“What happened?” Rafael asked as soon as she turned around.
Princess leaned against the door. “I prayed for Little Kelvin. And now I’m really tired. We’ll catch up, I promise, but right now, I’m going to take a nap. Make yourself at home.”
Princess didn’t wait for an answer but instead walked into the bathroom, took off her clothes, and stepped into the shower. There, under the steady spray of water, she let the tears fall—tears of longing, regret, sadness, joy, confusion. She reached for her sponge and thought about Kelvin’s answer when she’d said he had a beautiful child.
He’s almost as beautiful as the one I’m gonna have with you….
57
Raw and Nasty
Things were better than before. Change hadn’t occurred by leaps and bounds, but improvement was visible. It had been a little more than two months since Passion and Stan began visiting Doctor Banner, and in that time, she and Stan had grown closer. He still didn’t talk much about the molestation by his uncle, but he’d opened up more about his strict, conservative upbringing. Passion still had her suspicions about Bryce Covington, but because she and Stan were making love almost once a week, she’d decided to leave well enough alone.
Passion’s mind whirled with thoughts as she stepped out of the master suite shower and toweled herself dry. Today was a first: The Lees and the Chapmans were going to celebrate the Fourth of July as one big happy family. If someone had told Passion a year ago, even six months ago, that she’d be breaking barbeque with Carla Chapman, Passion would have asked what they were smoking.
But time, and Stan’s challenges, had indeed brought about a change. Carla and Passion had talked more since their heartfelt conversation regarding Stan back in April. They hadn’t discussed him anymore, at least not directly. Passion had told Carla that they were back in therapy and that Stan was determined to make his marriage work. And where once a hasty greeting was all that was exchanged before Passion passed the phone on to Stan, now the two women discussed topics held in common: kids, church, the latest diet. Even more surprising than Carla and Passion becoming friendlier was the fact that this Lee/Chapman gathering had been Stan’s idea, prompted by a casual comment his son Winston made one evening after fighting with his brother, Shay.
“You two are family, and you’re going to get along!” Stan had said after his ten-year-old son, Shay, announced he no longer wanted to let seven-year-old Winston play with his Wii game.
“I don’t care that he’s family. I still don’t like him!”
“You heard what I said,” Stan continued. “You will let your brother play with that game, and you will stay in there and play together!”
“Why? You and Mama don’t! Y’all barely talk to each other and y’all are family too!”
Stan had made the boys put the game up and sent them to their rooms, but what Shay said lingered in his mind. Later he’d talked about it with Passion. “I’m not setting a very good example,” he’d concluded. “I need to do better.” A week later, while coordinating calendars, Stan had broached the subject with Carla, who readily agreed.
“Mama! Mama! Grandma and Grandpa are here!” Passion’s daughter, Onyx, ran up the steps and pounded on the bathroom door in the master suite. “Mama!”
“Onyx, I hear you! And so do half the neighbors. Now, go back down there and see if they want something to drink. Can you be a big girl and do that?”
Armed with a challenge, Onyx didn’t even answer her mother before storming back down the stairs. Several minutes later, Passion followed. She was dressed for the eighty-degree weather in a loose, mint-green sundress with a flowered bodice and dark green piping around the neck and arms. Knowing any intricate style would be sweated out by noon, Passion had curled her hair and secured it with bobby pins on the top of her head. A few loose tendrils had escaped and even now stuck to the light layer of moisture on her neck and forehead. If anyone had asked her, she would have lied, but she’d taken special pains with her appearance. She no longer had the hots for Lavon Chapman…well, not much anyway. But she still wanted to remind him of what he’d passed up. Passion walked into the living room, greeted her parents, and then whisked her mother into the kitchen to help with the fruit salad while Stan and her father took their places at the patio grill.
