A Preacher's Passion (2 page)

Robin sat on the sagging bed of her dingy motel room. It was almost midnight, and her workday began at seven
A.M
. Still, she sat there wide-eyed, watching reruns of
Good Times,
eating Cheetos dipped in peanut butter, and washing it down with malt liquor beer. This was her ritual almost every night. After spending eighteen months locked down, where every move was ordered and every moment scheduled, Robin fully appreciated being able to have lights and television on after nine
P.M
. The one good thing the motel had was cable TV. Watching reruns of J.J. badger Thelma or a preteen Janet Jackson cozy up to her TV mom, Willona, saved Robin’s sanity, such as it was.

Robin finished the bag of Cheetos and, licking the cheese off the fingers of one hand, picked up the gun with the other. She palmed the simple, semiautomatic Cobra compact, satisfied with the comfortable fit. Eyeing a crude, hastily drawn picture on a piece of paper taped to the opposite wall, she aimed the unloaded gun and fired off five shots in quick succession. V-I-V-A-N, the misspelled name on the paper identifying the drawing’s inspiration, was safe. Along with being on the anti-psychotic drug Peridol, Robin was near-sighted. She thought she’d hit the target perfectly, but had the gun been loaded, no one would have died.
Gonna get bullets as soon as I get my check on Friday,
Robin mused, as she shot Vivian a couple more times before tossing the gun carelessly on the floor beside her.

Robin stared at the drawing, mentally replaying the events from two years ago. How she’d come to LA to reclaim her man, Derrick Montgomery, and after a failed coup d’état of Vivian’s domain, been tossed out of their church like a sack of potatoes by a burly security guard. She thought back farther, to the beginning: Lithonia, Georgia, and Pilgrims’ Rest Baptist Church. That’s where she and Derrick first met. She’d been his assistant with aspirations to be much more. But somebody named Vivian had gotten in the way. Robin’s smile was sinister as she imagined the future according to her plan. If it worked, Miss High-and-Mighty wouldn’t be in the way for long.

Robin stumbled into the bathroom, shook three Peridols into her hand, and swallowed them with the remaining beer. She turned out the lights, and after peering at the moonlight spilling through the torn, stained curtain, closed the window on the loud sounds of brass-based banda music drifting in along with the cool, autumn air.

As she waited for the drug to take effect, Robin thought about Passion and smiled as dim recollections of a happier time flitted across her mind. Her smile turned to a frown as one of the faces in her reverie became that of a young Vivian Montgomery. She flopped over on her stomach, letting the dulling effects of drugs and sleepiness overtake her.

Robin kept repeating something over and over, until her snoring blended with the muted Mexican music and a steady, rhythmic creaking sound from the couple’s bed above her.
I’m gonna get her. I’m gonna get that prissy muthafucka….

Passion sang along with the Logos Word choir, clapping her fiery-red manicured hands to their up-tempo rendition of a timeless, gospel classic. “While on others Thou art calling…do not pass me by!” She swayed and head-bobbed as the altos and sopranos traded increasingly difficult riffs of “do not” and “pass me by,” while the band held down a contemporary syncopation of drums, keyboard, guitar, and horns. Passion reared her head back and sang louder. “Savior, blessed Savior, hear—my—hum—ble—cry.” She had been praying, believing, wanting, and needing for too long. Whenever Jesus got there, she didn’t want Him to pass her by!

Into the congregation’s praise-induced frenzy walked the pastor, first lady, and a contingency of associate ministers, church staff, and special guests. They entered from a side door near the pulpit. Dr. Stanley Lee walked directly to the podium. His wife and the church’s copastor, Carla, the associate ministers, and assistants sat in the first of two rows of chairs on the pulpit’s left side.

