My dearest Tamara, I love you always, Richard.
Portia did a little detective work and found out that Tamara was Mrs. Richard Clark. The fool had mistakenly written his wife’s name on the card.
“Hey, beautiful. I’m in town for a few days. Let’s get together. Give me a call at my mother’s house. 555-3743. I would love to see you.” Beep.
The last message was from Gary Stokes. He was stupid fine and had always been Portia’s weakness. She returned his call.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Portia stood at her stove and unwrapped a king-sized milk chocolate Hershey’s candy bar. She placed it into a small saucepan then added two pats of butter. She heated the saucepan on low then stirred the chocolate and butter until the mixture melted and blended well. On the sink next to the stove was a bowl of fresh, ripe, juicy, sweet strawberries. Portia removed the melted chocolate from the heat then dipped the strawberries, one by one, in the chocolate and laid them on a plate. She placed the plate in the freezer then showered while the chocolate hardened.
Fifteen minutes later, Portia removed the plate of strawberries from the freezer and set it on the sink next to an open bottle of Pink Moscato. She filled a syringe with the wine and carefully inserted the needle into each strawberry and emptied it. She smiled when she heard a soft knock on the front door. It was time to play.
She carried the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries into the living room with her. Portia greeted Gary wearing a white sheer teddy and a smile. “So glad you could come over.”
Gary stood in the doorway looking as fine as he wanted to look. Retired from the National Football League, where he was a wide receiver for the Chicago Bears for nine seasons, Gary’s broad shoulders, buffed arms, and thick neck were easy on Portia’s eyes. Six feet three inches, and 260 pounds of solid muscle walked past Portia. He left a whiff of Usher cologne in the wind.
Portia shut the door and leaned against it. She admired Gary’s smooth bald head. His goatee mended greatly with his mustache. His caramel-colored skin was as smooth as silk. “Umph, umph, umph. It’s a shame your wife lets you travel alone.”
Gary’s mischievous smile melted Portia. “Why is that?”
“Because you don’t know how to behave yourself.”
“That’s not true. I’m always on my best behavior when I’m away on business. It’s only when I come back to Chicago that I get into trouble.”
Portia walked to Gary and wrapped her left arm around his broad neck while holding the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries in her right hand. “Is that what I am, ‘trouble’?”
He pulled Portia’s body closer to his. “With a capital T. But you’re the kind of trouble I don’t mind getting into, if you know what I mean.” Gary seductively bumped his torso against Portia’s.
Portia picked up a chocolate strawberry from the plate and inserted it into Gary’s mouth. He bit into it and when he tasted the wine, he smiled. “Umm, yummy.”
Portia returned the smile. “You like?”
“I love,” Gary answered sinfully.
She set the plate of strawberries on the cocktail table and stood on her tippy toes to kiss Gary’s forehead, his left cheek, and his right cheek. Portia took her time and ran her tongue along his mustache from left to right. Gary picked Portia up and she wrapped her thighs around his waist. The married man carried Portia to her bedroom and there wasn’t any shame in their game.
Chapter 2
He Loves Me Not
On Sunday afternoon Ginger stood behind the podium and introduced the speaker of the hour for the afternoon service. “Let’s give a good and hearty ‘God bless you’ for Evangelist Yvette Shaw.”
Ten minutes into Evangelist Shaw’s sermon, the women at True Holiness Church were on their feet. She was no stranger there. For the past seven years Evangelist Yvette Shaw had been chosen to be the main speaker for the church’s annual Women’s Day celebration and she had brought the house down each and every time.
Evangelist Shaw wiped sweat from her brow with her hanky. She whooped and hollered as she strutted across the pulpit. “Women of God must understand that we are not to pick and choose our mates. Often we go against the will of God and plan our own lives, rather than submit ourselves to Him. That’s when we end up on paths of self-destruction. Everything that looks good to us is not necessarily good for us. And how many of you know that everything that shines ain’t gold?”
There were a bunch of amens to that comment. Portia, who sat next to Ginger, nudged her elbow and leaned into her. “Pay attention. She’s preaching to you.”
