Heaven Right Here Read online

  Also by Lutishia Lovely

  Sex in the Sanctuary

  Love Like Hallelujah

  A Preacher’s Passion

  Heaven Right Here

  Reverend Feelgood

  Heaven Forbid

  All Up In My Business

  Mind Your Own Business

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  HEAVEN RIGHT HERE

  LUTISHIA LOVELY

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Lutishia Lovely

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  1 - Baby Daddy

  2 - Too Much Drama

  3 - Babies Are Blessings

  4 - Baby-Mama Drama

  5 - Let It Go

  6 - Long Time No See

  7 - Mysterious Ways

  8 - The Devil’s Playground

  9 - Family Feud

  10 - Darius’s Crew

  11 - All These Things

  12 - Delicious Chocolate

  13 - Cheering for God

  14 - Show and Tell

  15 - Still in Love

  16 - Friends for Now

  17 - Church Girl

  18 - Follow the Leader

  19 - Sixteen Will Get You Twenty

  20 - Chocolate Twinkies

  21 - No Ill Will

  22 - Forgiving Ain’t Forgetting

  23 - Dreams

  24 - Grown-Folks Business

  25 - Just Maybe

  26 - True Ecstasy

  27 - LA’s Finest

  28 - Marital Privileges

  29 - Watch Your Man

  30 - Lord, Help Us

  31 - Like Paradise

  32 - No More Tears

  33 - Thank You, Lord

  34 - Watch Your Man II

  35 - Right Now

  36 - The Tea Party

  37 - Life and Death

  38 - Tempt a Godly Man

  39 - Guys and God

  40 - Don’t Get Played

  41 - Why I’m Here

  42 - Baby Mama

  43 - The Glamorous Life

  44 - Party Over Here

  45 - Nothin’ Nice

  46 - There Is a God

  47 - Come Over

  48 - If It Don’t Fit …

  49 - She Said You Did

  50 - Believe That

  51 - Take Care

  52 - I’m Okay Now

  53 - House Calls

  54 - It Hurts

  55 - New Friends

  56 - WTF

  57 - The Truth

  58 - Remember That

  59 - Shall We?

  60 - Doctor’s Orders

  61 - Lover of My Soul

  62 - Right Here

  63 - Talk to Me

  64 - Runaway Child

  65 - Good Lovin’

  66 - Another Beat-Down

  67 - Counting Blessings

  68 - A Different Appetite

  69 - The Proverbial Straw

  70 - Push

  71 - Down the Aisle

  72 - The Ladies

  Mind Your Own Business

  Copyright Page

  This book is dedicated to everyone who believes they can experience heaven … right here, right now.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, I thank Spirit, the connecting force in all of us.

  As always, a huge thank-you to Selena James and the entire Kensington crew, my agent Natasha Kern, and all of the fellow writers who help make this a journey where one can always expect the glorious unexpected.

  In addition to Kensington’s Adeola Saul, I am happy to have the support of publicist Ella Curry, whose company, EDC Creations, and the BAN Network Internet radio show are vehicles through which writers thrive. And to Debra Owsley, your Simply Said reader aids are simply wonderful. These products are excellent additions to the writer’s arsenal of promotional and marketing materials. My readers love them, and so do I.

  A special I love you to Pat G’Orge-Walker and Naleighna Kai. Good looking out, ladies! I also want to give a thumbs-up to West Coast Biz, a hardworking up-and-coming writer who in his own words knows how to “push a pen.” I agree—your street lit drama kept me turning the pages, and I look forward to future works.

  To all of the book clubs, Internet radio shows, and bookstore owners—especially the independent Black bookstores, which sadly are too few and are growing fewer. You were there for the African-American writer from day one, and I pay homage to your tenacity, strength, and courage in the face of a changing global marketplace.

  I am continually amazed at the power of the reader in spreading the word about this series, whether it be within an organized format such as a book club, reviewers who take the time to post their comments on Amazon or other Web sites, or individuals who make my cause their own by telling all their friends and family about what they’ve just read. This word-of-mouth sharing is truly love in action, and I feel it. Your thoughtfulness and active participation propel me as, with your help, I continue to write and grow as an artist. I couldn’t do it without you … and I am very grateful.

  Now, sit back, turn the page, and indulge yourself in a little Heaven Right Here.

  1

  Baby Daddy

  Stacy Gray, Hope Taylor, and Frieda Moore sat enjoying the breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean. Stacy’s son, eighteen-month-old Darius Crenshaw Jr. sat cooing and clapping in his high chair, obviously enjoying the early November weather as well. Stacy and Hope belonged to the same church and saw each other almost every week. Hope and Frieda were cousins. But it was the first time in months that all three of these thirtysomething ladies had hung out together. The good food and great conversation was just what the doctor ordered.

  “I don’t care about what she did—I love Conversations with Carla. That sistah keeps it real!” Frieda jabbed a fry in the air for emphasis.

