Don't Blame the Devil (3 page)

D
eacon Pillar watched Delilah speed away almost in relief as he stood rooted to the hot cement. In one swoop, his long arms reached down and retrieved his Bible. “Give me strength, Heavenly Father.”

The deacon tried to compose himself as he turned and headed back toward the side entry of New Hope. His habit of leaving the service early to prepare for the board meeting suddenly seemed like a bad idea. But his head felt like a piece of lead and he couldn't lift it, not even for appearance' sake, as passing congregants greeted him warily.

A few minutes later, the deacon's body relaxed, just a little, as he climbed the few steps to enter the deacons' board meeting room. It was a small room practically devoid of adornment and adjacent to the pastor's lavishly decorated study.

He opened the door and nearly collapsed onto one of two sofas in the room. He was so grateful it was empty. His brow furrowed and without thinking he'd begun to wring his leathery hands just before he leapt off the sofa and fell to his knees. “Father God, after all these years, why did you let me see that woman?”

And from somewhere deep within his spirit he imagined God admonishing,
I allowed you to see her. I never told you to call out to her….

“Sorry to interrupt, Deacon Pillar.” It was one of the church trustees. He'd whispered his brief apology as he accidentally hit the side of a table when he tried to abruptly leave. “I didn't know anyone would be in here. I just needed to get one of the record books.”

The deacon couldn't speak. He stared at the man as though seeing him for the first time. As he rose, he kept staring and it took a few more seconds before he could speak. “It's okay, Brother Jessie. I just needed some alone time with the Master.”

“It's not a problem. I've felt the need for some alone time in His presence quite often, especially since Cindy's passing.”

“We all miss your wife. But I'm sure it's nothing compared to how you and Tamara must feel.”

Jessie's wife, Cindy, had passed away almost six months ago. A very attractive, plus-size woman with an enormous voice, she'd sung her heart out at one of the church's anniversary services one Sunday morning. By that night New Hope's beloved soloist, Cindy Jewel, was gone. At the age of forty-five, she'd died of a heart attack.

“Well, I need to get back to the fellowship hall,” Jessie whispered. He was still grieving and willed his tears not to fall. He quickly pulled from his pockets a pair of tinted reading glasses that hid his hazel eyes. “The sooner I give some information to the other trustees, for the meeting, the sooner I can grab Tamara and go home.”

“You go on ahead, Jessie. I'll be just fine.” The deacon could only hope he sounded convincing. “I'll see you and baby girl later on this evening.”

There was no denying Jessie's grief was still fresh. His voice choked when he said, “Just be sure to show up in time for dinner. I'm cooking. And you know she'll be real upset if her favorite deacon doesn't join us at the supper table like he does on most Sunday evenings.”

The deacon's heart was about to break as he watched Jessie struggle to act normal. “You two got me spoiled, and that's why I love living upstairs over you.” He managed a weak smile and he was certain Jessie knew it was for his benefit.

Jessie was almost out the door when he slowly turned and managed a smile of his own, too. “Don't know what I would've done without you these last few years, Deacon Pillar. You've been a God-send.” He didn't wait for the deacon to answer before he closed the door behind him.

 

It'd been almost five minutes since Deacon Pillar had watched Jessie leave and yet he hadn't moved an inch.

As hard as he'd prayed—not just that day but for so many years—he never thought he'd see this day come. And although he'd played his guitar in church that morning and led his signature song, “No Ways Tired,” suddenly, he was.

“Father God.” The deacon stood this time and continued his earlier prayer. He'd begun as though God waited on him to get back to it. “I'm forever grateful that You let me find my son after so many years of searching. And, Heavenly Father, I thank You for Your grace and Your mercy that Jessie can't hate me because he doesn't know I'm his daddy. But Lord, I just looked into Jessie's eyes. Exotic eyes like Delilah's, but his are beautiful and kind. I'm afraid that the light's gonna leave them dull and lifeless, if he's hurt. But he walks just like I used to walk; You know, Lord, with just enough of a swagger to let this world know it's lucky to have police like him in it.” Suddenly Deacon Pillar managed a smile before he continued, “You know, Lord, that Jessie's confidence has a lot of humility wrapped around it. Jessie's not conceited, like his daddy once was.”

The smile slid from the deacon's face as he implored, “Now, Father, I have just one more thing I need to ask. What are you gonna do about Delilah? Father God, You said in Your Word, You're not the author of confusion. That Delilah is about as confused as one gets.” Suddenly the deacon started babbling. “Too much is happening today. Are You trying to reveal something to me? Father, I feel so convicted. I know my hands are not clean….”

The deacon unclasped his hands and let them fall to his sides. Today was a little too close. He remembered that she now knew where he worshipped.

