by Love Belvin
“He said he’d wanted a weekday as to not attract attention from people he isn’t connected to. He had it at this church rather than Zoey’s because it’s able to accommodate more people. Plus, Ezra Carmichael, the one who baptized him, has mentored him spiritually and it was only right to do it at Ezra’s church anyways. Their churches are connected being a part of the same organization, so it was no hard feelings.”
“Still less people than expected. I’m sure he could have filled this building had it been open to the public.”
The place was massive and opulence, boasting elegant décor in its contemporary structure, yet keeping with many of your traditional furnishings of a Pentecostal church. Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ church, considered a mega church, was the largest in Harlem and one of the largest in the Northeast region of the country. I’d been here once or twice, during one of my lowest and darkest periods when I’d battled especial withdrawing episodes, since arriving in the city.
Now, it was time to leave. I’d spent more time in the tabernacle than I deserved. I’d made a deal with God years ago: If he relieved me of pain I’d struggled with for years, I would bring no harm to anyone else, neither would I return to him for another thing. This meant no more trips to the house of worship. I’ve pretty much kept up my end of the bargain. I didn’t need Him reneging because of my insatiable desire for Jackson’s time.
“I’m just glad it wasn’t on Sunday, or else I wouldn’t have been able to come. Happy I was able to support my dude today. This was huge. Thanks for hanging out with me.” I could detect weighty pride in Jackson’s statement.
But I was also reminded of his secretive Sunday ritual. It had been killing me to know what he did on Sunday mornings. He still hadn’t trusted me with it, and naturally, that kept my guard up against him.
“Well, I did it in the name of Dynamic Branding,” I lied. “We have to support our clients in whatever manner we can, right?”
I was getting good at reminding Jackson that this was either business or sex, there was no in between. My stamina in convincing him of it came from me trying to convince myself, without success.
He stopped to face me, issuing that intense regard I was coming to respond to now via arousal. “Yeah, you’re right,” Jackson agreed, without conviction in his tone.
My eyes danced around to avoid his searing ones. I regarded the distinguished people swarming around us, enjoying the food and social atmosphere created today. I couldn’t ignore the absence of customary pretentious church conduct today. There was an inviting spirit floating in the air.
When Jackson was tired of the stare down game, he did a reverse nod. “Let’s get out of here. I have a conference call in an hour.”
I nodded with a smile and began toward the door. As I neared, I saw Ezra moving into my line of sight. His expression was starkly impassive. It wasn’t until he was center of my pathway and I stopped with Jackson now next to me, that a smile formed on his face.
I couldn’t accurately gauge his age, but he could be no more than mid to late 30s; my age. His skin was a warm toffee, similar to Jackson’s. He sported a clean cut, even and close to his scalp. His suit, though an odd shade of brown was cut with precision, custom for his frame that appeared fit. Ezra was fashion-conscious, I could quickly surmise. His eyes aligned with Jackson’s, so they must’ve been the same height, though Ezra appeared slightly thicker than Jackson, yet no less athletic.
“Jackson, good to see you today,” Ezra greeted on an extended palm with a smile that knocked me off my wits.
I could tell he didn’t offer it often. Hell, he hadn’t shown it to anyone else but Stenton Rogers all afternoon.
“Reverend Carmichael,” Jackson offered respectably. “Wonderful handling of my man’s big step.”
“Ahhh,” Ezra waved off Jackson’s formality. “I’m just Ezra, man. No subtitles necessary. I’m glad you were able to attend. Stenton could use the support. It was good meeting you at the gathering a few months ago. You’re a strategic thinker, strong component. I can’t forget your rivalry.”
“Man, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Jackson hooted, unusually. “You kicked my…hind, man!” he cautioned his familiarity. “You make me want to study the game of chess and sharpen my game.”
“If you choose to, in due time you’ll be ready to challenge any strong opponent,” Ezra assured. “This is…”
Jackson’s eyes roved over to me. “Oh, uuh…” Jackson stalled a moment. “Elle, this is—as you know—Ezra Carmichael, StentRo’s mentor and friend. We met a few months ago at Stenton’s game party where Ezra here kicked everybody’s butt in the place. This is Elle Jarreau, my esteemed colleague at the firm.”
