Read Rich Girl Problems Online
Authors: Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker
Rich Girl Problems (23 page)
BRIDGET
Reunion
Â
T
hese bitches were winners! They'd sung a drama-filled lullaby for the third season in a row, making my baby,
Millionaire Wives Club,
a huge success. And yeah, they all ended the season hating meâexcept Journeeâbut I didn't give a damn. After all, this was never personal. Even Milan charging into the office and backhanding me wasn't personal. It was always business.
The reunion was taking place in the ballroom of the Ty Warner hotel. The room was a shimmering white, with two white leather couches and an exquisite chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
Vera, Jaise, and Journee sat on one couch while Milan and Chaunci sat on the other. Each was dressed in a fabulous roaring twenties ball gown and limited edition heels.
Their jewels reflected in the light and they all appeared to have their own sparkling hue, as they looked out into the audience and watched their host walk up the center aisle, pose, and smile.
All of their jaws dropped and I just about pissed in my pants.
I swear I just loved these hos.
Their host was none other than Al-Taniesha Richardson, a former star of the show, who had moved on to star in my other hit production,
A Preacher's Wife.
Al-Taniesha sauntered onto the stage wearing a purple leather dress and silver gladiator platform heels that lit up like Christmas lights with every step.
She took her seat and crossed her legs. “Umm-hmm, it's me. First Lady Niesha. Al-Taniesha Chardonnay Richardson, as most of you know.” She looked into the camera. “The star of my own hit reality show. You can catch me every Thursday night at ten. Or every Sunday morning at Heathen No More Tabernacle, on Grove Street, Hotlanta, USA. ” She gave a small wave and then turned back to the cast. “Chile, y'all bitches begged for your supper this goddamn season! Oh, hell yes, y'all did!” She slapped a thigh. “And to think you called
me
ghetto. Now had y'all been in the projects, you would've been called hood rats, but change the zip code to Fifth Avenue and without further ado . . . I present to you the
Millionaire Wives Club
.”
The audience clapped and after the applause simmered down, Al-Taniesha held up a blue index card and said, “This question is from Taylor in Jersey, and it's for you, Jaise. She wants to know how you are feeling since the death of your son.”
Jaise dabbed the corner of her eye. “It gets better every day, Al-Taniesha.”
Vera patted Jaise's back, while Journee touched her hand and Milan and Chaunci said almost in unison, “I'm so sorry that happened to you.”
“Thank you,” Jaise said. “Everyone has been so supportive. I still miss my baby though.”
“I can imagine you have to,” Al-Taniesha said. “ 'Cause I know my daughter misses his damn child support.” She looked into the camera. “For those who don't know, my daughter, Christina, and Jaise's son had a baby together two years ago. The baby is doing well. But I'm tired of Chrissy begging me for money. Dat ass knows I don't believe in taking care of grown children. No, ma'am. I'm young. Vibrant. Sexy. And I just don't do that. That's how you ruin 'em. And the next thing you know they all fucked up and dead somewhere. No offense, Jaise. I'm just making a point. But anyway, you wanna tell the audience about your new bundle of joy?”
Jaise mustered up a smile and ran a hand over her stomach. “Who would've ever thought?”
“Damn sure not me,” Al-Taniesha said as Milan and Chaunci chuckled and agreed. “A baby,” she continued. “And you're damn near forty? No, honey, that's when you need to adopt a dog or a damn monkey. But anyway, hallelujah! What a blessing.”
“Yes. My baby is a blessing,” Jaise said, pissed. “I'm five months pregnant and I can do without your comments!” She gawked at Milan and Chaunci. “So instead of being worried about me and my pregnancy, you need to be concerned with your raggedy-ass relationships. Tell us, Chaunci, did sleeping with the boss pay off?”
Journee and Vera laughed.
“Good question, Jaise,” Vera said.
“That's a damn good question!” Al-Taniesha stood up and gave Jaise a high five. “Bitch, that mouth has always been slick. That's what made me want to always boom-cock you in the face, because of some of the shit you would say. But anyway, before we move on, Jaise . . .” Al-Taniesha retook her seat and picked up another index card. “Sydney from Iowa wants to know how Bilal is doing and what's the state of your marriage.”
“We're still separated. And I guess he's fine.”
“Does he know about the baby?”
“After today he will.”
“Damn! He doesn't even know you're pregnant? You are really giving it to his ass. And let me tell you when you kicked him out of the house, the only thing missing from that scene was you coming down the stairs, lighting a cigarette, and setting his shit on fire!”
“KABOOM!” Lollipop, Al-Taniesha's husband, who was dressed in a white patent leather catsuit, screamed from the audience.
