“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“That would be nice, if it’s not too much trouble,” Hezekiah replied.
Hezekiah felt strangely at ease in the little apartment, even though he had not been in a home that sparse in years. He sat down on the couch and thumbed through a magazine that lay on an old wooden coffee table.
“How do you take your coffee?” came a voice from the kitchen.
“Black is fine.”
In a few moments Danny returned with two large mugs and set them on the coffee table. He flopped down on the sofa at a respectable distance from the pastor.
“Do you live here alone?” Hezekiah asked.
“Yes. I had a roommate but he moved in with his boyfriend about a year ago.” Danny chose this route of subtle disclosure rather than directly declaring that he was gay.
They talked and laughed for thirty minutes when Hezekiah said, “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything. I know you must be tired after such a long day.”
“Not at all. I’m enjoying your company.”
As they spoke, Hezekiah looked at his watch. “I should leave. I really enjoyed this afternoon. It was the most relaxed I’ve felt in years.”
While saying the words, he squeezed Danny’s hand tightly and looked intently into his eyes. They stood and studied each other’s faces for silent moments. The exchange between their clasped hands and locked eyes spoke more than any words they could have spoke. For each, the extended gaze served as confirmation of their shared feelings. Then in a moment of mutual consent, they simultaneously pressed their bodies together and kissed long, deep, and hard. Hezekiah’s soft, full lips enveloped Danny’s mouth. The kiss was slow and passionate. Thoughts were shared with each breath they exchanged. Hezekiah took off his baseball cap and tossed it onto a nearby console without looking. His erection stretched the leg of his jeans as he probed the rear of Danny’s faded army fatigues with one hand and pressed his face closer with the other.
They made love for the first time that afternoon. Hezekiah and Danny both knew that it would not be the last time they would be in each other’s arms. Over the next year they had “coffee” together often.
9
Six Months Earlier
The alliance between Cynthia Pryce and Sandra Kelly had been forged six month earlier. Though their motivations for outing Hezekiah Cleaveland were different, the means served each of their purposes well. Sandra had introduced Cynthia to Phillip Thornton, the Los Angeles Chronicle publisher, after Cynthia told her about the e-mails between Hezekiah and Danny St. John during a dinner party at the Cleaveland estate.
The table in the dining room had been set to perfection. An elaborate floral arrangement in the center of the table was illuminated by the massive crystal chandelier above. Eight place settings held so many utensils, plates, bowls, and goblets that even the most sophisticated diner would have been at a loss determining what their specific uses were.
Four servers wearing black vests, dark pants and skirts, hovered unobtrusively near each guest. They poured wine and anticipated the needs of the guests before the diners had the chance to lift their hands or catch an eye for attention. Plates of ranch quail, grilled over vine cuttings, with red wine sauce, chanterelle mushrooms, potato cakes, and herb salad were placed before each guest.
Hezekiah sat at the head of the table. To his right and left were Hector Ramirez, the mayor of Los Angeles, and his wife, Miranda. Then came Percy and Cynthia Pryce, and next to them Sandra Kelly and Kenneth Davis. Samantha sat facing Hezekiah at the opposite end of the table.
“I’ve lived in Los Angeles my entire life and I’ve never seen as many homeless people living on the streets and in the parks as there are today,” Cynthia said to the mayor. “Can’t the city do more to help them?”
“I was downtown at a meeting yesterday and I was amazed at how aggressive panhandlers have become,” Kenneth chimed in. “Two to three people on every block stopped me to ask for money. I like to think I’m a compassionate man, but that was a bit overwhelming for me.”
“I don’t feel that way at all,” Percy said. “I always carry extra cash so I can give it to people when they ask.”
“I think that does more harm than good, Reverend Pryce,” Sandra said between sips of white wine. “Most homeless people are either addicted to drugs and alcohol or mentally ill. Giving them cash only perpetuates their addiction.”
