Heaven Forbid (19 page)

“I’m coming over there.” Dorothea stood and reached for her purse.

“Now, don’t come giving me no sass, woman! I said I was fine, and I mean it. Besides, I can get Nettie or one of the other church members to come over if I need anything.”

“Oh, only a Gospel Truth Christian can help you now? Where was Nettie or one of your
members
when you were trying to sneak that life-sized sex doll out your house, huh? Where was one of your deacons, one of your church mothers then?”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your helping me with that, Dorothea.”

“You can show me, Obadiah. I need you.”

“You’ve got Jenkins,” Obadiah retorted. “And I’m trying to keep my wife. Don’t come over here, Dorothea.”

Dorothea slammed down the phone, frustrated beyond belief at how things were progressing with her long-time lover. More accurately, she was frustrated because things were not moving forward at all. Dorothea had been beside herself when she learned that Maxine had left Texas. Obadiah had this strange notion about not fooling around in the same town that his wife stayed, and Dorothea hadn’t been able to talk him out of it, hadn’t been able to get him to join her at a hotel, and hadn’t been able to talk him into taking a trip to Dallas, where they’d have less chance of being seen by prying eyes. She’d thought marrying Jenkins would be advantageous to her financially, and she thought it would be the perfect cover for an ongoing relationship with Obadiah, with both of them living in Palestine.

Dorothea went to check on her husband. He was sleeping, as usual, the remote dangling from his limp hand. Instead of him watching the television, the television was watching him. She walked into the den, put the remote on the table, and placed a cashmere throw over his legs.
You’re a good man, Reginald Jenkins. I wish I loved you more.

Tea always seemed to calm Dorothea’s nerves, but thirty minutes later, as she sat sipping her honey-lemon concoction, she was just as wound up as when she’d finished talking with the reverend doctor. She tried to tell herself it was ridiculous, that after all these years she had no right to be besotted with a married man. But Dorothea Noble Bates Jenkins knew the truth of the matter—Obadiah Brook was the love of her life, and she’d never love another man like she did him. She sat back in her chair and remembered when it happened, the night she fell in love.

“Ruthanne, why are you rushing me so?” Dorothea asked her younger sister. “It’s not like there won’t be any seats left when we get there!”

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen what I’ve seen or know what I know!”

“And what’s that?” Dorothea rushed behind her sister, who was making a beeline to her new car: a shiny, red, brand-new 1961 Corvair.

“Only the finest man in Texas,” Ruthanne said, shutting her car door and turning the key at the same time. “His name is Obadiah Brook. He pastors a small church near Wichita Falls.”

“Country preacher?” Dorothea was aghast. Even now she could have rivaled Jackie O for the title of style icon, her powder-blue knit suit with fabric-covered buttons fitting her slender frame like a glove. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a chignon so that her white pillbox hat could perch at a perfect angle. Dorothea had been pestering her sister and friends to move from Texas. She wanted to relocate to either Harlem, Chicago, or Los Angeles and snag her a rich, sophisticated city man.

Ruthanne cast Dorothea a sideways glance. “Let’s put this conversation on hold until after church—see how you’re talking about this
country preacher
then.”

Ruthanne didn’t see Dorothea after church that night. That’s because shortly after the service, Dorothea found herself at the host pastor’s home, along with several other invited guests. The Noble sisters were known for their stunning good looks, beautiful voices, and refined manners. They were often invited to social functions and provided added décor to anyone’s table. That’s how she’d gotten invited to the host pastor’s home. The fact that she ended up sitting next to Obadiah had been strictly her doing.

“Enjoyed your sermon,” she said politely as she took a dainty bite of fried chicken. She was the only person at the table cutting the meat with a knife and fork.

“Uh-huh.”

Obadiah said nothing further, but his dark, almost black pupils bore into her light hazel-green ones, causing a spiral of heat that began around her neck and flowed down to her stomach and beyond. She knew she was blushing but couldn’t help it. Ruthanne had been right: Obadiah was the finest Black man she’d ever seen. What was it about him that made him so desirable? Dorothea pondered this question as Obadiah held court with the other ministers and deacons at the table. His voice was like butter, smooth and silky, its bass quality like a fur wrapped around one’s shoulders. His lips were heart-shaped, cushiony, framed by a tidy mustache on an otherwise smooth, dark-brown face. His brows were thick, and tightly curled lashes framed his dark bedroom eyes. His hair was conked, like Jackie Wilson’s, straight and as shiny as a patent leather shoe. Obadiah wore it slicked back on the sides, higher on top. He could have easily been an R&B star or given Sidney Poitier competition on the Broadway stage.

Dorothea said little throughout the dinner. Obadiah virtually ignored her, and along with everything else she noticed about him, she also noticed the simple gold band he wore on the third finger of his left hand. Seeing Obadiah made Dorothea more determined than ever to leave the South and head to the big city. She was sure that’s where she’d have to go to find somebody to even come close to what she was sitting next to.

