Heaven Forbid (9 page)

Passion smiled as she watched Onyx cut out paper snowflakes. She’d learned how during a classroom project, and ever since, Onyx had been transfixed with the art. Half the kitchen and most of the downstairs great room were covered with her handiwork.

“Do you like this one, Mama?” Onyx held up another of her masterpieces, this one looking more like a badly mangled scrap of paper than a flake.

“It’s beautiful, darling,” Passion said. “I think that’s your best one yet!”

An hour later, Passion had packed her daughter’s overnight bag and dropped her off for a sleepover. A Logos Word church member who worked in the office had a daughter Onyx’s age, and after a church trip to Disneyland, the two became best friends. One was at the other’s house at least twice a month. Stan had encouraged Passion to befriend the mother, a single woman who was roughly Passion’s age. But old habits died hard, and Passion had never been one for too many women friends.

Passion returned home and began to clean up the mess her daughter had left behind. They had a cleaning woman, but Passion picked up out of boredom more than anything else. Things slowed down at Logos Word around the holidays, and no meetings were planned for the weekend. There would be a slew of rehearsals in preparation for the Christmas program, but Passion didn’t attend any of those.

After tidying up the dining room, Passion went into the kitchen. It was Friday night, a noncooking day for Mrs. Lee. Passion, Stan, and Onyx usually went out to eat on Friday nights, along with Stan’s children if they were visiting. Other times it would just be her and Onyx, or like tonight, just her and Stan. Passion wasn’t particularly looking forward to dinner tonight, because after coming clean with what she knew, neither she nor her husband would have much of an appetite.

Stan came home from the church office and, after a quick shower, donned a pair of dark gray slacks, an icy-gray shirt, and a black sports coat. Passion was dressed casually as well in a pair of black slacks with a multicolored sweater sporting a Christmas theme. Ever mindful of her status as prominent first lady, however, she’d carefully applied her makeup and had swept up her freshly permed hair into a simple yet stylish ponytail that she thought made her face appear slimmer. She’d gained fifteen pounds during this latest round of marital problems, specifically since about six months ago, when Stan had deemed sex “unclean.”

These were Passion’s thoughts as Stan navigated the heavy Friday-night traffic, making his way to Beverly Hills and one of their favorite seafood restaurants. After their tussle in Texas and subsequent night of lovemaking, Passion had backed off with her demands, hoping that her husband would take the lead. But they’d only made love once since then, Thanksgiving night, again at Passion’s pleading.

Since then, Passion had focused on church matters, Onyx, and preparing the house for a slew of visitors during the holiday season. All year, but especially now, Stan would often invite visiting ministers, special guests, or loyal church members over for coffee and conversation. Next week was her “sistah soiree,” when she invited the pastors and deacons wives over for a formal tea. She’d often been too busy to remember that she was not happy.

“I think the Christmas program is going to be great this year,” Stan said.

“Just like all the others,” Passion responded. “They’re always beautiful.”

“The choir is working on a classical medley. I heard part of it and couldn’t believe those were singers I knew. Sounded like something you’d hear at Carnegie Hall or Lincoln Center in New York. But right after that, they’re singing some contemporary originals that the kids will like—R & B, hip-hop-sounding songs. I’m really impressed with our new minister of music. She’s a godsend.”

“She’s very talented,” Passion agreed.

They continued sharing small talk until they arrived at Crustaceans. After a generous tip to the mâitre d’, Stan and Passion were seated quickly, at an intimate booth near the back of the room, where they could see and be seen, yet still enjoy a private conversation. The next few minutes were consumed looking over the menus, and after ordering appetizers, Passion decided to take the conversation to a more personal level.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, Lord…”

Passion laughed. “I’ve been thinking about the holidays. Our three-year anniversary is coming up, and I thought about us taking a little getaway. Nothing too far away, but somewhere we can unwind when the holiday programs are over. What do you think about that: a weekend getaway, something romantic, just the two of us?”

Stan took a sip of lemon water. “Something to think about,” was his noncommittal answer. “But I’ve got to coordinate it with Carla and the church. You know I work weekends, and that’s also when I have the kids.”

After terse negotiations, Stan had finally conceded that Carla had as much right to their children as he did. The first year following their divorce, the kids had stayed with him and Passion, spending weekends with their mother. The following year, it had been about fifty-fifty, the children spending three days a week with Carla and four days with him. This year, with their heavier school loads, it had been decided that they would spend weekdays with Carla and weekends with the Lees. The arrangement had worked out, for the most part.

