Heaven Right Here Page 21

  “Yes.”

  Of course he’s talking about the food. “You want some crackers to dip in the soup?”

  Lord, have mercy, I’d like to dip something somewhere, all right. “Uh, yeah, that’s cool. So what’s up with the doctor? Is he trying to prescribe some sexual healing?”

  Stacy handed Tony his bowl and led them into the dining room. “He’s a nice man—thoughtful, very good at what he does. But he has this ‘spiritual but not religious’ stance. I don’t know how Jesus fits into that description, and you know I’m sold out. Why, do you think he’s husband potential for me?”

  “Yeah, if you want to marry Dr. Doolittle.”

  It was three hours later when Tony left Stacy’s home. As usual, their conversation had flowed easily, and after dinner they had watched a movie. While their casual banter and comfortable camaraderie returned, something else had entered their relationship as well—desire. And for Tony, one more thing: love.

  54

  It Hurts

  “Hey, hos, wuzzup!” Frieda waltzed into the Taylor penthouse carrying bags filled with P.F. Chang’s Chinese food.

  Hope walked over to help with the bags. “Cousin, how many times do I have to tell you, I don’t play that b or ho nonsense. That so many women feel comfortable with that label is beyond me.”

  “Ah, bitch, chill out!” Frieda answered, nonplussed. “If it’s said in love, it’s all good. What do you think, Stacy?”

  “I think that’s an A and B conversation, and I’m going to C my way out of it.”

  “Girl, that line is so tired, it needs to be retired,” Frieda said.

  “Whatever, I’m not getting into y’all’s mess,” Stacy said.

  “It’s the same with the N-word,” Hope went on. “It’s been lovingly used in hip-hop for the last fifteen years, but if a White redneck spewed the word as he raised a gun from the window of a Confederate-flag-decorated pickup truck, nobody would be talking about love.”

  “Yeah, but if he said it without the gun …”

  Hope rolled her eyes. “You are simply ig-nor-ant. What’s in these boxes?”

  As Hope arranged boxes of kung pao chicken, lemon pepper shrimp, beef with broccoli, and all the trimmings on the dining room table, Frieda joined Stacy on the couch in the living room.

  “You look good, girl. How you feeling?”

  “Better every day,” Stacy said. “I have only one week of radiation to go.”

  “That’s great, Stacy. I’m so glad this is getting ready to be over for you.”

  “Let us pray. And I have some more news, ladies. Tony has stepped up his game. He’s let me know in no uncertain terms that he’s interested.”

  “So did he git with that split?”

  “No, Frieda, and he won’t be getting with anything anytime soon. He and I are both committed to doing things the Godly way, no matter how unpopular that is right now. We’ve both been hurt in relationships; we’ve both got kids. We just want to continue taking things nice and slow. But,” she added coyly, “he’s a great kisser.”

  “Which lips did he kiss?” Frieda asked innocently.

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response!”

  “I’m fixing my plate if anybody wants to join me!” Hope shouted from the other room. Since her morning sickness had subsided, her appetite was enormous. “Stacy, you want me to get yours?”

  “I’m not an invalid,” Stacy said, rising. “I hope you remembered the spring rolls,” she said to Frieda, who was right on her heels.

  The women fixed their plates and settled into the living room. They ate silently for a while and then Stacy spoke.

  “Frieda, I think you’re about to set a record. I haven’t heard you talk about anybody but Shabach in almost a month. Could it be that you’re turning into a one-man woman?”

  “He’s laying the pipe like a plumber, what can I say?”

  “It’s got to be about more than that,” Hope said. “You guys do make a nice couple, though.”

  “What about Giorgio? You still talk to him?”

  “Of course, that’s my boo. Giorgio will always be my boo. He likes Shabach’s music, feels he’s a good hookup for me. Meanwhile he’s all up in some girl’s grill that he’s modeling with. I think she’s from Sweden or Russia or somewhere—you know, blond, blue-eyed. He said she sucked dick like a Stanley Steemer vacuum cleaner.”