A half hour later, happy chaos at the Lee home was in full effect. Carla and Lavon had arrived, along with Carla and Stan’s three children, Brianna, Shay, and Winston; Lavon’s eighteen-year-old daughter, Felicia; and Felicia’s best friend from Minneapolis, where Felicia and her mother lived. Several neighborhood children joined the kids in the pool, supervised by Felicia and Carla’s mom, who was also in town visiting. A few church members rounded out the party. There was enough food to feed half of LA.
“Where do you want me to put this food?” Carla asked as she and Lavon walked into the kitchen with a large pan of baked beans, homemade coleslaw, and one of Carla’s famous berry cobblers.
“Just set it anywhere,” Passion replied. She quickly noted Carla’s playful, sexy outfit—bright red capris with a multicolored halter top. The bottom of the top flared out, hiding bulges and rolls, while the slim-legged pants emphasized Carla’s wide hips and shapely calves. Her hair was straight, with newly created bangs adding a devil-may-care look to her face. I almost look matronly next to her, Passion mused. But Passion knew Stan would have been uncomfortable if the “woman of God” he married ever dared to bare her back.
“Hey, Lavon,” she added after greeting Carla with a light hug.
“Hey, yourself,” Lavon replied. After helping Carla carry in the dishes, Lavon joined the men outside. The afternoon was filled with great food, good conversation, and games of miniature golf on the Lees’ massive back lawn. No matter how they tried otherwise, the ladies inevitably ended up in the kitchen, chatting around the island about kids, church, and the day’s headlines.
“But did the mother really sleep with her daughter’s boyfriend after they got caught smoking crack?”
“That’s what I read in the National Enquirer!”
“I see it’s time for my baby to come out from among all this gossiping,” Lavon said playfully, coming up and hugging Carla from behind. “Come on, baby,” he said, nudging her ear. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Carla swatted Lavon’s hand away from her backside. “Stop acting out in front of these mothers,” she scolded. “We were just in here talking about folks fooling around.”
“But that’s what married people are supposed to do.” Lavon winked at the two older women while placing a firm hand around Carla’s waist and leading her out of the kitchen.
As the couple turned the corner, Passion saw Lavon’s hand slide down to Carla’s backside before she let out a squeal. Passion couldn’t help it. A few seconds later, she excused herself from the kitchen with the pretense of checking on the children. She walked outside to the backyard and looked around. The men had stopped playing golf and were now gathered under a shade tree, talking and laughing. Stan was a few feet away from them, on the phone. Probably a church member sick from too much greasy barbeque. Some of the kids had abandoned the pool for video games while Lavon’s daughter and her friend conversed as they floated on pool chairs. There was no Lavon or Carla in sight.
Passion stepped back into the house just in time to see the guest bathroom door open. Out walked Carla with a wide grin on her face. Directly behind her was Lavon, his arms still around Carla while nuzzling her neck.
He’s an animal, probably never gets enough, Passion thought. A surge of jealousy went through her, even as she pasted a smile on her face that she hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Hey, you lovebirds,” she called out, and kept walking down the hall and up the stairs. Once in her master suite, she closed the door and walked slowly to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. She turned this way and that, noting how the folds on her back were evident in the cut of her sundress and how her butt didn’t look as big and juicy as Carla’s.
Still, she had a voluptuous pair of “sistahs,” a nice head of hair, and a pretty face, just like Carla did. They were both pretty in their own way, Passion decided. So what was it about Carla that made Lavon choose her over me?
Passion walked over to the sitting area, sat down, and gazed out the window. Onyx and Winston were riding bikes now, while Shay and one of his friends bobbed their heads to some beat on their headsets. Passion knew she had a lot to be thankful for. Stan was a good man and was trying to be an even better one. Their lovemaking was steady, yet uneventful, and Stan was not yet ready to try some of the things that Passion had suggested. When she’d mentioned a tutorial lovemaking video for adults, Stan acted as if she’d asked him to star in a porn movie. She tried to tell him what felt good and how to please her, but Stan was still too hesitant and closed to sex being pleasurable to listen. Still, he was trying. She had to give him that. But would she ever have with Stan what she knew Carla had with Lavon? Would there ever be passion, raw and nasty, sweaty and breathtaking, in the Lee bedroom?
