Heaven Right Here

by Lutishia Lovely

  Hope promised her mother she would, but she knew she wouldn’t. As hard as she tried, all she could think about was Millicent spending the evening with Cy. She didn’t include Millicent’s husband in the picture she painted—which, had she thought about it, may have been why her imaginings made her hurt so much.

  Cy walked into the penthouse several hours later. The lights were out, yet when he went into the kitchen he found a pot of cold sauce and another pot of rice on the stovetop. He looked in the oven. Two fillets of salmon sat in an ovenproof pan. He frowned, put the food in storage containers, and put the containers in the refrigerator. After placing the cookware in the dishwasher, he walked into the bedroom.

  Hope was lying on the comforter, fully clothed and sound asleep. Cy sat down gingerly, his look a mixture of love and concern. He placed a soft finger to Hope’s cheek, noting the dried tearstains that had streaked her makeup.

  “Hope?” he called out softly. He called again, but to no avail. Hope was sound asleep. Cy removed his shoes, suit, and shirt and crawled on the bed in his underwear. He didn’t want to bother his sleeping princess and therefore simply cuddled Hope tightly in his arms.

  He stared into the distance as he leisurely stroked Hope’s hair.

  “God, please help Hope. She’s the love of my life, and she’s hurting. If it is Your will, please help us start a family. A child will make all the difference. Help us, Jesus.”

  31

  Like Paradise

  Vivian sat back in her office chair, a calm expression hiding an inner turmoil. She was worried for Hope and not at all sure how best to help her.

  “Did you and Cy discuss things this morning?”

  “Somewhat.”

  Vivian was silent until Hope went on.

  “He told me he was canceling the partnership with Jack. That it wasn’t worth the effect it was having on me.”

  “How did you respond?”

  “With the truth. I admitted that while I’d forgiven Millicent in my head, it hadn’t yet occurred in my heart. And that that was precisely why he shouldn’t cancel the partnership. I believe God has brought Millicent back into my life for a reason, probably several. Mama helped me realize that it’s not about her, it’s about me, and my need to deal with issues that until now I’ve ignored or set aside.”

  “Such as?”

  “Along with jealousy and envy, insecurity and self-esteem challenges are rearing their ugly heads. And then there’s the baby issue. But I’m getting ready to fix that. I’ve scheduled an appointment with a fertility clinic.”

  “And Cy is in agreement?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. I’m just going there to find out more about their treatments, exactly what they entail. Then I’ll share it with Cy. I don’t want to stop his dreams—our dreams—because of my issues. Almost from the time we were married, Cy has talked about expanding his business into San Diego County and northern California. He’s told me how hard it is to buy into the coastal properties along La Jolla’s seacoast. You should have seen his face as he described the land he’s buying from Jack. He makes it sound like paradise. So I told him to hold off on ending the agreement.”

  “California is a large state,” Vivian said matter-of-factly. “There are other paradises. But I am proud of the way you’re facing your issues headon, refusing to give the devil the victory.”

  Hope nodded.

  “Maybe in addition to talking to the fertility specialists, you should take your mother’s advice and speak with a therapist or mental health professional as well. There’s no shame in reaching out for help and at the very least knowing exactly what is going on.”

  “Maybe I should,” Hope whispered, the shame she shouldn’t feel about to suffocate her.

  Vivian’s intercom interrupted their discussion.

  “What is it, Tamika?” Vivian responded.

  “Melody and the dancers are here. Should I send them over to the youth hall?”

  Vivian gave Hope a questioning look.

  Hope straightened her shoulders and answered with a firm nod.

  “Yes, Tamika. Send them over to the hall. Hope will meet them there shortly.”

