What a Sista Should Do

by Tiffany L. Warren

  I just wish I had someone to talk to about this situation. Someone who won’t judge me. I was tempted to tell Pam, but for some reason, I don’t think she’ll understand. She acted kind of funny when I told her that Joshua’s father was a married man. Like she was wondering if her husband was the father or something. I guess that’s how a lot of married women are—insecure.

  I can’t tell any of the singles either, though. Oh, there are some that would understand, because a few of them have been in similar circumstances. The trouble with the singles is that nothing is ever a secret with them, and I don’t know if I want to have my business out there like all that.

  Someone is knocking on my door. I’m wearing a robe, I’m not expecting anyone and I hate when folk just show up unannounced.

  Whoever this fool is, they think that they have to pound on the door like the police. I do have a doorbell. I look out my little peephole and see . . . Luke Hastings.

  “Open this door.”

  I don’t know who Luke thinks he is. “Luke, you’ve got me confused. This is not your house, and I’m not your wife. You don’t tell me what to do.”

  “I said open this door.”

  “Luke, you’ve got five seconds to leave, or I’m calling security, then I’m dialing nine-one-one.” I’m a little bit afraid, and I hope that Luke doesn’t hear the faint quiver in my voice.

  “You ain’t even got to do all that. I just want to talk to you.”

  “Then talk.”

  “Through the door?”

  I wish he’d just go home to his wife. “I can hear you just fine.”

  “Oh, you done put the white man in our business, now you want all your neighbors to know?”

  “What do you mean the white man?”

  “You know what I mean! The courts. Why did you even keep the baby? If you had done what I asked, I wouldn’t even be here bothering you.”

  “Luke, take your sorry tail back home. I don’t have anything else to say to you.” I’m disgusted with this whole situation, and I’m tired of Luke. My God! I wish I’d never met him.

  “You’ll never get a dime out of me, you know.”

  “Whatever, Luke.”

  “Even if I have to quit my job and work under the table, you ain’t getting nothing!”

  “Sure, Luke. Whatever you say. Just get away from my door.”

  Luke stands outside my door for a few minutes more. He punches and kicks on the door. I hope he hurts his hand. Shouldn’t I be the one mad? I’m over here struggling, and he has the audacity to act like he’s offended.

  I bet his snotty wife put him up to this mess. She seems like the type. I bet he’s told her that Joshua is not his. Probably has me looking like some kind of gold digger or whatnot. I think I’m going to pay Sister Yvonne a visit. Seems like she needs to know some things about her husband. And obviously, what she doesn’t know is hurting her, and my son.

  Chapter 13

  Pam

  Some things feel like a dream even when you know you’re awake. Just yesterday Troy came to me all excited. I’ve learned not to get caught up in his enthusiasm, because most of the time it turns out to be a letdown. He told me that Bonzai Records wants to sign Lisa to a recording contract, but first they have to buy out the contract that she already has with Troy. I half wondered why anyone would want to sign the little heifer to anything.

  Troy and I are sitting in the lobby of Bonzai Records waiting to see Mr. Shane Bevins. Troy asked me to come along and help with the negotiations, since he doesn’t know the first thing about a contract. I was surprised that he even had his artists signing anything.

  The lobby is huge, and the furniture is ornate and modern. The plush carpeting is so thick that our feet seemed to sink as we walked in the door. There is a large, flat-screen, plasma television in the corner playing music videos. This company obviously has some money to burn.

  Finally, the young blonde receptionist speaks. “Mr. Bevins will see you now.”

  She points behind her to Mr. Bevins’ office. Troy and I move quickly as if the dream is going to evaporate if we move any slower.

  When we step through the door, Mr. Bevins looks up at us and smiles. He’s not what I expected. I was thinking of an older, distinguished, white-haired gentleman, but Mr. Bevins is no older than Troy. He’s wearing a coordinated jean outfit and tinted glasses. I never thought I’d be facing a young African American man as the head of Artists and Repertoire for a Japanese company.