As they gathered in the living room, Obadiah appeared at her side. “Sister Noble, correct?”

“Yes, Reverend.”

“Would you be so kind as to give me a ride home?”

“Well, I would love to, Reverend, except I didn’t drive tonight. I rode with Brother Smith over there. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind having you ride with us.”

“Uh-huh.” Obadiah’s eyes continued to bore into Dorothea.

“I…might be able to get us a taxi,” Dorothea offered. Her hazel greens didn’t blink as she looked at Obadiah. “Would only take five minutes for a cab to get here.”

“I have a wife and three children at home,” Obadiah continued, changing the subject abruptly. “I’m not looking for another wife. And I won’t leave the one I have. I can love you good, but I can’t love you long.”

Dorothea stared at him a long moment, then spoke softly. “I’ll call a cab.”

They made love all night. Dorothea had never felt anything like it. Not only was his penis long and thick, but Obadiah also knew how to use it. He knew how to use his mouth as well. Dorothea almost climbed the walls with pleasure. He’d screwed her every which way but loose, and when the sun peeked over the horizon in the early morning hours, she was still longing for more.

And not just the loving. In between the lovemaking, while they rested, Obadiah shared his hopes and dreams for a large ministry, one that would clothe the naked and feed the hungry. He listened as she told of her plans to pursue a singing career in either Harlem or Chicago and offered his advice and encouragement. In the span of a few hours, Obadiah had shown more care and concern for her than other men had in a lifetime of living. In the years to come, he became her everything: her counselor, her teacher, her therapist…everything but her husband.

From that first meeting on, Dorothea saw Obadiah every few months, often traveling to wherever he was preaching an anniversary or conducting a revival. The loving continued to be stellar, the best she’d ever had, and aside from the fact that he was married, Obadiah was all the man she’d ever wanted. She convinced herself that the physical pleasure was enough. And for two years, it was. But then came 1963 and a convention in Dallas, Texas, where something got in the way of her good loving—something named Maxine Brook. The confrontation was ugly. Fortunately for Obadiah, the fallout was minimal, but Maxine knowing about Dorothea devastated their affair. Something else devastated their relationship that year, but Dorothea kept that truth locked away deep in her heart.

It was an entire year before she was with Obadiah again, and then the time apart lengthened to two, then three, and then five years following a cancer scare that had landed Maxine in the hospital for two weeks. During this time, Dorothea moved to Harlem and sang in nightclubs. That’s where she met George Bates, a hardworking man who loved her deeply. They married, and she loved him as best she could, until he died unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm at fifty-three. She relocated back to Texas, settled in Dallas, and entered another long-term relationship. A conversation with Reginald Jenkins, who she’d reconnected with when he traveled to Dallas for a preaching engagement, was how she’d ended up back in Palestine. That and a conversation she’d had with Obadiah shortly after seeing Reginald. The conversation where she found out that he’d be moving to Palestine as well.

Dorothea rose, moved to the sink, and poured out the remainder of her now-cold tea.
I can love you good, but I can’t love you long.
Dorothea was wondering if Obadiah Brook would ever “love her good” again.

Luke Wilkes looked around the conference table at the Cathedral, one of the finest, most influential churches in Detroit. He was pleased with what he saw. He’d been able to assemble a fine group of advisors, and as a result, his ministry and outreach efforts were poised to go to a higher level in the coming years. His biggest coup had been getting prominent politician Bryce Covington to join this prestigious board. Bryce was known for being extremely intelligent, deceptively shrewd, and highly connected. Luke had wanted to work with him for a long time, and now Bryce was fully on board.

“Gentlemen, I think that concludes the order of business for this month’s meeting. You’re all very busy men with your own successful operations, so, as always, I want to thank you sincerely for taking time from your schedules to meet here today. If there is no further business, I believe we are ready for this meeting to be adjourned.”

“Excuse me, Luke,” Stan spoke into the silence. “I do have something to bring before the board.”

Luke’s frown showed his annoyance. He ran a very tight ship and liked to know everything that was going on before it happened so he could have as much control as possible. He and Stan had spoken briefly earlier, and Stan hadn’t mentioned anything that needed discussing. “Uh, sure, Doctor Lee. The floor is yours.”

Stan took a moment and gathered his thoughts. He knew Luke was angry, and Stan felt bad about having to spring this news on him in this fashion. But it was the only way. Luke could sell snow to an Eskimo, and if Stan had confided in him privately, before the meeting, Luke would have convinced him to change his mind and the announcement would never have been made. “It is with a great degree of disappointment that I must tender my resignation from this illumined board, effective immediately.”

There was a soft rumble among the eleven other men sitting around the table, looking from one to the other. Luke’s eyes widened. A few voiced mild objections. Bryce, however, looked as cool as a cucumber. His expression never changed.

