Don't Blame the Devil

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  “Y’all sing that chorus just one more time,” Delilah murmured through her car window that particular Sunday as she pulled into the New Hope Assembly Church’s huge parking lot. Happy she was able to park not too far from the sanctuary, she rolled down her window and braved the heat. The huge, air-conditioned church’s windows were closed, but she could still hear them praising God. Delilah swung her tiny hands from side to side and tapped the steering wheel like a choir director. Oh, how she did enjoy directing a good song almost as much as she did singing one. “Awww, come on now. Give God the glory!”

  Delilah’s attempt at pleasing her God caused her to spread her worship among several churches in Harlem and Brooklyn. New Hope was surely becoming one of her favorites. It was the third time she’d visited and praised God from their parking lot. She’d come to choose her place of worship according to which she thought had the best music. So many times the music that poured through open stained-glass windows or oversized amplifiers tugged at her spirit and fed her soul.

  And yet, true to her word, as soon as it became time for God’s message to come forth with all the loud preaching that was brought with it, along with the begging for money part of the service, she’d always drive off before it began. Delilah always managed to feel good after giving God His worship, on her terms.

  However, soon enough Delilah would receive a message of another sort. God, omniscient and the author of the final word for all mankind, had had just about enough of Delilah’s customized worship service. God was about to checkmate the old gal and she’d never see it coming.

  Chapter 3

  Before she could put the car in gear, several people filed through the church’s side exit door. She’d never seen that happen before a service ended. “Well, it’s time for me to get out of here.” She was just about to turn on her ignition when she heard a voice.

  “Delilah?”

  Delilah swung her head around and peeked out through the driver’s side rolled-down window. She’d moved too fast; something she didn’t normally do when she heard her name called, without checking to see if there was drama attached to it.

  “Delilah?” There was no mistaking that male voice. It sounded closer and a bit more confident than it had a moment ago. But now it had more of an accusatory tone than a questioning one. “Woman, stop trying to act like it ain’t you.”

  The tall, dark-skinned man lumbered toward the passenger side of Delilah’s car. Only a few feet separated him from the Navigator.

  “Delilah Dupree . . .” The man reached the car before he could complete her name for the third time. He had a dark jacket flung over his arm and wore a black-and-white polka-dot shirt and matching bow tie. His white pants didn’t quite fit right, but the suspenders made certain they wouldn’t fall off his lanky body. And the hair—a little sparser than the last time Delilah had laid eyes upon it—still appeared shiny and hard, as though it would crack if touched.

  The sight of the man’s hair pulled Delilah back to her senses. Anger replaced her fear and any other feeling she’d felt a second ago. Dayum, is that fool still wearing a conk?

  Before she could put the car in drive, he was standing in front of it like he dared her to take off and risk running him over.

  “Excuse me?” Delilah’s mind went into warp speed but didn’t take a single innovative thought with it. All she could say was, “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “Heffa, please.” The man’s dark eyes narrowed as he cautiously walked over to the driver’s side and stared. His eyes looked like two brown pieces of steel as he placed his Bible on the roof of the Navigator. Without turning his cold eyes away, he pointed at the front of the car. “Now, unless you stole this monster, why does your license plate have Delilah on it?”

  “So what if it does?” she shot back. She always knew that one day her oversized ego would land her in hot water with her vanity plate.

  The man was about to say something more when several congregation members suddenly came along. Still wearing the smile of a Holy Ghost good time, one of the men greeted the deacon as he nodded toward Delilah. “Praise the Lord, Deacon Pillar. You sure gave God His due this morning.”

  “Well, God is good all the time. . . .” The deacon answered without removing his Bible off the car or his eyes off Delilah.

  If the men felt slighted because Deacon Pillar didn’t greet them with a handshake or even a glance—and never mind no introduction to the very attractive woman behind the wheel—they never showed it. The other man simply added before moving on, “And all the time God is good.”