Ginger rolled her eyes at Portia. “Where’s Celeste?”
Portia looked around the church but didn’t see Celeste anywhere in the sanctuary. “I guess she decided to skip this Sunday.”
Ginger was disappointed. “She knew I was hosting this program. She could’ve come to support.”
“Ginger, she tried to show you support last night, we both did, but you didn’t want it.”
Evangelist Shaw started to pace the pulpit. “Ladies, you don’t have to go to a lounge, sit at the bar, and wait for a man to come along and offer to buy you a drink.” She spoke to the handful of men present in the sanctuary. “Men, you don’t have to sign up for a step aerobics class and wait for a woman to commend you for not being intimidated by sweating with a bunch of women.”
“Come on and talk about it. Tell the truth. You’re in the house today,” the congregation responded.
“When God brings your Adam or Eve to you, it will be totally unexpected. Women, he’ll walk up to you and say, ‘Excuse me, I’ve been watching you for weeks. I’ve been praying for the nerve to approach you. I want you to know that I love your praise. I saw you a few Sundays ago when you were on your knees engrossed in true worship while crying out to God and for some reason, I found that very attractive. I saw how you dismissed everything around you and concentrated on worship. I love it when a woman is not ashamed of letting her mascara run or is not in fear of ruining a pair of stockings.”
The women in the sanctuary were on their feet. “All right, Evangelist. Teach it, teach the truth.”
“Ladies, God knows your heart’s desire and He sees you exactly where you are. But He wants to make sure that you’re ready for the blessing before He sends him to you. If you’re not faithful to God, how can He trust you to be faithful to your Adam? The man God has for you will never come to you in a nightclub and offer you a drink. The man sent from God will not proposition you to his bedroom after he buys you an expensive gift. A man sent from God will not share a home with you without giving you his last name.”
Ginger looked around the church wondering who was looking at her. Why did Evangelist Shaw have to put my business out there like that?
After the benediction, Ginger raced out of the church toward her car. She couldn’t speak to Evangelist Shaw and tell her how great her sermon was. Ginger couldn’t stay and linger in the vestibule like everyone else. She turned down an invitation to go out to dinner and fellowship with a few of the women.
Ginger had a curfew to beat. The streetlights on Ada Street would be on at exactly 7:00 p.m. Before Ginger had left for church Ronald told her that she had to be home before the streetlights came on. Ginger worried that if she stepped foot inside the door at one second past 7:00 p.m., she would have hell to pay.
Driving home from church Ginger was on a spiritual high. She stopped at a red light and reflected on Evangelist Shaw’s words. She really put something on Ginger’s mind when she talked about breaking soul ties and being unequally yoked with a mate.
Ginger knew she had made a mistake sending for Ronald and allowing him to live in her home three years ago. It was Ginger’s addiction to online chat rooms that brought Ronald into her life. At first it was harmless idle chat with various folks about various topics. But when Ronald chimed in and asked Ginger to send him a picture of herself, she went against her better judgment and obliged him. Soon after Ronald e-mailed Gi
nger and complimented her beautiful mocha skin, petite nose, and sultry lips. The next thing Ginger knew, Ronald had sweet-talked his way to a first-class one-way airplane ticket from New Orleans to Chicago, at her expense. It was only a week and four days into her forbidden living arrangement when it was revealed to Ginger what a monster Ronald was. She would never forget the first time Ronald smacked her across her face.
Ginger had just come upstairs from the basement after she had put a load of laundry in the washing machine. As soon as she reached the top step, Ronald was there waiting for her. By the expression on his face Ginger knew he was angry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Did you use the toilet?”
Ginger didn’t understand why Ronald would ask her that. “What?”
The frown on his face became even more evident. “Don’t ‘what’ me.” He stepped closer to Ginger and raised his voice. “Did you use the toilet?”
Ronald’s body language threatened Ginger. She became uncomfortable in his presence. “Yes, I did. Why?”
With the back of his hand Ronald struck Ginger across the right side of her face. She lost her balance and fell into the doorway to the basement. Ginger grabbed the door handle to steady herself. She caressed her face where Ronald had hit her.