“I’ve thought about it, prayed about it, and discussed it with my wife. Logos Word is undergoing a series of transformations, and aside from that, our children are growing up faster than we can blink, and they, especially my sons, need more of my direct involvement in their lives. I’ll still be available by phone, Luke, if you ever need my counsel. But this is my last meeting with you gentlemen. My prayers will continue to be with this exceptional board and outstanding ministry. Luke, I am honored that you asked me to be a part of it.”

Shortly after the meeting ended, Luke pulled Stan away from the group. “You could have warned me, brother,” he said softly, his tone belying his agitation.

“You would have talked me out of it,” Stan replied honestly. “Few people can say no to you, Luke.”

“I just hope you haven’t started a domino effect.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Bryce Covington. One of the reasons this board position appealed to him is because he knew you were on it.”

Stan was taken aback by this news. Bryce had told him as much, but Stan didn’t know that Bryce had told Luke. “There are many fine gentlemen on this board, Luke, and yours is a fine ministry that benefits Bryce’s constituents. I can’t see any reason why my leaving would change how much you two could help each other, not to mention the city of Detroit.”

Luke’s expression was somber as he looked hard at Stan. Then he broke into a charismatic smile and offered Stan his hand. “I hope you’re right, Doctor. I sure hope you’re right.”

After saying good-bye to the other members, Stan exited the church’s executive offices and headed to his car. He thought he’d escaped, when a voice pierced the cool, April evening.

“Stan!”

Stan stopped but did not turn around.

Bryce quickly closed the distance between them. “What? You’re going to leave the city without saying good-bye to a dear friend? I noticed you hugged and communed with everyone else except me. What’s that about?”

Stan turned around. “You know very well what it’s about, Bryce, just like you know what the resignation is about. I won’t be returning to Detroit, for any reason. And while I will always think highly of you, I won’t be seeing you again. Good-bye.”

Stan turned to get into his car. Bryce put a hand on the door, preventing Stan from opening it. “No, Stan. I’m not going to let you run away from us.”

“I’m not running from you, Bryce. I’m running to my wife, my children, my godly life. I’ll admit it, seeing you again churned up feelings I thought long gone. But God is not the author of confusion, and I will not remain in any situation that brings disorder into my life.”

“You’re right, Stan. God is not the author of confusion, and once a person embraces their truth, confusion disappears. You know you love me,” Bryce continued quietly. “And you know you want to be with me, in every way.”

Stan made another attempt to open the door. “Don’t make a scene, Bryce. I have a plane to catch.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove that you are delivered, that you have no desire to be with me. Spend the night with me—in my home, in my bed. If you can deny me, while wrapped in my arms, then I’ll believe.”

Stan glared at Bryce, his mind in turmoil. A part of him wanted to accept Bryce’s challenge. Stan was a man who rarely backed down from anything, and he would take immense pleasure in proving Bryce wrong, in proving that he was absolutely, one hundred percent heterosexual. But another part of Stan was afraid that if he went to Bryce’s home, he would be the one proven wrong.

“Bryce, this is over. Let me go.” Stan reached yet again for the door handle.

Bryce looked deep into Stan’s eyes, moving closer to him. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Stan thought no one had ever looked more beautiful than Bryce in this moment: his eyes, full of admiration and desire; his lips, soft and wet; his body hard, emanating a woodsy, citrusy scent. “I’m sure,” he finally whispered.

Bryce looked around, and seeing no one else in the parking lot, he leaned over and placed a kiss on Stan’s mouth. “Give me a hug.”

Stan hesitated only briefly before wrapping his friend in a hard, warm embrace. “I’ll be praying for you, Bryce,” he whispered.

Bryce continued the hug for a long moment, silent, savoring the feel of the man he loved. Finally, he stepped back. His smile was bittersweet, and his words were sincere. “I’ll be praying for you, too, Stan. For your family and your happiness.”

Bryce walked away quickly after that, and Stan opened his car door without looking in Bryce’s direction. Seconds later, he was out of the parking lot, speeding toward the airport where he was hoping he could book a red-eye flight. Originally, he’d planned to leave the next morning, but Stan knew he needed to get out of the city as quickly as possible. He’d pay first class, full price if he had to. No ticket price was too high, he figured, when it came to saving his soul.

Stan gripped the steering wheel as he entered the freeway.
Thank you, Jesus, for being my strength.
Stan had stopped an affair from happening, but he couldn’t stop the tears that flowed from the time he turned out of the church parking lot until he turned into the rental car parking lot. Once there, he wiped his eyes, blew his nose, straightened his back, and walked to the van that would take him to the airport and to the plane that would take him back to normal, back to the life he’d built over the past twenty-five years.

Bryce and Stan thought they were alone in the side parking lot, where they’d both parked, totally by chance. But actually, there was a third person there. And as soon as Bryce’s car followed Stan’s out of the parking lot, this silent observer reached for his cell phone.