Jesus Boy

by Preston L. Allen

  But she loved him. She loved him as much as she used to love Barry, and that was a lot.

  He hung up the phone after talking with his mother and came back to the bed. He had a vacant expression in his eyes.

  “Now Momma knows about us,” he said simply. “Oh Lord.”

  “Momma does not approve.”

  “Lord, help us.”

  Brother Philip smiled. “But Momma will keep our secret.”

  “She’s a good momma,” Peachie said. “She loves her little boy.”

  The Holy Ghost Power in Me

  There was no question about it. It was indeed perverse.

  Their special thing was to show their naked backsides to the TV at 2:00 p.m. on Fridays.

  They would wait until the Holy Ghost Hour with Reverend Barry came on, then drop their drawers, turn their butts to the TV screen, and moon Barry and Sister Ling as they sang the show’s theme song, “Holy Ghost, Holy Ghost, Holy Ghost Power in Me,” which Peachie had written, but got no credit for. Then Brother Philip would ride her from behind, doggy-style. They liked to imagine that Barry was watching their naked buttocks as they rocked and huffed to orgasm.

  Sometimes they invoked his name.

  Oh Barry, I’m doing your wife! Brother Philip would shout. I’ve got the Holy Ghost penis in her!

  Or Peachie would say, Oh Barry, he’s hitting my sweet spot again! I can feel his miracle healing!

  Doing it during the show was the most fun they had together. The show never failed to fire them up, even when it was mentioned during church, like when Barry would announce to the congregation, which now numbered over one thousand, “Don’t forget to support the show. Tune in on Fridays.” Peachie would find Brother Philip’s eyes in the audience and they would wink at each other to their dirty version of the catchy hymn she had written for Barry’s show:

  Tune in, my love. Tune it in me.

  How’s the reception in there?

  I feel it. I feel it. Don’t touch that dial. I feel the Holy Ghost penis moving deeply in me.

  The years had flown by. If Peachie had gone to college, she would have been in her senior year now getting ready to graduate. She was twenty-two years old, and over the years she had gained another forty or so pounds. Barry found the weight disgusting. Well, of course, slanteyed Sister Ling might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.

  Brother Philip, on the other hand, thought the weight looked good on Peachie. It was a nice weight for her height. It made her once narrow behind a lot juicier and a lot more desirable.

  “Lord knows, I like a juicy booty,” he would say, slapping it. Pulling her panties down with his teeth.

  They had been together almost four years behind Barry’s back. It was true love, they were certain.

  These days Barry was all about money. He had an accountant and a broker he met with weekly. He drove a Mercedes. He owned a car phone. He played golf at an exclusive club. Barry was making serious money now with the church, which had grown along with his record sales.

  But he was in the middle of setting up his satellite network, and Peachie and Brother Philip both believed that when that came through he would be rich enough and brave enough to dump Peachie and marry Sister Ling. But from what Peachie had overheard, the satellite cable church was at least four years away from completion. So they had to wait. Or they could make their move before Barry.

  It was a crazy idea, but they were so in love they kept thinking about it. They could break away now and start their life together, though they would be ostracized by the church. Everyone would hate them, the wife of the great young evangelist and his best friend. What a shame. Barry would be seen as a hero and they would be shunned by the Faithful.

  “And where will we live?” Peachie wondered aloud on this particular Friday afternoon after making love with her big juicy butt exposed to her husband’s televised presence.

  “We can get a place. I have money. We’ll make love all day.”

  “Where will we worship?”

  “You are so small-minded.” He whistled at the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief. “There are other churches, you know?”

  “We are the one true church.”

  “Literally, Peachie?”

  “That’s what I’ve always believed. You know how it is. Come on.” She thought about it and laughed. “I mean, like, it would be weird at another church. Like what other churches could we go to?”

  “Baptist.”

  “Too worldly.”

  “We’re worldly.” He pointed to the TV screen upon which the credits were rolling. Behind the credits were various still images from sacred events at the Church of Our Blessed Redeemer Who Walked Upon the Waters. Mostly they were of Barry and Sister Ling doing missionary work and singing, but some of them featured Peachie at the piano and others showed Brother Philip standing next to Barry. “We are worldly and carnal and perverse.” Barry laughed and began kissing her. They were both still naked.

  “Yes,” she said hoarsely, kissing him back, “but Baptists smoke and drink.”

  “How about the Holy Rollers?” he suggested. She snorted. “My mom would kill me.”

  “You’ve got to grow up. Step out on your own,” he said, but she had that look on her face. No way, buddy. No Holy Rollers for me. “Really, though, it’s not so bad. I used to date a Holy Roller girl.”

  “I don’t want to hear about your Holy Roller girl.”

  “Church of God?”

  “No.”

  “Church of Christ?”

  “They don’t even allow pianos in their church. I’m a musician. Sorry, my friend. Next.”

  He put his hand in hers. They sat naked on the floor on a blanket that they had spread for their carnal purposes. On the TV, the credits had finished rolling and now there was an appeal from the bishop for donations to the scholarship fund. The song in the background was “Count Your Many Blessings.”

