I didn’t realize how sleepy I’ve gotten.
The buzzer to her private elevator rang.
“Spice. It’s me, Travis. There’s a man here who says he knows you and wants to know if he can come up.”
Fighting the grogginess in her voice, she said, “Who is it?” She heard Travis asking the man his name.
“Westbrook, something.”
The preacher? “Put him on the speaker, Travis. I’d like to talk to him.”
“Ms. Witherspoon . . .”
“Yes,” she breathed into the intercom.
“It’s Golden Westbrook. Are you busy? I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes if it’s not too inconvenient.”
“Come on up.” Knowing that she had two full minutes before he’d be at her front door, she dashed into her private bathroom, brushed her hair, gargled, put on a fresh coat of lipstick, and was back at the door before he’d made it. Spice invited him to take a seat on the sofa.
“I won’t take up too much of your time. I realize you’re a busy woman.”
Taking a seat directly across from him on one of the tapestried chairs, Spice said, “Would you like coffee?” Damn. He’s younger than I thought. He can’t be over thirty-five.
“No, thank you. Nothing.”
“Sparkling water, maybe?” My Lord, you fool, he just said nothing!
Spice couldn’t believe how nervous she was. When he shook his head no, she observed a kind of peacefulness in his eyes. It was as if a river somewhere down inside of him fed her thirst. And then she felt peaceful, too. When she’d met him briefly at the dinner she’d thought his eyes ordinary, chocolate colored. But now, closer to him, she saw that they were flecked with amber, like sparkling ginger ale with the sun filtering through it. They were alluring eyes that looked as if they had just left the bedroom and were anxious to get back. With their gaze still connected, she could feel something special was happening.
“I’m here on business, Ms. Witherspoon.”
“Please, call me Spice.” Steepling her fingers, Spice tapped them back and forth—waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure.
“I’ve spent the past four days at the International Building, tracking down the owner of the property on Lafayette and Eighteenth in Detroit.”
“That parcel sounds familiar.”
“It should.” He opened his briefcase and removed a sheet of paper. “Your late husband was the lien holder, and I assume it now belongs to you.” He handed her his copy of the title search.
“I take it this property has some value to you personally?” she asked, accepting the paper he handed her. Unconsciously she ran a finger around her earlobe as she read the information, then looked up at him.
“Of course. It’s a prime spot, perfect for developing two-and three-bedroom low-income houses with a bicycle trail, small park, and playground for children. I’d like to make you an offer.”
Suddenly she felt naked and looked away. Was it possible he hadn’t touched her with anything but his eyes?
“I remember this parcel now.” David had begun developing the property for Alfred, a retired co-worker from General Motors. When Alfred’s financial backing fell through, David hated to put a lien in for the work he’d already started, but his expenses were too high to ignore. “I’ll have to speak to my attorney about this before I—”
“I’m prepared to make you a substantial offer, well over the amount due.”
Yes, she was impressed with Mr. Westbrook.
Oh, Spice thought, so he’s a little aggressive. I like that. “Mr. Westbrook, if I’m not mistaken, my husband had planned on building a senior citizen complex on that site. The plans were already approved.”
“I’ve tracked your development company . . . Spice.” He gathered his papers back inside the briefcase. “Originally, I’d planned on developing that property into one- and two-bedroom track homes for the minority middle class, so our thoughts run in a similar direction.” He stopped, blushing. “Maybe you and I can come to terms on a joint venture.”
“Why should I become a partner with you? I don’t need—”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re financially strapped. I felt that you might be interested in working with me on other projects in the city as well.”
Spice thought, Who better could she trust than a preacher? The property was just lying there anyway.
Before he closed his briefcase, she spotted a set of tapes.
“Are those gospel tapes?”
“No,” he said, handing them to her. “These are copies from this morning’s service at Divinity Baptist. Would you like to listen to them?”
Spice blushed when she admitted that she hadn’t been to church in years.
