A Preacher's Passion (7 page)

“Is that a gun?” Kelvin shouted.

“What? Where?” Princess screamed back at him, looking around.

At the exact moment Princess screamed, Robin’s wheels locked. Panicked, she dropped the gun and grabbed the wheel with both hands, unsuccessfully trying to regain control. The gun skidded off the asphalt, under several cars, and would later be recovered by the LAPD. The Dodge skidded in the opposite direction, clipping the back end of a pickup truck and doing a one-eighty before flipping over twice and coming to rest upside down in the freeway’s center lane. Miraculously, the SUV with the shot-out mirror and the rear bumper of the pickup truck were the only cars affected by Robin’s erratic actions. The only cars except the one now resting, tires still spinning, on its hood.

Kelvin’s leg shook so badly he could hardly press the gas pedal and get the Jaguar to the side of the highway. Once he pulled over, he put the car in park, turned off the ignition, and sat with his forehead pressed to the steering wheel. His heart raced, as did his thoughts as he tried to come to grips with what he’d just witnessed.

Princess stared straight ahead, motionless as a statue. Time seemed to stand still as the surreal scene of the grizzly accident repeated itself in both their minds. Within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the hazy silence, shaking both Kelvin and Princess out of their trancelike states.

“That was some crazy shit,” Kelvin said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I saw it, but I can’t believe it,” Princess whispered back. “What was wrong with that person?”

“I don’t know,” Kelvin answered, while wondering if he’d really seen a gun when he looked in the mirror.

“Did you really see a gun?” Princess asked, reading his mind. “Maybe it was some gang stuff going on.”

“I don’t know what it was,” Kelvin responded, finally calm enough to restart the engine. “But I just thank God we weren’t any closer. It could have been us flipped upside down.”

“Yes,” Princess whispered. “Thank God.” She looked back to see an ambulance, fire truck, and several police cars surrounding the overturned car.

Kelvin watched as well, and saw firemen and medical personnel looking into the windows of the badly battered vehicle. “Man, whoever that is will be lucky to get out of there alive.”

Princess looked back one more time as Kelvin steered the car onto the highway. “No,” she said before forcing herself to turn away from the tragic scene. “Whoever’s in that car is dead.”

Several people looked on as firemen used their equipment to pry open the smashed door on the driver’s side. A medic stooped next to the body dangling upside down, held in place by a durable seatbelt. Careful of the broken glass and large drops of blood, he grabbed the accident victim’s arm. Holding his fingers against the victim’s wrist, he waited a moment, repositioned his fingers and waited another moment. Then he turned and gave a curt nod to the fire chief standing behind him. “I think I feel a pulse.”

Stacy lay quiet and content in Darius’s arms. He was always good, but had been especially attentive in tonight’s lovemaking, giving Stacy several orgasms before enjoying a sustained one of his own. But as usual, it wasn’t long before he jumped up and headed to the shower.

Stacy’s afterglow turned to an after “no.” After two years, she was tired of feeling like, like…
How do I feel?
Stacy wondered. It was hard to describe in words, in several words even. Darius would be totally into her one moment, and then totally disconnected the next—like now. She didn’t feel as if she were a
part
of him, as if she were really
with
him. A part of her always felt as if she were on the outside of Darius’s life looking in. She’d stewed on her situation ever since having lunch with Hope the month before—about the best way to handle getting what she wanted. Summer had given way to October and while she hoped the answer to the dilemma was in her womb, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure. She’d told Hope about the baby but hadn’t told its father. The timing, and his mood, had to be perfect.

Stacy got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, slowly sipped a glass of water, and thought of why she and Darius couldn’t seem to take their relationship to the next level, why after two years things seemed to be at a standstill. In every instance his manager, Bo Jenkins, was either the “stand” or the “still.” He was why she could never spend the night at Darius’s house—because roommates Bo and Darius had agreed to not have overnight guests. What kind of joke was that? Grown men splitting the rent telling each other who can do what? Why she could never go out of town with Darius—Bo always made it seem that while he was indispensable, she would only be in the way. And what was worse, Darius listened. What kind of business manager tells a client how to run his personal life? Stacy knew Bo had discouraged Darius from getting married as well, saying a wedding at this point in time would diminish Darius’s largely female fan base. At the root of every issue she had with Darius was one thing and one thing only: Bo.

Stacy stomped into the bedroom. Darius sat on the bed, having just put on his shoes. She stopped directly in front of him, her unwashed punanny inches from his face.

“We’ve got a problem, Darius,” she said, hands on hips. “And his name is Bo.”

Darius kept his look neutral, masking surprise. Bo is exactly who Darius had been thinking of when Stacy walked in, and all while he showered and dressed. He stood up and brushed past her. “What now?”

Stacy ignored the chagrin in Darius’s voice. This wasn’t the first time that Bo being an issue had come up—so what. Obviously Darius didn’t understand just how much his business manager worked her nerves.

“This is what,” she said, sweeping her hand in a head to toe motion. “You being dressed, going home. Why can’t you spend the night at my house? Two years, and I can count the times you’ve spent the night. Bo, right?”

