Preacher and The Prostitute

by Barrett, Brenda

  She peeped through the peephole of the door. It was Brian, looking so fresh and handsome that her breath caught in her throat. She opened the door hurriedly, uncaring about how she looked. She was so excited to see him.

  He gazed at her as she drank him in and then he smiled.

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  Maribel nodded and stepped aside and watched as his broad-shouldered frame passed her and stood into her room looking around.

  “This is nice,” he swiveled around and looked at her, “and as usual you look beautiful, a bit sleep tousled but still gorgeous.”

  He had a package in his hand and he placed it on her bed and then sat down.

  Maribel stood up, leaning on the door uncertainly. No hug or kiss or even a warm welcome to Canada. What was going on?

  Brian could not believe that he was seeing her in the flesh again after so many months. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, and there she stood with her understated sexuality. He sighed; he had tried to forget her but of course he couldn’t. She was the mistake he almost made and desperately wanted to forget.

  His hand clenched and he cleared his throat. “My book was published.”

  Maribel gave him a half smile and said huskily, “That’s nice.”

  The silence stretched between them.

  “So how is your father?”

  Brian grinned. “As right as rain. My mother takes full credit for that. She has him on a strict vegan diet that seems to be working.”

  He leaned back comfortably on the bed and Maribel sat tentatively near him. “Why have you never called,” she whispered, “or written?”

  Brian shrugged, “When I said goodbye, Maribel, I meant it.” His gaze raked over her t-shirt and silky pajama shorts.

  He swallowed. “I meant every word. I did not want to encourage any more contact between us, so that one or the other of us would be caught up in it.”

  Maribel tensed up and focused on one side of the room; she wouldn’t cry while he was there. She had wasted quite a bit of time in useless hoping and baseless excitement. “So what is the surprise tomorrow then?” she asked hoarsely.

  Brian sighed. “I told Sister Claudia that I was getting married and she decided to make a big production out of it.”

  “Ma-married?” Maribel stumbled. “How? Why? Who?”

  “I found the one,” Brian said, looking at her crestfallen expression. “Her name is Faith. I thought you knew. I thought Claudia told everyone. I never expected you to come.”

  Maribel nodded, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter, until a sob escaped her throat.

  “Don’t cry, Maribel,” Brian said soothingly. He was surprised when Maribel started shrieking, a wounded sound like an injured animal.

  He went over to her side of the bed and held her. Her warm frame felt so perfect to him and he rubbed her back. But his body was still attracted to her even if his mind was not, and when she turned her tear-stained face into his neck, her lips brushed his ear and she trembled against him.

  A riot of suppressed longing engulfed him and he sought her lips and kissed her. So many pent-up emotions went into the kiss: anger over her past and wishful longing that he was marrying her instead of Faith. He punished her in that kiss for not being the woman that he thought she was.

  She clung to him and kissed him back fiercely.

  Brian felt his self-control snap and all his years of repressing his sexual appetite and facing lust with common sense and God’s guidance went up in smoke. He never knew how they ended up naked on that bed. Nor was his intellect engaged at that moment.

  When their passion was spent and she gazed at him, a vulnerable look in her eyes, the guilt came roaring at him. He leapt off the bed and started throwing on his clothes. Maribel did not say a word as she watched him frantically dressing. He was whispering, “Oh my God, oh my God.”

  Strangely, she felt calm and grounded, fulfilled and with a blossoming satisfaction.

  “Are you still getting married tomorrow?” she asked him shyly.

  “Oh yes,” Brian said haltingly. “Maribel, I can’t believe that we just did that. I am now a cliché, aren’t I?” he said deprecatingly. “I have been so careful through the years to be sexually pure and the night before my wedding, I sleep with somebody else.”

  Maribel watched him silently.

  “I’ll have to tell her about this.”

  “I won’t be there tomorrow,” Maribel said and turned her naked back to him.

  “That’s for the best,” Brian said, staring at her naked back in fascination. He headed toward the door and then turned back and kissed her on her bare shoulder and walked out.

  Maribel went home the next day. On the way home from the airport she opened the package he gave her. It was his book, Saved and Forgiven. She opened the first page. For Maribel; under that he wrote in pen, You taught me forgiveness. It was never really my place to forgive; God has already done that for you. It is with utmost weakness that I admit that as a mere man it’s the forgetting part that is not very easy. With all my love, Brian.

  She cried all the way home. It would never be resolved, would it? She would always be the prostitute because of her past and he would always be the preacher who chose his ministry over love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It was Horace who rescued Maribel from her depression.

  “Say Maribel,” he had called her one Monday, six weeks after the fiasco in Canada, “I suggested your name to Doctor Karen Miekle, a social activist who is desirous of starting a charity to rehabilitate women who are into prostitution.”

  Maribel had stared at her monitor and paused. “I don’t know, Horace.”

  “I think you should,” Horace said lightly. “I think you can do a world of good by showing how you turned your life around and encourage others to do the same. There is nothing better than someone who has beaten the odds, someone who says, ‘See what I have done; you can do it too.’”

