A Mighty Love

by Anita Doreen Diggs

  A MIGHTY LOVE

  Anita Doreen Diggs

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE - A BLAST FROM THE PAST

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIG HT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  PART TWO - QUICKSAND

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  PART THREE - GOOD-BYE TO YESTERDAY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  A MEETING IN THE LADIES’ ROOM.

  Copyright Page

  For my brother Brevard Diggs.

  Thanks for always having my back from day one.

  I love you.

  Acknowledgments

  My heartfelt thanks to:

  My mother, Gladys Haigler Smith, for cheering me on when I got tired.

  My daughter and best friend, Tayannah L. McQuillar, for her unconditional love and support.

  My editor, Karen R. Thomas, for “feeling” Mel, helping me breathe life into Adrienne, and making one of my childhood dreams come true.

  Tanya McKinnon for a superb job of agenting. Thanks for hanging in there when the going got rough.

  Leslie Meredith for her excellent suggestions that improved this story tremendously.

  Fred L. Johnson for his hard work, patience, encouragement, kindness, and for being a great listener during my sad times.

  Earl Cox for reading the manuscript and for Lloyd’s smooth inscrutability.

  Sheree R. Thomas for her insight, terrific advice, and patience.

  God Bless you all!

  PROLOGUE

  Melvi n Jordan was driving the M15 bus, which was headed east on 125th Street. An attractive brown-skinned woman dressed in a skin-fitting black halter top and matching pants got on at Lenox Avenue. As soon as their eyes met, he knew what was coming. She rooted through her purse, pretending that she could not find her Metro Card.

  “I know that card is in here somewhere,” she said, smiling seductively.

  Mel had Adrienne and Delilah at home waiting for him. He was happier now than he’d ever been in his life and wasn’t about to jeopardize his marriage for a fling with this woman or any of the other pretty women who were constantly throwing themselves at him. He just wanted her to get out of his space and find a seat somewhere way in the back of the bus. “You can’t stand here, miss. Don’t worry about the card. You can ride for free this time.” He turned his head away and checked his rearview mirror. When he turned back, the woman was still standing there smiling at him. Stupid bitch, he thought.

  “Are you always this kind to the ladies?” she asked.

  Mel kept his eyes on the road. “No. I’m usually only kind to my wife.” When he looked again, she had slipped away.

  Mel had not started out as a bus driver. His first job out of high school was with the telephone company. For five years he’d worked as an installer without any trouble; then his womanizing caught up with him. Mel had been fucking his supervisor as well as several different telephone operators. At one point, he’d seriously considered asking the landlord of his bachelor pad to install a revolving door so that he wouldn’t have to get out of bed to let in and out each woman who came to see him. Some of them fell in love and wanted to become Mrs. Jordan; others were already married and just liked going to bed with him; a few were good-time girls who simply enjoyed the party.

  When his supervisor started demanding a ring, he dumped her. Then his life at the phone company became a living hell. She talked to every female operator who would listen. They all became vengeful, and one day a little voice told him that if he showed up for work again, he would never get out of there alive. So he applied for a transfer and took a leave of absence until it went through. The transfer took him out of Harlem and into Greenwich Village, where his first assignment was to install a separate telephone line in an apartment that already had service. It was a common request, and Mel didn’t think much about it until the customer, Adrienne Montgomery, answered the door. Mel knew that she was someone special. She looked like a woman in her early thirties, yet she seemed younger and very naive in a way that made him feel protective toward her.

  After that first meeting, he could not keep his mind off her. Every woman who came to see him afterward seemed like a slut in comparison.

  He took her to the movies on their first date, and it wasn’t long before they were finding time to see each other every day of the week. Adrienne introduced Mel to the jazz clubs and the experimental theater groups that were so numerous in Greenwich Village. He taught her how to play cards: bid whist, spades, and poker. He enjoyed Sunday dinner at the Montgomery home and marveled at the fact that her parents had been married for thirty years, kissed frequently, and never raised their voices at each other. It took Mel a few weeks to overcome his shame and admit that his family consisted of only two people: the aunt who had raised him and now lived in the Bronx, where she wanted to be left alone, and his sister, Debra.

  Before taking Adrienne to meet Debra, he held her tightly in his arms. He spoke plainly, “My sister isn’t going to like you, but that doesn’t matter to me at all.” When a surprised Adrienne asked why, he said, “She wanted me to marry this girl named Rose that I was going with for a long time. We broke up a few months ago, but she keeps hoping we’ll make up.”

  Mel never saw Rose again. And since he was determined to make a clean break with his past, he left the phone company, too, and signed on with the New York City Transit Authority. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drive buses forever, but right now life was good.

