“You are no saint, Maribel,” Mark said, lighting the paper afire. “Good girls don’t pose so suggestively.”
“Have you made copies?” Maribel asked him coldly.
“Hell no,” Mark said huffily, “I wouldn’t want my wife to find it; now destroy that tape.”
Maribel took out the little cassette and dragged out the strip and dropped it on the floor.
“Have a blessed day, sir,” she said, reaching for the door and dragging it open, then she made sure that her voice carried because she saw Annette from Human Resources coming. “And if you ever call me in your office for anything that is not work related I am going to take you to court for sexual harassment. Do you understand me?”
Mark’s humble 'yes' was clearly heard by Annette and she paused, looking at Maribel wide-eyed.
CHAPTER TEN
Maribel was so ecstatic that she had nipped the problem of Mark in the bud that she had flung her briefcase on her settee as soon as she stepped into her apartment and started playing her favorite Tina Turner CD.
She always played it when she was in a good mood; she had hummed it all day at lunch when she and Vivian had met to crow over her triumph. She ran into her room for her brush and turned up the stereo high; at the top of her lungs she belted out the words, closing her eyes and thinking of Brian’s handsome face. Maybe they could make it if he didn’t find out about her past—she was in the mood to be delusional.
She began to strip and sing in her heels, hiking up her work skirt; in a parody of Tina’s voice she sang River Deep Mountain High.
She barely registered when the phone's shrill ring interrupted her first verse.
Dang. She frowned as she picked up the phone.
“Hello,” she yelled down the phone line. “I can’t hear you.” She didn’t pretend to decipher whose voice was on the phone as her song droned on.
“Maribel,” Brian chuckled, “I can see I have called at a bad time.”
“No, oh no,” Maribel turned down the stereo, “I get a little carried away when I sing this song and I was just at the sweetest verse.”
“Sing it for me,” Brian said huskily.
“Now?” Maribel squealed.
“Of course; give me a slice of Maribel when her hair is down and she is at her most relaxed.”
“Well … ” Maribel hesitated; she didn’t want him to think she was crazy.
“Can I see you now?” Brian asked urgently.
“Now?” Maribel asked anxiously. “But you just asked me to sing the second verse.”
“I want to see you singing it,” Brian said decisively, “and I have something for you.”
“Damn … I mean … Darn … I am not quite dressed for visitors.” She snatched up the cordless phone and grabbed her briefcase from the settee. Luckily, her helper had been in just yesterday so her two-bedroom apartment looked neat.
“Are you finished being frantic?” Brian asked, a smile in his voice.
“Yes …” Maribel skated to her room, threw the briefcase on her bed, and buttoned up her blouse.
“Well, I am at your door.” Brian murmured.
“That’s so … what do you mean at my door? You mean at my apartment door?” Maribel ran a comb through her hair and ran into the bathroom to wash her face.
“At your gate,” Brian responded. “The security is going to call you now to ask for permission to let me in.”
“Okay.” Maribel hung up the phone and finished washing her face.
By the time the security had let in Brian and she heard her doorbell ringing, her heart was pounding a mile a minute, as if she had just completed a quarter-mile run.
She opened the door and breathlessly looked at him. He was casually dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt.
He stared back at her in silence.
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I am not going to let you in?” Maribel asked, babbling. “My hand feels frozen on the door.”
Brian laughed and stepped by her when she stepped away; he had a paper bag in his hand. He handed it to her when he went into her living room.
She took it from him and saw the card hanging from it. “This smells nice.” She looked in the bag. It was filled with containers.
“Dinner.” Brian stood with his hands in his pockets.
“Make yourself at home,” Maribel belatedly said. She looked at the card and read silently. ‘Love is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.’
She sighed and said out loud, “If only this was true for us then we’d have a perfect world.”
“And God would be here already,” Brian said, “but we can try to be just like love, can’t we? I think the verses are an acid test for relationships; if we are not easily angered and keep no record of wrongs, can you imagine the kind of families we’d have?”
Maribel shrugged and placed the food on the counter. “I would have grown up differently, that’s for sure. Would you like to eat now or later?”
Brian sat on the settee and remarked, “Later. You have a very nice apartment.”
“Thanks,” Maribel said feelingly. “Today my boss tried to take it away from me by encouraging me to quit.”
“He did?” Brian said, aghast. “So why were you in such a buoyant mood when I called then?”
“I called his bluff, made him realize he was being an idiot.”
Brian nodded and sat back relaxed. “That’s terrific. So let me see you sing it.”
“You mean do the impersonation and everything?” Maribel flushed. “I don’t think I could go that far with a pastor in the house.”
“It’s not a pastor in the house; it’s Brian in the house. Let’s see you, Maribel.”
Maribel shrugged. “Okay, if I let go and shock you, don’t excommunicate me, okay?”
Brian laughed.
She pressed the pause button on the CD player and started dancing wildly to the first verse. When the second verse started she joined in.
She flung her head back and in true Tina Turner style belted out the last verse of the song, 'Ooh, how I love you, baby.'
Brian was looking at her, his eyes half closed; he was nodding his head and snapping his fingers. “Do you?” he asked huskily.
