Millionaire Wives Club (26 page)

“A dog named Bird?” Idris looked confused. “Well,” Chaunci said, “obviously the name Idris wasn’t available.”

The vein on Idris’s neck started jumping. “Kobi, let me speak to Mommy for a minute. I’ll be right back.” He walked over to Chaunci, grabbed her by her forearm, and practically forced her to walk out of the room. “Check this,” he said to her once they were out of Kobi’s earshot. “I’m done apologizing to you. I’m done trying to make this up to you and feeling bad about the shit. Now I understand where you are coming from, but you will not disrespect me or insinuate that I’m nothing in front of my kid. If you really don’t like me and you don’t want to be around me, then leave. And if you don’t want to leave, then get your attitude in order, ’cause I’m not havin’ it.” They locked eyes. “You understand?”

“Idris—”

“Do you understand?”

Reluctantly Chaunci agreed. “Umm-hmm.”

“Thank you.” He held her hand and the heat from his palm made Chaunci feel like she was ready to melt. “Come on, let’s go back in the room,” he said.

Idris walked back over to Kobi, who was patting the dog. “Hey, Kobi,” he said, “I have a whole day planned for us.”

“Yeah!” She jumped up and down. “Mommy, we’re going to have so much fun! Where are we going, Daddy?”

“Well, first we’re going down to Ruckas Park to shoot some hoops.”

“Hoops?” Kobi frowned. “That doesn’t sound ladylike. Didn’t Mommy tell you I was a princess?”

“Lisa Leslie is a lady,” Idris insisted.

Kobi looked confused. “Who is Lisa Leslie? Does she have her own cartoon?”

Idris turned to Chaunci. “She doesn’t play basketball?”

Chaunci, who was holding her hand over her mouth and doing her best not to let laughter ease from her lips, said, “She doesn’t like it.”

“She doesn’t like it?” He looked at Kobi and asked her, “You don’t like basketball?”

“No.”

“You ever heard of the New York Knicks?”

“The New York
Kicks
, Daddy? Do they play volleyball? I like volleyball, Daddy.”

“Volleyball? You want to play volleyball?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t have on the right shoes for that. Plus, I’m not in the mood.”

“Okay, so—what would you like to do?”

“Wait a minute now,” Idris said as they walked into a trendy nail salon, “I don’t want a manicure.”

“Daddy, you need your nails done. You need your cuticles ra’tended—”

“Attended,” Chaunci corrected her.

“Attended to.”

“My cuticles are fine.” He turned to Chaunci. “You wanna help me out here?”

“You’re doing okay by yourself. You don’t need my help.”

“And Daddy,” Kobi carried on, “I didn’t want to say anything, but when we were in your house I noticed your feet need to be done too.”

“I don’t believe this.” Idris shook his head. “Okay, baby, whatever you want.”

Chaunci pulled out her digital camera, and as soon as the manicurist started doing Idris’s nails she started snapping pictures.

“This better not end up on the Internet.” Idris squinted. “Wait a minute, is that a TMZ reporter? Oh, God damn!”

“Color?” the manicurist asked Idris, interrupting his tirade.

“Color? You tryna be funny?”

The Asian manicurist smiled at Idris. “You like color?”

“I’ma grown-ass man, you see how big I am, and you asking me if I want some color on my nails?”

“Sir,” an Asian man said from behind the counter and pointed to the manicurist who was smiling at Idris. “She doesn’t speak English.”

Chaunci couldn’t hold it in any longer. She started cracking up laughing.

Idris turned around and gave her the evil eye. “Shut up,” he said.

Kobi tapped him on the shoulder. “Daddy, I picked out a color for you.”

“Y’all planned this,” Idris said to Chaunci, pissed off, as he held
his hands out, “but it’s all good. You really got this off. But Daddy’s a good sport.”

“We know, Daddy,” Chaunci said, standing behind Idris and massaging his shoulders while looking down at his nails. “Relax, pink is your color.”

“Don’t touch me,” Idris snapped at Chaunci. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you feeling some kind of way, Daddy?” Chaunci laughed.

“You better stop fucking with me,” he said, tight-lipped.

“Remember that.” Chaunci laughed as she retook her seat. She knew she was being a little too friendly and free, but she couldn’t help it; this was hilarious.

When Idris and Kobi were done with their nails and feet, Chaunci said, “Should we have lunch now?”

“Yes!” Kobi shouted. “American Girl Café.”

“Kobi,” Idris said, doing his best not to remove his hands from his pockets, “Daddy doesn’t want to rent a doll for himself. I don’t like Addie.”

“Why not, Daddy?” Kobi asked, as the waitress waited patiently to lead them to their table. “What did Addie do to you?”

“Look at the dress, Kobi, and what’s this bonnet on her head?”

“It’s her costume. Mommy has a doll.”

“I sure do.” Chaunci batted her lashes.

“Give me the doll,” Idris snapped, as he tucked Addie beneath his arm and walked to the table.

Once they had sat down and ordered their food Kobi said, “Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Chaunci rose from her seat. “I’m coming.”

Kobi started skipping toward the restroom and Chaunci found herself staring at Idris. She was sure he could read her thoughts as her mind told her to simply give in, to fold, and to just be okay
with this situation, but she couldn’t allow that to happen. She quickly averted her eyes and followed her daughter.

When Kobi and Chaunci returned, their food was on the table. “Daddy,” Kobi said, taking her seat, “did you talk to Addie?”

Chaunci looked at Idris and mouthed, “Just say yes.”

“Yes, baby.”

“Well, did she ask why your napkin is thrown over her face?”

