by Julie Smith
Daniel was nearly bowled over. His father had never even come close to suggesting such a thing. Maybe Rosemarie Owens was good for him. But he caught himself—good for his dad’s mood, bad for the movement.
“Okay, here’s your assignment. Find your daughter, Lovelace. Devote twenty-four hours a day to that little job, and if I tell you to do anything else, tell me to go to hell. Now, we had to do those other jobs—they were priority one. But if anything else important comes up, we’re gon’ just let it go for a while. It’s time to regroup, and that’s exactly what we’re gon’ do.
“Okay, got your assignment?”
Daniel nodded, happy to be doing something he knew he could do and had no ambivalence about.
“Now before you go, let me ask you a question. Who’s the best-looking young Christian African American we got in our flock?”
“Why, Daddy?”
“Just answer the question, goddammit.”
“Well, I guess that’d be Dashan Johnson. Jericho, now. He changed his name to Dashan Jericho.”
“Excellent choice. Excellent. Dashan’s a nice tall boy, isn’t he?”
“Yessir.”
“Good. Women like ’em tall. Get Dashan on over here. And one other thing—soon’s you get a chance, drive out to the country someplace and go to a hardware store. We’re gonna need some dynamite and blasting caps.”
Daniel knew better than to ask why. He just made time and did it.
Seventeen
LOVELACE WAS FALLING in love with Brenna Royce—not in a sexual way, of course—but she had taken her on as an idol. Brenna was beautiful, she was creative, she was a great mother, she had fabulous taste, she was wonderful to Lovelace … in fact, that could be her number-one good quality.
She couldn’t say enough good things about Lovelace’s cooking, and that was damn good for the ego, but it wasn’t only that—she seemed to really like Lovelace. She was always making tea for the two of them and getting Lovelace to sit down and talk to her. Naturally, this had a down side, as Lovelace couldn’t tell anyone except Isaac a single true thing about herself.
So she was evasive to untruthful. She said she lived alone, she’d had a couple of years of college at “a small midwestern school,” she’d come to New Orleans to pursue a relationship that hadn’t worked out, she was from Virginia, her mother was a schoolteacher, and her dad was dead.
In turn, she learned Brenna and Charles were both from Atlanta, had known each other practically forever and were more or less expected to marry each other. However, they hadn’t. They’d each married someone else, and in each case it hadn’t worked out.
And so they had remet and remarried.
Lovelace was charmed. “How romantic.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
Lovelace hardly knew how to answer. She could have said nothing, but it wasn’t in her nature to leave it alone. The question of what these two were doing together had occurred to her more than once. She’d thought all along that Brenna was a much more interesting, much better-looking person than Charles. She said, “You didn’t marry for love?”
Brenna looked mischievous. “Both our families have a lot of money.”
Lovelace was still trying to grasp it. “But if you had money, and he had money, why did you need to get married? If you weren’t in love, I mean.”
She spread her open palms. “Our families wanted grandchildren, and we wanted to make them happy. That was one reason, anyhow.”
Thinking she was getting the hang of it, Lovelace touched Brenna’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish there were something I could do.”
“Do I look unhappy?”
“No, but you deserve something special. You’re such a fantastic person, you deserve to be adored.”
“Do you really think so?”
“You’re so fabulous. You’ve got your life under control like nobody I’ve ever seen. You’re so creative and so beautiful….”
Brenna leaned over to brush something off Lovelace’s shoulder, or so Lovelace imagined, and wondered what it could be.
And then Brenna was kissing her. She absolutely hadn’t seen it coming. If someone had shown her a video of it taken in the future, she still wouldn’t have believed it.
Lovelace couldn’t help noticing that Brenna was soft and smelled good, felt kind of the way a mother should feel, only Lovelace wouldn’t know because Jacqueline hadn’t really been around that much.
But she knew perfectly well there was nothing maternal about what was happening. She pried herself away, freed herself of Brenna’s lips anyway, but not Brenna’s hands.