“One more time, church,” Dr. Lee’s voice boomed into the microphone. “Oh, oh, oh, Savior,” he sang, his rich baritone rivaling the able-voiced lead singer. He joyfully led the congregation, walking from one side of the pulpit to the other, clapping his hands and raising them toward heaven. This was his world, his element. Stanley Lee felt more comfortable in the pulpit than anywhere else. An attractive six feet and two hundred pounds, with a smooth bald head and even white teeth, his look was a decidedly nice addition to the room.

“Yes!” Dr. Lee exclaimed as the song peaked to its flourishing end. “Hallelujah,” he intoned, as the church members clapped and shouted in praise. “And it is God’s promise,” he continued, “that before you call Him, He will answer, and that while you are yet speaking, He will hear.

“Whatever you need, God’s got it. Whatever you want, God’s got it. He’s on His way to meet your need right now. And He shall not pass you by!”

The band started up again with the keyboardist making a run that the guitarist slid in on, and the drummer’s dreadlocks flying as high as his sticks. The saxophonist poured notes in between strings and keys and hallelujahs and glories. Passion closed her eyes, basking in the feeling of joy and the spirit of God’s love.

“Excuse me,” a deep, slightly gruff voice said as a hand lightly grasped her forearm. “May I sit beside you?”

Any word except
yes
fled from Passion’s mind as soon as she turned toward the voice. It came from a solid-looking chest that pushed against a light gray silk shirt and tailored black suit. She looked at the hand that lightly grasped her arm and noted square, thick fingers with manicured nails. Looking up, she found a face full of character, confidence, and pure animal magnetism. The man wasn’t typically handsome. He had a flat face, big nose, thick lips, and black, beady eyes. But when the man unconsciously licked those lips, nodded, and smiled, Passion noted the beady eyes were surrounded by long, curly lashes, and the lips looked soft and inviting, probably capable of doing things better not pondered in church. All of these thoughts were processed in the seconds it took for Passion to nod, smile back, and move over so the manly stranger could sit at the end of the pew.

The choir finished their selection and Pastor Carla changed places with her husband, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as he gave her the microphone and walked to his seat. Pastor Carla continued to the podium.

“My goodness, that is a man of God,” she said, pointing to her husband and shaking her head in appreciation. The congregation laughed, used to Pastor Carla’s romantic overtures to her husband from the pulpit. It was part of what the members loved about them, that they fanned the flames of their decade-old marriage openly and often. Innocent touches, light kisses, a hug here or there, theirs was a marriage many members held as the standard for unions.

Passion was one of those members. Unlike her imaginings of Pastor Montgomery, she’d never entertained an untoward thought about Dr. Lee.
If I could have a marriage like theirs…
she thought. The commanding stranger fidgeted beside her. As was typical, it was a crowded Sunday morning. There had barely been enough room to fit him in on the second row.
Maybe God is answering my prayer right now. Maybe His answer is this manly mass of muscle sitting beside me….

Pastor Carla continued, congratulating the choir on a job well done and greeting the Sunday worshippers. She then asked the visitors to stand so they could be recognized. The man next to Passion stood, as did a dozen or so others. While they stood, Pastor Carla encouraged members near them to introduce themselves and make them feel welcome.

“Hi, I’m Passion,” she said, once the man whose name she’d heard was Lavon turned to her. “Welcome to Logos Word.”

“Lavon Chapman,” he said, taking her hand in his large, strong one and looking intently into her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…Passion.” Lavon paused before he said her name, caressing each syllable before it oozed from his juicy lips.

“Yes,” Passion said, feeling slightly discombobulated. “Passion Perkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” She didn’t know what it was about Lavon that was so sexy to her but after five years of celibacy, it could have been that he was male and breathing.

“Interesting name,” he continued in a low voice, as the ushers prepared to lift an offering.

“It fits me,” she replied, then immediately could have kicked herself for what sounded like a flirtatious answer. “I mean, my grandfather called me that because of how feisty I…” She felt the hole she was digging get deeper. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“It’s a great name,” Lavon countered smoothly, saving Passion from further explanation.

