by Dwan Abrams
“Here’s the key, and I think we can go down on the price some,” Kyle informed his potential customer.
“Twelve is good,” Franklin said.
Kyle pinched his lips and said, “Twelve thousand, five hundred.”
“Okay,” Greg added in. “I can do that—”
“No, you can’t. Either twelve thousand, or no deal. We’ll look at something else.”
Greg looked at his friend, ready to ram him through a window. Twelve thousand five hundred for a bike that was originally sixteen? He couldn’t beat that.
Kyle turned red from his neck up; then finally he shrugged his shoulders and passed Greg the key. “Okay. Twelve thousand it is.”
Greg felt light-headed at the sound of Kyle’s words, and he looked over at Franklin, who wore a very confident smile. With his eyes, Franklin said. “Told you, I’m bad.” Greg had to give it to him. His man knew what he was doing.
They left to go to the bank, and Greg took the money out of his account. But when they returned, Kyle was working with another customer. So Greg and Franklin went back to Greg’s choice bike and stood around it talking, waiting for Kyle to finish.
Franklin’s cell phone started ringing, and Franklin held up one finger and stepped to the side. Once he ended the call, he said to Greg, “Hey, birthday boy, I’ma have to catch you later.”
Greg frowned. “Why?”
Franklin’s smile filled his face. “Remember the lady I met at church last Sunday, Sister Catherine, the one with the really big—” He motioned at his chest, and his eyes expanded.
Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. “You mean the one with three kids and five different babies’ daddies?” he joked.
Franklin threw up his hand. “Oh, Greg, come on. We’ve all sinned and fallen short of His glory. And besides, I know Shania and you have plans for today.”
“Yeah, well”—Greg gestured at the dealership—“how am I supposed to get home?”
Franklin grinned. “Ride your bike.” Still grinning, he started to walk off.
“Frank, get back over here.”
He kept walking.
“Frank! Franklin!”
Frank kept walking; then he started to skip, looking like the crazy nut that he was. Not once did he look back.
Kyle rejoined Greg and apologized for the wait. They both stared after Franklin, and Kyle stood there looking confused. He shifted from foot to foot. “So . . . uh . . .”
This time, Greg’s iPhone vibrated in his pocket, and he answered. It was Shania wanting to know how much longer he and Franklin would be out. He promised her that he’d be there shortly, and almost told her that he’d be arriving on a bike, but decided to withhold that information because he knew without a doubt that she’d try to talk him out of it. But what in the world would he say once he pulled up at the house on a motorcycle? He knew what he’d say; he would tell her that he was the head of the household and that if he wanted a bike, he could darn well have one. He smoothed his hand over his goatee and shook his head. That wouldn’t work with her. Their relationship had been built on trust, mutual respect, and communication. There was no way he could get away with such a dismissive attitude.
“Everything’s okay?” Kyle asked, wearing a look of apprehension.
Greg figured that the salesman was probably scared that he would renege on the deal since his spokesperson had left the scene. But he wasn’t going to renege. He liked this bike, and he liked how it made him feel. Even if Shania was pissed at him and gave him the silent treatment for a while, he could only hope that eventually she would understand that this was something he felt he needed to do for himself.
“This is a new bike, right?” Greg questioned.
“Yes, sir,” Kyle said and nodded his head so much that he almost looked like one of those bobblehead toys.
“Never been driven?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay.” Greg sat back on his haunches and pulled at his chin hair. He knew if Franklin was here and heard what he was about to say, he’d probably go into cardiac arrest. But Franklin wasn’t here. He was too busy playing knight in shining armor to Sister Catherine. “Well, let’s skip the test drive. I mean, it’s not like I’m buying it as is, so if something goes wrong with it, you guys’ll have to fix it.”
Kyle’s green eyes might as well have been dollar signs. Greg half expected the young guy to jump in the air and clap his feet together. But within seconds, Kyle regained his professional composure and tried his best to repress his glee as he complimented him on his choice. He took Greg to his office, and they finalized the paperwork. They shook hands, and Greg felt excited that his dream had come true. The anticipation of riding his brand-new bike made him feel as eager as he had the day he got his driver’s license when he was a teenager.
