Preacher and The Prostitute

by Barrett, Brenda

  She grew up in the West End of Negril but she had naively thought she would not have met up on anybody that she had known. She had naively thought that with the passage of time and the reverting of herself to a more natural look, no one would readily recognize her, but here she was in the driveway of one of her biggest customers, Phillip Oliver Temple, attorney at law. When she had left Negril he had been planning to run as Member of Parliament for the area. He had been her regular Wednesday client, because that was the day his wife Valeria and daughter Ingrid went to the neighboring town of Savanna-la-mar for their weekly spa treatment.

  An hour’s drive away the two women would spend approximately six hours pampering themselves, while Phillip lived out his wild fantasies with her and Felicia.

  Maribel closed her eyes and wondered wildly if she was insane.

  She hadn’t asked Brian who his cousin was or where in Negril they were going. How could she be such an idiot? Her brain had surely been short-circuiting lately. There was no excuse for her stupidity. She barely glanced at the sprawling green lawns and the ornamental plants artfully scattered throughout the yard.

  She was already familiar with Valeria’s rose garden and the gazebo that was actually built above the sea.

  She watched Brian as he stretched and then smiled at her. “This place is gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  Maribel froze. Would it look odd if she ran down the hill toward the wrought iron gates and ran off into the sunset, never looking back—running away from who she was then and who she was now?

  “It’s okay.” She pinned a bright smile on her face. “I used to live in this town, remember?”

  “You are looking positively panicked,” Brian observed astutely. “I had no idea that Negril would have such a drastic effect on you. Your father can’t get you here, Maribel.”

  Brian came to her side of the car and hugged her. “Now cheer up.”

  “Who is your cousin?” Maribel asked curiously. “Is it Ingrid that’s getting married?”

  Brian looked at her, shocked. “You know these people?”

  Maribel shook her head. “Not really. I know of them.”

  “Oh,” Brian smiled, “that’s great. Uncle Phillip is my father’s youngest brother.”

  “I didn’t know he was a church man.” Maribel swallowed. “I always thought he was a bit of a worldly man, if you know what I mean.”

  Brian laughed. “Uncle Phil is a church elder. What on earth gave you the idea that he was worldly?”

  “Just some stuff I heard.” Maribel cleared her throat. She didn’t want to go inside, so she stalled some more, forcing Brian, who was in the process of getting their bags from the car, to pause.

  “So how come his name is Temple?” Maribel asked curiously.

  Brian smiled. “He was my grandmother's only child with her second husband.”

  “Oh,” Maribel said, “I didn’t know your grandmother had another husband after your grandfather.”

  “Yes she did.” Brian held her hand. “Let’s go. He is still alive; you’ll get to meet him. I am so happy that you are getting to meet some of my family members now. I can’t wait until you meet Mom and Dad and my sisters, but those people inside are some of my closest family members in Jamaica.”

  Maribel winced. She had already met his uncle in the most intimate of ways and she wished that she never had to meet him again. This cemented in her mind that she had to say no to Brian’s proposal tonight. When they were heading for Kingston she would just break up with him, get it over and done with. It would be utterly humiliating to tell the man that you love, “Oh by the way, I had sex with your uncle every Wednesday for close to two years. He was my highest paying customer.”

  The house was bustling with activity. The security guard at the gate had radioed up to the house that they were coming and Valeria had waited in the front foyer for them. She was arranging pink and white roses in red stained pots when they walked through. The house was just as Maribel remembered it: huge and expensive, with marble floor tiles and a central wall made of cut stone in a faded, soft brown, leading into the spacious kitchen.

  Maribel looked at Valeria in the flesh for the first time and had to stop herself from staring. She was shorter than her pictures had suggested, her coffee-colored skin was unlined and her teeth were blindingly white.

  “My baby,” she exclaimed when she saw Brian. “I can’t believe you came to Jamaica to work and they sent you to Kingston, of all places. We rarely see you.”

  She hugged Brian tightly and then looked over at Maribel. “And who is this?”

