Heaven Right Here Page 7

  “Look, Stacy—” Darius began.

  “Do you want—” Stacy said at the same time.

  Inside Darius’s pocket, his BlackBerry vibrated. Bo.

  Darius glanced at his watch. “I have to go,” he said quickly, covering the distance to the front door in three long strides. “I’ll see you Sunday, okay? Take care, Stacy.”

  Stacy watched Darius stroll to his shiny black Navigator and step inside. She saw him punch his Bluetooth device before the car was fully backed down her driveway. Stacy would have bet money on who’d been calling. But it did her no good to think about the constant barrier between her and her man.

  “No,” Stacy said aloud, forcing a change in her thoughts. She said it so loudly Darius Jr. looked up from his toys. “Not you, baby,” she said with a smile. She stood a while longer, watching her son pound his toy piano. He’s so much like his father. But his father is not here, she thought. And I need to stop hoping that one day he’ll come back.

  16

  Friends for Now

  Later, after Stacy had fed, bathed, and put Darius to bed, she retrieved the card Tony had given her the previous Sunday. With just slight hesitation, she dialed his number.

  “Hello?”

  “Tony. Stacy.”

  Pause.

  “From Sunday brunch at the Montgomerys’.”

  “Oh, what’s up, Stacy?”

  Stacy noted a lack of warmth in his tone, definitely not the flirty voice he’d used as they’d discreetly teased each other at the dining room table. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, I’ve got a minute.”

  Tony was not going to make this easy. Stacy understood and decided to cut to the chase. “I’m sorry about my actions on Sunday. My ex gets under my skin sometimes, and I lose my temper.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  What was this, Get Stacy to Face the Truth day? Was it time to put on Usher and sing “this is my confession”? First Hope, now Tony. Was she so obvious that everyone knew what, until now, she’d refused to admit?

  “It’s because at one time I had deep feelings for him. Had. Past tense.”

  “Past tense, huh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are those past feelings why you started flirting so openly all of a sudden after your boy showed up with his dude?”

  “It was childish and stupid, and I shouldn’t have done it. There’s a lot of bad history there. But I’m ready to move on.” Stacy hesitated, waited for Tony to speak. When he didn’t, she continued. “I was hoping that maybe the move-on could be with you.”

  Tony cleared his throat. “Look, Stacy, I think you’re cool and all, and you’ve definitely got it going on in the looks department, but truthfully? I don’t think I’m the one for you right now. I went through a messy divorce a couple years ago, and I just got things on the right track with my first child’s mother. I almost lost my mother last year, and now I’m sidelined with this knee injury. What I’m trying to say is for the first time in a long time, things are relatively calm in my life. I don’t need or want any craziness in my life right now.”

  “I don’t want that either.”

  “I believe you, but sometimes we’re not totally in control of that situation. I think you’ve still got some unresolved feelings for your boy. So it’s just not a good time for you and I right now.”

  What could she say? Tony was right. Stacy knew this, and even though his words weren’t what she wanted to hear, she appreciated his honesty and told him so.

  “One thing the past few years have taught me is that life is short, and, unlike football, it is not a game. You deserve the best, Stacy, and one of these days, when you’re ready, it will come to you.”

  “Listen to you, sounding all intelligent. You know ball players have low IQs.”

  “Aw!” Tony bellowed good-naturedly, liking the change in tone. “You hit below the belt, girl.”

  Stacy laughed. Once they shifted away from the topic of romance, conversation became easy. They talked about church, family, Tony’s NFL team—the San Diego Chargers; their interplay came easy for the woman who’d grown up with four athletic brothers.

  “I’ll give this to you, Tony Johnson: you make a woman feel good. So don’t let me catch you in a dark alley somewhere; you just might get accosted.”

  “I can think of worse things,” he responded with a smile in his voice.

  “So, friends for now?” Stacy asked.

  “Why not?” Tony asked as much to himself as to Stacy. “Friends for now.”