“If I remember right, she's sure not a God-fearing woman. She don't really attend church. Today must've been an accident or coincidence,” the deacon murmured.

Yet somehow the old man knew better. After all, there were no coincidences with God. He suddenly remembered her saying that there were
other churches.
“Sweet Jesus,” he said aloud.

He plopped down upon the sofa again and allowed his heavy head to fall forward, as though all the strength had gone from his neck. Here he was, in his seventies, if he ever told the truth about his age; and for most of his life he'd slid by on God's mercy and grace even as he pimped and hustled his way along. And now, the way he figured, since he'd turned his life around he must've done something wrong to displease God. What the wrong was, he didn't know.

What he did know was that Delilah Dupree Jewel and Old Karma had swept down upon him that day. They both were calling upon him and they aimed to collect what he owed. And as sure as his name was Thurgood Pillar, he knew that all his old street chickens were racing back home. That could only mean that his proverbial goose was cooked. He needed to find a way to keep Delilah out of the way before she ruined everything for him and the two people he loved more than his own life.

“Well, God helps those who help themselves,” the deacon murmured, and rose. He slapped his thigh for reinforcement. Just that quick he'd forgotten that earlier when he ran his big mouth and got ahead of God, it brought him to where he was.

If the deacon got in God's way when God got around to finally checkmating Delilah, then there'd be a checkmate waiting for him, too.

I
t'd been three weeks since Delilah ran into the deacon in New Hope Assembly Church's parking lot. She'd since attended the parking lot services at two other churches in the Bronx and Harlem, with no sighting of him.

And yet every morning, noon, and night inside the posh Garden City rental, which she couldn't afford, she thought about Thurgood Pillar. She couldn't forget running into him, nor could she forgive herself for not asking about her son. But then he hadn't mentioned him, either. Had they both forgotten about Jessie?

But this particular Saturday morning, she was going to give it her best shot to put aside any thoughts of him, Jessie, or anything negative. Today, her small Social Security check should arrive. The Social Security folks were the only ones who knew her true age was sixty-three.

“Ain't too many ways for a woman of a certain age to make money,” she'd decided just before she filed.

“Enough traveling down memory lane,” Delilah muttered as she waved her hands as though shooing the memories away. Besides, she wanted to refocus on what should be waiting for her. Having money always lifted her spirits. It let her temporarily rebuke poverty, even if a short time later it still left her broke.

Although it was July and the humidity was almost visible, that Saturday Delilah stepped out her door and went to her mailbox wearing a pale yellow silk Japanese kimono. A little eye candy was her treat for the nosy neighbors. “Please, Jesus,” she whispered, “let there be a check and none of those annoying collection or late notices.”

Opening the metal lid, a smile stretched across her face and her large gray eyes twinkled as she let out a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness.
Nothing she saw looked like a bill, overdue or otherwise. However, there was a blue envelope, which she quickly ignored as she strolled back up the walkway and inside her home. The beige envelope with the government seal made her a bit more sure-footed.

Delilah ripped off her sunglasses, plopped down on the sofa, and began to eagerly open the envelope. It didn't matter that it was two days late; it had arrived, so it was time to hit the streets where she'd shop, miles away from Garden City. After all, how many of her neighbors shopped at the Dollar Store?

 

Later that afternoon Delilah returned home. All her shopping was done and her hair as well. Yet again, Delilah decided to spend more money she didn't have on something she didn't need.

She sat at the kitchen table and perused the
Amsterdam News.
It was a Harlem-based newspaper she subscribed to. Her connection to the old days.

 

The Baby Grand presents the Sarah Vaughan Review tonight at 8 p.m.…

 

That's it.
Delilah smiled and reread the announcement. It was at moments like this when she realized she'd have to go to an event alone. And she'd have to pay her own way. She'd tried to keep a few female friends around for just such occasions, but it never worked out. The clutch of hens always cackled about something. One of the women couldn't hold her liquor, or another couldn't hold a man, and none of them could hold a candle to her good looks.

Then she did something she hadn't done in the past few weeks. Delilah laughed and said aloud, “Have mercy. I wonder how many people knew Sarah Vaughan always carried that towel around because she knew she was going on stage after me. I made ole Sassy sweat with fear. Menopause, my foot! She and I both knew better; just like she knew I could sing rings around her version of ‘Lover Man' and ‘My Funny Valentine.'”

Self-praise always lifted her spirits, but it didn't take but a phone call to deflate them. Her hopes collapsed when she called the Baby Grand. “I'm sorry, ma'am. If you'd called a little sooner instead of a couple of hours before showtime, you might've been able to get in. We're completely sold out for tonight's show. The last tickets sold about five minutes ago.”

