Heaven Forbid Read online

  Silence had filled the air then, and Kelvin remembered how strong Princess’s voice had sounded when she finally responded. “This conversation is over, Kelvin. Have a nice life.”

  “Have a nice…What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I can show you better than I can tell you, Kelvin, and I want you to listen up: Jesus is my boo.” The click in his ear signaled her good-bye.

  That was the last time he’d spoken to Princess, almost two years ago. He’d called again, but the number had been disconnected. Later, he found out she’d moved back on campus. According to Brandon, who kept him informed on all things Princess, she’d moved back so she could better minister to her fellow students. Fawn thought she knew everything, but she didn’t know this: while almost any woman who had the chance would climb into his bed, Kelvin’s mind was on the only woman who had climbed out of it…and stayed out.

  9

  Just the Two of Us

  Carla Chapman turned on her side and raised her thick leg high in the air. Some people might have been surprised at how limber this size 18 body was, but her insatiable husband was more than enough reason for this cushioned sister to keep her body pliable. She moaned with pleasure as Lavon parted her flesh, sank in to the hilt, pulled out, and sank in again.

  “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?” he whispered, his breath hot and wet against her ear hole.

  “All d-day,” she stuttered as Lavon shifted strategically to hit her sensitive spot.

  “Uh-huh, well I’m going to give you as much as you can stand.” Lavon lifted Carla’s leg higher, settling into a smooth lovemaking rhythm. He reached up and tweaked one of Carla’s luscious, forty-four double d’s before running his hand over the chocolate belly he loved to jiggle and down to the folds of her feminine paradise, where he heightened her pleasure with a finger working a rhythm all its own.

  “Oh, baby…” Carla could barely get out the words, so expertly was Lavon playing all her keys. Her moans continued as he found another sensitive spot and massaged it the same way his penis massaged her insides. Lavon pulled out suddenly and handled her body as if she were a size 6. He turned her on her side, directed her to her knees, grabbed a hold of her shoulder-length weave, and entered her from behind. Soon, almost four hundred combined pounds of sexual healing and body slapping had the springs creaking, the windows shaking, and the four-poster bedposts hitting the walls. It was a good thing these adults had the house to themselves, because based on the sounds emitting from the home’s master suite, one of Carla’s kids may have dialed 911. Fortunately, Brianna, Shay, and Winston were spending the week with their other family: Stan; Passion; and Passion’s daughter, Onyx. Carla could only imagine their Huxtable-like activities. Hers and Lavon’s alone time, however, resembled Sex and the sho’nuff City!

  “Oh, baby, that was so good.” Carla cuddled her gleaming body into Lavon’s equally perspiring one and gave him a sloppy wet kiss. “I don’t know how you keep getting better, but you do.”

  “This inspires me,” Lavon said, playfully pinching Carla’s ample butt cheek. “And this,” he said, patting her furry mound. “And this,” he whispered, licking her neck.

  “Stop, that tickles.”

  “Oh, you want me to stop now?” Lavon playfully pushed Carla away from him.

  “Don’t even think of getting out of this bed.” Carla rolled over and threw her leg over Lavon’s as she faced him. She took in the ordinary-looking, extra-dark face that turned her on more than Denzel Washington—either the actor or her so-named former rubber friend—ever could: the bushy eyebrows, beady eyes, thick nose and lips. Lavon wasn’t your typically handsome man, but he could give any pretty boy a run for his money below the waist. She reached up and wiped away beads of sweat, smiling at the man who’d replaced her prudish, frigid ex-husband and finally allowed her to throw her dildo away. The real thing is definitely better than the imitation, and close to the nine inches the manufacturer made. “I love you so much, Lavon Chapman. I didn’t know a woman could feel this much love for a man.”

  “So, was I worth it?” Lavon’s tone was playful but his eyes were searching.

  Carla knew what Lavon was thinking about—the very public scandal, church ouster, and subsequent divorce she’d endured over three years ago. Lavon, on the other hand, had come through the ordeal fairly unscathed. Except for the hurt he felt for what she went through, hurt that he obviously still felt. Carla caressed his cheek tenderly before kissing his juicy lips. “I’d go through everything again to end up right here, right now, with you.”