  Motherhood was turning out to be much more work than she’d bargained for. Adrienne Jordan was awakened at 6:00 A.M. Her six-month-old daughter, Delilah, was crying loudly. For food, cuddling, a human voice? It didn’t matter. Adrienne had to climb out of bed for the umpteenth time and soothe her only child. The two of them had been doing the same dance all night. Her husband, Mel, was working the midnight to 8 A.M. shift, and it would take him another hour to get home. They lived in a two-bedroom apartment and they had worked hard to decorate it. By the time they’d finished, it had wall-to-wall carpeting, a five-piece bedroom set with curtains that matched the spread, pictures on the walls, and walk-in closets that were bursting with clothes. He had once surprised Adrienne with a state-of-the-art stereo system and a matching sofa and love seat for the living room. The kitchen was furnished in what Adrienne called “a country motif,” and the separate dining room ha
d a full-length table, eight chairs, and a beautiful chandelier that they had found together on Jamaica Avenue.

  Adrienne gazed down into the crib, and Delilah’s screams immediately subsided to a series of whimpers. Adrienne smiled and lifted her, cooing softly, “Is mama’s baby wet?” She kissed the little brown forehead and hugged the infant against her chest. Delilah uttered a little mew of contentment and grew quiet. Adrienne changed her diaper and heated a bottle of milk. It took some feeding and rocking, but soon Delilah was once again back in her crib, sound asleep.

  Adrienne lay back down across her bed, feeling resentful. She hadn’t had any time to herself in almost a month and was feeling dog tired. I’m going to Harlem today and get my hair done, she thought, and after that I’m going to stop by Dan and Charlene’s house. They’re always good for a few laughs. Satisfied, she drifted back to sleep. A kiss on the cheek woke her up. Mel, still dressed in his bus driver’s uniform, smiled down at her. She saw smooth, deep dark chocolate brown skin and perfectly straight teeth. As he lowered his head to kiss her lips, she took note of his medium-length 1970s-style Afro. Mel was slender, and although he was only five-feet-ten, most people believed he was at least six feet. It was probably the Afro, which made him seem taller.

  “Tough night?” he asked.

  Adrienne stretched and groaned. “Delilah didn’t sleep four straight hours the whole time. I don’t know a lot about infants, but shouldn’t she be past this stage by now?”

  Mel started to undress. “I don’t know, baby. I just need a shower and some sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  Adrienne sympathized with him, but as much as she adored her husband, she needed to get away from Delilah for a while. She chose her words carefully. “Mel, I’m going to get my hair done today.”

  He had stripped down to his T-shirt and shorts. “Take li’l darlin’ with you. I can’t baby-sit.”

  Adrienne sat up. “I won’t take her to the beauty parlor; she doesn’t need exposure to all those chemicals and that dust and noise.”

  “I’m tired, Adrienne. Do it tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday. The shop I go to will be closed.”

  He sighed heavily. “Okay, baby.”

  Adrienne got up and put her arms around his waist. He was so good to her. “Go on to bed, Mel. I’ll clean the house, cook some food, prepare the formula for the baby, and stay home until one. Everything will be fine, okay?”

  Mel pulled her close. “What else will you do for me?”

  Adrienne laughed and pulled away. “I thought you were so doggone tired.”

  Mel didn’t answer. He took her hand and slowly eased her onto the bed, then flung aside the bedcovers. Adrienne wriggled out of her gown.

  A low groan came from her throat as she easily placed her long, slender legs on his powerful shoulders with her toes pointing skyward. “Oh, Mel!” she moaned, with her strong hips moving up to meet his downward thrusts.

  “Oh, baby!” Mel caressed her shoulders and gripped her back. They lay nude, their bodies intertwined, slick with sweat. Mel kissed her face and ran his hands up and down her bare back. Adrienne could feel the warmth spread down her spine.

  Their cries of ecstasy had awakened Delilah, who started to whimper.

  Mel untangled himself from Adrienne’s arms, slipped out of their four-poster bed, pulled on his robe, and walked across the cold parquet floor to soothe the baby. Delilah was his pride and joy. He would spend hours just gazing at her through the bars of her crib. The child looked just like him, too. Same dark skin, round eyes fringed with long lashes, dimpled cheeks, and wide smile.

  Adrienne observed the tender scene from her spot on the bed. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of how much she loved her husband and child. She slipped her gown back on and joined Mel at the crib. Mel suddenly turned to her and said, “Every child should have two parents in the house.” At that moment, Adrienne wished that she could go back in time to Mel’s childhood and give him all the love that had been missing in his drab home. Adrienne knew that part of Mel’s attraction to her was the fact that she had grown up in a two-parent home, with a mother and father who provided the necessary material things and didn’t fight each other all the time.

  By 1:00 P.M., Adrienne was on the road. She popped a Bessie Smith CD into the player and sang along as she drove. Bessie was crooning something about yella women having all the luck. Adrienne chuckled. She was light-skinned, slender, with high cheekbones. Her eyes had an oriental slant to them like Nia Long’s, and her lips were full and pink-tinged. Adrienne didn’t know about the women of Bessie Smith’s day, but it took more than light skin and a beautiful face to make it now.