Brenna’s hair brushed Lovelace’s neck and she felt Brenna’s breath close to her ear. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Just let it happen. Your job is fine. Charles won’t know, and he’s impotent, anyway. He’d just be happy you were making me happy. Come on, let’s go upstairs. Come on, baby.”
“No!” Lovelace sounded like a baby, even to herself.
Brenna broke away and looked at her, must have seen the fear and confusion in her face.
She turned hot-pink, obviously deeply embarrassed. But the embarrassment passed with the flush, giving way to a fine fury. “No? What do you mean no? You’re the little seducer. Not me. Don’t try to make this my doing.”
“I… what?”
“That hair, for openers. As soon as you had the job, you went back to looking like your normal self. You might as well have broadcast, ‘Baby dyke, looking to get laid. Hey, any takers? Here I am.’ Charles and I laughed about it.”
Lovelace was so astounded she didn’t say a word. Later it occurred to her that her mouth may actually have been hanging open.
“And I’m so beautiful and I’m so fabulous. And you were in a ‘relationship’ with ‘a friend.’ No gender. Just a friend, to whom you always referred as ‘the other person.’ I’ve been around a long time, baby, and I know a dyke when I see one.”
Lovelace didn’t answer. Couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She looked around wildly for her purse, grabbed it, and made a quick, graceless exit.
She was lying on the sofa, hands crossed over her heart, staring at the ceiling when Isaac came in.
Seeing her, he started shaking his head, grasping instantly that something was badly wrong. He drew a question mark in the air.
She sat up. “You get right to the point.”
He nodded and gave her the reverse wave that means “come on.”
“Oh, Isaac, I’m such a fuckup. I loved this job.”
He kept waving backward ever more frantically.
“Brenna Royce made a pass at me.”
He wrinkled his face inquisitively, obviously meaning, What the hell are you talking about?
Lovelace thought he’d learned to communicate amazingly well without speaking. “She said I was the one seducing her, but I had no idea, I swear. I told her she’s beautiful and fabulous because she is, but I had no idea she’s a lesbian! She said she thought I am because I cut my hair.”
He sat down and gave the backward wave again, making Lovelace tell the story exactly as it had happened, retelling everything Brenna said and everything Lovelace said.
When she had finished, he came to her and hugged her and said, “It’s okay, honey. You couldn’t have known it was going to happen. She was trying to convince herself, that’s all. She got it into her head you were available, and then she interpreted data any way she wanted to. She told you it was your fault because she feels bad—she’s embarrassed. But it wasn’t your fault. She’ll cool down and realize that. Do you want to go back? I’ll bet you can.”
Lovelace hugged back and let him rub her back, in shock, but not wanting to mention it for fear he’d notice he was talking and stop. He was talking and he was hugging—the same Isaac who’d so recently recoiled from her.
When he was finished, she stepped back, looked him in the eye, and rather idiotically told him what he’d done. “Isaac, you hugged me! You spoke to me. I don’t believe what just h
appened. You must really care about me.”
She wasn’t really sure that was the case. But because she needed the human connection, she pulled him close and hugged him again. She could feel the fastidious contraction of his body; the moment was over.
* * *
That second time, The Monk would have given anything to wiggle away. Hugging was bad enough, but it was a lot worse when someone else initiated it. He could feel their need. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s need.
And that was without even considering the danger of germ transfer. This was the point of his vows—to keep the human race at bay.
No sooner did the thought appear than he smashed it down. Where the hell had that come from? The point of his vows was spiritual expansion.
This whole exchange was making him edgy. How dare Lovelace tell him how he felt?
Still, he was furious on her account. Better to focus on that so the anger wouldn’t get misdirected. It wasn’t her fault he hated human contact.
He said, “Don’t be silly. You know I care about you. But don’t make too big a thing of my speaking. I’ve rethought the vow, as it happens. I’ve decided to speak when I’m not confused—and I most certainly was not confused about this one.
