The Choir Director

by Carl Weber

  He laughed, making me feel much better—not!

  “That’s not funny.” I frowned, scrunching up my brow. “I ring her bell just fine when she lets me.”

  “Hey, she’s a young woman. She needs a stallion to ride, not a pony.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Is the elevator still going to the top floor?”

  “Of course it is!” I was not amused by his insinuation.

  I’d always taken care of myself, and I hadn’t slept around a lot when I was young. As a result, impotence had never been a problem for me, and I was still virile. I shook my head. “It’s not a problem with me getting it up. It’s a problem with my wife not wanting me anymore.”

  Maxwell’s face became serious for a moment. “You don’t believe that, do you? That Monique doesn’t want you anymore?”

  “I don’t know what I believe, Maxwell.”

  “Well, maybe you should do some of the things you used to do when you first started dating.”

  “Man, I made a candlelight dinner and the whole nine the other night. When she finished eating, I thought she was going upstairs to put on a sexy nightgown or something, but when I got up there, she was asleep. The sad thing is, I don’t think she was really asleep. I think she was trying to avoid making love to me. She never even touches me anymore. I can’t stand this, Maxwell. I’m a very physical man.”

  Maxwell leaned in, looking me directly in the eye. “You think she might be fooling around? Maybe that secret admirer of hers finally won her over.”

  “My wife would never fool around,” I snapped. I felt insulted that he would even suggest the possibility. We had a good marriage, a good sex life—that is, up until now. It was probably something stupid. Maybe she was going through the change or something, but no way was she cheating.

  Maxwell held up his hands and leaned back. “Excuse me, Bishop. I didn’t mean no harm. Hey, maybe you need to hit the gym. Maybe she doesn’t see you as appealing as when you first got married.”

  “I probably could hit the gym,” I conceded. I glanced down at the paunch around my middle. I was the same weight as when we met, though, so I didn’t think that was the issue either.

  “I would go to the gym with you, but I’ve got a heart condition. Plus, I’m getting my exercise other ways.” He smoothed his mustache and flashed a sly grin.

  “Yeah, I’m sure with all those young girls you’re always messing with. Maxwell, when you gonna settle down anyway?”

  “I’ve got a prospect waiting for me at the Marriott as we speak. You might even say she’s the girl of my dreams.”

  “Well, good luck. Finding the girl of your dreams isn’t easy. Women like that are worth fighting over.”

  “Who you telling? Believe me, I feel the same way.” Maxwell stood up, shook the creases back into his pants, then came over to pat me on the back. “Well, Bishop, I’m outta here. Don’t want to keep the little lady waiting.”

  I turned to Maxwell and nodded. “So, when am I going to meet this mystery woman?”

  “If I have my way, sooner than you think, Bishop. Much sooner than you think.”

  Simone

  48

  I walked out of the bathroom an emotional wreck with tears and mascara running down my face. Ever since I heard the rumor that Aaron and Tia were together, I couldn’t stop crying, and the fact that I’d just started my period didn’t help things one bit. I’d been praying to God that somehow I might be pregnant with Aaron’s child. We’d had a little slipup the last time we made love, and the condom broke. I told Aaron I was going to the pharmacy to get the morning-after pill, but I never did. Then Daddy had his stint in the hospital, and I slipped up, causing Aaron to break up with me—which, I might add, was totally unfair. Okay, so I lied to him, but I was going to tell him the truth after everything got settled.

  All of this was plain ridiculous. I couldn’t believe Aaron was really holding one little lie against me. He and I were made for each other. I was born to be not only his woman, but also his baby’s momma, dammit!

  All right, so if I wasn’t pregnant with Aaron’s baby, then it was time to decide my next plan of action, because crying all day wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I wiped my tears away and gave the whole situation some serious thought. And of course, because I had plenty of practice at “storytelling,” I came up with something in no time: Just because I wasn’t pregnant didn’t mean I couldn’t say I was pregnant. A man of God like Aaron, who was on his way to stardom, couldn’t afford not to marry me. He’d lose all credibility. Once we were back together, I’d just have to get pregnant in a hurry. Heck, I was young enough, and my friend Mary worked in a fertility clinic. She could get me some of those fertility drugs to speed up the process.