58
And Then It Happened
Stan sat in his car and looked at the lobby, wondering for the umpteenth time if he could handle this meeting. The call from Bryce’s friend Ryan had been a surprise. He’d answered it because it came through on a 310 number, a common Los Angeles area code. The conversation was brief, succinct, and when it was over, Stan knew there was no choice but to see his old lover at least one more time.
Stan and Bryce hadn’t talked or seen each other for almost three months, since Stan had resigned from the Cathedral’s executive board. And while Stan had refused to take Bryce’s calls, he’d thought about him every single day. Every day was a struggle, to stay on the side of right and deny his flesh. Every day was a new, inner war waged with himself, to not go after what his very soul seemed to cry out for—Bryce Covington.
Stan’s cell phone rang. He checked the ID even though he knew who it was. “I’m here.”
A sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m glad.”
Silence. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“I never would have called you. I promised I wouldn’t.”
“If it weren’t for the news about your mother…”
Frances Covington had been Stan’s standin mother during his years at Howard. He’d spent endless nights at her dining room table, eating food that reminded him of his own home. Even after ending communication with Bryce in the eighties, Stan had maintained contact with Frances for years. She was one of the kindest, gentlest, most compassionate people he’d ever known. Her death had shocked friends and family alike. It was only afterward that they’d learned she’d been silently suffering from heart failure for six months. She’d kept the news from everyone, even her husband.
“Ryan knew I needed you,” Bryce whispered, his voice breaking. “He’s tried, but he didn’t know her. You knew Mama, loved her and…”
Hearing Bryce choke up yet again, Stan ended the call and reached for the car handle at the same time. Within minutes, he was outside the door to Bryce’s suite. The door was ajar. Stan pushed it open and stepped inside.
Bryce was just on the other side. As soon as the door closed, Bryce stepped into Stan’s arms. He cried silently, while Stan held him in a firm grip. “It’s all right, man,” Stan whispered, his own voice choking up. “She was a one-of-a-kind mother. It’s all right to cry.”
After several moments, Bryce stepped away from Stan. “It’s good to see you,” he said, the merest of smiles crossing his face.
Stan nodded. He saw a Kleenex holder on the other side of the room and went to retrieve one for Bryce. Bryce took it, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose as he walked over to the bar. “The usual?” Bryce asked.
“Club soda.”
Bryce fixed the drinks and joined Stan on the couch.
“To Frances Covington,” Stan said as he held up his glass. “One of the best mamas on the planet.”
They clinked glasses. Bryce drained his brandy and immediately rose to fix another.
Stan followed him. “I know you’re hurting, my brother, but do you think alcohol is the way to handle your grief?”
“I’m cool,” Bryce said, dropping a large helping of ice into the tumbler before filling it with dark brown liquid. “This is only my second drink of the night. I knew you’d scold me, so I held off until you came.”
“How long have you been in LA?”
“Just a couple days.”
And you didn’t call. Stan knew that that was a good thing, even though it didn’t feel like it.
“Ryan and I spent the holiday here, on a friend’s yacht. We were supposed to have left this morning for London. But then I got the call. My plane leaves in a couple hours. But…I’m glad I could see you first.”
The two men returned to the couch and spent the next thirty minutes talking about Frances Covington. They laughed and cried over shared memories, especially those that involved diverting Bryce’s mother’s well-placed suspicions that he and Stan were “too close as friends.”
“Remember that time she came downstairs and we were dancing to—”
“‘Time Will Reveal!’” they both said together. Bryce sang the lyrics to the timeless DeBarge classic as he stood and reached for Stan. “C’mon, man,” he said softly. Sing it with me. ‘More precious than silver…’”
“Naw, man,” Stan said, smiling. “That’s not me anymore.”
“Wait a minute, check this out.” Bryce walked over to an iPod set in its stereo base. He punched a few buttons. Suddenly the sounds of the ’80s R&B group DeBarge wafted into the room. “C’mon, man, one time. For my moms.”
