“I might take you up on the counseling one of these days and before we leave, I definitely want you to pray with me. If I don’t get on with the Sea Lions next week, I’m more than likely out for the season.”
Across from the tent where Tony, Derrick, and several others chatted, Vivian, Hope, and Stacy sat sipping sparkling juices and munching on watermelon salad.
“This is so refreshing,” Hope said, after finishing a bite of what for her was a first-time treat. “I never would have paired watermelon with onions, and the mint adds a burst of flavor.”
“Yes, a church member turned me on to this caterer and I really like them. Of course, I had to soothe the feathers of the church mothers who wanted to cook the meal, but everyone deserves time off, to spend with their family and friends. That and gift cards put a smile back on their faces.” As they continued eating, Vivian noticed that Stacy’s eyes kept traveling to where Derrick and Tony stood. “You’ve been quiet, Stacy. Everything all right?”
“Yes,” she responded. After another second of staring, she pulled her attention back to the women around her. “I’m just glad that Tony is talking to Pastor.”
Vivian felt there was a huge back story to that sentence, but she decided not to press. If and when Stacy decided to open up to her, she’d be there to listen. In the meantime, she made a mental note to add the couple to her and Derrick’s prayer list. This thought brought about another—the conversation she’d had with Hope before the Taylors had come to LA. On Sunday, there’d been no time for a private chat, but now was perfect. “Hope, there’s something I need to do in the house. Can you help me?” She turned to Stacy. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. In fact, I think I’ll try Frieda again and see if I can reach her.”
Vivian nodded. “We’ll be right back.”
Once inside the spacious Beverly Hills home, Vivian led Hope into her office and closed the door. “That was a ruse so that Stacy wouldn’t feel left out; I actually want to discuss what was on your mind the other day when we talked on the phone. Here, let’s sit on the love seat.”
“Okay,” Hope began with a sigh after they were both seated. “Here’s the situation.” She told Vivian about her concerns regarding Cy’s plans to meet Trisha, and underscored the confidence she had in her husband remaining faithful.
Vivian listened mostly, only asking a couple questions as Hope shared this interesting marital turn of events. Afterward, she sat silently a moment, listening for Spirit. “I believe you’re doing the right thing in not protesting his meeting her,” she said at last. “As you’ve shared, he’s been very forthcoming, even letting you read the e-mails. Cy is a stand-up man, and I think that you can trust him. This Trisha woman? I’m not so sure. When will he be visiting her?”
“Next week.”
Vivian nodded. “Then keep the lines of communication very open with your husband, and watch and pray.” She looked at Hope, picked up a bit of discomfort in her friend’s spirit, enough for her to say again, “Watch and pray.”
In another part of Los Angeles, View Park to be exact, one person was watching and another was praying. Frieda Moore-Livingston, who usually had a two-date rule with the Lord—Christmas and Easter—now found herself in an awkward state of communication. Please don’t let her ask about—
“Frieda, is this a birthmark?” Alice Livingston held her squirming grandson firmly on her lap as she investigated the heart-shaped mark on the toddler’s foot. “Funny that I’ve never noticed it before.”
Interestingly enough, it was Frieda’s nanny, Cordella, who’d brought the mark to Frieda’s attention when little Gabe was around six months old. Then, it was a barely discernible mark just below the ankle, near the outside of the child’s right heel. At the time she’d shrugged it off, thinking that it was possibly a fall-induced bruise or mosquito bite. As time passed, the mark had not gone away but had gotten darker, especially in the summertime. By the time Gabe was one year old, the heart-shaped mark was more defined, but still too light to draw much attention, even while the child was being bathed. While Gabriel’s mother doted on her grandchild, she’d rarely kept him overnight. Most times, she’d pick him up or Frieda would drop him off, already bathed, dressed, and ready to be spoiled by Alice and her husband, Gabe’s grandfather, Mark. Most often they’d take him shopping, followed by time at the beach, park, or occasionally a playdate to get to know his cousins by Gabriel’s sister, whom Frieda couldn’t stand. The feeling was mutual, which was yet another reason why Frieda questioned whether this holiday gathering with the Livingstons would be treat or torture. At any rate, after a day with the grands he’d return home fat, happy, and ready for bed. Cordella would bathe him and Gabriel’s parents would see him next time. Because the retired Livingstons had spent most of June with friends who’d relocated to Jamaica, they hadn’t seen Gabe since summer began, and in the meantime the birthmark had darkened even more. Today, against Frieda’s better judgment, she’d allowed Alice to change him into the swim trunks she’d purchased so that he could could be taken into the wading area they’d added to their in-ground pool. Big mistake.