“But you did well,” Al-Taniesha continued. “ 'Cause I would've busted four caps in his skull. Yeah, Jabril was sorry, and triflin', and you should've done a better job teaching him how to be a man, but he was my grandson's father. Bilal could've let him live in the basement.”
“Al-Taniesha, I think you need to move on,” Jaise said.
“Okay, okay, okay. Now on to Chaunci. Girlfriend, you did that shit. You owned this season, baby! My mouth hit the floor when it came out that you were doing the panty drop with Grant. When Emory leaked that damn video to the media, chile, I almost died! So what do you have to say about that?”
“I'm not going to discuss that,” Chaunci said.
“What the hell?” Al-Taniesha's mouth dropped open. “Don't you think folks wanna know?”
“I know I'd like to know,” Vera added. “Because I saw the video, and wow!”
“I really think you need to stay in your lane.” Chaunci pointed at Vera.
“Or what?” Vera pushed.
“Let me just pause it right there, ladies,” Al-Taniesha said, and looked at Chaunci. “Don't get fucked up during commercial break. You already know that hood ho will slice your ass down to the marrow.”
Chaunci sucked her teeth. “Whatever. Next question.”
Al-Taniesha continued, “Kenya from Alabama wants to know, what's the state of your company?”
“I am still co-owner with Grant Preston.”
“Oh, damn.” Al-Taniesha laughed. “So, umm, have you been back to the creamalicious side of things?”
“I'm doing well and my daughter is fantastic.” Chaunci changed the subject.
“Excuse you, I'm the host here. I'll change the subject. Bitches kill me! Shit, you were on reality TV and if you were going to get on the reunion and act like you're too good to discuss your drama, then you shouldn't have done the bullshit during the season. Everybody wants to know about you and sexy ass and this is what you pull? Shade? As Bridget says, âBitch, you'd better get into it.' ”
Al-Taniesha turned toward Vera. “You know phony hos work me over, which is why I always fucked with you, Vera. But I must say this season you and Taj went through some hell. Are you truly back together or not? 'Cause you know last reunion you lied and said you were one happy family and the truth was you hated his ass. Now what's the deal?”
“We are more in love than ever. He's back home and it's a beautiful thing.”
“Girl, you'd better keep that black man happy. 'Cause I had a few church ushers and nurses lined up. And I told 'em right after that divorce scene, âwe'll see how this goes, and if she acts stupid, I'll put you on him.' But you turned it around and I'm proud of you! You did that shit. You are my kind of bitch, Vera. And I'm so glad you got your mind right. 'Cause you know that little boy ain't do shit to you. You and Taj were broken up and he slid over to another chick real quick. That's life. And the lesson for him is to wrap it up. He's a doctor and he ought to know better than that. He had a blood test, right?”
“Yes. And like I've already said, we're happy.”
“Now, how is your mother and how is it having a brother?”
“My mother is still in the hospital and things are touch and go. As far as Kendu being my brother . . . it's been different. I've never had any siblings, so I'm learning how to be a sister. We spend time together. He comes overâ”
“Does he bring his wife?”
“Sometimes.”
“Girl, I'd love to be a fly on that damn wall. Do you two get along now?”
“It's a process.”
“It sure is,” Milan remarked.
Vera pointed at Milan. “As long as my brother, my nephew, and my niece are there, you don't ever have to come. Ever!”
“Oh, hell!” Al-Taniesha laughed. “Y'all whores are related. Oh, damn, I would love to be around come Christmastime!” She turned to Journee. “Now, Journee, the new chick on the scene. You turned out to be a fan fave.”
“Yes. I did.” Journee smiled and waved at the audience.
“But I have to know, what in the hell did you see in Granddaddy? It had to be the money, honey. 'Cause all I could imagine was a short and stumpy dingaling!”
A chorus of “ewww” traveled through the audience.
“I loved my husband,” Journee insisted.
“Chile, please. Now were you doing his son? Admit it. Were you?”
“No. I was not.”
“Girrrrrrl!” Al-Taniesha yelled. “You have better coochie control than me, 'cause I would've hit him off a few times. I understand you were trying to be a stand-up woman. But that husband of yours, chile. He reminded me of a sick dog who needed to be euthanized! Now, Kai from Oklahoma wants to know what's going on with his son.”
“He was killed in prison,” Journee answered.
“Whaaaaat? Somebody shanked him to death?! Wow!”
“Yeah, pretty sad,” Journee said. “Next question.”
“I don't have any more for you, boo. You just blew me out the water with telling me that Xavier was dead. He said he wanted to be with his daddy, so I guess he is.”