  Brother Philip said to Peachie, “Seventh Day Adventist?”

  Peachie sighed. “I like pork.” She grabbed his penis. “I like pork a lot.”

  “Church of the First Born?”

  “No.”

  “Church of the Holy Ghost?”

  “No.”

  “I used to date a Church of the Holy Ghost girl.” She turned away from him. “You and your girls.”

  “Don’t be mad at me, Peachie.”

  “You just don’t understand.”

  “Let’s make it about love.”

  “I have a husband.”

  “Do you believe in love?”

  “I do. I still do,” she said, looking dreamily into his dreamy eyes. “Then that’s all we need.”

  “We’ll be alone. It’ll be so difficult.”

  “Love will conquer all. Love will find a way.”

  “Will it?” She let him kiss her. She found the answer she needed in his kiss. Love will find a way, but there was the clock on the wall. “We have to go.” She started packing up.

  It was a Friday, their favorite day for loving because of the TV show, but also because they got to stay an extra hour together. He was a good man, this man she loved. She had no feelings for Barry anymore. Let him have his slim little Sister Ling. Barry was not half the man Brother Philip was. But they had better hurry, or she’d be late picking up the kids.

  She watched him dress. His naked body was beautiful. She had memorized his body so that she would have it when he was not with her. She had memorized its feel. As they drove, she held his hand and watched his handsome profile. There was a place behind his ear that she loved to kiss because of the way he would scrunch up his nose. She kissed that place now. He scrunched up his nose. She put her hand in his lap and caressed his firm thighs. He responded with an erection that inflated his trousers. She had memorized his smell so that she would have it when he was not with her. Because of their schedules, they would not be able to get together for at least three days. She had to work on the church minutes and the bulletin and this week’s Passage for Refle
ction. She had to practice with the adult choir. Easter was coming up and she had to meet with the Youth Cantata Committee. “I love Friday, but I hate it too,” she sighed. “Three whole days before I can be with you again.” She unzipped his pants, leaned over, and put his penis in her mouth. She had memorized his taste so that she would have it when he was not with her.

  They got to Miss Irma’s too soon. They did not notice Barry’s Mercedes parked across the street.

  Brother Philip kissed her twice, once for loving him, once to seal their promise, and she got out of his car with reluctance as she always did and walked across the street to Miss Irma’s, missing him so much already. Counting down the hours until she could love him again.

  Before she could knock on the babysitter’s door, Barry tapped her on the shoulder. “Leave the kids with the old lady. Let’s just you and me go home for a few minutes to talk.”

  She turned to confront the angry mask that was his face. “Barry—”

  “I saw you get out of his car.”

  But everything had been planned and timed so perfectly. How?

  Barry answered the question she did not ask, “There was no show today. It was a repeat. I suspected for a long time, but I had to see for myself. Oh Peachie, why did you do this to me?”

  His voice sounded pained, which surprised her. She thought that he would be happy. He had his Sister Ling. What did he care what she did? But this pain in his voice, it touched her. It was the Barry who was sick who she nursed back to health. It was the Barry who was broke whose side she had stood by. This was the Barry who had wept at the pain of rejection—wept real tears when she had turned him down that first time. But that Barry was dead and gone and had no right to show up here now. This Barry should be happy she was sleeping with his best friend.

  Well, he found out before she was able to execute her plan. Okay.

  So be it. Too bad. Now she had no choice. She would be forced to leave him earlier than planned. Some ugly days would come, she knew, but then it would all be over, and things could start to get better again. She would marry Brother Philip. It’s what she wanted anyway.

  But what would be left of her?

  Barry was here now to take, and he would be righteous in his wrath. What would be left? Already his hand was raised. He would take and take, she knew. Would there be enough of her left for Brother Philip?

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted it until it hurt.

  “Oh God, Barry, give me a chance to explain. Give me a chance to live. I deserve a chance to live.”

  He had her by the hair—she was forced to turn to face the blow that she saw coming. She closed her eyes and it broke against her cheek. She cried in her mind while she was still conscious, Don’t take it all. I know you are angry. Leave a little bit for me and Brother Philip. It’s not fair to take it all.

  She saw the second blow coming. This one lifted her. She knew she would land against Miss Irma’s door, and she braced herself, but there was no door. She fell through the opening and landed faceup on Miss Irma’s carpet, which smelled of cigarettes and baby poop.

  She heard her children screaming. She heard Miss Irma shouting for the police. She saw Barry’s hands reaching for her. He lifted her like when he was loving her. There was a feeling of weightlessness. She felt herself flying through the air. There was the screaming pain as she landed on Miss Irma’s glass coffee table. She felt the glass break against her face. She felt the glass bite into her face, into her breast near her heart.

  Things were getting confused in her head. She loved this man, and he loved her, and she deserved to be beaten because she was a Christian. The harder he beat, the more she deserved it, Praise God, because Barry had never loved her so hard, thus sayeth the Lord, turn to page forty-seven in your hymnals.

