Love Like Hallelujah (10 page)

“Sleep well, Mom,” Janeé said, kissing her mother on the forehead. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Janeé turned off lights as she walked through her mother’s quiet home. She rubbed her shoulders, tight from pent-up stress. Her mother was improving every day, but still Janeé worried. She’d barely known her father. Miss Smith was her only anchor to the past. Almost.

Closing and locking the door behind her, Janeé walked toward her rental car. Hans had suggested she purchase a preowned one, but Janeé had balked. That felt too permanent, too settled. Janeé wanted to return to Germany as soon as she could. Before returning, however, she would go to Los Angeles and visit her son, Kelvin. He was nearing the end of his second year at a prestigious private school in Santa Barbara and had just gotten a summer job in a town near the campus. Even though Kelvin was mature for his age and loved staying with Hans’s family, especially his same-aged cousins, Janeé worried about him being so far from her, for many reasons. She looked forward to visiting him before they left the states, and to his rejoining the family in Germany during the holidays.

Janeé called Hans to let him know she was on her way. He’d insisted on bringing the family over once it became clear that Janeé would be in Kansas a while. He was at the hotel waiting for her, protective as always. She hung up the phone smiling, thinking of how lucky she’d been to meet and marry this man more than twelve years ago.

They’d met in Frankfurt during a convention. He’d been the guest of honor, she the singer hired to entertain the crowd of financiers. She’d flirted with him all evening, even sitting on his lap during one of her songs. Afterward, she’d received a note in her dressing room, an invitation to dinner. They’d gone out once, twice, and before long, were an item—meeting between her singing engagements and his international travel. Ten years older, he was steady, attentive, and sincere. She was drawn to the security he brought to her life, providing shadows of a father figure she’d never enjoyed. What had melted her heart the most was his treatment of then four-year-old Kelvin. He’d embraced the child immediately, comfortable in his interactions with him, patient with instructions. Kelvin had warmed to him also, and by the time they married, two years later, her son was calling Hans “Da.”

Hans as “Da” had sufficed until Kelvin turned thirteen. That’s when he’d come home one day and out of the blue, asked about his real father. It was a question Janeé had anticipated, and dreaded. She’d kept the conversation short, told him that his dad was an old friend with whom she’d shared a casual relationship. She had moved to Germany shortly after he was born and had never told the man he had a child. At the time, she’d thought it best. Why further complicate an already messy situation?

Kelvin had listened attentively, asked understandable questions, which she patiently answered.

“Did you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he love you?”

Pause. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t he want me?”

“He doesn’t know about you. I was young, thought I was doing the right thing. I started to tell him, many times, but then my career took off and I never went back home. When Hans adopted you, became the father you needed, I thought everything had worked out perfectly. Hans has been a good father, no?”

“Yes.”

“You know Hans loves you like his own child.”

Pause, nod. “Do I look like my real dad?”

“Yes.”

“Can I meet him someday?”

“We’ll see.”

Now, three short years later, someday was here. Janeé still didn’t know what she should do, how to handle it. It wasn’t just about her and Kelvin. There were other people involved, other spouses, other children. It was complicated. But was it wise to deny her child the right to know his father? She’d purposely not revealed the father’s identity to her mother, but now the words Miss Smith had somberly stated shortly after Kelvin was born rang in her ears: “What’s done in darkness always comes to light.” Her mom was right.

And what of her lifelong love for King? She could tell he was avoiding her, had limited theirs to small talk when they’d seen each other at the hospital. It was just as well. One would think that time, and Hans, would have dimmed the flame that burned in her heart for him. But it hadn’t. If he but said the word, she’d stoke the flames and in no time have them burning bright, and hot, all over again.

Robin Reynolds perched on the edge of her chair, drinking coffee and reading the paper in her friend’s modest apartment. Or trying to. She’d been staring at the same ad for five minutes. Her mind was preoccupied with the reason for her trip to Los Angeles—Derrick Montgomery.

