It seemed as if forever passed, but actually a minute later, Obadiah opened the door. He’d taken off his suit coat and tie, and undone the first few buttons on his shirt.
“Don’t come in here yapping at me, woman. I’m not in the mood.”
“Why? What’s got you in such a bad mood, Obadiah?” As if I don’t know.
“Those nosy church mothers, that’s what. It was uncalled for how they embarrassed Dorothea. I’m putting them on a plane first thing in the morning.”
“Any embarrassment that happened don’t have a thing to do with no old ladies. I think it has to do with an old man—who did what you always wanted to do, to marry her.”
“She’s married, Maxine. Why can’t you just let it rest?”
“Because you can’t! You’ve been acting strange since before she arrived in Texas, all holed up in this here study for hours at a time. Coming to bed all late and leaving the house before your breakfast has digested good. I’ve called the church during those times, so don’t tell me that’s where you were.”
“I ain’t been with Dorothea. That should satisfy you.”
“Humph. It sure don’t satisfy you. I can see that.”
“But what you can’t see is how you’re getting on my nerves right now. You wonder why men flock to women like Dorothea? This here is why.” Obadiah tapped his four fingers against his thumb, simulating a mouth talking. “You don’t know when to shut up, Maxine, or when to back off. I’m telling you—now is the time!” Obadiah put a hand to his chest then and closed his eyes in pain.
Mama Max’s chagrin quickly turned to concern. “Are you all right, Obadiah? Want me to get you some water or something?”
Obadiah walked over to the large black recliner behind the equally massive oak desk. He sat there a moment, breathing evenly, in and out. “I want you to get me some peace,” he said finally. “Please lock the door on your way out.”
21
What’s Going On?
Things hadn’t been the same since Stan caught the panties Passion had thrown at Crustaceans. The holidays had ended, the kids had gone back to school, almost a month had passed, and the silence continued. When he wasn’t out of town, which was often, he was in his church office or down in the den, watching television. Aside from dinner with the family when his children were over, he rarely interacted with anyone at all. He’d taken to sleeping in a guest bedroom mostly, and any questioning by Passion only served to increase the emotional distance between them. Passion was losing patience. She had wanted their marriage to change, but this wasn’t the change she’d had in mind. Things had gotten worse, not better, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
Compounding matters was the isolation that Passion increasingly felt. She didn’t have anyone to talk to about what was going on, at least not in her mind. Sure, some first ladies, including Vivian Montgomery of Kingdom Citizens Christian Center and Mount Zion’s Tai Brook, had reached out to her following her marriage to Stan. But she hadn’t felt those overtures sincere. After all, Passion knew for a fact that Vivian and Carla were very good friends and that Carla and Tai had gotten closer while working together on an SOS conference. She felt dubious about speaking to any of the associate ministers’ wives about it. The last thing she wanted was others in the church knowing the true state of her marriage. She’d found out Mama Max was too old to understand her urges, and the one woman who would totally understand her situation was the woman she dared not call. Passion would love to talk to Carla, but she knew that that was not an option.
Passion walked up the stairs and crossed into the kitchen. She was looking in the refrigerator, deciding what to fix for dinner, when Stan came through the front door.
“Passion, where are you?”
Passion looked up from the steak she was holding. Is that my husband actually calling out to me? She was so shocked, she almost forgot to answer. “I’m here, Stan. In the kitchen.”
Stan stepped just inside the kitchen door. “Are you cooking dinner tonight? I’d like to invite a guest over.”
Oh, so that’s what this is about, fronting for the masses. “Don’t I always cook dinner, Stan? Except on Fridays?”
“I’m just asking as a courtesy. If this is going to cause an argument, I can switch these plans to a restaurant. Matter of fact…”
“Wait a minute, Stan. I don’t have a problem adding a plate at dinner. Onyx won’t be here. Their class took a field trip, and they’re stopping for pizza afterward.”
Stan stepped farther into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “Okay. What are you fixing?”
“I was thinking about fried steak….”
