One Sunday at a Time

by E. N. Joy

She had honestly thought that marijuana was the answer to her prayers. She had to admit that it did mellow her out. If she hadn’t had to be so secretive about it, and if it were more accepted by society as a medical drug, then she probably would have continued using it. And who knew? It might have been beneficial for her. That wasn’t the case, though. She felt so hopeless as she watched the weed swirl around in the toilet bowl. She closed the lid before she could see it go all the way down. That had to be about two hundred dollars’ worth of the stuff. She couldn’t bear to witness flushing what was essentially money down the toilet. Sure, she probably could have given it or sold it to Klarke, Persia, or somebody else, but she knew the longer she held on to it, the more she was apt to keep using it, simply for recreational purposes.

  “Oh, well,” Deborah said, throwing her arms up in the air and letting them fall to her sides as she stood looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. “I tried a therapist. I tried pills and weed.” She shrugged her shoulders, feeling like it was time to give up and just live with the fact that her brain functioned at a level that made it hard sometimes for her to keep up with it.

  Before exiting the bathroom, she gave the toilet one last flush for good measure. She then drew an invisible cross on her chest with her index finger. “So long, Mary Jane. You was my homegirl there for a minute. May you rest in peace.”

  Chapter 14

  “The girls told me to tell you hey,” Klarke said as she and Deborah drove toward Marcus Theatre to catch a movie. “They really miss you.”

  “I miss them too,” Deborah said.

  “You know, just because you don’t want to, you know”—Klarke used her hands to mime smoking a joint—“doesn’t mean you can’t come hang out with us sometime.”

  “Okay. Well, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer,” Deborah said, knowing she had no intention at all of doing so. That would be like being on a fast and meeting them at a buffet.

  “When you first stopped accepting my invitation to hang out, I thought that maybe it was, you know, the whole thing about me going to jail.”

  “Oh, heavens, no,” Deborah said.

  “I mean, finding out that I’d been incarcerated for murder was one thing, but being incarcerated for murdering a child was a whole other thing.”

  “But you explained to me what happened,” Deborah said. “It wasn’t you who killed Reo and Meka’s first baby. It was that evil baby mama of his, Meka herself.” Deborah shook her head. “I can’t believe she let you go to jail for it.”

  “While she ran off with the love of my life and got pregnant with another kid.” Klarke fell silent for a moment. “I know we shouldn’t question God, but I don’t get it. There are women who would give their sight to know what it feels like to give birth, to hold and smell a child of their own. This woman kills her baby and then, just like that”—Klarke snapped her fingers—“she gets another one.”

  “I know what you’re saying,” Deborah said.

  “And you know what really pisses me off whenever I think about it?” Klarke said. She didn’t wait for Deborah to answer. “Not only did that witch let me go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit, but she let my baby girl go to jail too.”

  “What?” Deborah said, totally surprised. “I guess I am going to have to Google you,” she joked, “because this is all news to me.”

  “Save yourself the time and just read the book,” Klarke said.

  “Wait a minute.” She held her hand up. “A book has been written about this?”

  Klarke nodded. “Uh-huh. Reo wrote it.”

  “But I’ve read all of Reo’s books, and I’ve never read a book about you guys’ life story.”

  Klarke bit her bottom lip, as if she was debating whether or not to continue. This was a secret that no one knew outside of the Laroques and Reo’s publisher.

  “What?” Deborah said. “Girl, don’t stop now. Don’t leave me hanging. You know how anxious I get. You gon’ have me smoking again.”

  Klarke laughed. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Reo did write a book about our lives, but he wrote it under a pseudonym. It’s called The Root of All Evil. He wrote it under the name Joylynn M. Jossel.”

  Deborah thought for a minute. Her eyes then lit up. “Wait a minute. You talking about that book that famous producer turned into a movie?” she asked excitedly.

  Klarke had a mischievous grin on her face. “That’s the one.”