Coming to LA had been an impulsive decision, one made after seeing on television the man she’d lusted after years before, and being unable to talk to him over the phone. And now she was second-guessing all she’d done to be here. Having been dumped by her husband, and fired from her job, she had no ties to Florida. But she had no money either, not much anyway. She’d be through her severance check in no time. And she was almost out of Peridol, her anti-psychotic medication. Robin’s friend had said she could stay with her as long as she liked, but how long could she share a two-bedroom apartment with three bad ass kids?

Even being here, there was no guarantee anything would happen between her and Derrick. And what did she want to happen? After seeing him at church service, she knew that for starters she wanted him to make something happen between her legs.

If they’d just let me talk to him, I wouldn’t have had to come
. The curiosity of how and what he’d been doing was innocent, initially. While flipping the channels one afternoon, she’d been pleasantly surprised to recognize Derrick being interviewed on a Christian television station. He was looking fit and fine all these years later. She’d watched the entire exchange and learned that he pastored a megachurch on the West Coast. Afterward, she’d gone on-line and checked out the church’s Web site. That’s where she’d seen he was still married to Vivian and learned they had two children. Without really knowing why, she’d called the number listed for those wanting more information on the ministry. That’s when her frustration had started.

Why couldn’t they just let her talk to him? She’d called every day, several times a day, for a solid week, and the closest she’d gotten to Derrick was Angela, his assistant. She’d thought about confiding in Angela, telling her who she was. But she was afraid Angela wouldn’t put the call through. So she kept calling, and the more she tried, and the more she’d been denied, the more determined she became. The determination to talk on the phone became a determination to reestablish physical contact. Their rules to keep Derrick isolated from female congregants turned into a challenge for her to break through. Vivian had won all those years ago. Wasn’t it Robin’s turn for a victory?

As she sat and stewed in Florida, delusional memories of Derrick’s first months at Pilgrims’ Rest caused Robin to conclude she had a right to see him, that she’d been wronged, that he owed her. That, and years of getting the short end of the stick, or at least of the dick, when it came to relationships, was further incentive to not back down.

Robin recalled with fondness when Derrick first came to the small congregation in which she was a member. She had grown up in the church, and provided invaluable information and assistance to the young preacher. She set up the church filing system, organized his calendar, and typed his correspondence. They enjoyed a wonderful camaraderie, and more than once, he voiced his appreciation of her assistance. Robin knew he was married from the beginning, had watched Vivian prance in on Sunday mornings in all her righteous glory. She fumed as Vivian was handled with deference, was given a seat in the front row and fussed over by the church mothers.

Robin decided to be patient. With Vivian’s dedication to her job as news anchor in Birmingham, she knew it was just a matter of time before the marriage collapsed. In the meantime, she strove to make herself even more invaluable to Derrick by typing his sermons and transferring data from paper files to computer when the new system arrived. She stepped up her game then, went by the church almost every day. She never missed a Bible study, never missed a service. Anytime the church door opened and Derrick was preaching, she was there. No one could preach the word like Mr. Montgomery and she told him so, every chance she got. Her plan was to become invaluable to the ministry, then become equally so to the man.

But then, just like that, it was over. One Monday evening, she walked into the office to find Derrick and Vivian huddled together. Vivian was sitting at the computer and Derrick was leaning over her, showing her the data file Robin had set up! Vivian turned and smiled politely, informed her that she’d quit her job in order to help her husband full-time. She complimented Robin on her work, told her the transition would be easier because of all she’d done. Then, to add insult to injury, Derrick gave Robin a list of churches and names, stating that he agreed with Vivian’s suggestion that Robin coordinate the regional prayer circle, that she was the perfect person for the job. They teamed her up with Sister Moseley to work out the details, including topics to be prayed for and coordinating monthly prayer shut-ins. They needed someone like her, he’d continued, someone faithful and devoted.

