Brian smiled, relieved; for a minute there he was thinking that Maribel had been involved in some embezzlement and that Thelma was trying to expose her. It didn’t help that Maribel said she had something to tell him before she accepted his proposal. His mind was working overtime trying to figure out what it could be.
“Well, we are dating. I loved her from the moment I saw her,” Brian said happily. “I really want to marry her.”
“Ah,” Horace nodded, “I could see the attraction when I saw you two together. So are you two going to get married?” Horace looked at Maribel.
Maribel smiled, “I will let him know first and then everyone else.”
Horace nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Dinner is ready.” Thelma swooped into the room as if nothing had happened. “Come this way for me, please.”
Everyone got up and trooped after her into a vast dining room with glass windows that overlooked the city lights. Thelma had turned down the lights so that the effect of the view could be enhanced. The dining room table was not a small one, as it seated about twelve persons comfortably. Horace sat at the head, Thelma to his right and Rose to his left. Maribel sat beside Thelma and across from Brian, a move that she was sure Thelma planned carefully.
Thelma’s helper, Karen, was eager to please, as she was recently hired and was on probation. Thelma had whispered that information after the nervous-looking girl had served the appetizers and was heading for the kitchen.
She served some kind of soup with vegetables. It tasted bland to Maribel but she choked down a few spoonfuls because she was aware that Karen’s job could very well be on the line if she appeared not to like it.
The next course was an improvement on the last. All the dishes were vegetarian—to impress Brian, she was sure.
Rose was having some kind of whispered conversation with Brian that Maribel could barely hear. Thelma glanced at her with a stony kind of warmth in her eyes. It was the look Maribel could imagine a snake having when it was trying to be nice.
“So Maribel,” Thelma started her conversation as she carefully piled rice on her fork with her knife, “where in Westmoreland are you from?”
Maribel twitched uncomfortably. “I lived in several places in Westmoreland.” She swallowed.
Brian looked up from Rose’s whispering and said heartily, “Maribel is from Negril. Coincidentally, that’s where my grandparents are from too. And this Sunday Maribel and I are going to a wedding there.”
“Ooooh,” Thelma said excitedly, “that’s a great place to relax with all those white sand beaches and gentle breezes. Perfect wedding spot.” She looked over at her husband, a smile of victory on her face. “I think I am going to have to force Horace to take me there tomorrow.”
Maribel felt as if her throat closed over. Why did Brian have to blurt it out like that? He knew how she felt about Negril. Now this evil witch knew exactly where she was from. God help me, a panicked voice kept ringing in her head.
Horace frowned. “I was thinking of going golfing with my friends over in St. Ann, Thelma.”
“Tomorrow is a holiday, isn’t it?” Rose asked bewilderedly. “I can barely tell the days apart since I got the promotion, they work me so hard at that place. I was just telling Brian that I am thinking of changing professions and working as a kindergarten teacher in the church school.”
Horace coughed heavily and Thelma looked over at Rose, a contemplative gleam in her eye.
Maribel released a sigh of relief. Rose might be in contention for Brian’s attention but she sure was working hard to take the heat off her. Every time her mother went into attack mode she threw her off Maribel’s scent. She was so protective and kind. She reminded her a bit of Felicia.
“You know, Rose,” Maribel said, trying to return the favor—Horace looked like he was about to blow on hearing about the career change and Thelma’s left eye was ticking. “You remind me so much of my friend Felicia. She was such a nice person.”
Rose smiled at Maribel, recognizing the ploy for what it was.
Thelma stiffened in her chair, the fork she was unconsciously clutching fell from her fingers. All thoughts of Rose throwing away her hard earned MBA to teach snotty-nosed children fled from her thoughts and her mind ran over the conversation that she had with that uncouth lout on the phone from Jamrotic.
“I think it was Fiona or Felicia or some ish like that.”
“Fiona or Felicia?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” the man over the phone said drowsily, “bitch took my money and ran away. I heard she dead though but that’s a’ight.”
What were the odds, Lord? She thought to herself, two girls; one called herself Peaches, the other Cream. She deserved a pat on her shoulder. Maribel was Peaches and Felicia was Cream. The only thing she needed now was concrete proof from the wonderful town of Negril.
“Dear,” she said to Rose, a smile on her face, “I think that you should follow your heart’s desire.” She looked at Brian significantly. “Horace, you need to spend more time with your wife. I veto golf and say let’s head to Negril.”
Horace grumbled good-naturedly.
“So where is your friend now, Maribel?” Thelma asked with bated breath, willing the girl to say that she was dead.
“Oh, she died,” Maribel said thickly, “on my birthday six years ago.”
“That’s so sad,” Thelma said, a little bud of glee bubbling in her heart. It was her! It was really Maribel on that filthy DVD cover.
“I have peach and chocolate mousse with a hint of mint cream for dessert,” Thelma said to the table at large. “Anyone interested?”
“Sounds yummy,” Rose said enthusiastically.
Brian smiled. "Sounds innovative."
Thelma laughed. “And you, Maribel, I hope you will enjoy it. It is the classic combination of peaches and cream.”
