by Carl Weber
Smitty came to me and told me he was done, that he didn’t want to steal anymore, but I refused to stop dipping into the church funds. I’m sorry, but I just wasn’t ready to give up my free-spending lifestyle. We finally came to an agreement: He was going to give me his half of our last job together, and then we would go our separate ways, each of us promising to carry the secret to our graves. I truly believed that he killed himself because the secret was eating him up, and he just wanted to get to his grave that much sooner. Maxwell’s news was truly a bombshell.
“I can’t believe Smitty was gay.”
“Oh, he was gay, all right. One time about eight years ago when James and I were down in Atlantic City bar-hopping with a couple of fine-ass Spanish chicks—”
“Eight years ago?” I frowned.
“Oh, that’s right. You and James were seeing each other about eight years ago, weren’t you? Oops, my bad.”
It was his bad, all right. He loved the fact that he could keep damn near spitting in my face. He wasn’t the least bit sorry that he’d let that slip out—no more sorry than he was for me stumbling upon him and Monique.
“Just finish your story, Maxwell.”
“Yeah, right. Well, we happened to go into this one bar. Now, it only takes about five seconds for us to realize this was a gay bar. James and I, we were ready to hightail it the hell out of there, but the two Spanish chicks think it’s cute and wanna stay and have a drink. Like I said, they’re fine, so we stayed.” Maxwell chuckled. “Next thing you know, we’re looking at the dance floor, and there’s Jackie and Smitty bumping and grinding. Now, you know James. He thinks he’s a professional photographer, and he’s always got a digital camera, so he starts taking pictures of these two on the DL. They never even saw us. And no one was the wiser until I started blackmailing Smitty with information and James gave T. K. the file with pictures.”
“Don’t you feel any guilt behind his death?” I realized what a stupid question that was as soon as I asked it. Maxwell wouldn’t feel bad about running over his neighbor’s dog.
“Smitty was a means to an end. He could have made a lot of money, and I would have never told his wife if he had kept his mouth shut and did what he was told. He was stupid. My question for you is, do you wanna make a lot of money and stay out of jail, or are you stupid too?”
“Yeah, I wanna make a lot of money, and no, I’m not stupid. But what I still don’t understand is where all the money went. I know Smitty and I took some, but for the church to be in such bad shape, someone had to have taken a lot more.”
“Let’s just say there is someone else taking money, too, and when he’s exposed, the church will come tumbling down.”
I was astounded by the depth of Maxwell’s hatred for Bishop Wilson. “Are you serious? You’re trying to destroy the church and ruin the bishop all in the name of love?”
“Yep, and I’m going to do it too. You, of all people, should understand, with the way things are going with you and Aaron.”
He had some nerve bringing up my relationship with Aaron. But then again, he had a point. Maxwell was going through a great deal to be with the woman he loved. It made me wonder, was I doing enough when it came to being with Aaron? I needed to hurry up and finish this meeting with Maxwell so I could get back to work on winning over the man I loved.
Tia
45
Even though Aaron and I were sitting together, we didn’t say too much during the first few minutes of the bus ride back home. That was because the choir members couldn’t stop giving him praise. He was taking it all in for everything it was worth, but as he tired of it, he began to let on by saying, “To God be the glory, to God be the glory.” Finally everyone let him be and talked amongst themselves.
“You know, eventually you are going to have to take some type of credit for how far this choir has come,” I told him.
He gave me a nod. “A real leader doesn’t have to tell people he’s doing great things. The people who follow and believe in him can see it.”
“I think you’ve been spending too much time with the bishop. You’re starting to become quite the philosopher. Let me find out you gonna be a preacher one day,” I teased.
“It crossed my mind a time or two,” Aaron said with a chuckle. “I guess that would make you my first lady.”
I took hold of his hand. “In order to be a first lady, you have to be married. I’m not even sure if I’m your girlfriend.”
He stared at me, momentarily speechless. “Um, Tia, I thought we were just kidding around here. Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?”
I lifted our hands, which were still clasped together. “Maybe for you, but I don’t operate in the world of casual sex and emotions.”
“Tia, I know I like you … but I just broke up with Simone.”
Aaron and I had shared something far greater than just the winning of a competition. We’d shared a moment, our own private moment. Although I’d spent a great deal of time with him before, that kiss moved our friendship into a whole different realm—at least as far as I was concerned. But if he wasn’t ready to turn in his player card, then I needed to give him an out now, before things went any further and I got myself hurt.
“Look, Aaron, I understand.” I turned my body toward his. “I am not mad about that kiss. As if you couldn’t tell, I welcomed it.” I felt the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks and hoped he didn’t notice. “If it was something you did just because you were caught up in the moment, I’ll take it as just that and move on.” I paused and then decided to just go for it. “But if it was more … if it was the beginning of something real, then I’d love to see where we could take things.”
“Oh, Tia, it was real,” he admitted. “I must admit, though, I shocked myself. I don’t know where it came from. It must have come from a feeling I had buried deep down inside up until now. But I guarantee you, those feelings were real.”