Then Golden said, “Keep the tapes, listen to them over and over until you understand the meaning of the message. It’s never too late to start, Spice. Come when you’re ready. Come when you feel good, and you’ll feel better when you leave.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d said yes to this handsome preacher. Did she really need yet another development project? Wasn’t Foxphasia, with all its complications, enough right now? Why hadn’t she said no? Who are you kidding? Spice could hear Carmen’s voice in her head: You just want an excuse to rub up against that handsome young preacher. Well, so what? Spice glanced at the phone, but it was too late to answer Carmen for real. You told me it was time, my friend. Maybe you’re right.
After Golden had left, Spice went downstairs to her office. She unlocked the desk and removed David’s old papers from the lower desk drawer. She hadn’t looked at them in years. Sure enough, his plans for the Lafayette property, along with several ideas he planned to develop in Detroit, were there. Reading his notes brought back so many pleasant memories, she lost track of the time.
It was eleven thirty-five when Spice returned home. She took a shower and readied herself for bed. But first she needed a midnight snack. Sticking her head inside the refrigerator, she searched the shelves for something sticky and sweet. She finally settled for a fruit salad and took a small bowl into her bedroom. After opening the doors to the entertainment center, she slipped the tape into the slot.
Before getting into bed, she turned off the ringer on the telephone. She took one spoonful of fruit and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed with the bowl plopped in her lap. For a few moments she allowed herself the pleasure and indulgence of being alone. Out loud, she told herself and the black velvet walls that held years of silent knowledge, “Damn, I’m cold!”
She left the bed and turned up the heat. Yet when she returned, she knew that the coldness she felt wasn’t outside her body, it was inside. She wanted to feel the warmth of a man tonight. She heard the last car leave the parking lot. “Hmmm,” she breathed. Each taste of fruit felt like a caress as she luxuriated in the thought of something far sweeter and more pleasurable.
Feeling the onset of desire, she placed a hand beneath the soft satin folds of her gown and stroked her nipple until it hardened. She wet her lips with her tongue and, using both hands, stroked her breasts with gentle determination until she felt herself melt and moan with pleasure. She imagined the sweet sounds of sex between a man and a woman and felt the warm fluid building between her legs. Releasing one of her hands to probe the moist center, she jumped when she saw the red light blinking, indicating someone was trying to call on her private phone line. After four rings the voice-mail message started. The red button seemed to scream at her as it flashed on and off five more times while the clock changed from 11:59 to 12:02.
The tremor of her desire had come and gone, and she retreated to the bathroom. When she returned to the bed, she picked up the remote for the tape player and pushed play. As she scooped up the last chunks of melon, the ripe scent of cantaloupe filled the air.
Music faded in low at first, then louder, until a full choir broke into song. Seconds later Spice heard the harmonic voice that was familiar to her from just hours earlier.
“When you speak the truth, you’re speaking God
’s language.” His voice was so provocative, so smooth, that Spice leaned forward in bed to listen. “Study what you see with your mind and not with your emotions, and you will learn. If you have love and truth, you will be free. Love comes naturally. You can’t buy love because love is truth. . . .”
Spice was mesmerized. Ordinarily she wasn’t moved by messages. Especially those made by preachers. But she felt something different now. She turned up the volume, finished her fruit, and listened.
“You can buy happiness temporarily if you’re a rich man. You can buy a real Rolex, diamonds, furs. But not love. God is love—truth, they are all connected. If you are a liar, love is not for you.”
Spice thought of all the angry energy she’d used to gain financial security and how the feeling wasn’t what she’d expected. Golden’s message tapped into her disappointment, her emptiness, the feeling she’d been cheated. When would her real life begin?
“Look to God as your spirit, not at the church. God is real. You can be powerful in Spirit walking in God’s spirit. We are God’s diplomats. Love and truth are God’s gift to us. We let our ego get in the way of truth.”
Truth, thought Spice. Why were there so many secrets? She hadn’t been honest with her children about her past life, about anything, about who she was and where she came from. Truth. Secrets.