Realizing that Alice was still waiting for an answer, she took a sip of champagne and said, “I think that mark is from him scraping against a shrub in the backyard.”
Alice eyed Frieda for a long moment before returning her attention to Gabe. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” She rubbed her manicured fingers against the mark. “This looks permanent.”
Fortunately for Frieda, Gabe had had enough of the examination. He squirmed and puckered up for an all-out cry, causing Alice to let him down so that he could join his cousin, a five-year-old stunner with two thick braids, blemish-free skin, and a ready smile who was already wading in the water.
“Hey, Frieda,” Everett said from the patio door. Gabriel’s sister’s husband and her brother-in-law, he was the one member of the family that Frieda genuinely liked. “The concert is getting ready to start.”
“Thanks, Everett.” Frieda had asked him to let her know when the televised concert starring her good friend’s baby daddy came on the air. Darius and Company at Central Park was definitely success on another level. For now she could take her mind off the innocently asked yet loaded question that her mother-in-law had posed. Until recently, she’d been sure that she knew who Gabe’s real father was. But the man she’d thought might be Gabe’s father, and the one she was almost sure had a similar birthmark . . .were not the same man.
19
Three’s a Crowd
It was a picture-perfect day in New York City’s Central Park. Tens of thousands of excited fans had gathered for the free Fourth of July concert starring several artists, including D & C: Darius and Company. Darius, Bo, Darius’s publicist, makeup artist, stylist, assistants, and finance manager all occupied a spacious trailer several yards away from the concert’s main stage.
A knock on the trailer door announced to Darius that it was showtime. Bo answered it.
“Five minutes, Dee,” the man said, before hurriedly moving on to the stage where the rest of the band were already set up. The comedian who entertained the audience between acts was in the final stages of his routine. The makeup artist gave a few final dabs to Darius’s forehead while the stylist and her assistants swarmed around him like bees, making sure that his outfit looked shabby chic, and that his bling could be seen.
After a moment, Darius brushed them away. “Let’s go, y’all.” He took a last look in the mirror, and then headed for the door.
Bo rushed ahead to open it. “You look good.”
Darius gave him a pat on the back as he moved purposefully toward the stage. Except for the original mike check, and taking a peek at the opening band two hours ago, he’d purposely not gone back outside. He wanted to experience everything in real time: the atmosphere, the weather, the stage, and the multitude of people stretching as far as the eye could see.
“Wow.” Bo rubbed the area between Darius’s shoulders, knowing that as calm as hi
s husband seemed on the outside, his insides were churning with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “This is going to be good, baby.” He kept his voice calm and even. “You’re going to kill it, Dee. Do your thing. I’m right here.”
“New York!” the comedian intoned above an already-frenzied crowd. “Are you ready?”
An affirmative rumble was his response.
“I said, Are. You. Ready?”
Again, a massive roar as some in the audience began a rhythmic clap that was soon picked up in row after row.
“That’s right. You’re already doing it, so continue to put those hands together and welcome one of R and B’s brightest stars, a triple threat, an award-winning maestro . . . D . . . and . . . C!”
