Maribel sighed. “Why not?”
Brian exhaled. “So what do you want us to do for the rest of the day? I can clear my appointments until five o’clock.”
Maribel whistled. “I want to play mini golf and eat ice cream and forget …”
Brian looked at her. “I hope you are not trying to forget my proposal?”
Maribel laughed. “Never that, I assure you—never that.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thelma did not like loose ends and the issue of Maribel so closely resembling a porn queen was a loose end she was not going to leave alone. She stood in her living room, pondering the situation. From the moment she had seen that girl Maribel, she had known that something was not right.
Could it be that Maribel Contrell from Westmoreland was indeed a prostitute? She felt all the hairs on her neck standing up in delicious anticipation of the possibilities. She had not rested well since she saw that picture and indeed had hidden the box in the back of her closet.
The more she secretly took it out and looked at it, the more she was sure that the image was of Maribel. It was two weeks since her find, and day and night she checked to make sure that the box was safely in her closet. Her husband Horace had found her actions amusing and laughed at her scornfully when she mentioned her suspicions but she knew, deep down, that there was no way that somebody could resemble another person so closely without there being a strong connection. The girl on the cover even had Maribel’s slanted eyes. Even though on the cover the eyes were emphasized with heavy kohl, she could see that they were the same eyes. The eyes don’t lie.
She rubbed her hands together in glee. Today she was going to do something about her suspicions. She was going to investigate and despite what Horace and Rose said, she was going to get to the bottom of the mystery.
She paced her spacious living room in a frenzy, trying to formulate a plan to go through with the investigation. "Where is the first place to do some sleuthing?" she asked her cat, who was cleaning itself on the carpet.
The cat ignored her and Thelma snapped her fingers. “Why don’t I call the company that made the pictures?”
“I am so smart,” she said to her husband, who was coming through to the living room, a briefcase in hand and a frantic look on his face.
“Thelma,” he growled, “leave the issue alone; if the girl was a prostitute she has obviously turned her life around and is trying to move on. Why are you still bemoaning the issue?”
Thelma sighed, “You don’t get it; this is a girl the pastor likes and spends time with—when he does that he has no time for Rose. I knew from the moment she walked into Women’s Ministries meeting that she was going to be trouble. I saw it imprinted on her face.”
Horace sighed and sat down on a chair, opening his briefcase. “Let Rose choose her own man.”
“Didn’t you like him when he came to dinner?” Thelma demanded of Horace.
“Of course, he seems like a good man.” Horace caressed his beard contemplatively. “Very modest and well spoken and obviously dedicated to his ministry.”
“Exactly,” Thelma snapped her fingers. “He is a cut above the rest and handsome too, a nice foil for my Rose.”
Horace sighed and placed his glasses on his nose as he peered through some papers. “It just seems un-Christian-like that you are tearing down another person for your own gains.”
“I am not tearing down another person,” Thelma snorted. “I am just going to investigate exactly what it is that this woman has to hide. And if she is a porn queen she can’t be a pastor’s wife, that’s for sure—so that’s one opportunist out of the way.”
Thelma headed upstairs and then looked back over her shoulders to her husband, who was busy sorting through business documents. “Do you see how the Lord can use the things that seem so bad to teach us a lesson?”
Horace grunted.
“Look at how Gunther watches his filth and I complain day in and day out. Out of that filth has arisen a beautiful mystery.”
“It might not be her, you know,” Horace said, looking up, “I pray to God it isn’t because with you on her case she might not want to live when you are through.”
Thelma laughed gaily. “I will take that as a compliment to my tenacity and cut- throat business acumen.”
“I am out of here,” Horace stood up. “I have a meeting with one Mr. Mark Ellington now. His accounting firm will be handling our business from now on.”
Thelma waved cheerily. “Have a blessed day, honey.”
Horace half smiled. “I wish you the same.” He closed the front door and Thelma ran up the stairs and headed for the closet. She took the now-familiar box out of her closet and examined the back.
“Peaches, the Hot Jamaican Diva … visits the firehouse to put out the firemen’s fire.”
Thelma blushed; she had never really read the back before. But there was another picture of Peaches sitting on a fire truck between two men. She hurriedly flicked through the text: produced and directed by Jamrotic Limited.
These days if you wanted to find anything you had to go to the Internet. She booted up her laptop. Of course Jamrotic would have a number listed online; they had a website listed.
She fidgeted nervously until the computer booted up and she could get to an Internet browser. Her instinct was telling her, stronger than ever, that despite the blonde wig and exaggerated makeup, this was Maribel.
She typed in Jamrotic and it loaded quickly. She grimaced when she saw the pictures and videos that were loaded on her screen. “Why do people love this filth?” she moaned. She clicked on ‘about us’ and found two numbers, one in Jamaica and one in America. She quickly scribbled down the numbers and closed the page; just being on the page made her feel somewhat dirty.
Thelma hurriedly dialed the Jamaican number and a male voice answered.
“Hello.” She cleared her throat. “I just saw a video with a girl named Peaches and I was wondering if I could book her for some modeling assignments.”
