The sanctuary choir at Progressive Life-Giving Word Cathedral sang a capella during Sunday morning service due to the fact that Tyrone Caridine, who was not only Amaryllis’s on-again, off-again beau, but also the church’s organist, was a no-show.
If one other person asked Amaryllis the whereabouts of Tyrone, she would let the entire church know what a drunken lush he was and that he was probably lying somewhere in a gutter. Mother Caridine, who was looking mighty siddity sitting on the Mother’s Pew with a lilac hat and a matching lilac feather sticking out of it, believed her son’s poop didn’t stink. Tyrone could play the heavens out of an organ, but he had a problem.
It was offering time, and so far, Amaryllis had gotten away with a simple “I don’t know,” when she was asked about Tyrone. When the usher got to her row, he extended his hand forward, motioning for everyone seated on that pew to stand and walk to the front of the church to pay his or her tithes and offerings.
Amaryllis dropped her envelope in the basket and proceeded to walk back to her pew when Tyrone’s mother reached out and grabbed her hand as she was passing by.
Amaryllis knelt next to her and kissed her cheek. “Praise the Lord, Mother Caridine. How are you this morning?”
As she always did, Mother Roberta Caridine admired Amaryllis’s hair, makeup, suit, and stilettos. “Sweet darlin’ baby, every time I see you, you are always so pretty and elegant. And you smell good too.”
“Thank you. That’s a bad hat you got on. I see I ain’t the only one hanging in the malls.”
Mother Caridine chuckled and patted Amaryllis’s hand. “As you young folks say, ‘You know how I do.’”
Amaryllis laughed. “Amen to that, Mother.”
Then Mother Caridine leaned forward and whispered in Amaryllis’s ear. “Do you know where my son is?”
Mother Caridine was a righteous woman of God. However, she had a flaw. When it came time to tell others how to raise their offspring, she was the first. But where her son, Tyrone, was concerned, he could do no wrong. If anyone tried to tell her something negative about Tyrone, she was quick to say, “Oh no, honey, Ty wouldn’t do or say anything like that” or “The person may have looked like my son, but it wasn’t him” or “Ty wasn’t raised like that, so it couldn’t have been him.”
When Tyrone Caridine approached Amaryllis three weeks ago, he had welcomed her to the church. She and Bridgette were new members and hadn’t made any friends.
Tyrone introduced himself as the church’s musician. He told Amaryllis that she looked like she could sing. Amaryllis knew by the look in his eyes that he was flirting with her. He was handsome, so she played along.
“I do my best singing in the shower,” she said. “I don’t think my voice is good enough to be in the choir, though.”
Tyrone believed Amaryllis to be the most beautiful creature God had ever created. He was drawn to the way her lips moved when she spoke.
“I could test your voice,” he suggested.
“And how exactly would you do that?”
“You’d have to sing for me.”
Amaryllis blushed. “No, I don’t think so. I know my strong points, and singing is definitely not one of them.”
“Are you a model?” he asked.
She blushed again. “No.”
“What do you do?”
Amaryllis cocked her head to the side. “You certainly ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
Tyrone laughed out loud. “Yeah, I guess I do. That’s because I wanna get to know you. Can I get your number and call you?”
It had been a year since Amaryllis’s breakup with her last boyfriend, Randall. She was finally turning her life around and Charles’s attitude the previous night was still fresh in her mind. The last thing she needed was to get involved in a new relationship. She wanted to devote her time to God and get to know Him.
“Not today, but it was nice to meet you, Tyrone.”
As she turned away from him, he reached out and grabbed her by the elbow.
“Please don’t walk away from me,” he pleaded. “Do you want me to beg? I ain’t too proud to beg.”
Amaryllis found Tyrone to be charming. She smiled, then relented and gave him her telephone number. That Sunday night, Tyrone called her, and they talked for more than five hours. She invited him to her and Bridgette’s condo the next evening, and she cooked for him. Later that evening, he came on to her. Amaryllis clearly stated to Tyrone that she was living a life of celibacy. What had impressed Amaryllis was the fact that he didn’t get upset or even question her about the choice she had made. He told her that he respected her decision and wanted to continue a relationship with her.