  Shit, if I played this thing right, I wouldn’t even have to go to Aaron; he’d end up crawling back to me. All I had to do was whisper in the right ears that I was pregnant with his child and that I planned on having the baby without his help, since he didn’t want anything to do with us. That would make him come running quick.

  I thought about picking up the phone and calling Monique in order to start the gossip chain with her. I knew Monique. She’d be the first to pull Aaron aside and read him the riot act for his actions. Then again, after busting her over at Maxwell’s place last week, I’d been avoiding her like the plague. I mean, what do you say to a woman after catching her cheating on her preacher husband with his best friend? Now, that was some drama worthy of a Lifetime movie!

  So instead, I picked up the phone and called Sister Judith Hampton, one of the elders in the choir. Sister Judith loved her some Aaron. In fact, she was always telling people he was her godson. She’d put him in his place, and if he didn’t do the right thing by me and the baby, she’d talk about him like a dog. She would be the first of four phone calls I’d make that day, and if I didn’t get a response from Aaron, I’d make another four calls the next night. Mr. Mackie was going to live up to his responsibility as an expectant father—and even if he wasn’t an expectant father yet, it wouldn’t take long before I had him by the balls.

  “Praise God,” Sister Judith answered jubilantly.

  “Hey, Sister Judith, this is Trustee Wilcox.”

  “Hey there, Trustee. Did you hear about the regional gospel championship we won last week?” Sister Judith always sounded so happy.

  “I did. Congratulations.”

  “That Aaron Mackie sure is something, isn’t he?”

  “He sure is, Sister. As a matter of fact, I wanted you to pray with me for him.”

  “Sure. Is everything all right with him?” Her voice wasn’t so upbeat anymore.

  “Well, Sister, we’re all human, and we all have faults. I don’t want to tell his business or mine, but I just want you to pray for us both and hope he decides to—”

  I was interrupted by a knock at my door. I thought about ignoring it but decided not to, on the off chance that it was Aaron.

  “Sister, I’ll call you back in a minute. I might not need that prayer after all.”

  I jumped up off the sofa and dried my eyes, ran my hands through my hair, and then got a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. My eyes looked all red and bleary, and I had dark bags under them. I pinched my cheeks to bring back some color but decided not to worry too much about my looks. If it was Aaron at the door, I wanted him to see how I’d suffered. He’d take me in his arms and ask for my forgiveness. Unfortunately, with my period being here and all, we wouldn’t be able to have that bomb makeup sex, but I’d give him the blow job of a lifetime. I was getting hot just thinking about it.

  I flung the door open in anticipation of my fantasy coming true but got a rude awakening. Standing there with scowls on their faces were the two thugs who’d pulled up on me and Aaron in the parking lot.

  “Can I help you?” I held the doorknob tightly, hoping I could shut the door fast enough if they tried something.

  “We’re looking for Aaron Mackie,” the tall one said brusquely.

  “He does
n’t live here.” I tried to close the door, but the shorter one put his hand out.

  “Well, is he here?”

  “No, he’s not here. I thought you were him.” Come to think of it, these guys had just fucked up my fantasy. I felt myself becoming irate. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Don’t worry about who we are,” the tall guy snarled. “You expecting him anytime soon?”

  “Why? What do you want with him?”

  The short one took out a card and wrote something on the back, then pushed it into my hand. “Just give him this when you see him.”

  I watched the men walk back to their car before I glanced down at what the shorter one had written on the card. All it said was Call me.

  I flipped the card over, and what I saw made my stomach lurch.

  “Oh, shit! Talk about having someone by the balls. If I were you, Aaron Mackie, I’d be very nice to Simone Wilcox. Very nice.”