  “Oh, my God!” Deborah put her hand on her chest. “That movie was so frickin’ good. I went right out and bought the book. It was even better than the movie. I tried to research the author. All I could find was the Web site and a Facebook fan page, with more posts from fans than from the actual author. I couldn’t find author tour dates or anything.”

  Klarke turned to Deborah and winked, then put her eyes back on the road.

  “Oh, wow,” Deborah said. “Guess that explains it.”

  Klarke smiled and nodded.

  “Can you imagine how many more copies of that book would sell if readers knew that the author was none other than Reo Laroque?”

  “I know. I know,” Klarke agreed. “That’s the same thing his publisher told him, especially when J. K. Rowling did the same thing with that book she put out under another name.”

  “I remember that. When the book first dropped, nobody was really buying it,” Deborah said. “Her publisher had given her a nice-size advance and had put marketing dollars behind it, which they weren’t making back. They didn’t see themselves recouping unless they revealed the author’s true identity.”

  “And when they did,” Klarke said, picking up the story,” that book shot to number one on Amazon within minutes.”

  “And that’s exactly what would happen for you guys,” Deborah mused.

  “The movie pushed up the sale of the book very well. And, of course, it recently came out on DVD. It can be ordered on pay movie channels, and a deal with Netflix was just negotiated. Plus, whenever they run an advertisement for the movie, book sales go up again. When Reo initially wrote the book, he said it wasn’t all about money, but about getting our story out.”

  “But it was written like it is fiction,” Deborah said.

  “Reo figured the public would be more apt to purchase it if they thought it was fiction, versus a book based on the life of someone who wasn’t like a movie star or something. Granted, in the book world my hubby is a pretty popular guy.”

  “Tell me about it,” Deborah agreed. “He’s won more NAACP awards for best fiction than I can count.”

  “But a popular author doesn’t compare to a famous music artist or actor.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Deborah said with a sigh. “In my make-believe world, books have as big of an influence on society as music does.” Deborah shifted the conversation back to their initial subject matter. “There’s a part in the book I was wondering about.”

  Klarke nodded, a signal for Deborah to go ahead.

  “If I’m not mistaken, didn’t I hear you mention a few months back that Jeva is still one of your good friends?” Deborah asked Klarke.

  “Uh-huh,” Klarke confirmed.

  “But in the story it says that her daughter’s father was a man she’d had a one-night stand with in a strip club when she used to strip. Later it was learned that the man was, in fact, your husband at the time, Harris, who is now your ex-husband.”

  Klarke nodded.

  “Was that part true or something you guys added for drama, to beef up the story line?”

  “No, it’s true,” Klarke said without hesitation.

  “And you’re still friends with her to this day?” Deborah said with a strained tone.

  “Yep.” Klarke nodded again.

  “If you can forgive ole girl for all that, then I guess my beef with Helen is plain stupid,” Deborah said.

  “Helen?” Klarke questioned. “Who is Helen?”

  “Girl, never mind,” Deborah said, shooing her hand. “I’d have to write a book about that one for you to read.”


  Klarke laughed.

  Deborah stared at her for a minute.

  “What?” Klarke asked, feeling Deborah’s eyes staring at her.

  “You have to be one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,” Deborah said.

  Klarke smiled humbly. “It was all Him.” She pointed upward. “We can do all things through Christ Jesus, who strengthens us. That’s what Vaughn tells me all the time. Hey, I might not have been raised in the church or had a praying grandmother, but I have a praying daughter.”

  “I know that’s right,” Deborah said. “As long as somebody is praying for you, you can’t go wrong.”

  “Amen,” Klarke said. “Prayer has surely helped me.”

  “There are times when I’ve felt that nothing could be worse than what I’m dealing with, and then I hear your testimony. Umph, umph, umph.”

  “I hear you, girl. Somebody talks about us, steps on our toe, and we ready to lose our mind. Cussing people out, throwing wineglasses at folks. Then you look at all Jesus went through, and that man never said a mumbling word.”

