Heaven Right Here Read online

  Figuring a joke about how eggs get planted might not be appropriate, considering the circumstances and his wife’s fertility issues, Cy instead tried to right the nearly derailed train of civility by replacing their own drama with another ongoing KCCC feud.

  “Were you surprised to see Shabach at church last Sunday?” he asked Derrick. “Or had his office phoned?”

  Derrick wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I knew he’d be there. His management called the office and asked if Shabach could sing a song or two. But the Musical Messengers were already booked. You know, Hope, it was at the midnight musical you coordinated in Kansas that I first heard those cats play. I told Vivian then that we’d see the Musical Messengers one day on the national stage. Did you have anything to do with getting them more exposure?”

  Hope had calmed down and knew Derrick was trying to coax her back into the conversation. “Not much, other than recommending them to any and everyone who’d listen. I heard an agent was at Noel Jones’s church when they played there and that’s how they got a deal.”

  “You know, baby,” Vivian began, “it’s not right that this ridiculous feud between Shabach and Darius is keeping us from extending the same invite to him that we do other gospel talents.”

  Derrick leaned over and kissed his wife. “That’s why I love you, woman. You keep Big Daddy in check. But I’m a step ahead of you. I’ve scheduled a meeting with Darius to discuss this very issue because Shabach’s people let me know he’ll be back in our area around Thanksgiving, and I’ve given them an open invite to sing at the church.”

  The feud between Shabach and Darius was legendary, going back to when both were unknowns trying to come up. The rivalry was constantly fueled by rumors, lies, and half-truths of each trying to sabotage the other’s career.

  “It’s about time someone stepped in to squash that beef,” Cy added. “There’s enough money, fans, and success out there for everybody.”

  The discussion flowed from the constantly dueling recording artists to the changing landscape of gospel music and of music in general. From there the topic switched to the success of Carla’s talk show and what everyone was doing for the holidays. By the time dinner was over, their usual camaraderie had returned. The Taylors said yes to the decadent vanilla dessert, but Hope asked if they could take a rain check on the swim and Jacuzzi.

  A half hour later, Derrick and Vivian walked Hope and Cy to the door.

  “All right, my man,” Derrick said as he gave Cy a brother’s handshake. “Are we still on for basketball later this week?”

  “I hope so,” Cy answered. “All this delicious food has me watching my waistline.”

  Meanwhile, Hope hugged Vivian. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Vivian,” Hope said softly. “I didn’t mean what I said. I value your opinion … always.”

  “All is forgiven,” Vivian said. “What are you doing Monday?”

  Hope thought for a moment. “I have a few errands to run in the morning and a Pilates class in the early afternoon. After that I’m free. What’s up?”

  “I was hoping we could meet. I have an idea I want to run past you.”

  “Why don’t you come over to my house, say, around four o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there,” Vivian said and then added, “But I’m coming in my tennis shoes and without my earrings so that if you go off on a sistah like that again, I can give you a Madea-style beat-down!”

  The comment elicited the laugh Vivian had hoped for. The women hugged again, and both couples waved at each other once more as the Taylors walked to their car.

  Vivian’s smile remained in place until their guests’ taillights had disappeared down the drive. Then her brows furrowed. She was concerned about Hope and what her obsession with Millicent and motherhood was doing to her spirit and to her chances of getting pregnant. Mother Moseley said an idle mind was the devil’s playground. Maybe Hope had too much free time on her hands. Vivian hoped involving Hope in her plans for ministerial expansion would give her friend and valued church member something else to think about.

  9

  Family Feud

  Hope was thinking, all right, and the devil was busy. The joy from Vivian’s joking had dissipated before the Bentley exited the driveway, replaced by the anger that had simmered since Cy’s “You’ll never guess who I ran into” surprise. The drive from Beverly Hills to the marina was a quiet one. A bewildered Cy waited for an explanation for the night’s uncharacteristic behavior.

  “You could have warned me,” Hope said finally. “You could have told me privately that you’d seen Millicent. Why did you wait until we were at their house?”