  Stacy almost spewed her food. “Girl, you have no sense!”

  “I don’t get it,” Hope said. “How you guys can sleep with other people and then hook right up where you left off when he comes to town.”

  “That’s because you don’t understand a friend with benefits. Giorgio and I understand each other. At the end of the day, we’re friends—that’s it.”

  “You’re right.” Hope sighed. “I don’t understand.”

  Once she’d finished eating, Frieda made an announcement. “All right, you bi—okay, Hope, ladies. I’ve got the hottest DVD in the country right now, hot off the streets.” Frieda retrieved a DVD from her purse and walked back to the entertainment center. “Hope, help me work this complicated-ass system.”

  “Now?” the still eating Hope asked around a mouthful of vegetable fried rice.

  “Yes, Hope, now.”

  “What is it?” she asked as she popped the DVD into the player and turned on the television.

  “You’ll see.”

  After several seconds of static, a dark room with a bed emerged on the screen. Seconds later a naked woman lay down. She got up, and after obviously adjusting the camera, lay back on the bed.

  “Is this the Melody tape?” Stacy asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “You know I’ve got connections.”

  Hope shifted in her seat. “I don’t know if I want to see this.”

  “Shhh.” Frieda pressed play and joined the other women on the couch.

  A man walked into the frame. “Is this what you want?” he asked.

  “Yes,” was the shy reply.

  “Baby, this is a lot of … You have to be sure you want it. Do you?”

  The conversation was low and for a moment couldn’t be heard.

  “Huh?”

  “Yes!” The young-sounding voice was tentative but firm.

  “That doesn’t sound like Darius,” Stacy said.

  “You can’t even really see them,” Hope added.

  “Why would she want this taped? That’s my question,” Frieda said. “If you ask me, this isn’t about nothing but money. Watch them come up with some ridiculous out-of-court-settlement scheme.”

  After a bit more conversation and a little foreplay, the man entered the woman on the tape. The woman moaned loudly. “Awwwww. That hurts.”

  “Uh-huh, hurts so good, don’t it?”

  “This is disgusting,” Hope said. “I’m not too sure how well hearing about his big beef goes with my shrimp.”

  But all three women continued to watch, as though mesmerized. As the sexual intercourse continued, the woman’s groans turned to moans. The man was moaning too.

  “You tight as hell, baby,” he said. “Were you a virgin?”

  The woman’s response was garbled, swallowed up by another loud moan.

  After another moment the man quickened his pace; his breathing became labored, and a low growl erupted from his chest. He rolled them over in bed until they ended up nearer to the window. He lay on top of the woman, breathing heavily, stroking her hair.

  “Thank you, baby. That was good. Real good.”

  “That was nasty,” Hope said.

  “If this is all the evidence, I don’t see how they can finger Darius,” Stacy added.

  “Where’s the remote?” Frieda grabbed it from Hope. “How do you push rewind?”

  “Oh, please, Frieda. We’ve seen enough.”

  “Just push rewind, damnit! Back it up a few frames!”

  Hope and Stacy looked at Frieda, and then Hope did as she asked. On
ce again the man’s orgasm was heard before he rolled them over to the other side of the bed. The light from the pool glistened off his back. Frieda sprang from the couch and got directly in front of the television.

  “Stop it! Freeze it right there!”

  “What is it?” Stacy asked. “What are you seeing?”

  After a pause, Frieda slowly turned around. She looked from one friend to the next and then plopped into the chair opposite the couch.

  “What am I seeing? I’m seeing the tattoo that’s right above my man’s ass.” She looked at both women a long moment. “That isn’t Darius. It’s Shabach.”

  55

  New Friends

  Frieda got into her Mitsubishi Eclipse and zoomed out of the complex. She was furious. Fumbling with her Bluetooth, she dialed Shabach’s number. It went to voice mail.

  “I saw the tape, muthafucka. How are going to play me and let me find out like this? If you’re in Atlanta, you might as well keep your punk ass there. And send me an address so I can mail you your shit!”

