“I thought maybe Princess and I could do something,” Kelvin said, not at all shaken by Carla’s lack of confidence. He shared a couple of the ideas he’d run by Princess over the past weekend.
“I like this!” Lavon said, once Kelvin had finished. Production was his passion and the creative process was his favorite part. “Maybe we could get Darius to write something. Either him or I know a couple hip-hop artists who might work for what we want.”
“Well, uh, actually I came up with a little sumpin’, sumpin’.” Having both Lavon and Carla’s attention, Kelvin reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Y’all want to hear it?”
“Are you sure you want to sing it?” Carla retorted with a smile.
“Show us what you’ve got, man,” Lavon said.
Kelvin winked at Princess, who was smiling broadly, and made a big show of clearing his throat. “Okay, now understand that I’m not a rapper and this is a work in progress, so it might be a little rough around the edges right now. I mean it’s not like we—”
“Baby!” Princess cried. “Just do it!”
Kelvin actually looked a little uncomfortable as he shifted from one foot to the other. “Okay, here we go. Unh, unh … here we go, here we go, yeah. Bob your head.” Princess was already grooving and snapping her fingers to Kelvin’s beat. Lavon and Carla joined in.
“You’re ’bout to see a story about me and my girl,
About the prince who found his princess when she rocked his world.
She flipped the script and sent the digits when I asked to call her,
Said she was down and would stick around with an NBA baller.”
To Lavon and Carla’s surprise and delight, Princess stood and took over the rap without missing a beat.
“Hang with me and the man who is my one and only,
And watch us navigate this thing called matrimony.
Share the ins and outs and ups and downs with me and KP….”
Kelvin put his arm around Princess as he finished. “And spend a day in the life of my princess and me.”
“Uh-huh, me and KP.”
“My princess and me.”
“It’s just me and KP.”
“It’s just my princess and me.”
“Yeah, baby!” Princess gave Kelvin a high five before molding herself to his broad chest. They’d worked on this ditty all weekend and had rehearsed it over and over. It sounded even better than they’d hoped it would, and regardless of what Lavon and Carla thought about it, would call it a success.
“That was great!” Lavon exclaimed. Too excited to stay seated, he stood and walked over to where Kelvin and Princess embraced. “Did y’all write that?”
Kelvin released Princess and turned to Lavon. “Yeah, me and baby girl wrote it together.”
Lavon and Kelvin shared a brother-man handshake. “I love that, man; can see doing some cross-marketing with that joint, maybe even releasing it as a single with a companion video.”
As Kelvin and Lavon continued putting their business heads together, Princess walked over to the custom-made bamboo bar where Carla sat perched on a bar chair. “What did you think, Carla?” She pulled out a chair and sat next to her, then reached for the pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice on the bar and poured a glass.
“You and Kelvin are so cute,” Carla admitted, “and work so well together.”
Princess looked up, the glass from which she was about to take a drink suspended between her mouth and the table. “Why do I feel that there’s a but coming?”
“But …” Carla began with a laugh, “I want y’all to be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“This business is hard, Princess, and marriage is harder. Viewers like nothing better than to build you up, way up, just so that they can see you come crashing down. Remember Jessica Simpson and, oh, what was her husband’s name?”
“Nick Lachey.”
“Right. Remember what a nice couple they made, and what a fairy-tale life they seemed to live? I don’t think their reality show lasted two seasons before the rumors started, the tabloids did their thing, and the next place we saw them was divorce court. And then there was that family whose daughter’s highly hyped on-screen marriage lasted less than three months.”
Princess’s facial expression showed her concern. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” she finally said. All excitement had left her now subdued voice as she thought about a high-profile breakup.
“No, baby, I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m just saying be careful. Go into this with your heads on tight and your eyes wide open. Stay humble, stay grateful … and stay in counseling.”
“What do you two ladies have your heads together about?” Lavon asked as he walked to where Carla and Princess sat, and then noticed the serious countenance on both of their faces. “What’s wrong?”
