“Hi, uh, Mrs. Chapman? This is Princess Brook. Thanks so much for calling me! I’d love to be on your show, I think. People will be all up in my business, but maybe my story can help someone. I look forward to talking to you and can be reached at…”
Princess finished the call. She knew she should be studying for a test in advanced marketing research, but she decided to check her e-mails instead. She clicked Yahoo! on her tool bar and waited for the page to open. Staring at her from the top of the page was the last face she needed to see: Kelvin Petersen. She meant to click on the mail icon, but almost of its own volition, her hand moved the mouse to the story’s caption: KP IS BACK! She clicked on the link and read about how after being sidelined for almost three months with a knee injury, Kelvin would see limited play action in the Suns’ upcoming game against the Los Angeles Lakers. “I’m glad to be back,” Kelvin was quoted as saying. When asked how the injury would affect his ball playing, Kelvin quipped, “I’m coming back better than I was before I left.” The article quoted his doctor and coaches, before going on with more general information about team standings and the rest of the basketball season.
Princess closed the article and once again looked at the photo of a smiling, confident young man. At one time, Kelvin had been her world. The sun had risen and set on him, and when they broke up, it left a huge void in her life. Kelvin was energetic and charismatic, there was always something going on when he was around. And for all his promiscuity and self-centered ways, there was also a generous, compassionate side. Kelvin made Princess feel special when she was around him—his presence was addictive. When he wrapped her in his strong, long arms, or used his tongue on either set of lips, it was as if nothing else in the world mattered, for either of them. There was no denying how thoroughly he could love her. Princess knew that in all of her partying, drinking, getting-high days, Kelvin Petersen’s skilled dick had been the most dangerous drug she’d taken.
“Satan, get behind me,” Princess whispered, closing out the page and trying hard to ignore the tingling between her legs the forbidden memories had caused. This was one of the reasons she stayed so busy, and why, if not studying or proselytizing, she surrounded herself with like-minded friends. Besides Joni, there was one other girl on campus with whom she’d grown close, Sarah Kirtz. Like Princess, Sarah was a preacher’s kid. Her father, Jack Kirtz, had a ministry in San Diego and had even worked with her play uncle, Derrick Montgomery. Sarah was two years younger than Princess, but she had an intensity about God that belied her age. Sarah had worn a commitment ring since she was fifteen, and aside from a quick peck, had never kissed a man. She was determined to remain a virgin until she got married. Princess believed that she would, and she believed something else—that she needed someone with that kind of unbendable will to help her through this moment of weakness. Once again, she reached for her cell phone.
“Hello there, God’s princess!” Sarah fairly sang the greeting. Her smile was evident though the phone.
“Hey, Sarah.” Princess felt better already.
“Are you looking for someone to minister with you today? I’m almost done with this research paper but can meet you in the courtyard in about an hour.”
“Actually, I’m calling about something else. The devil is busy and I’m battling temptation. Will you pray with me?”
24
Here Comes Trouble
Kelvin sipped his drink and surveyed the scene in Myst nightclub’s VIP room. There was the usual bevy of beauties that always surrounded pro players, and there were various levels of decadence that routinely took place in rooms that were off-limits to ordinary folk. He watched a hip-hop star light up a blunt as he swigged Cristal from a bottle, a popular young businessman snorted cocaine from a stainless-steel vial, and a buxom redhead with a four-leaf-clover tattoo on her cheek was giving serious head to one of his teammates.
Jakeim burst out laughing. “That shit is scandalous,” he said, motioning to the athlete whose head was thrown back in pleasure. “Boy out here acting like pussy ain’t free.”
“He needs to check himself for real,” Kelvin replied. “That shit end up on the Internet, it’ll reflect on the whole team.”
“Then again, it might be good for your boy to end up on YouTube. He’d get more face time there than he’s getting on the team right now.” The two men laughed and pounded fists.