Delilah slammed down the phone. She took it personally that someone would buy the last tickets and deny her a night out on the town. All she could do was hiss, “Selfish bastard…”

And then Delilah's face lit up. She had an idea. Tapping out a rhythm with one finger on the newspaper, she continued, “If I can't see Sarah Vaughan Review in Harlem, I'll get a taste of her in Brooklyn.”

Delilah rushed into her bedroom and started rummaging through her closet. “I got a taste for some salmon anyway. I can get in a little karaoke as well, and the Blue Fish is the only place I trust for that. I'm sure it's still there where I left it three years ago.”

Delilah wasn't concerned about whether they had Sarah Vaughan tracks or not. She had a vast collection of karaoke jazz, gospel, and rhythm and blues. She'd always carry a few with her whenever she wanted to sing. “I can still be back in plenty of time to rest up for church,” she muttered. “In fact, tomorrow I'll go back to Brooklyn. I think I'll see what the choir's up to at First Corinthian over on Lafayette Avenue. I'll try their eleven o'clock service and then maybe drive through St. Stephen's and hear Keith Wonderboy. Now that young man knows how to throw down a song.”

Delilah acted as though she were choosing her salvation, one from column A and one from column B.

T
hree weeks and Deacon Pillar had not seen another sign of Delilah around New Hope. Saturday he awoke with the hope that perhaps she didn't want to have anything to do with him, any more than he with her.

Later that Saturday afternoon, Deacon Pillar stepped refreshed from his shower, and dressed. He was renowned for his fashion sense, or lack of it. He had no problem with wearing polka dots and stripes together or seersucker jumpsuits if he felt like it. As long as his conk looked tight, he was alright.

That Saturday he wore what he called a Pillar Design special: a green and blue polka-dot tie, a black shirt open to mid chest with a dagger-style collar and green, skinny-leg pants. To complete his Pillar-style outfit, he snapped on a pair of neon blue suspenders. He used one hand and slicked back his conk.

That conked salt-and-pepper hair, despite the huge bald spot on the top of his skull, hadn't moved in weeks, and needed a touch-up badly. But until he could get it done, he reached for his old standby remedy: a jar of clear hair goo, applied two layers thick so it'd blend in with the conk and smooth the frizzy new growth.

“Now, if I don't make the pig beg me to take his oink,” the deacon said with another laugh, “then a sausage came from a parrot.”

Yet a few days ago the deacon wasn't quite so confident, and he sure wasn't laughing as much. Running into Delilah had set his peace meter almost back to zero. But turning his life over to Christ hadn't rendered him a complete fool either, especially where Delilah was concerned. He still had some residual “street” left in his system. So he met the problem head-on and had already taken a precaution or two. It was just in case age hadn't slowed hurricane Delilah down none. Anyone who'd ever crossed her path soon learned that summer storms left a smaller trail than Delilah Dupree Jewel when she was in her season. She was never out of season.

Consequently, he'd called in a favor from a longtime connection he had with a local homicide detective who worked at Jessie's precinct. He gave the detective the name on her license plate.

As soon as Deacon Pillar had explained the situation, the detective replied, “I see the women in Pillar Land are still giving you headaches?”

“Only if I let them.” Deacon Pillar had let out a nervous laugh. “And I don't intend to let them.”

Soon after the detective left, he reappeared with the information. “According to the DMV, she lives in Garden City, New York, and there're enough outstanding tickets to plug a hole in Hoover Dam. It also looks like there's a suspension involved. You want me to see what it is?”

The deacon had cut the detective off. He'd gotten what he felt he needed. “Garden City isn't all that far, but perhaps it's far enough to keep her out of my neighborhood and she can deal with her own traffic tickets, suspension, or whatever.”

Now, just knowing that he knew more about Delilah than she knew about him, put a little extra pep in the deacon's step. He was ready for prayer meeting. The deacon checked his watch. It was four o'clock.

 

Two Saturdays out of the month, whenever possible, the deacon came together with Jessie, Tamara, and, of course, Cindy, before she passed away. They held their own Bible study, complete with testimony and songs of praise. Either Cindy or Tamara would be on the piano and the deacon and Jessie would bring out their guitar and bass. They'd tried to keep up the tradition since Cindy's passing, and tonight was another effort.

Tonight's Bible study would be extra special as it always was when Sister Marty was able to join them. She was a huge part of all their lives and had a great voice, too.