“Now on to you, Ms. Milan. So somebody finally beat Bridget's ass and it happened to be you!”
“Yes. I tried to bury her in the carpet, but security wouldn't let me. Needless to say, this will be the last time you'll see me on reality TV.”
Lies.
“Fuck Bridget.”
We all know you don't mean that.
Milan continued, “She hired an actress to ruin my marriage. I'm done!”
“Any advice you'd give anyone who wants to be a part of reality TV?”
“Yes. That karma is not a bitch; reality TV is.”
“Carl!” I looked over at him. “She's a fuckin' genius. Make sure that line is her intro for next season.”
“You got it.”
“I tell ya, Carl”âI wiped tearsâ“for the next few months, I'm gonna miss these hos.”
RICH GIRL PROBLEMS
Â
Â
Â
Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker
Â
Â
About This Guide
Â
Â
The discussion questions that follow are included to enhance your group's reading of the book.
- How much of a role do you believe the cameras played in the characters' lives? Had there been no cameras, would their lives have been the same?
- Do you believe that Bridget acted the way all reality show producers behave? If so, in what way? If not, then how is she different?
- What did you think of Vera's struggle to accept Taj's son? Was it truly about him having a child outside their marriage? Or do you believe their marriage was affected by other factors? If yes, what might those factors be?
- Rowanda had a long history of drug abuse. Can you believe she will ever change?
- How do you feel about Kendu and Vera being siblings? Do you believe that this could happen in real life? Do you know someone with similar family dynamics? How did they handle it? How would you handle it?
- Jaise struggled with choosing between her husband and her son. Do you think she made the right choice? If not, why not? Would your opinion be different if Jabril had not been killed?
- How do you feel about Bridget hiring an actress to spice up Milan's drama? Do you think Milan not trusting her husband was about the actress or about her own insecurities?
- Do you believe that Chaunci truly loved her fiancé?
- How did you feel about Grant having a wife? How do you imagine things will unfold?
- Journee was the newcomer to the show. How do you think the story would be different if she were not a part of the cast?
Meet these dramatic divas for the first time in
Â
Millionaire Wives Club
Â
Available wherever books and ebooks are sold
Â
Turn the page for an excerpt from
Millionaire Wives Club
. . .
Millions of dollars in premier fashions and champagne diamonds were on display at Manhattan's 40/40 Club as four ultrarich and ubersuccessful womenâAmerica's newest addition to reality TVâstrolled the red carpet and smiled at the flashing lights of the paparazzi. The clicking of their designer stilettos was like exquisite steel-pan beats as they crossed the club's threshold, and the sultry sounds of Maxwell's live performance filled the air. Despite their individual insecurities and doubts, at this moment as they sauntered into the sunrise of superstardom, what mattered most was that they'd gotten their own piece of the latest in rich bitch candy.
“Ladies, ladies,” a reporter from
E! News
said, motioning for the four of them to come together and meet him across the room. “Can you all tell us a little about yourselves?” He looked at the woman to his left. “May we start with you?”
“I'm Milan Starks, wife of the great Yusef âDa Truef' Starks, number twenty-three on the New York Knicks.” A lovely mix of her cinnamon brown Dominican father and golden-skinned African American mother, Milan had an effortless beauty that didn't require makeup or facials to be perfect. She had a Marilyn Monroe mole on the corner of her top lip, hazel eyes, her Beyoncé-like hips were a size tenâtwelve at mostâand she had a true apple bottom.
“Wasn't he suspended?” Evan Malik said and then quickly covered her mouth. “Oh, my apologies, I didn't mean to say that.”
“He was suspended,” the reporter said, following up on Evan's comment. “Do you want to tell us how you feel about that?” he asked Milan.
“My husband is a great man.” Milan smiled. “Sure, he hit a rough patch, but he's on his way back and will be better than ever.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Starks, now on to you, Mrs. Malik,” he said to Evan. “Is it true that you were the first to be cast for the show?”
Milan shifted her weight from one Christian Louboutin python pump to the other, praying the nausea she felt as she sized up Evan would go away. Evan stood five eleven, fabulously slender, a figure-eight shape, and skin the color of butterscotch. Her hair was cut in a short and spiky Halle Berryâinspired 'do with touches of honey blond that glimmered in the spotlights.
Milan hated that she and Evan had ended up in the same circle, because every time she saw Evan, heard Evan's voice, and was in her presence, Milan was forced to deal with the fact that Evan had won. Evan had ended up with the only man who made Milan feel true love was obtainable: Kendu. But since image was everything in this business, Milan planned to do her damnedest and pretend that they were all friends, even if the knife she had for Evan's back weighed down her Chloé clutch.