Maribel, breathing hard, flopped down in the settee opposite his. She closed her eyes; of course, she was growing to love him. Any fool could see that; did he love her was the question. And would he love her after he found out about her past was another question.
She looked at him. “My favorite text is, ‘Beloved, let us love one another … God orders me to love you, so I do.’”
Brian laughed softly. “Well … I love you too.”
They stared at each other for an eternity, unspoken feelings flowing in the air between them.
Brian cleared his throat. “I was thinking we could go out for ice cream after dinner.”
Maribel nodded mutely. Her thoughts were treading along more lustful lines. She tried to rein them in, but gave up in the middle of her inward war and stood up abruptly. “I am going to have a long, cold shower.”
Brian looked at her sharply. “Coming here was a bad idea, wasn’t it? I feel like I need one too.”
They ended up at Devon House, a 127-year-old heritage site in the middle of the city that was built by Jamaica’s first black millionaire. After Maribel finished extolling the virtues of the ice cream there, and the unique shops on site, Brian dragged her into each of them, exclaiming softly at the merchandise found there. He was especially taken with the chocolate shop.
“Your tourist streak is showing,” Maribel teased.
“This is a great place,” Brian said as they headed toward the ice cream shop. “I love it here.”
“When you taste the ice cream I’m sure that I will probably have to walk home.”
“It’s that good, huh?” Brian teased. “That I would leave the lovely Maribel, in bright pink blouse, to match her pink lips, to fend for herself in the city streets.”
Mar
ibel giggled.
“Well, what would you suggest?” They were in the quaint shop. It had a heady smell of pastry and the subdued scent of chocolate mixed with cherry. Brian was looking at the menu choices in awe. “Are you serious? They actually have sour sop ice cream.”
“Yes, but I don't have anything else but rum and raisin,” Maribel said seriously. “Lecture me later about the rum thing.”
Brian grinned. “I will mark down this moment. You aren’t a closet drunk, are you? An errant church sister that drinks a pint before bed?”
Maribel grinned. “No, I am not one of those, but this …” she licked her lips when the attendant handed her a double scoop on a cone, “I could eat this every night, all night.”
Brian ordered sour sop and coconut.
“I am sure that combination is weird,” Maribel said, moaning low in her throat as she slowly licked the cream from the cone.
Brian looked at her, aghast. “Should I be watching this? Do you two want a room?”
Maribel looked at him wearily through half-closed lids. “Don’t disturb me,” she growled as they sat down on a bench.
Brian occasionally glanced at her as she slowly and methodically groaned and licked her way through the ice cream. His flavors were surprisingly good but he barely tasted them. Maribel was turning him on like he had never been turned on before. He had never been this attracted to a woman before. Throughout his life he tried to not base his relationship decisions on attraction alone; he firmly believed in the verse in the Bible that said, ‘They that wait upon the Lord shall soar upon wings like eagles.’
He was going to have to pray seriously about her as his wife because as it was now he was very close to becoming the main headline for a gossip rag: 'Pastor Fondles Church Sister in Middle of Park'.
“I am writing a book.” He pushed his mind from the carnal and focused on the spiritual.
Maribel wiped her mouth and smiled. “That was heavenly. Do you think that there’ll be ice cream in heaven?”
Brian shrugged. “I don’t know, but certainly there’ll be milk and honey.”
“I always wondered if that would mean that there’ll be cows and bees—you know, cows walking around with full udders of milk spewing as they walk and bees buzzing around honey combs while gold-teethed angels smile with you, constantly reflecting the gold from the street.”
Brian laughed so hard that he toppled over his ice cream onto the grass. “Now look what you made me do,” he gasped.
Maribel grinned at him. “I know that milk and honey means prosperity and all, but I always try to picture it literally, from my mortal and earthly point of view.”
Brian wiped a drop of ice cream from his shirt.
“So what’s your book about?” Maribel asked, referring to his earlier statement.
“It’s a book about forgiveness,” Brian said, still smiling. “I did some interviews with some church people over the years, compiling their testimonies about what we would call extreme forgiveness. Like this church sister whose son was shot in the head by his schoolmate. He died at hospital. The guy who shot him was caught by the police, and while in prison he was severely beaten and almost left for dead. She was his only visitor through his ordeal, and when he was released she took him in.”
Maribel gasped, “Wow, talk about forgiveness.”
Brian whistled, “I have some other hair-turning stories that will make you sit back and think about what God really asks us to do when he says forgive others their trespasses. If we don’t forgive our fellow men he doesn’t hear our prayers, you know.”
“That’s heavy duty stuff,” Maribel said contemplatively, appraising him.
“After I tell the stories, I tie them in with Bible texts and stories.”
“That sounds great,” Maribel said brightly. She could challenge him with her past and see how well he dealt with forgiveness, but she was reluctant to spoil the mood of the evening. “When I joined the church I wrestled with the concept of forgiveness so I used to go to bed constantly with the passage from Hebrews 4:16 which says, ‘Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace’ I finally realized that God didn’t want me to doubt his forgiving power but to claim it knowing that he has forgiven me despite my past. I really needed that.”
Brian nodded. “When did you join the church?”
