by Carl Weber
I messed that all up a few days after school let out for summer break, when some guys from New York introduced me to crack cocaine, or as we in the South called it back then, cook-'em-up. Hell, they were giving it away back when it first came out, just to get you hooked.
Thomas Kelly tried to warn me about messing with that stuff from the start, but I didn’t listen, and he didn’t press the issue because I had him under control. The power of pussy is a dangerous thing when it comes to men, young and old, and Thomas Kelly was no different from the rest. The last thing he wanted was for me to cut him off from the poontang.
Nobody knew how cook-'em-up really was back then, so I was oblivious to the danger I was putting myself in, until it was too late for both me and Thomas Kelly. I tricked him into smoking some crack about two weeks after I started. We’d gone to a cheap motel on Jeff Davis Highway that night, like we always did on Friday nights. I’d already smoked up my check from working at Church’s Fried Chicken before we got there. I wanted some more of that rock so bad that I flat out refused to have sex with him unless he gave me twenty dollars to buy some more. Well, he was a horny nineteen-year-old boy, so you know he gave me what I wanted. By the time we got back to the room, I’d promised to give him his first blow job if he’d try smoking with me. Well, to make a long story short, we ended up smoking up his check from Home Depot by the end of that night.
Within six months, everyone on our side of town referred to us as “Mr. and Mrs. Crackhead.” The community joke about us was, “The couple that smokes together stays together.” And I guess they were right to an extent because we were crackheads, and we did smoke together. What most people didn’t understand was that despite our addiction and the foul shit we did to our bodies, we still really loved each other.
Unfortunately, that love we shared wasn’t strong enough to overcome the love I had for crack. At some point, Thomas Kelly found God and cleaned himself up. When he asked me to get clean with him, I refused. He ended up moving to New York with his new mentor, a man named Reverend Jackson. He never knew that I was pregnant when he left me, and I never blamed him for going. It wasn’t until many years later, by the strangest coincidence you could ever imagine, that Thomas Kelly and I reconnected. I had moved to New York but was still too strung out on crack to go looking for him, even if I had wanted to. Anyway, by that time he had his church, a son and a daughter, and his wife, Charlene. Our paths probably never would have crossed if it weren’t for Tanisha.
Thomas Kelly didn’t know it at the time, but Tanisha, the woman his son Dante was about to marry, was his child, the daughter I gave birth to after he had cleaned himself up and left Virginia. Now, you know all hell broke loose when the truth was revealed at Dante and Tanisha’s wedding, but it’s not really as bad as it sounds. It turned out that Charlene was already pregnant when she met Thomas Kelly, so he was not Dante’s biological father. Things were crazy for a while until all the facts were pieced together, but Dante and Tanisha were eventually married, and I became a part of the bishop’s extended family. After some initial strained feelings, they accepted me into their family and even helped me finally get clean, but I had no idea that Charlene had felt the way this letter said she did.
I glanced at the letter one more time, then reached for my phone, dialing my daughter’s cell number. Tanisha and I never really had a mother/daughter relationship, mostly because my addiction made me incapable of properly mothering her. By the time she was able to take care of herself, Tanisha was trying to be the mother to me. She was a good kid and made a lot of sacrifices for me over the years. I was so happy she’d found happiness with Dante.
“Hey, Momma, whatchu doing?”
“Nothing. Um, just wanted to ask you something.” I picked up a cigarette and lit it.
“What, Momma? Everything all right? Is Aubrey okay?” That girl sure knew how to worry. She must have got that trait from her father.
“Everything’s fine, Tanisha. I was just thinking about asking a male friend of mine out to dinner. What do you think?”
There was silence for a second, then my daughter said sadly, “Did you say somebody asked you to dinner, or you’re gonna ask somebody to dinner?”
Now, I know she wasn’t hard of hearing, but I repeated myself anyway. “I was thinking about asking somebody.”
Again there was a brief silence, then that sadness to her voice when she finally spoke. “Whatever you wanna do, Momma.”