Kelvin looked at his watch and contemplated leaving. The whole VIP club scene had gotten old. It wasn’t like the first year he was drafted, when he partied until the break of dawn and was the life of the party in city after city and state after state. Three years in, and the thrill had gone. What other youngbloods now found exciting almost bored him to tears.
“Aw, shit,” Jakeim drawled before finishing off his bottle of beer. “Here comes trouble.”
Kelvin didn’t even have to turn his head to know who Jakeim was talking about—his baby mama. It didn’t surprise him to run into Fawn; she was never far from where money was being flung around. Things had quieted down between them since the holidays. After he’d returned to Phoenix from LA, his attorney had arranged to meet with Fawn. They’d drafted up an agreement whereby she would remain in the home that Kelvin had recently vacated and would receive a generous monthly allowance to take care of their son. In exchange, she was to have no contact with Kelvin Petersen, other than that which involved Kelvin Petersen, Jr. These exchanges were to take place in her home. She would have absolutely no access to Kelvin’s new residence. She’d pouted for about two weeks, until she got the first check. Since then, things had been civil. Kelvin had hired a nanny for when Little Kelvin stayed with him, and a maid service, a chef, and a personal assistant to run the household otherwise. But as Fawn headed his way, Kelvin could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t over him. Obviously she was trying a new strategy to get the ring and become wifey—the only thing in life she wanted—or so she’d said at one time. Kelvin finished his drink and reached for the car keys lying on the table. If he’d thought it was time to leave earlier, he was sure of it now.
“Hey, Jakeim, what’s up?” Fawn and one of her ballplayer-chasing sidekicks stood next to the table.
“Hey, Fawn.”
“Kelvin.”
“Fawn.” Kelvin looked up and took in Fawn’s appearance. As usual, she was dressed to impress and provoke. She’d cut out her weave, and the new short haircut framed her face nicely, emphasizing her perfect bone structure and well-defined lips. Her bronze skin looked silky smooth and was amply displayed in a short, tight, white minidress. The strappy, jeweled four-inch sandals she wore were outshone only by the two-carat, teardrop-diamond necklace she wore. Fawn looked good, Kelvin admitted to himself. So did her friend. But for him, their looks just proved how money-hungry, drama-starting bitches often came wrapped in pretty packages.
When no further conversation ensued, Fawn’s friend piped in. “I was at the game the other night, Jakeim. You were amazing!”
Jakeim nodded. “I try.”
“She’s right, Jakeim,” Fawn added. “You were the best thing on the floor that night.”
“Glad to see you back, Kelvin,” Fawn’s sidekick said coyly. “You looked good—”
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” Fawn said, obviously not wanting to hear any accolades her friend had for Kelvin. “But I’m meeting someone.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, swaying her ample behind seductively. Kelvin watched impassively before a waitress came over to their table, blocking his view.
“The lady over there wants to buy you a drink,” she said, looking at Kelvin.
Kelvin looked in the direction the waitress pointed. His eyes landed on a beautiful brunette, with dark, tanned skin and luscious black hair. He couldn’t tell whether she was Latina, Greek, or Middle Eastern, but he liked what he saw. He nodded to the woman and placed his order. She simply nodded back in return.
“Ha! I know Fawn will fuck any nucka now,” he said once the waitress had mo
ved away from the table.
“What?” Jakeim asked as he looked around. “Aw, that shit’s messed up right there.” Fawn was sitting on a teammate’s lap, outlining his ear with her tongue.
Kelvin shrugged. “It’s a free country.”
“Yeah, but Guy Harris? His wife just had a baby, what, last week? That shit’s foul, man, I’m telling you.”
“Whatever, dog, I’m gone.” Kelvin placed a fifty-dollar bill on the table. The waitress came up with his drink. He took it, walked toward the exit, and nodded subtly at the woman who’d purchased it to follow. She slid off the stool and followed him out.