“It was on my birthday three years ago. Cathy told me that I was going to the biggest party around. She was my roommate then.”
“So you were a party girl, Maribel Contrell?”
Maribel laughed. “And how! I was the life of the party.”
Brian grimaced. “Had many boyfriends, did you?”
Maribel looked at him seriously. “Would it be a problem if I said yes?”
Brian nodded. “Honestly, I can’t say that I am not seething with jealousy.”
Maribel smiled. “Actually, I never had many serious relationships.” Most of them were fleeting and paying customers. Not that she would say the last part aloud.
She watched the relief creep across his face at her pronouncement and knew that she couldn’t burst his bubble tonight. She’d probably need to tell him one day, though, before they got even closer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Women's Ministries meeting was packed when Maribel stepped into the church hall. She had missed the last couple of meetings and Cathy was walking beside her with a smirk on her face.
“So you went to Bible study with Pastor Brian last week Sunday, huh?”
“Yup,” Maribel said, glancing around the room.
“Lovely to see you again, Sister Maribel,” Sister Bertram gave her a hug, interrupting Cathy’s probing.
“So are things serious?” Cathy asked as they sat in empty chairs arranged in a circle. “You have hardly called me all week and you only have time to say a breathy hello after church before you are whisked away by Pastor Handsome.”
Maribel snickered. “I like him.”
“You like him.” Cathy frowned. “Like him? I don’t believe it. Like is a very mild word to use to describe your behavior, young lady. I want you to spill all the beans.”
“Well, after work couple weeks ago, I went with him for ice cream,” Maribel whispered as she spotted Sister Thelma and her daughter Rose heading for them. “Here comes Sister Thelma.”
“What are you two doing over here in a huddle?” Sister Thelma asked superiorly. “You aren’t by any chance discussing the weather, are you?”
“When you came in I had the thought that it was about to get frosty with a hint of ice … I mean snow,” Cathy said cheekily as Thelma frowned.
“Well,” Thelma fixed her blue hat on her head, “I don’t find that funny, Cathy. There is no snow in Jamaica and if that is a swipe at me, I refuse to be offended this morning. You see Rose and I are going to a very important wedding.”
Rose nodded. “Yes we are, a cousin of ours.”
She sounded so pleasant to Maribel that she had to glance up quickly. Absent from her voice was the waspishness she had begun to expect from Sister Thelma. She seemed genuinely nice, and for a moment Maribel looked at her properly. She was really pretty, petite with a smooth caramel complexion. Her hair was cut in a pageboy style. It looked healthy and black and glistened in the light of the church hall.
“May we sit here?” she asked, gesturing at the chairs beside Maribel and Cathy.
“Sure,” Cathy said, giving her a genuine smile. Maribel nodded and continued to look at her.
“It’s not just any wedding,” Thelma piped up loudly so that everyone in her vicinity could hear, “it is my brother’s girl, Keisha, and as you all know my brother is a Senator in the House of Parliament and his wife Mildred is a Queens Counsel lawyer.”
Cathy snorted loudly.
Thelma looked at her sharply. “Did I mention that the Prime Minister and several leaders of business will be there?”
“Mom,” Rose said sternly, “I warned you about boasting; it is not right.” She threw her hand up in the air. �
�I am going to sit beside Maribel.”
She sat down beside Maribel and laughed softly. Her mother’s face was set in stubborn lines. “No need to put space between us, Rose, I am not going to reveal anything else about our lives, but don’t you think it is good to let your fellow sisters in Christ know what’s going on in your life?”
Rose looked up in the air and then turned and looked at Maribel. “She is my thorn in the side, you know?”
Maribel smiled.
“I am pretty sure that all my accomplishments have been paraded for all to hear.”
Maribel nodded. “Very much so.”
“I barely made it through the Masters,” Rose said, sighing. “I was tired, overworked and had a bad case of homesickness for all the time I was away. I resented more than anything that my mother had encouraged me to leave here to do it. I wanted to do it part-time, but she threw a fit.”
All the time she was talking Maribel was thinking to herself, She really is the opposite of her name-dropping mother, a genuinely nice person.
“I was saying to Brian when he had dinner with us last week Tuesday that my mother needs prayers more than me or Gunther.”
“You … you had dinner with Brian, er, Pastor Edwards last week?” Maribel almost choked on her words. She felt a shaft of jealousy shimmy through her that was so strong she almost fainted.
Was he courting Rose on the side? Was he flirting with her? Was he wondering which one of them would make the better pastor’s wife? She suddenly felt hot and flushed. Rose would win hands down; she definitely didn't have a past like hers.
“Oh yes,” Rose said, oblivious to Maribel’s distress. “He is such a great guy, and handsome too. My mother is trying to fix us up. She is so blatant about it that I am scared she’ll have him running in the other direction.”
Cathy glanced at Maribel’s face; she had been eavesdropping on the conversation while vaguely listening to Thelma’s recount of all the influential people in her family. Maribel looked pale and shaky.
“I am going to a graduation with him this Sunday but only because my mother threw such pointed hints at him that he grudgingly offered the suggestion. I wish it was a date, though. Good men are so hard to find.”
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