Jayrod would never, ever be legit, and Derek knew that.
“How's that's honey dip of yours? She keeping you satisfied?”
“We're doing okay. I'm thinking about cooling things, though.”
“Yeah. Fuck her. She served her purpose, right?”
That statement could be taken a couple of ways. Derek wasn't going to respond.
“I'll be up to see you next week, and I'm going to make a little deposit into your account tomorrow.”
“That's my baby brother! I love you, man. Thank you so much again. I just wanted you to know that having you out there for me makes it a little bit easier to do this time in here.”
“I love you, too,” Derek said. “I'll see you next week.”
“Peace out!”
The phone went dead, and Derek was glad. Jayrod thought that Derek had dealt with the “Ritz Bitch.” She was shot. She should be dead. Jayrod assumed that his wishes had been granted. He just assumed that wishing would make it so.
That was the problem with Jayrod. He assumed too much— and that is why when he finally did get out, it would be just a matter of time before he'd go back.
Derek smiled, remembering a little saying that he learned from Miss Montpelier, his third-grade teacher: When you ASSUME, you make an ASS out of U and ME.
Derek hated to think it, but Jayrod was an ass. He loved his brother, but his brother was a jailbird, a convicted felon, and quite frankly, not the sharpest pencil in the box.
Derek was a Mont Blanc and was not going to have his nice life ruined by a Bic, someone who “assumed” that he could have someone killed.
Especially if that someone was Ritz Harper.
Derek couldn't tell Jayrod that he had nothing to do with the shooting of Ritz Harper. He never hired anyone to do it. He couldn't— not after the night they spent together. He couldn't tell his brother that he was actually really messed up by her shooting, that he wanted to rush to the hospital and see her, that he was hoping she would live. He couldn't tell him any of that. His brother hated Ritz so much. He wanted to hate her, too, but he got to see a side of her that his dick could never forget.
Who would have known that a drop he had to make in a fancy Jersey neighborhood would be literally in Ritz's backyard?
He was stuck at the front gate of Ritz's gated community as the guard was calling his customer. Going through the residents' gateway was a beautiful Aston Martin Vanquish. The person in the car slowed down and stopped right next to Derek. The window went down, and there was Ritz Harper.
“Derek? What are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?”
“I didn't. I'm doing some business out here,” he said.
“Where's your little girlfriend?” she said.
Derek rolled his eyes and didn't respond. Ritz was being playful, but he didn't want to give in to her whims. Ritz got out of her car, walked over to Derek's window, and leaned in. She let her double Ds flop out of her blouse— not too much, but just enough to get Derek to stare at them.
“It seems as though your little business friend isn't responding. You want to come over and wait until they get in?”
Derek was a little surprised. But in his line of work he had learned to never be surprised, ever. He nodded. Ritz told the guard that Derek was with her, then he followed her through the gate and up the hill to her home. Ritz's house was everything Derek imagined— glamorous and over the top.
They sat down on a plush sofa. She asked him what he wanted to drink.
“Just a glass of ice water, with lots of ice,” he said.
Ritz came back with a tall, slim glass of ice water and a cocktail glass filled with Grey Goose. Ritz loved to unwind when she was home alone. She would have a drink on occasion and would definitely smoke a little weed, which was her little secret.
She took a seat on her plush, suede couch right next to Derek. She was practically sitting on top of him. He shifted in his seat to give her more room. She inched closer.
“Do you have any weed?” Ritz boldly asked. “I know you must.”
“Why do you know I must?” Derek asked sheepishly. “All black men don't sell weed or even know where to get weed!”
Ritz shot him a look that said, Do you think I'm stupid?
“Come on, let me see what you got,” Ritz said, reaching across his pants to dig in his pocket, ignoring his fake indignation.
He grabbed her hand and held it.
“It's not in my pocket. I don't keep shit on me,” Derek said, letting her hand go.