“Do we have any lobsters left in the freezer? Or what about those thick cuts of salmon—have we eaten all of them?”
Passion immediately wondered who Stan was trying to impress. Most of the time, he was more than happy with whatever she prepared, especially if it was a Southern dish. But this was more conversation that didn’t involve children than they’d had in two weeks. She decided to keep her curiosity to herself. “I’m pretty sure there’s some salmon left. I could marinate and bake them, fix a light pasta to complement it, and add salad and French toast. How does that sound?”
“Good. What about dessert?”
“I’ll come up with something. Who’s coming over?”
“An old friend of mine from D.C. We’re both working on that Cathedral project, in Detroit. He’s in town on business and I…want him to meet you.”
Passion couldn’t help but raise her brows at this statement. Hell, Stan barely saw her, and now he wanted to introduce her to an old friend? “Will his wife be joining us?” she asked.
“No, Bryce is divorced. It will be just the three of us. Does seven sound good?”
“Sure. But I’d better get started.”
A little over two hours later, a freshened-up Passion smiled as Bryce Covington entered the Lees’ living room. She was immediately taken with the debonair man who gently kissed her hand upon introduction. She’d never really been into pretty boys, but there was something about this one that made her tingle just a little bit. Of course, as the guests were seated in the dining room and Passion went to the kitchen for salad and bread, she reasoned that her flutters could have simply been because after kissing her hand, the person who’d come with Bryce had hugged her. It was the most contact she’d had with an adult male in two months.
“Stan tells me the two of you have known each other a long time,” Passion said, once she’d poured lemonade for everyone and sat down.
“Yes, we were roommates in college.” Bryce speared a broccoli flower onto his fork and ate it. “This dressing is delicious. A vinaigrette, correct?”
“Uh-huh.” was all Passion said as she ate her own bite of salad.
“Where’d you buy it? I’d like to take some back to D.C. with me.”
If she could have, Passion would have blushed. She took a moment to wipe her mouth with a napkin. “I made it.”
“You’re kidding me. It’s divine.” Bryce took another bite and savored it fully. “Man, looks like you found a keeper here. You might want to hold on to her.”
Right now, Stan was simply trying to hold on to his composure. He’d been totally unprepared for the surprise guest Bryce had chosen to bring along to dinner. Evidently he’d called the house while Stan was in the shower and asked Passion if another guest could be seated. Passion had forgotten to pass this bit of news on to him, though, granted, he’d been in his office until just before Bryce arrived.
While Passion and Bryce chatted, Stan took the opportunity to check out Bryce’s “business associate.” He was a handsome, dark-skinned brother with perfect white teeth and manicured hands. Stan guessed him to be an inch or so taller than himself, six-one or two. If he didn’t work out, he’d been born with a perfect metabolism. Stan couldn’t detect an ounce of fat anywhere. On top of that, from an earlier conversation he knew that Ryan had graduated from Stanford with a degree in internation
al business. He had a home in Los Angeles and a condo in London. He’d never been married and had no kids. Stan could not find one thing that was wrong with the brother, and it drove him crazy. That and the fact that he and Bryce made a perfect couple, and Stan would bet his ministry that that’s what these two were. He’d caught the subtle look that had passed between them when they moved from the living room to the dining room, the subtle touch when Ryan had let Bryce walk ahead of him into the room. And why did Bryce have to look so devastatingly handsome tonight, in his black Armani suit, stark-white shirt, and silver cross necklace, a gift that Stanley had given him almost twenty-five years ago?
Later, if tested, Stan would not have been able to recall a major part of the dinner conversation. He’d never felt so conflicted and battled so many emotions: anger, jealousy, fear, guilt. He breathed a sigh of relief as it neared an end. The dinner had not been at all what he intended, a chance to show Bryce what a happily married man he was.
“The dinner was lovely, Mrs. Lee,” Ryan said as he cupped her hand.
“Please, call me Passion.” She eased her hand out of his, less she embarrass herself. Ryan was handsome but rugged, more her type. And she’d noticed something when he sat down in the den. The brothah was packing a weapon for which a license was not needed.