“You’ve definitely shown those qualities,” Vivian asserted. Whether it was true or not, Robin heard sarcasm and insincerity dripping from the statement. Jealousy turned to hate in that instant.
Prayer circle!
The last thing Robin wanted was to be stuck in a room with some old biddies, beseeching God on other people’s behalf. She had her own problems; let whoever had theirs handle them on their own. She’d taken the list, acted equally sincere in seeing Vivian take her “rightful place” beside her husband, and agreed to start calling people that evening. And she had. She determined to beat Vivian at her own game.

Over the next two weeks, she called every person on the list, including Sister Moseley, her prayer partner and the old biddy she most despised. She always seemed to be around when Robin went to Derrick’s office, and if Vivian was out running errands, made excuses to stay in there with them until Robin left. Robin couldn’t make a move on Derrick if she tried. But that hadn’t worried her. Robin was a persevering woman, and she was biding her time for just the right opportunity to connect with those soft lips, emphasized by a well-kept mustache.

But her determination didn’t last. Robin couldn’t keep up the facade. Vivian jumped head first into the activities at Pilgrims’ Rest. She was there every day. Robin couldn’t take it. After a couple months, she found another church, in Atlanta. The church was okay, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t know the members, didn’t feel the same ownership she had at Pilgrims’ Rest. Slowly, church began taking a backseat to other activities in Atlanta. First, she stopped going to night services, then Wednesday prayer meetings, then only attended service every other Sunday. By the time she’d met the man with whom she moved to Florida, she’d all but stopped thinking about church, and Derrick. Not to mention the rocky relationships that followed, or the husband who’d left her for a firmer pair of thighs a year ago.

When Robin planned her trip to California, she’d told herself the reason for going was to see an old friend, a woman who’d worked at the plant with her before following a nucka to California and having three of his babies. Unfortunately, he’d made the bad career choice of committing an armed robbery while an off-duty officer shopped for groceries, and was now doing ten to fifteen. Her friend was struggling in costly LA with three children. Maybe she could help her out. And Derrick? Well, she was just curious, wanted to see him in person after all these years, see how he and the ministry had grown.

She had told herself these things, almost believing them. But the more she’d visited the web site, sneering at the “one big happy family” portrait of the Montgomerys, the more she admitted she wanted to go to California and see if she could shake things up a bit. Maybe Derrick was tired of Vivian after all these years, was staying with her for the sake of the ministry. Theirs might be a marriage in name only. No matter what anybody else said, Derrick Montgomery was
her
man. He probably wouldn’t even be where he was today if she hadn’t been there to help in the beginning!

But how would she do it, how could she finagle her way into his life, into his arms? It would definitely be easier if the marriage had problems. But how could she find that out? Maybe Angela was the key; she had seemed kind and sympathetic each time Robin called.

One thing was sure. Nothing was going to get done inside her friend’s musty, shabby apartment in which she now sat. She appreciated that the woman had agreed to let her stay there as long as she needed for free, but Robin felt with kids, cramped quarters, and a lumpy couch for a bed, free was a high price.

It was time for Robin to make something happen. She grabbed the sale papers and the large, freeway map. She would need a suit, shoes, pantyhose. She prayed to run into a clearance rack somewhere, but the purchases would have to be made. It was time for a “Sunday go to meeting” outfit, time to go to church again, and most crucially, time to reconnect with Derrick.

“Why do we have to sit all the way down front?” Frieda was already regretting that she’d agreed to go to Sunday night services with Hope. The main reason she had was that Hope had said it was a baptism so there would be only music, no preaching. And because she hoped it would get Hope off her back about attending. Hadn’t the girl heard her when she said Christmas and Easter were her dates with the Lord?

“C’mon, girl, it’s not gonna kill you. If this was Jay-Z, or your favorite girl, Fantasia, you’d be running to the front row,” Hope pointed out, nodding at a few of the acquaintances she’d made in her short time as a member of KCCC.

