Preacher and The Prostitute

by Barrett, Brenda

  Maribel gasped, her mind running—Negril. She dearly wished that the name of that town hadn’t come up to put a blight on her day.

  “So, how many sisters do you have?” she hastily asked, maybe she could get him to talk about his family and ignore hers. A fatalistic voice in her head snorted, Yeah, right.

  “Just three,” Brian laughed, “twins born one year after me, and our baby sister, who my mother still refers to as an unexpected gift. She was conceived in Jamaica when my parents came back here for their second honeymoon. She’s just turned sixteen.”

  “So is this your first time in Jamaica?” Maribel turned to look at him and then his clean square fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Oh no,” Brian looked at her, aghast. “Don’t you realize that I am a partial yard man?” he said, unsuccessfully trying to speak the Jamaican dialect.

  Maribel laughed.

  “Actually, I used to come here every summer when my grandparents were alive. I spent all my vacations in Negril up until I started college. My grandfather was a teacher and my grandmother a fat, happy housewife who was puzzled that all her efforts at trying to fatten her very slim husband came to naught. I think she fed him too much fatty foods and it finally took a toll on his heart. After several warnings from his doctor, warnings he ignored because he was so addicted to his wife’s cooking, his pressure went up and his heart went out.”

  Maribel choked on a laugh. “You are not serious.”

  “Oh yes,” Brian glanced at her. “My grandmother was a lavish butter and sugar user. I can remember my mother, who is a health nut, feverishly praying at her bedside for our health before we left for Jamaica. She knew how my grandmother was, but my father insisted that his children should be in touch with their Jamaican heritage, so we had to come here every summer. Ironically, food was not the reason Grandmamma died.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She was hit by a car on her way from the market. I mourned her loss greatly, I must tell you. She was instrumental in me being a pastor.”

  “She was?” Maribel asked, interested to know why he chose to take on such a responsibility.

  “She used to insist that I prepare and preach sermons to her on the veranda of her home in Negril. She would call over other family members and friends and they would listen as I expounded on the Word. I guess it was her way of ensuring that I read the Bible and it was also a source of entertainment for her. I really loved doing it and I guess my basic love for people ensured my career path.”

  Maribel grinned, “I must remember that if ever I marry, have children and want one or two of them to choose a career in the church.”

  He slowed down and waited behind a vehicle that was turning onto a side road. “Something tells me that you will marry and have children. It is surprising that you are still single. At the risk of sounding clichéd, why are you still wandering around this world unattached?”

  “I am waiting for …”

  “The right man,” he finished for her and laughed. “How old are you, Maribel?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  He nodded and smiled.

  “What?” Maribel asked, laughing. “What does that smile mean?”

  “It means nothing. I can’t explain how happy I am to be in Jamaica this year at this time … with you.”

  Maribel felt her heart pounding faster after that declaration.

  “So why did you look so sad yesterday?”

  “Ah … nothing.”

  “Mmmmm,” Brian said disbelievingly and waited for her to talk.

  “Well … ” Maribel swallowed, thinking how to give him a sanitized version of how her life had been, “I was thinking about my childhood and I got a bit misty-eyed.”

  “What about your childhood made you misty-eyed?”

  “My mother ran away from home when I was thirteen with a German guy, my sister ran away shortly after that with a fisherman and then my father became abusive to the lone female left in his radius.”

  “Oh,” Brian said, “when I saw you at first, I would have guessed that you were a pampered girl living in a two-parent family with a doting father and possibly a mother who brags to all and sundry about you.”

  Maribel sighed, “Looks can be deceiving, Pastor Edwards.”

  Brian laughed, “Don’t Pastor Edwards me, Sister Contrell.” He glanced at her. “Call me Brian.”

  “Well Brian, people are not always all they seem to be.”

  “That is a loaded statement that I want to pursue with you later.” Brian nodded. “So where in Jamaica were you living before Kingston?”

  Maribel glanced at him. He was driving along asking questions which on the surface were so simple, but to her were such a big part of the barriers that she had placed around herself to protect her new identity and to forget about the past. Here he was tearing through her barriers and doing so quite cheerfully.

  “Maribel?” He glanced over at her tense expression. “Is it top secret?”

  “Oh … no … I was born in Westmoreland. Grew up in Negril.”

  “Negril?” Brian glanced at her. “You didn’t say a word when I was telling you about my grandmamma. Do you know I still have family there? Maybe one day you and I can take a drive down there.”

  “No!” Maribel shouted. She could feel herself getting very agitated at the mention of such an idea. She would not be going back to Negril even if her life depended on it.

  Brian looked at the car clock; it was saying two o’clock—they would still reach St. Thomas on time.

  He looked over at the sea, which appeared a bit grey; the day was rapidly becoming overcast. “Maribel, I did not mean to pry. I just wanted to get to know you better.”

  Maribel whimpered, almost hugging the door. Pull yourself together, Maribel, she kept telling herself, it’s not as if he is going to hire a private investigator and delve into your life. He’s just being friendly.

  “I am sorry.” Her voice was hoarse; she cleared her throat. “I am sorry, I just get really paranoid when I think of Negril. You see, I ran away from home at sixteen. I was taken in by strangers and … ” she squeezed her eyes tight. “I just hate to think of it.”