Against his better judgment, Stan rose from the couch and stood awkwardly as Bryce danced over to him. Bryce immediately wrapped his arms around Stan’s waist, while Stan’s hand instinctively went around Bryce’s shoulders. For a moment, they just stood there—Stan, unbelieving that an embrace could feel so good, and Bryce, reveling in a moment he thought would never come again. They both began moving, at the same time, as El DeBarge sang their story, talked about special love, and how in time all would be revealed. For the first time in twenty-five years, Stan let down his guard and allowed himself to simply feel. Emotions that had been buried, crushed beneath Scriptures and societal pressure, taboo and guilt, came seeping through his pores and into the moment. He and Bryce remained quiet, listening to the music, soaking up the words of the entire song. Bryce must have known what impact it would have, because he’d put the song on repeat. They continued dancing while it played again.
“You never opened it, did you?” Bryce finally whispered.
“What?” Stan was so full of emotion he could barely talk.
“The package I sent.”
“I read the letter but didn’t look at the contents inside.”
“This song was in there,” Bryce said. “I’d made a CD of all our favorite songs from back in the day, remember? ‘Let It Whip,’ ‘Sexual Healing,’ ‘Love Come Down,’ anything by the Gap Band?”
“I haven’t heard those songs in years,” Stan admitted. Since the time he was twenty-three, he’d listened mostly to gospel music, with an occasional classical or jazz piece thrown in. Gospel music kept him on course, kept his mind stayed on Jesus. Stan was already feeling what could happen when one listened to “memory lane” music.
Bryce broke their embrace once more and walked over to the iPod. He turned off the repeat feature, and soon, Smokey Robinson was talking about being with you. While songs from the eighties provided the backdrop, Stan and Bryce continued to talk, and dance, and talk some more. By the time Diana and Lionel started singing about an endless love, Stan was enjoying himself more than he had in years. And when Bryce reached over and kissed him on the cheek, and then on the lips, he didn’t stop him.
Buoyed by not being rejected, Bryce moved over and deepened the kiss. He rubbed Stan’s smooth, bald head, the head he’d longed to touch in just this way since laying his eyes upon it in a Detroit board
room. He reached for Stan’s belt buckle, hurriedly undid it, and then placed his hand on the long, thick tool that he remembered. He moaned into Stan’s mouth and deepened the kiss even more.
While Mtume talked about “Juicy Fruit,” Bryce pushed Stan back on the couch and pulled Stan’s penis out of his pants. Stan knew he should stop him, knew he couldn’t do this, but he felt totally incapable of stopping what was going on. Instead he lay passive, his eyes tightly closed, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he anticipated what was to come.
And then it happened—Bryce’s mouth on Stan’s manhood—the first time such an act had occurred with Stanley Morris Lee in a quarter of a century. He’d refused to let his wives go down on him, convinced it would unleash what defrocked minister Ted Haggard referred to as “homosexual tendencies.” He’d denied himself oral sex, yet here he was, being pleasured by a man. And not just any man, but the only person he’d ever loved so deeply. Bryce took his time, lavishing decades of love upon his one and only. Bryce remembered certain things that Stan liked and did them all. When Stan climaxed, it was intense. A loud hiss escaped from his mouth, even as he reached for Bryce and grabbed him in a bear hug, almost crushing him in its force. Little spasms of aftershocks continued to shake him. He struggled to regain his breath.
When he did, Stan said only one thing: “I have to go.”
59
A Heartfelt Request
Passion pounced as soon as the bedroom door opened. “Where have you been?”
Stan walked over to Passion and hugged her tighter than he’d ever hugged her before. “I’ve been with Bryce. We need to talk.”
Later, Passion would swear that her world stopped spinning in that moment. Bryce? You said you were going to pick up something at the church. And that was three hours ago! “I called you,” she said simply.
Heaven Forbid Page 26