I could hear his words, and they sounded sincere, but that wasn’t enough. There was something else I needed to get straight.
“Simone, Porsche … I’m not them. I don’t play those kinds of games. I don’t do one-night stands and I don’t—”
“Shhh.” He gently pressed his index finger over my lips. “I know you are not Simone or Porsche, and that’s why I’m so drawn to you.”
“But women like them are what you’re used to. And I’m so different from them, Aaron, in so many ways.”
“Good, because if I wanted a woman like that, I’d have one. But I want you, Tia. The more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve wanted you since the day I met you on the stairs of the church.”
Okay, I was blushing again, hard, and there was no way he didn’t notice this time. But I had to pull myself together. There was still another ground rule to discuss, and when it came to a man like Aaron, I worried it could be the deal breaker.
“I’ve been living a celibate lifestyle, Aaron, and if you and I were to take this thing between us to another level, you need to know that I’ve made a vow that I’m going to remain celibate until marriage.”
“Hmmm, is that so?” He leaned back, studying my face.
“That’s so,” I confirmed.
That’s when I expected him to turn around, slump down in his seat, and act like I wasn’t there anymore. He did turn around, but he wasn’t pouting. He looked like he was deep in thought. My heart palpitated. Before anything had even really happened between us, it was about to be over.
“Well, then …” He sighed. “I guess that makes me celibate too.” He leaned in and kissed me—and I swear I heard a few choir members around us offering quiet applause.
Monique
46
I stood trembling as I scrubbed my body ferociously, salty tears streaming down my face and mixing with the shower spray. I was trying to get Maxwell’s revolting scent off me. This was my fourth shower in the past three hours. I felt used, disgusting, inside and out. How can you wash away sin? I’d been called a whore, a slut, a je
zebel, and a hundred other derogatory names in my life, but none of them ever bothered me because I knew they weren’t true. Now I couldn’t say that about being called an adulteress, because I was one. I’d broken my vow to God, to T. K., and to myself to be faithful. I honestly didn’t think I could go any lower.
Now I understood how Jonathan Smith must have felt when he committed suicide. He just wanted the pain of life to go away, to feel free again. I felt the same way, like nothing short of death was ever going to make me whole again.
T. K. would never forgive me if he found out what I’d done, what I’d allowed Maxwell to do. My reason for doing it wouldn’t matter. I’d done it so that he wouldn’t go to jail for crimes he’d committed, but T. K. would still never be able to stay married to an adulteress.
Regardless of the consequences to my marriage, though, I had no choice but to sleep with Maxwell. There was no doubt that he would have gone through with sending T. K. to jail if I hadn’t complied, and I loved my husband enough to do anything for him. Yes, T. K. was wrong for stealing from the church, but I just couldn’t let him go to jail. All the good he’d done by preaching the Word every week far outweighed this one lapse in judgment. As disgusting as it was, I looked at sleeping with Maxwell as the only way to allow T. K. to continue to do good works. Maybe one day I would find a way to bring up the subject and convince him to stop stealing.
I didn’t think I’d ever get the memory of Maxwell crawling on top of me out of my mind. I could still feel his rough hands moving from one section of my body to the other and his chapped lips kissing me in places they had no business being. I know technically it wasn’t rape, but it sure felt like it. I felt violated and ashamed. What made it even worse was that I had to pretend that I was enjoying it, because when I didn’t, he’d remind me of my husband’s future if his police officer friend made one call to the district attorney’s office.
God, if I could have just found a way to talk him out of it. I had hoped that by the time we got to his house I could reason with Maxwell’s compassionate side, but I soon found out that he didn’t have one. All he cared about was fulfilling his fantasy of getting me naked in his bedroom so that he could do his business. For a man with a heart condition, he sure didn’t act like it. He had this warped recollection of the different things we used to do in the bedroom, like he’d fantasized about them so often that he truly believed we’d done those nasty things, and I swear he wanted to relive every one of them.
As if being intimate with him wasn’t bad enough, the way he kissed me, making me trade saliva with him in front of Simone, had to be the low point of my life. I will never forget the look on Simone’s face when we made eye contact. As scandalous as Si-mone had been lately, I could tell even she looked down on me for what I had done. I didn’t think I would ever be able to look her in the face again.
I let out an anguished scream in the shower. I wished God would strike down Maxwell for putting me in this position, but I had no faith that God would bring me justice. For the first time in my life, I felt angry at God. He was supposed to look out for His servants, so how could He put me in this position?
I collapsed into an exhausted heap on the shower floor. Once again, suicide came to mind. I didn’t think I could do it with a gun like Jonathan had, but there was a whole bottle of sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet that would do the trick. I lay there in the shower until the water ran cold, trying to gather the courage to get the sleeping pills and swallow them all.
“Hey, hon, I’m home.”
I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard T. K.’s voice. I was in such a daze I hadn’t even heard him open the bathroom door. What was he doing home anyway? He wasn’t supposed to be here for at least another six hours.
“We won! We won the regional championship. Can you believe it? We’re going to nationals. Boy, that Aaron is something else.”