  17

  Church Girl

  Frieda crossed her legs and smoothed her A-line, turquoise Smitten dress over her curvy, five-footfive frame. It was a present from Giorgio, and running her hands against the soft viscose and spandex fabric helped her not miss him as much.

  “Where are we going?” she asked with chagrin.

  Joe, a coworker and good friend, slid her a sideways glance. “Look, don’t get all testy with me, Miss Thang. I can’t help it that your man left you, again, for the bright lights and big city of New York.”

  “Giorgio’s my favorite lickin’ stick; I can’t lie about that. But you know your girl—out of sight, out of mind.”

  Frieda adjusted the passenger mirror and reapplied her lipstick. She hardly noticed the shrubbery and hidden mansions as Joe navigated through the rich, exclusive neighborhood of Holmby Hills. Giorgio had left that morning, and while he’d reiterated his open invitation for her to join him in the Big Apple, winter was coming, and if Midwestborn-and-bred Frieda never traipsed through snow again, it would be too soon. But she missed him, and Jonathan giving her the heave-ho after finding out why she was MIA all week only added to her need for diversion.

  “Who lives here?” she asked as Joe turned onto a dead-end street.

  Joe chuckled. “You’ll see.”

  “You get on my nerves. I don’t know why I bother with you.”

  “I’m your rebound friend; I can set my watch to when Giorgio leaves town by the time you call me to hang out. You like to act as if you’re footloose and fancy free, but I know better. Giorgio has that meow on lockdown. All he has to do is show up!”

  Frieda uncrossed her legs to give said feline, sans panties, access to air. “Why are you telling me what I already know? Hell, yeah, it’s locked down for the G-man. I ain’t ashamed of where my affections lie. If he called right now I’d tell you to stop, put me out on the side of the road, and I’d hoof it back to Baldwin Hills in these four-inch Guccis. You feel me?”

  Joe laughed. “I feel you, Frieda. At least you don’t bullshit. That’s why we’re friends.”

  A few seconds later, Joe pulled up to an imposing, gold-plated, wrought-iron fence and announced his name to security. After checking the guest list, the guard buzzed them in, and Joe swung his BMW into an empty parking space.

  “Damn,” Frieda said, eyeing the huge home spread out before her. “You sure know how to make a sistah forget to be sad.” She eyed Joe for a moment, ready to get emotional, and then quipped to stay the tears, “I think I’ll keep your Pillsbury Doughboy ass around!”

  Joe simply winked at her, recognizing her sarcastic affection. “I thought so.”

  Inside the mansion was an all-out party. The music pulsated, liquor flowed, and everyone in attendance belonged to the Beautiful People Club. Frieda wasn’t intimidated; she knew she looked good. Besides the designer clothing, her beautician had styled her short hair to within an inch of its life. She was bathed in Escada and dripping in Swarovski crystals she’d stack against diamonds any day. Fuck the bitch who thought sporting yellow sapphire made her special. Did she have a mouth and a pussy that gripped like a vacuum? Frieda didn’t think so, and that’s what kept her at the top of the player game.

  She lifted a glass of bubbly off the serving tray, and after she and Joe coordinated a mutual meeting spot for later, began surveying the layout of the land. Right away she saw some people she knew: rappers, actors, ballers, including that pr
ime rib Tony Johnson. By the time she finished her second glass, she’d made her way to the second floor of a home that could have doubled as a mini mall and found the usual goings-on: sex, drugs, and enough silicone to keep the Titanic from sinking. Frieda loved the excitement of the Hollywood lifestyle, but after living it almost nonstop for a week with Giorgio by her side, it felt empty without him. She walked through a room where a small group was watching videos and found solitude on a small balcony. Relishing the night air on her skin, she tossed her head back and inhaled deeply.

  “Hold that pose, lovely. That’s a pretty picture.”

  Frieda slowly brought her head down and opened her eyes. She turned and saw a man with a body that could have been featured in a workout ad. A baseball cap covered his nearly bald head, designer jeans rode low on his hips, and an unbuttoned shirt revealed abs toned to perfection. Once Frieda’s neck-and-down perusal was finished, she raised her head to catch his eyes.