He clutched the keys in his hand like he had been given a precious gem and allowed his excitement to overshadow any apprehensive thoughts.
The salesman continued, “Thank you for doing business with us, Mr. Greg Crinkle, and your ride is ready and waiting for you.”
The corners of Greg’s mouth curled upward as he shook the salesman’s hand with his free hand, securing the deal.
In need of a helmet, he went to a different section of the store and browsed the various helmets. A woman with big brown and blond curly hair, and brown doe eyes that seemed too big for her face, browsed the helmets as well. He wondered if she rode a bike; she wasn’t wearing biker gear. There was no possible way that she could ride a bike in pants that tight. And, boy, were those pants tight. It looked like she had put them on with a paintbrush. She glanced over at him, caught him staring, and he quickly averted his eyes. A glossy black helmet with a red design caught his eye, so he picked it up.
“I like that one too,” she said and stepped close enough to him that he could smell the fragrance of her perfume. A floral sweetness, not too strong, but not too subtle, either.
As she stared at his face, her glazed lips formed a perfect O. “Minister Crinkle?”
Hearing her call him “minister” took him by surprise, especially since he was the youth pastor, not the pastor of the church. He stared at her long and hard, trying to place her face, but he knew for a fact that if he had seen a face like hers in the sanctuary, he would’ve remembered.
“Yes, that’s me.” He nodded. “And you are?”
She held out her hand. “Kristen.”
He shook her offered hand, and her palm felt soft and warm. When he tried to let go of her hand, she kept holding on to his.
“I haven’t lived here in years, just in Georgia visiting family. My mother goes to Saved and Sanctified Baptist Church, and she insists that anybody staying under her roof, whether living there or otherwise, goes to church. I went on Sunday, and I saw you there. You’re over the youth, right?”
Wearing a look of pride, Greg nodded. “Yeah, I am. If you’re still in town on the fifth Sunday of this month, you should come. Fifth Sundays are youth Sundays, and the youth preside over the entire Sunday morning service.”
“Sounds interesting,” she said, not sounding the least bit interested. Again, Greg attempted to retrieve his hand out of hers, but she tightened her grip. She wore a seductive expression as she spoke. “I didn’t know ministers were into motorcycles.” She emphasized the word ministers. Her voice sounded melodic.
The way the young lady ran her tongue over her white teeth made Greg have an inappropriate thought. Inside, he admonished the thought and forced himself to stop staring at her perfect mouth. Using as much force as was required, he pulled his hand out of her grip and fought the urge to wipe his hand on his pants. Somehow, her touch made him feel like he’d been tainted.
Averting his eyes to the helmet, he said, “I’ve always had a thing for bikes.” He placed the helmet on his head to see if it was a snug fit.
“And I’ve always had a thing for a man on a bike,” she teased, then stepped in even closer to him. “Here, let me help you.” She stepped against his b
ody and flattened her breasts against his chest as she stood on tiptoe to reach the clasp beneath his chin.
To bystanders, this may have seemed like an innocent move. But discretion, and the increased amount of blood that was rushing from his head to between his legs, told him otherwise. He tried to back away from her, but the shelf of helmets behind him hindered his escape.
“Is it a good fit?” she asked, and he wasn’t sure if she was talking about the helmet or her body against his.
“I’m married,” he said and cursed his body for betraying him.
She shrugged one shoulder. “I see the ring.” She pressed her body against him even more, and he was sure that she could feel his hardness through his pants. Her lips stopped inches away from his ear. “But are you happy?”
“Very much so. Extremely very much so.”
Chuckling, she stepped away from him and every fiber of his being screamed for him to run. So he did. He whipped off the helmet and headed to the front counter, removed his wallet from his back pocket, and slapped down more than enough for the helmet, then hurried outside to his bike. To his dismay, she followed him.