Kelvin walked up behind Princess and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Carla smiled at Lavon. “We were just discussing the pros and cons of life in the spotlight. I love this whole concept of their show revolving around their marriage, with the added components of Kelvin’s basketball career and Princess’s work on my show. But you know how we like to build people up and then tear them down. I was just telling Princess to be careful.”
“Ah, don’t sweat it, Miss C,” Kelvin said, kissing Princess on the temple. “I ain’t going nowhere and Princess can’t leave me so—”
“Oh, really?” Princess said, turning to see Kelvin’s face.
“You know that without me you can’t breathe, girl. Don’t play.”
“Whatever,” Princess said, with a laugh. Though she’d be damned if what he’d said hadn’t sounded true.
“Look, most people go into marriage head over heels in love with each other and believing it will last a lifetime. But things change.” Carla looked at Princess and in that instant realized that she didn’t know yet—that this beautiful young woman so sure of her marriage had no idea that her own mother and father were headed for divorce. As she continued, Carla wasn’t thinking about what was happening in Tai’s marriage. She was focused on what had happened in her own. “People grow in different directions, desires and affections can change … affairs can happen.”
“No, Carla,” Princess said with a vehemence that surprised even herself. “I’ve already told Kelvin that when it comes to cheating, I have a zero tolerance rule in full effect.”
So did your mother, is what Carla thought. “And I’m sure you mean it,” is what she said. “Listen, guys, I’m not telling you what I’ve heard. I’m telling you what I know. When I married Stanley I swore that I would never, ever, cheat on him, that I would be a loving, dutiful, and faithful wife. I said those words and I meant them with every fiber of my being. But fifteen years later, the situation looked very different, had changed in ways that I could not have imagined. And now, here I sit. Happier than I ever could have dreamed, granted, but having gone through the fire and been dragged through the mud. I’m just trying to help y’all not get dirty.”
“So, Kelvin,” Lavon asked, “given how women throw themselves at you, what safeguards or measures do you have in place to protect yourself from yourself, and from the temptations that are sure to come?”
Kelvin came from in back of Princess and joined Lavon on the other side of the bar. His brow furrowed in thought as he took a seat. “One day not long ago,” he began, “I asked my dad how he did it. How he and Mom Vee maintained a successful marriage, and how he’d been able to stay faithful to her all these years. I’ll never forget his answer—that any type of man can have all kinds of women, but the man who chooses to be with just one woman is one of a kind. He said that there were levels of love, and the deepest one was the exclusive bond between two people. He talked of the bond that happens when your wife is also your confidant, your lover, your counselor and best friend.” He looked at Princess with love in his eyes. “I want to experience the type of love that he and Mom Vee have, that forever kin
d.”
Carla walked over to Kelvin and gave him a big hug. “If you want it you can have it, darlin’.” She reached over to include Princess in the embrace. “Both of you. And Lavon and I will be cheering you on, every step of the way.”
“Speak for yourself, baby,” Lavon said. Three sets of eyes looked at him. “Let’s face it. Drama sells. Your lovey-dovey is good and all, but this is about ratings! I say we let y’all have a honeymoon for, oh, two-three months or so, and then we’ll hit ’em with a little bit of scandal and…”
Carla’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. She adopted a strong stance with legs apart and placed her hands on her ample hips.
“What?”
“You keep talking like that,” she warned, “and we’ll have some drama all right… . And no one to yell ‘cut’ either!”
“I’m just kidding, baby.”
“I know.”
“I love you, Carla Chapman.”
Carla sidled up to the love of her life. “I know that, too.”
They talked well into the evening and by the time Princess and Kelvin said their good-byes, the four friends were excited and more than ready to rock and roll with television’s next hot reality show: KP and His Princess.