“You mad at me or something?”
“No, Momma I just—” She stopped herself. “If it’s gonna make you happy, Momma, ask him out. You deserve all the happiness you can get.” She could play like she was happy for me, but she wasn’t. I knew my child.
“Tanisha, what’s bothering you? And don’t tell me nothin'. I know you, girl.”
She took an audible breath. “I don’t know. I guess I was just hoping that you and the bishop might get back together now that Ms. Charlene is gone.”
A smile came to my face, but I didn’t know if I should tell her about the letter, because I didn’t know if she’d believe me. I wasn’t sure if the letter was authentic myself, but it had me thinking. “Why? Do you think your father’s interested? Or are you acting like every other child who wants to see their parents get back together?”
“Of course I wanna see my parents together. I love you both. No disrespect to Ms. Charlene, but I think she’d wanna see the bishop happy.”
“Well, I’m gonna tell you a secret, and I don’t want you to tell your husband. I’m going down to the church, and I’m planning to ask Thomas Kelly out to dinner.”
“Really, Momma?” I could hear the glee in her voice. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious, but I don’t want you to tell Dante because he’ll tell Donna. I don’t know how she’d feel about the idea of her father moving on so soon after her mother’s death. And you know since they’re Thomas Kelly’s kids, they may not think he’s ready.”
“I know Dante doesn’t, but you know he was a momma’s boy anyway. Hey, Momma … ”
“What is it, Tanisha?”
“Do you … do you still love the bishop?”
This time I hesitated before answering. “I never stopped loving him, baby. I just accepted that he loved someone else.”
I swear I could hear Tanisha smile through the phone. “Do me a favor, Momma. Don’t ask the bishop to dinner until tomorrow night.”
“Why?” I asked quickly.
“Because I wanna send you some money so you can get your hair done and buy a new outfit. I’m so excited!”
“Don’t get excited yet,” I cautioned. “I haven’t asked him, and he hasn’t said yes.”
“He’s gonna say yes. Every time I talk to him, he always asks about you.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
“Well, look, Momma, I gotta go. The baby’s crying. But I’m going down to Western Union to send you that money this evening, so make sure you call Nu-Tribe to make an appointment, and tell Niecy I said to hook you up.”
I hung up the phone, then picked up the letter, reading it aloud one more time. When I finished, I called the hair salon and made an appointment with Tanisha’s girl, Niecy. After throwing something together for dinner and helping Aubrey with his homework, I took a long, hot shower, then climbed into bed, hoping that I’d dream of the future when I’d be the wife of Thomas Kelly Wilson. Charlene wouldn’t have to worry the least bit about me taking real good care of him. I owed him that much. Hell, I owed us both that much.
3
MONIQUE
“Mmm, mmm, mmm, girl, you look good,” I told myself as I stared in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door. I ran my hands down my very round hips, my freshly manicured nails raking over my charcoal-colored wool pants. I had scoured every shop on the Avenue to find a pair of wool slacks just the right shade of black to complement my favorite sweater that zipped up the neck, or rather down the cleavage, which is how I preferred to wea
r it. I knew other women, especially the women at church, hated me and talked about me because of my large, firm breasts and how I showed them off every chance I got, but the Lord had given them to me for a reason, so covering them up completely would be a sin. I glanced at the mirror one last time. I knew I liked what I saw staring back at me. I just hoped the bishop would like it too.
It was still hard for me to believe that after all these years the bishop was actually coming to my house for Sunday dinner. And even more unbelievable was the fact that he was coming alone. Ever since the first lady died, he’d been traveling with an entourage of blockers who made it impossible for me to get any alone time with him, but tonight I was going to have him all to myself, in my house. Of course, he thought he was only coming over to discuss my proposal to open a Christian bookstore at the church. He had no idea that the other two members of my committee weren’t coming, because they didn’t exist. I know it was sneaky, but I got nervous with all the talk among the congregation that it was time to find the bishop a new wife. If he were going to have a new wife, it was going to be me. But those haters weren’t about to help me, so I had to help myself. If I were to get my way, this would only be the first of many candlelit dinners between me and Bishop T.K. Wilson.