  She had hemmed and hawed and mumbled but Horace had resolutely hammered away at her arguments until finally she had given in.

  And that was why she was meeting Karen Miekle at the Sovereign Mall food court. She had a low thrumming in her head that she self-diagnosed as stress. It had been there since her Canada trip. And it just wouldn’t go away. The tight tentacles of pain surrounded her head and squeezed whenever she thought about Brian. Sometimes the pain thrummed into the region of her heart. Two weeks ago she had cried like a baby when she had gotten her period; she had so wanted their passionate interlude to result in a child.

  She hadn’t cared about the added problems that would have created; she had just wanted a piece of Brian with her. She imagined him marrying Faith on her birthday, of all days, and the anger and resentment that she felt toward the unknown Faith had kept her tied up for days.

  “Hey Maribel.” Karen sat on a bench beside her and sighed, “This is going to be the hottest summer on record. If May can be so bleeding hot, what about July. Lord help us. The sun is out to eat us.”

  Maribel grinned, staring at the woman beside her incredulously. She sported long sister locks, which were dyed in red yellow and black. Her slim body was encased in tight jeans and she had on a Bob Marley t-shirt.

  “Somehow, I was expecting someone looking a bit more doctor-ish,” Maribel said aloud.

  Karen giggled, “I am a disgrace to the academic establishment and the medical profession.”

  “I didn’t know you were a medical doctor.” Maribel looked at her askance.

  “Yeah,” Karen nodded and reached into her pocket for a gum. “Was a young genius so I got to do my med degree and then a little playing around in sociology.”

  “Wow,” Maribel was impressed, “you don’t look a day over twenty.”

  “You dear girl,” Karen squeezed her hand, “I am the ripe old age of twenty-eight.”

  “I just turned twenty-six,” Maribel said contemplatively, “six weeks ago. Bad things happen on my birthday
.”

  Karen grinned. “Bad things happen to me on Valentine’s Day. We should share stories and see who is worse off.”

  “I am,” Maribel grimaced, “without even hearing yours.”

  Karen giggled again. “It was hinted to me that you are interested in working with the rehabilitation of prostitutes and that you would probably have a story to share.”

  Maribel nodded, biting her lips. She had agonized over the meeting, because in essence she would be laying her life bare for all to examine if she went public with this charity. She was sure that there would be repercussions at work and at church. But somehow, deep in her innermost self, she knew that this was the right thing to do.

  If everyone knew, then instead of wondering about who would find out and what would happen, she would in effect just lay it all bare and let the chips fall where they may. Just the very thought of the gut-wrenching year she had dodging from Brian and having Thelma tying her in knots gave her the courage to look at Karen and nod. “I do have a story to share. It’s not pretty, though.”

  Karen nodded. “The important thing is that it's inspiring to others and in sharing it you can impact another person’s life for the better.”

  “Well, are we going to talk here or somewhere more private?”

  Karen sighed. “Don’t make me leave the relative coolness of this mall right now, I beg of you. Let me tell you a bit about our program first and then we can dash to my office up the road or the building we will be using for our program, which, by the way, has no AC.”

  Maribel nodded.

  “The program is government and UN funded. It is a social rehabilitation initiative to help our girls and women who have found themselves in the unfortunate situation of prostitution. Not only those women at the roadside but all women who engage in sex for money. We are talking education initiatives, skills training, and workshops, which is where you will come in, and of course medical interventions.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Maribel said.

  “We will house them, find jobs for them and send them out into the workplace. We want to empower the women in the oldest profession, if you know what I mean,” Karen winked at her.

  “I was once involved in prostitution,” Maribel said seriously, “so I know what you mean.”

  Karen sighed. “If we had a program like this for young women going a long time ago, I am sure things would have been different for you, wouldn’t they?”

  “Oh yes,” Maribel curled her fingers on her bag strap, “I would probably be married by now without my damn past hanging over my head.”

  “Man problems?” Karen queried, raising her brows.

  “He is a pastor,” Maribel said dejectedly, “married by now, so I guess that’s it for my foolish dreams of living happily ever after with him.”

  Karen patted her hand. “Somehow, I sense that platitudes like 'you will move on one day,' and 'you deserve better' won't work here.”

  Maribel shook her head.

  “Well then, let’s get your mind on something else. I think we should tour the facility that we are going to be getting after years of lobbying the government. I am going to personally beg for an air conditioning unit for the offices, or I won’t be able to function.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Her heart was not broken anymore; it was barely patched up in places but not broken. She appeared on television with Karen, advocating for the charity organization. They featured her on talk shows, where she told her story. They even did a full spread on her in two newspapers.

  She resigned from Fisher and Smith on a Wednesday because she got a job offer to work with UNICEF as an accountant starting the following Tuesday. They never said a word about her past and though she got curious looks at the office after her first televised interview, nobody treated her any differently, and a large part of that had to do with the fact that a new story—even more amazing than her past—was brewing. It was the talk of the office; Mark Ellington was being investigated for embezzlement. In the accounting world that trumped ex-prostitution any day.