53
Fire and Desire
A week had passed since Obadiah’s phone call ended Dorothea’s life as she knew it. Since then she existed as if in a daze, her mind filled with memories of her and Obadiah’s times together, and wondering how she could possibly go on, knowing that they’d never share such times again. Dorothea was not a drinker, but after her ex-lover’s devastating news she had gone to a nearby liquor store and on the cashier’s recommendation had purchased a fruity tasting wine called Moscato. The worker had chosen a brand he felt sure she’d like, even though she wasn’t necessarily fond of the taste of alcohol. He’d been right. Dorothea had taken home the bottle and once the wine was thoroughly chilled, took a tentative sip. It was surprisingly delicious, reminding her of the sparkling juices she so enjoyed. Before she knew it, she’d drunk the whole bottle and the next time she left the liquor store, it was with a case.
Dorothea eased open the screen door to her balcony and took a deep breath as she stepped outside. Though it was only 10:30 a.m., there was a glass of Moscato in her hand. It wasn’t her first, which may have been why she swayed a bit as she walked over to the patio table and clumsily sat down. “Why aren’t you calling me, baby?” she asked the open air. “Why you trying to act like we’re over?” Her words were slurred slightly, and the unkempt appearance that she’d adopted over the past seventy-two hours was not a good look. “We’re never going to be over!” A crow, perched on the next building’s roof, cosigned. Caw! Caw!
“That’s what I’m saying,” Dorothea said to the bird. “That son of a bitch needs to call! Call!” She reacted to her own joke, but the sound that started as a chuckle ended as a sob. Why can’t he just do the right thing? And why can’t I get over him? It wasn’t as though she’d never loved anyone else. She’d not only been married twice before but she’d had her share of paramours and sugar daddies. The first one had come calling in the midfifties, when she was sweet sixteen and one of the finest beauties in New Orleans. She and Thomas Rutherford were deeply in love, and when he proposed marriage she was over the moon. His status-conscious mother was underwhelmed. Dorothea had the looks but not the pedigree, while the Rutherfords’ wealth and success was legendary, dating back to the early 1800s. Thomas gave her a ring and took her virginity. But when he took back his proposal as well, she was crushed.
The following year Dorothea fled New Orleans and landed in Dallas, where a friend secured her a job at a black-owned dress shop. Trading matrimony for money, Dorothea quickly caught the eye of an older, wealthy, and well-established doctor whose wife was infirmed. All of her living expenses were paid and she was given every luxury. The affair lasted until her benefactor died. It was during this time that at her sister Ruthanne’s insistence, Dorothea had attended a church meeting to hear a “hot new preacher” who was all the rave. After the service, she and her sister were invited to dine at the host pastor’s house. She found herself seated next to the man who’d held her enthralled from the moment he spoke, and the rest, as they say, was history. Like her doctor, Obadiah was married, but that didn’t stop Dorothea from giving him her heart. While his wife, Maxine, stayed home with the babies, Dorothea traveled from state to state, meeting him at conferences and revivals, and warming his bed. It was during one such conference, the National Baptist Convention in 1963, where their relationship shifted. His wife found out about them and, even though the affair continued, things were never the same after that June in Dallas.
Eventually Dorothea fled Dallas for the bright lights and big city. Fed up with being somebody’s seconds, she vowed to become a smashing success, and then rub that triumph in the faces of the men who’d not valued her worth. In Harlem, she became a moderately known name, but even more important, she became a wife. George Bates was a hardworking, loving man whose brain aneurysm at age fifty-three caused him to leave the world way too soon. Between him and her last husband, Reverend Reginald Jenkins of Palestine, Texas, she’d seen many men come and go. But none of them had ever held a candle to the Reverend Doctor Pastor Bishop Overseer Mister Stanley Obadiah Meshach Brook Jr. And now, it seemed, no one ever would.
Dorothea looked at her glass and was surprised to find it empty. Even more surprising was the fact that no matter how much alcohol she consumed, it wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness that was in her heart. She still loved Obadiah. She still missed him. And she was still alone.