The Company, an award-winning band that had been with Darius since his Ministry of Music days at KCCC, broke out with the introductory chords of “Power,” the first hit song off his latest CD, Me, Myself, andYou. When the CD dropped at the beginning of the year, “Power” spent an unprecedented fourteen weeks on Billboard’s R & B Top Ten. The second release, “Subtle Sexy,” came in at number one, while “Power” still occupied the number eight spot, and the song that would serve as the show’s finale was officially dropping next week. Darius strolled confidently and with singular focus to the mike. He’d timed the walk to reach it at the exact moment the hook kicked in.
“Power! That thing in you, that thing in me, that makes us all what we should be.
Power! Gonna make it, cannot shake it, the destiny that through the Spirit just awaits me.
To that place in our soul, the ultimate goal, where blessings unfold and . . .
Victories untold are more than I can hold. It’s ... Power! Power! Power! Power!”
There was something otherworldly about having more than a hundred thousand people, fists in the air, shouting the title of your hit song. Darius worked every inch of the sixty-foot-long stage, making sure that he acknowledged the fans who were behind him. Every band member showcased the mastery of their instrument: bass and lead guitars, horn section, keyboard, and percussion. It seemed as though nature itself joined in; the rustling trees swayed to the beat and the birds dipped in and out of the branches on cue. Various smells wafted up from the crowd, vying for attention. Weed, sweat, perfume, and scents from the surrounding food courts mingled in the air. Every color of the rainbow was represented, both in the clothes being worn and in the races that gathered. Darius was in his element, looking deceptively cool dressed in low riding jeans, an open black shirt, platinum jewelry, and confidence. It was six feet of sweaty sweet chocolate: strutting, gyrating, crooning, encouraging the masses to believe in life and themselves. Barely two minutes into the concert and Darius had the crowd in the palm of his hand ... and what a large, talented palm it was.
As Darius did his thing on the stage, Bo was handling a different type of power all together: the type of power that came with managing one of the country’s top R & B artists. While Darius whipped the crowd into a musical frenzy, Bo conferred with Darius’s publicist before heading toward the area of the venue where product was being sold. From a discreet location, he observed the salespersons who were handling the sales of D & C merchandise: CDs, DVDs, T-shirts, key chains, flash drives, autographed pics, hats, jewelry, and other collectibles that fans would enjoy. Satisfied with the customer lines and what seemed to be lots of brisk business, he returned backstage and eventually stood in the wings as Darius came to the close of his forty-five-minute performance. There, as the audience matched the R & B star word for word on “Possible,” his first break-out hit, Bo saw something. Or more importantly, he saw someone. In the front row. Front and center to be exact. Bo let out a string of expletives. I have got to find a way to get that dog to stop sniffing around my bone!
Later, as Paz Demopoulos not only joined them backstage but also for a dinner at an A-list director’s house, Bo sat . . . and stewed. The only thing that kept him from going smooth off were memories of how Darius had come running back to him after one of Stacy’s rants. Every time that woman had given Darius the blues about choosing Bo over her and her son, she deepened the bond between the two men. So Bo smiled and schmoozed and held conversations with others as if he was really interested in what they had to say. Truth is, if someone had asked him later what he’d talked about while Paz was cozying up next to his husband, Bo wouldn’t have been able to say. But there was one thing he did know.... At the end of the night, when all the parties had wound down and the paparazzi were gone, it would be him lying in the bed next to superstar Darius Crenshaw. Tomorrow, he decided, he’d think long and hard about a way to deal with the person who dared to try and threaten his marital future. Tonight, he’d concentrate on something else long and hard. Bo had what Paz wanted, plain and simple. He didn’t plan on that fact changing any time soon.
20
Healing, Health, and Happiness
“ Hey there, Doc.”
Gabriel smiled and nodded at the plain yet pleasant nurse behind the desk, who’d worked at the hospital for almost thirty years.
“How’d it go, Dr. Livingston?” The other nurse sitting at the desk had just passed her boards. She’d been on the job less than a month.
“It went well, thank you.”
An attractive redhead fell into step beside him. “Good work in there, Doctor.”