  Frieda hit the 405 and put the pedal down. She raced in and out of traffic like she was in the Indy 500, trying to run away from what she’d seen at her cousin’s house.

  See, this is the very reason I don’t develop feelings for nuckahs. All they bring is pain.

  And she’d been so close to letting her guard down and totally letting go, allowing herself to be vulnerable with a man. She hadn’t done that since lying on her friend’s upstairs bed listening to Bobby Brown and empty promises while a man took her prize. After then she’d decided never again. She’d vowed she would be the predator, she’d be the one chewing them up and spitting them out. But Shabach convinced her he was different, made her feel special, bought her things, got the place in LA. He’d even talked of getting her a ring and the both of them moving to Atlanta. She’d been so close to believing the hype.

  Frieda saw the 10 freeway and shot over four lanes to make the switch. She gave the middle-finger salute to honking horns and cursing drivers.

  Once she exited and hit Beverly Boulevard, the dense Saturday afternoon traffic forced her to slow down. She drove listlessly, aimlessly, with no clear destination in mind. Then she saw it—the Beverly Center—and remembered she still had Shabach’s American Express. A sinister smile broke out on her face as a plan began to unfold.

  As soon as she parked, she whipped out her cell phone.

  “What’s up, baby?”

  “Hey, Giorgio. Shabach just played me, and I’m mad as hell. I’m about to spend up his money with a turn in the mall and a trip to New York. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  In less than an hour, Frieda had enhanced her wardrobe by almost ten thousand dollars. She looked down at her brand-new Jacob the Jeweler designer watch and saw that if she hurried, she could get to her favorite nail salon. Hurrying around the corner while looking into one of the bags, she didn’t see people coming. And the next thing she knew, she was sliding on her backside with her legs in the air.

  The man she’d barreled into hurried to help her up. “You were in quite a hurry there. Are you all right?”

  “I was in a hurry? You ought to watch where you’re going with your blind ass. Can’t you see through those glasses?”

  The stranger grew rigid, not at all used to being spoken to in such a crass manner. “Excuse me, but I thought you ran into me. At any rate, here, let me help you up.”

  Frieda came to a standing position and began gathering her bags. The stranger helped her. As he reached for the last bag, she caught a glimpse of his backside, ensconced nicely in a pair of faded jeans. Making the journey up from there, she discovered a narrow waist and nice shoulders. The man needed someone to help him dress, she decided, but he had potential. Then she looked again and remembered. The doctor!

  “There, I think that’s everything,” he said.

  “Okay, thank you. Sorry I went off on you. I’m having a rough day, doctor.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No, but getting to do that might be interesting.” At his confused expression, she went on. “You operated on a friend of mine recently. Stacy Gray.”

  “Ah, yes, Stacy. How’s she doing?”

  “Like nothing was ever wrong. But I’m trying to be your patient now. What’s your name again?”

  “Gabriel. Gabriel Livingston. What’s yours?”

  “Frieda Moore.”

  “Well, what seems to be your problem, Frieda?”

  “My heart’s broken, and I might need an operation. You in here buying something for the missus?”

  Gabriel laughed. “Why don’t you simply ask if I’m married?”

  “Why don’t you simply answer my question and then I’d know?”

  “You’re pretty feisty for someone who just moments ago was sliding on her rump.”

  “Well, tell me something, Gabriel, did you like the view?”

  Gabriel shook his head. It had been a while since he’d had someone challenge him. The nurses and other females at the hospital treated him with the deference his position afforded, and the peers that were often lined up as blind dates were too busy matching pedigrees to show such unrestrained fire. After working fourteen straight days, the change was refreshing. And the person breathing the fire was easy on the eyes. He answered her question with his own. “Tell me, are you always this forward?”

  “I speak my mind, if that’s what you’re asking. Life is too short to put on airs. I’m the only one who can do Frieda Moore, you feel me?”

  “Is that a proposition?”

  “No, fool, it’s slang. I can see you don’t get out much. Why’s that?”

  “It’s my profession. Keeps me busy.”