“Damn you!” She flung the wineglass across the expanse and watched it shatter against the patio’s stucco wall. “I’m not going to let you just walk away from me. If I have to suffer, you’re going to suffer, too.”
She left the patio and re-entered her condo, looking around as if the answer to how to hurt him was in the room. She walked from the living room into the kitchen, retrieved another glass, filled it with wine, and then returned to the living room. While downing the drink as though it was Kool-Aid or water instead of alcohol, her eyes fell on the fireplace. She slowly lowered the glass from her lips as a thought took hold. She laughed, its sound sinister and hollow as she imagined the fallout from her actions.
“Obadiah would be furious!” she told the empty room. She knew how much he loved his tailored suits and how meticulous and fastidious he was with not only their care but that of his alligator shoes, his gold jewelry, his spun cotton shirts, and Italian silk ties. Oh, and don’t leave out his beloved books. He’d purchased a bookcase that covered the back wall of his bedroom and it was filled with Bibles and teaching aids and other religious works. More than once, he’d shared with Dorothea how much these books of knowledge meant to him. “Yeah, well, at one time,” Dorothea slurred, “I meant something to you, too.”
Mind made up, Dorothea plunked down the wineglass and picked up her purse. She was well aware of her state of inebriation but she wasn’t worried. She wouldn’t drive far. Just to the neighborhood gas station less than five minutes away. She left the house with the lights blazing and TV blaring. It didn’t matter to Dorothea. She wouldn’t be gone long.
Ten minutes later, Dorothea used the spare key Obadiah had given her to enter his apartment. Immediately, she was assailed with the spirit of him, the scent of him. She barely looked at the sparsely furnished living room as she walked toward her destination—the bedroom. That’s where she and Obadiah had spent much of their time together and where all of Obadiah’s most precious possessions lay. A feeling of melancholy came over Dorothea, and she almost changed her mind about what she was going to do. But hell—she’d already bought the gas, right?
Placing three of the four filled plastic gas cans she’d purchased on the bed, she walked with the other one into Obadiah’s closet. She uncapped it and quickly doused suits, shirts, slacks, shoes, and everything else within the enclosed space. The smell of gas
almost gagged her as she emptied the can of its contents and threw it on the closet floor. Then she emptied the other three containers: one for the bookcase and its contents, one for the dresser, table, walls, and floor, and the fourth and final one for the bed. She virtually soaked the spread and sheets with the flammable liquid, crying openly now as, like her love affair, this room was about to go up in flames.
“Ah, hell, forgot the matches.” Dorothea walked from the bedroom to the kitchen and was delighted to find a box of wooden matches in one of the drawers next to the stove. She smiled through her tears, an evil smirk really, as she walked to the closet, struck the first match, and tossed it against the clothes soaked with gas. It fell to the carpet and promptly went out.
“Dammit!” She placed the matches down and in a mad rampage pulled the clothes from their neatly arranged position on the rods down to the floor. Then, to make sure a fire would catch, she rushed into the living room for the stack of newspapers she’d glimpsed while passing through. She tore them with her bare hands before piling them on top of the clothes. Satisfied that she had the makings of a proper fire, she scraped a second match against the box’s rough side and was rewarded with a blaze. “Burn, Obadiah,” she hissed before throwing another match onto the heap. “Burn!”
She tossed the match and was instantly rewarded as a second burst of flames shot up from the gas-soaked clothing. Knowing that she needed to work quickly, she walked over to the bookcase, lit another match, and placed it on top of a row of paperback books. A slow burn began, but grew quickly as the flames lapped at and began to consume the paint-covered plywood from which the bookcase was made. Finally she turned toward the bed, lit a final match, and after throwing the box of matches onto the bed, tossed the match on the navy blue silk comforter she’d purchased for Obadiah. “Now it’s really over.”
Whoosh! A huge ball of fire shot up instantly, actually making a sound with its intensity. Belatedly, Dorothea realized it probably would have been a better idea had she been standing next to the bedroom door when she struck that final match.
Divine Intervention Page 24