“Minister! Minister!” she called out.
Against his better judgment, he stopped and turned to face her. He had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling, “What do you want?” and instead, politely said, “Yes?”
She had the decency to look somewhat remorseful as she reached through her curls and scratched the back of her head. “I apologize for back there. I was out of line.”
“Yes, you were.”
She held her hands behind her back and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Then she gestured at his motorcycle. “Is this you?”
Trying to remain polite, Greg replied, “Yeah, I just bought it.”
“So how long have you been riding bikes, Minister?”
He didn’t like how she said the word minister. It almost sounded like she was taunting him, challenging him. Again, he cleared his throat. “Actually, this is my first bike. I’ve always wanted one, but I . . .” He forced his eyes to look away from her hips and focused on his bike seat. “I finally decided to treat myself, since today is my birthday.”
“Well, happy birthday!” she exclaimed and put a hand on his chest. He looked down at her hand, then stared at her with eyes that assured her that the little game she was trying to play was not going to work with him.
She removed her hand and swallowed. “I have a sister,” she said. “She’s really into bikes and cars and stuff. That’s why I’m here. She has a birthday coming up pretty soon, and I thought I could find her a pretty pink helmet for a gift.”
Greg’s iPhone vibrated against his leg again. He slipped the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a text message from his wife that only said two words—hurry up.
“Look, that’s great,” he said, and pulled the helmet over his head, clasping it beneath his chin, “but I really need to get going. Good luck. I hope you find the helmet you’re looking for, and have a nice day. Be blessed.”
Not too fond of her abrupt dismissal, her face turned sour, and she stepped away from him. “That was pretty disrespectful for a so-called minister.”
Her words stopped him in his tracks. Disrespectful? If anyone was disrespectful, it was her and her unwanted advances. And who did she think she was, calling him a “so-called” minister? He wasn’t one of those types of church folk who only wore their titles while they were in the sanctuary. Christianity wasn’t religion to him; it was a way of life. Rather than take a jab back at her, Greg looked up at the cloud-filled sky and mentally put the situation in God’s hands.
“Is that invitation to church still open?” she asked.
He had half the mind to tell her no but instead nodded his head and said, “The invitation to God’s house is always open. Bring your sister too, if you can.”
To his relief, she smacked her lips and turned and walked away with her back straight and her head held high. He figured she wasn’t used to getting rejected, and he understood why. She was a very attractive lady with an hourglass figure that women envied and men dreamed about. Greg noticed more than a handful of men at the dealership entranced by her spell, and though she added an extra twist to her curvaceous hips, he didn’t allow her cat walk to distract him any further.
Pushing the disturbing encounter aside, he allowed himself to drink in the warm summer breezes and relished in the warmth of the bright sun beaming on his face, causing a moist layer to form on his forehead. He stared at his reflection in his bike—his bike—and noted the twinkles of delight that starred both eyes. It would be nice to see that same twinkling in his wife’s eyes when he showed Shania his bike.
If nothing else, Shania had to admit that this bike was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous; and if the bike was human, she’d probably look about as attractive as Halle Berry. He snapped his fingers. That’s what he’d call her—Halle Berry, in honor of his beloved actress.
Remembering Shania’s text, Greg decided not to postpone his departure a second longer. He threw one leg over the motorcycle as he shifted his weight onto the seat. He pulled his face guard in place and checked again to make sure his helmet was secured. A few more moments passed as he acquainted himself with the feel and the weight of the bike. Then he took a deep breath and slipped the key in the ignition. The low rumble and purr of the motorcycle sounded like a chorus of heavenly angels. The feel of this much power between his legs gave him a rush and made him feel like he was taming a beast. Once again, he was that seven-year-old boy in his pajamas, sitting atop his dad’s old bike, feeling like he was one step away from being on top of the world. He said a prayer for God to keep and cover him, then revved the engine and drove out of the dealership on his brand new-bike.
