A couple lights went on, one next door and the other across the street. Mama Max looked in time to see the same neighbor she’d discussed rosebushes with last week sheepishly peek out the window and wave.
Mama Max ignored her. “Obadiah!” A strong hand on her shoulder caused her to almost jump out of her skin.
“Woman, what in the hell is wrong with you?”
“Where is she?” Mama Max panted, breathing heavy from her screaming exercise.
“Get a hold of yourself, Maxine,” Obadiah cautioned. “Don’t go making a fool of yourself out here.”
“Humph, like you’re making a fool of yourself in there?” Mama Max’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Obadiah to the window and back. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she raced toward the door, entered the house, and raced toward the back door. “What’s this back door doing open?”
Obadiah ignored her, instead walking up the stairs toward their bedroom. “You need to find a hobby, woman, or get some business to tend to. Because you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to tend to mine!”
By the time Mama Max had calmed down and gone up to bed, Obadiah was already snoring. He left around five-thirty the next morning, before Mama Max had put coffee on. She sat at the table alone, sipping and thinking. Life had basically been good with Obadiah. They’d had their ups and downs, and a large part of their marriage had been spent with him on the road. But she’d enjoyed her role in raising the children, ministering to the women in their various congregations, and taking care of her husband the best she could. Except for Dorothea, Mama Max had never suspected Obadiah of being with another woman. Which is why she was determined to get to the bottom of how Dorothea had gotten into his study and, more importantly, how she’d escaped.
Once Mama Max had finished her breakfast and washed the dishes, she headed to Obadiah’s study. She knew the door was probably locked and was fully prepared to call a locksmith if she had to in order to get in. If Dorothea had indeed been there, as Mama Max suspected, she believed there would be some kind of evidence to prove it. Mama Max had already decided that if she found the proof she was looking for, the Brooks wouldn’t see their fifty-third anniversary.
She turned the knob on the study, and to her surprise, the door opened. Mama Max took a deep breath and stepped inside. The office smelled like Obadiah: a blend of Listerine mouthwash and Old Spice cologne. She looked around slowly. The space seemed in order, the way Obadiah preferred things. Yesterday’s newspaper lay folded in the center of an otherwise bare desk, save for a pen-and-pencil set, a praying-hands paperweight, and three manila folders on the desk’s right side. Mama Max walked the length of the room, looking in every nook and cranny for she didn’t know what. But she didn’t see or sense the presence of a woman anywhere.
The office was L-shaped, the smaller portion being a second room that served as the library for Obadiah’s extensive collection of texts and study guides. Mama Max eyed the well-worn leather couch that took up one side, with shelves of books on the back wall. She walked over to the couch. Nothing looked out of order. She bent down, smelled the leather. No scent of perfume clung to either the seats, the throw she’d knitted and given to Obadiah, or the pillows that decorated the otherwise staid room.
Once Mama Max had gone over the entire study with a fine-tooth comb, a wave of guilt settled over her. Dorothea hadn’t been in this room. If she had, Obadiah had eliminated all evidence, and when could he have done that? She’d gotten up when he did this morning, and he beat her to bed last night. Could I have been paranoid, making up an affair in my head? “Oh, Father, forgive me,” she said aloud. “And I need to ask Obadiah’s forgiveness when he gets home.”
Mama Max looked at the filled shelves around the room. “He’s right. I need to tend to my business,” she said, walking over and fingering the hundreds of books. “And I’m going to start right now.” She decided to get a jump on teaching Sunday school by studying one of her favorite Bible passages—Proverbs 31. After finding pen and paper to write an outline, she began pulling out various concordances, textbooks, Bible versions, and other study aids. She walked over to the shorter wall and began looking at those books. One in particular jumped out at her. It was on one of the higher shelves, but Mama Max felt if she reached on her tiptoes, she could get it. She gripped the side of the shelf and reached up, leaning into the shelf itself for support.