Tonight especially, the reason was Bo. He’d told Darius that there would be a surprise waiting for him when he returned home. But Stacy didn’t need to know that. “I told you,” he said, walking over to Stacy and using a hug to try and diffuse the situation. “I like to sleep in my own bed.”

Stacy pulled out of his embrace. “What’s so wrong with mine? It’s good enough for fucking, but not for sleep?”

“Stacy, don’t use such crass words.”

“Crass? Hmph. Crass, my ass, Darius, I want real answers.”

“Well, you’re not going to get them tonight, not with that tone of voice and not in that mood.” Darius decided to meet Stacy’s indignation with some of his own. That’s what he usually did to take the wind out of Bo’s sails. The move worked just as well on Stacy.

“Look,” she said, following Darius into the living room, where he retrieved his keys and travel pouch. “I don’t want to have an attitude with you, I really don’t. But you know where I’m at with us. It’s been two years; we’re both in our thirties. How long are we going to date?

“I want to really feel like you’re my man, Darius, not just when you’re in my house, or at the church. I want to be with you, really
be
with you: travel, hang out on the daily, wake up next to you, fix you breakfast.” She walked over to where Darius was standing by the front door. “Is that too much to ask?”

Actually, yes,
is what Darius thought. “Of course not,” is what he said.

“So act like it then,” Stacy said with a pout in her voice as she pulled Darius into an embrace. “Stay with me, if not tonight, the next time you come over. Or let me stay at your house, and come with you on one of your upcoming tour dates.”

“Okay,” Darius said, looking at his watch over Stacy’s shoulder.

“You mean it?” Stacy asked, releasing him. “You’ll stay? I can come?”

“I will stay and we’ll see about you attending an out of town concert.”

“See, baby, was that so hard? I want us to be together forever. It’s you, Darius, that’s all I want.”

Darius gave Stacy a quick kiss on the lips and was out the door. Somebody else wanted only him too, and Darius didn’t want to keep him waiting.

The smell of scented candles greeted Darius as he turned the knob and entered the condo he shared with his personal assistant/business manager and lover of three years, Bo Jenkins. Darius smiled. He and Bo had gone through a lot, and when Stacy arrived on the scene it almost caused their breakup. But love had prevailed; Bo now understood that Stacy was a necessary accessory to Darius’s heterosexual persona. His and Bo’s relationship was stronger than ever, and that Bo had been willing to accept Stacy, keeping Darius’s best interest at heart, made Darius love him all the more.

“Hey, you,” Darius said as he walked into a living room shimmering with more than a dozen white candles. A bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket, and the sultry sounds of Joss Stone added to the ambiance.

“Hey, back,” Bo answered. He gave Darius a quick hug and peck on the lips, ignoring the “just showered” smell with which he’d become familiar. That drove him crazy when Darius first started seeing Stacy—Darius coming home smelling like Dove or Ivory or some shit neither Bo nor Darius would be caught dead buying. He’d finally purchased Darius a travel bag, a supply of their preferred soap, Calvin Klein’s Obsession, and explained to Darius before a date with Stacy: “so yo’ ass can smell the same going and coming.”

“What’s all this?” Darius asked. “My birthday is still weeks away.”

Instead of answering the question, Bo asked his own. “Don’t you want to get comfortable? I’ve got a few things to share with you and I’m sure you’ve, uh, already had quite a night.”

Darius couldn’t lie. “Sometimes that girl acts like a nymphomaniac. It’s like she—”

“OMG, TMI, keep those details TYS.” Bo had adopted his best diva pose as he delivered this line, finishing with a “tsk, tsk, tsk” and sashaying over to the bottle of champagne. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some bubbly.”

Darius laughed. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just that you’re my best friend in the world. It’s hard not to share everything with you.”

This had the desired effect, as complimenting Bo always did. “Go on in there and take those clothes off, boy,” Bo said with a grin. “And don’t worry, double-oh-eight will give you a break tonight.”

After a quick change into cashmere sweats, Darius joined Bo on the couch. “What’s TYS?” he asked, taking the champagne flute Bo held out to him.

“To—yo’—self,” Bo said, punctuating every word. He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

They spent several moments in companionable silence, enjoying the champagne. Two flutes later, Bo decided he did want to hear what had happened with Stacy, and Darius obliged him. Bo couldn’t have been happier that Stacy was harping on Darius about Bo always being around, and that she kept bugging Darius for them to get engaged. Watching Darius’s reactions to her pleas had helped Bo change his strategy. He’d become the patient, noncomplaining (well, not much anyway), empathizing partner, the one always there with a shoulder to lean on, and an ear to hear. Bo figured that the more Stacy showed her ass, and the less he did, the faster Darius would realize which one of them he truly wanted.

Bo walked into the kitchen and came back with a snack tray of mini sandwiches and a pile of colorful root vegetable chips.

“Thank you, baby,” Darius exclaimed. “I was just sitting here trying to remember the last time I ate.”

Bo set the tray down and headed toward the bedroom.

“Did that skank ho fuck you senseless and leave your stomach empty?” he asked over his shoulder.