  Before the men barely got out of earshot, Delilah started in on the man. “Deacon—so you’re a deacon now?” Again, Delilah had spoken in haste. She’d forgotten that she’d not actually admitted to being his Delilah. What she’d meant to do was to just drive away, and if the Bible remained on the car’s roof, then so be it. She didn’t need a blast from the past to mess up her future. She certainly didn’t want this particular one now.

  Her tiny fingers buzzed across her steering wheel and her mind kept grappling with her situation. So help me if I get back home to Garden City, Long Island, I will not be coming back this way again.

  Before her stood yet another reason why she didn’t have friends or acquaintances; they usually brought the type of trouble she didn’t want. She avoided friends the way she avoided fatty foods. Both would eventually lead to high blood pressure or a stroke.

  But the man wasn’t through. “If I hadn’t been inside my church this morning and praising God in all His glory, I just might’ve wanted to cuss you out when I first saw you.” He stopped and shook his head. “Lord knows, I should’ve just stayed inside until the church meeting started. . . .”

  “You were up in your church? If you’re so much into your church, then what kind of religion you got that makes you wanna cuss someone out when you first lay eyes on them?”

  “I got the kind that’s kept me for a lot of years since you took off for wherever your kind goes to.”

  “Well, good for you.” Delilah’s gray eyes didn’t blink as they swept the deacon from his conk to his white loafers before she hissed, “Just let me get out of here before you lose what little religion you say you have, along with that precious, outdated conk and whatever else you got going on these days.” It wasn’t what she really wanted to say, but that’s what came out.

  “Lord help me to protect my blood pressure and ignore her nasty remark about my conk.”

  He’d worn a conk since he was seventeen. He’d worn one when he was twenty-six and met her. Back then she was a homeless, yet talented, eighteen-year-old Delilah. He’d even worn one when they eventually dated and set the world afire, and he’d wear one until he was a hundred and seventeen if he chose.

  Deacon Pillar laid his arm across the sill of the car window and leaned in. He came close enough to Delilah to kiss her. “To my eternal shame, I always wondered, from time to time, just how I’d feel if I ever saw you again. And now God has delivered you right to the doorstep of New Hope Assembly and I’m not sure I like that. In fact, I know I don’t.”

  Delilah moved over a few inches just in case she needed to swing. “Oh, so now you hate me? You just finished praising God and you want to cuss and hate me?”

  “No, I don’t hate you. I pity you.”

  “Pity me!” She became so angry her small frame seemed to almost levitate off the seat. “You pity me! Who the hell are you to pity me?”

  “I’m the same one who pitied you forty years ago—”

  “Save your damn pity!” Delilah’s small chest heaved as though she were having an asthma attack. “Go on back inside your church. I don’t need to keep coming around here. There’re other churches. . . .”

  “At least you’ve figured that much out.” The deacon pointed his finger at Delilah and snapped, “Just so you know . . .”

  “Just so I know what?” Delilah barked. “That finger don’t scare me as much as that damn conk.”


  The deacon’s face again stiffened at the insult, but he let it roll off and continued, “Just so you know, I truly have turned my life over to Jesus. I’m just telling you so you’ll do the decent thing—in case you’re lying as always—and truly stay the hell away from here—”

  He was just getting started, but the deacon never had a chance to finish his rant.

  Suddenly, from somewhere deep within her, Delilah gathered her wits and more strength than she’d felt in quite some time. “Well, at least you can’t blame the devil for your still nasty attitude.”

  Delilah slammed her tiny foot down on the accelerator and took off. The Bible flew off the roof of the Navigator and landed at a stunned Deacon Pillar’s feet, opened to the Book of Revelation.

  Chapter 4

  Deacon Pillar watched Delilah speed away almost in relief as he stood rooted to the hot cement. In one swoop, his long arms reached down and retrieved his Bible. “Give me strength, Heavenly Father.”