“Nonsense,” Percy said defensively. “I’d rather give a dollar directly to a homeless person than to some of these so-called ‘nonprofit agencies’ that take forty cents off the top of every dollar they collect.”
“That’s a gross generalization,” Hector said, leaning forward in his seat. “Many of the organizations that the city funds to serve the homeless are doing amazing work and are fiscally responsible.”
Hezekiah finally spoke. “I agree. I know of an outreach worker who works for an agency downtown”—Hezekiah contained his passion and spoke cautiously—“He is a selfless and compassionate guy. He does amazing work with some of the most destitute people in this city.”
Cynthia’s ears perked up. She could not believe Hezekiah had the audacity to talk about his lover in such glowing terms in front of everyone. “He sounds like a wonderful person, Pastor. What’s his name?” she asked slyly.
Hezekiah looked at her with an innocent expression and said, “I can’t remember offhand, but I know he does good work.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying there aren’t any good social service agencies out there,” Percy said before he could swallow his most recent bite of quail. “The point I’m trying to make is if I give the money myself, I know it won’t end up in the pockets of some overpaid administrator.”
“Since I’ve taken office, the city has doubled its budget for social service programs. We’ve built three new shelters and two new community clinics,” Hector replied defensively. “But it’s still not enough. The reality is governments can only do so much to address the social ills that face this city. We need to develop more public and private partnerships with the corporate and faith communities.” Hector looked to Hezekiah. “We need churches like yours to step up to the plate and help us.”
Hezekiah smiled and said, “Don’t you start on me too. New Testament Cathedral has been on the front line in the fight against poverty. We have clothes and food drives. Our members volunteer at shelters, and we make generous contributions to several agencies around the city.”
“That doesn’t sound like the front to me,” Sandra said. “Sounds more like the tail.” The table fell silent. “Homeless people don’t need more hand-me-down clothes or dented cans of tuna. They need affordable housing. They need affordable health care and drug rehabilitation programs.”
“Is that so?” Hezekiah asked. “Then why don’t you tell us how much you give to the homeless? And I don’t mean giving them your doggie bag after you’ve dined at Spago.”
“Hezekiah, you shouldn’t ask her a personal question like that,” Samantha interjected. “Sandra, ignore him. He’s just being provocative.”
“No, I think it’s a fair question,” Sandra said, laying her fork gently on her plate. “First of all, I haven’t eaten at Spago in years, Hezekiah,” Sandra said, leaning back in her chair. “I didn’t know anyone other than tourists still went there. And as for your second question, last year alone my law firm worked over one thousand hours pro bono on discrimination cases involving low-income housing. And, before you ask, I personally have donated a substantial portion of my own income to multiple charities in Los Angeles and New York.”
Hezekiah looked coldly at Sandra and said, “That’s admirable, Sandra, but I don’t think that places you in a morally superior position, nor does it give you the right to criticize what we do at New Testament Cathedral.”
“I hadn’t intended for it to. I simply wanted to answer your question.”
There was an uneasy tension at the table. The easy chatter that had preceded the most re
cent exchange was now replaced with awkward glances and a preoccupation with bread crumbs that had fallen on the table. The servers’ pace slowed a notch as the tone of the party shifted.
There was a brief silence, and then Percy spoke. “Sandra, Hezekiah is right. I don’t think that is a thorough or fair depiction of the significant impact New Testament Cathedral has had on the lives of poor people in this city,” he said diplomatically. “Hezekiah gives something more important than housing. He gives them hope with his message. He feeds their soul.”
Sandra rolled her eyes but did not respond, and Cynthia coughed as if choking on the words her husband just spoke.
“That is very important,” Miranda said, “but with all due respect to Hezekiah, and all other ministers in this city, a sermon doesn’t keep a person warm and dry at night when they are sleeping under a bush in Griffith Park.”
Hector looked at his wife sharply. “Miranda,” he rebuked. “I’m sure Hezekiah is doing his best. As you can see, Miranda is very passionate about this issue.”