“We don’t work with Peaches no more,” said the heavily-accented American voice.
“Oh,” Thelma said hurriedly, praying that the man did not hang up. “Do you know where I can contact her or what her real name is?”
The man fumbled on the phone and then she heard swearing in the background. “She stole our money and ran away, man, she and her friend Cream—or was it Cream that stole the money and ran away with Peaches? I can’t remember; they’re all bitches.”
Thelma winced. “Oh, could you tell me her real name?”
“I think it was Fiona or Felicia or some ish like that.”
Thelma clutched the phone tighter. “Fiona or Felicia?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” the man over the phone said drowsily, “bitch took my money and ran away. I heard she is dead though, but that’s a’ight.”
“Oh okay,” Thelma said, disappointed. “Thank you.”
She hung up the phone feeling ridiculously let down; she could have sworn that it was Maribel that was on the DVD cover. She sat down and processed what the guy said. There was a girl who called herself Peaches and one called Cream. Peaches’ real name was Fiona or Felicia, not Maribel.
What a disappointment—or was it? Thelma thought craftily. She could get Maribel to come to dinner tomorrow and then find out about her past. After all, she could have given the wrong name to the men when she went filming.
She was not giving up until she exposed little Miss Maribel once and for all.
Maribel hurriedly gathered her papers together and threw them in her file folder. Mark had just popped his head around the door and told her that she had to attend a meeting with a new client.
“He’s one Mr. Lawrence, the major partner in the law firm Lawrence and Rich. If we bag this one, I am going to assign Vivian the Hodges account and you this account, so you have to be there.”
So Maribel was now heading for her meeting, her grey suit wrinkle-free and every single strand of hair in place. She had
to be circumspect when it came to meeting new clients and this for her was a rare treat. Mark was the one who handled new clients but since he intended for her to manage the account he wanted her to sit in. He must have grown some brains since I threatened him, Maribel thought smugly as she headed for his office. Either that, or he was expecting her to screw up, so that he could legitimately fire her.
She stepped into the conference room and sat down opposite Mark around the table, which could comfortably seat thirty persons. This was where prospective clients were taken for their first meeting.
Mark looked at her balefully. “I guess I don’t need to tell you that you are now representing the firm so you have to be on your best behavior.”
Maribel barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The words arrogant and pig-headed kept floating in her head and she felt like leaning over the table and strangling him.
What did he expect her to do, start trashing the building like a maniac or hike up her skirt to flash the representatives? She knew that she gave her all to her work and did a good job; why did this chauvinistic pig think otherwise?
She bared her teeth in the semblance of a smile and murmured, “You will not have to worry about me.”
He inclined his head and his eyes ran over her face. “You are looking especially good today.”
Maribel was saved from a reply when Mark’s secretary showed three men through the door.
Mark stood up and pouring on the phony business charm, which he reserved for his business meetings; he introduced himself and Maribel.
“And this is the main partner in Lawrence and Rich, Horace Lawrence.”
Maribel smiled at Horace Lawrence politely. “Nice to meet you Mr. Lawrence.”
Horace smiled when he saw her. “I am actually a frequent visitor of your church, my dear. I believe you know my wife Thelma and my daughter Rose.”
Maribel smiled, “Yes, I do know them.”
Horace laughed heartily. “Mark here spoke so highly of your talents that we had to invite you to this meeting.”
“Thank you,” Maribel replied politely, inwardly seething. Mark the snake had acted as if her sitting on in the meeting was his idea.
“So, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Horace said genially. He looked at Maribel a little longer than was polite and thought to himself it was no wonder Thelma was obsessed with the girl; she was beautiful and had that air of vulnerability that men found so attractive. He sincerely hoped that she was not the porn star that his wife was so certain she was, because that would make business between the firms untenable.
He was no judge and he tended to leave all judging to God when it came to people’s lives but if it was proven that Maribel was the girl in those pictures, Thelma, who was a major shareholder in the business, would not let him rest if Maribel was the accountant handling the firm's money.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Oh Sister Maribel,” Thelma had called her in the evening just after she had stepped into her apartment, “I am inviting you to dinner this evening. My husband told me the wonderful news that you will be handling our company's accounts.”
“Oh yes,” Maribel said, feeling the apprehension that settled on her shoulders starting to weighing her down.
“I am leaning toward a seven o’clock dinner.”
Maribel wanted to tell Thelma to go to hell but that wouldn’t be polite, and now she had the added burden of a business interest, she would have to be on her best behavior. Thelma’s revelation that she had seen someone on a DVD cover who looked like her still haunted her at night. She had nightmares where everyone would find out her past and mock her or worse, treat her like a pariah.
“I invited Pastor Brian too,” Thelma giggled girlishly, “and of course Rose will be here.”
Maribel sighed; she had wanted to go walking with Brian this evening. She loved it when they walked together and shared sallies and stories. Now she was stuck with Thelma Lawrence for one whole evening—the equivalent of hell.
“Well, seven o’clock it is, then,” said Maribel forcing a little cheerfulness into her voice.