I proffered my hand. “I’m actually his subordinate,” I jeered while shaking Ezra’s hand. “He’s just being modest. Pleasure to meet you, Brother Carmichael. Impressive digs here…welcoming atmosphere you’ve created.”
“Are you two leaving?”
Ezra regarded me with that question, though it was directed at Jackson.
And that was the thing…
His regard of me was far more intense than Jackson’s usual, but different. There was nothing salacious there, however, I could sense the scrutiny. I just didn’t know with what measure. It was as though he saw either something deep within me or past me. Immediately, I could sense women helplessly falling over themselves under his penetrating inspection, but perhaps with the wrong motive in mind. I was instantly caught up in a trance, aware of some sort of transmission exchanging between us.
“Yeah, man,” Jackson answered. “I’m conferencing with associates in Houston this afternoon.”
“Okay,” Ezra was able to follow Jackson and still channel something within me. “If I can just share something with Elle, I won’t hold you up much longer.”
“Su-sure,” Jackson agreed with a degree of oblivion, but didn’t leave my side.
After paying a few seconds of agonizing silence and with his eyes strained, deepening his scrutiny, and a tilted head, he calmly informed, “Psalm 32 states ‘Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man whom the Lord does not impute iniquity, and whose spirit there is no deceit.’” Then he inched closer, regard no less intense. “When I kept silent, my bones grew old through my groaning all the day long. For day and night Your hand was heavy upon me. My vitality was turned into drought of summer. I acknowledged my sin to You, and my iniquity I have not hidden.” He then smiled refreshingly as I held my breath, unable to move. “Elle, you’ve confessed your transgressions to the Lord. He has forgiven the iniquity of your sin. Now it’s time for you to forgive yourself. Your pain…those demons that haunt you”—he moved in closer, to the point he was able to whisper into my right ear—“those nightmares”—then he retracted, allowing me an inch of my personal space—“they are self-imposed…always have been. You just need inspiration to rid yourself of them.” He then regarded Jackson who sported a puzzled expression, and although I could understand why, I myself, wasn’t the least bit confused—baffled, yes, but the undertone of his words rang true in my soul. Ezra continued, “But they’re not a prison you’ve been exiled to for your comeuppance.”
I sucked in a heavy breath, every large muscle of my frame tightened.
“Great choice in a helpmate, Jackson.” Ezra smiled coolly again while giving Jackson dap. “Hope to spar on the board with you again.”
And before I knew it, he’d disappeared in the small crowd of attendees, leaving me dumbfounded.
“Helpmate?” Jackson mocked, clueless to the reference. “You okay? That was weird.”
With a gaping mouth, I nodded. “Ye-yeah. Let’s go.”
I studied the stained wallpaper fastened to the four walls of the dining room as I waited. I detected an aged stench the moment I stepped into Anthony’s mother’s home in Fresh Meadow, Queens. It was clear this was Anthony’s childhood home. His mother, a short and extremely robust woman using a cane to aid
e her weight was eager to receive us when she ushered Anthony and me in and had taken our coats right away. Anthony escorted me to the small dining room where we began dinner without preamble. She served roasted chicken, lumpy mashed potatoes and bland Brussels sprouts. As we engaged in superficial chatter, I sampled what I could stomach and forked over in my plate what I couldn’t. I wasn’t malcontent, just accustomed to a certain man’s home-cooked meals, and this paled greatly in comparison.
When we were done, Martha, Anthony’s mother, summonsed him into the kitchen to help her clear the dinner dishes and bring out dessert. My stomach toiled at the prospect, but I remained pleasant because this was good for me. Giving this thing with Anthony a chance was a step in the right direction, an investment in my otherwise bleak future.