  For the first time since Hope had accepted Vivian’s request to teach dance at Kingdom, Hope was truly happy for the diversion from her drama. She drew strength from the teenagers’ high-level energy, and even the usually snooty Melody didn’t get on her nerves. In fact, Hope admitted she was impressed with the choreography the girls had created to the chorus of Darius’s chart-topping “Looks Like Reign”:

  “Reign over troubles, over doubts, over fears, reign, reign

  Reign through the heartaches, through the pain and the tears, God reigns

  Reign like you know your breakthrough’s already here, and just reign

  Made in His image, you reign …”

  After two hours, the girls were exhausted, and Hope was pleased. She’d also been uplifted. The words penned by Darius had ministered to her mind and soothed her spirit. If she would simply let go and let God, as Vivian had said, reign as if the breakthrough, her pregnancy, was already here, everything would be all right.

  As for the girls, there was no doubt the group would be ready to perform at the Kingdom Citizens New Year celebration, where for the first time in a very long time, Darius and Shabach would share the same bill. All in all, Hope should have been acting like a woman on top of the world because she was, indeed, blessed beyond measure. She felt she needed to apologize to Cy, yet again, for her erratic behavior. And she’d seriously think about what her mother had said and seek professional help if it came to that. Because she would let nothing, and no one, come between her and her marriage.

  Cy was determined not to let anything come between him and Hope either, which was why he was on the phone to Jack Kirtz.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “But it’s a personal matter, nothing at all to do with you and your business dealings. They’ve been exemplary.”

  Jack paused, framing his words carefully. “I know Millicent and Hope have a—how should I say this—interesting history. And I totally understand if their past issues are what has caused you to change your mind. I won’t deny the fact that I was looking forward to being almost neighbors, and I hope this decision won’t prevent us from perhaps partnering on other deals in the future.”

  “Absolutely not, Jack. Like I said, I—oh, hold on a minute. Hope is calling. Let me just take this quickly.” Cy pushed the cell phone’s FLASH button. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve been thinking about you. I’m on the other line; can I call you right back?”

  “Sure, baby, but I just want to say this quickly. I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry, and I’m okay, and please, please, please don’t let me come between you and Jack’s business dealings or any other thing you’re working on. The devil has been busy, and this is a test. But I have the victory, Cy. We have the victory. I love you, baby. Now, go get ’em.”

  Cy heaved a heavy sigh as he switched back over to Jack. “Women—I’ll never understand them.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s better than okay.” Cy smiled. “The deal’s back on. I’m going forward with the plans to surprise my baby with the home of her dreams.”

  32

  No More Tears

  Stacy gave herself a last look in the mirror and was pleased at her reflection. She liked her new, shorter weave. The curls came to just above her shoulders, framing and softening her angular face. Normally not one for makeup, she’d enhanced her brown eyes with black mascara and enhanced her cupid-shaped lips with beige gloss to match the tight, beige tank top she wore over cream-colored jeans.

  She walked from her bedroom to the living room and stopped at the stereo. She chose a mix of jazz, hip-hop, and R & B for the five-CD changer and pushed PLAY. The sounds of Alicia Keys filled the room as sandalwood, one of Darius’s favorites, floated up from the tan-colored candle in the middle of the coffee table.

  With one last glance around
the living room, Stacy proceeded to the kitchen. Not wanting to appear overly presumptive, she’d kept the menu light, just in case Darius was hungry: homemade chicken salad with kaiser rolls fresh from his favorite kosher bakery, homemade potato salad, and an ice-cold chardonnay. After taking the wine out and putting it back and taking it out again, Stacy decided to open the bottle, have a glass, and calm her nerves. Tonight was the night things were going to get back on track with Big D… .

  Stacy carried her glass of wine into the living room, dancing around to the musical groove: “No one, no one, can get in the way of what I’m feeling… .”

  “That’s right, Alicia,” she said to the empty room. “Sing it, girl!” She danced over to a picture of little Darius being held by his father. “Nobody can stop what I’m feeling for you, baby!”

  Stacy picked up the picture and twirled around the room, sipping wine and dreaming of “one big, happy family.” She replayed the events of the past few weeks and the undeniable attraction she’d once again felt with Darius. She knew she wasn’t the only one. He had to be feeling it too! The ringing of the doorbell signaled Darius’s arrival—and with it … her future.