“But it ain’t them,” Frieda argued as the usher stopped at the second row and stepped aside for them to sit down. She dropped her voice to a whisper and added, “And if I don’t see some fine brothahs sitting close enough to flirt, I’m gon’ be running right for the exit!”

“Relax,” Hope whispered back, “and just keep your eyes on the Lord.”

“Where he at?” Frieda asked jokingly.

Hope poked Frieda’s arm and rolled her eyes. Frieda settled into the row, annoyed because she couldn’t take a look at the male menu. That’s why she’d wanted to sit toward the back. Because then, all the possibilities would be in front of her.

In reality, she was just talking. Frieda’s new friend, Gorgio, was keeping her quite satisfied. She smiled, thinking of how pleasantly surprised she’d been when he had called like he said he would, the day after the Hollywood Hills party. They’d hooked up the next night and had gone out frequently. Both had decided to hang loose, go with the flow, and not try to put a definition on the relationship. Frieda was especially not trying to get in deep emotionally. She’d had her heart broken by more than one pretty-boy nucka who’d promised the world but only delivered a whirl, mostly between the sheets. Gorgio was upfront and honest, which she liked, and a good lover. What he lacked in size, he more than made up for in enthusiasm, and stamina. And the things that man’s tongue could do to her va-jay-jay…

The rumbling sounds of the keyboard interrupted Frieda’s train of thought. Just in time, too, because the memory lane she was going down was probably not the right one to indulge in here in the second pew of the sanctuary. She refocused her thoughts by listening to the band, who were now playing a gospel tune that had many people standing and clapping. They were jammin’, just like Hope had promised they would.

Dang, wish I could see the band
. Frieda had always liked musicians, especially drummers. Something about them and those sticks…. “I wish I could see the band,” she said, leaning over to Hope, who was enjoying a head-bob, hand-clap kind of rhythm.

“Stand up,” Hope suggested.

Frieda looked around and saw other congregants on their feet, clapping and swaying to the beat. She stood and joined them, now able to see the band on the slightly raised, temporary platform they played from when the baptismal pool was being used.

Now, this is better
. There was the drummer, stocky, not really good-looking but sexy in his own way, especially how his head bounced, eyes closed, to the rhythm.
Nice shoulders
, she thought as he went for the snares, the bass, and a cymbal here and there. The lead guitarist was also handsome.
I like the way he’s fingering those strings
. The intro was over and now the choir joined in. More people stood up and joined in the stomp-clap-clap, rhythm done in unity across the congregation.

Frieda turned to the singers. The choir loft was on a raised platform behind the pulpit. In their purple and gold robes, they indeed looked angelic. They were leading the stomp-clap-clap; some with subdued moves, others with flamboyance.
Hmm, a few cuties in the choir stand!
Especially the lead singer, who stepped away from the others and ad-libbed between the chorus. After a few rounds of that, it was time for the keyboardist’s solo. Frieda turned back to the band as the beautiful melody bounced off the ivories. She shifted to get a look at the player, partially blocked by the man on saxophone. He stepped back momentarily, grabbing a reed or something from his case.

Frieda stopped stomping. She stopped clapping, too. Instead, she stood there with her mouth open, but only for a second. She pulled hard on Hope’s arm. Hope looked at her questioningly. Frieda pulled harder and sat down, taking Hope with her.

“Girl, what is it?” The music was so loud they could talk rather freely.

“Oh-my-God,” was all Frieda said, her eyes big as saucers as she stared her cousin down.

“What?” Hope said again. This girl was always trippin’ about something!

“That boy on the piano, the organ or whatever, he’s the one!”

“The one what?”

“Remember the two dudes doing the nasty at the party where I met Gorgio?”

Hope remembered, but had no idea what that story was doing in these pews. “Yes?” she said with a question mark in the tone.

“That man on the keyboards,” Frieda said, leaning over and dropping her voice an octave, “he’s the one who was getting ready to…well…It’s him, girl. He’s got a booty buddy!”