  “Well, Mr. Busy, it’s Saturday night. I’ve had a bad day, and you need to get your mind off your profession. So how’s about buying me a drink so we can cry in our beer together?”

  “You are as bold as they come, I’ll give you that.”

  Frieda invaded his personal space. “Don’t worry, I can think of other things besides that for you to hold against me.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Gabriel had assisted Frieda to her car, they’d chosen a place to meet, and she was on her way. En route to the bistro and bar on little Santa Monica Boulevard, Frieda warred with her emotions. She was hurt at Shabach’s betrayal. And she was angry that she was hurt. She’d worked for over twenty years, since she was eleven, never to be hurt again.

  When her phone vibrated she expected Shabach. It was Hope.

  “No, I’m not going to kill myself.”

  “Well, I certainly hope not; not over some dust.

  “Where are you, though? You left rather abruptly and haven’t answered your phone.”

  “Did you call?”

  “Right after you left.”

  “Oh, I missed that. I was at the mall.”

  “Now that’s a good way to get over being angry.”

  “Trust, my anger is what had me spend ten g’s of that nuckah’s money.”

  “Frieda, please tell me you didn’t do that.”

  “Okay, I won’t. But I can’t talk now, I’m getting ready to have a drink with a new friend.”

  “What new friend?”

  “Stacy’s doctor. He’s kinda dorky, but he’s tall with big hands. Maybe some potential there.”

  “How did you meet? Never mind.”

  Hope knew Frieda couldn’t see her shaking her head, but she shook it anyway. Thinking back to the recently revealed story about rape, she had to ask. “Frieda, are you sure this isn’t just a way for you not to have to deal with your emotions? With the hurt and anger you must be experiencing about Shabach?”

  “Hell, yeah. That’s exactly what it is. Now rub that stomach and think about your child instead of trying to treat me like one. I’m handling my business.”

  “I know you are. I didn’t mean—”

  “Girl, I know, that’s just love talking. But I’m going to be okay. And like I always say, there’s nothing to make you
get over an old flame like a new one. Love you, cuz.”

  Gabriel switched gears in his fully restored Jaguar XKE Coupe. He rarely drove his beloved baby in dense traffic, but as he’d planned to go only to the mall and then home, he thought it would be okay to blow the cobwebs out. He liked to take it out once every couple weeks just to keep it purring properly.

  As he turned onto the boulevard and up to valet parking, he thought about the intriguing woman who’d almost run him over. Granted, she wasn’t his usual taste—in fact, he couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone like her. And therein may lie the mystery, he thought, of why I want to get to know her more.

  56

  WTF

  It was Darius’s first time at church in over a month since being relieved of his ministerial duties by the senior pastor. He wasn’t sure how he’d be received by the parishioners, but Derrick had told him in no uncertain terms that he was still considered family and was welcome at Kingdom Citizens anytime. Derrick assured him that he believed what Darius said to be true and that as soon as he was cleared, his minister of music job would be waiting, should he want it back.

  This conversation from the past week and Stacy’s recovery from cancer were just two of the reasons Darius felt it was past time to darken the doors of a house of God. While the past month had been stressful, there had also been some sunshine between the clouds. One ray was the news he was getting ready to confide to his pastor.

  He and Bo rode in a black town car with tinted windows. They were chatting casually as the driver turned the corner. And then conversation ceased.

  There, on the corner, stood about fifty people—some with signs, others waving bibles, still others holding crushed copies of Darius’s CDs.

  IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO BE GAY AND LOVE GOD, one sign read.

  PERVERTS GO TO HELL, read another.

  NO MO’ HOMOS was being lifted by a woman who looked about eighty years old.

  GAY AIN’T THE WAY!

  REMEMBER SODOM AND GOMORRAH.

  And one of the biggest signs, DEN OF SIN, was being touted by the woman who seemed to be the ringleader—Mrs. Bernadette Anderson.

  Bo was the first one to find his voice. “What the fuck?”

  Darius sat stunned, sitting back and trying to melt into the leather seat, even with the windows tinted. “Oh, my God,” he whispered.