, it has to be an airtight contractual agreement. We all have to understand how it works and be willing and able to abide by every rule with no exceptions. When we sign on the dotted line we’ll be pledging an allegiance.”

“And if you break that allegiance, you’re out,” Amber declared.

“Exactly! You fuck up and break the rules and you leave with nothing.”

“That’s a pretty serious consequence,” Amber said, playing devil’s advocate.

“I know, and we’re counting on everyone in the circle feeling the same way. We want every member to be afraid to screw up. It’s just more insurance.”

Eve and Amber continued to work on the documents for another hour before they were satisfied that they had a decent draft for the firm to review. Then they both stretched. It had been a tedious process, and they were mentally exhausted.

“I have to hand it to you, Evie, if this works, do you know how many wives of professional athletes will want a piece of this insurance policy?”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys all along,” Eve said, biting the end of her pen. “I just hate that you had to go through what you went through in order to get this thing off the ground.”

“I guess I’m taking one for the team, huh?” Amber sighed.

Choosing not to comment, Eve smile sympathetically and put down her pen. “How are things?”

“Honestly, I feel like a prisoner. Sean has been walking around as if nothing’s happened. And quite frankly, I haven’t known what to say. It’s odd. Here I am in the middle of a crisis and planning his big thirtieth birthday party.”

“I was going to ask you about that. So you’re still going through with it?”

“I invited his parents, his teammates, cousins, out-of-town family, the works. No one knows what’s going on between us, and to cancel the party at this late date would only raise suspicions that we’ve got personal problems. Until I figure out exactly what I’m going to do, going through with the party seems like the only option.”

“I don’t know, Am. I don’t think Sean deserves to be celebrated right now. I mean, hell, you’re barely tolerating his ass, and he gets a party? But it’s your call, not mine. It’s like I said before, I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do. How can I help?”

“Everything’s done except for the food. I still haven’t been able to hire a new chef or even a caterer, for that matter. Sa’Myra really screwed me up. For the last two weeks, we’ve relied on everything takeout. Boston Market has become my home away from home. That bitch has me afraid even to ask for help.”

Eve laughed. “Girl, you know you’re crazy! I’ll ask Sandy for a referral, and I’ll conduct the background check for you. In the meantime, call Creative Caterers and ask for Sir Paul. Tell him I recommended you, and he’ll hook you up. Sir Paul is a happily married gay
man who wouldn’t think twice about even looking in Sean’s direction. He’s expensive as hell but worth every cent.”

“Ev, you’re a lifesaver. Speaking of food, I’m starving. You mind if we order a pizza?” Amber asked, looking at the clock on the microwave. “Sean said he’d drop Olivia off here pretty soon, and we usually have pizza on Saturdays. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Eve said. “Why don’t we just do the whole family thing that comes with wings, salad, and soda? With Chase away in Denver this weekend, we’ll call tonight a girl’s night. Do you and Olivia want to stay over?”

“I’ll check with Sean to see if he’s okay with that. When it comes to Olivia, he’s very protective. And it’s been weird. Ever since he was served with the paternity papers from Sa’Myra, he doesn’t let Olivia out of his sight. I swear it’s as if he’s gotten all protective of her. I can’t explain it.”

“When does he take the test?” Eve asked.

“Hopefully, sometime next week. The doctor says the fetus has to be at least twelve to sixteen weeks old before paternity can be established in the womb.”

“It’s good to know you guys are at least able to talk about this,” Eve stated while looking for the takeout menu for Stefano’s Pizza at the Howard Hughes Center.

“It’s like I said, he’s acting as if nothing’s happened.”

“Does he feel any remorse though? Has he even apologized?” Eve picked up her landline and dialed the number to Stefano’s.

“I wouldn’t call what he gave me an apology. And what’s worse is I actually think he’s excited about this baby. You know, Sean’s always wanted more kids. I just wished I was the one actually giving them to him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Eve hung up the phone. “Give me those papers. I need to add another clause.” Eve took the stack of documents from Amber and handed her the phone instead. “Here, you order the pizza.”

Amber laughed and asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Try justifying the association paying for a mandatory abortion for any trick that gets pregnant by one of our husbands, or at least establish an emergency payoff fund for these ballsy bitches.”

“You really think a woman would go for that?” Amber said, pressing redial.

“From where I’m standing, anything’s possible and for damn sure worth a try.”

 

 

8

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