It was Saturday, three days after Stenton’s baptism and two since I’d last laid eyes on Jackson. And I irrefutably missed him like hell. Each time he traveled for work, my longing for him intensified, especially because he’d become a repellent for my nightmares and a delicious cook. We’d spent that Wednesday night together without sex, thanks to Mother Nature. Jackson was aware of my condition and still stayed over, giving me the best scalp massage known to man to relieve my impossible migraine—thanks to Ezra’s heeding—as we discussed Dynamic Branding, which was equivalent to a lullaby for me. He snuggled me into his chest that night and cooked the most delectable vegetable egg frittata muffins for me the following morning before leaving for his flight.
Jackson had subtly infiltrated my efficiency, now having an expensive collection of pots and pans along with herbs, I’d never heard of, stowed there. Each time he’d come with arms full of bags, I was so excited at the prospect of his company, I didn’t realize his growing collection until his absence when I’d awakened just after three this morning from a drenching nightmare that involved him this time. I paced my apartment for traces of his calming presence; a scent, article of clothing, leftover food—something. At one point, I’d considered heading over to his place at Trump, but remembered Bella and decided against it. I knew I could gain access because of Jackson arranging it with his concierge some time ago, but Bella was Queen B there and I hadn’t warmed to her yet to expect her hospitality, so I suffered through the aftershock of my nightmare at home.
Needless to say, I’d been counting down the hours before he’d land on New York soil tomorrow night while constructing a plan to stay with him or have him stay with me after his Sunday rituals. I hadn’t quite nailed one, but knew I would before closing my eyes tonight.
My phone chirped in my clutch resting on my lap. I pulled it out and my heart jolted at Jackson’s name.
Jackson: Waddup?
I typed back immediately, seeing no reason to delay my response.
Me: Nothing. At Anthony’s mom’s.
I’d just located cobwebs inside the china cabinet when Anthony pushed through the swing door connecting to the kitchen, protruding belly leading him into the room. For some reason that snapped me back into the here and now and alerting me of doing it again. I was musing about Jackson and not in the moment with Anthony.
“Look at what we have here,” he announced, smiling behind his glasses. Glasses I oddly found attractive.
Anthony was neatly groomed, never appearing sloppy or in disarray in spite of the belly. Everything else seemed considerably put together. Mildly styled and always erring on the side of caution with his fashion, I could work with him.
He held a platter topped with a cake covered in chocolate frosting. His mother was wobbling through with her cane on his heels, smiling proudly.
“She made my favorite!” he exclaimed. “Yellow cake with chocolate frosting!”
“Yay!” I clapped, exuding contrived excitement.
“I could make your favorite, too, if you tell me what it is,” Martha declared, out of breath as she grunted her way into her seat.
“Hmmm…” I considered her offering. “I’m not sure what my favorite is anymore…somewhere between white chocolate raspberry cheesecake and crème brûlée.”
I still wasn’t over Jackson’s cheesecake that he’d made an encore of last month to my delight, and I’d recently tried crème brûlée from a restaurant he and I entertained Swizz Beats at in Tribeca last week called DiFillippo’s. Jackson shared that night it was another one of Azmir Jacobs’ enterprises, new to the New York City market, making a killing in its first month.
“That sounds fancy, girl. I can tell you fancy and all, but I can’t be doing all that.” Martha laughed her ass off. “I can do a good pineapple pudding, ain’t that right, Tony?”
My phone chirped again.
Jackson: I’m back in town.
What? When? Where?
Jackson: You good?
I couldn’t ignore the lightness in my chest at that announcement, but wouldn’t respond to his furtive way of prying on my date…not yet anyway. I didn’t keep much from Jackson other than my mounting feelings for him.
“Yeah,” Anthony cosigned while taking a huge slice of cake and plopping it onto a saucer.
When he handed it to me, my eyes damn near popped out of my head. I couldn’t eat all of that! He cut the same size for his mother and an even bigger portion for himself leaving half a cake on the platter. He tore into it immediately. I swallowed hard, fighting nausea. When I caught Martha regarding me, I smiled and turned to my cake, scooping off about an inch of it. Thankfully, it tasted good, no different from any other boxed cake recipe.
My eyes returned to Martha in an attempt to be polite as I chewed.