That’s when it happened. The entire bookcase moved, almost causing Mama Max to tumble over. “The blood of Jesus!” she cried, even as the case continued to swing open. Mama Max went stumbling into this secret chamber, almost falling down. Fortunately—or unfortunately—her fall was somewhat stayed and totally cushioned by the competition she’d feared—but not who she’d imagined. Her fall was stayed by a blue-eyed, life-size rubber sex doll.
Mama Max pulled her face from between the enormous, jiggling globes, and within seconds, her mouth soon resembled the doll’s open O-shaped lips. She screamed and jumped up at the same time, her mind barely able to register what her hands were feeling and her eyes were beholding. Mama Max eyed the five-foot, six-inch creation, from the long black human hair on its head to its red-painted toes. Her lips formed a straight line as she took in the realistic-looking, pink vagina. This wasn’t some cheap blow-up doll. It was a new-and-improved, twenty-first-century version, so lifelike it was scary. Mama Max’s hand went to her chest as comprehension dawned and the lights came on in this seventy-year-old mind. She slowly backed away from the “companion” that had been keeping Obadiah company in the late-night and early morning hours when he’d been locked away in his study. A doll? Obadiah has been cheating on me with…some rubber? For a moment, Mama Max thought she’d be ill and wanted to run away, but as she looked around, the other items in this small room kept her glued to the spot. A look of horror replaced that of shock and awe as her eyes took in row after row of pornographic books, DVDs, and sex toys. On the other wall was a flat-screen television, within perfect viewing sight of a large recliner Mama Max had never seen before. When did he have time to purchase that chair, let alone bring it in here? Then she remembered the outing several months back: when she and Nettie had done an overnight trip to Dallas, a girls’ day out. Well, obviously there had been a boy’s night out too….
“Jesus, have mercy, Jesus,” Mama Max whispered as she slowly put one foot in front of the other. As she got closer to the magazines, she was appalled by what she saw. Breasts, vaginas, and rear ends were splashed across the covers in various poses. Mama Max closed her eyes and pulled one of the DVDs out. The title, Tits and Tushes, was juxtaposed over a pair of enormous breasts. That cover was the tamest of the three or four she pulled out. By the time she eyed the last one, where several couples were splashed across the cover in the very act of fornication, she’d seen enough. She turned to leave, but on her way out, a small leather toiletry bag caught her eye. With fear and trepidation, Mama Max picked it up and unzipped it. “Viagra!” she shrieked, when among the contents of latex condoms, disposable gloves, mouthwash, and deodorant, she’d pulled out a large bottle of small blue pills. Mama Max’s eyes grew wide as she threw down the pills, stumbled over the hastily tossed DVDs, and ran from the room as if the devil himself were chasing her.
27
Sordid Revelations
“Ain’t no fool like an old fool,” Mama Max said, her voice sad and weary. She sat at the table in her dining room, still wearing the house dress she’d donned just before coming downstairs more than four hours ago. The coffee Nettie had poured for her remained untouched, as did the slice of fresh strawberry-rhubarb pie she’d brought to try and cheer Mama Max up. She’d been so distraught when she’d phoned Nettie that Nettie offered to come to the Brook residence as opposed to Mama Max coming to her. Nettie wasn’t sure her dear friend would be safe behind the wheel of a two-ton vehicle.
Nettie remained quiet, not knowing what to say. Her mind was still reeling from what she’d seen with her own eyes, the secret room in her pastor’s study, the
man of God who’d been brought to Gospel Truth to preach the unadulterated Word, the man who brought a broom into the pulpit to sweep Satan out of the church. Obviously the pastor had failed to heed the old saying “sweep around your own front porch before you try and sweep around mine.”
“I never thought I’d divorce him, not after all these years,” Mama Max continued in the same dry, lifeless tone. “Next year we’ll have been married fifty-three years. And for what? For me to find out I don’t even know the man I’ve called my husband?” The first show of emotion came to her face then, a single tear that ran down, hovered on her chin, and then dropped on her dress. “It’s a shame before the living God. I will not live a lie.” Mama Max brought her fist down on the table for emphasis. “Trying to teach others to live holy. I will not live a lie,” she repeated in a whisper.