“Darius?” Hope exclaimed. She didn’t know that much about him, nothing really, but she was having a hard time believing he was gay. She always saw women around him. She tried to blow it off. “No, he probably just reminds you of the man you saw.”

“You think I’d forget the characters in a movie like that?” Frieda asked, her voice getting a bit loud before she toned down again. “I’d bet my next paycheck your boy is gay or at least bi. I’d already checked him out real good, that’s why I’d followed him up the stairs, remember? It’s him, Hope!”

Hope looked at Frieda and then stood back up. She wanted to see Darius, see if she could wrap what Frieda had said around him. Leaning forward, as if into the music, she stared at Darius as he effortlessly directed the choir and played the keys. He was as handsome as ever, and as manly. Looking closer, she wouldn’t even give him the “pretty boy” label. He had gorgeous eyes and long eyelashes, but his close-cropped haircut and slight facial hair gave him a rugged look. He had a nice, toned build. And there had never been anything in his mannerisms to suggest he might be gay—not that mannerisms a gay man made. She couldn’t detect a clue anywhere. She’d talked to Darius recently, when she and Cy were the Montgomerys dinner guests. Come to think of it, he’d had a date with him that night. She sat down and relayed this to Frieda, as the choir bumped the song up a notch.

“No,” Hope said. “I remember now, he had a date when we had dinner at the Montgomerys.”

“And?”

“And, he’s not gay. He’s got a girlfriend.”

“Humph. She might be a decoy, so he can be with his boy toy.”

Hope knew there would be no convincing Frieda, at least not before the benediction that evening. “Frieda, let it go, girl. Mind your own business.” She stood up and tried, unsuccessfully, to get back into praise. But even an hour and a half later, as the associate ministers were baptizing the last candidate, Hope’s mind was still on Darius. And the booty-bumping episode Frieda had relayed in graphic detail the day after the party.

At home that evening, Darius was still on Hope’s mind. She didn’t know why; it really wasn’t her concern. Hope knew there were gays in church, plenty of them. It wasn’t something that was talked about—not unless somebody was condemning them to hell. But many knew that homosexuals were and had long been a part of the church community, especially when it came to the music. And now with Frieda having pricked her curiosity, she wanted to see what she could find out.

“Hey you,” she said as she kissed her man, looking sexy and scrumptious sprawled across the couch, watching television.

“How was it?” Cy asked, grabbing Hope and pulling her toward him.

She relaxed in his arms, taking off her shoes in the process. “It was nice,” she answered. “The music was excellent, and there is always something special about seeing someone get baptized.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Cy mumbled, nibbling on her ear. When Hope didn’t respond, he looked up to see she was deep in thought.

“Cy, I have a question.” She turned to him slightly and blurted it out. “Is Darius gay?”

“Darius?” Cy thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

Hope told Cy about what Frieda had supposedly seen and how adamant she was that it had been Darius. “I tried to tell her he had a girlfriend, but she wasn’t hearing me.”

“Darius doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“What about that girl who was at Pastor’s house?”

“No, she’s connected to his music business somehow. They’re not dating.”

“Oh.”

“I have heard rumors.”

Hope turned fully toward Cy. “That he’s gay?”

Cy nodded. “But those may have been generated by player-hating females. I know for a fact he was married, went through a messy divorce. That may be why he’s been rather cool on the dating scene.”

“Oh, so he
was
married?”

“Yeah, until he caught his wife at home with some dude.”

“Really? Wow…”

“Speaking of gay, did you see this?” Cy began surfing the channels, stopping on a movie channel.
Brokeback Mountain
, a love story about two gay cowboys, was just beginning.

“I’ve been meaning to watch this,” Cy said. “There was so much hype when it came out.”

Hope snuggled up to her honey, prepared to find out what all the hype was about. But as she watched Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger cavort over the Wyoming plains, it was “Brokeback Ministries, starring Darius Crenshaw,” and not the Oscar-winning blockbuster, that was on her mind.