Spice had always felt she could take better care of her secrets than anyone else could. And truth? Moral truths, like human beings, she’d come to learn, changed their aspects the way chameleons changed color.
Spice fell asleep listening to Golden’s voice: “Love is natural. Love is free. Love is the essence of God.”
STERLING
I have never felt myself to be an honest part of anything since the world of childhood deserted me.
—GEORGE LAMMING
S tepping from the shower, Sterling toweled off, then blow-dried her hair. After dousing her body with perfumed lotion and liquid talc, she stepped back from the mirror, admiring her small but nicely proportioned figure.
She removed her robe from behind the bathroom door and went into her bedroom. Just then the phone rang.
“Hello?” she said, answering.
“Are you asleep?”
“Bennie! Where have you been all week?” What did it matter? His voice drowned out all her doubts and fears. He was here now.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’ve been working double shifts—mail’s crazy—must be everyone paying off their Christmas bills.”
“Or getting ready for Valentine’s Day,” she teased, and then said, “Do you realize that God equipped each of us with some talent of one sort or another? A talent is a kind of emotional muscle. It must be constantly exercised. Ignore it, and it will atrophy. Of course you know where my talent lies.”
“How soon can you get here?”
Sterling believed that the connection between Bennie and her began with the erotic and emanated from there. She worked to keep that connection going. “Twenty minutes.”
“I’ve got something special to ask you, baby. But that’ll wait—meanwhile, hurry, baby, I don’t want to come before you get here,” Bennie said, breathing heavily into the phone.
Arriving in a full-length black diamond mink coat and a black silk chiffon nightie, Sterling discarded her fur in the outer hall. From the bare windows soft moonlight poured pale enchantment over her skin, casting a dramatic glow as she moved into the living room of Bennie’s riverfront apartment.
“You got something for me?” Sterling asked in a husky whisper, then eased into his arms and kissed him on the mouth.
Realizing that Bennie was capable of reading her every motion, she hoped that he hadn’t noticed her jittery fingers. She needed a hit—bad—but she didn’t want him to know.
Bennie pushed the door shut behind her, and after kissing her on the mouth, closed his arm around her waist and handed her a small white packet. When she returned from the bathroom, he lowered his eyelids, then slowly lifted them before saying, “You better get your juicy coochie on back in that room. The lemon sherbet ice cream is just starting to melt.”
“Did you remember the champagne?”
“Mm-hm. We got work to do.” He patted her on the behind and steered her toward the bedroom.
They began by placing two scoops of sherbet and cold champagne into crystal flutes until golden bubbles foamed and peaked just above the rim. Glass in hand, Sterling sipped and eased herself back on the bed. With each movement, the desire to connect, to feel, and to caress each other strengthened between them.
Easing his lips apart with her tongue, Sterling kissed him, the sweet liquid feeling cold inside her mouth. She enjoyed the softness of the flesh inside his mouth and the nubby texture of his tongue against hers. Placing her left ankle in his palm, he reached to massage her foot and toes. The clean scent of soap and the faint hint of perfume mingled with his Tommy Hilfiger cologne. The earthy tang of arousal from their bodies blended to create an aphrodisiac aura.
Relaxing against the pillows, Sterling watched Bennie dip her toes, one by one, in the creamy mixture. She thought that she would go berserk with the thrill as he gently kissed and licked off the sweet liquid. Seconds later he eased his nude body over her, dripping the cool liquid along the expanse of her legs. She trembled with anticipation, knowing where this was leading.
He stopped, the glass empty, and waited. Her nails dug into the sheets. The hands on the bedside clock seemed to freeze until she felt his cold tongue touch the hot folds of her vulva. He spoke to her with each flicker of his tongue: “This is how much I desire you, when I touch you here. This is how bad I want to sink inside you, when I touch you there.”