Nettie took a deep breath and chose her words carefully. After all, this sordid revelation of Obadiah’s activities affected not only his marriage, but his ministry as well. If this got out to Gospel Truth, let alone the nation, her son’s past sin might pale in comparison. “I can’t imagine the hurt you feel,” she began, her voice soft, soothing. “You have every right to be upset.”
“Upset? You think I’m just upset? I’ve a mind to go to that church right now and beat that man like he stole from me. Because he did—he stole the trust I had in him right out my heart. I’m beyond upset, Nettie Jean. I’m madder than a bunch of red hornets right now.”
“I know you are,” Nettie said quickly. “That’s the natural reaction of any wife who’d find this type of, uh, stuff in her house.”
Mama Max snorted. “Here I am worried about Dorothea’s shriveled behind and all along my competition has been a plastic pussy. Have you ever heard of such? It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad and disgusting. I oughta grab that thing and take it right on up there to the church. Tell Obadiah if he wants to keep her, that’s the office she’ll have to stay in because she’s getting the hell out of my house!” Mama Max pushed back abruptly from the table and started toward the hall.
“This will bring an awful hurt to the ministry if folk find out,” Nettie said as she hurried to catch up to Mama Max.
Mama Max whipped around. “The ministry? What about my marriage? Do you think I give a damn about the church right now, when my whole life lies in shambles? To pull the covers off this hypocritical SOB will be just what he deserves.” Mama Max hesitated before entering the study, but then lifted her chin and marched forth with resolve.
“Now, Mama, just think on it a minute. It will affect everything y’all do in the future.”
“Y’all? Or Reverend? Because I have nothing to be ashamed of, unless you think being ignorant a shameful thing. Now that the eyes of my understanding have been enlightened, I’m going to brighten a few others too.” Mama Max pulled on a pair of the disposable gloves she’d seen earlier in Obadiah’s toiletry bag. After putting them on, she grabbed the naked doll by the hair and began dragging it through the house.
Nettie prayed feverishly under her breath. She was thinking about the future of Gospel Truth, as well as how a scandal like this would affect Mama Max, her children, and her grand-children. “Wait, Mama, hold on a minute.”
Mama Max walked through the kitchen, grabbed her car keys off the table, and opened the door to the garage. The silicone-filled breasts of the doll continued jiggling when Mama Max stopped to speak. “Wait for what? I’m getting this slimy piece of sin out of my house and taking it to its owner, where it belongs.” She opened the back door of her Cadillac to push the doll inside, but just before she did, Nettie grabbed the doll’s foot.
“Let go!” Mama Max tried to jerk the doll out of Nettie’s grasp.
“I think you need to think on this, Mama!” Nettie huffed, tightening her hold on the thick rubber.
“I don’t need to think on anything!”
“Well, pray, then!”
The two women wrestled with the life-size doll, both trying to take it from the other. The doll twisted and turned with the motion of the women, its O-shaped mouth an appropriate expression to being pulled in opposite directions.
Mama Max soon tired from trying to hold the doll. “Fine,” she said, and let it go so abruptly that Nettie stumbled back, tripping over a box and almost falling into a basket of clothes for charity. She half sat, half stood, trying to steady her breathing. Mama Max fell back against the car, her always perfectly coiffed hair coming out of its chignon and her dress askew. The doll leaned facedown against the door, momentarily forgotten. If one were looking in on this scene, it would have been hard to tell who won the battle: Mama Max, Nettie, or the doll.
After a moment, Mama Max stood. “This is my house and my business. Don’t try and stop me, Nettie.” She pushed the doll into the backseat and slammed the door shut.
Nettie watched helplessly as Mama Max slid into the driver’s seat, hit the switch to open the garage door and turned the keys. “Are you sure?” she yelled through the glass.
Mama Max looked at Nettie a long moment, and then rolled down the passenger side window. “What am I supposed to do? Just let that man treat me any kind of way?”