  Cy didn’t answer immediately as he tried to discern both the spoken and unspoken questions. “I didn’t think it necessary to tell the story twice and was honestly expecting a variety of humorous reactions. I never would have mentioned it if I’d known you’d get this upset.”

  Hope snapped her head around to look at Cy. “Oh, so you would have kept it a secret?”

  “Don’t twist my words, Hope, and don’t assume the worst about me. I meant I would not have mentioned it in front of D and Vivian.” A frustrated Cy eased his foot off the gas and tried to calm his now rising temper. “I don’t get all this anger anyway. Millicent has been out of our lives for years now; she’s married, a mother, happy. Why are you so upset?”

  “Because I don’t want to hear about her happiness , that’s why!” Hope replied in a raised voice. “And I don’t want you talking to her either, understand? She’s caused us enough trouble.”

  “Look, if you want to make a mountain out of this molehill, go right ahead. But you need to understand this: you don’t dictate who I can and cannot talk to. You’re acting like this was some sort of clandestine rendezvous. She saw me waiting for Charlie in the hotel lobby and came over to speak to me. End of story.” Cy took a breath and spoke in a more soothing tone. “More than anybody, you should know how much of a nonthreat Millicent is. She’s never held a candle to you. You know that.”

  “That was then; this is now. Before, there was the thrill of the chase to keep you interested, the anticipation of having something new. We’ve been married two years now. Men … men’s feelings change.”

  Cy looked hard at Hope. “You can’t be serious.”

  Hope knew she was being irrational, but she went on in spite of herself. “I’m very serious.”

  “You think I’m less interested in you now than before we were married? You think I’m getting bored with you, that the thrill is gone?”

  Hope shrugged.

  Cy sighed. He didn’t know whether Hope was on her period or the moon was full, but his normally even-tempered, perpetually positive wife was flat-out trippin’. “I don’t know what all this is about, Hope, but if I’m missing something, I’d suggest you enlighten me. Now.”

  Hope’s response was to cross her arms, turn away from Cy, and spend the rest of the drive home seething as she stared out the window. This was their first real argument since becoming Mr. and Mrs. For it to be about Millicent made it even worse in Hope’s eyes. She refused to admit that pride prevented her from telling Cy the truth: that she was jealous of his former fellow church member, envious of the fact that she had a child, and frustrated beyond measure that their attempts to conceive had been unsuccessful. Stacy had warned her to not keep these feelings from her husband—to share her feelings. But Hope never thought her feelings about Millicent would be an issue with her husband. She was a part of their past, not their present, wasn’t she? Hope knew one thing: she definitely didn’t want Millicent Sims Kirtz to be a part of their future.

  10

  Darius’s Crew

  The Sunday crush at Kingdom Citizens Christian Center was more dense than usual, partly because of more than fifty newcomers crowding the already overflowing foyer. Greg, the church’s manager of security, barked orders into his cell phone, rounding up additional personnel who were working the parking lot to help maintain order.

  Gre
g turned to Melody Anderson, the obvious ringleader of nearly one hundred hormonal teenaged females all decked out in Darius’s signature colors—chocolate brown and mint green. Their outfit bottoms varied from mini to maxi skirts and pants of different material, but the tops were the same: a mint-green satiny poly-cotton blend with the initials D.C. emblazoned across the front in multicolored crystals. It was obvious who they were there to see, and it wasn’t Jesus.

  “I think I’ve secured a place for your group in the balcony,” he said. “But you’d better be glad you got here early, and even so, we don’t usually seat a group this large without prior notice. It’s great you invited your friends to church, Melody, but next time make sure you clear a group this large with the office.”

  Melody cocked her head to the side and fixed Greg with a youthful smile. “I’m sorry, Greg,” she said with mock humility. “I’m just so glad I got my friends to come and praise the Lord!”

  “Praise the Lord, huh? Well, if that’s so, shouldn’t the initials on your T-shirt be J.C. and not D.C.?”

  “Jesus doesn’t need a fan club,” Melody replied, her smile turning to a pout. “And we came here to praise the Lord, not Darius.”