  Monique

  49

  Until I sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, I couldn’t believe I had actually come inside this place. At least the last time, Maxwell had given me a room number so I could wait for him without the risk of being seen. I’d sat in my car for ten minutes before finally getting the courage to get out and make the trek to the door. Of all the times to be prompt in my life, it was under these circumstances. But here I sat at the bar of the Brooklyn Marriott, working on my second dirty martini. That was the only appropriate drink for this occasion, something dirty, because that’s just how I felt—like a dirty whore.

  When Maxwell sent me a text demanding I meet him at this hotel, everything in me just wanted to text him back “go fuck yourself,” but I didn’t. I couldn’t, because I knew what he would do. He’d have T. K. arrested and sent to prison, and because I loved T. K.’s dirty drawers, I would never be able to deal with that.

  “Another drink, miss?” the bartender asked.

  I looked down at my almost empty martini glass. “Just one more,” I replied as I picked the olive out of the glass. “Make it a double, if you don’t mind.”

  The bartender turned to fix my drink. He couldn’t fix it strong enough to suit me, though, because all I wanted was to be numb. I looked down at my watch. Maxwell was going on fifteen minutes late. Why did he have me sitting there for just anybody to spot me? Then again, that’s probably exactly what he wanted. In his sick mind, he probably thought that if everything was out in the open, T. K. would leave me and I’d come running to him. Not in this lifetime. Not after what he was putting me through. I didn’t give a damn how much money he had.

  “Here you are.”

  This time I jumped at the sound of the bartender’s voice. I was paranoid. Maxwell needed to hurry his ass up. If he wasn’t there in fifteen minutes, I was outta there. I was not sticking around for the happy-hour crowd.

  “Thank you.” I picked up my drink and took a sip.

  “And could you please bring me back a shot of 1800? I need something to chase my little blue pill,” Maxwell asked the bartender. I was in such a daze that he’d snuck up right behind me. “Sorry I’m late, sweetness.” When he bent down and kissed me on the neck with his chapped lips, I thought I was going to puke.

  I gulped down my martini. I needed a buzz and quick.

  “You’re looking quite lovely,” he complimented.

  I hadn’t yet spoken a word to him. There were no words. I just wanted to get him up in that room, let him do his business, and get the hell outta there.

  The bartender brought Maxwell’s drink.

  “Thank you,” Maxwell said, shoving a pill in his mouth before picking up the shot glass and swallowing it down in one gulp. I jumped when he slammed it back on the bar. He pulled out his billfold and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill and said to the bartender, “That’s for me and the lady. Keep the change.”

  I could feel him staring at me as if I should be impressed by his little act, but I wasn’t. I was repulsed by his presence in all ways.

  “So, you ready?”

  Now I spoke as I turned on the stool and faced him. “Ready for what?”

  He shook his head and half smiled. “Do you really have to ask? We’re in a hotel bar. What do you think?” He pulled a key card out of his pocket. “Let’s go. I’ve already checked us in.” He went to walk away, but I stayed right where I was sitting. “Come on, let’s go. There’s a king-size bed in a suite with our names all over it. I figured this could be our new thing, Thursday evening at the Marriott.” He leaned in and I could feel his lips brushing against my ear. “It beats that stupid step class you’re supposed to be at, and you get your exercise too.”

  He led me to the elevator and our room. I kept my head down and my eyes on the floor. If someone from the church just happened to be in the lobby, I couldn’t bear to see the look of disgust on their faces when they spotted us together.

  Once we entered our room, Maxwell began kissing my neck. I didn’t respond, but that didn’t make him stop—until he announced, “I think my little blue pill is starting to take effect. God, it’s amazing what you can buy off the Internet, isn’t it?” He cupped his penis like I was supposed to admire it or something. “I’m going to the bathroom. When I come back, the old Monique better be here, undressed and waiting for me on the bed, ready, willing, and able.”