“Passion, the pleasure was mine,” Bryce said, forgoing her hand to hug her instead. His scent was woodsy with a hint of something else. Passion wanted to bury her head in his neck, while he buried something elsewhere. Passion kept trying to rein in her sexual thoughts. She didn’t know why, but the last two months without intercourse had bothered her more than the five years she had been celibate before marrying Stan.
After a few more pleasantries, the men departed. Stan’s mood seemed to change instantly, and after thanking her for the dinner, he said he was tired and went to bed.
Passion’s mind whirled as she put away food and placed dishes in the washer. What on earth is going on? It was obvious something was troubling Stan, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what it was. She went back over the evening in her mind. It had been engaging and entertaining; she’d thoroughly enjoyed both Bryce and Ryan’s company. These were smart, successful men, like her husband. She and Stan had interacted easily throughout the dinner, and once he’d even placed his hand on top of hers as he made a comment. Passion was so caught up in enjoying the evening that only now was she questioning the sincerity of his actions. It was obvious that he’d set out to impress his guests, and by their accolades at the end of the night, that mission had been accomplished. But look how different he became the moment they left the house. Something is going on.
Before she could ponder the mystery further, Onyx burst through the door. The rest of the evening was filled with baths and bedtime stories. But as Passion lay down, alone, in the master suite, she continued thinking. Maybe Stan was working on a business deal, and these men were investors. Bryce was a politician; maybe Stan was thinking of running for office and gathering information. But in all the years she’d known Stan, both as a member of Logos Word and then as his wife, she’d never seen this old friend from college before. Bryce Covington was the type of man people remembered. If he’d been at the church before, his was a face she wouldn’t forget. As she drifted to sleep, a question swirled in her head: Who is Bryce Covington, and how does he fit into Stan’s ministry? Only time would tell how she’d act when she found out.
22
When I Would Do Good
Stan paced the floor of his church office. He’d told his secretary that under no conditions was he to be disturbed. “What if Sistah Lee calls?” his assistant had questioned.
“No one!” had been his bellowed reply. He’d apologized, blamed it on pressure regarding the upcoming church anniversary, and closed his door. That was an hour ago, and he was no less wound up now than he was then.
It had been two days since Bryce had swept into LA like a whirlwind, bringing all kinds of emotional, physical, and spiritual debris with him. After Bryce and Ryan had left the house that night after dinner, Stan had gone to his home office and after a few minutes, called Bryce’s cell. Bryce didn’t answer—not that time or the five or six subsequent times Stan called, late into the night and the next day. Stan never left a message, and after trying one last time in the early afternoon, he had given up.
He’d basically closeted himself away since then, trying to sort out the mess himself, yet desperately longing to talk to somebody. But he couldn’t talk to anybody about a problem that he wouldn’t even acknowledge to himself.
Seconds later, Stan was sprawled out on his carpeted office floor, prostrate before God. When I would do good, evil is always present. “Help me!” he whispered fervently. “Help me withstand the wiles of the devil! I am here to do Your will, Lord. Only Your will.” Stan talked and prayed in the holy language for fifteen minutes, and while this act brought him comfort, it did not bring him peace.
Stan decided to go home. He’d just walked over to get his suit jacket when his assistant’s voice came over the intercom.
“Bryce Covington for you, sir,” she said tentatively. “I told him that you were not taking calls and to leave a message. But he insisted on being put through.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Stan, I’m so sorry. Ryan and I left Los Angeles and flew directly to Mexico. I didn’t pick up my cell phone for two whole days. Talk to me, friend. What is going on with you?”
For the first time in six months, Stan’s strong façade broke. “That’s what I’m hoping you’ll help me find out.”
Bryce left the bedroom where Ryan lay sleeping and walked into his gourmet kitchen for a glass of freshly squeezed juice. “I’m here for you, Stan. You know this.”
“I can’t be with you!” The statement came out of its own accord, but Stan was grateful for its truthfulness. “It’s against everything I stand for, everything I’ve been taught.”
