Sex in the Sanctuary

by Lutishia Lovely

  Tai snatched her hand out of his grasp. “Why did you move my things?” she asked, skeptical and indignant. “I’m tired, King. I’m ready to take a shower and go to bed. Alone.”

  King reached for Tai again. She backed away. He dropped his arm and continued. “In a minute, baby. What I have to say can’t wait.” He walked over to the stereo and turned off the CD. Then he reached once more for Tai, who was still standing by the door. This time she didn’t resist him. He walked them over to the bed and sat down. Tai reluctantly complied. King turned to face Tai directly. He looked into her eyes. She stared back, as if seeing his face for the first time. No matter what had happened, no matter what went down, this Negro still had the power to make her wet. She averted her eyes and withdrew her hand from his.

  “I’m listening,” she said softly.

  King nodded and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry for everything, Tai, but most of all, I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for the way I’ve locked you out of my life emotionally. For the way I’ve disrespected you and disrespected our family. I’m sorry for all of the time I’ve spent away from home, and the way you’ve had to raise the twins almost single-handedly. How I’ve taken on more and more speaking engagements to escape what I didn’t want to face here at home. What I thought was a lost love for you, and for what we had.”

  Tai turned slowly to face him. “Is that all you’re sorry for?” she asked pointedly.

  King knew exactly what she meant. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

  Tai continued staring at him and said nothing.

  “I’m sorry for cheating on you. I’m sorry for the affair, for all the affairs.”

  Tai turned away from him and remained silent.

  “I thought the grass was greener on the other side,” he continued.

  Tai swung back around angrily. “You’ve been on the other side before.”

  King nodded his agreement. “I know, I know. And each time I’ve sworn to you I’d never do it again.”

  “And each time you’ve lied.”

  How could King deny what Tai said? Truer words had never been spoken. How could he make her see that this time would be different—that this time he could and would change? There was nothing King could say that would make Tai believe him, he deduced. Only time and his changed behavior would recapture Tai’s trust. He admitted it would be an uphill journey. A hill he’d created. He sat quietly as the sensation of despair rose up from a place deep inside him. For the first time in their marriage, the thought that Tai may not forgive him crossed his mind. The thought brought with it an irrepressible wave of sadness and fear.

  “Three people make a crowded bed, King.” Tai got up and walked to the other side of the room to put some space between them. She couldn’t think with King so close—feeling his heat, smelling his cologne. But that wasn’t the only odor. The scent of true remorse was emanating from King’s silence. Tai didn’t want to smell remorse. Remorse weakened her defenses, threatened her resolve to not let King back into her heart so easily. No, she didn’t want to forgive him. She wanted him to hurt like she’d been hurting. To feel the pain she’d experienced.

  What she didn’t understand was how much he was already hurting. Giving in to his flesh once again and disappointing God in the process had caused an ache in King’s soul that found no comfort. An ache that no one else could ever imagine, would never know. He crossed the room and stood next to Tai. Close to but not invading her personal space.

  “From this day forward, you will be the only woman in my bed and in my life, Tai. That is, if there’s any way you can find it in your heart to forgive me, to give this marriage one more try.”

  “From this day forward?” Tai countered incredulously. “Do you really think an apology and a ring are all it takes to mend the rift, no, make that the Grand Canyon that exists between us?”

  Ah, yes. Anger. Anger was good. Anger could help calm the warming emotions threatening to outweigh Tai’s sense of indignation. She wrapped her thoughts around that anger and, turning on him, burst into dialogue. She swept her hand across the room in exaggerated fashion, indicating the myriad candles lit all around.

  “Very romantic atmosphere, King,” she spat sarcastically. “How many nights did I try to seduce you, my own husband, only to have you turn your back in rejection? How many times did I try to talk to you, talk about our marriage and your affair? And how many times did you lie about it?

