by H.H. Fowler
CHURCH GURLZ – BOOK 1
Mother’s Black Book
A Novel
H. H. Fowler
Copyright© 2013 H.H. Fowler
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
All characters, names, descriptions, and traits are products of the author’s imagination. Similarities of actual people – living or dead are purely coincidental.
Other Books by H.H. Fowler
The Church Boyz’ Series
Rod of the Wicked – Book 1
When Things Go Wrong – Book 2
My Last Cry – Book 3
The Church Gurlz’ Series
Mother’s Black Book – Book 1
In the Presence of my Enemy – Book 2
The Aftermath – Book 3
Stand Alone Titles
Javier
Connect with H.H. Fowler on Twitter:
@fowlerguy1
Blog: www.churchboyz.org
www.facebook.com/www.churchboyz.org
Acknowledgements
Thank You, Lord Jesus for giving me the fortitude to complete this project.
To my loving wife, Andrea, and to our three children: Ahmadasun, Ahmari and Ahriana. I love you!
So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won’t be doing what your sinful nature craves.
- Galatians 5:16 (NLT)
Chapter One
Twelve Years Prior
Jasmine Benton gazed into the grey eyes of her pastor’s son. Two perfect ovals so bright with innocence that Jasmine became besotted with them. With a creamy shade that evenly coated his hairless complexion, Wynton Lakatos came as close to any Caucasian boy Jasmine had ever encountered. For a sixteen-year-old stud, he was painfully attractive. She used the tips of her fingers to trace the outline of his naturally flushed lips, loving the supple feel of his flesh. She inhaled his maleness and allowed it to permeate her senses. If there had ever been a boy that Jasmine wanted to be with, it was Wynton Lakatos.
Jasmine whispered, her moist lips brushing against Wynton’s chest, “I would be stupid to believe that I was the first girl that you had ever been with.”
Wynton grinned and then chucked a mischievous question at her. “Would that bug you if I had been with someone else?”
“Not in the least. I don’t care if it is your first time or not. I just need to know that I’m the only one that you’re sleeping with now.”
Those giddy girls in their youth group simply probed for the 411 on his sex life, but Jasmine wanted reassurance. Wynton interpreted that as exclusivity, which was a heavy mantle to toss around a sixteen-year-old. As alluring as Jasmine Benton was – with her thick ebony ringlets, he would not allow her to seduce him into saying or doing something he was not ready for. There was a stream of girls waiting in line for his attention. Why would he constrict his taste to just a few?
He jokingly told Jasmine, “My Daddy didn’t raise me to be no player. Now if you gonna waste the next ten minutes trying to check out my stats, let me warn you, I’m losing interest already…”
Jasmine smacked Wynton’s chest playfully. “You obnoxious white boy!”
“It’s one of the reasons you chased after me,” Wynton quipped. “I’m something that you’ve never had.”
“Oh, please!”
Wynton’s smug attitude only made him more irresistible. Jasmine locked Wynton’s arms behind his head as if to punish him for his ‘rudeness’, but the impious way that he stared, caused her to lose control of her hormones. She swooped down and eagerly attacked his lips.
Wynton stopped her. “Whoa, girl, my lips will be sore in the morning,” he chuckled. “Take it easy. I know they’re succulent, but –”
“Shut up! You know you are just a tease...”
Wynton’s smirk conveyed his deeply held opinions, in that he believed it was easier for a girl to become more emotionally attached than it was for a dude. Wynton knew that sex was a powerful connection, but he did not intend for it to lead him into early fatherhood. He stopped Jasmine again.
“Rubbers…I didn’t bring any.”
“We did it before without one,” Jasmine groaned. “I won’t get pregnant.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. My friend has sex all the time without condoms and she hasn’t gotten pregnant yet.”
“Maybe your friend isn’t telling you everything,” Wynton said. “Maybe we should wait it out tonight –”
“Don’t ruin the mood.”
Wynton whispered between kisses, “I might have left some here the last time…just being careful…”
“Of what?” Jasmine whispered back. “I’ve already told you – I can’t get pregnant.”
“Are you on the pill?”
“Hell, no…” Jasmine eased up from Wynton’s chest, visibly annoyed. “What’s this? The Spanish Inquisition? You want me or not, Wynton? Stop trying to psyche me out, because it’s definitely killing the mood.”
Wynton pulled her back toward his lips, knowing he should have resisted giving in. But he knew Jasmine was a blabbermouth and she would ruin his ‘lover boy’ reputation with one word: Punk. He felt pressured, but he would rather battle his conscience than carry around a derogatory label for the rest of his life. Five minutes into it and they were whisked away by their unrestrained lust for each other – doing things two sixteen-year-olds had no business doing. Their Christian upbringing did not stand a chance.
****
Sharon Benton stepped out of her white Mercedes with irritation swathing her visage. Her husband had left the concert tickets at home on their dresser. The last thing she’d told him before he scuffled out for the office that afternoon was to remember to bring the tickets. She’d worked double shifts at the hospital and had not had time to do anything but use one of the hospital’s private rooms to change into her evening gown.
