“There’s no need for thanks. I’m sure this would please Ben very much.” Danita stood and shook the administrator’s hand. Then she casually walked out of the hospital and got back inside her waiting limousine.
They arrived at Danita’s church several moments later. Hyatt Evangelical Temple was housed inside an expansive building that she and her late husband had purchased for less than $2 million. Its sanctuary was large enough to accommodate four thousand people. Adjacent to the sanctuary, they’d built an educational wing that held thirty-seven classrooms, a dining hall, a library, a gymnasium with an indoor swimming pool, a computer lab, and several offices, including Danita’s.
As usual, her driver stopped directly in front of the doorway that sat closest to her office door. She stepped out of the car just as the camera crew’s SUV pulled up beside her.
“Is there a good place where we can park our van?” the leader of the crew asked.
“Um, yes, go ahead and drive around the side of the building. There is plenty of parking there. I’ll have Philippe wait here for you, and then he’ll show you where my office is,” she answered.
The crew leader nodded at her then drove off in the direction she had indicated. As soon as he was out of sight, she dashed inside the church building and rushed down the hall to her office. Her secretary was sitting behind her desk typing a letter. “Karyn, are there any cameras set up in here yet?” she asked.
“No, not yet. I thought the camera crew was coming in with you.”
“They are. I mean they did. They are parking their vehicle. I need you to take care of something quickly before they get in here.”
“Sure, what it is?”
“Call my bank and cancel payment on a check. It’s for $25,000, and it was written to Piedmont Hospital.”
Without another word, Danita walked into her office to freshen her makeup before the camera crew arrived inside.
Chapter Four
Zack Morton trotted up his basement steps, walked into the kitchen, then turned and locked the basement door behind him. After pulling his key from the lock, he turned the tumblers on three deadbolts, ensuring they were also locked securely. Next, he pulled an iron bar into place and clicked a padlock onto it. When he was done, he turned to his wife and smiled. “Good morning.”
His wife, Charlene, shook her head at him before placing a plate on the table. “Why do you go through all of that every morning? Nobody has any desire to go down there, least of all me.”
He sniffed his egg white omelet, which was sitting on the plate, before answering her. “I’ve told you before, that equipment could be dangerous if one of the children were to play with it. I just prefer being safe, rather than sorry.”
“One lock could keep them out. Besides, they are old enough to know better.”
He sniffed his breakfast again. “This smells funny. The eggs must be bad. Throw it out and fix me another one.”
Charlene took the plate away and tossed the contents down the garbage disposal, then dutifully went to the refrigerator to retrieve more eggs.
“Throw the whole carton away,” Zack instructed. He picked up his newspaper to read while he waited.
Charlene tossed the carton into her tall, white kitchen trash bin; then she returned to the refrigerator and pulled out an unopened carton of eggs from the three remaining on the shelf. She made a mental note to purchase more. As she worked, she had to remind herself that she loved her husband dearly, but his eccentricities got on her last nerve. On their first date, they’d left two restaurants before settling on one that he felt was an acceptable place for them to eat. He’d told her that the first one smelled strange, although her nose didn’t detect any scent. They’d been together for twelve years, and in that time, they’d walked out of restaurants, movies, plays, and even people’s homes because Zack’s nose didn’t agree with the atmosphere. He seemed to be able to smell things that no one else could, and if it bothered him, they had to leave.
The second restaurant they walked out of that night had too many white chefs. “I’m no racist,” he’d said. “I am white, for goodness’ sake, but black people are just better cooks. I haven’t eaten a meal cooked by a white person in years, and I don’t plan to.” She’d often wondered if he had issues with his own skin. He’d never dated a white woman, and 90 percent of his congregation was black. When she questioned him, he stated that he just wasn’t attracted to white women. It wasn’t a bigoted thing; he just loved the beauty of darker hued skin tones, rounder hips, buxom breasts, full lips, and thick hair. Charlene fit his type perfectly.