  “For months I’ve done everything humanly possible to make the best of a bad situation, even taking the blame for your sick infidelities. I actually was fool enough to think that somehow your straying ass must have been my fault, something I was doing wrong. I tried to be the woman I thought you wanted, lost weight, changed my hairstyle—not that you noticed.”

  “I did notice,” King interrupted. “It looks, uh, great,” he said lamely.

  “Ha!” Tai snorted. “A day late and a dollar short with that compliment, you big ape! Well, guess what, King. You can keep your funky compliment. You can keep your apology, and for that matter, you can keep your itty-bitty mistress. Because now that you’re so ready to make it work? I’m not so sure this marriage is what I want.”

  Tai was trembling all over as she stomped to the door and snatched it open. She turned and glared at King before continuing in a quiet, deadly tone. “Now, you think on that while you move my stuff back into the guest room!”

  King punched the pillow, still tossing and turning hours after Tai’s parting words had slashed him like a butcher knife. What had he expected, for Tai to welcome him with open arms? Did he think that like the prodigal son she would throw him a party, give him a robe and a ring? Had he imagined those grilled steaks to be fatted calf? He snorted and, unable to sleep, dragged himself to a sitting position. Turning on the lamp beside the bed, he looked with self-directed disdain at the now extinguished candles taking up every available space in the room. In a fit of anger he jumped from the bed and grabbed a large shopping bag from the closet. He began gathering up the candles and, like missiles to the moon, fired them into the bag one by one. Once that bag filled up he stalked over to the closet and grabbed a plastic bag from the cleaner’s. After tying a knot at one end, he walked around the room throwing the remainder of candles inside it. Then he knotted the open end and flung the bag against the closet wall, shattering some of the candles inside. Finally he walked over to the bed and sat down heavily. He put his head in his hands, and before long his tears were escaping, sliding down his arm and across his thigh before landing on the shimmering comforter beneath him. The total helplessness that King felt was evident in his next thoughts as words he normally would never use came tumbling out of his mouth.

  “You have fucked up, man. You have really fucked up this time.” He swiped at his eyes angrily, but the tears continued. He crawled back into the bed and lay motionless, staring at the ceiling as the tears slid down his face and stained the bed. It’s gonna take more than dinner and diamonds, my brotha, he thought cynically, turning on his side and pounding his pillow forcefully. “A whole lot more,” he whispered aloud.

  Tai jumped as she heard a loud thump echo from the master bedroom. What is he doing? And what had she done? Had she just done something crazy—like thrown her marriage away?

  Tai had barely made it to the guest room and turned the shower on full blast before the tears erupted, the water concealing the sobs that exploded from the depths of her being. She had applauded her actions one minute and condemned them the next. In the end, divorcing King was not what she wanted. So why had she gotten so angry when the very thing she’d petitioned God for, King acknowledging he wanted the marriage also, had happened?

  Pride, God said.

  And He was right. The fact that King thought he could just waltz back into her life, and the fact that he was right, had been a staggering revelation, even knowing how much she loved King. Oh, the anger had felt good at the moment. But the
anger Tai felt for King hardly matched the fury she felt with herself. Furious because not ten minutes after her fuming outburst in the bedroom, Tai was ready to forgive King and try again. Outraged because images of how sexy King looked in that lounging outfit came floating into her mind, bringing with them a physical reaction that hardened her nipples. Incredulous that her own emotions and heart would betray her with a need to see King.

  Even now, as she listened for more noises to come from the direction of the master bedroom, she wrestled with her emotions. Should she make another go at living with King just when she had reached the point where she could live without him? Did she dare open her heart to him again? I mean, just how many times was she supposed to forgive this man?

  Seventy times seven. Just like My Word says.