“Look, in some ways, it’s just one of those things. The woman never married for love in the first place, her husband’s impotent, she just moved here, and you’re the cutest thing in the world. Fine, but not your problem. If she’s a lesbian, why doesn’t she go to a lesbian bar? Or at least find someone her own age. It’s just tacky, as these Southerners say, to jump the twenty-year-old cook. And if she’s not a lesbian, but simply an opportunist, she’s a shithead.”
Lovelace laughed. “A shithead?”
“Look, you didn’t do anything. The woman is a shithead, it’s that simple. I forbid you to go back to that place.”
Lovelace was still laughing.
“Uncle Isaac! You’re so cute when you’re really worked up.” She blushed as soon as she said it. “Omigod, I hope you don’t think… I only meant you’re funny, I didn’t mean anything else.”
“Now she’s got you feeling bad about yourself. Goddammit.”
“You’re so human. I had no idea you’d be like this.”
He didn’t like her saying that. Whose business was it whether he was human or not?
He found a pad and wrote. “I am not human. Quit being such a bitch.”
She laughed. “I guess you’ve always been funny. I just didn’t notice because—I guess because it’s different when you have a verbal exchange with someone.”
And not in a good way, he thought. He wrote, “You’re not going back there, are you?”
“How can I? My uncle forbade me.” The laughter left her face. “No, I’m not. I wish I could rise above it, but it was just too embarrassing. I think it would be horrible for Brenna, too.”
He wrote, “The hell with Brenna. But seriously. Back to Plan A.”
“I don’t think I recall a Plan A.”
“I was going to get you a reference from my friend who used to run a juice bar. You could still get a restaurant job.”
“I guess so.”
But she looked downcast. He wasn’t sure whether she no longer wanted a job or just didn’t think she could get one.
“I’m going to call Anthony for you.”
Her smile came back. “You’d call him? You’d really talk to him for me?”
For some reason that seemed important to her.
Eighteen
DORISE LOVED TWO things about church. The most important one was the way it made her feel; as if every day were a clean slate, as if you really could start over every morning and all really was forgiven. In her heart of hearts, as she was lying in bed, tears running down her face, thinking of Delavon and how she didn’t bother to find out enough about him to know he was dealing, thinking of Troy and that poor little dead dog, thinking of Shavonne and her nightmares, in the dead of night she didn’t believe it. The next day after one of those nights, she still didn’t believe it. But when Sunday morning came and that good feeling came over her, she believed it.
The second thing she liked was the music. She wished she had a good enough voice to sing in the choir. The choir in this church was a particularly fine one, and she wasn’t good enough. But she enjoyed the hymns and put her whole heart and soul into singing with the congregation. This morning they were doing one of her favorites:
What a friend we have in Jesus, oh what needless pain we bear. All because we do not carry Everything to God in prayer.
It’s so true, she thought, and from now on I’m living by it. I’m not doing one thing, I’m not shooting my mouth off, I’m not so much as looking at a man until I’ve prayed about it.
She was feeling pure and clean and very pretty in a nice blue suit with black high heels as she went to get her chicken and rice dish, to warm it up for the buffet after the service. Shavonne was real pretty too, wearing her Easter dress again, a pretty pink one it took Dorise nearly an hour to iron. But she was sulky. “Mama, do we have to stay? I need to get home.”
“What you need to get home for?”
“I got homework.”
“Oh, yeaaah. Oh, yeaaah, you need to get home and do your homework. Now I ain’t never heard that one before.”
The girl stomped her foot. “I do.”
“Don’t you go stompin’ your foot at me, and don’t you go tellin’ me somethin’ be true that ain’t. You know how long it take to do your homework, and you can just do it tonight instead of watching television.”
Another little girl ran up, didn’t even stop, just spoke on the fly. “Hey, Shavonne, come on. I got somethin’ to show you.”