  “Don’t even remind me,” Deborah said. “The smallest things set me off, and I lose my mind. I have even put my hands on a person or two.”

  “You preaching to the choir,” Klarke said. “When I found out my ex-husband had fathered a baby with another woman, I went to that broad’s house and mopped the floor with her. Now that’s when a sista should have gone to jail. I wasn’t even in my right mind when that happened. Talk about snapping. That was not a good time in my life at all.”

  “I know he’s the father of your children, but that Harris was a low-down cheating dog all the way around, wasn’t he?”

  “Girl, sleeping with folks right up under my nose and having babies with them. These men are something else.”

  Something Klarke had just said triggered a thought in Deborah’s mind. “Not all men, though, right?” She let out a nervous chuckle. All men would include her own man, and Klarke’s too, for that matter. “Reo’s a good guy. You haven’t had to deal with any type of cheating in your marriage, have you?”

  Klarke paused. “I’m not one to ever put my husband’s and my business out there, but I can say that our marriage has been tested with infidelity.”

  Deborah was truly shocked to hear that. “Oh, my goodness. I can’t see Reo as the cheating kind.”

  Klarke stopped at a red light, turned to Deborah, and asked, “Who said anything about Reo being the cheat?” With that, Klarke turned back, waited for the light to turn green, then pulled off.

  ***

  For the past couple of days, ever since Klarke had alluded to having stepped out on Reo, Deborah’s mind had been blown away. There were so many questions she had wanted to ask Klarke, but clearly, if Klarke had wanted to elaborate on something, she would have. Instead, she had pulled into the movie theater parking lot, and they had enjoyed the movie.

  Afterward, Deborah hadn’t broached the subject again. She didn’t want to be the kind of friend who pried and asked questions. But she had to admit that her opinion of Klarke had changed greatly. This was why she really needed the facts about the situation. Had Klarke cheated on Reo years ago, early on in their marriage? Had Klarke cheated on him as payback perhaps for not believing in her before she went to jail and for getting back with Meka? Not that Deborah ever condoned cheating, but an explanation might give her a different opinion about the situation.

  “Ready to watch some Love & Hip Hop?” Lynox asked as he exited their bathroom and walked over to the bed, upon which Deborah was already lying, racking her brain about Klarke.

  “Do we really have to tonight?” Deborah whined. She had her own reality show going on in her head.

  “Come on. You know I get some of my best stuff for my books from ratchet television.” Lynox climbed in bed and grabbed the remote.

  That was true. Lynox recorded every reality television show that aired. He’d watch them all, then figure out a way to incorporate the story lines into his books, putting his own signature twist on them, of course.

  Being a connoisseur of the written word herself, Deborah knew that if an author had a great idea, then there were thousands of other writers across the map with that very same idea. It was a matter of how each author told the story. No idea was new. There was nothing new under the sun taking place in books, songs, and movies. The artist just had to craft it in such a way that the consumer didn’t feel as though it was the same old story, different writer.

  Deborah thought those reality TV shows were scripted or just ignorant. Lynox insisted that with everyone addicted to one reality show or another, right down to Christians and their preacher shows, preacher’s daughters shows, gospel artist shows, and what have you, there was something in them that resonated with people in society, and he wanted to capture it in his books. With everything he penned hitting the New York Times best sellers’ list, he was doing something right.

  “All right. We can watch it.” Deborah gave in.

  Lynox already had the television on and was viewing the list of recorded shows before Deborah even replied.

  Not even three minutes into the show, Deborah was shaking her head. “I don’t understand how he managed to have two women and neither one of them knew about the other.”

  “Oh, they knew. Women don’t care. They turn a blind eye just to say they have a man or was bad enough to steal somebody else’s man.” Lynox laughed.