“Thanks, Amber. I’m very proud of the team’s performance today, you included.”
Amber blushed. “Thank you. It was touch and go there for a while; first her rapidly falling blood pressure, then the concern of whether we could successfully remove the cancerous cells so close to the veins....I tried to maintain professional distance, but the fact that she has a daughter was never far from my mind.”
They reached Gabriel’s office. He put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re all human, Amber. It’s very difficult to stay totally detached from patients, especially someone like Hillary, who has such a positive outlook on life. I thought about her daughter too.”
Amber smiled her appreciation of his understanding and after another couple minutes of conversation continued down the hall. Gabriel entered his office and immediately began the postsurgery paperwork. Usually focused and disciplined, today his mind kept wandering back to Amber, and how well she’d done in the operating room. It wasn’t the first time; since joining his team as a peri-operative nurse five years ago, he’d quietly observed her stellar knowledge, natural skills, and endless compassion. After she’d gotten comfortable in her position and begun flirting with him, Gabriel had been flattered but uninterested. Aside from a couple file room trysts during residency, he’d stuck hard and fast to his “no nurses” dating rule. Their friendship was just deepening when he’d had “the encounter.” That’s what he called his meeting with Frieda, the day his world got tilted on his axis after they literally ran into each other at a Beverly Hills mall. She was crass and loud and he was immediately intrigued—a demeanor so unlike anyone in his circle, or anyone he’d ever known.
Frieda had been the aggressor. Had she not taken the lead, it is unlikely that they would have ever seen each other again. Gabriel was quiet, studious (some would say geeky), and while his female friends had told him otherwise, he’d always felt his freckles kept him off the list of handsome hunks. She’d suggested they meet for drinks and when he didn’t move fast enough in the intimacy department, had ambushed him in his office one evening and sexed him on the couch. Satisfying to be sure, and a definite spark to his predictable life. But a temporary one. Or so he’d thought. And then came the news that she was pregnant. There was never any question that he’d do the right thing. A signed prenup followed by a destination wedding, and a somewhat shell-shocked Gabriel had gained himself a missus.
Gabriel rose from his desk, walked over to the window that looked out onto a well-landscaped lawn. July had come in with a vengeance, with record-breaking heat, but here, from the climate-controlled confines of his second home, the scene he beheld was a postcard: stark blue sky, fl
uffy white clouds, swaying palms, and vibrant flowers lining the walkways. That first year was pretty good, he thought, as he followed a jet’s journey across the sky. Gabriel’s thoughts weren’t as linear as the plane’s flight appeared. They flitted from one incident to the other that had transpired when he’d first married, when he’d actually felt hopeful—thought there might be a chance to soften Frieda’s rough edges. He’d tried to establish a friendship between her and his mother, Alice, one of the most refined women he’d ever known. The match wasn’t one made in heaven. Alice was cordial because after all, Frieda was her son’s wife, the mother of her grandchild, and human. Alice treated stray dogs kindly; she’d do no less to another person. Frieda’s discomfort upon meeting his mother had lessened over time, but they’d never developed the camaraderie that Gabriel had hoped. Now, their communication revolved almost solely around Gabe and usually included planned drop-offs, pickups, or sleepover dates.
Gabriel’s cell phone rang and as if he’d conjured her up, Alice was on the line. “Hello, Mom.”
“Hello, Gabriel. You sound tired.”
“I am. Just got out of surgery.”
“I hope everything went well.”
“It did.”
“Thank goodness for that, son. I know we say it often, but your father and I are so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Son, I won’t keep you. I tried reaching Frieda, but her phone keeps going to voice mail. The ladies of the committee want to know if she’s going to participate in the upcoming charity event. We need to know as soon as possible so that if not, we can call in one of the alternates.”
“I’m here for forty-eight hours, Mom, but if I can’t reach Frieda, I’ll make sure our housekeeper passes on your message.”
The Eleventh Commandment Page 10