  “Damn, baby, did you like the journey?”

  Frieda was nonplussed. “You know I did. That’s why you spend so much time in the gym, for sistahs like me to dig it. Why you trying to come off all fake cool and shit?”

  The machismo brother was taken aback but recovered quickly. “That’s what I like, a woman with balls.”

  Frieda invaded his personal space and boldly put her hand on his thigh, precariously close to his manhood. “And this is what I like.”

  Her prey’s pupils dilated. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course I know who you are, Shabach. And I was wondering what a good gospel boy like you was doing in a bad-boys place like this.” In her wanderings, Frieda had found out that the home belonged to Murder He Wrote, the preeminent A-list thug of hip-hop.

  “I can be in it and not of it, can’t I?” he asked. He made no move to remove her hand.

  Frieda smiled seductively. “That’s a question for you to answer.”

  She removed her hand abruptly and waltzed away. Shabach stared after her for a long, long time.

  Frieda maneuvered her way back downstairs and joined the throng of beautiful people gathered around Murder’s Olympic-sized pool. Four blue-and-white-striped cabanas anchored each corner. In one, a near naked stripper lap danced a well-known billionaire’s son; in another, drugs such as coke and ecstasy covered the table. The third one housed a Middle Eastern businessman being fanned by two six-foot, blond-haired, blue-eyed Amazon women. And in the fourth, Tony Johnson held court. That’s where Frieda stopped.

  “Ah, man, there’s no way Williams is gonna rush for one hundred yards a game,” Tony said. He paused to puff on a premium-packed Tatuaje Havana cigar. “He didn’t do that at Grambling, and he sure as hell isn’t going to do it for the Jets. They’re trying to prop up a weak offense, but that’s not going to happen. Watch what I tell you. They’ll be lucky if they make the playoffs, let alone the Super Bowl.”

  “What about the changes at quarterback?” a burly, bald-headed brother asked.

  “Man, Favre can’t save the world. If your line is breaking down every time the ball is snapped, what’s the quarterback gonna do besides get sacked?”

  A spattering of laughter broke out at this comment, and the crowd shifted. That’s when Tony noticed Frieda.

  “Hey, beautiful, who are you?”

  Frieda dropped her head shyly. There’s all kinds of money in the house tonight, she thought. If I play my cards right, I might actually come up from this evening. At least get a couple Gs, a trip to Europe or something. She’d thought this when she’d recognized Shabach. Tony was more her physical taste, but he was injured. Paper disappeared quickly when an athlete stopped playing and the endorsements dried up. Shabach wasn’t as big a name as Darius Crenshaw, but he had hella game. Plus there was a rumor Shabach was breaking into the acting biz. In the end he might be the wisest of choices. But a woman couldn’t be too hasty.

  Tony pushed back his chair and stood. “Show’s over, gentlemen,” he said with authority. The crowd dissipated as if the pope had spoken. Frieda liked that.

  “Now, what can I get for the lady?”

  Frieda sat down, exposing smooth, waxed skin as she leaned back and crossed her legs. “Maybe you.”

  From the other side of the pool, Shabach discreetly observed the goings-on, especially what was happening in cabana number four. Women threw themselves at him all the time; it had been a while since one had left him wanting and he’d felt the thrill of the chase. He turned to one of the guys he’d come with. “Hey, any of y’all know that girl over there?”

  Several pairs of eyes turned to check out Frieda. A short, stocky man with two-karat diamonds in each ear nodded slowly. “Ain’t that the girl who hangs with that punk Darius’s baby’s mama?”

  Hearing the name of his number-one archrival put Shabach instantly on alert. “Oh, yeah?”

  Shorty shrugged. “I think so. I think I saw her at church one time with what’s-her-name—Stacy—and the fine chick who married the millionaire.”

  “Was it Montgomery’s church, Kingdom Citizens?”

  “I think so, man. Either there or Logos Word. But don’t quote me, brothah, it’s been a minute. But I think that’s where I saw her; you don’t forget that vision quickly.”