  Stacy stopped just before she opened the door. She took a deep breath.

  “Hey, D,” she said, trying to sound casual as she smiled at father and son. “Come on in.”

  Darius could smell sandalwood before he opened the door. He immediately recognized Alicia Keys, noted the diamond earrings he’d given Stacy two Christmases ago, and picked up the scent of Issey Miyake’s Reflections in a Drop perfume he’d raved about the first time Stacy had worn it. Uh-oh.

  Stacy’s come-hither smile widened. “What are you standing there for? Are you going to drop our son on the doorstep and run?” She left the door open and walked toward the kitchen. “Want a glass of wine?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Uh, no, thank you. I’m on my way to a meeting.” Darius walked over to the couch, unstrapped his son, and lifted him out of the carrier.

  “How long has he been asleep?” Stacy asked.

  “Not long. Fell asleep on the ride over.”

  Good. Maybe Little Man will give me and his daddy a couple hours of quality time. Stacy held out a glass of wine from the crystal set Darius had purchased shortly before Darius was born—the ones they’d used to cheer his birth.

  “Here—it’s best to drink it while it’s chilled,” Stacy said.

  Darius reluctantly took the glass. “Thanks,” he said. He took a large gulp.

  “Whoa, hold up, baby!” Stacy laughed. “Remember what you showed me? You’re supposed to swirl it around and then take a small sip. And then you’re supposed to savor the flavor, appreciating the taste of each ingredient as it goes down.” She paused and demonstrated. “Like this, remember?”

  Darius remembered. That was one of the good months, when he, Stacy, and Bo had been getting along. They’d taken a trip to Napa Valley and toured wine country. Stacy was about seven months pregnant then, so she’d merely taken a sip of two or three of the premier wines. But he and Bo had gotten ridiculously drunk, and they’d stayed up all night singing bubblegum soul from their childhood days at the top of their lungs: Cameo, Ready for the World, and Bo’s hilarious, screeching rendition of Karyn White’s “Superwoman.”

  Stacy’s eyes sparkled. “You’re remembering the wine country, huh? When we spent the night under the stars and made love in the grove by the grapevines?”

  Darius simply smiled and nodded. His fondest memories were actually of him and Bo and the stolen moments they’d enjoyed.

  “Let me take him upstairs,” Stacy said. “Sit and relax. I’ll be right back.”

  “Really, Stacy, I—”

  “I’ll be right back!” She was already up the stairs before he could reply.

  When she came back down she went straight to the kitchen and brought out the bottle of wine. Amid Darius’s protests, she refreshed both their glasses and then joined him on the couch, practically sitting on top of him.

  “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” she said and began kissing him without preamble.

  When Darius opened his mouth to protest, Stacy slid her tongue inside. All of a sudden, she was on fire, the months of celibacy exploding in a torrent of emotions and passion that left her breathless.

  “Come on, Darius, you know you want to,” she panted even while she tore at his shirt and fumbled with his jeans zipper. “Let’s finish what we started last week.”

  “What we—Stacy, stop!” Darius pushed Stacy away from him and stood up in one motion. Silence descended on the room as they both caught their breath. “Look, Stacy, I’m sorry about that kiss last week. I never should have gone there.”

  “I wanted it; we wanted it. Don’t tell me you haven’t been feeling something these past weeks. Didn’t you say you wanted us to be friends again, to stop all the fighting and haggling over Darius and all get along?”

  “Yes, I said it, and I meant it too. But friends, Stacy, not lovers.”

  “And your comment the other night … about my lips.”

  “Stacy, it was a genuine compliment, nothing more.”

  He took a step toward Stacy. She turned her back to him.

  Darius walked to within a foot of where she stood and began again. “There’ll always be a bond between us, Stacy, because of our son. And I will always love you as his mother. I don’t know how to make you understand … especially since my love is for another man, but … I’m in love with—”

  Stacy held up her hand to interrupt him. “Don’t … don’t say his name.” Against her will, her eyes began to water.

