Hooker to housewife # 3 Page 4

  One day when Chantal was at Arlene’s apartment soaking up another dose of her words of wisdom she said, “Chantal, watch and learn from my mistakes. You don’t want to end up struggling the way I am.”

  “Arlene, it’s not your fault that clown-ass baby father of yours bounced. You don’t have anything to feel bad about. You were getting straight dough from that nigga and living good. So maybe right now you’re on down time but it will all come full circle and you’ll be right back on top.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, little mama, but let me tell you where I went wrong so you don’t follow my path. I had a baby with a nigga that didn’t have no established paper. The music artist is at the bottom of the totem pole when it comes to getting that money, unless they are consistently selling millions of records and they parlayed they shit into endorsements and other things. You fuck around and get knocked up by a one-hit wonder, you might as well had a baby with the local drug dealer.”

  “But the local drug dealer isn’t going to have you on the scene at the hottest celebrity spots.”

  “Yeah, maybe not, but when the one-hit wonder’s time is up neither is he. If you don’t have no dough, it’s all irrelevant. Past fame don’t pay no bills.” Chantal sat back, nodding her head, taking it all in. “You are a bad bitch, Chantal. Hands down one of, if not the, prettiest girls I’ve ever seen. Mad niggas is going to be checking for you. So just remember, when you decide to lock one of them down with a baby make sure he is at the top of his game. His paper needs to be so long that no matter what happens between you and him, he can never escape paying you those dollars.” That was the best lesson Chantal ever learned regarding how the baby mama game worked.

  Later that day when Andre came home, Chantal followed Arlene’s advice to the “T.” After screwing his brains out and snorting more coke, the two became inseparable. They hit a couple of rough patches, but Chantal was in it for the long haul. Andre paid her rent and continued to pay it and the rest of her bills until they moved in with each other for a brief time. He also let her keep his Benz so she had transportation until he bought her a car as a Christmas present. Andre picked up where Chantal’s past money suppliers left off, but she had decided after that first night that Andre was a keeper.

  T H R E E

  Love Don’t Live Here

  Chantal awoke to the comfort of $1,500 Frette sheets, still dreaming about the incredible sex session she and Andre had had in the limo after the movie premiere, and the amazing night of lovemaking when they arrived home. She knew, after the fireworks their bodies ignited, that significant progress toward her goal had been made. Andre was warm, affectionate, and treated her with respect during the duration of her visit. Last night, they appeared to be the perfect couple. As she lay naked in bed, Chantal began making plans for the redecorating she would do once she moved in permanently. Andre did have exquisite taste, but she thought the place needed a woman’s touch.

  Although Chantal’s preference was to live at the mansion in Jersey, Andre insisted that with all his business meetings in the city the penthouse was more convenient for everyday purposes. They would usually stay in Jersey on weekends or long holidays. But Chantal had no doubt in her mind she would change all of that shortly. So when she stepped out of bed and opened the double French doors that were adjacent to the master bedroom, and heard him making flight arrangements for her depature, her bubble instantly popped. To Chantal’s dismay, Andre was putting her back on a plane to Chicago.

  “Why are you in such a rush for me to leave?” Chantal wanted to know as Andre was hanging up the phone.

  “I have a lot of shit to take care of. Business is crazy right now.”

  “So crazy that you need for me to leave?”

  “Yes,” Andre said in an agitated voice.

  “How long is this back and forth mess going to last? You need for me and your daughter to be closer to you. Why do you insist on having us way out in Chicago when you are here? It doesn’t make any sense, Andre. Don’t you think your daughter wants to be near her father?”

  “I’m not in the mood for this bullshit, Chantal. I told you before that I’m not ready for this living together crap. Last time we tried it, you started wilding out on me.”

  “Yeah, because I caught your ass fucking around with mad bitches.”

  “See, that’s what you get for looking. I told you not to be all up in my business and you wouldn’t find anything. But being the nosey bitch that you are you can’t let shit go.”

  “Fuck you, Andre, just fuck you. I don’t have to deal with this.” Chantal turned around and began gathering up her belongings as if she was going somewhere.

  Andre walked toward the bedroom where Chantal was randomly picking up shit and tossing it in her luggage. When Chantal saw him standing in the doorway from the corner of her eye she met his glare. Andre looked at her in a vicious, almost hateful, way. His words were clear and defiant. “Chantal, you don’t have anywhere to go. I make you. Without me, you’re just that weed smoking, pill popping, coke snorting whore. Everybody who is somebody has fucked you, and the ones who haven’t, heard about the pussy and chose to pass. So my suggestion to you is to get on the plane and take your ass back to Chicago. When I need you, I’ll call you.”

  This was how Andre could get sometimes, cold and cruel. When he acted like this, Chantal knew he was trying to get rid of her so he could be with the next bitch. He would send her home pissed, and a couple of days after he fulfilled his urge with one of his jump-offs, he would call saying how sorry he was. This was a constant ritual. Chantal was hoping by now he would’ve outgrown it. But until he did she would have to hang tough. Chantal had started off as one of Andre’s jump-offs, but she played her cards right and was able to stick around. She wasn’t about to let one of these other tramps come along and take her place. Chantal would give him his space for now, because he would be back begging for what was between her legs soon.