“That’s why I moved on,” Bryce replied after a long hesitation. “I realized that you would never acknowledge what we both know—that you’re in love with me and have been for the past twenty-five years.”
“No, Bryce—”
“Don’t try to deny it, because I know it’s true. I could feel it when I showed up to your house with Ryan, my new man. I sensed the tension between you and Passion. I know how you look when you’re in love, and that is not the expression I saw on your face when we dined at your home in Los Angeles.”
“This phone call was a bad idea,” Stan admitted after a lengthy pause in which he heard their favorite jazz artist, Earl Klugh, playing in the background.
“For who?” Bryce responded. “Ryan is quite the catch, Stan. I’ll admit it. But he pales in comparison to you. Just say the word, and he’s gone. I only have one request, one mandate: that you be here to take his place.”
Stan squeezed his eyes tight, looking for Jesus. He allowed the censoring voice of his grandmother, and the voices of fire-and-brimstone preachers who’d mentored him, ring in his ear. The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life. That which is not of God is sin! Don’t give in to the pleasures of the flesh! Be dead to sin, but alive in Christ! Stan wiped his eyes as his resolve strengthened. “Have a good time with Ryan,” Stan said with a courage he did not feel. “And please make sure that any and all calls in the future pertain to Cathedral business.”
Stan sat motionless after ending the call, his fingers steepled, his brow knit in fervent thought. This is a test. This is a temptation of the devil no less than what Adam experienced in the garden of Eden. After several long moments, Stan rose from his chair and paced the room. He thought of all he’d been through in the past twenty-five years: the ministry reaching its fifteen-year milestone, his marriage and divorce from Carla, the promising educational path of his children and the fact that a godly woman, a patient woman, waited for him at home. Stan’s grandmother’s voice rang again into his consciousness. Anything that is not of God is sin. This tho
ught gave Stan the courage to go home with the determination to love his wife, no matter how much he actually abhorred the act. His grandmother’s memory gave him another thought: Where was she when he was being raped…in her house?
23
Will You Pray?
Princess stood up from her desk and stretched. The stretch turned into a praise, as she extended her hands toward heaven. Thank you, Jesus. She’d done it. She’d just e-mailed the manuscript of her book, tentatively titled Jesus Is My Boo, to the editors at Praise Publishing. Her part was over. Now all she had to do was sit back and wait to see what the company thought of her work.
Well, not exactly. Princess’s brow furrowed as she thought of everything that had transpired over the past few days and how quickly she had learned that writing a book was only half the job. She’d gotten two unexpected phone calls in as many days, regarding marketing and publicity for the book’s upcoming release: one from her aunt Vivian, who had a publicist she wanted Princess to talk to, and the second one a total shock…from Carla Chapman.
Princess plopped down on her single bed and grabbed one of the throw pillows. She almost wanted to be pinched to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. Carla Chapman wants to talk to me about being on her show? Like many college students, and most adults between the ages of twenty-five and seventy, Conversations with Carla was must-watch TV. And after being nominated twice in a row, Conversations with Carla had won its first Emmy last year. Princess knew that getting this kind of national exposure could make her book a bestseller and hers a household name. But everyone would know her secrets as well. “Be careful what you ask for,” had been Mama Max’s response when Princess told her she wanted to be on Carla’s show, during the same conversation she’d confessed almost all. She’d repeated the desire to her mother when she was home for the holidays. Princess had met Carla a couple of times while with her mother and knew that Tai and Carla talked fairly often. “Finish the book first,” had been Tai’s advice. “Then we’ll see.”
Princess mindlessly played a computer game as she pondered her grandmother’s words. Was she really ready to share her story, the good, the bad and the ugly, with the rest of the world? “Only one way to find out,” Princess said aloud as she reached for her cell phone. She tapped a mindless rhythm on her leg while waiting for the call to be answered. After announcing her name, several minutes passed. Finally, she was transferred to Carla’s private voice mail:
Heaven Forbid Page 11