He moved closer to Ginger and pointed his finger in her face. “Don’t you ever disrespect me.”
In her mind Ginger tried to make sense out of what was happening. Was Ronald angry because she used the bathroom? How could that possibly be a sign of disrespect?
“You ain’t the only one living here,” Ronald stated. “Make sure to raise the toilet seat before you leave the bathroom.”
The driver behind Ginger pressed the horn. Ginger snapped out of the daydream and stepped on the gas pedal. The digital clock on Ginger’s dashboard read 6:49 p.m. She floored the gas pedal and raced west on Ashland Avenue toward her home.
At 6:57 p.m. Ginger lowered the garage door and stepped out of the car. No sooner did she insert her key into the lock on the door to the breezeway, than Ronald yanked it open and in a split second, punched Ginger in her left eye. Because she didn’t see it coming, Ginger fell backward. Ronald reached down and grabbed Ginger’s hair and dragged her into the house and kicked her in the stomach. Ginger screamed out in pain.
“What did I tell you, Ginger?” he yelled. His eyes were blazing.
She didn’t know why Ronald was so angry. She had made it home with three minutes to spare. Her left eye was burning and already beginning to swell. “It’s not seven o’clock yet, Ron.”
“Don’t play with me. You know what I’m talking about. And don’t eyeball me.” Ronald once told Ginger that women were inferior to men and should never look them in the eyes.
Ginger focused on the dark hardwood floor. She covered her sore eye with her hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You told me to be home before seven. I’m home before seven.”
Ronald gritted his teeth and balled up his fists. “You wanna play games? Huh? Are you playing with me, Ginger?”
Ginger looked up at Ronald standing over her then quickly averted her eyes to the floor. It was becoming difficult for her to see out of her left eye. “Ron, I swear to God. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, since you don’t seem to know what I’m talking about, I’ll show you.” Ronald stood Ginger up by her hair. He forcefully pulled her into the kitchen and yanked open the cabinet over the sink that housed the can goods. “Look at this. Now do you know what I’m talking about?”
With her right eye, Ginger saw a can of whole kernel corn stacked on top of a can of string beans. That was a no-no.
Ronald grabbed the can of corn and tapped Ginger’s right temple with it. “It’s the stupid and careless crap you do that pisses me off, Ginger. You may be a dumb broad but you’re not stupid. How many times do I have to tell you to stack corn on top of corn, peas on top of peas, and string beans on top of string beans? You’re not in preschool. This ain’t no romper room.”
Tears ran down Ginger’s face as she stood next to him. “I’m sorry. I swear I stacked them right, Ron. I swear I did.”
“Ain’t nobody living here but you and me. What are you saying? That I did this?” Ronald tapped her right temple again with the can of corn. “Huh? Is that what you’re saying, Ginger?”
She opened her mouth to speak but decided that she should say nothing.
A can of cling peaches in light syrup, which sat on the top shelf in the cabinet, caught Ronald’s eye. He set the can of corn on the counter and grabbed the can of peaches. “What the heck is this? You know I like my peaches in heavy syrup.”
Fearful that he would hit her again, Ginger flinched at every gesture Ronald made. “I was gonna make a cobbler. This can must have been mixed in with the peaches in heavy syrup. I can still use it.”
Ronald gripped the can tighter. “You can’t make peach cobbler with this crap. You gotta have the heavy syrup. What’s wrong with you? Do you like pissing me off? Do you enjoy getting knocked on your butt?”
Ginger focused on the bottle of Dawn dishwashing liquid next to the faucet as she spoke softly to him. “I thought I had bought the right kind. I’m sorry.”
Ronald threw the can of peaches across the kitchen and it slammed against the wall. The sound of the can hitting the wall made Ginger scream out in terror. Ronald retrieved the dented can of peaches and set it on the counter in front of Ginger. “Open it and eat ’em.”