  “Just so you keep that in mind,” Greg replied with restrained patience.

  Two of the men from Greg’s security team walked up, and after a short conference with the balcony ushers, the group was led upstairs. Melody took a seat front and center on the first row of the balcony. Once seated, she decided this was better than being downstairs. What a picture she was sure Darius’s fan club made, all decked out in their green and brown! He was sure to be surprised when he looked up—and hopefully pleased.

  Melody was proud of what she’d been able to accomplish in such a short time. In less than two weeks she had coordinated this local fan group, Darius’s Crew, and signed up almost five hundred people to his newly redesigned MySpace page. Melody aspired to a career in show business and, after the painful acknowledgment that she couldn’t hold a note in a bucket, had decided that her path to success would be from the business end. This fan club was only the beginning, simply the door by which she’d enter a celebrity filled, illustrious future. And get her man.

  Darius walked over to the musician’s platform and joined the drummer, saxophonist, and guitar player already set up and tuning their instruments. He immediately went into a jazz-infused remake he’d charted of the Edwin Hawkins gospel classic, “Oh Happy Day.” Soon the buzz of conversations from the almost-two-thousand-personstrong congregation occupying a standing-roomonly sanctuary was replaced by clapping, rocking, and well-remembered song lyrics: “… When Jesus washed … He washed my sins away… .”

  Derrick Montgomery entered the pulpit, followed by Vivian; his assistant, Lionel; Cy Taylor; and four other associate ministers. Hope, Stacy, and a decked-out Darius Jr.—in a pinstriped chocolate-brown suit and mint-green shirt—took reserved seats on the first row of the center section while Bo Jenkins occupied a seat on the second row in the far right section, directly in line of sight of where Darius played keyboards.

  Stacy glanced over at Bo and cut her eyes. “I see his bitch is here,” she whispered to Hope.

  Hope jabbed Stacy with her elbow. “You are in God’s house,” she hissed. “Show respect.”

  “Forgive me, Lord,” Stacy whispered. She knew Hope was right, but something about Bo rubbed her the wrong way, something like … everything. Especially the fact that he was “married” to the man she once loved. She was also still upset about the previous week’s meeting with her attorney and Darius’s legal lackey, otherwise known as his representation. The fact that he hadn’t even thought it worth showing up for his son’s mediation hearing should have told the legal teams something about how interested he was in being involved in Jr.’s future.

  It didn’t matter that she was in violation of the joint custody arrangements they’d made when Darius Jr. was six months old, or that Darius had offered to increase her monthly child-support payments from nineteen hundred to four thousand a month. According to Stacy, it wasn’t about the money. At least, this was what she’d conveyed to Hope as they’d lunched the day before. And it wasn’t about getting Darius back. She didn’t want him back. Or so she had tried to tell herself. Even looking at him now—fineness personified in his chocolate suit—and then looking at her son—who looked more and more like him with each passing day—she denied that her heart was still hooked on all things Crenshaw, and that if he said the word, crooked his finger, dialed her number, or called her name, she’d run back to him in a heartbeat. She would never, ever admit that as crazy as it may seem to some, there were times when she even longed for the duplex days, when love had made strange bedfellows, and when she and Bo had been neighbors.

  Stacy’s heartbeat quickened as she watched Darius look out into the congregation. His face showed no emotion as he looked at her, but his eyes twinkled at his son, who cooed in return. He looked toward the back of the church, and his smile widened. She covertly followed his eyes. Her own eyes widened and then narrowed as she took in the obvious groupies filling the balcony. Their ages varied, she guessed, but none looked legal. Perhaps they’re from some high school, she thought.

  She scanned various other faces as she rocked a fidgety son who was obviously not wowed by his father’s playing. Every brother in the band was getting their fair share of attention, but she correctly deduced that most eyes were on her ex-husband. When she made one last visual sweep across the congregation, she met Bo’s unreadable stare. He gave her a curt nod and then smiled pointedly at the man he now called husband—and legally so.