  I knew that wasn’t a request, but an order. Maxwell went into the bathroom, and I sat down on the bed and began to remove my clothing. All the alcohol in the world couldn’t erase the horror of what was going on. I was T. K.’s wife and Maxwell’s whore. What a combination.

  I reached into my bag and pulled out the Percocet that T. K. had been prescribed when he broke his arm last year. As tears fell from my eyes, I took two pills dry, swallowing them whole. The thought of just downing the entire bottle came to mind, but the last place I wanted to be found was in a hotel room Maxwell had paid for. I knew he’d make sure to rub that in T. K.’s face before he sent him to jail.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” I stood up as Maxwell exited the bathroom wearing nothing but his briefs. As much as I didn’t want T. K. going to jail, something had to give, because I was thinking about suicide too frequently. “I love my husband. I don’t want him to go to jail, but I don’t want to hurt him by sleeping with a man who pretends to be his friend either.”

  Maxwell didn’t seem moved one way or the other. “If you don’t go through with this, Monique, you know what I’m going to do. Or maybe I should just call him and tell him where his dear wife is?”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll tell him myself,” I said, and I meant it. I meant it all the way up until Maxwell took out his cell phone and extended it to me.

  “Here, call him, then. Tell him everything.” He opened his phone and pressed a number. “I have him on speed dial. Matter of fact, let me make it easier for you.” He pressed speaker, and I could hear the phone ringing.

  T. K.’s voice came on the line. I could have died right then and there. “What’s up, Maxwell? Thought you had a hot date.”

  Maxwell smiled. “I do, and she’s right here. She wanted to talk to you, so I was going to put her on the phone.” He looked at me, daring me with his eyes. “Here, honey, say hello to my best friend, Bishop T. K. Wilson. T. K., she’s a big fan. Matter of fact, she might like you more than she likes me.”

  As Maxwell came closer, I shook my head and gestured for him to shut off his phone. My eyes flooded with tears.

  “You know, T. K., she’s feeling a little shy all of a sudden. Maybe next time. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Talk to you later, Maxwell. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Au contraire. I plan on doing everything you would do and a whole lot more,” Maxwell said with a laugh, and then shut the phone. His mouth formed into a smile as he stared at me. “I take it you’re about to take your clothes off, because my little blue pill has me ready to get this party started.”

  With no other options, I did as I was told. I just hoped the Percocet kic
ked in as quickly as his Viagra had, because I didn’t want to feel a thing.

  The Bishop

  50

  I entered James’s hospital room to find him flanked by two white men I’d never seen before. James had summoned me there for a meeting about something that he felt could save the church. I sure hoped he had something good, because we had run out of other options. At Maxwell’s urging, we had decided to go forward with the three-million-dollar offer on the senior housing property. I’d recently signed papers agreeing to go into negotiations with Pelican Trading Company, so the clock was ticking. Unless some sort of miracle happened, we would be selling that property at a huge loss.

  “James, I’d like you to meet Aaron Mackie,” I introduced.

  I’d brought along Monique, Tia, and Aaron to visit with James. He had wanted to meet our new choir director for quite some time, and the way he looked now, I was glad I hadn’t waited any longer to bring Aaron by. James barely had the strength to lift his arm and shake Aaron’s hand. He was now wearing an oxygen mask instead of the tubes in his nose. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me that my old friend didn’t have much longer.

  James lifted the mask with his free hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

  Aaron’s face lit up. “Likewise, sir. Bishop and First Lady Wilson have told me so much about you. I feel like I’m meeting a legend.”

  It was evident from James’s smile that this made him feel good, though he said humbly, “Legends aren’t always good, young man, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  James said hello to Monique and Tia, and then turned back to me, pointing at the two white men. It was now time for him to make introductions. “T. K., this is Mr. Robert Cohn and Mr. Michael Goldberg. They’re from Forest Hills Property Management, and they have a proposal to make you on the senior housing property.”