She watched Maribel’s frozen expression and had to suppress a very hearty laugh.
“Does anyone take their lunch break at 4:00?” Vivian asked two days later.
She glanced at Maribel, who was playing in her food; she was placing curried chicken on one side of the plate and rice on the other.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Vivian asked, concerned. “The other day I asked you and you went off to lunch with your boyfriend. When you returned you were on top of the world. Today you are back to being morose. You have hardly said a word to me.”
“Is morose the word of the day?” Maribel asked, concentrating on getting all the chicken gravy away from her rice.
“No,” Vivian growled, “the word of the day is something your Christian ears can’t take if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
Maribel looked up and then looked around the cafeteria. From her vantage point in the back she could see that the large room was empty. They had a good view of the heavy traffic meandering the New Kingston streets below. “In a nutshell, my life is ruined.”
“How? Why?” Vivian asked urgently. “I thought we had gotten rid of Mark and his …”
“Not that,” Maribel sighed and massaged her temples. “Brian asked me to marry him.”
“I would jump up and say congratulations,” Vivian said somberly, “but you just said that as if it is the end of the world.”
“The story begins with me wanting to join more activities in the church, so I went to a Women’s Ministries meeting.”
“Which was a good and noble effort,” Vivian said loyally.
Maribel smiled. “Then I met one Thelma Lawrence.”
“Same surname as the Lawrence account ... She goes to your church?”
“Yup,” Maribel nodded her head. “She hates me.”
“I thought all church people were loving and kind.”
Maribel laughed and slapped Vivian’s hand. “I know you know that’s a joke.”
“Anyway, she has marked me as competition to her daughter, even before I even met the girl.”
“The plot thickens.” Vivian slurped her milkshake.
“The problem is…” Maribel wondered if she should tell Vivian about her past. And then she decided to just do it. If she didn’t share this with her she was going to explode. And it didn’t seem much like a secret anymore since Thelma was hinting at peaches and cream. She was just anxiously waiting for the ax to fall.
“The problem is … ”
Vivian nodded eagerly.
“The problem is … I was a prostitute six years ago. I also did several porn videos. Nude pictures and you name it, I’ve done it.”
Vivian stared at Maribel, wide eyed. “You? I thought you were a virgin.”
Maribel laughed so hard that tears started seeping from her eyes. “What am I going to do, Viv? Thelma saw a DVD case with my picture on the front.”
Vivian still sat there in shock. “When you say a prostitute, do you mean one of those girls that work on the street? I mean … my God … I mean …”
“Yes,” Maribel nodded. “I used to work on the street picking up strange men, giving them what they wanted for various prices.”
“But you look so … so … normal. I am sorry … ” Vivian said, stammering. “I'm so sorry, I can’t think. Just give me a few minutes to let it sink in.”
Maribel nodded and watched as Vivian closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Vivian was not a Christian, didn’t even go to church except on Easter and Christmas, and she was shocked. She didn’t hold out much hope for anybody else. It would be over with her and Brian before she even managed to explain why her lifestyle had been the way it was. She wiped her eyes and looked over at the traffic.
Yesterday they had gone to a church social. He was concerned about his father’s health but otherwise he was happy. His eyes lit up when he saw her, a look of such intense concentration that Maribel was sure she would never see that expression in any other man’s eyes ever again. He made her feel as if she was the only woman in the room; he made her feel as if she was the only woman in the world.
“You have to tell Brian.” Vivian opened her eyes and looked at Maribel intently.
Maribel nodded.
“He’ll be hopping mad.”
Maribel nodded again.
“Can you imagine? He’s a pastor, for crying out loud. Some of them may not be living up to the expectations we have of them, but dang girl, this is deep. If you had just been a regular prostitute … things would not be as bad … he wouldn’t have to know … but a prostitute starring in her own movies.”
“Ex-prostitute,” Maribel snorted.
Vivian laughed. “Ex-prostitute. And that is the point: you are an ex-prostitute and not currently one; that should be a point in your favor.”
“I starred in a show called Fire quenchers or something like that,” Maribel sighed. “Viv, this is not a joke; it was an orgy with six men. If I tell Brian … we are through.”
Vivian nodded. “True, but imagine not telling him. You have videos out there, Maribel, and you have a church sister who is sifting through your life. You have to beat her to telling him or you will look very bad in his eyes.”
Maribel slumped her shoulders and pushed away her plate. “I could get fired for this.”
“How?” Vivian asked.
“Picture this: Horace Lawrence whispers to Mark that I was a prostitute … or a porn star.”
Vivian sighed. “This sucks. I would recommend that you look for a job in another parish.”
“Or country,” Maribel said dejectedly. “Who will hire me? If I tell them that I used to work for Fisher and Smith they will call for a background check—Mark will surely spill the beans.”
“Change jobs,” Vivian said urgently.
“And do what?” Maribel asked. “I can’t keep running away from my life and having people judge me based on my past.”
“Atta girl,” Vivian said enthusiastically, “that’s the spirit. Fight back. Don’t just leave things hanging and wait for the shoe to fall. Pre-empt the shoe. Beat Thelma at her game. Take the wind out of her sails.”