  People were more interested in her opinion on the embezzlement than her days as a prostitute. Vivian was happy for her, but sad that she was leaving.

  She stuck her head around the office door every five minutes. “What am I going to do, Maribel? Who am I going to have lunch with now that your new office is at the other end of town? Though I love you, I can’t see myself battling the midday traffic just to eat with you and come back.”

  Maribel would smile wickedly. “Weren’t you the one who convinced me to apply for the job?”

  “Yup,” Vivian said contritely. “I thought the pay was better and the change of environment was well needed. But things are different now; Monster Mark is now on his way out with Mr. Fisher and Smith’s boot in his backside.”

  Maribel grinned. “When he calls you to his office you must answer, ‘Yes Mr. Embezzler, Sir.’”

  Church was another matter for Maribel. The harshest of critics attended church, everyone knew that, and that was why she regrettably had to leave the choir.

  “For a season,” Sister Claudia had told her angrily. “I can’t understand why. It is still the same you, and I need your voice for my next song.”

  Maribel had touched her hand sympathetically.

  Sister Bertram had sidled up to them and said sternly, “I will resist any attempts to block you from Women’s Ministries meetings so you better be there on Sunday; you need our strength now more than ever.”

  Cathy was eight months pregnant and huge with it. She was no longer an ally at Women's Ministries because she laughingly told Maribel that she could barely waddle to her own bathroom, much less church.

  So Maribel faced the wrath of the church sisters and the awkward suggestions from her church brothers alone—when they realized that she was not amused by their barefaced attempts at propositioning her, she was eventually left alone.

  Thelma was instrumental in her being left alone; she refused to gossip about Maribel, to the point where she would snap at anyone who brought up the matter to her. Misconstruing her defensiveness as support, many persons began to view Maribel in a positive light.

  Her story could happen to anyone was the philosophical spin that was thrown around. And what was once the indefensible now was defended with single-minded determination.

  Time had indeed taken care of her story. And slowly she was just another church sister with a very interesting past. She received so many dinner invitations from her church brethren that she jokingly told Cathy that she was going to have to hire a social secretary.

  And then another birthday rolled around. Maribel was sitting in her office answering mail when one caught her eye. Happy Birthday was in the subject line and it was from Brian.

  Her fingers trembled when she clicked the message.

  Hi Maribel,

  I learned something since your last birthday— I am human and fallible. I have ideals that sometimes shatter and leave me very miserable in the smithereens of my broken emotions. I would like to think sometimes that because I follow the rules as outlined by the Bible, that I am close to God, but I realized that it’s when I take self out of the equation and just allow God to lead, that is when I am really close to him. For the past year, I have prayed for just that, selflessness.

  This letter is an apology of sorts. Last year I hurt you, I know that. I wanted to at the time. I wanted you to feel as low and as shattered as I was feeling. Remember the texts from Corinthians that I used to send to you, one verse at a time? Well I read them again today and I realized that even though I professed to love you, I was the opposite of those things when the first obstacle presented itself in my idyllic vision of the two of us.

  I am sorry, Maribel. I am sorry that it took me a year to grow up and to realize that I still love you. I can’t shake it, this feeling, this principle, this emotion. I tried to shake it; I tried to marry another woman, convinced myself that she was 'the one'. She had such a pristine, clean past and
was the antithesis of everything Maribel that I think I went crazy for a while. I am sure you heard that the wedding was called off—couldn’t do it. I would have been punishing her for my unhappiness.

  So I beg your forgiveness for hurting you further. I don’t care anymore about your past, Maribel. As I see it I have two choices, you and your past or living alone. I think I will take you—if you will have me, that is.

  Maribel had to close her office door before she rested her head on the desk and sobbed, loud choking sobs that she didn’t care if anyone heard. It was grief and relief, a combination that meant she was also laughing when she read the lines, I am sure you heard that the wedding was called off. No, she hadn’t heard.

  She didn’t want to hear anything that had to do with Brian after that Canada trip. So he isn’t married.

  She sat up straighter in her chair. I don’t care anymore about your past, Maribel. As I see it I have two choices, you and your past or alone. I think I will take you—if you will have me, that is.

  Oh Lord, thank you, she sobbed happily. Thank you so much. Thank you for being my friend through all this. Thank you for loving me so much that you never gave up on me even when I was wayward.

  She had to compose herself for a long while before she could write Brian. Tears just kept streaming down her face and she left them unchecked. 'Thank you God' just seemed so inadequate right now.

  “Father, this is the best birthday ever,” she whispered as she typed, her hands flying over the keys.

  Hi Brian,

  I’ll take you.

  She waited impatiently around her monitor, completely ignoring her telephone ringing until the incessant rings made her grab the receiver aggressively.

  “Yes.” Her voice was clipped and impatient.