  “What did I do to deserve you?” Lavon kissed Carla’s nose and enveloped her in his strong, meaty arms. “I love you, woman.”

  The two satisfied adults lay in each other’s arms, catching their breath and thanking God that they’d found each other. For each, it had been quite the journey, one that both thought might be the end of Carla Danielle Ellison Lee Chapman. Neither was proud of the fact that their love affair had begun when Carla was married to Doctor Stan Lee and was copastor of Logos Word Interdenominational Church. Lavon had gone to the church to produce a series of inspirational DVDs for the ministry, but he ended up with the minister instead. It hadn’t been pretty, and both were sorry that the affair had happened, but neither was sorry for the outcome. They’d asked forgiveness for their former transgression—from God, from Carla’s former husband, and from her children—and then they’d moved on to embrace the love that God had given.

  That they were soul mates was not even a question. Carla and Lavon fit together like white on rice, eggs and bacon, chicken and waffles, sausage and grits. That their professional lives melded together as easily as their private ones was further proof that theirs was a love meant to be. Lavon was the executive producer of Carla’s nationally syndicated talk show, Conversations with Carla, a show that had flourished under his hands-on guidance. Carla knew many of her Christian friends would disagree with her, but she believed it was God who had sent Lavon to their church to film the Logos Word ministry. And as hard as the subsequent disgrace had been to endure, Carla felt God had a hand in that too. For the prize she now held, and who held her in his arms, she’d again endure the cross of persecution. Must Jesus bear the cross alone, and all this world go free….

  “A penny for your thoughts, Puddin’.”

  “Is that all they’re worth?” Carla reached over for a sheet to cover them. “I was just thinking about a message left earlier, on my private line at the studio.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Believe it or not, it was Maxine Brook, Tai’s mother.”

  “Girl, I know who Mama Max is. I once belonged to King and Tai’s church, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot that you’re a church ho, changing your membership like women change shoes.” Carla laughed when Lavon pinched her tittie.

  “Your fine butt is what pulled me away from Mount Zion, believe that. What’d Mama Max want?”

  “Wants me to call her. Says she just heard a story that needs to be told, and she thinks my show is the place to tell it.”

  “Oh, Lord. With Mama Max, that tale could be just about anything, especially if it has anything to do with her sleep-around son.”

  “King? Not anymore. He’s being faithful to Tai, at least he’d better be.” Carla was silent for a moment as she thought of Tai Brook, her sister in the Lord, who’d endured her own share of pulpit pain down through the years. “No, I don’t think it’s about Tai and King. But whoever or whatever it’s about, Mama Max will have my ear. But not until Monday because,” Carla purred, kissing Lavon’s chest, “this weekend”—she kissed his neck—“is all about…just the two of us.” Carla kissed Lavon’s lips and continued singing the Grover Washington classic as she eased off the bed. She turned, jutted out her sizeable assets, and put her hand on her hip. The stance was saucy and seductive. “I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”

  Anyone watching would have been surprised to see a big man move so fast
. “Baby, this sounds like round two.” Lavon sidled up behind Carla and rocked her in his arms. “Just the two of us…” The lovers hummed and two-stepped their way into the shower.

  10

  A Different Kind of Meal

  Passion pushed away from the computer. She was trying to come up with a Thanksgiving menu, but her heart wasn’t in it. Stan had asked her to fix an intimate, preholiday dinner for the associate ministers and their wives, to be served the Saturday before Thanksgiving. It wasn’t that Passion had a problem cooking. She was a Georgia peach who felt she could throw down with the best of them. No, the turkey in the pan wasn’t the problem, but the turkey sleeping in her bed was. Stan wanted her to keep on the happy-first-lady face, let the world believe that theirs was a happy marriage. But Stan was finding more reasons to stay at his church office, while she’d found more unmentionables in his office at home. The truth of the matter was that Passion was becoming unhappier with each passing day. And she didn’t know what to do about it.