  “Maribel,” Brian said proudly, “this is my aunt Valeria.”

  “Hello,” Valeria said, hugging Maribel. “You are very welcome here.”

  “Thank you,” Maribel said, smiling.

  “Where is Uncle Phil?” Brian asked excitedly. “And the bride to be?”

  “Phil is in his study, trying to pretend that the house is not in chaos. Ingrid is in her room crying because one of her bridesmaids can’t make it to the wedding.”

  “That’s sad,” Maribel said, wishing that she had not put foot in the house and wishing that she had not met Valeria and saw that she was such a nice person.

  “It might not be, now that you are here,” Valeria said cheekily. “You are about the same size as Crystal, the missing bridesmaid.”

  “But … but … ” Maribel stumbled; she couldn’t participate in the wedding. She was already having heart palpitations at the ordeal of meeting Phillip and now she would be participating in his daughter's wedding. How bad can this get, Lord? How bad?

  “Do a quick visit with your uncle,” Valeria said, ignoring Maribel’s protest. “I will fetch Maribel in a while.”

  Brian grinned at Maribel and said, “Isn’t it cool? You can practice for our wedding."

  "I didn’t say yes.”

  “But she didn’t say no either,” he said to his aunt, who was looking as pleased as can be.

  They headed toward the study and Maribel found herself dragging her feet the nearer they came to the door.

  “Come on,” Brian laughed, “he won’t bite.”

  He knocked and Phillip gruffly said, “Enter … if you are not going to ask me wedding-related questions.”

  Brian opened the door and laughed, “Uncle Phil.”

  Phillip stood up when Brian entered. He was a tall man with graying side burns. His face was ruggedly handsome—tennis and jogging kept him looking fit. He greeted Brian with a hug and patted him on the back. Maribel hesitated at the door. He hadn’t seen her yet and she was hovering at the door, trying to delay the inevitable.

  “So how are you” Phillip was walking toward the door, “and who do we have out here?”

  He flung the door wider and his face froze in shock. His eyes ran up and down Maribel slowly and then rested on her face. “Peaches?”

  “No Uncle, that’s Maribel,” Brian said behind his uncle. “She is the lady that I asked to marry me.”

  Phillip swallowed and then swung around to Brian. “Okay …” He cleared his throat. "Come on in, Maribel. Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand.

  “Hello Phillip,” Maribel said quietly.

  She squirmed as the atmosphere in the study became thick with tension.

  “So,” Phillip released Maribel’s hand and sat in one of the chairs that was in the office, “have a seat—have a seat.”

  Brian could sense that something was not right; Maribel was holding herself so stiffly that he suspected that if he poked her she would shatter like glass. His uncle had a sheepish look on his face, as if he was recovering from a shock, and what was that about him calling Maribel Peaches?

  He didn’t get to explore the scenario further because Ingrid had burst into the study; she was in a diaphanous robe with a blue silk pajama. Her hair was in fine curlers and her eyes looked puffy.

  “Oh Brian, I am so happy to see you,” she sniffed, “and this is Maribel?”

  Maribel nodded, relieved; she h
ad been on tenterhooks when she realized that Phillip had recognized her. She was just waiting for the guillotine to chop off her head when Ingrid made her grand entrance with an aura of desperation about her.

  “Thank God, you are so pretty, and just the right size,” she was babbling. “The Lord does answer prayers. Would you mind being my bridesmaid? Your hair is the right length for the curls. Thank God. Did you say yes? Let’s go upstairs.”

  She grabbed Maribel’s hand and ushered her out of the room. Maribel looked back at Brian helplessly.

  “I hope you like burnt orange because that is my wedding color. My name is Ingrid, by the way, and I am Brian’s favorite cousin. I am marrying Dean—he is so dreamy. I’ve known him since he was ten. I can’t believe that I am marrying him today.”

  She talked on and on, and Maribel could not get a word in edgewise.

  “Why did you call her Peaches?” Brian asked his uncle when the women left.