Ginger didn’t need to be told twice. With shaky hands, she slid open the utensil drawer. She saw a steak knife and wanted nothing more than to drive it straight through Ronald’s heart. She found the can opener. As she turned the can, Ginger could hear Ronald’s heavy breathing in her right ear. She snapped the lid off and contemplated sliding the sharp edge across Ronald’s throat. Ginger laid the lid on the counter and reached in the drawer for a fork. Just as she was getting ready to insert a slice of peach into her mouth, Ronald turned the can over and poured the peaches on the counter. He grabbed Ginger by the back of her neck and slammed her face onto the counter. Ginger yelled out at the pain when her front teeth split open the inside of her top lip.
Ronald rotated her face in the peaches. “Eat ’em, eat ’em.”
* * *
On Monday morning, Celeste sat behind the counter at Midway Financial Savings Bank and sighed. She looked toward the door and saw customers outside waiting for the clock to strike 9:00 a.m.
Celeste had awakened that morning with Ginger on her mind. She thought about the events that took place on Saturday evening. Celeste felt bad about the last words she’d spoken to Ginger that night. And to make matters worse, she didn’t support Ginger’s program at church the day before. Celeste knew that Ginger was so excited about hosting the Women’s Day service because she had been obsessing over it for weeks.
Celeste glanced at the huge clock over the main door as her fellow bank tellers assembled behind the counter and readied themselves for business. Celeste had about a minute and a half to get a quick prayer in. She leaned forward, placed her elbows on the counter, lowered her head and closed her eyes.
Lord, I’m confused about something. I need you to help me understand why someone as beautiful and intelligent as Ginger has to go through this. Lord, I’m coming to you on her behalf. Please break the stronghold Ron has on her. And I need you to work on my temper, Father, because my mouth has gotten Ginger into trouble many a day. Show me what I need to do to be the friend she needs.
When Celeste opened her eyes and looked up, there was an elderly Caucasian woman standing on the opposite side of the counter smiling at her. “Good morning.”
Celeste returned the smile. “Yes, it is. How may I help you?”
The woman set two two-and-a-half-pound Folgers coffee cans on the counter. She removed the lids from both cans. Celeste saw both cans were filled with pennies.
“Can you give me what this is worth in dollars?” the woman ask
ed.
“Yes, ma’am, I can.” Celeste took both cans to the coin machine. Most banks required customers to roll their coins. Celeste was excited that she got to operate the coin machine.
She returned three minutes later with a receipt and cash. “Thirty-four dollars and seventeen cents,” Celeste said to the woman.
The elderly woman looked at Celeste. “You stole my money.”
Celeste was sure she hadn’t heard the woman correctly. “Excuse me?”
“There was at least one hundred dollars in pennies in those coffee cans. You bring me thirty-four dollars like I wouldn’t know you stole my money.”
The bank teller working next to Celeste heard the woman’s complaint and called for their supervisor to come to the teller’s station.
“Miss, I don’t need to steal your money,” Celeste said. “Those were pennies in those cans, not quarters.”
The woman raised her voice. “I know what was in the cans. I had a hundred dollars’ worth of pennies. Give me my money!”
Linda Marshall, Celeste’s supervisor, appeared at her side. “Is there a problem, Celeste?”
The old woman spoke. “Yes, there is a problem. She stole my money. I came in here with two coffee cans full of pennies and she brought me thirty-four dollars and some change.” The woman threw the money Celeste had given her on the counter.
Celeste was hot. That was the third time the woman accused her of stealing her money. “Look, old lady, I didn’t—”
“Celeste, take a break,” Linda interrupted.
Celeste looked at her boss. “But, Linda, I didn’t steal her money.”
Linda smiled at Celeste. “Take a break.”
Without another word Celeste scolded the old woman with her eyes and walked away. She went into the break room, made herself a cup of tea, and lay on a lounge chair. The old woman had Celeste so wound up, she had to count from one to ten to calm herself.
She dismissed all thoughts of what had just happened and thought about her situation with Anthony. She could only hope that her intimate time with him over the weekend was beneficial to her womb but deep down inside Celeste knew it wouldn’t be. She had been lying to her husband for so long that Celeste wondered how much longer she could get away with making Anthony believe they were really working on conceiving before he found out the truth.
Damsels in Distress Page 3