Darius laughed. “Something like that. And, Bo, I’ve told you. Stop calling her that. It’s not right—disrespectful to women in general and Stacy in particular. Bo, do you hear me?”

“Sorry,” Bo mumbled, with as much sincerity as there was pork in a kosher butcher shop.

Darius finished a salami and turkey combo with melted provolone cheese in three bites. “She can’t cook like you anyway,” he said when Bo returned to the room. “These are so good. What did you do, zap them in the microwave?”

“No, baby, only the best for you. Those are oven baked, and I got the rolls from this kosher bakery in Fairfax. They’re made fresh every day.”

Darius reached for another sandwich, this one a savory roast beef paired with roasted red and pepperoncini peppers, arugula, and Cabrales blue cheese. The savory combo burst upon his palette with the first bite. He enjoyed the flavors, his eyes closed as he slowly chewed.

Bo fairly preened with satisfaction. “I knew you’d like that one; it’s my favorite.”

Darius finished the first and immediately took a second bite. “Mine too,” he said around a mouthful of beef.

The CD player switched from Joss Stone to
Whitney Houston’s Greatest Hits.
With “You Give Good Love” playing in the background, it seemed to Bo the perfect time to give Darius his surprise. He casually handed Darius a luxuriously wrapped packet, held together with a golden seal.

“What’s this?”

“Open it and find out.”

Darius opened the packet and pulled out the contents. On top was a brochure with pictures of châteaus, a river, and nightlife scenes. Opening it, Darius saw they were pictures of Quebec, Canada.

“What’s this?” Darius repeated. “You going somewhere?”

“Not without you,” Bo said as he snuggled closer to Darius. Darius had told Bo months ago about wanting to visit Quebec, Canada, after seeing a television documentary on the province. Bo had begun planning a holiday trip shortly after that conversation. Quebec was one of three cities in Canada that performed and recognized same-sex marriages, a subject Bo and Darius had also casually discussed.

Darius opened the second brochure. It was a flight itinerary, outlining a trip to take place over the Thanksgiving holidays. “First class! That’s what I’m talking about. Baby knows how a brother likes to roll!” Darius leaned over and gave Bo a quick kiss before continuing to examine the packet’s contents. Along with the brochure on Quebec and travel itinerary was a brochure of the luxury hotel for their weeklong visit: the Fairmont Le Manoir Richelieu, and various brochures on skiing and other entertainment options. Darius was overwhelmed at the obvious care and careful planning it had taken for Bo to put this together, and that he’d done it all for him. Few were the times Darius could remember feeling so loved and cherished. He stared deeply into Bo’s eyes before enfolding him in a long, gentle embrace. It was all he could do to express his gratitude; it was enough.

After several moments, Bo whispered, “Isn’t there one more envelope in the packet?”

Darius went through the brochures and found a small envelope he’d overlooked. It was heavier than the other envelopes, with obviously something besides paper inside. It was a small key. He raised his brow in a questioning gesture.

“That,” Bo said, pointing to the key, “holds the final part of your birthday present. But for that you’ll have to wait until your actual birthday, when we’re in Quebec.”

“Bo! That’s too far away.”

“Only a few weeks; they’ll fly by.”

“Give me a hint.”

Bo thought for a moment. “Well, considering how ‘Possible’ is heating up the charts, let’s hope it goes double platinum.”

Darius knew Bo had intentionally confused him. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Bo arose from the couch and pulled Darius up with him. They headed toward the bedroom. “No,” Bo said, as he rubbed his hand across Darius’s cashmere-covered behind. “But it will be worth the wait.”

Stacy tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Her thoughts were in turmoil, and all about Darius. She felt she needed to make a move, make something happen, and soon. She felt for sure that if the relationship did not move forward, it would begin to go backward. In a way, it already had, with Darius spending more time performing out of town, which meant away from her.

But was it the right time to tell him about the baby? For some reason she continued to hesitate. The timing just didn’t feel right. At times she’d even questioned if what she’d done was the correct move, or whether it would backfire. She lay on her back remembering how the idea had come about.

It was a night much like this one, when she couldn’t sleep. Belatedly, she’d remembered that she hadn’t taken her birth control pills that day. She’d traipsed into the bathroom and retrieved them from the medicine cabinet. She popped one in her mouth and was reaching for her water glass when she stopped midmove, the pill on her tongue. Slowly, she turned toward the mirror, opened her mouth, and lifted the tiny white pill off her tongue.

That’s it
, she thought, taking the pill and dropping it purposefully into the toilet. She’d then taken her birth control pill dispenser and dropped it in the trash.

“Mrs. Crenshaw,” she’d said aloud, referring to herself by Darius’s last name as she eyed herself in the mirror, “it’s time to start Project Darius Jr.”

The rest hadn’t been difficult. Darius didn’t always wear condoms, and didn’t worry about pregnancy because he knew Stacy was on the pill. They both had a healthy sexual appetite. Before Stacy had time to think it through, much less change her mind, she was pregnant. Darius was getting ready to be a father, and if her plan succeeded, Stacy would soon be his wife.