I took a deep breath, pulling in what little stomach I had. I couldn’t help but smile as my breasts and butt just seemed to look a little larger. Yes, the bishop was going to like what he saw tonight. What man could resist a body like mine?
No sooner had I reached the kitchen and laid the pork chops on the cooling rack than the doorbell rang. “It’s him,” I said to myself in a singsong tone, my heart racing like a young girl on her first date. I quickly removed the oven mitts from my hands, placed them on the counter, and headed straight for the door. “Coming!” I yelled as the doorbell rang again. “Coming!”
When I opened the door, there he stood, Bishop T.K. Wilson, six feet tall with deep chocolate-colored skin and a perfectly groomed salt-and-pepper beard all wrapped up in a London Fog overcoat. He was quite possibly the most handsome man I’d ever seen, and the sudden heat between my legs emphasized the point. As much as I wanted to be a good Christian, the woman inside me felt like taking his hand and leading him straight to my bedroom to show him what he’d been missing all these years.
“Bishop,” I said, pulling the door open wide and stepping aside so that he could come in. His cologne made my knees weak.
“Sister Johnson,” he replied in his soothing baritone voice, checking his watch. “Am I early? I thought we were going to have dinner with your entire committee.”
“Bishop, would you believe they both canceled on me at the last minute? I think their kids have the flu. You know how bad that’s running around these days.”
The bishop nodded, but I’m not sure if he believed me. I was thankful that he’d come alone but was a little worried when he peered suspiciously into the candlelit dining room. I knew I should have waited to light the candles until dinner was served.
“Well, let me know when they reschedule.” He turned to the door.
“Don’t be silly, Bishop. We don’t need them to have a bookstore meeting. Besides, I’ve already made dinner. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“No, I haven’t, but I don’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense. You’re not imposing. Both my boys live with their father now. It’ll be nice to have a dinner companion for once. Here, let me take your coat,” I insisted as I slowly slid his coat down his back and hung it on the coatrack next to the door. “Please, have a seat on the couch. I just took the pork chops out of the oven, so they need to cool a little bit.”
“Pork chops? I love pork chops.” As he moved to place his keys in his pocket, they dropped, and when he bent over to pick them up, I had to catch my breath, because the tingle between my legs was intensifying. Mmm, mmm, mmm, the man had a butt like two halves of a honeydew melon, and all I wanted to do was take a bite.
“So, Sister Johnson,” Bishop said, sitting on the couch and getting right to business. “I think your idea of opening up a Christian bookstore is awesome.”
“Bishop,” I said, sitting next to him, “it just came to me one day while I was out looking for an NIV Bible. There just aren’t any places to find good Christian books in this borough.”
We talked about the bookstore for ten minutes, but the bishop wasn’t looking at me—at least not in the way I felt he should’ve been. I sighed, repositioned myself, and did whatever else I could do so that he would notice my cleavage, but the man would not take his eyes off my face. I know my brown, saucer-shaped eyes were mesmerizing, but with a zip-down sweater on, I thought the bishop’s eyes would wander south at least once. I’m not about to lie; it was frustrating. How could he not want to look at them? They were beautiful.
The thought crossed my mind that he could possibly be gay. I mean, there were plenty of gay men in the church. Heck, some might even call our church Down Low City. But I knew he wasn’t gay. He had two children and was married for at least twenty years. Besides, before his wife died, I’d caught him sneaking a peek more than once. No, he wasn’t gay. He was careful, and I couldn’t blame him. After all, he was the pastor of the biggest church in Queens. It had to be my approach. There was something I wasn’t doing right. But what? My momma always told me the key to any man’s heart lies between your thighs. And up until now, she ain’t never lied.
“Do you have any idea where you’d like to have the store?” he asked.
