“What do you want, David? This is not a good time for me. I was on my way out.”
David walked behind her desk, placed his hands on each of her shoulders, pulled her close, and pressed his lips to hers.
Samantha pushed him away and said, “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy? Someone could walk in.”
David kissed her hard again and said, “I don’t care if someone comes in,” as he nuzzled her neck.
Samantha struggled to break free. “Let me go, David. This is not the place for this.”
“I love you, Samantha,” David panted breathlessly. “You’re all I’ve been able to think about. Make love to me now. Right now!”
“David, honey, stop. Stop, baby,” she said, pushing him away. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. But not now, damn it. I’ve got a major problem I have to deal with.”
David tried again to remove the distance between them, but Samantha held up her hand.
“If you have a problem, let me help. I’m here for you now, full-time.”
“What do you mean, full-time?” Samantha asked suspiciously.
“I mean I’ve left Scarlett.”
“You did what?” Samantha asked coldly. “Why on earth did you do that?”
“Because I’m in love with you, Samantha Cleaveland. I want to be with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, David. Go back to your wife. I don’t want you. I don’t want anyone right now. For Christ’s sake, I just buried my husband.”
“That’s all the more reason for you to be with me. You need me. A woman like you needs a man in her life. What is the problem you’re dealing with? Tell me about it. Let me help.”
Samantha looked David in the eye. She could see the desperation and longing. She could also see the tent in his expensively tailored slacks.
“I don’t think you can help me, David. I don’t think anyone can,” she said and walked to the desk and sat down.
“Try me, baby. I’m here for you.” David walked to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Tell me. What’s going on? Do you need a lawyer?”
“No, no, I don’t need a lawyer. I’ve already got lawyers coming out my ass.”
“Then what is it? Tell me.”
Samantha sighed, as if exhausted. She looked toward the window and said, “All right, David, I’ll tell you. I’m being blackmailed.”
“Blackmailed?” David shouted. “By whom? For what?”
“I don’t know who it is. It’s about Hezekiah.” Samantha pulled a silk handkerchief from her purse and dabbed a nonexistent tear from her eye. “It’s horrible, David. Hezekiah was . . .” Samantha paused. “Hezekiah was involved with a man for two years before he died.”
“What do you mean, involved?”
“Sexually. Someone found out about it. They can prove it.”
“How much do they want?”
“The first payment is two million dollars. He said he’d keep coming back for more every year. There’s no end to how much he’ll demand.”
“Oh my God. Have you called the police?”
“I can’t get the police involved. I’d be ruined. The church would be ruined. New Testament could never survive a scandal like this. If it came out, that would be the end of the entire ministry, and there’s more.”
“More? What else?”
“He’s threatened to kill me if I don’t pay.”
David kneeled down in front of her. “Kill you? What did he say?”
“He said if I didn’t pay him every time, he would contact the media and then hunt me down like an animal and kill me.”
“Baby, this is horrible,” David said, squeezing her hand. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t have a choice. I have to pay him, and I’ll have to keep paying him every time he asks. David, I’m so afraid.”
“Maybe I should talk to him.”
“And say what? ‘Please don’t do this anymore’? It won’t work, David. There’s nothing you or anyone can do. I’m going to meet him tomorrow night and give him the money.” Samantha reached under the desk and slid out the duffel bag. “Here it is,” she said, unzipping the bag to reveal the piles of cash and the revolver.
“What is that for?” David asked, looking at the gun.
“I told you he said he’d kill me. I want to be able to at least protect myself if necessary.”
“Samantha, you can’t go out there alone. It’s too dangerous. You don’t know what kind of psychopath this guy is. I’m going to come with you.”
“No,” Samantha said, standing and walking to the window. “He said I had to come alone.”
“Then I’ll follow you from a distance. Give me the gun. If it gets out of hand, I’ll be right there.”
Samantha smiled. “You are such a sweet man. I don’t want to get you involved in this.”
David walked behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m in love with you, so that automatically gets me involved.”
Samantha leaned back into his arms. “Have you ever shot a gun before, David?” she asked, staring out over the construction site of the new cathedral. “Do you think you could actually kill a man?”
She could feel David’s heart pounding in his chest. He did not respond. Samantha leaned farther back and pressed her waist against the mound that was growing in his pants. She twisted slightly from side to side and whispered again, “Do you think you could kill a man?”
David could smell the sweet aroma of her perfume. Her warm breath sent an intoxicating bouquet to his nostrils. Before he could think, he heard the words slip from his lips into her ear. “For you I would kill a man.”
Scarlett clumsily rummaged through the mirrored medicine cabinet in her bathroom. She pushed hairbrushes, bottles of lotion, and shaving creams aside, causing a container of dental floss to tumble to the counter, with minty string trailing behind. Her hands shook as she searched frantically for her Zoloft prescription. She finally found it behind two plastic bottles of peroxide. She shook the bottle, but she had taken so many after Hezekiah’s death, it was empty. Next to it, however, was her prescription for Xanax, and behind that a full bottle of Prozac.
