Rich Girl Problems (18 page)

“M
ommy!”

“Ms. Vera!”

Skyy and Aidan, Taj's son, greeted Vera with bear hugs around her waist as she opened the door.

“Mommy! Mommy! Me and my brother—”

“My brother and I,” Vera corrected Skyy.

“My brother and I saw you on TV!”

“You did?” Vera forced herself to smile.

“Yes, Ms. Vera.” Aidan giggled.

Why is he here? I just want him away from my door. He's a child. I know. But every time I look at him, I see my husband making love to his mother.

This shit is sick.

I need to shake it.... He hasn't done anything to me.

But I feel like he has. Just saying hello to him is a struggle.

Act like an adult for once.

Damn.

“Ms. Vera,” Aidan carried on, “I was sooooo excited when I saw you on TV. I had no idea you were a star!”

“Don't worry, Mommy, I checked 'em on that,” Skyy interjected. “I let him know that you were a star, you were rich, and that when you stepped into a room, you give all the chicks fever. Oh, and you know what Aidan asked me, Mommy?”

“What's that?”

“Why you and Daddy don't live together if you're married.” Skyy placed a hand on her hip and twisted her lips like a miniature Aunt Cookie. “I told him, ‘Li'l boy, you're being a little too nosy. You ain't, I mean you haven't, lived but thirty bleep-bleep-bleepin' minutes—' ”

“All right, Skyy,” Taj warned.

“Daddy, I wasn't being grown. Was I, Aidan?” She turned toward her brother.

Aidan hesitated, and Skyy said, “Boy, don't make me elbow slap you. 'Cause I will cut you so deep down past your bone marrow that the only thing left of you will be your shadow!”

“Skyy!” Vera tapped her lightly on the mouth. “Apologize right now!”

“Mommy!”

“Or would you like to be marched into the bathroom so you can do a little painful tap dance from my hand slapping those thighs?”

“Sorry, Aidan.” She dropped her head, her two ponytails swinging forward over her shoulder.

“And it won't—” Vera stressed.

“And it won't happen again.”

“Now you need to stop being so fresh.”

“Mommy, I was just trying to tell Aidan that Daddy didn't live here because you tossed all of his clothes over the balcony. And when you two stop being mad at each other, then you'll stop crying at night and Daddy will come home. And, Mommy, did you know that someone broke into Daddy's place and tore it up? Killed the fish and everything!”

Vera didn't respond. Instead she glanced at Taj and then back down to the children.

“Mommy, can I show Aidan how we redecorated my room?” Skyy pulled Aidan's hand and brushed past Vera and into the house before Vera could say “hell no.” She turned back to Taj, who stood on the opposite side of the threshold. “So what are you going to do? Sit in the hallway, wait in the lobby, or come back in an hour or two?”

“None of the above; I'll be coming in.” He placed his hands on her waist, moved her to the side, and walked in.

“Aren't you violating your restraining order? And why didn't you call for me to come to the police station? Isn't that the arrangement, Dr. Bennett?”

Taj placed his hands on Vera's waist and pulled her into him. “Is this what you really want to do? You want to argue? Did you drop her off at the police station or did you call me like you had some sense and ask me if Skyy could please stay with me for a couple of days while you stayed with Jaise?”

Silence.

“Exactly. Now cut that shit out and act like you remember how to hold a decent conversation with your husband.” He kissed her lightly on the lips and tapped her on the behind. “How's Jaise?”

“Not good.” Vera felt a rush of tears inching up on her. “The funeral was yesterday. And every time I think about Jabril lying in that casket, it breaks my heart.” Unable to hold back her tears any longer, Vera wept into Taj's chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

“It's painful, baby. I know it is. And you and Jaise are so close.”

“And he wasn't that bad of a kid.”

“I know. But some of his choices were, baby.”

“Maybe you're right.” She wiped her eyes and softly stepped out of his embrace. “Are you hungry?”

“No. But I'll have a glass of—”

“Perrier.”

Vera poured Taj a glass of the French mineral water and dropped two ice cubes in it. “You can keep the glass.” She placed it in front of him as he sat at the kitchen island. “There were only two in that set and being that you're going for half of everything . . .”

“You just can't help yourself.” Taj shook his head. “Why can't you just give in to the feeling of enjoying my company? Are you that scared to admit that you made a mistake when you filed for divorce?”