Marty was in her early sixties and despite their age difference had been Cindy's closest confidante and Tamara's godmother. And Marty was the head of the nurses' unit at New Hope as well as a registered surgical nurse at Downstate Hospital. She was also the last foster mother Jessie'd had. She and her late husband rescued Jessie from the system when he was twelve years old. Childless, they'd given him all the love they had, which was a great deal more than he'd received in his other three foster homes. He didn't leave Marty's house until he was in his twenties and married Cindy. When Marty's husband died, Jessie bought the house two doors down. Even more importantly, she was the first woman the deacon let get close to reviving any interest in a serious relationship.

It was almost six o'clock that same evening by the time the deacon had decided that he was enough of a good thing and fit for Bible study. Depending on how the evening went, he was glad he'd earlier asked Sister Marty if, after she finished work, she would like to take in a late movie, or just spend some quiet time together. The thought of the woman brought another broad grin to his chocolate face as he stood in his living room.

“My goodness, that's a fine-looking woman.” The deacon smiled and sang aloud, “She wears the sexiest looking pitch-black weave I've ever seen. A petite little thing with large brown eyes, a shape most women her age would pay extra tithes to have. If that gal plays her cards right…”

“Deacon Pillar,” a voice through the hallway intercom called out, interrupting his made-up song, “I've got the list for dinner. It's your turn to get it.”

The deacon shook his head and laughed before pressing the intercom button to respond. “Okay, Tamara. I'll stop in and get your list.”

Tamara was Jessie's twenty-one-year-old daughter. There wasn't anything the deacon wouldn't do for her. In the almost four years since he'd moved into the upstairs apartment he'd watched her blossom into a gorgeous young woman. Tamara was smart, a singing superstar in the making, and already headed into her second year of college at Juilliard. Those were her good parts.

The bad part was that since he'd run into Delilah, he realized just how much the two looked alike. He needed to do everything he could to keep Delilah from tarnishing Tamara.

“Okay, baby girl,” the deacon called out as he peeked inside the downstairs apartment at Tamara. “Let's see how much you gonna take me for this time.”

“Oh, please, Deacon Pillar. You know you got more money than you know what to do with. I'm just trying to help you spend it before you forget where you hid it.” Tamara's gray eyes sparkled as she laughed and teased the deacon.

“If that's the case, then I need to spend more money on buying something with more calories to put some more meat on your bones. I'm still trying to recover from trying to find a size two petite when you graduated from high school.”

Although a couple of generations apart, Deacon Pillar and Tamara had a bond neither could explain. Almost immediately after he'd moved in, he was always available to play referee whenever she couldn't get her way with her parents. He'd go out of his way to buy her little things that cost big money. To most, Deacon Pillar acted more like Tamara's kindly old grandfather than just the upstairs tenant. And because he had no family he could claim, Deacon Pillar spoiled not only Tamara but Jessie. And he simply adored Cindy when she was alive. Coaxing her into singing while he strummed his guitar was his piece of heaven.

“Don't you worry about me and my weight, Deacon Pillar. As long as I don't go down to a size eighteen months, I'm cool.”

Tamara always had an uncontrollable giggle, especially when she gave the deacon the same answer when he teased her about her weight. Her giggle was that carefree sound that'd caused him to nickname her “baby girl.” “By the way,” she continued, “since I'm spending up your money, would you like for me to go with you? Daddy's taking a shower, so he won't be ready for Bible study for at least another hour.”

Deacon Pillar, as he sometimes did, touched Tamara's cheek and gave her a quick kiss. “Nope, you stay here and finish working on that tune I taught you. You didn't hit that G-flat and resolve it like you should. I'm gonna walk to the restaurant to use up some of that extra time and I can get my exercise in, too. Besides, the ladies on Putnam Avenue haven't gotten their Pillar fix for today.”

“Okay, Deacon Playa, you do that. But you call me if you get a charley horse or something, or if Sister Marty catches you trying to
fix
something.”

She giggled again as she left the room, but that time the deacon didn't laugh quite as hard.

If only Tamara didn't look so much like that treacherous Delilah.
There was no denying their resemblance now, and it made him sadder not being able to tell Tamara that he was her natural grandfather. It hadn't bothered him nearly as much in the past as it had over the past three weeks.

He was glad Tamara had turned away and couldn't see his face.
Damn you, Delilah!
When he stepped out of the apartment into the sunlight, he looked at the palms of his hands. They'd always had a dusty color to them. Right now, in the brightness of the sunlight, they looked dark and dirty; just like his past with Delilah. He quickly shoved the list and his hands into his pockets and walked away.

And much like real life, it wouldn't take long before he'd have to show those hands. Even though he believed that God wouldn't place any more on him than he could stand, and that the Almighty had forgiven his sins, he suddenly wasn't as confident. He wasn't ready for any trial or test that would reveal a past he'd avoided for so long. Just living in his small apartment above Jessie and his family was all he needed. Was God going to snatch it away? Would He use Delilah to do it?