  “Do you want a drink?” Phillip asked, stalling; he couldn’t tell Brian the truth without exposing himself and yet he was appalled that Peaches was here in his house again. He had searched Negril for her when she disappeared and now here she was in his house, engaged to his nephew.

  “No thanks,” Brian said impatiently. “Why did you call Maribel Peaches?”

  “Because that’s her pet name,” Phillip said reluctantly. “I’ve known her since she was a very young girl.”

  Phillip stressed the very young trying to deflect Brian from his suspicions. Whatever they were.

  “Oh,” Brian relaxed. “Where do you know her from? She did say that she was from Negril and had a rotten childhood.”

  “Ah,” Phillip relaxed in his chair with a drink in hand, “she used to do some work for me. I tried to help her out, you know.”

  Brian nodded, relieved. For just a minute there he had wondered briefly if Maribel had had a relationship with his uncle. The thought made him cringe. How could he think such nonsense? He needed to ask the Lord to purify his thoughts. But just for a minute, when the tension had built to boiling point, he had thought that his uncle had known Maribel on an intimate level.

  He switched the conversation but the sensation of being left in the dark came roaring back incessantly. How was it that Maribel said she only knew of his family and now his uncle said that she had worked for him? He vowed that he would find out once and for all whatever it was that was so bad in Maribel’s past.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Do you really have to go to Kingston tonight?” Ingrid hugged Maribel. “You could use my old bedroom and Brian can sleep in the guest room.”

  “It is late, but I have work tomorrow,” Maribel said, smiling. No way in hell would she be staying in Phillip Temple’s house tonight. He was staring at her all day, a puppy dog look on his face. He made several attempts to talk to her but Ingrid was like a drill sergeant with her eight bridesmaids. They were constantly on the move.

  “Time to go.” Brian appeared at her elbow. He seemed a little pensive and Maribel looked at him warily.

  “Oh, okay … it was a great wedding, Ingrid. I loved it."

  “Thank you. Brian, I will return the favor as a bridesmaid at your wedding when you two get married,” Ingrid gushed.

  Maribel looked at the way that he hesitated before answering and felt a little niggle of fright enter her thoughts. Did Phillip say something to him? Of course he wouldn’t; he would not want his nephew to know that he had a habit of using prostitutes when his wife was away. She was counting on him having too much to lose to spill the beans on her.

  She moved away from Brian and Ingrid and headed toward the car. The place was packed but she knew just where Brian had parked. She had already said her goodbyes to Valeria—a guilty shaft had pierced her as she thought about what she used to do behind the lady’s back with her husband, but that was her unconverted self, she kept reminding herself.

  Phillip was at the car when she approached it; she thought that she had lost him in the crowd.

  “I know I don’t have to tell you not to say a word about our previous association,” Phillip said. He was standing in the last glare of the sunset.

  Maribel frowned. “What association?”

  “Good girl,” Phillip clapped. “You can’t join the family, Peaches.” Phillip leaned on the car and crossed his arms. “You are a whore; Brian is a pastor.”

  Maribel winced. “I was a whore. Not anymore.”

  “Your body has been through so many men.”

  “Including you,” Maribel retorted. “So just shut up and stop this stupid double standard. I was shocked to hear that you are a church elder. At least when I used to sell my body, I had no knowledge of God and his goodness. I had no spouse and child. You are such a hypocrite in so many ways; you sinned against God and your marriage.” She was breathing hard.

  Phillip straightened up. “For a man it's different.”

  “That’s crap.” Maribel snorted. “You are as much a whore as I used to be. Because you are the one paying doesn’t make you less of a whore. As far as I know, all sin is sin in God's eyes.”

  “Nice speech,” Phillip said angrily, “but I don’t want you in my family.”

  “I don’t care what you want,” Maribel retorted. “It’s up to Brian what he wants.”

  “That’s because Brian doesn’t know what a mess he would be embroiling himself in with you.”