  Shabach rubbed his day-old stubble thoughtfully. The vision of loveliness who’d handled him like she’d known what she was doing had just gotten more intriguing. A courtesan-acting female who was also a church girl? To say the least, Shabach was interested. Very much so.

  Shortly after midnight, Frieda met Joe at their preestablished rendezvous point. “Hey, man, you ready to bounce?” she asked.

  “Why? It’s not even late yet.”

  “I know, but I haven’t gotten much sleep lately, and I have to be at work early tomorrow.”

  “All right, mamí, let’s blow this joint.”

  Frieda was almost to the front door when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She stopped and turned around, her face inches below that of heavy-lidded Shabach. She watched his tongue as he licked his lips and then looked down at the card he held out to her.

  “Call me. I want to get with you.”

  Frieda cocked her head. “I might,” she said with a smile and then walked out the door.

  18

  Follow the Leader

  Hope turned into the church lot and parked her Lexus convertible next to Vivian’s 700 Series BMW. She turned off the engine but remained in the car, enjoying the groove of Darius’s latest hit, “Looks Like Reign”:

  “How does it look to be a kingdom citizen?

  How does it look to bear His royal name?

  I think it looks like we are more than conquerors,

  It looks like blessings falling, in fact it looks like

  reign.

  Reign over troubles, over doubts and fears, reign,

  reign …”

  This is the one, Hope thought as she reached for her briefcase and opened the door. This will be the song the church troupe dances to.

  Hope had called Vivian the Wednesday following their Monday meeting and agreed to work with Melody and members from the fan group, Darius’s Crew. By Thursday, Vivian had orchestrated a conference call with herself, Hope, Darius, and Bo to develop a basic outline for aligning the group with KCCC’s youth department. Everyone agreed the fan club wouldn’t fall directly under the KCCC ministry, but rather that Hope would serve as a liaison between the two, overtly providing creative direction for the group’s expansion and covertly monitoring the girl’s activities. Darius was KCCC family, and if there was a way the church could help protect him from overzealous female teens, they were ready to do so.

  Hope greeted the security guard as she walked up the sidewalk to the executive offices. “Hi, Greg.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Taylor. You’re looking nice today.”

  “You are too funny. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Hope?”

  “No, you’re too fine for me to get familiar. I’d better stick to Mrs
. Taylor.” Greg winked. “That way I stay reminded.”

  “Well, in that case, I am definitely Mrs. Taylor to you.” Her phone rang as she stepped inside. “Hey, Frieda, what’s up? I’m just getting ready to go into a meeting.”

  “Oh, that’s why you’re not available for lunch today? And you were the one squawking the loudest when I canceled on y’all to be with Giorgio.”

  “Yeah, but this is different. I’m not canceling because of a man; this is God’s business.” She explained briefly about Vivian’s request for her to teach praise dancing. “I’ll call you later.”

  “You do that because I want to invite you to church tomorrow.”

  Frieda’s words had the desired effect. Hope stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, wait a minute, something must be wrong with my cell phone. I know I didn’t just hear that you were going to invite me to church?”

  “Yes, I’m coming to Kingdom Citizens tomorrow.”

  “And it’s not a holiday? I better say my prayers real good tonight because I know Jesus is coming.”

  “And if he isn’t there, Shabach will be. We went out last night.”

  “Shabach? I didn’t even know you knew him. Look, I can’t talk now. I’ll call you when I get out.” She entered the meeting room, turning off her cell as she did so. “Hello, everybody.”

  Hope joined Vivian, the youth director, the youth minister, Melody Anderson, and Melody’s best friend, Natasha, who was also a member of Darius’s Crew. After exchanging cordialities and saying a prayer, Vivian began the meeting.

  “I want to start by saying I have spoken to Darius, and while we’re not sure he’ll be able to join us today, he’s in full support of this meeting and the plans Hope and I would like to share with you.”

  “Darius is going to be here?” Melody asked.

  “He may be here,” Vivian emphasized. “And he is very excited about what we’re here to propose.”

  Melody and Natasha exchanged excited glances.