  “Please have a seat,” says Mr. Bevins.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bevins.”

  “Please call me Shane. Is it all right if I call you Troy?”

  Troy replies, “Yes, of course. And this is my wife, Pam.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Likewise.”

  Shane sits forward in his chair and clasps his hands together. “Let’s get directly to business. I want Lisa. She’s going to be the next Mary J. Blige.”

  “If you think she’s going to blow up, then why should I let her go?” Troy asks. “I’ve spent a lot of time grooming her into the artist that she is.”

  “And we appreciate what you’ve done, and we’re willing to compensate you for that. How does two million sound? I can write the check out now.”

  Troy’s eyes are open so wide they look about ready to fall out of his head. I place a hand in his. “It sounds like your first offer,” I respond smoothly.

  Shane laughs. “So what is your counteroffer?”

  Troy looks at me uncertainly. I take this as a cue to continue negotiating with Shane. “We’ll take four million, and you’ll have Lisa free and clear.”

  “Three is as high as I’ll go.”

  I can tell that Shane is bluffing. I’ve seen his particular game face in many a board meeting. He wants Lisa bad. If he didn’t, we wouldn’t even be talking. It seems to me that it would be much easier and cheaper to find another young singer than to purchase one already under contract.

  “Then I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about. If you want her, I’m sure every other major record company will also.”

  Troy looks nervous, and I can feel his palm sweating. I wish I could give him some of my confidence.

  Shane smiles. “All right. Three point five. And that’s truly my limit.”

  Troy relaxes, and I smile right back at Shane. “Troy, is three point five good for you?”

  “Yes. I believe that’s sufficient.”

  Shane and Troy shake hands, and we all laugh. For the next half hour we talk about details of the contract. Shane says we should see our first check within the next seven days.

  “Listen, Troy,” Shane says, standing up. “You obviously have an ear for talent. We’re willing to have you come work for us in our main office in New York.”

  Troy looks at me before he responds. “No. I can’t uproot my family like that. Plus, I’ve got other artists that are waiting on me to launch their careers.”

  “It’s an open invitation. Give it some thought.” Shane reaches to shake Troy’s hand and then mine.

  We walk out of the office on a cloud. We are silent on our way to the car, even though we’re both brimming with excitement. Troy fumbles with the keys to his Honda, but when he finally gets it open, we quickly fall into our seats.

  I’m the first to shout. “Hallelujah!”

  Troy laughs. “I know that’s right! This is enough to make me give God some glory.”

  Normally, I would’ve said something to the effect of, “You should give Him glory because He woke you up this morning,” but somehow that does not seem quite appropriate for this conversation.

  Troy continues, “I know one thing. I want a brand-new Benz. I’ve always wanted one.”

  “Troy. Three and a half million is not a fortune. I mean, that has to last us for some years.”

  “Woman, I’m getting me a car.”

  “Troy, you haven’t even paid tithes and offerings off this money.”

  “Ain’
t a tithe off of three and a half million dollars like three hundred fifty thousand?”

  “Yes.”

  Troy just leans his head back and starts laughing. “Pam, I know you love your church, but ain’t no way I’m giving them no half million dollars.”

  “You would be giving it back to God because He’s blessed you with an increase.”

  “Yeah, but God wouldn’t be the one buying Himself a new house and a new car with the money.”

  I always have problems with getting Troy to give offerings to the church. He thinks that every pastor is a crook and a con man. He doesn’t even hear when I tell him how Pastor Brown worked for twenty years and put a lot of his own money into starting the church. He pays no attention when I tell him that my pastor drove a beat-up Chevy Impala for years. Sure, Pastor Brown and First Lady Brown are living fine now, but most of that is coming from their fat pension checks.

  “Troy, don’t you know that when you are faithful in your giving, God will continue to bless you? The church could use that money for so many things.”