“Why of course, sweetie,” Evan said. “Who wouldn't want to start with me?” She winked.
“It's been five minutes,” Chaunci Morgan, Milan's neighbor and one of the four costars, whispered to Milan while maintaining a smile, “and already I'm sick of this bitch. Did she forget that she was a video ho?”
“Seems so,” Milan whispered back.
“Excuse you.” Jaise Williams, Evan's friend and their costar, turned toward Milan and then eyed Chaunci. “What did you just say?” she snapped.
“I said that she looks fabulous.” Milan smiled at Evan. “She gives retired video hos, I mean vixens, a good name.”
“Umm-hmm,” Chaunci added, snapping her fingers in a Z motion. “A true fashionista. You better work it, girl.”
“So, Mrs. Malik,” the reporter said, “tell the world who you are and what it means to be on the show.”
Evan paused. The microphone pointed toward her and the spotlights shining in her face caused her to draw a blank. There was no way she could say, “
Millionaire Wives Club
is a last-ditch effort to save my life, something to keep me busy and silence the self-destructive thoughts running through my mind.” And she definitely couldn't say, “I may be married to Kendu Malik, linebacker for the New York Giants, but it's an unending struggle holding on to the motherfucker.”
“Mrs. Malik,” the reporter interrupted her thoughts, “is everything okay? Do you want to fill us in?”
Evan blinked and shot him a Barbie-doll smile. “I am a beautiful wife”âshe arched her eyebrowsâ“an outstanding mother, and I have the talent and the foresight to seize the moment. And being on the show will allow all women to see what it takes to be me.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” the reporter probed.
“What she means,” Chaunci mumbled to Milan, “is that she thinks us peons are pissed that we didn't hit the same groupies party that she did.”
Milan tried not to laugh, but then couldn't hold it in any longer, and when she looked at Chaunci they both cracked up, neither one of them stopping until they noticed everyone standing around them was silent.
“Oh,” the producer, Bridget, said to them, batting her eyes, “don't stop on the boom mic's accord. For ratings' sake, carry on.”
Milan was embarrassed; the last thing she wanted was for her and Chaunci to be seen as the troublemaking pair. “I'ma ummm”âMilan pointed to the barâ“go and have a drink.”
“I'll join you,” Chaunci said, as Bridget motioned for the camera guy, Carl, to follow them.
Once they were at the bar and had ordered their drinks, Carl tapped Chaunci on the shoulder. Both she and Milan turned around. “When I cut the camera on, tell us what happened over there. Why'd you say those things?”
He turned the camera on and pointed it at them. “Evan works my nerves,” Chaunci said, popping her lips. “I've known her for three days, since we met at the studio, and already she's been in my life too long.” She shot Milan a high five. “And believe me, as editor in chief of
Nubian Diva
magazine everyone knows that I'm too classy to lose my cool, but trust me, I will not hesitate to tap dat ass.” She pointed toward Evan.
“But since this is a nice place,” Milan interrupted as she sipped her drink, “we're not gon' tear it up.”
“So we're just going to sit here.” Chaunci crossed her legs.
“And enjoy our evening,” Milan added.
“Thanks, ladies.” Carl smiled and turned away.
Â
Jaise stared at the
E! News
reporter, wondering how she should introduce herself to the world. Should she tell people the made-for-TV parts of her life story or should she lower the boom, let 'em know the truth, and maybe, just maybe, some sanity-teetering superwoman somewhere would understand that this single-mother-doing-her-thing bullshit was overrated?
She stood next to Evan and her eyes shifted from the people mingling across the room to the reporter standing before them. Her open-toed pencil heels were aching her feet, and she wondered why she had committed to doing reality TV, especially when her postdivorce resolution was no drama. Yet here she was drowning in it. All because she and Evan had sworn that cable's
Millionaire Wives Club
was the new bling they needed to rock.
It was public knowledge that Jaise had married and divorced exâheavyweight champion Lawrence Williams, but she wondered if anyone knew how much she had suffered in silence during their marriage. She'd been slapped, punched, kicked, and humiliated, almost daily, by her ex. And if people didn't know it, would revealing it make hers a story of empowerment or weakness?
Then again, maybe she would look like a shero if she revealed how she had walked out on Lawrence by placing a sedative in his nightly shot of Hennessey, waited for him to drift to sleep, grabbed her son, and then escaped to a battered woman's shelter.