Now it was seven minutes past eight in the evening, which gave her about twenty-three minutes to get back to the concert before it started. The only problem was that it’d taken her over half an hour to make the drive home. She definitely would be late getting back. As soon as she jabbed her key into the lock, her cell rang in her purse. She knew it was Karl, because he had been calling every ten minutes since she’d hit the Interstate.
“Yes, Karl, I’m walking inside now,” she spat at her husband. “Don’t rush me, because I told you to bring the tickets. I had to drive all the way across –”
“Sugar Plum, I’m sorry. I was running late for my business appointment,” Karl explained. “I simply forgot…” He stared in the rearview mirror at the stop sign he’d just sped by. There seemed to be no police in this part of town, which he took as a good sign that things would continue to go well for him and his family. “Don’t be upset. We’ve been planning to go to this concert for weeks.”
“Which is why I don’t understand how you could let this slip your memory,” Sharon huffed. She swung her plus-size figure through the front door. She made a right turn and then went down the two-steps into the family room. “What time did your meeting finish anyway?”
“Err…minutes ago,” Karl fumbled. “I’m just now pulling out of the parking garage of my building.”
“You can’t be serious,” Sharon cried. “When you called me I thought you were two minutes away from the Convention Center.”
“Honey,” Karl tried. “You k
now how important this contract is to me – to us. It’s the biggest I’ve ever received since I got into the real estate business –”
“But you told me two minutes, Karl!” A faint, thumping sound caused Sharon’s gaze to fly upward. Her eyes lingered on a particular spot in the ceiling – the spot where the sound appeared to be coming from. “That means you were going to be late no matter what. I don’t like it when you are being evasive.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Sugar Plum,” Karl said quietly, knowing any further explanation would keep his wife on the phone longer than necessary. “And I have a surprise for you. So meet me at the center as soon as you can. Would you do that for me?”
Sharon closed her eyes and shook her head at the same time. Her husband knew how to work her emotions – to the point where it was impossible at times to remain upset with him.
“Bye, Karl, because you know this was just plain wrong.” Sharon disconnected from the line and then dropped the phone back into her purse.
Several paces ahead, she flipped on the light switch in the hall and proceeded to climb the stairs toward her bedroom. Karl had told her that he’d left the tickets there – on top of the cherry-oak mantle. Once she’d made it to the top of the steps, the thumping sound she’d heard a few minutes earlier became more pronounced. This time she knew her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. It was a steady rhythm – almost as if a band director was tapping a wooden floor with his foot – four quarter-notes at a time.
A step closer and Sharon realized the sound was coming from her bedroom. She was tempted to pull out her phone and call the police, but when she heard her daughter’s voice, mimicking the screeches of a wounded animal, she launched forward and threw her plus-size figure into the door. It swung open with a bang.
“Jasmine! Baby, are you all right –”
The air reeked of youthful perversion. The sheets were scattered on the floor. When Sharon’s gaze moved up and caught her naked daughter bent in a debauched manner, her bottom lip took a dive toward her feet. Before she could properly recover from her shock, Wynton jumped up and slammed into the headboard.
“Mrs. Benton!” he screamed. “This is not what you think it is…”
Chapter Two
Present Day – Ocho Rios, Jamaica
It was twenty minutes to midnight and the energy level of the crowd showed no signs of exhaustion. Thousands of able-bodied Jamaicans – with muscles apt to cut the funkiest dance moves – kept the noise level pumped to its max. Since nine-thirty that night, they’d been waiting on Wynton Lakatos—two-time Grammy winner for his platinum album, Shine to make his show. He and his entourage had taken a ten-day road tour throughout the Caribbean islands. Jamaica was their final stop, but it was by far the most receptive atmosphere they’d ever experienced since Wynton’s album went platinum.
It did not matter that his skin was white or that his penetrating grey eyes made him stand out among his competition. Wynton’s music artistry reached deeply into the hearts of his fans. There were even Jamaicans who had features similar to Wynton’s, but Wynton’s obsession with dancehall music, and having been reared as a Floridian, gave him an unusual appeal. Most of his fans wondered – when hearing his songs for the first time – if he’d been hanging out with Barrington Levy – one of Jamaica’s well-known reggae and dancehall artists.
The announcer of the night pushed the microphone to his mouth and thundered his voice through the one-hundred-thousand-dollar sound system. “…this is it, Ocho Rios! No more waitin’! Help me bring to the stage, the incomparable, two-time platinum artist, the new face of dancehall music, and the only white boy I know that can dance holes in his shoes –”
The crowd went ballistic – fists pumping like they were going out of style. Several brown-skinned women in pum pum shorts wiggled their scantily clad butts to the front of the stage, hoping to make eye contact with the grey-eyed beauty.
“Singing his most-aired single, from the United States to Canada,” the announcer continued excitedly, “here in the Caribbean and around the world. My boy is making big waves in the music industry! Wynton Lakatos! Let me hear you make some crazy noise up in here!”