“I'm not—”

Bzzzz . . . Bzzzz . . .
Taj's phone vibrated on his hip. “Who is this?” He squinted at the phone. “One minute, Vera. Let me get this. “Hello?” He paused. “Uncle Boy, why are you calling me from a blocked number and why are you whispering?”

“That's a damned good question,” Vera said.

“No, I can't meet with you right now,” Taj said into the phone. “I'm with my wife at the moment.” He paused again. “Producer? What producer—I'm not talking loud, Uncle Boy. . . . Maury Povich? Why do Maury Povich's producers keep calling you?”

“What is he talking about?!” Vera demanded. “I know his ass doesn't have a baby!”

“Uncle Boy, that's ridiculous. I will not be using my lab to run some bootleg blood test for you. And a forty-five-year-old woman is not a baby. Her mother can threaten you all day, but she cannot get any child support from you, so your Social Security is safe. Now who you need to worry about is Aunt Cookie. I won't tell Vera. A'ight, bye.”

Taj looked up at Vera. “My uncle is crazy.” He laughed.

“He's
my
uncle.”

“Damn. We're not even family anymore either? So you want me completely out of your life, huh?”

“I didn't say that.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I'm saying that perhaps right now
we're
family, but that has an expiration date. I know you received your letter for the divorce hearing.”

“An expiration date?” Taj said, and looked at Vera in disbelief. “You know what? Maybe I need to leave before this turns into another argument. Let me get my son, whom you really don't want here anyway.” He stood up.

“I resent that! I don't mind him being here, and if I did, he wouldn't be here, or your ass either. Now sit down and stop starting shit that you can't finish.”

“I can finish everything that I start.” He stepped around the island and into Vera's personal space. “I'm not the quitter in this marriage.”

“You're calling me a quitter?”

“If the shoe fits.” He kissed her on the forehead.

“Look, let's talk about something else.”

Taj shook his head. “If you insist. Uncle Boy told me that Rowanda was here visiting from Chicago. Where is she?”

“I don't know,” Vera said matter-of-factly. “I haven't seen her for two days.”

Taj looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“In the middle of the party Milan gave for her husband, she up and told me that she had to go. That she couldn't breathe.”

“Why didn't you go after her?”

“She flew out the damn door before I could say a word or follow her.”

“Vera, what the hell do you mean? You expect me to believe you couldn't follow her?”

“What do you mean, ‘what the hell'? Look, we both know that my mother is a junkie, okay? There's no hiding and no escaping that. This is part of the reason I hate for her to come back to New York, because . . .”

“Because what?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it. Tell me.

Unexpected tears streamed down Vera's cheeks. “I'm just tired of her always pulling this shit! And no matter how damn grown I am, I still feel like that same little kid on edge, waiting for her mother to bust out the crack pipe of disappointment.” She wiped her eyes. “Look, ummm . . .” She turned toward the hallway. “How about you let Aidan spend the night with his sister and you come back tomorrow and pick him up?”

“He can spend the night. But I'm not leaving and coming back tomorrow. I'm staying right here and we're going to deal with this. We need to call the hospitals and the police stations.”

“I did that. I even called the city morgue. They don't have her ass. You know who has her—the glass dick she's somewhere sucking on. Look. I have my own child. I can't raise my mother too. I'm tired of feeling like I have to be watching over her all the time when she's here or she'll sneak out somewhere and get high. I would like to be her damn child for a change and not her overseer! Damn!”

“It's not your fault, baby. And you're not responsible for your mother.”

“I know it's not my fault. But I feel like it is.” She wiped tears. “Do you know how many times I dragged my mother out of an alleyway? Nursed her back from a damn overdose? Waited by the bathroom door while she stayed in there all damn day? Do you understand that? She begged me to give her another chance and now this is the shit she pulls?”

“It could be something else, V.”

“It's not, Taj. We've been together long enough for you to know that her ass is somewhere probably sucking dick for a hit.”

Taj pulled Vera into his chest and he rested his chin in the center of her head. “I want you to know that you are not responsible for your mother's addiction. Your mother is an adult.”

“Taj.”

“Listen to me—” He held her head up. “Rowanda is
your
mother. She is the parent in this situation. She failed you.
Not
the other way around. And if she makes a decision to get high, you are not to blame. You are not to blame now and you were not to blame when you were a little girl dragging her out of the alleyways or stealing food from the corner store. And you are not to blame because you went to school when you were eight and told the teacher that your grandmother had died and you were home alone. That is not your fault.”