  “I like her too,” Hope said. “I’m just saying it’s amazing how someone who fell so low could rise again so quickly.”

  “I’m with Frieda,” Stacy added, taking a napkin and wiping mashed potato from her son’s face. “She did wrong, and she was punished. She lost her husband, her ministry, dignity, respect. No one on the outside looking in will ever truly know how much her present success cost her.”

  Minister Carla Lee Chapman had paid dearly for the scandal she had endured a year and a half ago. A secretive, short-term affair with a church associate had become very public via a cuddly, late-night photo and tell-all article in LA Gospel, a Los Angeles–based magazine targeting the Black church community. Her husband had promptly divorced her and married the woman who had revealed Carla’s secret. Carla’s base of Christian women supporters—that had once numbered in the hundreds of thousands—dropped to four figures, and all but a handful of Christian bookstores pulled her DVDs. But now, less than six months after her nationally syndicated television show debuted, Carla was attracting a following that promised to eclipse that of her former popularity—a new popularity that included women of every race, religion, and socioeconomic status. Her Dr. Phil–style directness and Oprah-like warmth, combined with her religious sensibilities and Southern charm, had endeared her to the masses. Fortunately for both her and the MLM Network, her scandal and shame had garnered sympathy from the secular public. They embraced the contrite woman whom the religious community had ousted. The show’s sky-high ratings were her final vindication.

  “Did you see the girl on there the other day?” Frieda asked. “The sixteen-year-old who already had two kids? I wasn’t expecting Carla to get with girlfriend
like she did, but telling that little sistah to put a closed sign on the punany was real talk!”

  “She said that?” Hope exclaimed.

  “Pu–na–nny. On national TV. That’s why women love her.”

  “What did the girl do?”

  “Boohooed and then promised Carla she’d put her stuff on lock and focus on taking care of her kids.”

  “What I liked,” Stacy interjected, “is that Carla offered to be her personal mentor—that she cared enough to get involved with a guest like that.”

  Stacy and Frieda kept talking, but Hope didn’t hear. Idly twirling a strand of jet-black, shoulder-length hair, she tried to stave off the wave of depression that often accompanied any talk about babies. She and her husband, Cy (pronounced like the sigh his fine frame evoked from most women), had been trying for almost two years to get pregnant. She’d gone to several doctors and gotten mixed diagnoses: one said she was fine, another that her uterus was tilted, and a third said something about low-producing ovaries. Her first lady at church, Vivian Montgomery, had told her she just needed to relax and stop trying to get pregnant. But Hope had just turned thirty. She and Cy wanted at least two children. It was time to make it happen.

  “I know one thing,” Stacy was saying when Hope finally began to listen again. “If Darius thinks he’s going to force me to have my son stay in that den of sin he and Bo call home, he’d better think again.”

  “But he the daddy, girl,” Frieda reasoned. “Let that boy get to know his father and his ‘uncle,’” she said with a wink, referring to Darius’s lover, Bo Jenkins.

  “You can’t keep the boy away from his father,” Hope agreed. “A child needs both parents.”

  “Yeah, well, his father should have thought about that before he chose Bo over me!”

  Stacy flung her black, sixteen-inch Indian Remy weave away from her face so hard the hair slapped the face of the man sitting at the table behind her. He turned and glared, but Stacy didn’t notice. She was too busy looking at yesterday.

  Time had not dimmed her resentment at the way Darius had chosen to end his bigamous ways—to remain in the civil union with his male lover and have his marriage to Stacy annulled. It hadn’t helped matters that his subsequent coming out hadn’t received the backlash she’d hoped it would. Granted, it had generated all types of controversy in religious circles, and he wasn’t getting many requests to play in churches, but his concerts were selling out, and his attempt to cross over from gospel into R & B was proving successful.

  “Having a child is a blessing, Stacy,” Hope said softly. “Don’t miss out on the joy of it by holding on to anger. I’d do anything to have a baby right now.”

  Just then they were interrupted by a well-dressed man stepping up to their table. “Stacy Gray?” he asked, looking from one woman to the other.

  “I’m Stacy.”

  “This is for you.” He handed her a large envelope. “You’ve been served,” he added brusquely and quickly walked away.

  “What the …” Instead of finishing the sentence, Stacy put down her drink and tore open the envelope. Her eyes scanned the papers quickly.

  “Oh, my God, I don’t believe this crap. He cannot possibly have this kind of nerve.” She flipped through the pages quickly before throwing the document on the table. “He’s out of his ever-loving—”

  “Calm down, Stacy,” Hope interrupted, putting her hand on the woman about to go postal. “What is it?”

  “It’s Darius, acting like the asshole he is,” Stacy responded, her eyes welling with tears. “That fool is taking me to court. He’s suing me for full custody of my child!”

  2

  Too Much Drama

  “Let me see that,” Frieda quietly demanded as she subconsciously ran her hand through the short pixie cut that emphasized a narrow face and high cheekbones. She read parts of the document aloud—paragraphs outlining charges of slander, malicious intent, and willful disregard of joint custody arrangements previously set up by the courts after Darius and Stacy’s marriage had been annulled.