Passion resisted the urge for a sarcastic comeback. She knew more than anybody how committed Stan was to his “weekend work,” and since she cooked and cared for the kids when they came over, she was more than a little aware of their schedule too.

“I thought about that,” she replied instead. “And thought that maybe a middle-of-the-week getaway would be easier, someplace really nice and reasonably close, like Vancouver or Mexico.”

“I don’t know, Passion. I’m pretty busy right now. Maybe we can take a trip in the summer, include the family.”

Passion was grateful that the waiter came just then, delivering their appetizers and taking their dinner orders. Passion enjoyed some of her perfectly cooked baguette and crusty shrimp. “How are the satays?” she asked.

“Delicious,” Stan replied, taking a hearty bite of the grilled beef that had been marinated in lemongrass and Asian herbs.

After enjoying a bit more of the appetizer, Passion wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You know, Stan,” she said softly, “I think it would be good for us to spend some time together, alone. Your schedule has been so busy all year, and mine, too, between the church and the kids. I think there are some things we need to talk about, and it would be good to get away and have some meaningful conversation.”

Stan wiped his mouth and tossed down his napkin. He spoke low but clearly. “You know what? I knew this reprieve was too good to be true, that it would only be a matter of time before you started hounding me again about taking care of your needs. We just did it, woman! But there’s never enough for you, is it? You are never satisfied.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Passion growled, her voice barely above a whisper. “What, are you a holiday husband, giving up the nooky the way the government gives days off to celebrate? Am I to expect us to make love on Christmas and New Years, and then have to wait until Valentine’s Day? Humph. If that’s the case, I need to get me another calendar. One that records
all
the holidays, those in our country and all of the other countries as well.”

Stan took a deep breath. “Let’s not do this, Passion. Let’s not fight. I don’t think now is a good time for a vacation. And I don’t think it’s a good time for deep conversation either; there’s too much on both our plates.”

“Well, let me put something else on your plate,” Passion said pleasantly. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of silky white thong panties, extra-extra-large. “These aren’t mine,” she hissed as she discretely tossed them to Stan.

Stan caught the incriminating garment, quickly pocketed the panties, and looked around the room. It seemed that no one else had noticed; each table seemed focused on its own party. “Woman, have you lost your mind?”

“I haven’t lost my mind, but you’ve obviously lost your drawers. Oh, wait, rather hid them. I found your little treasure chest, the duffel bag on the top shelf of the garage. Now, you may not want to talk about anything deep, but Stanley Morris Lee, I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Page five, paragraph two!” the woman shouted as a young woman walked into Gospel Truth wearing makeup. She was referring to the Gospel Truth Member Manual that she’d pored over since receiving it four days before.

“Twenty-five and three,” her cohort echoed, tsking a man who entered with an earring in his ear. The contents of this manual had occupied the conversation for most of their visit to Palestine. They’d not only discussed it, but obviously memorized much of it as well.

“Oh, no, you don’t, sistah,” the first woman admonished, stepping in front of the couple about to enter the sanctuary. “Your elbows and knees must be covered, and, sir, if you two aren’t married, you need to take your arm out from around her waist!”

Oh, Lawd,
Mama Max thought as she hurried from her car to the sidewalk leading up to the church.
I should have known that inviting these two biddies down here was a bad idea!

It hadn’t seemed so at the time. After a lengthy conversation with these good friends who were members of her church back in Kansas—Mount Zion—Mama Max had thought it would be a treat to have Elsie Wanthers and Margie Stokes (or Sistah Alrighty and Sistah Almighty respectively, as a former church member had aptly named them) join her and the reverend for the holidays. Both women were elderly with not much extended family. The previous year, they’d joined the Brooks for Thanksgiving and had spent Christmas with another Mount Zion family. This year, they’d had no plans. So Mama Max, in a moment of spontaneity, invited them to bring in the New Year in Texas.

“Now look, sistahs,” she said, grabbing both ladies’ arms and pulling them to the side. “Not everyone coming in here has read the Gospel Truth handbook. These are the holidays, after all. Some of them are here visiting, just like you. Others are members who haven’t been here in a while.”