But she had been married to him for seven years and never once publicly complained. There was no way she could now admit before the world that a man with money had clouded her judgment. And since some shit was better left unsaid, Jaise stood there, waited for Evan to finish, and when the reporter turned to her she had her intro down pat.
“Mrs. Williams,” the reporter said, “can you tell us a little about yourself? We hear that you're superwoman. A single mom, the owner of the online Shabby Chic antique businessâyou seem to be doing it all.”
“Superwoman,” Jaise responded, laughing, “is a myth.” She flung her emerald-and-rhodium-draped wrist. “But I am handling money and power quite well.” She chuckled a bit. “I'm just so excited to be in the company of some remarkable women.”
Once Jaise was done the reporter shook the ladies' hands and said, “Good interview, ladies. Now I need to go and speak to your costars.”
As he turned away Jaise let out a sigh of relief. She sat down at one of the tables and lit a cigarette, and Evan sat across from her. As Jaise eased her feet from her four-inch heels, she said, “I hope I can survive this shit.” She looked at Evan and took a pull. “I keep thinking and rethinking what to say and what not to say.” She let out the smoke. “I swear somebody is going to think I'm crazy.”
“Girl,” Evan said, as she watched Milan and Chaunci laugh and converse at the bar, “just be yourself.”
“Be myself?” Jaise smirked. “Yeah, right.”
“No seriously, I mean, hell, I have no problems being me. I meant what I said to the reporter.”
“Well, I'm not that put together. I'm stressed and sometimes I feel beat down. And you know that's too real for TV.”
“It's
reality TV,
” Evan insisted. “Speak to the camera as if you were talking to me.”
Jaise laughed. “Okay, I'ma relax this bill collector's voice, put on my Brooklyn-mami twang, and say, âI'm so goddamn tired of faking the funk.The truth is my sixteen-year-old son needs a man to call daddy and, hell, I do too.' ”
Evan laughed, but her eyes were on Milan. She couldn't help but wonder what Milan had that she didn't. Why had Kendu chosen Milan for his best friend and why was Milan able to touch places and parts of Kendu that he wouldn't dare let Evan into? Kendu's rejection of her had steadily become Evan's obsession.
“What are you thinking about?” Jaise asked Evan once she realized she'd lost her attention. Jaise followed Evan's gaze to Chaunci and Milan. “Fuck them.”
“That's it!” Bridget unexpectedly walked over to their table and said, “That's the spirit. Fuck them, and just so you know, they just finished calling you two a buncha rats' asses.”
“What?” Jaise said, slipping her shoes back on. “They don't even know me.”
“And from the sound of it,” Bridget said, “they don't want to.”
“Let's go and straighten this out.” Jaise looked at Evan as she rose from her chair.
“Sit down,” Evan warned Jaise. “I wouldn't give those low-budget bitches the satisfaction.”
“Low-budget”âBridget grabbed a napkin and a pen and scribbled down what Evan had just saidâ“bitch-es.”
“I thought most producers didn't get involved with the cast,” Evan snapped.
Bridget, who resembled a redheaded Heidi Klum, smiled and tossed her red hair over her shoulders. “Meet the new and improved way to produce.”
“Anyway,” Evan said, looking back at Jaise, “we have more going for us than to argue with a pair of half-dollar hos.”
Â
“So what makes you different from all the other women?” the
E! News
reporter asked Chaunci.
Chaunci did her best to hold a steady smile and act sober considering she and Milan had had one too many shots of Pa-trón and glasses of white wine. Milan smiled sweetly, knowing that if her friend said even one word it was sure to be slurred.
“Well,” Chaunci attempted to speak in a steady tone, although her being tipsy was evident, “what makes me different is that I have my own, and all the rest of these women are uppity skeezers on the stroll.” She turned to Milan: “No offense.” Turning back toward the reporter she continued, “I'm not upset with them, though, not one bit. What woman wouldn't want to marry well?”
“But then they'd have to worry about groupies,” Milan managed to add without slurring.
“Any advice about that?” the reporter asked.
Chaunci laughed. “Certainly, I have some advice. As soon as some groupie comes shakin' it around your man, bust a cap in her ass and then put one in him. Shit, I can't say he won't cheat, but make sure he's a handicap motherfucker doin' it. Alright.” She and Milan exchanged high fives again.
“So what do you think people will learn from the show?” the reporter asked Chaunci.
“That when these Jones come down”âshe sipped her drink with one hand and pointed her index finger with the otherâ“it's gon' be a motherfucker.”
“And there you have it.” The
E! News
reporter turned to face the camera. “I present to you the ladies of
Millionaire Wives Club.
Stay tuned!”