  “I ain’t never been faithful in giving before! I think God just blessed me because He likes me. It ain’t had nothing to do with putting no money in anybody’s offering.”

  Troy obviously has no idea how many seed offerings, and how many prayers, I’ve sent before the Lord. I’ve been praying for financial freedom for years, and I believe I’ve shown God that I will be a good steward.

  “Troy, don’t talk like that. You know better than to mock the Lord. Don’t play.”

  “Okay, Pam, why don’t we do this?” He takes my hand. “I’ll give you half of this money. You do whatever you want—pay tithes, offerings and whatever. You and I will go half and half on a house, and then whatever you have left is yours to keep.”

  I guess I can go for this. I’m going to give the Lord what’s His. Troy will find out when he looks up and he’s broke. When God allows your finances to be cursed, that’s a horrible thing. Troy better not come looking at me when his pockets are empty.

  I can say that this money is the answer to my prayers, but the truth is, I never prayed to be rich. I always just asked the Lord to give us what we need. I’d trade this check to have Troy sitting next to me on Sunday morning.

  Jesus, You’ve answered one of my prayers, I pray silently to myself as I go upstairs to meditate. But now could You work on my husband? You don’t have to make him a minister or anything like that, but would You please just make his heart right? All I want is for him to get saved. I want him to worship with me.

  Chapter 14

  Yvonne

  It took a lot out of me to come to our meeting tonight. How can I sit up here and even think about giving anybody any advice about anything?

  Luke has already gone to take the paternity test, but we don’t get the results for another two weeks. We have to go to a family court session to find out. Luke’s been walking around nervous. He sure isn’t acting like someone who’s absolutely sure he’s not the father.

  I haven’t slept much since I got that letter out of the mailbox. I haven’t been able to stop crying. I do it all day. Every time I think about all this, the tears start coming. I try to hold it in, especially when Luke walks in the room, but my body rebels against my wishes and does what it wants.

  Sister Pam’s been doing most of the advising tonight. She’s feeling good because her husband got all those millions of dollars. Well, I’m happy for her and her family. She’s a good woman, and she’s put up with a lot of mess from that man of hers.

  The two hours seem to fly by without me even noticing. It seems like every time Luke is out of my sight, I wonder if he’s off with Taylor and her son. I wonder if I’ll be able to handle it if the child is truly Luke’s. He finds out the results of the DNA test on December 20. Five days before Christmas. Maybe we’ll be fortunate and end up celebrating the fact that Luke is not the father of Taylor’s baby.

  After the meeting is over, Pam and I hang around to clean up the refreshment table. I make a mistake and jam my thumb into the side of the table. I yell, “Ouch!” and then I start to cry. It feels like someone just opened a pressure valve, because I can’t stop the tears even after my thumb is no longer throbbing.

  Pam asks, “Yvonne, are you okay?”

  I sit down at the table. “No, Pam. I am not okay. I’m about to lose my mind.”

  Pam sits down next to me and grabs both of my hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I open my mouth, and the entire sordid tale spills out. Telling someone else makes it feel more real. Pam looks horrified when she hears that Luke’s mistress is Taylor. I think that the two of them were becoming friends.

  I turn around when I hear the door to the sanctuary open. Her head is wrapped in a scarf, but even from a distance that curvy figure is unmistakable. What does Taylor want with me now?

  Taylor walks up to the table and stops directly in front of me. “Yvonne, I need to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” I can’t believe she has the audacity to believe she can have a conversation with me.

  “Well, you might not have anything to say, but I do. Pam, will you excuse us?”

  Pam gets up from the table and pats me on the back as she walks away. I almost wish I’d asked her to stay. I don’t want Taylor to see me fall apart. She doesn’t have a right to know that she can make me cry.

  “Taylor, what do you want?”

  “I want you to stop trying to tell Luke that he is not my son’s father, because he is.”