  The moment Chantal arrived at the Chicago O'Hare International Airport, the first thing she did was call her girl Shari. She needed someone to vent to and Shari was always there for her when she ranted about what an asshole Andre could be.

  “Girl, what you doing?”

  “On the phone with Michelle,” Shari replied.

  “Tell her you’ll call her back, ‘cause I need to talk,” Chantal said.

  “Hold on, I’ll get right off,” Shari said before clicking over to the other line.

  Shari knew what time it was. Chantal always came first and all her other friends were put on pause when she needed her. Shari and Chantal used to be ho partners in crime, but unfortunately Shari hadn’t found her long-term sugar daddy yet. Shari was almost as pretty as Chantal, so all hope wasn’t lost. Sooner or later she would hook her man, but she needed to hurry up. Shari already had a six-year-old son by some has-been actor and he wasn’t giving her a dime. She was in serious need of a sponsor and every day they were plotting on her next victim.

  “Girl, I’m back. Michelle be getting on my damn nerves. She act like she doesn’t know what ‘I’ll call you back means.’ So, what’s up?”

  “Andre’s motherfucking ass.”

  “What did he do now?” Shari asked in that “here we go again” tone.

  “I know he got some new piece of ass he’s fucking with because he rushed me out of New York the day after the movie premiere,” Chantal complained.

  “Girl, how was that?” Shari asked, more interested in that topic of conversation.

  “Off the chain—all the Hollywood big shots were in attendance. I even met fine-ass Denzel Washington. If I wasn’t with Andre that cat would be mine.”

  “Damn, Chantal, you can’t have all the men.”

  “Says who?” They both burst out laughing.

  “What you doing, because I’m coming to get you,” Chantal said. She needed to talk to her best friend in person.

  “Okay, I’ll be ready.” Shari hung up the phone and Chantal hopped in her new silver Porsche C
ayenne and started listening to what she considered a classic CD, Usher’s Confessions. Chantal said to herself, that Usher kept it real on this joint. As she listened to the introduction to “Confessions,” she couldn’t help but think to herself, That’s my girlfriend Tina he was all up in the Beverly Center with. Ha. Oh well, there is no baby so that payday is gone.

  When she pulled up to Shari’s crib, her friend came running outside in some tight black pants with a bad-ass Dolce & Gabbana shearling coat.

  “Bitch, you better work. Where the fuck did you get that coat?” Chantal gasped.

  “Ain’t this shit fly? Chris hooked me up.”

  “Chris, who the hell is Chris?” Chantal was curious to know.

  “That football player I told you about.”

  “You still messing with him? It’s been like six months. Are ya getting serious?”

  “Well, he took me and Alex on a shopping spree and besides this coat he got me this tennis bracelet.” Shari pulled up her sleeves to reveal a sparkling platinum and diamond bracelet that even made Chantal green with envy.

  “So he’s spending dough like that and time with your son?” Chantal stated sounding surprised.

  “Yes. He said he wanted to be a father to Alex.”

  “You think he might be the one?”

  “I’m hoping because I’m tired of running these streets. I’m ready for someone to wife me.”

  Chantal knew exactly what Shari was talking about. This ho game was no joke; these bitches were vultures. It was every hooker for herself. Chantal had played the game for so long she was beginning to believe the game was playing her. She had to get Andre to marry her soon because she wasn’t about to let Shari beat her to the punch. Shari was her girl, but it was still about competition. She had put in too many years with Andre to let Shari and her new six-month fling upstage her. As Chantal was driving she glanced at Shari who was still admiring her new diamond tennis bracelet. Shari was stunning. She had that Gabrielle Union–type look, but far more beautiful. Her complexion was a perfect shade of brown and she had long jet-black straight hair that was all hers. She was tall and model slim with full C breasts.

  Lucky for them they never attracted the same type of guys. If you were looking for that runway model look, then Shari was for you. If you wanted that drop dead gorgeous Playboy model look, then Chantal would be your choice. That was probably why they were best friends, because they were totally opposite physically but both had the love for the dollar in common.

  Chantal turned the corner to West Armitage and pulled up to Charlie Trotter’s restaurant. They were going to have an early dinner and a couple of drinks. They frequented the spot so often there was no need to make a reservation. Once they were sitting at their usual table in the corner, Chantal immediately began to vent. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about Andre. I’m trying to figure out exactly who he is creeping with. For some reason, I think this might be more of a relationship than just your casual jump-off.”

  “Why you say that?”

  “Because he has been acting strange. Remember, I started as the jump-off. When he first started seeing me and got caught up he was going hot and heavy with that movie-star chick. Of course I shut that down when I got pregnant with Melanie, but I remember how he was giving her the runaround. Canceling dates, not picking up the phone, and just ducking her on a regular basis until he could no longer keep shit in the bag. I’m feeling like he is playing those same games with me.”

  “Have you said anything about it to him?”