During the three weeks they’d been dating, the two of them had become close. To Amaryllis, they had the ideal relationship. It was a relationship she was proud of. They went to the movies, to restaurants, and enjoyed each other’s company. She thought that she had finally hit the jackpot with Tyrone. He was the first boyfriend she had that didn’t pressure her for sex.
But Tyrone had a drinking problem Amaryllis knew it when he had brought a case of beer to her house the first night she cooked for him but she overlooked his addiction.
She chose her battles. Amaryllis felt that she’d rather put up with his alcoholism than have to give him sex but showing up drunk at her condo that morning wasn’t cool. Tyrone loved to drink. It was a passion for him. However, now, Amaryllis figured that three weeks of dating an alcoholic was enough. Maybe it was time to call it quits.
Amaryllis saw Bridgette standing in the vestibule motioning for her to exit the sanctuary. “Mother Caridine, you may not want to hear this, but Tyrone was at my house early this morning, reeking of alcohol.”
By the look on Mother Caridine’s face, Amaryllis may as well have told her that there was no God.
“Alcohol?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ty doesn’t drink.”
“Mother Caridine, I know you love Tyrone but he was lit this morning. He may not have drank tea, coffee, or Kool-Aid this morning, but he was definitely sipping something.”
“Uh-uh. That’s not Ty’s character. My baby knows better,” she said while shaking her head in disbelief.
“Your baby is thirty-eight years old, Mother Caridine.”
Before she could defend Tyrone again, Amaryllis kissed her cheek softly, stood, and walked down the center aisle. She unknowingly turned heads, men’s and women’s, as she sashayed out of the sanctuary.
Outside, Bridgette was waiting impatiently. “It’s about time. What were you and Mother Caridine so engrossed in conversation about?”
“She asked if I knew where her son was. I told her he came by this morning and did a great impression of Woodrow from Sanford & Son, but her guess was just as good as mine where he is right now.”
“Did she defend him?”
“You think she didn’t?”
In the church parking lot, Amaryllis and Bridgette spied a black rose with a small white envelope attached to it. It was being held in place under the left wiper blade on Amaryllis’s red, late model Ford Mustang.
Bridgette picked up the envelope, opened it, and read what was written on the card inside.
“I care enough to send the very least. From, Icee.”
Amaryllis frowned. She had just gotten her window replaced two days ago. “Who is this Icee chick, and why is she stalking me?”
Bridgette opened the passenger door and got in. “We’ll ask Deacon Brown on our way out of the parking lot. He’s in charge of security. Maybe he saw the woman who put this on your window.”
Amaryllis drove to the security booth. Bridgette rolled down the passenger window and yelled, “Deacon Brown.”
He graciously walked over to their car all smiles, then knelt by Bridgette’s window and poked his head inside the car. “Hey, there, Sister Bridgette. What can I do for you?”
Bridgette pressed the back of her head into the headrest to keep his lips from making contact wit
h hers. “First, you can back up.”
Deacon Brown eased out of the car a bit, but he was still too close for Bridgette’s comfort. She looked over at Amaryllis who smirked and turned her head the other way.
Deacon Brown was smiling flirtatiously at Bridgette, and she saw that his teeth were beige. She could only hope that drinking too much coffee was to blame. It would be a shame to have a mouth full of rotten teeth. Then to her horror, she saw a putrid brownish liquid oozing from the corner of his mouth. She grimaced and squirmed in her seat. “Uh, Deacon, your lips are leaking.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s just a li’l snuff.”
Bridgette and Amaryllis watched in disgust as Deacon Brown squirted a brown liquid clot between his two front top teeth beside Amaryllis’s car. It took all that was in Bridgette to keep her breakfast down in her stomach. She placed her hand over her mouth and swallowed repeatedly to control the urge to vomit. Deacon Brown leaned in a little closer to her. “What do you wanna ask me with your fine self?”