“Yep, I sure do.” Now was my opportunity to show off my hips and firm, round ass. Maybe he wasn’t a breast man. Maybe he was an ass man. “There’s a vacant store right across the street from the church. I took a picture of it this morning with my camera phone.” I got up and walked across the room, taking my time as I bent over to retrieve my phone from my bag. When I stood up and turned to him, he had to sit back and look up in the air for a second ‘cause he was busted!
Gotcha, I told myself as I smiled. So, you’re an ass man, huh? Well, I can do tricks like those video dancers.
“What do you think of this?” I sat down next to him, showing him the pictures on my phone.
“Perfect,” he said with a smile. “Absolutely perfect. I’ve looked at that vacant store a thousand times over the past year and never even thought about its potential. And you would be the perfect woman to spearhead the church’s Christian bookstore if it were to come to fruition.”
“I don’t know about the perfect woman …” I blushed, playfully putting my hand on the bishop’s hand, which was resting on his knee. “After all, I think Ms. Charlene was the perfect woman.”
“Oh, thank you,” he said genuinely, sliding his hand from underneath mine, patting it gently before folding his on his lap. “What a great compliment for the first la—”
The bishop caught himself. I guess he realized, just like I did, that she was the late first lady, and never being one to bite my tongue, I decided to speak on that.
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “More than anyone can ever imagine.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to sour the mood. Dinner should be cooled off by now. What do you say we eat?” I said, changing the subject … for now.
Over dinner, the bishop listened attentively while I discussed some of my ideas about the bookstore. After dinner, over two cups of coffee, I listened attentively while he discussed some of his ideas about the bookstore. After the second cup, unfortunately, he was ready to call it a night.
“Well, Sister Johnson,” he said as he rose from the dinner table.
“Oh, please, Bishop,” I said, cutting him off as I stood up and placed my hand on his shoulder. “We just spent the evening together. Call me Monique.”
“Well, Sister Monique,” the Bishop continued, “I must say that this idea of a Christian bookstore is definitely an ordained vision that I’m certain God will manifest if He’s in agreement. It will be hard work at first, I’m sure. But the fru
its of your labor will be so rewarding.”
“Oh, Bishop,” I said, slowly sliding my hand down his shoulder and to his slightly crooked tie. Being the perfectionist that I am, the slant of his tie was driving me crazy, so I had to take the initiative to straighten it out. “I love hard work. And like the Bible says, “To whom much is given, much is required.” Well, I’m willing to give it my all.” At that point, I felt a little piece of hair sticking to my cotton-candy lipstick, which matched my polish, so I licked my lips, then slowly ran my index finger across my bottom lip until I removed the piece of hair.
How embarrassing, I thought. No telling how long that stupid piece of hair has been on my lip.
“Oh, I don’t doubt at all, Sister Monique, that you’ll put your everything into the bookstore,” he said, finally taking his eyes away from my luscious mouth. “But as you know, I have to take it to the trustee board first.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Oh, of course, Bishop,” I said, close on his heels.
“But I think they will see the benefits of having the bookstore.”
“Bishop, you have no idea just how endless the benefits are going to be.” I removed his coat from the rack and helped him into it.
“Oh, I think I do,” the bishop said, taking my hand off his lapel and patting it like I was a cute little puppy. “So, you’ll definitely be hearing from me again regarding this matter. Matter of fact, I’ll have my secretary set up a meeting for sometime next week, but in the meantime, thank you for a lovely evening.”
“No, Bishop, thank you.”
I wasn’t about to let him end our evening with just a pat on the hand, so I leaned in to plant a kiss on his lips. Just as my lips were about to touch his, he turned his right cheek, but I gently raised my hand, stopping his head. Our lips met in a soft kiss. Less than a second later, he stepped away with a confused look. I smiled as I noticed he was now wearing a fresh coat of cottoncandy lipstick.
“I hope I wasn’t too forward, Bishop, but I just wanted to thank you properly—my way.”