He got up and went outside to his Jeep. He had a hidden compartment underneath the seat. He took out a small bag and came back into the house. He unrolled the bag and took out a piece of hemp rolling paper. It was very thin and didn't intrude on the weed. It was like smoking without the paper. Derek laid the paper out flat and crumbled some of his best skunk out on the paper. The weed was perfect. It was already presorted for sticks and lumps. He rolled a flawless joint with his thumbs in one motion. He lightly licked the edge to make it stick and smoothed it out with his fingers.
It was the best-looking joint Ritz had ever seen. When she rolled her own, they looked lumpy and uneven. She didn't care before. It all smoked the same, she thought. But when she lit up Derek's, she realized that they didn't all smoke the same. She inhaled deeply, and in a matter of minutes she was in another place. Derek looked at her and smiled.
“Nice, huh?” he said.
“This is the best shit I've ever had. No wonder you're so successful,” said Ritz.
“How do you know I'm successful?” he said.
She gave him another What, do you think I'm stupid? look. And he smiled again. Derek wasn't much of a smiler, but he was smiling a lot this night. He grabbed his glass and took a swig of his water. Ritz was completely ignoring her drink and was being very selfish with the joint. Derek didn't mind. He wasn't much of a smoker. He liked to have his wits about him at all times.
She laid the joint in the stylish Orrefors ashtray on her coffee table and leaned over and kissed him. It was an urgent kiss. Derek pierced her mouth with his tongue, which was cold from the ice water, then heated up her entire mouth. The sensation was weird and arousing. Ritz gripped the back of his head and raked her nails firmly down his neck and then down his back. She could feel the hard ripples of his muscles through his shirt— which was irritatingly in the way. Ritz pulled back and told him to take it off.
Derek got up, and Ritz leaned back and watched him like she was watching a striptease. Derek purposely took his time unbuttoning his Ralph Lauren button-down, taking a second at each button. Ritz was eager, but she was too mature to show it. She was going to let him play. She was having fun. She lit and took another drag of the joint, and as he pulled his undershirt over his head she let out a steady stream of smoke.
“Boy, you sure are blessed,” Ritz said, her breath quickening.
“No, baby, this is hard work,” he said. Derek looked like one of those posters they have in the gym of what a perfect body is supposed to look like. Every muscle was uniquely defined, covered in the most beautiful, smooth skin. He was one of those brothers who has a hard time growing a full beard and doesn't have much body hair, just one straight strip leading into his jeans, like a runway. Ritz grabbed him by his belt and pulled him close to her.
“I got the rest,” she said.
Now it was her turn to tease. She undid his belt and pulled it all the way out of the belt loops. She opened the button on his jeans and inched his zipper down. His bulge was so big, it was like Ritz had unleashed a python after she had gotten the zipper all the way down. His pants fell to his ankles. She slid her hands around his perfect ass and pulled down his cotton boxers. She took her tongue and, starting at the base of his shaft, licked all the way, all ten inches. Derek let out a moan. His knees almost buckled. Ritz then pulled him onto the couch, facedown.
“What the fuck?” Derek said. He didn't like that position at all. But lying facedown, his ass exposed, gave him a t
hrill that he was not able to acknowledge— yet.
“Trust me,” Ritz said, as she climbed on top of him from behind and whispered in his ear. She had gotten her clothes off in a split second and was rubbing her huge breasts down the small of his back. Her nipples were swollen and erect, and she loved how they felt on his skin.
Derek's dick was pulsing like it had its own respiratory system. He wanted to be inside her— he had to have that wet, warm, silky tightness around his dick. She was on top of his back, kissing him. He was reacting to nature, and involuntarily humping the couch. He couldn't stop— she kissed, he thrust. He wanted to throw her on her back and then fuck her like a man. He didn't want to cream on the couch cushions! And if he did, would she send him the dry cleaner's bill?
Ritz ran her tongue down the small of his back to the crack of his ass. She parted his cheeks with her tongue and plunged it into his ass. Derek had never felt anything like it. He couldn't take it anymore. He flipped over, grabbed his jeans, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a Magnum. Ritz grabbed for it. But Derek already had it on.
“Not so quick,” she said.