Now Bridgette inhaled a vile stench coming from his mouth. She pressed her head deeper into the headrest. Quickly, she held up the rose and card. “We were wondering if you saw who put this on Amaryllis’s windshield.”
To escape the stench while he spoke, Bridgette turned her head and pretended to reach behind Amaryllis’s seat for something—anything.
“I sho’ didn’t,” he replied.
Bridgette faced him again. “Okay, Deacon Brown, thanks.”
“That’s all you want? I thought you was gonna ask me to go on a date with you.”
Bridgette snapped her head. Had she heard him right? “You can’t be serious, Deacon.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m serious,” he panted.
Amaryllis chuckled at Bridgette’s latest pursuer. Somehow, she always attracted men over the age of sixty.
Bridgette saw more brown saliva escaping the corners of his mouth. “Deacon, isn’t your wife down in the fellowship hall, selling chicken dinners as we speak?”
“This ain’t about my wife. Besides, she works nights; we can go on a date then.”
It’s not that Bridgette would entertain the thought of him escorting her anywhere, but she was curious about what Deacon Brown, whose entire wardrobe consisted of seersucker suits, white patent leather shoes, and short fat neckties, considered a date.
Today, he wore a red shirt, a white paisley printed tie, white pants, and a red belt with white shoes. It would be hard for a visitor to tell if Deacon Brown was the head of security or a member of a Baptist church men’s choir.
Bridgette entertained him. “Where would we go, Deacon?”
As he answered her and his fetid breath escaped his lips, Bridgette kept telling herself, Don’t throw up. Keep swallowing. Breathe only a little bit of air at a time.
“Well, if you like soul food, we could take a ride over to Betty’s Soul Shack for fatback, pinto beans with gravy, and hoecakes.” Deacon Brown licked his lips just thinking about the food he’d listed to Bridgette. “Mmm, that’s some good eatin’.”
Amaryllis leaned into Bridgette and asked, “What are hoecakes, Deacon?”
Bridgette answered for him. “Probably cakes that ho’s eat.”
Deacon Brown opened his mouth wide and released a foul smell and laughed.
“Bridgette, girl, you sho’ ’nuff crazy. Hoecakes ain’t nothin’ but hot-water corn bread.”
She had reached her limit. No longer could Bridgette sit and let what smelled like ten-day-old cabbage coming from Deacon Brown’s mouth invade her nostrils. She looked at Amaryllis. “When I say ‘drive,’ floor it.”
She glanced at Deacon Brown’s chin. The brown saliva was on the verge of dripping onto her lap. “Uh, Deacon, back up, honey.”
He brought his head out of Amaryllis’s car just in time for the drool to hit the ground. Again, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, uh, Sister Bridgette, you wanna go on a date with me or what?”
“You ready?” Bridgette asked Amaryllis.
Amaryllis pressed on the brake pedal and shifted the gear in the “D” position. “Just say the word.”
Bridgette looked at Deacon Brown. “The only place we can go together is to Wal-Mart on Wednesday so I can use your senior citizen’s discount. And you better pray real hard that Sister Brown doesn’t receive a videotape of you out here willing to commit adultery.” With her eyes still fixed on Deacon Brown, Bridgette yelled out to Amaryllis, “Drive!”
Chapter 4
At TGI Friday’s restaurant, Amaryllis and Bridgette enjoyed Buffalo wings with blue cheese dressing as an appetizer. For their main course, Amaryllis ordered a grilled chicken Caesar salad while Bridgette opted for chicken teriyaki. After eating, Amaryllis leaned back in the booth to unbutton the back of her skirt. “Whew, that was good.”
Bridgette withdrew a string of dental floss from her purse and put it to good use. She belched loudly before she spoke. “I know what you mean, girl.”
Their waiter passed them by, and Amaryllis called out to him. “Excuse me, can you bring us two take-out containers, please?”
“Absolutely, ma’am. Would you ladies care for any dessert this afternoon? The vanilla cheesecake covered in hot chocolate sauce is magnificent,” the waiter replied.
Amaryllis shook her head from side to side. Bridgette wasted no time in saying, “Yes, but make mine to go and feel free to get heavy on the chocolate sauce.”