“That’s great,” I mumbled halfheartedly, hoping he’d go away so I could get myself together.
“Hey, why don’t we celebrate our choir’s victory in a spontaneous, romantic way?” Through the beveled shower glass, I could see him slipping out of his clothes, and suddenly my heart was in my mouth. “It’s been a while since we’ve taken a shower together.”
No, no, no, please, Lord. Haven’t I had to deal with enough today?
“T. K., honey, I’m just about to get out.”
“Well, stay in. I missed my wife so much. Trust me. I’ll make it worth your while.” I watched as T. K. slipped off his boxers.
“I missed you, too, but …” My heart hammered in my chest.
I’m not going to have sex with him, I vowed. I don’t even know if I can look him in the face right now. Dear God, please do something.
I was prepared to lie to avoid him, tell him it was that time of the month or something, when his phone went off.
Thank you, Jesus! I thought I was literally being saved by the bell, until I realized he planned on ignoring it. He was about to step into the shower with me.
I turned my back in case my eyes were swollen from crying. “Honey, get your phone.”
“I’m not going to answer that.” He chuckled as he pressed up against me from behind, shivering when he felt the cold water. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”
“That never stopped you before. Baby, please answer the phone,” I pleaded. “You never know who it could be.”
Finally, he relented, stepping out of the shower to retrieve his phone.
“Hello … Yes, this is Bishop Wilson…. What? … Oh, Lord.”
I cut off the water and stepped out of the shower as fast as I could. He was standing there almost in a daze.
“What happened?” I asked, wrapping a large bath towel around myself.
“It’s James. He’s taken a turn for the worse. His left lung collapsed.”
“Oh my goodness. That’s horrible.”
T. K. sighed. “Go ahead and get dressed. We need to get to the hospital. I’m gonna call Maxwell. I’m sure he’s going to want to meet us over there.”
The Bishop
47
I got up from behind my desk and walked over to the mini refrigerator in my office. I pulled out two Snapple iced teas, glancing over at Maxwell, who was sitting in his usual chair to the left of my desk. Simone Wilcox had just left my office with an offer from Pelican Trading Company to purchase the senior housing property. The offer was for three million dollars, one million more than the previous offer we’d received, but nothing close to what we had invested in the property or owed to creditors.
I held up a bottle. “You want one of these?”
“Yeah, I’ll take one.”
I tossed Maxwell a Snapple and headed back behind my desk.
“So, what do you think? Should we sell for the three million?”
He opened his drink and took a long swig. “I’m not sure, but the clock is ticking. We need to have that property sold before we appear in front of the bankruptcy court judge.”
“I know, Maxwell, but for three million dollars? James told me the property is worth at least five, maybe more.” I tried to open the Snapple, but for the life of me I couldn’t get the plastic ring off the top of the bottle. My nerves were shot, and it wasn’t because of the bankruptcy. My wife and I were having problems in the bedroom, and it was starting to get to me.
“Well, why doesn’t James get us a better deal, then? I mean, with all due respect, the guy’s been out of the real estate business for almost three years. I’ve got as much respect for James as any-body—you know that—but the man’s lung just collapsed and he’s on his deathbed. It’s not like he’s out there trying to find us a better deal.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Maxwell. I just don’t want us to get shortchanged.” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t open the bottle. I flexed my fingers in frustration. I hoped I wasn’t getting arthritis. “Doggone it!”
“Hey, Bishop, let me get that off for you.”
Maxwell gest
ured for me to give him the bottle. I sighed and handed the bottle to him. Maxwell opened it in a mere flick of the wrist. I was too melancholy to even feel jealousy at his better physical strength. I was about five years older than Maxwell, and for the first time, I was beginning to feel my age.
“Listen, Bishop, about this property. I’ll hold Simone off for the next week or two so we can listen to any new offers, but after that I’m gonna have to let her pull the trigger on this deal. Fair enough?”
I took a sip of my Snapple. “Fair enough.” I guess I was looking downhearted, because Maxwell sat and studied me for a while.
“What seems to be the problem? You’ve been in the dumps the last couple of days. Is everything all right?” He spoke like a true friend. I’m sure he knew without me saying that something was on my mind.
“I don’t know …” I hesitated.
“What’s wrong with you? This whole thing with the bankruptcy got you down?”
“No, I can deal with that. My problem is more personal.” I glanced at a picture of my wife. She was so beautiful.
“Oh, so now we don’t talk about personal things anymore?”
“It’s not just about me. It has something to do with my wife too.”
Maxwell leaned forward, an interested look on his face. “T. K., what’s going on? You guys having problems or something?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. All I know is my wife won’t be intimate with me. It’s been two weeks since we’ve had relations.”
“Relations? Who are you, Bill Clinton?” Maxwell chuckled.
“We haven’t had sex, made love, okay? Is that what you want to hear? My goodness, Maxwell, this is my marriage we’re talking about here.”
“It sure is, isn’t it?” Maxwell tried to lighten the mood by teasing, “You know, you are getting a little older now. Maybe you’re not ringing her bell the way you used to.”