Vera wiped her eyes. “I know you're right. I just want to truly feel that way.” She looked into Taj's eyes and slid her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said as they began to kiss passionately. Soul stirringly.

He ran his hands up her thighs and ended their kiss with a suck of her chin. “You want me to stop?” He unbuttoned her blouse and caressed her hard nipples.

“No.”

“Then tell me you love me and take responsibility for what is your fault and apologize for all of the crazy shit you've done to me.”

“What?” Vera frowned. “Apologize? I'm not apologizing. I'm not doing that.”

“Then I'm not doing you. Because if you think I'm going to sleep with you and help you run away from what you need to be dealing with, you're wrong. This is a marriage and it's not all about you and what you need. And instead of laying up here at night and crying over me, you need to be talking to me. Now, if you want to talk about your mother, let's do that. You want to make love to me, then you'll need to hollah at me with an apology.”

“Then I guess I'll be seeing you in court next week.”

“I guess so, and make sure you bring your checkbook.”

A
shes to ashes . . .

Dust to dust . . .

Black suit . . .

Slick mahogany coffin . . .

White satin lining . . .

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .

You choosing this niggah over me? Your own son!

“Noooo!” Jaise screamed as she jumped out of her sleep in a sweat. Her eyes moved around her bedroom in a panic: from the caramel painted walls to the rod iron railings of her bed, to Bilal, who lay next to her sleeping.

Jaise felt nauseous as she tossed the sheet off and eased out of bed. She headed for the bathroom and immediately her stomach boiled and her mouth watered. She gripped the edge of the toilet and dry heaved into it.

“Are you okay, Jaise?” Bilal rubbed her back.

“Yeah. I just feel really, really fucked up.” She dry heaved again. After a few seconds of trying to get herself together, she walked over to the pedestal sink and splashed water into her face.

“Maybe you need to sit down and let me fix you some tea.”

“I don't want any tea. I want a cigarette and I have this urge to cook apple pancakes.” She looked over at Bilal. “I feel so weird.” She looked around the bathroom and saw that the butler had let the camera crew upstairs and they were filming her.

Ignoring the camera, Bilal said, “You're going through a lot right now.”

She looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean with Jabril passing away, it's a lot on you.”

Passing away . . . passing away . . .
Jaise looked into Bilal's face.

Ashes to ashes . . .

Dust to dust . . .

Black suit . . .

Slick mahogany coffin . . .

White satin lining . . .

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .

You choosing this niggah over me? Your own son!

“Passing away,” Jaise said as tears streamed down her face. “He wasn't sick. He wasn't some old-ass man. No one expected him to die.”

“Jaise, calm down.” He reached for her hand and she snatched it back. “Calm down.”

“Get. Off. Me!” Jaise screamed.

“I know you're upset.”

“You know I'm upset? I'm more than upset. I'm enraged and I want to kill your fuckin' ass! Passed away! My son didn't pass away. He was murdered, motherfucker, and as far as I'm concerned, you might as well have pulled the trigger!”

“What?”

“Get the fuck out!” She pushed Bilal. “Get your shit and get the fuck out! Had me put my child on the street because he wasn't man enough for you! Because he didn't meet your standards, so he had to go! All this fuckin' house! Six bedrooms, a full and finished basement! And you had me put my baby on the street! You killed him!”

“Jaise—”

She pushed past him, ran into the closet, yanked his clothes from the hangers, and tossed them out of the closet. “Get the fuck out!” She flung his shoes. Took her hand and in one swipe knocked everything off his dresser. “Out!” She opened the bedroom window and began sailing his things into the street.

“Jaise.” He grabbed her, his hold paralyzing her.

“You killed my baby.” Her voice ached. Her body ached. Everything felt weak. “I need you to leave. You killed my baby.”

“Jaise.”

“I don't want to see you ever again. This marriage is over. I chose you over my baby and now I'll never see him again.”

Bilal's face was wet with tears. “Jaise.”

“Let me go and leave.”

He released her from his hold and gathered what he could of his things. “I love you and I loved Jabril. I just wanted what was best for him. Had I known—”

“Go!” She yelled at the top of her voice, “GET OUT!”

Bilal threw some things in a bag, picked it up, and walked out of the room. Jaise could hear his feet slamming against the steps, and once they stopped she heard the front door slam.

“My baby's dead!” she cried, and curled into a ball on the floor for what felt like forever.