And Shavonne went off, her impatience forgotten. Dorise thought, I wish I was like that. Why can’t I be like that? Lot to be said for bein’ under twelve.
She talked to her mother and her sister, and several women she knew, and then it was time for the buffet and the preacher said the blessing, which usually took him about twenty minutes to do.
When he had thanked the Lord for this beautiful spring day and the congregation’s loving church fellowship, and everyone’s husband and everyone’s wife and everyone’s children, and their collective health and the beautiful flowers that some of the ladies had brought, and the lovely music provided by the choir, and when he showed no sign at all of getting to the food, Dorise lifted her head and opened her eyes, just for a minute.
She thought she saw someone she’d never seen before, also peeking, and she was so embarrassed she dropped her head quickly and peeked a little more discreetly. It was a man, a handsome man in a tan suit, with a pair of the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen, and his eyes were wide open. Looking at her.
No, it couldn’t be. She closed her eyes again, and tried to concentrate on all the things the preacher was trying to remind her she ought to be thankful for. When the blessing was over, she refused to look at the place she’d thought she’d seen the man, and got herself a plate and went to get some food.
Somebody had brought greens and somebody else had brought squash, and there was ham and fried chicken, and gumbo if you wanted that, and some sweet potatoes, and lots and lots of different pies and cakes. But Dorise wasn’t interested in sweets today. She thought she’d lose a little weight, and so she was thinking about vegetables. There were some nice-looking crowder peas, she saw, and she was about to head for them when she heard a man’s voice, almost in her ear: “Is he always that long-winded?”
She almost dropped her plate. It was the stranger, and he was smiling at her. He was tall and very light-skinned, lighter even than Troy, and he looked like he could probably build a house by himself if he wanted to, or maybe lead the children of Israel into the promised land. He was the last kind of man she wanted to be anywhere around right now, but she was in church—in the church building, anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to pretend she hadn’t heard.
She smiled and looked him in the e
ye. “Yeah. I’m ’fraid he is.”
“Well, he does preach a nice sermon. I’m kind of lookin’ around for a church; my aunt used to go here so I thought I’d try it.”
“Are you new in town?”
“Umm-hmm. Just moved here from Monroe.” He took a bite and said, “Oh, my heavens, you’ve got to try this. This has got to be the best thing I ever put in my mouth.”
“Well, I made that, to tell you the truth. It’s just this little thing I do with, uh, mushroom soup and stuff.”
“My Lord, it’s good.”
He stuffed some more in his mouth, and Dorise finally got a chance to reach for the crowder peas. But when she had them on her plate, he was still there. “I’m Dashan Jericho, by the way.”
“Dorise Bourgeois. We’re mighty glad to have you here.” She didn’t ask him any questions about himself, made no attempt to keep the conversation going.
He said, “Have you been going here a long time?”
“Oh, about a year. Something like that.”
“And you like it.”
“Mmm-hmm. I especially like the choir.” Very neutral. Maybe he’d move on soon.
“Well, like I said, I just moved from Monroe. I was with a law firm there, but when I got divorced, I got a good offer to come work for a firm down here, and it seemed like a good time to move.”
“I sure hope you’re going to be happy here.”
“So far everybody’s been real friendly. That’s your little girl over there, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve met your husband, though.”
“Well, here’s my mama. Mama, you met Dashan Jericho? He just moved here from Monroe.”
“Why Mr. Jericho, you and your family are very welcome here.”
“I’m afraid it’s only me right now. I’ve got one little girl, about your granddaughter’s age, but she’s with her mother up in Monroe.”
Dorise was so unnerved she went and cut herself a slice of coconut cake. She could slip away easily now—wander off in another direction—but leaving Dashan Jericho with her mother was like leaving a helpless rabbit with a great big friendly-looking hound. He wasn’t going to know what hit him pretty soon, and neither was Dorise. He’d know everything about Dorise, down to how Delavon had died, and how well she could make a pecan pie, if she left the two of them alone for long. So she went back to rescue him.