  Deborah turned toward him, irritated that he thought women being played for fools was funny. She instantly got an attitude. “Well, I hope you don’t ever think I’ll let you get away with that kind of crap.”

  “Oh, girl, stop.” Lynox laughed again. “You wouldn’t do nothing, just like these women ain’t doing nothing.” He pointed to the television. “You know you love me, girl.”

  “I do, but I love myself enough not to be sharing no man when I know there is one out there who will want only me. One I’ll be enough for.”

  “You are more than enough woman for any man,” Lynox said, “but it’s not about that. Men don’t cheat because their woman isn’t enough. They sometimes cheat because she’s too much.”

  “And just what does that mean?”

  Lynox was trying to have a conversation with his wife at the same time that he watched television. “It’s just that, you know, today’s woman is so independent. It’s not her fault. Men have failed women to the point that roles get reversed. If the woman isn’t paying half the mortgage and the bills, she’s paying the majority of them. Some men sell women a dream, but then they break the promise and leave them alone . . . with two or three kids to take care of. They have no choice but to be the head of the family and the head of the home. So when a good man who knows his role comes along, there are two things going on,” Lynox said.

  By now he had paused the television, realizing he’d opened a can of worms that Deborah wasn’t going to let him worm his way out of.

  “Go on,” Deborah urged, as if waiting for him to scratch his throat with his toenail, now that he had ended up with his foot in his mouth.

  “That woman is going to be so used to taking care of everything that it’s not going to matter when a man comes along and isn’t the provider he’s supposed to be. Another thing that can happen is that that woman does have a man who is helping out, and she’s so happy to have him that she’ll take more crap than a little bit. That woman who feels that she doesn’t need a man can’t make a man feel needed. Then someone else comes along who makes him feel needed. It’s not about what she looks like, but what she makes him feel like.” He raised his hand up to the paused television. “And there you have it. That’s life.” He hit the play button.

  “That’s BS,” Deborah said, then turned her attention to the television.

  For the next ten minutes Deborah and Lynox watched as one of the male reality stars got the two women he was seeing at the same time to meet up and talk.

  “He is the man,” Lynox said, as if he was cheering the guy
on.

  Deborah turned and looked at Lynox, who was grinning from ear to ear. She couldn’t believe her husband was cheering on this man for his shenanigans. In her eyes, that meant that he was condoning his behavior. Or maybe even Lynox was living vicariously through this man, wishing this was something he himself could engage in.

  “That’s what they get. They ain’t nothing but some gold diggers, anyway,” Lynox said, talking to the television.

  Even though she knew it was only a show and even though it was labeled reality, there was a lot of acting going on in front of that camera. Deborah couldn’t believe some of the beliefs Lynox was expressing. Did he really think it was ever okay for a man to treat women the way the man on the television was treating women? The more Lynox laughed and chuckled, the more the water in her mental pot began to boil.

  “I can’t even believe you condone that type of behavior from a man,” Deborah finally said. “If you feel what he’s doing is okay, then who is to say you won’t turn around and treat me like that?”

  “I’m not condoning it,” Lynox said. “But you heard the guy. He’s in love with two different women. It happens.”

  “It happens?” Deborah was in shock now. “You can’t be in love with two women. When you love someone, you don’t do something that you know will hurt them. Him starting up a relationship with another woman while he’s already in a relationship with one is not love. You are defending this jerk, which makes me wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” Lynox asked.

  “For one, I wonder why you know so much about why a man cheats, and for two, I wonder how you can be okay with something like that.” Deborah was fit to be tied.

  “I’m not saying that I would ever do it. I’m just saying I can understand why some men do.” Lynox was speaking his mind, but he did not realize that he was about to make Deborah lose hers.

  “I honestly had no idea this is what you thought about infidelity. Talk about unequally yoked.” Deborah rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the television.

  Lynox paused it once again and then placed the remote on the bed, between himself and Deborah. “This is stupid. We are the ones arguing, and this doesn’t even have anything to do with us.”