When they were alone, Amaryllis looked across the table at her friend. “Bridge, you know you don’t need any cheesecake.”
Bridgette was offended. “Excuse you? I’m not the one who had to unbutton her skirt just now.”
“So?”
“So, who’s the hippo—you or me? Until I have to do what you just did, shut the heck up. And if I catch you sneaking a piece of my cheesecake when we get home, I promise I’m going to jail.”
Just then the waiter set two drinks on their table. “These are from a friend.”
Bridgette and Amaryllis looked at each other and asked the waiter at the same time, “What friend?”
He looked over his shoulder and pointed to an empty booth. “She was sitting over there. She said to tell you the drinks are compliments of Icee.”
Amaryllis’s heart skipped two beats. Who the heck is Icee?
Bridgette told the waiter to take the drinks away and to please hurry and bring their containers. For the next five minutes, they sat waiting for their containers and contemplated who Icee could be.
Then Amaryllis looked at her wristwatch. “What is taking him so long to bring the containers? We’re gonna be late for the four o’clock service. I still have to go home, track Tyrone’s drunk behind down, and change outfits.”
Bridgette glanced at her own wristwatch. “It’s already three-fifteen. We’re not gonna get any good seats if we don’t leave now.”
The afternoon service at Progressive Life-Giving Word Cathedral began on time at four o’ clock and was always Holy Ghost-filled. Churchgoers from all across the city of Chicago made their way to the western suburb of Hillside in hopes of claiming a seat on one of the pews. People had learned that if they weren’t seated at least fifteen minutes before praise and worship began, there would be standing room only.
Amaryllis exhaled frustratingly. “We can’t wait any longer for the containers, Bridge. Let’s just pay the bill and go.”
“Are you cooking dinner tonight?”
“No.”
“Then you’re taking the rest of your salad, and I’m taking these Buffalo wings home.”
Amaryllis looked at her wristwatch again. “Let’s go. We’ll stop after church and get something to eat if you’re still hungry.”
Abandoning her half-eaten dinner was not an option for Bridgette. “I am not leaving these wings. Get your purse and let’s go.”
Amaryllis watched as Bridgette placed her purse on her shoulder, stood, and picked up their plates. “Bridgette, you can�
��t take those plates out of here.”
She ignored Amaryllis and walked to the front of the restaurant and stood at the counter next to the cash register. There was no one standing behind the counter.
Bridgette looked around for a bell but didn’t see one, so she yelled, “Ding, dong, ding, dong.”
Immediately, a manager came from the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am. How may I help you?”
Bridgette dropped the plates on the counter. “Can we please have pieces of aluminum foil to wrap our plates so we can get out of here? We’re trying to get to church on time.”
The manager looked at the plates. “Who was your server, ma’am?”
“The heck if I know. We might as well have served ourselves.” Bridgette was very loud. The customers seated close by gave her their undivided attention.
The manager saw that she was causing a scene. “Ma’am, please lower your voice. We are short-staffed today. I apologize for your inconvenience.”
“Well, since you don’t have anyone to serve me, I guess there’s no one to take my money for the bill, right?”
The manager understood all too well where Bridgette was going with this. “Yes, ma’am. Your meals are on the house.”
Without saying thanks, Bridgette turned to walk away, then stopped and turned around. “What about my dessert?”
The manager exhaled. Anxious to get the loudmouthed woman out of his restaurant, he asked, “What would you like?”
“I want a slice of the vanilla cheesecake. And don’t forget the chocolate sauce.”
One minute later, the manager brought Bridgette a whole vanilla cheesecake, neatly wrapped, and a cup of chocolate sauce. “Is there anything else I can get you, ma’am?”
“A container for my chicken wings.”
After the manager had wrapped Bridgette’s chicken wings neatly in a container, they left the restaurant.
“Bridgette, you know you were wrong asking for dessert after the manager had said that our meals were on the house.”
“Yeah, I should have left the restaurant without the cheesecake, but I wasn’t gonna leave my wings, Amaryllis. Free or not, they were good.”
Crossroads Page 5