As he darted into traffic, his heart thudded in his ears. A rush of adrenaline flooded his veins each time he shifted gears. With the wind whipping his body and bugs splattering on his windshield and face guard, he sped past the numerous vehicles traveling the interstate. His vision became acute as he noticed every passing car and truck. Greg felt alive. He had secretly rented bikes numerous times in the past, but nothing compared to owning one. Hopefully his wife and mother would respect his decision. Any repercussions would have to be dealt with later, but at that moment, nothing, or no one, could rob him of the joy he felt.
Three
Rounding the corner into his Alpharetta subdivision, a suburb of Atlanta, Greg slowed his pace. He passed by numerous brick houses with well-maintained lawns before pulling into his circular driveway and parking his bike in front of his three-story brick house. He paused for a moment, still getting used to the idea of living in such a massive house. The 6,000-square-foot home once belonged to his wife’s parents, who died in an automobile accident ten years ago. They willed the house to Shania and her younger sister, Cheyenne. However, to show her gratitude for all that Shania had done for her, Cheyenne chose to let Shania have the house.
The son of an Air Force pilot, Greg grew up on military bases. Most of his childhood homes were a third the size of the estate standing before him. Then there was the three-bedroom house he owned in Stone Mountain, another Atlanta suburb. He chose to rent it out, as opposed to selling it after the wedding. That house wasn’t anywhere near as luxurious as Shania’s seven-bathroom, six-bedroom home. He found himself feeling as though he lived on an episode of the TV show MTV Cribs. And now he had the perfect bike to go along with the perfect home.
He removed his helmet and got off the bike, glancing at the windows of the house to see if Shania was staring out at him. If she was, he could imagine the look of horror on her face. She’d probably think that her eyes were deceiving her. She’d be furious that he bought a bike without discussing it with her. Then she’d probably be scared for his safety. She tended to be a worrywart.
He kicked down the stand and the metal sparked as it scraped the concrete. As he tugged on his pant leg, he admired his new toy and grinned. He felt the
urge to kiss her, but to avoid looking like a fool in case he did have unseen onlookers, he settled on patting her instead. Hopefully, Shania would understand—after all, it was his birthday.
He inhaled, and the smell of freshly cut grass caught his attention. Noticing the big brown bags sitting at the curb, he figured that the lawn guy must’ve come by that morning. The hedges were trimmed with designer mulch lining the bushes. Fully bloomed bright purple hyacinths, yellow daffodils, pink zinnias, and white and red roses decorated the flower bed by the door. His home felt so inviting to him that he looked forward to coming there every day.
Sighing, he inserted his key in the door and entered. He placed his helmet beneath the foyer table and pushed it way back, then called out to Shania. The gentle click-clack of her sandals brought her down the hallway into the foyer. The way her face lit up when she saw him filled him with a pleasant warmth that reverberated throughout his body. She had a way of making him feel loved and appreciated. That alone endeared her to him. Maybe telling her about the motorcycle wouldn’t be as difficult as he thought. Maybe she’d be just excited as he—perhaps a little disappointed that he hadn’t touched bases with her first, but nevertheless enthused.
He cleared his throat and grabbed her hand. “Babe, don’t be mad, okay?”
Her smile flipped upside down and she sighed. “Greg, you know I hate when you say that. Oh, my God, what did you do? Don’t make me throw up. My stomach’s been bothering me all day.”
“I can show you better than I can tell you.” He paused. “Close your eyes.” Perhaps if she could feel his excitement about the bike, maybe she could muster up some enthusiasm of her own.
She gave him an incredulous look before closing her eyes and following his lead. He told her not to peek as he guided her out the door. When they reached the bike, he touched her lower back and told her to open her eyes.
Shania opened her eyes and her jaw dropped as she clutched her stomach. For a second there, he thought she might actually throw up after all.
“What’s this?” When she spoke, her eyes blinked rapidly, her neck snapped from side to side, and she looked less than thrilled. She might as well have been looking at a blow-up doll rather than a bike.