  “I’ll be back,” Stacy said, shifting Darius into her other arm and reaching for her baby bag. “I’m going to take him to the nursery.”

  “You want me to?” Hope asked.

  “No, I need the break,” Stacy replied honestly. She needed a word from God even more, a message to soothe her troubled soul. But she knew that with her eyes on Darius, and with Bo’s eyes on her, she wouldn’t hear a thing.

  11

  All These Things

  Pastor Derrick Montgomery took the podium, as aware of the hidden and not-so-hidden dramas as he was of the Spirit. He winked to Vivian and nodded at Darius to finish the song. Offering had been lifted, the choir had sung its last selection, and now it was time for the Word. Having watched the triangular interplay between Darius, Stacy, and Bo, he almost smiled at the message that had been laid upon his heart. God indeed “sat high and looked low,” as Derrick used to hear the old people say. Translated, that meant God didn’t miss anything; He saw and heard all. As Derrick began the scripture reading of his sermon, he hoped that all who needed to would heed the Word of the Lord.

  “Seek ye first the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness,” he said slowly, clearly, in a raspy voice considered sexy by some, not the least of whom was the adoring wife hanging on to his every word. “And all these things will be added unto you.”

  Derrick took a moment to look around the congregation, waiting, hoping the message would sink in. He knew from the way some females were ogling him that everybody would undoubtedly not get the message. Still, he finished the text and began the message entitled “All These Things.”

  An hour and a half later, he sat in the large corner office of the executive suites. He’d removed his jacket and loosened his tie and was slowly sipping a large mug of tea, a blend Vivian had personally concocted that was supposed to soothe his throat and revitalize his vocal cords. The taste was delicious, and his throat did feel better, so for the second time in less than eight hours his wife had made him feel good.

  Vivian arched a brow as he continued to stare at her. “Tasty?” she asked.

  “Delicious,” he said softly, his eyes drinking her in. “And the tea is good too.”

  For a moment, Derrick and Vivian forgot all others in the room. She knew the message in those eyes; he wanted another taste.

  “Where are my manners?” she said, breaking eye co
ntact with her husband of eighteen years who could still make her tingle without a touch. She turned to Cy and Hope, who were also in the executive offices. “Would you two care for something to drink?”

  Their answer was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Lionel’s entry. “Greg needs to see you, Rev. And you’ve got quite a crowd in the conference room. The Musical Messengers and their posse and a few other celebs are waiting for you. The councilman is back, and he wants his wife to meet you. How do you want me to handle the flow?”

  “Escort the Messengers to the private suite. I’ll greet everyone else in the conference room. Oh, and if the councilman is still here, ask if he and his wife would like to join us for brunch at three.”

  Lionel opened the door to exit, and yet another couple from the inner circle entered.

  “Hey, Pastor,” Darius said. “You’ve got a crowd out there. Hey, Cy. What’s up, Hope? You’re looking good.”

  “Hello, Darius. Hey, Bo,” Hope answered. “You were great today, as always. I didn’t think you could do any better than ‘Possible,’ but your new song is stellar, for real.”

  The men greeted each other and shared light conversation. Vivian took that opportunity to speak to Hope.

  “How are you doing, sistah?” she asked, sitting in the chair Cy had vacated.

  “I’m okay,” was Hope’s reply.

  Vivian looked into Hope’s eyes, wishing she could erase the sadness she saw, the feeling that even an Yves Saint Laurent suit and Jimmy Choo pumps couldn’t cover.

  “Are we still on for tomorrow? I know you said four, but I’d like to move it up an hour if that works for you.”

  Hope nodded. “That’s fine, unless you want to discuss whatever it is now.”

  “In all this chaos? No, tomorrow’s fine. I’ve wanted to spend some sistah-girl time with you anyway.”

  “I’m okay,” Hope repeated and added a smile. “It’s just that …” The door opened yet again, and Greg walked inside.

  “You’re just the man I want to see,” Greg said to Darius. “Why didn’t you tell me your posse was coming to church?”