“And lose Brian?” Maribel asked in a small voice.
“My advice to you, Sister Maribel,” Vivian said cheekily, “is to ask God what to do. Isn’t that what Christianity is about, turning to God in times of peace but especially in times of trouble?”
“I feel as if he doesn’t like me anymore,” Maribel said, whining.
Vivian grabbed her hands earnestly. “It sounds to me as if you don’t like you anymore. I still like you and I am just human. And as far as I understand it, isn’t God bigger than your problems? The thought for the day on the notice board is ‘Don’t tell God how big your storm is, tell the storm how big your God is.’”
“I never read the notice board,” Maribel said, getting up. “I had no idea they had those lovely thoughts on there.” She hugged Vivian. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was raining when they set out for Negril. Brian's total concentration had to be on the road. He listened to Maribel’s chitchat with a sense of satisfaction. This was how it would be if they were married. She had looked so graceful in her jeans and top when she entered the car with a grin on her face.
“I had to carry two dresses.” She had hung the garment bag on the rail above one of the back doors, revealing a slither of smooth belly skin. “I couldn’t choose between pink and red.”
He had laughed with her, very sure that his besotted look was pleading with her to tell him yes to his marriage proposal. He had been on tenterhooks all week long, wondering what she had to tell him and why it was so hard to say yes to him.
He had thought of several scenarios as to why she would delay saying yes, but none of them made sense.
She didn’t have a boyfriend. As far as he could tell from the church grapevine, which his secretary was very much a part of, she joined the church three years ago and rebuffed all the single brothers who were bold enough to approach her.
She was a perfect hostess; she had hosted a small get-together for him at his home last week and everyone enjoyed themselves; she could sing like an angel; she was so gracious and kind, animals and children loved her; she prayed with a conviction that indicated to him that God was her friend. She went with him to Bible studies and she was so circumspect and proper—they held hands but no kissing or inappropriate touching ever happened.
So what on earth could be wrong? She was, to him, perfect in every way. He was reluctant to approach the subject again. He didn’t want to be rebuffed so he was patiently waiting for her to bring it up; she had promised him that today would be the day his questions would be answered.
When they reached Spur Tree Hill the visibility was so poor that Brian had to stop for a while. He pulled over on the side of the road and turned off the engine.
“What time is it?”
Maribel glanced at the dashboard. “Your clock says eight o’clock and my watch says 8:10.”
“Just about two and a half hours to go,” Brian yawned. “I love road trips, don’t you?”
“No,” Maribel grimaced. “I especially don’t like road trips to Negril.”
“Because it is the scene of the crime?” Brian adjusted his seat and leaned back, looking at her contemplatively.
Maribel turned in her seat and looked at him. He was freshly shaven and had that clean, fresh look that she liked to see on a man. He was so gorgeous and strong and good; why was she prolonging the agony of being with him? She should just tell him. Now would be the perfect time. They couldn’t go any farther until the heavy fog dissipated somewhat and this was halfway to Kingston, so she could get a ride back if he kicked her out.
“It is the scene of the crime.” Maribel sighed, “Brian, I have something to tell you.”
Brian looked at her worried expression and froze. “Is it going to be no to my proposal?” He could feel his heart picking up speed. He could hear one thump after another, increasing in speed and frequency.
Maribel hesitated. “The truth is I am not as … er … my past is … er … this is hard.”
“You are not saying no, are you?” Brian’s eyes were sad. He kept thinking, so this is what rejection feels like.
“I am not saying no.” Maribel fidgeted in her seat. “I am just saying that there are some really…”
Brian released the breath he was holding. “Thank God, for a minute there I thought you were going to turn me down flat. I haven’t missed the fact that you haven’t said yes either.”
“You see … ” Maribel bit her lip. “I wish I wasn’t in this situation. I wish my past was different.”
Brian held her hand and squeezed it. “I am sure that whatever it is we can work it out. You can’t base your future on your past.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on her pink lips. The sensation was that of an electric charge.
He pulled back abruptly. “Wow.”
Maribel gazed at him, a soft, unfocused look in her eyes. She touched her lips wonderingly. “Imagine if we actually really kissed.”
Brian was still staring at her hungrily. She leaned forward and ran her tongue along his lips and he opened her mouth to hers. They hungrily kissed, a passionate embrace that was so explosive that for a moment Brian actually lost all thought as to the time of day or what was happening around them.
Brian reluctantly drew away from Maribel and tried hard not to stare at her pink lips and her dreamy expression. He had almost allowed passion to take over; never before in his life had he lost so much control. He tried to remember a Bible verse or two. He had to cool off; being in the car with her at this moment would derail all his convictions on sex before marriage. Never before had he been so tempted. He leapt out of the car and into the downpour outside.
They drove up to a mansion in Negril. The house was poised on a hill that seemed to be surrounded by the blue Caribbean Sea. The tension in the car was thick. Brian was thinking of the earth-shattering kiss and Maribel was tense because she had been to the house before.
She was flagellating herself mentally and she felt sick with worry. Why on earth did she agree to come back to the scene of the crime, as Brian had so unwittingly put it?
Preacher and The Prostitute Page 11