  The deacon tried to compose himself as he turned and headed back toward the side entry of New Hope. His habit of leaving the service early to prepare for the board meeting suddenly seemed like a bad idea. But his head felt like a piece of lead and he couldn’t lift it, not even for appearance’ sake, as passing congregants greeted him warily.

  A few minutes later, the deacon’s body relaxed, just a little, as he climbed the few steps to enter the deacons’ board meeting room. It was a small room practically devoid of adornment and adjacent to the pastor’s lavishly decorated study.

  He opened the door and nearly collapsed onto one of two sofas in the room. He was so grateful it was empty. His brow furrowed and without thinking he’d begun to wring his leathery hands just before he leapt off the sofa and fell to his knees. “Father God, after all these years, why did you let me see that woman?”

  And from somewhere deep within his spirit he imagined God admonishing, I allowed you to see her. I never told you to call out to her....

  “Sorry to interrupt, Deacon Pillar.” It was one of the church trustees. He’d whispered his brief apology as he accidentally hit the side of a table when he tried to abruptly leave. “I didn’t know anyone would be in here. I just needed to get one of the record books.”

  The deacon couldn’t speak. He stared at the man as though seeing him for the first time. As he rose, he kept staring and it took a few more seconds before he could speak. “It’s okay, Brother Jessie. I just needed some alone time with the Master.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’ve felt the need for some alone time in His presence quite often, especially since Cindy’s passing.”

  “We all miss your wife. But I’m sure it’s nothing compared to how you and Tamara must feel.”

  Jessie’s wife, Cindy, had passed away almost six months ago. A very attractive, plus-size woman with an enormous voice, she’d sung her heart out at one of the church’s anniversary services one Sunday morning. By that night New Hope’s beloved soloist, Cindy Jewel, was gone. At the age of forty-five, she’d died of a heart attack.

  “Well, I need to get back to the fellowship hall,” Jessie whispered. He was still grieving and willed his tears not to fall. He quickly pulled from his pockets a pair of tinted reading glasses that hid his hazel eyes. “The sooner I give some information to the other trustees, for the meeting, the sooner I can grab Tamara and go home.”

  “You go on ahead, Jessie. I’ll be just fine.” The deacon could only hope he sounded convincing. “I’ll see you and baby girl later on this evening.”

  There was no denying Jessie’s grief was still fresh. His voice choked when he said, “Just be sure to show up in time for dinner. I’m cooking. And you know she’ll be real upset if her favorite deacon doesn’t join us at the supper table like he does on most Sunday evenings.”

  The deacon’s heart was about to break as he watched Jessie struggle to act normal. “You two got me spoiled, and that’s why I love living upstairs over you.” He managed a weak smile and he was certain Jessie knew it was for his benefit.

  Jessie was almost out the door when he slowly turned and managed a smile of his own, too. “Don’t know what I would’ve done without you these last few years, Deacon Pillar. You’ve been a God-send.” He didn’t wait for the deacon to answer before he closed the door behind him.

  It’d been almost five minutes since Deacon Pillar had watched Jessie leave and yet he hadn’t moved an inch.

  As hard as he’d prayed—not just that day but for so many years—he never thought he’d see this day come. And although he’d played his guitar in church that morning and led his signature song, “No Ways Tired,” suddenly, he was.

  “Father God.” The deacon stood this time and continued his earlier prayer. He’d begun as though God waited on him to get back to it. “I’m forever grateful that You let me find my son after so many years of searching. And, Heavenly Father, I thank You for Your grace and Your mercy that Jessie can’t hate me because he doesn’t know I’m his daddy. But Lord, I just looked into Jessie’s eyes. Exotic eyes like Delilah’s, but his are beautiful and kind. I’m afraid that the light’s gonna leave them dull and lifeless, if he’s hurt. But he walks just like I used to walk; You know, Lord, with just enough of a swagger to let this world know it’s lucky to have police like him in it.” Suddenly Deacon Pillar managed a smile before he continued, “You know, Lord, that Jessie’s confidence has a lot of humility wrapped around it. Jessie’s not conceited, like his daddy once was.”