“Don't worry, I'm definitely going to take my time. You're going to have to come for this.” The double meaning wasn't lost on Ritz, who simply closed her eyes at the thought.
Derek took a moment to stare at Ritz and really look at her. Behind all of that fake shit, she is really beautiful, he thought to himself. Her skin was flawless. Her pubic area was perfectly manicured. The Brazilian wax job had taken care of that very well.
Derek reached into his glass of water and fished out an ice cube. He ran the ice over Ritz's chest and then over her nipples. He was right behind every stroke of ice with his warm tongue and mouth. He would put out a fire with the ice and start a new one with his mouth. Ritz couldn't keep still. She was writhing and wiggling with each stroke. She opened her mouth to say something, and Derek rubbed the ice cube over her lips and licked off the dripping water and plunged his tongue into her mouth. Ritz gasped with pleasure. Ritz grabbed him and tried to direct him on top of her, but he promised he was going to take his time and he meant it. He grabbed another cube of ice and rubbed it lightly over her engorged clit. He pushed the cube into her blazingly hot opening. And Ritz thought she was going to explode. He followed with his tongue, which he dipped into the iced hot spot and then slowly swirled it around her about-to-burst clit. Ritz grabbed his head. She was holding on for mercy. Derek flicked her clit ferociously with his tongue until Ritz knew she was going to explode. She needed to feel him inside of her. She had to have him right then.
With all of her strength, Ritz pulled Derek on top of her. He followed willingly this time. She guided his hips over her to the perfect spot. She grabbed his ass and plunged him in- side of her with all of her might. He was so big and she was so ready. Ritz wrapped her legs around him and he expertly went to work, hitting every single chord in her symphony. Ritz thought she might have lost consciousness for a second. She came almost immediately the first time, and then two more times before Derek was done.
Derek had been with quite a few women— most of whom knew how to put their thing down. But Ritz Harper? She is a bad bitch, Derek thought, as she lay on the suede couch exhausted. Now what?
The two didn't exchange words. Derek gave her a juicy kiss on her lips. He got dressed. He checked his cell. There was a message from his customer apologizing for being late.
“I got to run, babe,” Derek said, cool but still very woozy from the experience.
“Okay. Maybe we'll catch up again sometimes,” Ritz said, trying to be equally cool, but also very woozy from the experience.
Derek left the bag of weed on the coffee table and left. He saw Ritz a couple of nights after that when Jamie asked him to come up to the studio to pick her up. Ritz did her usual flirting, but she acted as if that night never happened. Derek slipped and blushed when Ritz said hello. But it was so quick, he didn't think anyone noticed. Ritz did. And so did Jamie.
Ritz was now shot, maybe dead. And what about Jamie? He would have to break up with her. He liked her too much to string her along. She deserved better. Derek was too distracted to be in a relationship— too distracted by his business, too distracted by Ritz.
He had to make the break from Jamie quick and clean. He needed to be away from the whole scene, fade back into his world and disappear.
8
Edwin had nervous energy most Sunday mornings, but it was mostly excitement. He would prepare his sermons during the week. But Sunday morning, standing in the pulpit, he may be overcome with the spirit and everything he had written would be out the window. It was the unpredictability, the unexpected that may happen on any given Sunday. He might look out and see a face in the crowd and be inspired to preach about something totally different than planned. He may hear someone at the altar call out for prayer for a particular thing that might inspire Edwin to preach about that. With all of his scholarly learning and preparation from Drew University, what went on in the pulpit on a Sunday could not be taught or anticipated. Pastors are made and broken based on their ability to make that magical moment happen on Sunday. This Sunday would be perhaps the most unpredictable of his career. It was Edwin's first sermon since his life was upended. In just one afternoon, everything he worked for, everything he was born to do was thrown into jeopardy. His entire life— his family, his ministry, his world— was changed forever. Thanks to Ritz Harper. It was on her show that a man he once knew long before he was Pastor Edwin Lakes, head of one of the biggest churches in New York City, and growing into one of the biggest in the country, revealed that he was in love with Edwin. This man said that he had a relationship with Edwin and that Edwin left him abruptly without so much as a good-bye. The man had been harboring these feelings for years and just had to let it out.