  “How often does Darius get to visit his son?” Hope asked as she reached over to Darius Jr. and took the spoon that had become an annoying drumstick against the wooden highchair. Before the child could inhale enough breath for an all-out wail, she’d replaced the noisemaker with a quieter, crowd-friendly pair of plastic straws. She was rewarded with a gummy grin, signaling that all was forgiven. If only adults could forgive and forget as quickly, she thought.

  “Often enough.”

  Hope pushed the issue. “As often as the court dictates?”

  Stacy’s facial expression made words unnecessary. She apparently was not keeping up her end of the custody arrangements.

  “All I asked was for him to keep Bo out of our business. I did not, and do not, want that man influencing my son. But does Darius listen? No! He acts like he can’t walk without Bo saying which leg goes in front of the other. I think he clings to Bo just to piss me off.”

  Frieda chuckled. “Girl, he clings to Bo because he’s in love.”

  Stacy rose from her chair and lifted a stained but happy toddler from the highchair. She methodically cleaned mashed potatoes from his hands, toes, shirt, and pants as she continued. “It’s simple, really: if he wants to see Darius more, make sure I see Bo less. There,” she added, referring both to her cleaning job on her son and also to her son’s father. “I’m not asking too much, am I, little man, huh?” She nuzzled his neck as he emitted peals of laughter. “I’m not asking your daddy for too much.”

  “I say let the child see his father,” Frieda said. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Stacy, but the man pays child support. He has a right to see him. So what if his booty-bumping buddy comes along for the ride. Hell, I say the more love, the merrier. Besides, if you’d let the man see his son more often, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here looking at court papers.” Frieda ignored Stacy’s venomous stare and continued. “Look, I’m your friend so I’m going to call it like I see it. Darius doesn’t want drama right now. He’s probably just doing this to make a point. Go home, give the man a call, and work on an arrangement you both can live with. You might even be able to get some more money out of the deal, and you might be able to put in a request for solo visits—visits without Darius’s ‘husband’—into the actual custody paperwork. Because unless that madness about you not wanting Bo around your baby is not only legal but justified, Darius will do a Kevin Federline–style drive-by, and they’ll be sitting over in Bel Air talking about ‘And baby makes three.’”

  Hope agreed with Frieda but wisely chose to keep this information to herself. “What are you going to do?” Hope asked instead.

  Stacy swung the diaper bag over her shoulder and positioned Darius on her hip. Her stance matched the attitude that poured from her lips. “I tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to let some fake faggot pseudo-celebrity run my life. This is my child, and his welfare is my business. Darius wants a fight? Darius wants to do battle in court? Well, I’m going to call his sorry ass and tell him it’s about to go down!”

  Hope watched silently as Stacy navigated around filled tables and raised eyebrows, crossing the patio with her head held high. She’s about as big as a minute, Hope thought as she watched her five-foot-three, size-four friend walk away. But if she ran into them, I think she could kick both Bo’s and Darius’s butts right now.

  Frieda shook her head once Stacy had turned the corner. “That’s the very reason why I will never have two things—a child or a husband. Unh-unh. Too much drama.” A beep alerted Frieda that she had a text message. She looked at her BlackBerry and typed in a quick reply, speaking to Hope as she did so. “It’s about time Giorgio got his butt back on this side of the country.”

  “Giorgio? I thought that relationship played out a while ago.”

  “It did. But he’s still a friend … with benefits.”

  “Too much drama, huh?”

  Frieda winked at Hope and then reached
for the wallet inside her purse.

  “No, no—my treat,” Hope insisted. She pulled out her black Centurion American Express card and motioned for the waitress. Then she returned her attention to Frieda, who was busy texting away. “What happened to Jonathan? I thought things were heating up with you two.”

  “That’s who I’m texting now,” Frieda said without missing a stroke. “I’m moving our date to tomorrow so I can pick up Giorgio from the airport.” Her eyes widened at Hope’s exasperated expression. “What?” Frieda asked in as innocent a voice as she could muster. “Giorgio always gets Saturday nights if he’s in town. That man loves to party and knows some of everybody who’s anybody.” She continued typing as fast as her thumbs could move.

  “You know what? You keep saying you want to find a good man and settle down, and every time we talk you’re mentioning a new name … or, in Giorgio’s case, bringing up an old one.”

  “Good man? Settle down? Didn’t you hear what I just said about marriage? Besides, how am I supposed to find a good man without looking for one?”

  “If all you were doing was looking, and if it were only one, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

  “We don’t have a problem now. But I hear a sermon coming, and it’s nowhere near Christmas or Easter—my official dates with the Lord. So hold that thought, cuz. I gotta run.”

  Frieda gave a stunned and still seated Hope a quick hug. “Thanks for lunch and your wonderful company.” She hurried across the patio and threw a quick “Love ya!” over her shoulder before finishing her grand exit.