  “Stacy …” Darius took the final steps and pulled her into his arms.

  That’s when the doorbell rang. Stacy’s brow creased, angry at whoever had such a bad sense of timing. At this point and time she’d take a charity screw. All she could think of was getting rid of whomever as fast as she could so she could make Darius feel sorry for her and kiss her “boo-boo” so she could feel better.

  She walked purposely to the door. Darius was right behind her. Without looking through the peephole, she opened it quickly.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Bo crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full five-foot-nine. His attitude was as starched as his shirt, and Stacy almost gagged at his profuse use of Unforgivable cologne.

  Ignoring her, Bo called over her shoulder. “Baby, we’re going to be late.”

  Stacy turned to Darius. “Oh, so this was your meeting? Why did you lie? Why didn’t you just tell me you had a date with your wife? Damn, Darius. Does it do something to your ego to make me look like a fool?”

  “Stupid is as stupid does,” Bo mumbled.

  “Look, asshole, nobody asked you.”

  Bo ignored her again. “Baby, we’ve got to go. People are waiting.”

  “Excuse me, Stacy,” Darius said calmly.

  After a few tense seconds, Stacy moved away from the door.

  Once out, Darius turned back to her. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” he said as his eyes pleaded for peace. “If you’d like, I can pick up Darius next Saturday, give you and your friends a chance to go out … or whatever?”

  “Don’t worry about picking him up next Saturday or Sunday. I guess our little cease-fire was temporary. I’ll be calling my lawyer tomorrow.”

  Stacy slammed the door and stood in the middle of the floor trying to catch her breath. How had she gotten it so wrong again? Especially when she knew the signs, had watched this movie again and again. Darius had been a reluctant participant at best, much like the first time they’d slept together. Darius couldn’t have been plainer if he’d placed an ad in the LA Times: he didn’t want her!

  She downed her glass and then reached for the one Darius had barely touched. She gulped it down too, determined not to cry. She’d cried a thousand tears for Darius Crenshaw, and enough was enough. Finishing the glass she’d poured for him, she poured the remainde
r of the bottle into her glass and set the glass down on the table with a loud clunk.

  “Am I stuck on stupid or what?” she yelled.

  The sound woke up little Darius, who started yelling for his dad, of all people.

  “Dada! Dada!”

  “Your daddy ain’t here!” Stacy yelled back as she stomped up the stairs to get her son. She walked into his room and turned on the dimmed light beside his crib. “Your daddy ain’t here,” she repeated. “It’s just me and you, little man.”

  She almost choked on that line, but instead of crying, she bit her lip until she tasted blood and then redirected her attention to Darius’s wet diaper and his need for a bath. As she washed his tiny brown body, the same skin tone as his father, she finally let the tears come.

  But not for long. Stacy angrily wiped them away and forced herself to face reality. Darius would always be a homosexual, and she would never be his wife.

  She put Darius to bed, and although it was barely eight thirty, she put on a pair of flannel pajamas and climbed between the sheets. Her head throbbed, both from the wine and from the reality of her self-deception. She thought about how different things might have been if she’d played it cool at the dinner when Tony had seemed genuinely interested. He seemed to be a good man and had become a regular at KCCC. But as had happened for the past four years, she’d bypassed all others for the singular goal of Darius Crenshaw. And for what?

  Stacy tossed and turned as the thoughts refused to leave her. The next time she looked at the clock it was almost eleven. She was all cried out, yet sleep continued to elude her.

  Then she remembered something, remembered the one thing she had never done. She’d asked God a zillion times to help her get Darius; she hadn’t once asked Him to help her get over him.

  Scurrying to the edge of the bed, she threw back the covers and got down on her knees, another thing she hadn’t done in a long time.

  “Father God,” she began, as new tears threatened to erupt. She took a deep breath and began again. “God, I want to change. I don’t want to keep wanting Darius, to keep needing him in my life. Help me get over him, God. Tell me what I need to do; give me some direction. Help heal my heart, God. And help me, please, help me move on.”