“Ahhhh,” she sighed, her chubby face curved with contentment. “I’m so glad my Anthony found someone as understanding as you. For a while it seem like he was having a time moving on from the charges,” Martha observed and then went to stuff an insane amount of cake into her mouth before continuing. “It’s crazy how many people walking around here like they blemish-free. That other boy misunderstood Anthony’s interests, too.”
There was a jolting clink from Anthony’s spoon falling into his plate.
“Momma…” he warned with a mouthful like his mother. “Can we not go there!” He demanded, not asked.
“What?” Martha’s eyes stretched with virtue. “We can’t start this relationship off with not being able to talk about it. That boy was dress just like a little girl with makeup, a miniskirt and a stuffed bra. Even I thought he was a girl when you showed me his pictures from that Bookface…computer thing—”
“Momma!” Anthony’s trill was uncharacteristically high.
I swallowed hard on a dry mouth.
“These kids are so confused nowadays. What is a sixteen-year-old boy doing in Bushwick Brooklyn doing nasty things with men?” She regarded me. “I’m just glad after he pleaded out and all, he was able to get a job as an assistant to my friend Lawrence at his law firm. At least you’re still in law, baby.” Her meaty hand shakily went to grab Anthony’s.
“Momma, please!” Anthony palmed the table.
“God is good, baby. Now, you got a woman in your corner that understands your problems.” She held me with desperate eyes. “After three arrests for the same thing, losing his law license and job, it was really looking bad for him.”
As Anthony leaped from the table, seething his fury, he began to light into his mother something mean. My phone went off again. It was a reminder of the last incoming text that wasn’t addressed.
Trembling, I went for it under the table.
Me: Can you send a car for me right away to this address?
It took me a few tries to recall and type in Anthony’s mother’s address from my cab ride over tonight.
The two went back and forth about her spilling the beans. The volume only intensified, even Martha’s anger surfaced after a while. From their heated exchange, or rather Anthony’s violent scolding, I could surmise he told his mother he’d informed me of his multiple sexual conduct arrests that all included cross-dressed men, also solicitation. I couldn’t believe my ears. Co
uldn’t fathom my involvement in this discussion.
“I told you I had this under control and not to mention it in front of her tonight because she’s not ready to discuss it, didn’t I?” he screamed.
“But Anthony, I don’t see why we can’t discuss it out in the open like a family. We’re moving on from it.” Martha pointed to me. “She’s proof of that, baby! You made a mistake with those boys.” Tears were dripping from her chunky chin.
“No! NO!” he belted. “You got it all wrong just like they did! It didn’t happen like that…”
I sensed a psychotic breakdown brewing as food began to sling from his foaming mouth. With my heart pounding, I slowly pushed away from the table. The occurrence of the Hunter dinner table shenanigans paled in comparison to this. Anthony’s smacking of the tabletop as he screamed at his mother grew disturbing to me.
“Hold up one goddamned minute! This here ain’t my fault!” Martha continued to defend herself.
Once I realized they were paying no attention, too caught up in their fighting to detect my physical withdrawal, I inched away from the table and backed out of the room. When I was able to sense their levels were unaffected by my absence I trekked to the hall closet to retrieve my coat.
I was three blocks away when he called.
“Where the hell are you?” his tone matched Anthony’s back at the house.
“Three blocks down the street from the house. Did you call?” I was out of breath from my jog to I didn’t know where.
“Stop where you are!” he demanded. “Mario,”—he spoke to someone near him—“back up…three blocks.”
On a residential block at seven in the evening, I heard a roaring engine speeding in my direction. When I turned toward the frightening sound, I saw red brake lights then heard screeching tires. Jackson jumped out of the back seat, eyes wildly inspective. But he didn’t speak, just observed me from head to toe.
My heart beat out of my chest as I registered his miraculous presence.
Angel…
After a moment’s time, Jackson moved over to the other side of the car and opened the door for me. Without skipping a beat, I trudged over to him, not needing further communication. Though I questioned his quick arrival, I didn’t utter a word of curiosity.