  “Not exactly, but I did ask him when he was going to have me and Melanie move back to New York to be with him.”

  “What did he say?” Shari asked.

  “Nothing that I wanted to hear. That same bullshit about him not being ready. Girl, I thought we would be engaged by now.”

  “Me, too. You got about five crazy diamond rings and not one of them is the engagement ring. It’s like, damn!”

  “Tell me about it. This shit is getting so tired. I’m sick of my name being in the papers as his ‘baby mother’ or ‘gal pal.’ Do you know one paper actually called me the ‘long-suffering girlfriend'? They talk about me like I’m fifty years old and at the end of my rope. This is some bullshit. But I feel stuck right now.”

  “Maybe you should dump him and find a new man. You’re beautiful Chantal. There are a ton of guys that would love to wife you.”

  “But are they Andre Jackson? Hell no! You can’t get no better than that. All the work and time I put into this relationship, you think I’m gonna let the next chick step in my shoes? I don’t think so. I’m riding this out to the bitter end.”

  F O U R

  Poison

  Andre Jackson seemed to be destined for greatness since the day he was born. His father was the lead singer of a legendary R&B group that stayed at the top of the charts throughout the late seventies and eighties. By the time Andre was seven years old he had accompanied his father on at least two worldwide tours. By the time he was thirteen, the word “virginity” was a distant memory and having one of the band member’s groupies give him head was to be expected. Actually, by then Andre had a few groupies of his own. His father treated Andre more as a friend than a son. He would allow Andre to sit back and indulge in alcohol with the fellas and even smoke weed. Mr. Jackson reasoned he was making his son a man. During this time Andre began discovering his love of hip-hop music and perfecting his skills as a rap artist. In Andre’s formative years, he had experienced and seen more than men twice his age. Witnessing women being degraded and degrading themselves on a regular basis gave him a warped view of relationships. He believed it was a woman’s duty to please a man and a man’s duty to please as many women as he liked. The only woman Andre respected was his mother.

  Mrs. Jackson was the complete opposite of the groupies Andre was used to being around. He never understood how his mother and father even married since they were so different. She never indulged in the superstar musician lifestyle. Instead of attending glamorous parties she enjoyed tending to her huge garden or designing and sewing outfits for the group’s backup dancers. She was extremely talented in her own right but preferred staying in the background instead of seeking the spotlight. As Andre got older he assumed that’s why their marriage was able to survive all those years because, although she didn’t condone her husband’s hard partying lifestyle, she let him be and chose not to be a part of it. His mother didn’t like Andre being exposed to the vulgar surroundings one could witness in the presence of her husband and his band, but Mr. Jackson was the king of his household and he decided where and what his son would see.

  Being the son of a music icon definitely had its advantages and Andre made sure he got maximum usage out of it. He’d grown up around music royalty all his life and knew one day he would dominate the profession as his father had. But Andre also wanted to take over the one arena that would never open its doors to his father: Hollywood. Andre’s father longed to break into films but during the height of his stardom the roles for black men were limited and the ones available were already occupied by a chosen few. Although his father had plenty of money and a successful career, not being embraced by the Hollywood elite had bruised his ego and left him with a chip on his shoulder.

  In the early nineties, after more than ten prosperous years in the music industry, Mr. Jackson hung up his mike and retired. With the eruption of the hip-hop world he became his son’s biggest fan. Andre catapulted to rap stardom damn near overnight. By the time Andre was twenty he already had two multiplatinum albums under his belt and a few Grammys and BET and MTV awards to go with it.

  The same year Andre was about to break into superstardom his father passed away unexpectedly from lung cancer. Despite all the money he had, he always neglected his health. Going to the doctor for a yearly checkup was never on his to-do list. On his last night in the hospital before he died, Andre promised his father that not only would he be the biggest music entertainer in the world, but he would also beco
me the movie star Hollywood never gave his father the opportunity to be.

  The death of Andre’s father hit him hard. Instead of facing the pain, he chose to escape it by focusing more on his booming career and delving deeper into the world of sex, drugs, and allnight partying. Before long the time seemed to run together and Andre couldn’t differentiate between the days and nights. Andre’s life was one endless party filled with little happiness. His mother prayed that her son would snap out of his destructive path but she’d been married to a man with the same stubborn streak and she was well aware that only Andre could make that change when and if he chose to. During that dark time in his life was when he met Chantal Morgan, the type of woman that was his mother’s worst nightmare and that his father warned him about. Andre knew his dad was turning in his grave knowing he had become infected by a woman that his father would label “poison.”

  Andre didn’t know what he was going to do about Chantal. Their minds were in two different places. All the stress she was putting on him about moving to New York and getting married was driving him crazy. He didn’t think they were going to last this long and wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Melanie. Andre’s daughter was beautiful, just like her mother. He just prayed she didn’t grow up to be a tramp like her mother. He wondered how he ever let Chantal trap him. My dad used to always tell me don’t keep company with a ho because you’ll end up falling in love with a ho. You should fuck a ho, pay a ho, and send her home. Why didn’t I do that with Chantal? Andre questioned himself, shaking his head with disgust.