His quirkiness didn’t end with smells and people. He never wore the same pair of underwear or socks more than once. He’d told her that those items could never be properly cleaned; therefore, he insisted that they be disposed of after use.
Every morning, he spent two hours in his private gym working out, and no one, not even Charlene, was allowed to interrupt him. Afterward, he showered in his private basement bathroom and changed into a white wife beater T-shirt and white cotton underwear that Charlene referred to as tighty whiteys. His daily attire consisted of a white button-down dress shirt, black slacks, black socks, and black shoes. On Sundays, he added a black tie and suit jacket.
After he was done each morning in the basement, he’d enter the kitchen, lock the door, and wait for Charlene to serve his breakfast. They had a housekeeper and a nanny, but he refused to allow either of them to cook his meals. That was his wife’s duty, he’d told her.
Charlene set a new egg white omelet on the table and waited for Zack’s approval just as their front doorbell rang. “That must be the camera crew,” she said.
Their housekeeper escorted the crew into the kitchen before returning to her duties. “Good morning, Reverend Morton, I’m CiCi.” The crew leader smiled and stuck out his hand to greet him. He was a tall, stocky, African American man with a bald head. Charlene watched her husband’s nose wrinkle up.
“What’s that cologne you are wearing?” Zack asked.
“Uhm, Lagerfeld. It’s my favorite,” he answered.
“Don’t wear it again in my house. It’s offensive. As a matter of fact, don’t wear it in my presence ever again.”
CiCi gave him an odd look before pulling his hand away. “Um, yeah . . . So can we get a tour of the house so we can get these cameras set up?”
Zack continued eating his breakfast. “Have a seat. I’d like to talk and set down some ground rules.”
CiCi pulled out a chair at the table and sat down while the rest of his crew stood looking around awkwardly. Charlene offered him a cup of coffee, which he declined. He sat patiently, waiting for Zack to speak.
“I’m really excited about this new show,” Zack said. “My wife and I have talked with our children, and they are excited about it as well. But, of course, there have to be some boundaries so that things run smoothly.”
“Of course.” CiCi nodded his head in agreement.
“First of all, there will be no cameras following my sons to school. Twin boys don’t do anything but go to class. I will, however, allow the cameras at their sporting events. They both are on the school soccer team. Luther is on the peewee football team, and Martin is studying karate. Those activities should be interesting to your viewers.” Zack paused and took the last bite of his omelet. He drained his glass of orange juice before turning and pointing at his wife. “As you can see, she is pregnant with our third child. There will be no cameras at the hospital before, during, or after her delivery.”
“But Reverend Morton—” CiCi began to protest, only to be stopped as Zack stood up from the table.
“That’s not negotiable. My wife is the first lady of my church. Remember that she is first in my life, and she is always to be regarded as a lady.”
Charlene smiled as he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and motioned for the crew to follow him as he showed them the rest of the house. Zack Morton was eccentric, sometimes he was demanding, and Charlene’s family still had not gotten over the fa
ct that she married a white man, but none of that mattered to Charlene. He was also kind, generous, and compassionate. With sandy-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and skin that glowed almost golden when he tanned, he was drop-dead gorgeous. He was a wonderful father to their sons, the best lover she’d ever had, and most important of all, a man of God. Her love for him was deep. She believed that was all that truly mattered.
Charlene felt her baby kick, and her stomach growled, begging for sustenance. Quietly she sat down at the table and ate her breakfast alone, as she did most mornings.
She’d just finished eating and was rising from the table when she heard a tapping at her back door. Cautiously, she walked over and peered out the window of the door.
“What are you doing here? How did you get past Marty, the guard at the gate?” she asked through the glass.
“Marty loves me. Open up, Charlene,” her cousin, Vanessa, answered.
“Zack is upstairs, and the camera crew for the new show is here. What do you want?” Charlene looked nervously over her shoulder, praying that Zack would not walk in.