An hour later, he was eight inches deep into the woman whose name he’d already forgotten. But there was another woman he couldn’t forget, who’d been on his mind constantly since the holidays. And as he found his release, Princess was who he was thinking about.
25
Healthy Appetites
Obadiah leaned back against the black leather chair and closed his eyes. The Lord had given him a powerful scripture to preach from on Sunday, and he’d been working on his text for the past hour. As he gently rocked the chair beneath him, he meditated once again on the passage, Romans, chapter six, verses six through twenty-three:
Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord. Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof. Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God…for the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Obadiah rocked forward and picked up his pen. The wages of sin is death. He put down the pen and rubbed his eyes, knowing that one living in a glass house should not throw stones.
It had been a month since Jenkins and Dorothea had shown up unannounced at Nettie’s house, but Dorothea had called regularly since then, with a singular focus: She wanted to be intimate. So far, Obadiah had kept her at arm’s length. After all, he was the senior pastor of a local church. He had his reputation to consider. Not to mention the fact that he was a married pastor. When Dorothea had countered that that hadn’t mattered before, Obadiah had replied, “It matters now. All those other times, I was out of town. Maxine’s here, Dee. And she’s mighty suspicious already. You know that.”
“I need you,” Dorothea had responded, acting as if she hadn’t heard what Obadiah said. “Jenkins is as limp as cooked spaghetti. And I know Maxine ain’t working that weapon you got. Let me do it, Obadiah. You know I can make you feel good, Daddy. I can make it feel real good.”
Obadiah had hardened in spite of himself. Unlike some of his peers, his healthy sexual appetite had not diminished with age, a fact that made Maxine’s stance on lovemaking—or rather lack thereof—that much more difficult. He knew several men his age who still liked to dip the pole in the hole, and he couldn’t understand why the thought of old people having sex seemed so astonishing. Given the gist of his sermons, Obadiah could understand why people might raise a few eyebrows at his having sex, but like he’d told a preacher friend just the other day, his motto was “use it or lose it.”
It was time to take control of his lust; Obadiah knew that. He’d managed to be with Dorothea only once every two to three years or so, getting his pleasure elsewhere the rest of the time. But things couldn’t go on this way. He knew as well as anyone that where there was smoke, there was fire. And he had no doubt that Dorothea’s poontang was piping hot!
Obadiah rose from his chair and walked to the corner of his office. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it slowly, trying to get his mind off having sex and back on fighting sin. He went back to his desk with resolve and had written another quarter of his sermon when his cell phone rang.
“Doctor Brook,” he said in his staid, preacher voice, even though he knew who was calling.
“Oh, really,” Dorothea purred. “Well, Doctor, I’ve got a prescription that needs filling. Can I come by your office?”
“You know you can’t come by here, woman. Why do you keep trying to tempt me?”
Dorothea’s laugh was throaty, sultry. “You know why!”
Obadiah smiled in spite of himself. He’d had a thing for Dorothea for more than forty years, but before, it had always been manageable. In all these years, they’d never lived in the same town, and with the exception of an occasional phone call between the two, it was out of sight, out of mind. Now, even though he’d forbade her from ever coming to the church without his knowledge or purposely showing up anywhere he was, she was still pulling his strings. He knew he shouldn’t, but he looked forward to her phone calls, talking sexy, and sometimes dirty, in his ear. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, and in rare moments, he admitted the truth to himself: it was only a matter of time.
Two hours later, having warned Dorothea yet again not to come by the church, Obadiah left the church office and made the drive to the Brook residence, less than ten minutes away. When the ministry had offered the parsonage to house them, both he and Maxine had decided against staying next door to the church. They’d learned from experience that it was good to have a little distance between the parishioners and their personal lives.