  “Oh, who asked You,” Tai whispered angrily, before remembering who she was talking to and adding, “Forgive me, Lord.” Tai knew she should forgive King, but knowing what you should do and doing what you should do—as King so aptly demonstrated—were two different things. But Tai had to ask herself. What would she gain by holding out on forgiving King? Would she be any less of a woman if she did it tomorrow instead of two months from now? Did she think that time would remove the essence of April from King’s body before she could reclaim it? And what about April? Should she let that bitch waltz into the sunset without a word? Could she trust King to have really ended their liaison? How could she be sure? And then there were her hurt feelings to consider. Yes, she wanted King, but could she love him again? Unconditionally, as she used to, as she was supposed to? She already knew the answer to that question was no, because there was a condition—one with no exceptions. King could never have another affair. As sure as she knew her name, she knew that she could never put up with another act of unfaithfulness. So did that mean she’d put up with this one? Lord, why did life seem more complicated after his apology, instead of less?

  The questions continued to bombard Tai’s mind relentlessly as she tossed and turned during her sleepless night. When she finally drifted off to sleep, during the early morning hours, her mind was filled with thoughts of a mahogany man with chocolate eyes, a strong body and a nice, thick…

  Everybody plays the fool

  Millicent looked around the childhood room that in years gone by had been her safe haven and where she’d retreated once more after “the incident.” Its familiarity had brought immense comfort upon her arrival, even though the canopy bed with frilly white lace of her youth had long been replaced with the more elegant four-poster mahogany design in what was now the guest room. Still, the faux Monet watercolor prints were the same, as was the rocking chair in which she sat. The shelves her father had built a lifetime ago still housed her precious porcelain doll collection, each perfectly etched face giving silent companionship in her abject loneliness. She ran her hand over the brightly colored afghan that warmed her legs against the prewinter chill. She wished there were something that could warm the chill in her heart, something that could fill its emptiness and sooth the dull, continuous ache that beat a melancholy rhythm against her soul.

  She placed the unread book of Psalms aside and walked to the window. It was early afternoon, and neighborhood children were walking home from school, some running and playing, others with their heads together in childhood conspiracies of only God knew what. It seemed just yesterday it was her walking home, mostly alone or with one of her boyfriends, or running home after another mean-spirited attack by some of the town’s bullies. She remembered thinking at the time that those were the worst days of her life. If she only knew…

  I’m the world’s biggest fool. Although the thought was constant, it hurt less with each passing day. The pain still felt like a knife wedged deep in her heart, but at least she could breathe again. The tears had dried somewhat, although she wasn’t past an outburst now and again. The therapy was helping, as was the antidepressant medication. Still, she had no idea when she’d be able to return to work and, in fact, wasn’t sure she could return to Los Angeles at all for fear of running into one of them. A Kingdom Citizens’ member who’d witnessed “the incident.” The biggest fool. Not that they were the only ones privy to what had occurred. No, Millicent wouldn’t have been surprised had Oprah called and wanted the 4-1-1 for a show on crazy women stalkers. Or maybe it would be Jan Crouch from Trinity Broadcasting Network wanting to interview her for a segment called “Fools Who Miss God.” Even her friend Alison, cosseted just outside the small town of Clarkstown, New York, had e-mailed her with a frantic “What’s Going On???” message, one she still hadn’t answered. She still didn’t feel like talking to anybody but her mom and her therapist. She hadn’t yet found the words to talk to God. Fool, fool, fool, fool, fool…

  Talking to God was something Millicent wondered if she could ever do again. How could she talk to Him when she obviously had no idea how He sounded? She’d been so convinced it was His voice she’d heard, His words she’d obeyed, and what had it gotten her? A first place spot on the Freak-of-the-Week list at KCCC and a sixty-day leave of absence from her job. Thankfully it was a paid leave, even though she’d had to turn down the promotion to director with its six-figure income.

  Millicent walked over and sat down heavily on the down-filled mattress. It gave her little comfort. You’re a fool, Millicent, a big, big fool. And everybody knows it. She lay back, and even though she hated closing her eyes, she did anyway. She hated closing them because she always saw the video. The video called “Millicent Plays the Fool,” starring Millicent Sims. She groaned and turned over. She knew it was no use trying to stop it; there were only two buttons on this video machine, “play” and “repeat play.”