When Thelma hung up the phone Maribel couldn’t help but feel as if she was planning something. From the first day she met Thelma she had shown open dislike toward her and now she was inviting her to dinner. How weird was that? And inviting Brian too? Even scarier was the thought.
What was she planning to do, show one of the DVDs with Maribel in it for entertainment and then have a quiz show afterward asking who does the porn star remind you of?
Maribel felt a shiver pass through her body. She searched through her closet and found a nice long dress. It was so long you could barely see her toes. It fitted her shape loosely and looked elegant enough. At least Thelma couldn’t condemn her for dressing suggestively.
The phone rang and Maribel picked it up reluctantly. The news she seemed to be getting these days were not necessarily good.
“Hey,” Brian said, his honey voice trickling smoothly through the phone line, “I heard that Sister Thelma got to you too.”
“Oh yes,” Maribel snorted, “and I just know I am going to regret this dinner some way or another.”
Brian groaned, “Why is it that she rubs everyone the wrong way? Should I pick you up?”
“Sure,” Maribel glanced at the clock. “I am going to have to hurry to get ready; it’s now six o’clock.”
“Okay, see you at quarter to seven. She lives in the hills. It should take us about fifteen minutes to get there, provided there is no traffic.”
“All right then,” Maribel hung up the phone, smiling.
She hummed in the shower as she thought about being Mrs. Brian Edwards. She would wear a white dress to her wedding, they would have a lovely honeymoon where she could act the shy virgin, and then they would have babies together.
No one had to know that she was a former prostitute and as the years wore on and they celebrated their fiftieth anniversary or when either of them was on a deathbed she would confess—people create their happily-ever-afters all the time, and she would have hers too. One day, she would probably even migrate and leave her Jamaican memories behind. She could start over afresh and she wouldn’t have to confess her past.
But could she live like that? Of course, thousands of women did it every day; they kept secrets that their spouses would not believe. She could do it too. She loved Brian and she didn’t see why she should spend her life a victim of her past. Let it stay buried and she would move on. With those thoughts in mind she happily applied lip gloss and brushed out her hair.
Horace and Thelma Lawrence lived in a mansion in Beverley Hills. They had a vast lawn area with nicely manicured shrubs and trees and an elegantly designed house with lots of glass windows overlooking the city.
Brian was telling her about the book he was writing and how interesting the concept of forgiveness was for Christians and people in general. She had sat and stared at him as he spoke, his eyes alight with excitement. He obviously was into his pet subject and she sat and listened and interjected with points that made him smile; before she knew it they were at Thelma’s mansion. The gleaming black Mercedes that she had asked them to pray about in Women’s Ministries was parked in the driveway.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Thelma said grandly when they went to the stylish front door. “Come on in, make yourselves at home.”
Maribel reluctantly walked through to the living room behind Thelma, who was in a flowing yellow dress. She clutched Brian’s hand when they sat down on the elegant sofas but was forced to release him after Thelma looked at their linked fingers with a sneer, her plucked eyebrows rising critically.
“Horace darling,” she got up as her husband entered the room, “this is Maribel, as you know.” She paused when she glanced at Maribel. “And our beloved pastor.”
Rose entered the fray soon after that, coming down the stairs in a white off the shoulder blouse and a pin stripe work skirt.
After greetings and the banal polit
e chatter, which was causing every nerve ending in Maribel’s body to draw tight as a guitar string in anticipation of the moment when Thelma would show up her true colors, she wasn’t surprised when Thelma suddenly said, “My gosh, you know what I was thinking today when Horace told me you were the one handling our business accounts?”
“What?” Maribel asked politely. Her heart was beating a mile a minute as she watched Thelma’s conniving eyes.
Thelma giggled, a high pitched sound that was grating on Maribel’s last nerve. “I was thinking that we don’t know enough about your past.”
“Thelma,” Horace said warningly.
“What dear?” Thelma asked, looking at her husband innocently. “Isn’t it important that you should know if your accountant was an embezzler or not?”
“Fisher and Smith is a good company and Maribel comes highly recommended,” Horace said, aggrieved.
“Are you trying to imply that she is an embezzler?” Brian asked, frowning.
“Excuse my mother a minute.” Rose stood up and practically dragged Thelma from the room.
Horace looked embarrassed.
Brian looked at her, baffled.
Maribel stared into her glass and thought about all the things she wished she could do to Thelma. The woman was pure evil. She was hell-bent on exposing her and Maribel just realized what a foolish thing she had done by coming to this dinner. What if Thelma had already spread the news that she thought that Maribel was a porn star? Her career would be over.
“What’s going on here?” Brian asked the room in general.
Horace leaned back in his chair. “I am not really sure. I thought we were here to have dinner.”
He glanced at Maribel and then looked back at Brian. “Are you two together or something? I don’t mean to be impolite but I think that your association with each other has created quite an interest on my wife’s part, and as a busybody church sister she has taken it up on herself to vet Maribel’s character.”
Preacher and The Prostitute Page 10