  Unbidden, a picture of the man who got away came into her mind, the man whose photo she’d recently seen in LA Gospel, escorting his wife to the NAACP Image Awards. Don’t, Passion, don’t even go there. Even as her head said no, her heart said yes. She closed her eyes and remembered Lavon Chapman’s deep kisses and probing tongue—remembered the night they both lost control and almost had sex. Unlike Stan, Passion had no doubts Lavon knew how to use the massive gift God had blessed him with. And now someone else was getting all that good loving, and she was left with that woman’s languid leftover.

  “Mommy! Mommy, it’s me. I’m home!”

  Thank God for diversions. That line of thought will lead to nothing but trouble. Passion smiled as her pride and joy bounded into the den. At eight years old, Onyx was a braided bundle of energy: smart, inquisitive, and, if Passion didn’t rein her in, as rambunctious as all get-out. Onyx had adjusted well to having a father figure in the home, and Stan seemed to shower the same love upon her that he did his own kids. I have to give him that—he’s a great father. She only wished he was a great husband as well.

  “Hey, sweetie pie, how was your day?”

  “Not too good, Mommy.”

  Passion watched with humor as Onyx pasted an exaggerated frown on her face. “It’s Charlie McPherson. He keeps pulling my braids at recess, and I don’t like it. I know you told me that fighting isn’t ladylike, but if he does it again, I’m gonna knock him on his behind!”

  Passion stifled a smile. “Now, Onyx, you know you can’t do that. What about Mrs. Abrams? Did you tell your teacher about what little Charlie is doing?”

  “Only a hundred times,” Onyx said, rolling her eyes and crossing her tiny arms for good measure. “But all she does is stomp her foot and say, ‘Charlie, stop it right this minute. Be a good boy.’”

  Onyx’s mimicking Mrs. Abrams was spot-on, and Passion didn’t try and contain her laughter. “Well, I tell you what. The next time Charlie pulls your braid, just tell him he’s doing that because he likes you and thinks you’re the prettiest little girl at Rolling Hills Elementary. I bet that will put a stop to his bothering you.”

  “Yuck! I don’t like Charlie. His hair is red, and he has freckles and wears braces! But he better stop messing with me, Mommy. Or I’m gonna knock him out!”

  “All right, Michelle Tyson. What do you say about a little snack to tide you over until dinner? Would you like a couple chicken fingers with some chips?”

  “Can I have them with barbeque sauce, my favorite?”

  “Yes, honey.”

  While getting the frozen fingers from the freezer, Passion’s eyes fell on the twenty-pound turkey Stan had bought for the dinner he wanted. The holiday dinner that was supposed to be filled with joy and cheer. Passion’s smile became sinister as a plan unfolded in her head. If Stan wanted his little we’re-one-big-happy-family dinner, then there was something he’d have to give Passion in return. Sure, it ached her heart a little to have to bribe her husband into having sex with her, but the dildo she’d purchased mere months into her marriage wasn’t working out. She didn’t like masturbating, couldn’t help but feel it was wrong, even though she was married. And the further truth was, she loved her husband and she loved making love to him. Stan had the equipment. If he really wanted to, Passion felt he could be an excellent lover…like that last time after the fight in Texas. He’d actually hit her G-spot for the very first time. But after returning to Los Angeles, Stan had reverted back to his old self, not wanting to have sex and not wanting to talk about their Texas rendezvous. That was already more than a month ago. In Passion’s mind, it was way past time for the two to become one again, and as she sat Onyx’s plate on the dining room table and walked back into the den, she had two things in mind: the pre–Thanksgiving Day menu saved on the computer and a different kind of meal that she’d be requesting just as soon as Stan got home.

  11

  Lightning Done Struck

  Nettie Thicke Johnson took a long swig of sweet tea and leaned back against the fluffy floral sofa her son Nate had gifted her two Christmases ago. She’d been on the phone for the past two hours, calling members, especially those she hadn’t seen in the past three months, and encouraging them to come out for the early morning Thanksgiving Day service. “Break bread with Christ before you break bread with your family,” she’d gently admonished, referring to the special Lord’s supper that would be offered Thanksgiving morning. Most people had made a halfhearted promise to be there. Others told her they’d moved their membership, either to Reverend Jenkins’s church, the Methodist church, or a church out of town. Nettie gazed into the distance, remembering how just two short years ago, there would have been standing room only at any service her son conducted. Nate Thicke had been the drawing power, no doubt about that. Things had not been the same at Gospel Truth since he and his family had left Palestine and moved to Turks and Caicos.