  “It’s okay.” Brian shifted in his seat and thought about hugging her but warning signals went off in his head.

  He couldn’t handle hugging Maribel; this was just too clichéd a situation for him to get in trouble. Single pastor hugging single, extremely attractive church sister in the middle of a deserted stretch of road would mean trouble. He settled for patting her hand and then quickly drew it away.

  “Okay, here’s the deal.” He grinned at her. Her eyes were glassy; they looked so vulnerable and appealing. He looked at her trembling lower lip and completely forgot what he was about to say.

  “The deal?” Maribel prompted him.

  “Oh yes.” He straightened in his seat, wishing he could arrange his pants properly; probably this drive was not such a good idea after all. “I think we should forget about Negril; just tell me about happy things. How is that?”

  Maribel looked at him thoughtfully. “Okay, I can manage that.”

  “Good, then let’s go to that rally and then we can indulge ourselves with huge ice cream cones. Are you game?”

  “Oh yes,” Maribel laughed, happy that Negril was out of the discussion. She vowed never to bring it up again and hoped that he would forget it too.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Maribel.” Christa, the receptionist, peered through Maribel’s door as she sat staring at the Hodges Construction file bemusedly.

  They had reached the rally on time and everyone thought they had been a couple. She smiled as a little bubble of joy rose to the surface of her thoughts; they had actually called her Sister Edwards. She scrawled Maribel Contrell Edwards on the file, right beside where she had written Mrs. Brian Edwards in stylized writing, and then glanced up vaguely at the door.

  Christa was staring at her, smiling; in her hands was a bouquet of red roses. “This was deli
vered for you.”

  Maribel’s eyes lit up. “I have never gotten roses delivered to me before.”

  Christa sniffed the full blood-red petals once more and handed them over to Maribel. “We read the card in the reception area before I carried it to you.”

  “Who’s we?” Maribel asked, taking the flowers from Christa and grabbing eagerly at the card, which was attached to the beautiful glazed vase by a string.

  “All of us who were in the front at the time,” Christa said, with no apparent shame in her voice at her snooping.

  Maribel read the note, “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. Signed, BE.”

  “Now my question is,” Christa said, peering once more at the card, “who is BE?”

  Maribel felt a strange flutter in the region of her heart as she clutched the card to her chest. “Be gone, Christa,” she shooed Christa out of the office.

  Christa shuffled out, grumbling, “Why would a bee send you a Bible verse?”

  “Because he is absolutely romantic and wonderful …” Maribel took the flowers and placed them in the middle of her crammed desk. Now how was she supposed to get any work done with the gentle aroma of the roses reminding her that BE was on a mission to woo her?

  Maribel Contrell, former prostitute, who had all but given up on romance, was now being courted. She had to stop herself several times from grinning goofily at the payroll for Hodges Construction. She caressed the file tenderly as her mind wandered to marital thoughts. It was so romantic of Brian to send her that Bible love chapter quote from I Corinthians 13.

  “I came as soon as I heard,” Vivian exclaimed breathlessly from the door.

  Maribel grinned, “Can you imagine the audacity of the receptionist to read my note?”

  Vivian snorted and snatched it up herself. “If I speak in the tongues of men … " she grinned, "now who could BE be?”

  “Him,” Maribel said dreamily.

  “I know,” Vivian said. “I didn’t know things were getting serious.”

  “Well …” Maribel’s voice trailed away as her phone rang. She glanced at the number on the display and scowled: internal call, Monster Mark.

  “Hello,” she answered the call primly.

  “Maribel,” Mark said, his voice sounding hostile, “I need to see you in my office now.”

  “Yes sir.” Maribel placed the phone in the cradle and stuck her tongue out at it.

  “Got to go, Viv, the Monster demands my presence.”

  Vivian got up. “See you at lunch.”

  Maribel checked her green skirt suit and sighed. There was nothing she could do about her shape—short of wearing a bag to work, she would always feel a little sensitive where Mark was concerned.

  She walked into his office after a brief knock and was surprised to see him standing at the window with his back to her.

  “Sir?” she enquired of him formally.

  He glanced at her, a smirk on his face, “You know, Maribel, I am pleased to see that my instincts about you were right.”

  “What are you talking about?” Maribel demanded.

  “Well … ” His eyes ran up and down her body and he gave a suggestive lick of his lips, “I always knew you were a bit on the wild side.”

  He had never blatantly harassed her like this and Maribel felt heat engulf her face in anger. “Listen, I am going to report you to Human Resources. I don’t care if it’s your word against mine, you have crossed the line.”

  “So have you.” He held up a picture in his hand of two nude women in a suggestive pose. Their eyes were turned up in a come-hither look as they both bent over a huge lollipop. Their tongues were caressing the sweet; one had a riding crop at her feet and the other had her finger crooked in a come-hither gesture. The one with the riding crop was her. She did not have on a stitch of clothing and her blonde wig was piled high on her head. All of her features could be seen.

  “This is a conservative firm, dear Maribel, and I cannot allow you to go around taking sexually explicit photos to embarrass us.”