  “I haven’t tried to tell Luke anything, but how can you be so sure? Luke says that you’ve been quite promiscuous.”

  Taylor laughs out loud. “He would say that! And, of course, you would believe him. Luke can be pretty convincing.”

  “Why don’t we just let the test prove everything?”

  Taylor responds coolly, “Luke knows that he was the only one, Yvonne. Does it make you feel better to think that I slept around?”

  “Nothing in this entire situation makes me feel good. It would make me feel better if you just disappeared,” I reply, on the verge of tears. I wish she’d just go home and stop torturing me.

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere, and neither is my son, Yvonne. I’m not out to hurt you, but please don’t get in the way of what belongs to my son.”

  Taylor has tears streaming down her face. Her expression speaks pure rage, and it all seems to be directed at me. She needs to turn that mess back on herself. I didn’t make her sleep with a married man. She knew the chance she was taking, and if she didn’t, she should’ve.

  When I don’t respond to Taylor’s last comment, she grabs her coat and storms out of the room. I don’t know what to think or feel. My chest is aching as if Taylor just came and snatched the wind from my lungs. I want to go home, but I feel glued to this very spot.

  “Sister Yvonne?” It’s Pam, and she sounds worried.

  “Yes?”

  “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. You’re the innocent party in that whole little ugly scenario. I think Taylor ought to apologize to you.”

  Pam’s concern is touching and unexpected. I feel the tears starting again, and Pam comes and puts her arms around my body and holds me tight. I feel trapped in her embrace. I hear her whispering. She’s praying for me. Lord Jesus, help me.

  Chapter 15

  Taylor

  Mondays are usually my worst day of the week. It just seems like my brain doesn’t start working until about noon. Fortunately, nobody is doing much work this morning. The entire office is abuzz with the news of Pam’s sudden resignation. I knew something was up when she drove up to the church yesterday in a brand-new Benz. During service she was shouting so hard that the musicians kept going for at least forty-five minutes.

  Pam canceled a play date with her girls and Joshua that we had planned for the weekend. I can bet I know why. She and Yvonne are pretty chummy, both being a part of Sister to Sister. I wouldn’t be surprised if Yvonn
e told everyone her story and had them praying for her. It would be just like her to paint a picture of me as a husband-stealing whore.

  I finally get my personal computer booted up and logged in. There is already a stack of paperwork in my in-box. Lord, I am so not in the mood for this today.

  As I’m reading my e-mail, the scent of men’s cologne finds its way into my nostrils. And not the cheap kind either. I love a man who smells good. Some women like a man who smells like he just came in from hunting. Personally, I prefer a clean-cut brother who cares enough about himself to smell nice.

  I’m tempted to get up and follow my nose, but I restrain myself. I have entirely too much going on in my life to be looking for romance. Plus, I still have some men issues that I need to resolve.

  I continue to read my e-mail. All I seem to get is junk anyway. Lunch menus from the cafeteria, employee discounts and, of course, the thirty or so inspirational notes from the church members. Some of the saints think that they’re evangelizing with their e-mail ministries. More power to them, but I hope they really don’t think Microsoft is going to send them a check for forwarding some chain e-mail fifty times.

  I’m looking at an especially well made slide show about God’s goodness when I hear a deep ripple of laughter come across the room. The sound is too rich and full to be coming from a white man. That is definitely a brother.

  Curiosity gets the best of me, and I take a peek over the top of my cubicle. When I see the specimen of man that uttered the musical laughter, I wish I hadn’t looked. He is just about the finest black man I’ve laid eyes on in a long time. He is dark-dark with skin like polished ebony. He kind of reminds me of Luke, but he’s taller. He turns in my direction, and I get a front view of his face. He has beautiful almond-shaped eyes. And his teeth—pretty and white. Dag. This man is fine—and yes, I can see all this from across the room. His mannerisms speak success, and Glenda is looking at him with such regard that he must be someone important.