“That’s all right, Hector,” Hezekiah said. “Miranda is right. The church should be doing more. Samantha and I have been thinking of ways we can get more involved in the issue.”
Hezekiah looked to Samantha for support, but instead, she placed her napkin on the table and said, “Why don’t we all go into the living room? We can have our coffee and after dinner liqueur, if you’d like, in there.”
The guests filed in pairs from the dining room into the living room. They were greeted by the sound of a Mozart sonata played by a pianist on the baby grand in a corner of the room. A lavish silver coffee setting had been placed on a table behind the sofa, and a server stood near another table, which held a full brandy decanter and matching Baccarat glasses.
Miranda and Samantha sat chatting in chairs that faced the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Pacific Ocean. “I hope I didn’t offend you with my comment earlier,” Miranda said. “I get so upset when people criticize Hector on his homeless policies.”
“I wasn’t offended. I’m glad you said it. Hezekiah needed to hear that,” Samantha replied. “I tried to convince him that we should have built an affordable housing complex instead of the new cathedral, but you know how men are. It’s all about ego and power.”
“The same could be said about Hector. Sometimes I think if he could marry his ego, he would have no use for me at all.”
The two women laughed in unison.
“Behind Hector’s painted-on smiles and expensive suits, there really is a man who cares about people,” Miranda continued. “It hurts him to see so many people living on the streets in this city. I think, if he could, he would build a shelter in every neighborhood, but people won’t let him.”
“I wish I could say the same for Hezekiah,” Samantha said, “but he only has himself to blame for doing so little to help the homeless. It was his idea to build the cathedral, and once his mind is set, there is no changing it.”
Hezekiah and Hector stood near the fireplace, sipping brandy. “I’m sorry about what Miranda said earlier,” Hector said. “Sometimes she says things without thinking first.”
“Not a problem, Hector. Samantha is the same way. I’ve had to apologize for inappropriate things she’s said in public more times than I’d care to remember.”
“The real problem this city faces in addressing homelessness is its lack of coordination of services,” Hector continued. “There are five different departments that fund and monitor programs for the homeless and none of them know what the other is doing.”
“You should hire Samantha,” Hezekiah said with a smile. “She knows what every department in the church is doing and where every dime is spent.”
Kenneth and Percy accepted cups of coffee from the server. “Sandra was completely out of line,” Percy said quietly. “She took shots at Hezekiah every chance she got.”
“I think the rumors are true about her,” Kenneth said while stirring his coffee and clinking the inside of the cup with a silver spoon. “Did you notice the way she looks at Samantha?”
Cynthia and Sandra were huddled in a remote corner of the living room, having their own discussion.
“It’s so sad how he cheats on her. I don’t know why she puts up with it,” Cynthia observed.
“I guess she loves him enough to ignore the other women,” Sandra said in defense of her friend.
“All the other women he’s had affairs with are bad enough, but…” Cynthia stopped midsentence.
“But what?” Sandra inquired.
Cynthia looked over her shoulder to ensure the other guests at the party were preoccupied and said, “Let’s just say, I know for a fact that Hezekiah has recently expanded his horizons.”
Sandra led Cynthia into the foyer. “You know something, don’t you?” she inquired forcefully. “Spill it, girl. What’s he done now?”
“I don’t like to gossip, but I hate to see a wonderful woman like Samantha get hurt,” Cynthia replied sheepishly. “I found out, purely by accident, mind you, that Hezekiah is having an affair….” She paused, and then whispered quietly, “With a man this time.”
Sandra quickly covered her mouth to prevent a gasp from reverberating through the room. “Cynthia, you must be mistaken. Hezekiah is a lot of things but I don’t think he’s gay.”
“I know, girl. I was just as shocked as you are.”
On the last word Samantha walked up behind them. “There you two are. Why aren’t you circulating? I’ll be glad when this is over. I want to get this over with as soon as possible. What are you two talking about?”