  “You don’t know me,” Maribel stressed angrily. “Brian knows the true me. All you knew was a girl who used to flatter your ego and give you sexual release.”

  Phillip laughed. “Is that so, Peaches? Are you forgetting the days when you used to cry to me about your rotten childhood and when I used to hold you when you complained about that fat, slimy landlord whose equivalent of rent collecting was a blowjob?”

  Maribel closed her eyes.

  “That’s right,” Phillip said angrily, “I am the one who paid those Jamrotic guys back their money after Cream ran off with it. I made them know that they were never to mess with you because you were innocent. They shot her anyway. I made it known that you were not to be touched. In essence, Peaches, I am your benefactor. The man who made it possible for you to be the prim and proper church-going Maribel. But I did not expect that you would be making plans to marry my nephew. Do me a favor and stay away from him. The man deserves better than you for a wife.”

  Maribel swallowed; tears were seeping unchecked along her cheeks. She didn’t even recognize when Phillip moved in front of her and brushed her cheeks. “I still want you. I can set you up in a nice house near here and you and I can still have what we had. What we had was more than you are trying to lower it to. Except this time, I want exclusivity; no one else for you but me. I used to hate it when I saw you only on Wednesdays. I used to hate that with a passion.”

  Maribel moved away blindly and ran into Brian, who was coming toward the car.

  “Hey Maribel,” he caught her hand and drew her to him in an embrace, “what’s wrong?”

  Maribel cried and hiccupped, “It’s all falling apart.”

  Brian hugged her to him and inhaled her scent; it was a flowery mix of jasmine and citrus.

  He rubbed her back and marveled at her shapely form. “Hush now, let’s get ourselves on the road, and stop somewhere and talk.”

  Maribel nodded in his neck. “I am sorry, Brian. I am so sorry you met me.”

  Brian kissed the top of her head. “I am happy I met you, Maribel, so happy. I can’t find Uncle Phil anywhere. I wanted to tell him goodbye.”

  “Let’s not,” Maribel shuddered.

  “Okay.” Brian let her into the car and came around to his side contemplatively. “Were you just talking to him?”

  “Yes,” Maribel mumbled.

  “You two had a sexual relationship, didn’t you?”

  Maribel sniffled.

  “Oh Maribel,” Brian sighed. “I am going to assume that the answer is yes.”

  Maribel quietly sobbed in her side of the
car as Brian drove off.

  “I am not mad,” he said to Maribel quietly. “I suspected that something was not quite right when we were in the study. I am just taken aback—confused, but not very surprised though. You keep on warning me that you have a past. I keep on skirting the issue because I am not sure that I am ready for the details. I want to know more and it might be that it may not be so good for me, you know. Was this why you can’t marry me?”

  Maribel considered taking the easy way out and saying yes and then she remembered that Thelma was out there, a loose cannon.

  “There’s more.” Her nose was all stuffed up and her voice sounded hoarse.

  Brian sighed. “Can I process this one for a while, please?”

  Maribel nodded.

  They drove in silence as Brian thought about it. So she had an affair with his married uncle. He could live with that; she obviously did it when she was young. She did not have a father figure in her life; she was a young girl in Negril without proper guidance or any Christian connection. He could forgive that. He was writing a book on forgiveness, for God’s sake; in the whole scheme of things, what she did was negligible.

  There was more, she had said; well, he would just have to wait to hear what more. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his uncle was not the upstanding pillar of Christianity that he had thought he was.

  She got an email the Monday morning after the fateful Sunday night. She had cried herself into exhaustion and Brian had not pressed her for more information. He had spoken about his book and his family in Canada—everything but Maribel’s past.

  When he dropped her home after ten o’clock she felt as if she had run a marathon. In the morning she got an email from him. “We didn’t celebrate your birthday the way we should have on Sunday. Happy belated birthday. Can we do it on Wednesday instead?”

  She had written back that Wednesday was fine.

  Wednesday was as good a day as any to give a full confession.

  “How did it go?” Vivian stuck her head around the door.