Actually, the man's story was masterfully pulled out of him by Ritz Harper, whose entire career was built on ruining lives with rumor, innuendo, and gossip. But this story happened to be the truth— truth that would be better served untold. But it was a truth that also needed an explanation.
Edwin debated addressing it at all. But he had to. His ministry was built on the Word. And the Word was rooted in truth. His church family deserved that much. They deserved it as much as his wife deserved to hear it from his mouth instead of from some stranger on the radio. Edwin had very few regrets in life, but he regretted not telling his wife about his experiences in Miami, Florida, where for a few glorious months he had more fun than he could ever imagine and had had a relationship with another man.
How could he have explained it to her? What would he have said? How would he even have brought it up? He decided that the Miami affair had no impact on his life. It was over. He never looked back and didn't reminisce about that time. Not one moment. He loved his life and he loved his wife. Why burden her with doubt?
No one ever believes that you can have a homosexual experience and completely walk away. Pastor Donnie McClurkin admitted that he used to be a homosexual and he couldn't stop being the butt of some comedian's jokes. It just seems impossible. But it's not. Edwin completely walked away from that life. But he didn't trust Patricia to believe him. Not telling her the truth was not only a mistake, it was un-Jesus-like. Whether Patricia believed him or not, he had an obligation to tell her the truth. He had to know that their love could conquer all. Now, as he prepared to go it alone for the first Sunday since he got married, he wasn't so sure if their love could conquer this.
Edwin missed his family dearly. They made his Sunday mornings less hectic. He would start with a lovemaking session with his beautiful wife. Morning sex was the best, he always thought. It was a perfect way to start a day. Even though that was their routine, it was never routine, it was never mundane, it was never rote. It was always loving. It always hit the spot— both their spots.
Then, afterward, the banter of his children around the breakfast table— not to mention the nice breakfast of scrambled eggs and turkey bacon with whole-gra
in toast— is what gave Edwin's life meaning. Edwin loved his life. He loved the order of it.
Not having his family this particular Sunday left such a hole in his spirit, but somehow it seemed appropriate.
“When Jesus was about to be crucified, he brought his disciples with him and they all fell asleep,” Edwin said to himself. “I guess the lesson is when you have something tough to face, sometimes you'll have to face it alone. I have to handle this situation by myself.”
Edwin's mother and a few other members of the church tried to come around to comfort him. But he ignored them. They were just distractions and crutches, and he needed neither.
He would have to face his entire congregation and explain to them why their pastor had a homosexual relationship and he'd have to tell them why he was still worthy of being their pastor.
He sat at his huge wooden desk in his inner sanctuary, lined with rich oak paneling and oak bookcases, filled with Bibles from all over the world and the spiritual writings of many different faiths. The floors were wall-to-wall with plush crimson carpeting. Edwin studied his sermon. It was filled with passages about forgiveness and judgment. Would this get through to them?
He did what he always did right before going out to the pulpit. He kneeled at a small altar in the corner of his office and he prayed. He prayed.
“Heavenly Father, thank You for giving me another day on this earth to do Your will. Grant me the eloquence You gave your servant Moses. Grant me the wisdom You gave
Your servant Solomon, and grant me the strength of the Lord Almighty. Encamp Your angels around this church and open the minds and hearts of everyone who hears my voice, Lord. Let the truth be ever present. In Jesus Christ's name I pray. Amen.”
Edwin took a deep breath and headed into the sanctuary, not knowing what to expect. The organist was playing something that Edwin couldn't really hear. The choir was singing something, too. But Edwin was caught up in his thoughts. He took his seat next to the pulpit. It was a big wooden thronelike seat, where his father had once sat. Edwin remembered being in the front pew, looking up at his father and thinking he looked like a god. He was larger than life. Edwin used to wonder what he would look like up there one day. But this day he didn't care what he looked like.
Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? Page 4