“I’m sorry, Addie.” Idris removed the napkin.

“Daddy,” Kobi laughed, “you’re so silly. You don’t apologize to a doll. She’s not real. Just take the napkin off.”

“I don’t quite know doll etiquette,” Idris said. “But I do know how to steal a fry.” He took a few curly fries from her plate and shoved them in his mouth.

“Daddy!” Kobi smiled. “You can’t steal my curly fries.” She took one of his onion rings.

“You’re stealing my onion rings? Then I’ll just take Mommy’s chicken fingers.”

“No, you don’t, buddy.” Chaunci playfully popped Idris’s hand. “Not without giving me a bite of your cheeseburger.”

“You want me to feed you?”

Chaunci paused and before she could dissect, analyze, and compose the most politically correct answer, she said, “Boy, if you don’t give me a piece of that burger.”

For the next hour they laughed, joked, and enjoyed one another’s company. Idris placed two hundred dollars on the table for the bill and tip, and afterward they shopped, bought new dolls, accessories, and matching clothes for Kobi and her new dolls.

Idris looked at his watch as they exited the American Girl building. “I guess we should get back home.”

“Home?” Kobi frowned. “Daddy, we have one more stop to make.”

“Where is that?”

“The makeup lounge.”

“Oh hell no,” Idris grumbled, “lipstick is where I draw the line.”

Kobi poked her lip out and held her head down. “It’s only for play, Daddy.”

“I don’t believe this.” Idris sucked his teeth. “Does lipstick come in clear?”

Kobi immediately brightened up. “Daddy, you have to get your lipstick in pink. It matches your polish.”

The makeup artist looked at Idris’s nails and slyly started whispering to her coworker.

“What, you think I can’t hear?” Idris asked her. “Huh? I can hear very well.”

“Shh.” Chaunci stood before him and held his hands. “Be quiet before the paparazzi jump out of the bushes and come in here. Besides, don’t complain about the lipstick, complain about the mascara. Lipstick comes off easily.”

Idris looked deeply into Chaunci’s eyes and said, “Show me how easily lipstick comes off.”

Chaunci knew she was pushing it, but she brushed her lips against his. “Like that.” She took a step back.

Idris looked at the makeup artist. “Can I get my entire face done?”

By the time they were done at the makeup lounge and back at home, Kobi was sleeping and Idris felt like Dennis Rodman, minus the wedding dress. His entire face was covered with makeup, his nails were painted pink, and he’d eaten lunch with a doll.

After Kobi was put in her bed, Idris stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, staring at his face. “How the hell am I supposed to get this off?” he asked himself.

Chaunci leaned against his doorframe. “You wear your makeup rather well.”

“I thought you were supposed to help me take it off?”

“I was.” She eased into his room.

“Well, come on.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I can’t go another minute with this on my face.”

“Give me a moment.” Chaunci walked out of the room and came back with her makeup kit. She removed the facial cleaner from her bag and began to clean Idris’s face. She knew being this close to him and running her hands over his lips was dangerous and would cause her to forget all of the reasons that she had sworn she would hate him for life.

Idris fingered the hem of her blouse and then asked her, “How did I do?”

She watched him place his hands around her waist. “You did well.” She smiled at him, her breasts lightly touching his chin as she started to remove his eyeliner. “You’re a good daddy.”

They were quiet for a few moments and then Idris said, “You know I compared every woman I met after you to you.”

Silence.

“All of them,” Idris continued. “And I always thought about you, every day, all the time.” He paused.

Chaunci bit her bottom lip and continued to remove the blush from his cheeks.

“And every time I read one of your articles I felt close to you. I loved that article you wrote on relationships. What did you call it?” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah,” he said, smiling as if a lightbulb had just lit up, “‘What’s Love Got to Do with It.’ And I remember when you said, ‘He who loves least controls the relationship.’ And I remembered thinking that has to be why I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Don’t do this,” Chaunci said quietly.

“I know I acted like an ass, but trust me, I’m grown now. I’m done with the playboy shit. I’m finished, and I’m here, and if we never get a chance to be more than what we are right now, I just want you to know that I have never stopped being in love with you.”

Chaunci did her all not to cry—she was far from being the sentimental
type—so she pushed the tears to the side of her mouth and said, “You are so corny. How many years did you practice that?”

“I’m corny. Ai’ight, then look at me”—Idris took one hand and cupped her chin—“and tell me you don’t love me. Or better yet, I’ll make it easier for you: Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me and I swear that other than our daughter, I’ll leave you alone. So tell me.” He ran his hands over her hips and kissed her stomach through her blouse, her perfume seducing his tongue to kiss and suck her breasts through the material. Unbuttoning her blouse he said, “Tell me.”

Silence. Nothing. Nada. There was nothing Chaunci could say. “You want me to stop?” He unzipped her pants.

“I’m afraid,” she said, straddling his lap as they began to undress each other.

“Don’t be.”

“I fought for so long not to think about you, about us, about any of this. I don’t know, Idris. I don’t know if you’ll know how to love me.”

“Show me.” He lay back as she began to ride him. “I wanna get it right this time.”

“How was your weekend, Kobi?” Edmon’s voice startled Chaunci as she walked into her apartment, where the smell of Dextra’s baking currant rolls filled the air. Chaunci looked into Edmon’s face and realized that she’d forgotten about him. Not once had he crossed her mind. Not when butterflies were filling her belly, not when she kissed Idris, made love to him, cooked for him, and made love to him again before she had left and returned home this afternoon. Not until this moment when she looked into Edmon’s face did she remember him and his place in her life.