“What’s he still doing here? I didn’t see the Jaguar in the driveway.”
“I just told you, the camera crew for the new show is here, and Zack is giving them a tour of the house. He sold the Jaguar last week.”
“I don’t care if he’s here. Let me in. This morning air is chilly,” Vanessa whined.
Charlene glanced over her shoulder once again before finally unlocking the door and letting her cousin enter. Zack wasn’t very close to his own family, and he was not a fan of Charlene’s family either. She knew he would not be pleased to see her cousin standing in the middle of his kitchen.
“Look at you, cow. You are about to pop.” Vanessa rubbed Charlene’s protruding belly and laughed.
“Be quiet. You know Zack can hear a rat pee on cotton a block away.”
Vanessa covered her mouth to stifle another laugh. “I bet he can smell it too,” she said sarcastically.
Charlene laughed out loud, then quickly covered her mouth, but it was too late. Zack was on his way down the stairs, and within a few seconds, he was staring at the two of them in the kitchen. “Did I miss the joke?” he asked.
“Hey, Zack, what’s going on?” Vanessa asked innocently.
“Hello, Vanessa. What are you doing here?” he asked.
Vanessa looked cautiously over at Charlene before answering. “I just came by to visit with my cuz.”
Zack gave her a disapproving look before turning to Charlene. “What are your plans for today?”
“I have a doctor’s appointment at ten; then I have a meeting with Luther and Martin’s teacher at eleven. After lunch, I was planning to go to the mall and look at baby furniture for a while, then back here before the boys return from school.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth as she listened. It irritated her that whenever she came to visit, she always heard a similar conversation. Zack needed to know where Charlene was every hour of the day.
“Okay, fine. I’ll tell the camera crew leader to meet you back here around noon. They can follow you this afternoon.” He leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips before turning to leave the kitchen.
“Zack,” Charlene called after him, “I need the credit card.”
“I thought you were just looking at furniture today. When you are ready to buy, I’ll go along with you.”
“My car is low on gas . . . and um . . . I wanted to buy a card for the twins’ teacher. It’s her birthday next week, and I thought I’d take it with me today.”
Zack reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He bypassed the credit cards and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He handed it to Charlene. “This should cover the card and a small gift. You can drive my car today, it’s full. I’ll take yours and make sure it’s full when I return.” After kissing her once more he walked out of the kitchen.
“Why do you let him—” Vanessa screeched before Charlene interrupted her with a look that said, “Shut it up right now.”
“You are divorced, and you don’t understand. Zack is my husband, and he is the head of our house. I have no problem with that, so why do you?”
“Let him be the head of the house, but that’s your money he’s controlling. You married a poor country boy from Asheboro, North Carolina.”
“It’s Asheville,” Charlene corrected her, before taking a seat at the table.
“Whatever. He was still broke.” Vanessa sat down and helped herself to a glass of orange juice. “He had nothing, and you had plenty. That’s what I’m saying. Now you have to ask him for every dime you spend. It’s not right.”
Although she hated to admit it, her cousin had a point. Charlene was the daughter of one of Atlanta’s most prominent physicians. Their family was considered to be among Atlanta’s African American aristocracy. Following in her dad’s footsteps, she’d graduated from John Hopkins School of Medicine. She had just completed her residency and was enjoying her first month on the job as a physician in her father’s clinic when Zack entered her life and changed everything.
Zack Morton came in carrying a four-year-old black girl who’d twisted her ankle on the steps of his church. As the pastor, he felt responsible for her accident and accompanied her parents to the doctor and offered to pay for everything. The problem was, Zack couldn’t afford to pay for a Band-Aid. He took one look at the bill and begged Charlene to put him on a payment plan so that the child’s parents would not know.