Over the years her therapist had prescribed a variety of antianxiety potions and notions to deal with the stresses that had defined her life. Zoloft was her favorite, but today she would settle for a Xanax. Scarlett swallowed the pill without water. Her knees wobbled as she made her way into the living room. Her head had not stopped spinning since the startling announcement from her husband earlier that day.
It’s happening again, she thought as she stumbled to the sofa in the center of the room, blanketed in pink, green, and purple pillows. A pristine brick-framed fireplace, which had never known fire, served as the focal point of the room. Most notably there were no photographs on the mantelpiece, or anywhere else in the room, of Natalie, David, or herself. Large potted plants flanked a sliding glass window that opened to a paved patio and a modest backyard. In the center of the window was a small lemon tree, whose fruit no one in the home had ever tasted.
Scarlett ran her trembling fingers through her disheveled silky hair. She had long since given up on trying to stop the tide of tears that had been flowing since David left the house.
She’s doing it again, she thought as she looked at the tree sagging from bulbous lemons on the verge of bursting and falling to the ground to rot. Why does she have to destroy everything I love?
The telephone on a table next to the sofa rang as she pondered the mysteries of her life. She didn’t answer. On the third ring she heard, “Hello, Scarlett. This is Cynthia Pryce. When you have a moment, could you please call me? I need to talk to you about Samantha Cleaveland. My number is seven-six-one—”
Scarlett lunged across the sofa and grabbed the receiver. “Cynthia,” she said with no hint of sorrow. “Hello. I was in the garden, picking lemons from my tree, and didn’t hear the phone. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. Do you have a few moments
to talk about a church matter?”
“I do, but could you hold on for just a moment? I need to put these lemons in the sink.”
Scarlett put the telephone on mute, wiped her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her blouse, and took three deep breaths. The little pill had begun to work its magic. Her hands had stopped shaking, and the pain from the thought of her husband leaving her was reduced to only a dull, throbbing ache. She longed for her Zoloft. One pill and she would have been completely numb by now.
“Cynthia, I’m back. I’m making lemonade for David and Natalie. Now, how can I help you? You said something about Samantha Cleaveland.”
“Yes. Scarlett, this is kind of a sensitive topic. I hope I can count on your discretion.”
“Of course. Now, what is this about?”
“Percy and I were approached by some of the other trustees. Now, understand if it were only one, we wouldn’t have paid much attention to it. But we’ve been approached by a number of them.”
“About what?” Scarlett asked impatiently.
“About Samantha Cleaveland. You see, dear, some of the trustees feel they may have acted in haste by naming her as interim pastor so soon after Hezekiah’s death, God rest his soul. We were all terribly devastated by Hezekiah’s death, and obviously not thinking clearly. They feel we put the needs of the church before her needs. As I’m sure you will agree, the pain a woman feels after the loss of a spouse is second only to the loss of a child. The poor woman has just lived through one of the most traumatic things a woman can experience, and here we are, thinking about ourselves and the church. It’s terrible, just terrible, and some of the trustees feel they’ve made a mistake by acting so quickly.”
Scarlett listened intently to the woman’s rambling. She easily detected the tinge of deceit in her voice. Cynthia had never been able to fully conceal her contempt whenever she spoke of Samantha Cleaveland, no matter how hard she tried.
“Hello . . . ? Scarlett, are you still there?” Cynthia asked into the silence.
“I’m here. Go on,” Scarlett said.
“Well, as I was saying, people feel we really must act quickly to correct this lapse in our judgment . . . for Samantha’s sake.”
“What trustees said this to you?”
Cynthia answered quickly, “I really can’t say, dear. They’ve all spoken to me, us, in the strictest of confidence. But trust me, it’s more than a majority of the trustees.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
“Well, dear, as a member of the board of trustees, and as a woman, don’t you think you have some responsibility to Samantha, as well? Surely you must see that action must be taken to protect her and give her time to heal, don’t you?” Cynthia asked.
“So what are you proposing?”
“I’m not proposing anything, dear,” Cynthia said innocently. “Rather your fellow trustees are proposing that Samantha be relieved of the awesome burden of pastor, at least for the time being, and be allowed to properly mourn the loss of her husband.”
“And who do the trustees propose to replace her with?” Scarlett asked, already knowing the answer.
“Isn’t it obvious? Percy,” Cynthia said, barely concealing her arrogance. “It will completely turn our lives upside down, but Percy has convinced me that it is the right thing to do for Samantha and for New Testament. Believe me, dear, it is the last thing I want for my life right now, but I do feel some responsibility to my sister Samantha and to the memory of Hezekiah. I’ve spent many nights praying about this, and the Lord told me that my husband is right.”
Scarlett wasn’t offended by the woman’s transparent attempt to deceive her. Neither was she insulted at being considered so naive as to believe she wouldn’t recognize a blatant power grab. Instead, she was pleased that someone else had taken it upon themselves to challenge Samantha Cleaveland’s absolute and unbridled power over New Testament Cathedral and, more importantly, her life.
“You know, dear,” Scarlett finally said, “I’ve never really thought of it in those terms. I’m not sure what we were thinking. I guess it was as you said. We must have all been so traumatized after Hezekiah’s death, God rest his soul, that we never considered how this would affect Samantha. The poor woman must be going through hell right now, and all we could do was think of our own needs. I feel just terrible about this.”