When at last his mouth found hers, Sterling stroked his head, his neck, his buttocks, his back. She ran her fingers along his face, his ears, then locked her fingers over his buttocks, forcing him to enter her.
He thrust into her, watching her face, and sank deeper into the freshness and wetness of her. The rhythm was slow, and slowed further to a tempo of touch, wait, tease, the hesitation, the anticipation, building now until they passed into a higher plane of being where nothing mattered except the infusion of joy brewing within their bodies as they quickened the pace to a climactic beat of power and stroke, and they came together, melting into a single pulse.
They fell into a deep sleep. Upon awakening, Sterling turned to admire Bennie’s handsome face as he lay on his back. Nude, she stretched in the center of the white velvet coverlet on Bennie’s circular bed, amid rumpled sheets on a pillow for one, but shared by two. How she loved the sharp contours of his jaw and chin and the way his lips sort of curved up at the corners in a mock grin. And she knew she would always want to kiss his lips, and she did so now. It was eleven-fifteen. When she felt his body moving, she knew that it was just a matter of time before he’d awaken totally.
“Bennie?” Sterling saw him open his eyes and touched her lover’s face with her finger.
“I’m sorry. I dozed off.” He kissed both of her eyes, then eased back to his previous position.
“I love you,” Sterling said, touching each baby-fine hair on his chest. She caressed the tender skin over his perfect copper-colored cheekbones. His face was smooth as brown silk. With a smile she offered her tongue, teasing the curves of his lips.
Bennie caressed her shoulders protectively, then whispered in her ear, “I love you, too, baby.” He slowly turned down the lights by the remote next to the bed. The room seemed more beckoning with each rotation of the dial.
The sound in her ear was like a seashell—breezy, hollow, echoing. She said nothing, just moved her body closer to his raw heat. Sterling knew well how to use her body. She knew how to soften the silent call of his body until it harmonized with hers—her hypnotic hips guiding him, promising ecstasy. Sterling’s obsession with her own lust was her weakness. It was also her strength. The application of her power between the sheets was what kept it going between them.
Placing her hand on his, she rubbed his p
alm over her buttocks, her thighs, and let it rest on her moist center. Her body was like his song; with his instrument he played the melody. Their bodies were in perfect sync, which improved their harmony.
Early morning’s hush veiled their unending phantasmagoria. At ten after five they were still making love. And there was still fire between them. Their unavoidably kindred spirits lured them to the brink of insanity.
Releasing her, Bennie turned on his side and lit a cigarette. He swiveled his body around and sat on the edge of the bed. Blowing a cloud of smoke into the air, he looked back over his shoulder. His eyes drifted over her as she turned slowly to face him. “It’s always good between us.”
Running a hand over her narrow buttocks, he said, “You know, you got some good stuff, baby. Don’t tell nobody. You hear?” He smiled at her with affection tinged by sexual connection.
Sterling touched the corner of Bennie’s mouth with her finger and smiled back. She felt completely comfortable as she brought that same finger down to her private place, inserted it, arousing herself, twirled it around, and watched Bennie looking on intently. “When you have the best piece of ass around, you don’t have to brag about it. I ain’t never seen this motherfucka, all I know is that I’m wearing it.”
Bennie chuckled. “If a woman ain’t never fucked herself, how she supposed to know how good her pussy is?”
“You told me.” She paused. “And maybe one or two others as well. . . .” She yawned and then asked, “Do you think my car’s safe?” She looked out the window of Bennie’s apartment in the dull gray light. Across the Detroit River she could see the brilliant city lights of Ontario.
“You’re not in the ghetto, Sterling. We’ve got excellent security in downtown Detroit, for God’s sake.”
Sure, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s not like anyone would think about stealing your old Mazda. “So I’m cautious about my vehicle. I love that—”
“Look. I can take you home,” Bennie said angrily. It was a problem between them. Whenever she visited him, she felt unsafe—as if he lived in a bad neighborhood. She couldn’t always hide it. But Sterling couldn’t help it if she came from the other side of town.
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