Passion breathed a sigh of relief as Carla returned the microphone to her husband and Dr. Lee began to preach. She enjoyed the sermon, not because she’d remember either chapter or verse later, but because it gave her more than an hour of ongoing interaction with Lavon. Dr. Lee was one of those preachers who liked to interact with his congregants. He constantly encouraged the crowd to “turn to your neighbor and say” whatever phrase he wanted repeated for emphasis. He also referenced scriptures throughout his sermon. Passion shared her Bible with Lavon and when he placed his hand under hers to help her hold it, she thought she might have to excuse herself from the sanctuary. Was it her, or was he gently massaging her hand? It may have been her imagination, but either way Passion was now acutely aware of how long it had been since she’d enjoyed a man’s touch.

Lavon enjoyed the service—and the company as well. He’d always preferred thick women, ones who wouldn’t blow away in a two-mile-an-hour wind. Passion was like that: shapely, big breasts, wide hips, pretty face, nice eyes, and dimples. He was always a sucker for those. He also had a feeling the woman could live up to her name; something hot seemed to smolder just beneath her Christian conservatism. She was friendly too, which was refreshing. Often when he met women he felt as if he had to peel off layers to get to the real person, that they were so busy trying to be “all that” that they never got to be “all themselves.” He liked a woman who was comfortable in her own skin, not trying to be someone she wasn’t. Passion seemed like that. So did the church’s first lady.

Lavon and Passion stood and shared small talk when church was over, neither seeming to want to end their meeting.

After learning he was from out of town, Passion suggested they go for coffee.

“I just need to speak with the pastors before we leave,” Lavon said. “I’m working with them.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, I’m helping to direct and produce a DVD series.”

“Well, you go on, I’ll wait outside,” Passion said. Dr. Lee and Pastor Carla were friendly and it was always crowded in their office area after church, but Passion never liked to feel she was trying to be all up in their faces. She and Carla had talked on occasion, and she’d even helped out with a local Sanctity of Sisterhood Summit hosted at their church. Passion felt that if she ever needed anything—advice, assistance, whatever—that she could go to Carla, but considered theirs an acquaintance, not a friendship. And for Passion, that was just fine. At the end of the day Carla Lee was still a woman, merely tolerated.

“Hey, Passion,” Lavon said, when he found her waiting just outside the church doors. “We’ve been invited to Dr. Lee’s for their Sunday brunch.”

Passion was taken aback. Going to the pastor’s house was something reserved for the “in” crowd at Logos Word, a crowd she never thought she remotely belonged to. Pastors Stanley and Carla were her mentors, her spiritual covering. She didn’t know how comfortable she’d feel trying to treat them like regular folk, sharing a meal and small talk as if they were, well, normal.

“Are they sure?” she asked, with brows raised.

Lavon laughed. “What, is there something about you they don’t know?”

Passion realized how her question must have sounded. She laughed too. “No, it’s just that I’m not that close to them outside church. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Thirty minutes later, Passion and Lavon joined Dr. Lee, Carla, a couple associate ministers and their wives around the Lees’ large dining room table. Between helpings of scrumptious steak, potatoes and gravy, corn, green beans, and a tossed salad, Passion’s knowledge grew about Mr. Lavon Chapman.

Lavon was from the Kansas City area, and was media director at Mount Zion Progressive Baptist Church in Overland Park, Kansas. That’s how the Lees knew him. His pastor, King Brook, was one of Stanley Lee’s good friends and a fellow member of the Total Truth Association. Pastor Brook had recommended Lavon for the project when he heard what the Lees wanted to accomplish before the Christmas holidays. With a highly successful weekly television show himself, letting go of his director was a selfless gesture.

The series Lavon had come to put together was entitled
Eight Keys to Victorious Kingdom Living
. Each tape would focus on a different “Kingdom Key,” based on the fruits of the Spirit mentioned in the book of Galatians. The DVDs would include an interactive tutorial as well as a workbook to use during the entire series. By the time the Lees, the associate ministers, and Lavon finished discussing it, Passion was ready to order her copies right then.