  The smile slid from the deacon’s face as he implored, “Now, Father, I have just one more thing I need to ask. What are you gonna do about Delilah? Father God, You said in Your Word, You’re not the author of confusion. That Delilah is about as confused as one gets.” Suddenly the deacon started babbling. “Too much is happening today. Are You trying to reveal something to me? Father, I feel so convicted. I know my hands are not clean. . . .”

  The deacon unclasped his hands and let them fall to his sides. Today was a little too close. He remembered that she now knew where he worshipped.

  “If I remember right, she’s sure not a God-fearing woman. She don’t really attend church. Today must’ve been an accident or coincidence,” the deacon murmured.

  Yet somehow the old man knew better. After all, there were no coincidences with God. He suddenly remembered her saying that there were other churches. “Sweet Jesus,” he said aloud.

  He plopped down upon the sofa again and allowed his heavy head to fall forward, as though all the strength had gone from his neck. Here he was, in his seventies, if he ever told the truth about his age; and for most of his life he’d slid by on God’s mercy and grace even as he pimped and hustled his way along. And now, the way he figured, since he’d turned his life around he must’ve done something wrong to displease God. What the wrong was, he didn’t know.

  What he did know was that Delilah Dupree Jewel and Old Karma had swept down upon him that day. They both were calling upon him and they aimed to collect what he owed. And as sure as his name was Thurgood Pillar, he knew that all his old street chickens were racing back home. That could only mean that his proverbial goose was cooked. He needed to find a way to keep Delilah out of the way before she ruined everything for him and the two people he loved more than his own life.

  “Well, God helps those who help themselves,” the deacon murmured, and rose. He slapped his thigh for reinforcement. Just that quick he’d forgotten that earlier when he ran his big mouth and got ahead of God, it brought him to where he was.

  If the deacon got in God’s way when God got around to finally checkmating Delilah, then there’d be a checkmate waiting for him, too.

  Chapter 5

  It’d been three weeks since Delilah ran into the deacon in New Hope Assembly Church’s parking lot. She’d since attended the parking lot services at two other churches in the Bronx and Harlem, with no sighting of him.

  And yet every morning, noon, and night inside the posh Garden City rental, which she couldn’t afford, she thought
about Thurgood Pillar. She couldn’t forget running into him, nor could she forgive herself for not asking about her son. But then he hadn’t mentioned him, either. Had they both forgotten about Jessie?

  But this particular Saturday morning, she was going to give it her best shot to put aside any thoughts of him, Jessie, or anything negative. Today, her small Social Security check should arrive. The Social Security folks were the only ones who knew her true age was sixty-three.

  “Ain’t too many ways for a woman of a certain age to make money,” she’d decided just before she filed.

  “Enough traveling down memory lane,” Delilah muttered as she waved her hands as though shooing the memories away. Besides, she wanted to refocus on what should be waiting for her. Having money always lifted her spirits. It let her temporarily rebuke poverty, even if a short time later it still left her broke.

  Although it was July and the humidity was almost visible, that Saturday Delilah stepped out her door and went to her mailbox wearing a pale yellow silk Japanese kimono. A little eye candy was her treat for the nosy neighbors. “Please, Jesus,” she whispered, “let there be a check and none of those annoying collection or late notices.”

  Opening the metal lid, a smile stretched across her face and her large gray eyes twinkled as she let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. Nothing she saw looked like a bill, overdue or otherwise. However, there was a blue envelope, which she quickly ignored as she strolled back up the walkway and inside her home. The beige envelope with the government seal made her a bit more sure-footed.

  Delilah ripped off her sunglasses, plopped down on the sofa, and began to eagerly open the envelope. It didn’t matter that it was two days late; it had arrived, so it was time to hit the streets where she’d shop, miles away from Garden City. After all, how many of her neighbors shopped at the Dollar Store?