  The video always seemed to start at about the same place, with Millicent in an undignified heap at Hope Jones’s feet. Hope’s shoes were the first thing she saw as she came to that day, having fainted from the stress of walking down the aisle. Fool. Cy’s face was etched indelibly in her memory—he looked like he’d seen Satan himself. Pastor Derrick had stood frozen, willing his sanity to transfer to her. It hadn’t. She kept walking down the aisle, as in a trance. She remembered hearing the muffled voices, the din of conversations as she walked the road to perdition, the congratulations and compliments on her gown before they realized Insanity, not Beautiful, was walking down the aisle. She’d felt physically ill as she struggled to her feet and away from the woman who represented all she hated, all she’d never have. Yes, those e-mails had reached her, too. The ones announcing the engagement of Hope Jones and Cy Taylor. As if on cue, the tears began as the movie played on. Everybody plays the fool, but none as bad as you.

  The head usher, two-hundred-and-eighty-five-pound Rodney Lewis, had literally picked Millicent and Vera-the-dress up and whisked them out of the sanctuary as if she were a parasite with leprosy. She’d been deposited into a nearby prayer room with Vivian and the congregation’s head nurse, Sistah Flora, who immediately removed her veil and undid the beaded-up bodice of her extravagant gown so she could get some air. They’d placed cloth after cloth of cool water on her forehead; all the while Vivian had prayed in tongues. Millicent was barely aware of her surroundings. It was as if she were being buried alive in a vat of oil. She felt she was sinking farther and farther into an abyss from which she’d never return. She was barely aware of the commotion as she was whisked out one of the church’s side doors into the still-waiting limo, with Vivian praying silently by her side. Mother Moseley had accompanied them because as much as she laughed at Millicent’s unabashed affections for Cy Taylor, she nevertheless felt an immense compassion for a woman who would go to such lengths for what she believed was God’s will. Mother Moseley was convinced that was the only thing that would have led Millicent to do what she’d done because Millicent was many things, but crazy was not one of them. Her purse, suitcase and train-filled garment bag had preceded her and were lying ominously on the limo’s smooth black leather seat. The faucet that contained a never-ending supply of tears had been turned on at that
moment, and she sobbed quietly against Mother Moseley’s bosom as the older woman shushed her and assured her it was gonna be all right. And the tape began, fool, fool, fool.

  Vivian had found Millicent’s keys and let them inside her condo. She took in the wedding day disarray of boxes and bags and toiletries strewn everywhere as she led Millicent into her bedroom, undressed her and tucked her in bed. “You want to talk?” she’d asked Millicent, even as she guessed the negative answer. She left her in a dimly lit room to rest while she and Mother Moseley cleaned up and tried to rid the condo of any evidence of the day’s tragic events.

  Millicent had remained in bed the rest of the day, not talking to anyone. Vivian had stayed for a while and left, with Vera-the-dress, while Mother Moseley stayed to make sure Millicent didn’t do anything foolish. Mother Moseley had rummaged through bare cupboards and a near empty refrigerator and found enough ingredients to put together a tasty vegetable soup—not that anyone tasted it but her. Millicent ate some at Mother Moseley’s insistence, but for all her awareness it could have been mud going down her throat. It was several hours after “the incident” and she hadn’t stopped crying. In fact, she was getting worse, her sobs turning to moans that turned to groans and then howls. After Mother Moseley prayed and rebuked Satan and prayed some more, with little visible result, she decided to call Sistah Flora and get a little man-made assistance. Having worked in a variety of mental institutions for most of her thirty-five years in nursing, Sistah Flora would know how to handle someone with emotional problems. She came almost immediately, looking like an angel in her white silk suit sans hat and gloves, and administered a mild tranquilizer so that Millicent could sleep. It was also the first peace Mother Moseley had experienced since a dream spelling trouble awakened her earlier that morning. Little did she know that the dream would become a nightmare before the sun set in the evening.