“Don’t make no never mind,” the shorter, stout woman countered. She’d been so busy checking out the other women that she’d failed to notice that her white stockings had a run that snaked up her leg or that her salt-and-pepper afro wig was askew. “The good reverend doctor has written a manual for these here Christians to follow. It’s the truth I tell ya, every blessed word. This manual should be adopted across the nation.”

“I’ve already put a call in to Queen Bee,” the taller, rail-thin woman added, referring to Mount Zion’s first lady, Tai Brook. “I told her that her father-in-law has written a book that needs to be adopted by our church
immediately.
I even offered to FedEx her a copy, but she assured me she could wait until I got back.”

Mama Max stifled a laugh even as she recalled the humorous conversation she and Tai had shared shortly after she’d heard the manual suggestion. Tai knew hell would freeze over before King adopted any such manual for his church, but she had humored the old women by omitting this fact during their conversation.

“The good Lord appreciates your dedication, surely he does,” Mama Max assured them. “And I’ll be sure and tell Reverend how you’re soldiers on the battlefield, fighting for the Lord. But let’s go inside now. The services are about to begin. We have a place of honor for you two ladies, right down front.”

This praise seemed to pacify the women, for the moment. Elsie “Sistah Alrighty” Wanthers straightened her wig, and Margie “Sistah Almighty” Stokes readjusted her scarf and hat. They followed Mama Max down the sidewalk.

“Page sixteen, paragraph one,” Sistah Almighty whispered loudly as a young man sporting a cross tattoo held open the door for them.

“Page eleven, verse one and nine,” Sistah Alrighty said, forgetting what she’d read was a book, not a Bible. “She probably don’t even realize she’s on her way to hell,” she continued too loudly as they were ushered down to the front row. “But I know a lotto ticket when I see one, and the place holder in her Bible definitely looks likes a Powerball!”

Later, after services, the two sistahs from Kansas joined the Brooks and the Johnsons—Nettie and her husband, Gordon—for dinner at Nettie’s house. Nettie’s massive Christmas tree was still up and lit, its blinking lights creating a festive atmosphere in the dining room scented with pine boughs.

“Lord, this smothered chicken looks delicious,” Sistah Almighty said as she placed a generous portion on a bed of rice. “The Lord bless you, child, for feeding us old folks.”

“Well, I’m no spring chicken,” Nettie countered. “In two more years, I’ll be threescore.”

“Baby, I’m fourscore,” Sistah Alrighty responded with a wink. “You just a babe.” She clucked her dentures as she placed a spoonful of steaming candied yams next to a serving of greens.

“Ooh, I can’t decide between the rolls or the corn bread,” Sistah Almighty exclaimed, looking from one to the other.

“Might as well have one of each,” Mama Max hinted, hiding a smile.

“Wouldn’t want to be impolite and not take your suggestion,” Sistah Almighty readily agreed. She hurriedly scooped up two of the freshly baked rolls and a big slug of corn bread. She dipped a roll in the gravy and placed almost half in her mouth. “Lord, this is the day the Lord has made,” she professed around the mouthful. “And I’m rejoicing!”

“Sistah, we haven’t yet blessed the food,” Obadiah admonished.

“God forgive me.” Sistah Almighty bowed her head, but not before she’d placed the other half of the gravy-soaked roll into her mouth.

Everyone continued small talk until all were served. After a quick blessing of the food, conversation resumed. As was often the case, Obadiah was front and center in the conversation, telling one of his lame jokes and acting as if he’d been born a comedian.

“It was during Sunday school,” Obadiah began after a drink of sweet tea. “And they were teaching about how God created everything, including human beings. Little Johnny seemed especially intent when they told him how Eve was created out of one of Adam’s ribs. So, later in the week, his mother went to look for him and found him lying down in bed. His face was all scrunched up like he was in pain. His mother sat on the side of the bed and asked him, ‘Johnny, what’s the matter?’ He rolled over and told her, ‘I have a pain in my side. I think I’m going to have a wife.’”

Those around the table laughed at the enjoyment Obadiah got from telling the joke as much as from the joke itself. The table was so noisy that they didn’t hear the doorbell the first time it rang.

“Hmm, wonder who that is?” Nettie said as she rose from the table. But unexpected company wasn’t unusual. People in this small town often just dropped by, especially church members needing counsel or a friend looking for a casual chat. She knew it could be almost anybody. But she wasn’t prepared for the faces that greeted her on the other side of the door.

“Reverend Jenkins, Dorothea, uh, y’all come on in.”