  But he was not supposed to take it all. That was not fair. He was supposed to leave her some.

  Leave me some, you jackleg hypocrite!

  She reached out blindly with her hand. If she could just get her hand on a shard of Miss Irma’s broken glass table, she would show Barry how hard she could love him back. She would take and take, and leave nothing for Sister Ling. She would shove that glass shard right into his balls.

  Barry loomed over her. She beat at him with her hand, but there was no shard of hard love in her hand, only the oozing warmth from her bleeding breasts.

  She raised her empty hand to his face. She beat his face weakly. She stopped beating. She anointed his forehead with blood from her breasts. She drew the shape of the cross. Then she drew a smiley face next to the cross.

  She said, “I bless you.”

  “What are you doing? You stupid woman.”

  “Don’t take it all. Leave some for me, Jack.”

  “Jack?”

  “Jackleg!”

  “You won’t get a penny from me, you harlot.”

  “I don’t want your money. I just want you to leave. I just want love.”

  “You crazy woman.” He put his hands behind her head and ran them down the length of her ponytails that once he had so loved. Still loved. He put his face against hers. “You crazy Peachie. My crazy girl.”

  His face felt so warm. He was not greedy anymore. He was not taking. He was even trying to give some back. He was the old Barry again. The generous Barry she had loved.

  He said, “I wanted you to be happy.”

  She said, “I wanted to be happy with you.”

  “I failed to make you happy.”

  “I’m not happy with you.”

  “I don’t know what happened to us. I don’t know.” He had blood in the shape of a cross and a smiley face on his forehead. He touched her face gently. “You were my girl.”

  She smiled at the smiley face. “You were my jackleg.”

  “Jackleg.”

  “My rich and famous jackleg. I’m proud of you. You’re known all over the world.”

  “You never told me that before.”

  “You never listened before.”

  “You wanted me to sing boogie-woogie.”

  “I wanted you to sing whatever you wanted to sing, but I wanted you to sing it to me.”

  “You never told me that before.”

  “Try opening your ears. Try listening.”

  They held each other. Barry laughed. Peachie somehow managed a laugh. The boys were still crying. Miss Irma was on the phone with the police. And Peachie and Barry were laughing as a shadow fell over them.

  Peachie and Barry looked up. It was Brother Philip looming over Barry’s shoulder.

  Barry sprang up with his fists clenched. Brother Philip got him in a bear hug. Barry punched Brother Philip in the stomach. They fell to the ground, rolling over what was left of the furniture in Miss Irma’s living room, clawing at each other like tomcats.

  Miss Irma and the children screamed.

  Peachie, her eyes fixed on the battle, watched to see who would win.

  Blood in the Pews

  They did not fight. They did not talk about what had happened. They did not talk about what would happen next. Barry slept in the big bed in their bedroom. The apartment had been renovated over the years of success and money to include five bedrooms among other upscale chambers, but Peachie slept in the boys’ room just in case. The next day was Sunday. At a quarter to 9, they heard a commotion coming through the walls. They opened the door to the renovated barn that was now their magnificent church, with a membership of 1,115 or so. Had they overslept? The place was already full. Every seat was taken up. They checked the clock. Service was scheduled to begin at 10, and it was not even 9 yet.

  Barry threw on a suit and went out there. Peachie rushed to get the boys ready. She was running a comb through Junior’s hair, when Barry came back in from out there and shut the door behind him. He looked badly shaken up. He seemed out of breath.

  Peachie said, “What?”

  Barry told her, “You tell me. Go out there and see for yourself.”

  She did not go out there because she
still had on her sleeping clothes, but she stuck her head through the door. The church was full.

  It took her nearly half a minute to realize that everyone in the church was female—a church full of women, and they were not Faithful women.

  She noted the straightened hair, the jewelry and makeup, some of them even in pants in the house of God.

  Peachie had not read the newspaper headline that morning, Televangelist Beats Wife as Babysitter, Children Look On.

  Neither had Barry.

  They saw her and began to applaud. Some of them were saying, “Praise the Lord.” Others were saying, “Come on out, Sister McGowan. Come on out.”

  Peachie went back inside and shut the door behind her. Junior was brushing his own hair now. Barry was staring at her bug-eyed. He said, “What do they want?”

  She said, “They want me.”

  “For what?”

  She shrugged and shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  She found a housecoat and threw it on over her sleeping things and she walked past Barry. He said, “You’re going back out there?”

  Peachie shrugged again. “To see what they want.”

  She went back out there in her housecoat and slippers and black eye and bandaged neck, and the applause started up again. She stood there for a few seconds, not sure what to do. What do these women want? Why are they clapping?

  But then she started feeling embarrassed and she pulled the sash of her housecoat tighter. She wasn’t used to applause anymore. Since they had come up here and built the church, all of the applause had been for him. This was like in the old days, but she wasn’t used to it anymore.

  And applause for what, she thought? Cheating on my husband? These women are crazy. I am a harlot. In Bible days I would be stoned.

  But the applause continued, and so did the chant: “Sister Peachie! Sister Peachie! Sister Peachie!”