Wynton’s bodyguards moved swiftly into position. Two of them inched near the stage and two ushered Wynton’s mother and his fiancée behind the stage, away from the jostling crowd. The two women could not stand each other, but Wynton had made them both extend the ‘olive branch’ for the sake of his public image. If only the truce would last until they all got back home to Brandon, Florida.
Wynton’s mother, Doreen, watched as her son appeared on the stage in a grand display of music and smoke – a far cry from the way she was used to seeing him. She scanned the crowd in disgust. All those girls shaking their bodies like they didn’t have a bone in their bodies almost made her puke. She did not approve of the path her son had chosen. Actually, ‘approve’ was an inappropriate description. She literally abhorred this mess her son called music. He’d grown up in the church, leading the praise and worship team with dignified tunes. And, even within the church, Doreen had problems with that. She had her own plan crafted for his life, but Wynton kept her and his father at arm’s length.
How had her son deteriorated from such proper training? His problem was the type of women that he foolishly got involved with. Women like Jasmine and the current whore that he was engaged to. Doreen furtively cut her eyes to the left and glimpsed her son’s fiancée, who was grinning like a doggone hyena. Doreen would deal with both Wynton and his brainless fiancée the second the opportunity arose. It was time for Wynton to put away this childish fantasy of his and walk into the role he’d been born to accept. He was a pastor’s son and a pastor’s son should not be gyrating his hips, stirring up the lustful passion of the flesh.
****
During Wynton’s closing act, Doreen instructed Wynton’s bodyguards to take her up to his dressing room. Her sharp gaze was enough to keep their questions at bay. They knew not to cross her – especially when she’d been prompt with an agenda. There, in Wynton’s dressing room, she waited for him. Her grey-streaked hair was immaculately pulled back into a slick bun. She’d worn the same style for the past twenty years and had no motivation to change it now.
Why bother with the hassle? she would always say. Although the style of her clothing varied, she basically stuck to three colors: black, blue, or charcoal. She was not the type of First Lady to spend money on silly, doll-like dresses. She barely wore makeup because she believed in taking good care of her skin.
The door to Wynton’s dressing room opened, followed by bursts of laughter in the hallway. Tara, Wynton’s fiancée, entered the room first – unaware of Doreen’s presence. How could she have seen Doreen anyway, when Doreen was sitting quietly in the dark? A few minutes passed and Tara had run out of patience. It seemed as if the people in the hallway did not want to let go of her man. With a courteous smile, she gently pulled Wynton into the room and closed the door for privacy. She’d been longing to slip her tongue through those soft, full lips. Wynton embraced her just as hungrily.
“That’s the way you two do it?” Doreen flipped on the light switch and locked her eyes on the frightened couple. “Making out in front of a God-fearing woman? How nasty! And if you’re doing this now, I can’t imagine what would be left for the honeymoon.”
“Oh my God, Doreen,” Tara pressed a nervous hand against her chest. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
Doreen ignored the surprise in Tara’s voice. “Don’t question me about where I should be or where I shouldn’t be. I’m here because of Wynton – because he doesn’t know that he’s making the biggest mistake of his life – starting with you, young lady. Now this hogwash has got to stop!”
“Mother, we had a deal.” Wynton gripped his fiancée in his protective arms. “I was serious when I told you to stop the attacks on Tara, or else I would –”
“No son of mine will waste his gift on trash,” Doreen said coldly. “Consider t
his trip your final tour – such a vulgar performance tonight. It felt as if I had been dumped in the midst of a strip club. You were raised better than that –”
Wynton’s cheeks grew beet red. He shoved his fiancée behind him and pointed a finger at his mother. “I did not ask you to come on this trip! You threatened my people and now you’ve forced your way into my room. I told you before we left Florida: You were not invited!”
Doreen sprang to her feet. “Shut up, boy! This slut has got you speaking to me as if you’ve been drugged on morphine. Get a hold of your senses!”
Tara jerked her neck in disbelief. “You did not just call me a slut…”
“I’ve called you a slut behind your back and now I’ve said it to your face.” Doreen let a small smirk crease the corners of her mouth. “If I have anything to do with it, you will never walk down the aisle as my son’s wife.”
“I WILL marry your son, and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop it.”
“Oh yeah? Don’t tempt me, little girl. My influence is far reaching.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tara swatted the tears that tried to crawl down her cheeks. “You already lived your life! Leave us alone and let us live ours!”
“Whenever the breath leaves my body, I will consider it! Know this for sure: You will never be good enough for my family…”
Wynton pulled his fiancée out of Doreen’s face. “Get out of here, mother, before I have my security guy put you out.”
“I will not listen to a weak command –”
“I said to get out, mother! Now!”
Doreen let out a short chortle. She stiffened her shoulders and strode confidently toward the door. She stood with her back turned to her son and his fiancée. “Wynton, my dear boy, you are twenty-eight – a full man in age, but very immature in your choice of women. Get rid of this hag before I put my hand into it.”