“We all do, dear. We all do. I’m so glad you agree.”
“So how are the trustees proposing we reverse the vote?”
“There will be a special meeting of the board of trustees where Percy will be nominated to serve as the pastor. Can I . . . I mean can New Testament and Samantha count on your vote?”
Scarlett did not hesitate with her response. “Definitely, Cynthia. I have always felt Percy would make an excellent pastor. I’m sure Samantha will be relieved. You, I mean New Testament Cathedral and Samantha, can count on my vote.”
Samantha sat directly in front of Gideon Truman in a seventeenth-century Gothic throne-like chair in the living room of her estate. The top edge of the ornately carved back of the dark walnut seat hovered just above the top of her satin hair. A wall of French doors served as the backdrop, revealing the perfectly maintained grounds of the estate. Light poured into the room, enveloping Samantha in a warm glow. On occasion a pair of preening peacocks could be seen through the window, strolling across the freshly mown lawn.
The idyllic scene was, however, upstaged by Samantha Cleaveland’s presence. Her skin took on the rosy hue of the spray of flowers in an etched Lalique crystal vase placed on a glass table next to her. She wore a peach floral silk blouse that revealed only enough cleavage to hint at her perfect, full breasts.
Two cameramen positioned themselves at angles to Samantha to capture her left and right, and two others pointed theirs to Gideon. He wore a black suit and his trademark plaid shirt with a blue and red striped necktie. Bright lights mounted on tripods were directed at them just beyond the cameras’ view. The first thing he had noted when he entered the home was that both Picassos had been replaced by nondescript pieces of abstract art.
The other person in the room was Gideon’s producer, Megan, a fresh-faced brunette who was the daughter of a faceless network executive. Megan handed Gideon large index cards containing the questions America had for Samantha Cleaveland, and provided final directions and assuring comments to Samantha.
“Pastor Cleaveland, just be natural. If you make a mistake or get confused, don’t worry about it. We can edit it out later.” Megan turned to Samantha when she spoke and slightly brushed against the table holding the vase and flower arrangement.
“I don’t get confused or make mistakes,” Samantha said coldly. “Would you please be more careful? That vase probably cost more than your house. Are we ready to start yet? I’d like to get this over with.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Megan said with a stammer. “We are ready whenever you are.”
“I was ready when you invaded my home two hours ago,” Samantha responded with an irritated gesture of her hand and a raised eyebrow.
Megan retreated sheepishly to her place behind a monitor just beyond the eyes of the cameras and said, “Okay, everyone, we’re rolling in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . and . . .”
“Good evening. I’m Gideon Truman, and welcome to Truman Live.” Gideon’s face filled the monitor. His eyes sparkled, and he flashed the smile that made people all over the world welcome him into their homes.
“Tonight we are honored to have a woman who until recently was one half of a power couple who for years has captivated the hearts of people around the world. Her recent tragedy made national and international headlines and rocked the religious world to its core. Please welcome Pastor Samantha Cleaveland of New Testament Cathedral in Los Angeles. Good evening, Pastor Cleaveland, and thank you for inviting us into your lovely home.”
Samantha came to life when the camera was rolling. Her skin captured the light around her and sent it back to the world brighter than it had
come.
“Thank you, Gideon. It’s my pleasure.”
“I’m sure I speak for millions of people when I say how sorry I am for the tragic loss of your husband, Pastor Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
“Thank you,” she said with a gracious nod of her head.
“Let me start by asking, are the police any closer to finding out who assassinated Pastor Cleaveland?”
“The Los Angeles Police Department has been amazing throughout this entire ordeal,” she said as if by rote, “but unfortunately they are no closer today to finding his killer than they were the day it happened. A part of me feels we may never know who killed Hezekiah. The important thing, however, is that this person will have to answer to God either in this life or the next.”
“You are a woman with strong religious beliefs. Are you in any way able to forgive the man or woman who did this to you, your family, and all the people who love you?”
“I’m so glad you asked me that question.” Samantha looked Gideon directly in the eye and continued, “I have already forgiven him. This has caused me and my daughter immense pain and anguish. There were days when I didn’t think I could go on without him. But you know, Gideon, God promised us all that he would never give us more burdens than we could bear. And with that knowledge I was able to get up one morning a few weeks after it happened, put on my makeup, and face another day. Don’t get me wrong, though. I still cry every day, and I miss him more than you can imagine, but life must go on, and every day I grow a little stronger.”
“You mentioned your daughter, Jasmine. How is she handling the loss of her father?”
“Jasmine took her father’s death very hard. They were very close. She was daddy’s little girl,” Samantha said with a smile. “They were inseparable from the day she was born until the day he died. She couldn’t bear to be in the house after he was killed, so she’s staying temporarily with very dear friends of our family in Malibu. I speak with her every day, and we pray together on the telephone every evening, before she goes to bed. God and time heals all wounds, and every day she becomes stronger. As painful as this has all been, I know that someday she will come to understand that this is all part of God’s master plan.”
When Sunday Comes Again Page 19