  Adrienne had once tried to make it as a singer. In fact, she had dropped out of college to join an all-girl group. They were getting regular bookings and, at one point, were close to signing a record deal. Then one girl ran off with a drummer from another band. The remaining girl and Adrienne became enemies soon after, their friendship ripped apart over a man. Once the group disbanded, Adrienne spent years chasing one deal or group after another, supplementing her income by working temporary secretarial jobs. Then she built a solo act and set out on her own. It was a disaster.

  Back then, her love life fared no better. There had been Oswald, a bass guitarist who didn’t believe in monogamy. Jerome, a photographer whom her brother Dan had introduced her to, had been a nice guy but cheap as hell. He never wanted to go anyplace nice when they went out. She dumped him after three months.

  Warren had lasted the longest. They met when she was working as a temp for an insurance company. He was a salesman. Smart, funny, and caring, but he’d been taken to the cleaners by his ex-wife. “I like you, Adrienne. We can date forever, but I’ll never get married again.” He was dead serious, and when the temp assignment ended, so did their relationship. Adrienne didn’t see anyone else until Mel came along two years later.

  Sometimes she regretted giving up her dream of a career in entertainment, but it was too late to turn back now.

  Traffic was light from Rosedale to Harlem, and it took Adrienne only forty-five minutes to reach Sharon’s House of Beauty on 125th Street. She had always loved the hustle and bustle of 125th Street. It was the commercial and cultural center of Harlem. She parked the car in a lot around the corner and headed for the shop. Sharon’s House of Beauty was nestled between a 99-cent store and a wig shop, which also sold loose hair for braiding. Older men in kofis sold incense and black soap on small card tables that were set up on the sidewalk. Other vendors hawked books by African-American authors at well below retail prices. Adrienne pushed the door open and was grateful for the blast of air-conditioning that greeted her. Her eyes met a row of booths filled with curling irons, straightening combs, and other hair utensils. The wall across the room was lined with hair dryers, and on one end was a desk where the manicurist plied her trade. Sharon kept the salon neat and clean.

  The ladies who frequented Sharon’s House of Beauty rarely saw eye to eye on anything. They came to Sharon’s seeking braids, weaves, perms, twists, or a press ’n’ curl. Sharon and the stylists who worked for her provided exquisite hairdos along with the latest magazines and light refreshments. The ladies themselves furnished the heated debates, which usually started about men, wandered into politics, sashayed into the latest music and fashion, drifted into their personal lives, and ended up back on the subject of men.

  When Adrienne arrived, Sharon was braiding another woman’s hair. “Hey, girl,” she called out cheerfully. She motioned Adrienne toward a chair. “I just got the latest Essence this morning. By the time you finish reading it, I’ll be almost ready for you.”

  Adrienne waved hello to the few women she knew. “What do you mean, ‘almost’?” she asked, smiling.

  Sharon pointed toward a middle-aged woman who was using the phone and threw Adrienne an apologetic glance. “I had to cancel on Emily last week, so I have to take her next,” she explained.

  Adrienne couldn’t complain. The sh
op was crowded since it was already midafternoon, and she didn’t even have an appointment. She flipped open the magazine and started reading about a new singer who had just reached number one on the R & B charts with her first album. Adrienne felt a twinge of bitterness as she remembered the day a club owner told her more cruelly than necessary that there wasn’t enough “suffering” in her voice to make it as a blues vocalist. Adrienne couldn’t remember the woman’s name anymore, but she recalled limping out of the audition and sobbing all the way back to her Greenwich Village apartment. After ten years of struggling to make it in the music industry, Adrienne had decided that she didn’t have enough talent to become a star.

  Mel had come into her life a few days later. When her bell rang and Adrienne had opened the door, she was surprised to see Mel standing there. He didn’t look like any phone man she had ever seen. He wore his tool belt hanging loosely off his hips, Timberlands, and a neat navy blue shirt that set off his smooth, dark-brown skin. He peered at her under the brim of a blue Yankees hat and smiled, putting her immediately at ease. She’d shown him the hall closet, where he found the network interface, and he’d kept her laughing, joking and telling her stories about some of his other customers. When he’d finally finished running the wire for the new jack, she didn’t want him to leave. Although he was a street guy, there was something about the way Mel looked up to her that soothed her broken spirit, and so she gave up chasing her dream. They married after a yearlong courtship and moved to Queens.

  Mel had given up his rough, hard-drinking, trash-talking, card-playing, street-running ways for a life that he had never known. Though he was not a professional man, he worked hard. Most important, he was kind. His idea of a good time was spending the evening at home talking to his wife. They had been married for three years and still acted like newlyweds. It had hurt at first, letting go of a dream that had been so much a part of her, but she was happy with Mel—and he still made her smile. She rarely looked back at the years when she was singing solo in third-rate clubs and sending out demo tapes to recording executives who returned the packages unopened.