Sandra was still in shock and could not respond, so Cynthia quickly interjected, “Sandra was telling me about the new case she’s working on.”
10
Tuesday
Cynthia Pryce greeted guests in the banquet hall of the Bonaventure Hotel. Her vanilla linen pantsuit followed perfectly each elegant gesture of her body.
It was the fifth annual Los Angeles Women in Business Awards Luncheon at the Bonaventure Hotel and Cynthia was the honorary chair. Due to time constraints Samantha Cleaveland had not been able to accept the honor, so the organizing committee viewed Cynthia as a suitable alternative.
Cynthia shook manicured hands and air kissed taut rosy cheeks as the powerful, the beautiful, and the well-heeled filed past her. The room was a sea of pinks and pastels, accented by sparkling china settings and crystal goblets. A string quartet played chamber music for those entering the room. Waiters mingled among the dense crowd as they balanced silver trays of shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, and cheeses skewered with colorful toothpicks. Large vases arranged with exotic bouquets dotted each table.
Sandra Kelly was the next in line to greet Cynthia.
“Cynthia,” Sandra said, approaching with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
Sandra leaned in, kissed Cynthia on the cheek, and whispered, “These old divas look like they belong on a poster in a plastic surgeon’s office.”
“Sandra, you made it,” said Cynthia. “I called your office but they said you’d be in Sacramento until this evening. How’s your new case going? I hear the surrogate mother wants to claim her parental rights now.”
“It’s turning into a nightmare,” said Sandra. “Never mind that. What’s happening with the story?”
Cynthia took Sandra by the arm and led her to an unoccupied section of the ballroom in the Bonaventure. “Lance had to delay the story. He said he needed a quote from Hezekiah before the editor would approve it for publication.”
“Has he got it yet?” Sandra asked.
“I don’t know. He had a meeting with Hezekiah on Monday, but I haven’t heard anything.”
“I hope he didn’t tell Hezekiah we’re the source,” Sandra said. “Our hands have to stay clean in order for this to work.”
“He won’t. Our agreement was that we anonymously provide him with the proof of the affair, and he keeps our names out of it.” There was a long pause;
then Cynthia said, “I hope Hezekiah’s ego doesn’t stop him from stepping down.”
“Trust me, Cynthia, he’ll resign,” Sandra said, placing her now empty champagne glass on a vacant surface nearby. “Hezekiah’s ego may be out of control, but he’s not an idiot. Besides, if he doesn’t, there is no way the board of trustees will accept a gay man as pastor, even if that man is the great Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
Cynthia waved at an anonymous face across the room and then continued, “Does Samantha know anything about this?”
“She knows Hezekiah is having an affair, but she didn’t tell me it’s with a man.”
“Not that. I mean, does she know anything about the article Lance is writing?”
“I don’t think so. If she did, she would have told me.” Sandra waved off the question and continued. “I’ve set up a meeting tomorrow night at my home with Phillip Thornton. He wants to talk to you face-to-face.”
“Why?” Cynthia asked nervously.
“He doesn’t want to face Hezekiah’s wrath if we get cold feet on this. He needs assurances that we’ll stand behind the story in case Hezekiah pursues legal action against the Los Angeles Chronicle.”
“Okay,” Cynthia agreed hesitantly. “I’ll be there, but I don’t trust Phillip. He and Hezekiah go way back.”
“I don’t either, but it’s a risk we have to take.”
The two women embraced and walked arm in arm to the front of the ballroom.
It was three o’clock and Cynthia still had not heard from Lance. The luncheon at the Bonaventure Hotel had ended and throngs of admiring women had heaped praise upon her for hosting the successful event.
“Where is he? Why hasn’t he called yet?” Cynthia said as she and Sandra Kelly drove out of the circular driveway of the hotel. “Hezekiah must have scared him off the story,” Cynthia said. “We’re screwed if he drops the ball on this.”
Come Sunday Morning Page 8