Since then, he’d taken a small run-down church in the ghetto with fewer than twenty-five members and built his congregation into a supermegachurch with more than ten thousand members. Following their marriage, Charlene gave up her medical practice and became a full-time wife, first lady, and mother. She loved Zack, and she loved their life. Without hesitation, she let Vanessa know that. “He’s not broke now. Zack’s church brings in close to $1 million in revenue each Sunday. So what we have now is ours. He’s never refused me anything that I needed. Mind your business, okay?” She gave her cousin a sly smile.
Vanessa smiled back, and the tension floated from the room. “Fine. Get that housekeeper down here to fix me some breakfast. I’m starved.”
Chapter Five
“This waiting is driving me crazy. Has it been fifteen minutes yet?” Brandon Kitts paced back and forth in his bedroom while glancing at his watch. His wife, Tia, had just taken a pregnancy test, and he was anxious for the results.
“No, it’s only been about ten minutes,” Tia said.
“The camera crew from the new show is due here any second. Why didn’t you buy the test that only takes a few minutes?”
“This one is new and supposed to be more accurate. Just relax and wait.”
Brandon glanced out of the bedroom window and let his eyes scan the length of their driveway. “Oh great,” he said sarcastically. “I see a van pulling up. It must be them.”
Tia pressed the intercom button on the wall near their bedroom door. She waited until her housekeeper, Sophia, answered. “Sophia, I think the camera crew is here. My husband and I will be down in a few moments. Please let them in and have them take a seat in the great room.” Tia released the intercom button and went into her expansive bedroom to retrieve the pregnancy test she’d left sitting on the counter. She closed the door behind her, leaving Brandon waiting in their bedroom. Without looking at the test, she tossed it into the trash. There was no need to check it; Tia was positive that she wasn’t pregnant. Sitting down at her vanity table, she lay her head in her hands as she waited.
Tia had known since the day she’d married Brandon five years earlier that more than anything else in the world, he wanted to be a father. His mother had given birth to three girls and four boys, with Brandon being the youngest. All of his siblings had followed his parents’ lead and also had large families, with each of them having four or more children. Brandon doted on his nieces and nephews and dreamed of the day when he’d have children of his own to s
poil. He’d shared his dreams with Tia on the night he proposed. The two of them had just shared a moonlit picnic on the beach in Hilton Head, S.C. Tia was enjoying the warm night air while sipping on a glass of red wine. Brandon knelt in front of her and took her hand into his. “I love you, and I want to share the rest of my life with you. I want to make babies with you and just spend the remainder of my life making you and our children happy,” he said.
Tia was stunned. Their relationship had begun as a casual fling, and she honestly was not in love with him. It wasn’t his fault. Brandon was very handsome with shoulder-length locks and cocoa-brown skin. As a member of the NFL, he worked out religiously, and his body was toned to perfection. He was also sweet, charming, and a great catch. Tia simply wasn’t interested in being caught.
Brandon wasn’t the only one of her former husband’s teammates she’d had flings with. Brandon just happened to be the one her husband caught in bed with her. When he asked for a divorce, she moved in with Brandon because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Tia felt she wasn’t the kind of woman who could commit to one man. She enjoyed variety, and she loved sex. As soon as her divorce was final and she received her settlement, she had intended to live it up and enjoy herself. Marrying another football player and having his babies did not fit into that plan. Rather than break Brandon’s heart, she told him that she needed time to think about it.
Four days later, after returning to Atlanta, Tia called Brandon and accepted his proposal. That was after she’d received a call from her attorney letting her know that she would not receive anything in her divorce settlement. Her prenuptial agreement had a clause in it that stated she would get nothing if she was caught cheating. Her attorney suggested that they fight it out in court, but Tia declined.
Two weeks after her divorce was final, she became Mrs. Brandon Kitts. Although she didn’t have love, Tia was content to know that she had security. Brandon was wealthier than her first husband, and he loved her. For a few months, Tia was almost happy. Until the night that Brandon told her he was leaving the NFL. He’d found God and felt the call into ministry. Before she knew it, Tia found herself standing beside him as he purchased his first church.
Faking Reality Page 3