  Maribel’s heart rate speeded up; she felt lightheaded and faint. “I was very young when I took that photo.”

  Mark laughed and sat down in is chair. “I don’t mind the picture, you understand.” His long fingers caressed her features on the photo and he glanced up at her. “I can keep this very quiet. Nobody else has to know about it.”

  The hairs on Maribel’s neck stood up and she groped around and sank into one of two chairs in front of his desk. She knew without a doubt that he had her right where he wanted her.

  She thought about the mortgage on her just-purchased apartment and cringed. If she didn’t find another job in, say, six months she wouldn’t be able to pay her bills, and she might have to go back on the streets—she needed this job.

  She knew she was panicking. She felt hot and itchy in her suit and tears were welling up in her eyes.

  Lord Jesus, why me? Why does my past have to rear its ugly head now? Why Lord?

  “I am not going to sleep with you,” Maribel croaked out, recoiling from the leer in Mark’s eyes.

  “I don’t require you to be sleeping,” Mark said lasciviously. “I want you awake and functioning when I strip your clothes and take you, preferably on this desk after work. I would say tonight but I promised my wife to do something for her. I could wriggle out of it but I am going to be very busy for many nights to come with you.”

  “No Mark. I won’t be doing anything with you.” She thought frantically, How am I going to get myself out of this mess? "I am not going to stoop to your blackmail."

  “I don’t want you stooping—at least, not yet,” Mark had a glazed look of lust in his eyes. “I want you bent over.”

  “Stop it,” Maribel yelled, getting up and heading to the door. “Where did you get that picture anyway?” Her hands were trembling.

  “I had to pay very good money to a friend of mine who saw you at the office the other day and remarked how alike you were to an old nude pinup he had.”

  Maribel cringed. “I am not going to have sex with you, Mark; do your worst.”

  Mark walked up to her and took her hand from the door. He whispered in her ear, “You smell so good.” He ran his fingers along her arms. “If I hadn’t promised Cindy to drop off those damn pills for her mother, you and I could start what we were meant to do tonight.”

  His feather-light touches made Maribel’s skin crawl, and she shuddered in distaste at his heavy breathing as he angled his body closer to hers.

  He laughed softly. “See, I am making you shiver with longing already. All this cold attitude toward me was an act, wasn’t it?”

  Maribel shrugged away from him, her thoughts in a jumble. Look how happy she was this morning when she received the flowers, and now she was facing the most abhorrent situation that could happen to a woman in the workplace.

  An insidious voice was telling her to just have sex with him; after all, she used to do it with strangers in the street and at the back of buildings. The voice sneered at her and had the gravelly texture of her father's drawl.

  The other voice, which was not as loud but just as insistent, was telling her to trust God.

  Trust him Maribel; he knows your past; he forgave you; don’t go back; trust him. Tears sprang to her eyes and she jumped when Mark's phone rang. So tightly had she withdrawn inside herself that she hadn’t noticed that Mark had loosened his tie and started to unbutton his shirt after locking the door.

  What was he thinking? she thought in a panic. Did he think she would have sex with him between lunch and coffee break?

  He looked at the ringing phone murderously and then back at her.

  “What!” he answered in a growl. “Okay, I’ll get it now.” His voice gentled and took on a wheedling tone. He was probably talking to one of the partners, Maribel thought as she looked at his handsome profile and thought that he was evil personified.

  “I’ve got to go
to a meeting with one of the partners.” He looked at Maribel coldly. “I expect you to do as I say, Maribel, or you are out of here, and don’t expect any references either.”

  Maribel grabbed the door and could barely open the lock; she left the office, stumbling through the passageway, and was very grateful to sit in her own chair.

  She remembered so clearly the day she took that picture with Felicia. They had just met; Murphy’s wife had ignominiously thrown her out of the cottage with nothing. She had walked aimlessly through Negril, contemplating whether she should go back home and have her father kill her; it would take care of her having to commit suicide.

  She had felt so down and hungry with no one to turn to; her father had ensured that she had no friends. Even the neighbors in the district had been afraid to show her kindness because they knew that she would pay for it if her father ever found out.

  So alone in the world was she that she couldn’t even call a family member. The members of her mother’s family were somewhere in Clarendon; they had abandoned her mother when she had gotten pregnant in third form in high school. Her mother had turned to her father, an older man who had expressed interest in her and was willing to take her with the pregnancy, and had moved her to Negril, away from her family.

  She knew next to nothing about her father’s family, but if they were anything like him she stood a better chance on the streets. She wandered to a food court in a popular mall and sat down, watching tourists and locals alike enjoying themselves and eating.

  Her belly growled at the torturous sights before her and she had looked longingly as people chewed their foods, their jaws working in a torturous rhythm before they swallowed.

  After half an hour of torture, a girl who looked about her age had sat down beside her and handed her a patty.

  “Thanks.” Maribel had looked at her curiously; she was half Indian with a long curly ponytail reaching her waist. She had an almost elfin look and had grinned at her sheepishly. “I was watching you when you came in. I knew you were hungry but I thought you were waiting for someone. My name is Felicia, by the way.”