“Most certainly not! This matter must be dealt with, Mama Max—”
“Datgum right—”
“But I just think you might want to handle it in private before you take it public. Think of that grandbaby who you said might be on TV.” Nettie was talking fast, afraid Mama Max would put the car into gear any moment.
Mama Max reached for the keys and turned off the engine. “You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you, Nettie. I appreciate you saving me from embarrassing myself and my family. You go on home now. I’ll be all right.”
The calm with which Mama Max spoke frightened Nettie more than her earlier screaming had. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Mama Max opened her car door and got out. “You go on home now,” she repeated.
“Promise me you’ll call me back over if you need me, and take time to pray. The devil’s got your husband trippin’, Mama. Don’t let him get you too.”
Several hours later, Obadiah entered the front door. His face formed an immediate scowl for two reasons: one, the house was dark even though Maxine’s car was parked in the driveway, and it was only six-thirty; two, the smell of dinner that usually greeted him was noticeably absent.
“Maxine?” he called out tentatively, sensing something wrong. Aside from when Mama Max was sick or out of town, Obadiah never walked into a house devoid of the smell of his dinner cooking. He turned on the hall light. “Maxine?” he called again.
When Obadiah turned the corner into the living room, he gasped. There, sprawled spread-eagle on the floor, was the doll he used almost nightly to relieve the sexual tension that plagued him. Scattered around his fake friend were DVDs, magazines, and videos, and sprinkled throughout were his little blue pills.
Obadiah tentatively stepped into the darkened room. He was so focused on the pile of porn that he didn’t see Mama Max sitting at the corner telephone table until she spoke.
“We need to talk, Reverend Doctor,” she said in a voice that was deadly calm.
“Maxine, I can explain,” he began, his hands put up in a sign of surrender.
“Ain’t no explaining to do on this one, Obadiah. I’ve got my mind made up. It’s either me or that disgusting plastic pussy and repugnant porn. This house ain’t big enough for me and…all that.”
28
A Funky Valentine
Passion read the hastily scrawled note for the umpteenth time and wiped away tears. If only she could wake up and find that the past twenty-four hours were just a dream. But that was the problem—she was awake. And the craziness of her life was all too real. She forced herself from the bed she’d crawled back into as soon as she’d gotten Onyx off to school and canceled all of her ministry-related engagements. It was the fourteenth of February, and while she’d always enjoyed listening to Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of “My
Funny Valentine,” Passion found herself getting ready to experience a very funky Valentine’s Day instead.
The drama started yesterday morning with what she thought an innocent question regarding an early morning call on Stan’s cell phone.
“Who was that?” she’d asked in a sleepy voice, about the caller who’d awakened them at six-thirty in the morning.
“Bryce,” Stan said curtly, not unlike many of his answers in the months since the panty toss. They’d silently declared a truce but obviously hadn’t cleared the air.
“Kind of early for business calls, don’t you think?”
“What’s it to you?” Stan threw back the covers and bounded out of bed. “Back in here for two nights and you’re already nagging.”
Passion sat up. “What’s with the attitude? I just asked a question. How would you react if one of my friends called at this hour?”
“I don’t know, Passion,” Stan sneered. “Do you even have friends?”
Where did that come from? Passion took a deep breath. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. She’d planned an intimate dinner, for just the two of them, at a Malibu hideaway. On a recent Conversations with Carla, a guest had talked about being responsible for one’s own actions and how the only person one could change was oneself. Passion had taken those comments to heart, decided to put her ego aside, and do whatever it took to get her marriage back on track. She’d planned to take the blame for why the marriage wasn’t working, apologize for the panty throw, agree to counseling to deal with her sexual appetite, and maybe later, if she could arrange it secretly, ask one of Stan’s peers to talk with him about his…issues.
She followed him into the bathroom. “I’m sorry, Stan—”
“I’m getting ready to take a shower. Do you mind?”
Heaven Forbid Page 13