After a decadent dessert of apple cobbler à la mode topped with caramel syrup, the Lees’ guests prepared to leave. Brunch had lasted two hours, leaving less than three hours for everyone to rest and prepare for the church’s evening service that began promptly at seven o’clock.

“See you tonight?” Carla asked Lavon, after giving him a light hug and thanking him again for his input.

Lavon flashed a sheepish grin. “Well, Pastor, I’m going to play hooky tonight, if it’s all right. I know you offered a driver, but I think it’s best I rent a car, considering how long I’m going to be here.”

“How long are you staying?” Passion asked, her heart dropping at the thought of this man walking out of her life as quickly as he’d walked in.

“Eight weeks,” Lavon and Pastor Carla said together.

Carla smiled at Lavon. “So you need to get to a rental car agency? Let me get one of the ministers to take you.” She then looked at Passion and added, “Unless you’ve already got a ride.”

“Thanks, Pastor Carla, but yes, I’m set,” Lavon answered, annoyed at the guilt that rose up. What was that about? He was thirty-five years old, a grown ass man. If he wanted to skip a church service and have a female congregant drive him to his hotel…that was his doggone business. Not that Carla had said anything, but her silence was loud.

She turned and hugged Passion. “Will I see
you
tonight?”

“Maybe,” was Passion’s noncommittal reply. As much as she’d enjoyed the meal and the camaraderie of her first lady, she was ready for some one-on-one time with Lavon. “Thanks again for the meal, Pastor Carla,” she said, heading out the door. “That apple cobbler was ridiculous!”

Without waiting for a response, she headed down the steps, hearing Lavon’s last good-byes echo behind her.

A short time later, Passion and Lavon sat in the restaurant located in the second-floor lobby of the Sheraton Hotel where Lavon was staying, sipping decaf coffees. Being comfortable with each other was immediate; Passion reminded Lavon of one of his sister’s friends and Lavon had the same cocky self-assuredness of her brothers—without being cocky. And she was glad he wasn’t her brother.

“So, you think I can survive two months in Cali?” Lavon asked. He’d admitted to Passion that LA wasn’t one of his favorite cities—full of what he called “plastic people.”

“I think you can survive anywhere,” Passion replied. “But put your boxing gloves on the next time you come to church. You’re going to have to fight the women off you.”

Lavon nodded his head and smiled. He didn’t doubt what Passion said was true. If Logos Word was anything like Mount Zion Progressive, there would be no shortage of willing women to keep him company during his stay. In fact, he felt the woman sitting across from him could be among them. While not totally disinterested, Lavon knew he was here on business, with only eight weeks to do the job. He didn’t have time for drama and didn’t want to start something he couldn’t finish. Lavon had always been a very sexual man, but he felt that if push came to shove and his hand wasn’t enough, he had a couple friends who could provide him with a casual hookup, outside the Logos Word membership. Plus, he had a new girlfriend back home, also a member of Mount Zion Progressive. Lavon intended to keep his mind on kingdom, not kitty business. When he said good-bye to Passion, it was in the lobby, not his room.

Passion felt she was walking on air as she headed to her car, drove through the streets of LA, and arrived at her home. She didn’t want to get too excited, but she was already “in like” with her dinner date. Lavon Chapman was a catch. Granted, she hadn’t even known him twenty-four hours, but he was nice, intelligent, sexy, and very active in church. The latter was important to Passion; she wanted a godly man. And she rather liked the idea that he wasn’t a pretty boy, wasn’t the fall-over-backward kind of fine but striking in his own way, powerful and commanding. Walking into her house she remembered the feel of his hand under hers as they held the Bible, and the strength of his hug as they parted in the restaurant. His chest was solid as a rock and his embrace made her feel safe and protected. Passion knew she was a big girl; it took a real man to make her feel vulnerable inside his arms. Lavon did that. In time, she hoped he’d do much more.