  Nettie picked up the phone to dial again, but it rang before she got the chance. “Hello?”

  “Miss Nettie? This is Anne Black, returning your call.”

  “Hey, Sistah Black, how you doin’?”

  “Doing fine, Miss Nettie, miss seeing you, though.”

  “Well, child, that’s just why I’m calling. To find out why we haven’t seen you at church lately and to invite you to early morning service Thanksgiving Day.”

  “Miss Nettie, no disrespect, but I’m not too keen on the new pastor.”

  “Now, baby, Revered Doctor O—”

  “You mean Reverend Doctor Oh No? Because that’s his favorite word. You can’t even breathe and be a Christian according to the way he preaches.”

  “The good reverend doctor,” Nettie continued without acknowledging Anne’s dig, “is preaching the unadulterated word of God. It might not taste good going down, but this religious medicine is good all the same.”

  “All he does is tell us what we can’t do. Why can’t I buy a lotto ticket? You can’t win if you don’t play!”

  “He’s preaching Bible.”

  “Where in the Bible does it say I can’t watch Grey’s Anatomy? What’s wrong with enjoying The Price Is Right? And who’s this ‘Moral Board’ that decided what is and isn’t sinful on TV? It doesn’t matter, Miss Nettie,” Anne continued, her voice softer. “The TV shows weren’t even the last straw.”

  “Well, what was, baby?”

  “It was when Sistah Jones escorted me back to the choir room so I could cover my arms. Miss Nettie, it was ninety-five degrees that day!”

  “But the book plainly says ‘no elbows can show.’”

  “Doctor Oh No’s book, not the Good Book. I’m sorry, Miss Nettie. I’m going home for Thanksgiving. But even if I was going to be here, I wouldn’t be attending Gospel Truth on Thanksgiving, or any other day. Again, I don’t mean no disrespect to you. I’ve always admired your faith. Even after Reverend Thicke resigned, you know I was still in that choir stand every time the church doors opened. But I have to tell you something. When it c
omes to Doctor Obadiah’s heaven, I don’t think anybody in Palestine, save for you and Mama Max, can make it in.”

  Nettie’s heart was heavy as she hung up the phone. She understood Anne’s frustration; the new Gospel Truth rules were stricter than normal. But desperate times had called for desperate measures. Reverend Doctor O had done what he felt necessary to to bring order back into the house of God. “Humph. Those folks better off keeping their money in their pockets rather than wasting it in slot machines and bingo halls,” Nettie muttered to herself as she walked to the bathroom. “And who cares about an anatomy—gray or any other color?”

  The tires on Mama Max’s jet-black Thunderbird had barely stopped rolling before she opened the car door and hurried to Nettie’s front door. She didn’t notice that her usually perfectly coiffed hair was coming down in the back or that she wore one black sock and one navy blue one underneath her charcoal-gray warm-ups. She huffed up the steps, crossed the porch, and punched the doorbell three times in a row.

  “Hold your horses!” Nettie shouted, drying her hands and walking quickly to the door at the same time. She never stopped talking as she opened the door. “Where on earth is the fire? I tell you the tru—Mama Max? Is that you running up those steps as if lightning is about to strike?”

  “Lighting done struck, child, and Satan’s on the loose. Open up this here door ’cause you ain’t gonna believe what I just heard.”

  Nettie quickly opened the door. The hug she meant for Mama Max’s shoulder barely touched her back as Mama Max hurried past Nettie into the living room. “Lawd, I know you ain’t got no Baileys Irish Cream but I sure could use some in my coffee right now!”

  “Come on back to the kitchen while I put on a pot, Mama. And tell me what on earth has you in such a state!”

  Mama Max followed Nettie to the kitchen. “We’re the only ones here, right?”