He’d put Dorothea out of his mind to finish the sermon, but now that he was finished and heading home, she crowded Obadiah’s thoughts again. As soon as he’d started the car, he turned on a CD to tamp down the thoughts. Within seconds, the voice of his favorite singer, James Cleveland, poured from the speaker. “Master, the tempest is raging, the billows are tossing high,” Obadiah sang along with the CD, his voice clear and melodious. He sang “Peace Be Still,” but even as he pulled into the driveway, his mind was in torment and he was more than a little relieved that he didn’t see Maxine’s car. Probably over at Nettie’s. Again, Dorothea’s flirtatious laughter drifted into his ear.
Once inside the house, Obadiah walked straight to the kitchen. As usual, Mama Max had cooked and left the food on the stove. He washed his hands and made himself a plate of fried pork chops, green beans with new potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and topped the menu off with large, juicy slices of marinated tomatoes. Fifteen minutes later, he wrestled the last piece of meat off the pork chop bone, finished his glass of cola, and let out a satisfied belch.
After placing his plate in the sink, Obadiah poured himself another glass of soda and headed to his office. Considering the topics that had occupied his thoughts all afternoon, he felt more than a little discomfort for what he was about to do. But as sure as he knew his name, he knew that what he was about to do had to happen. He’d taken care of one type of appetite; now it was time to take care of another one.
26
The Devil Is a Lie
Mama Max hummed a tune as she turned into the driveway. Visiting with Nettie always did a world of good for her spirits. She’d especially liked Nettie’s suggestion that Mama Max take over teaching the adult Sunday school class. She shook her head at seeing Obadiah’s car parked in the drive, instead of in the garage like most proper folk. She punched the button and waited for the door to open, looking around and continuing to hum as the creaking, wooden garage door slowly lifted from the ground. She noticed that one of the porch lights was out and made a mental note to tell Obadiah so the deacon who handled house repairs could replace it. She was just about to pull her car into its space when she noticed something else, and frowned. Why is he keeping that study window open?
There were two sets of windows in Obadiah’s study that faced the street. The open window was in the library section of the large L-shaped room. Mama Max had first noticed it open last week, when she walked over to chat with the neighbor. The fact that it was open stuck out, because Texas had experienced an unusually cold February. She’d meant to mention it to the reverend but had forgotten. And it’s open again?
A thought occurred to Mama Max that almost made her hit the gas pedal and crash through the slow, still-opening garage door. “The devil
is a lie!” she said, pulling into the garage and screeching to a stop just shy of the back wall. She entered the kitchen from the garage and walked straight to the study, not even stopping to take off her coat or set down her purse. She turned the knob and wasn’t surprised to find the door locked. “Reverend?” She tried the knob again. “Obadiah!” she shouted, pounding on the door at the same time. “You better open up this door and I mean right now. And if there’s anybody in there with you, they’d better give their soul to God ’cause their butt is mine!”
Mama Max waited, hands on hips, shoulders heaving, foot tapping. “Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook! You’d better open this here door. What’s going on in there?” Her imagination ran wild with images of Dorothea sprawled across the couch in Obadiah’s study with the hem of her skirt somewhere around her waist, and Obadiah grunting like a pig in mud. Mama Max pounded on the door again. When a few more seconds went by with no response, she stormed through the living room and out the door. She didn’t even notice the bushes snagging her pants or the cold wind that whipped around her calves and ankles. Her focus was singular: to get inside Obadiah’s study and to do it right now!
By the time she arrived at the window, it had been closed. Uh-huh, you’re up to something, and I bet it’s with that hussy! Mama Max was fit to be tied. She was more determined than ever to get into that study, and for the first time in her life pondered the thought of breaking and entering. The owner of the home had installed new storm windows just prior to renting it to the Brooks, and they were designed to not only keep the elements out, but intruders as well. The screen was a mesh of strong wire, the frame made of steel. The frame could be raised, but only from the inside. I can’t raise this here window, but I can sure raise holy hell! Mama Max took a deep breath and bellowed, “Obadiah! You better come to this window and I mean now!”
Heaven Forbid Page 12
