Divas of Damascus Road

by Michelle Stimpson

  “Dianne, you don’t owe us anything. You’re family,” Yolanda told her. “We love you. Do I need to call my mom for you?”

  “No, forget that.” Regina folded her arms now and came up with a plan of her own. “If it comes down to a choice between Dianne coming to the wedding and Aunt Joyce Ann coming to the wedding, I’ll see to it that Joyce Ann doesn’t show up. Now, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Look, I didn’t come here to cause trouble, and I don’t expect for you two or anybody else to understand. It’s just too hard. I can’t do it. Take me back to the hotel.” Dianne was resolved. She’d gone all the way up the roller coaster and all the way down. Her appetite had vanished, and a headache came in its place. I knew this was a big mistake.

  “This is your home as far as I’m concerned.” Regina rolled her neck and repositioned her head, facing forward now. “If there’s anyone who ain’t welcome, it’s Aunt Joyce Ann, and the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that she is not welcome to this wedding or anything pertaining to this weekend’s activities. Give me the phone, Yo-yo.”

  “No, we don’t have to handle this tonight.” Yolanda held the phone in her hand still. “Aunt Joyce Ann doesn’t know about the rehearsal dinner, so she won’t be there. Will you at least come to the dinner, Dianne?”

  Dianne sniffled and wiped her nose.

  “Please.” Yolanda gave Dianne a reassuring smile.

  “Are you sure my mother doesn’t know anything about tonight?” Dianne asked.

  “Positive.”

  “Who all is going to be there?”

  Yolanda rattled off the list of invited groups, “Us, Orlando, the baby, Aunt Toe, Momma, Richard, some of the members of the church where he ministers, and a few of his relatives, and some people Momma used to teach with. Not too many people, I don’t think.”

  Regina sighed. “I’m telling you, Dianne, if you need me to handle this—”

  “No, that’s okay.” Dianne’s arms went limp and she blew out a burden of air. “I’ll do the rehearsal dinner, but that’s it.”

  “It’s gonna be okay, Dianne.” Yolanda didn’t know how she knew this, but she had to say it in order to calm Dianne. “Everybody is praying—it’s gonna work out fine.”

  Chapter 6

  The tables were set with glasses, silverware, and glowing candles, creating an ambience of elegance. Later, the room quickly filled with activity, and everyone let their hair down, cooing over the baby, exclaiming how good Dianne looked and how happy they were to see her again.

  Richard’s natural and church family seemed to be having a family reunion of their own as well.

  Yolanda was dressed in a black pin-striped pantsuit, almost too professional for the occasion. Regina wished that her sister would show a little skin every now and then, but it was hard to get Yolanda out of her squeaky clean box.

  Gloria took the show that evening with a black, sleeveless slip dress. On a twenty-year-old the dress might have been simply appealing. But it was absolutely breathtaking on a woman who didn’t just have it (as most twenty-year-olds do) but had managed to keep it well into her fifties.

  Once the guests were settled in, Richard thanked them for coming and sharing their joy. Just then, Dianne noticed how handsome he was. He was a tall, bald-headed man with a thick and graying goatee. His rimless glasses were a contemporary accent to his aged tone.

  In that instant, Dianne wished she knew her father. For as much time as she spent hating Joyce Ann, she didn’t spend much time wondering about her father. Maybe he was as handsome as Richard. Maybe he towered over a roomful of people with his charisma and had the same booming, all-encompassing laugh as Richard. Maybe he was even a preacher. No, he couldn’t be a preacher—not be a preacher and leave her like that.

  Richard led them in a prayer of thanksgiving before the servers brought plates. Yolanda marveled at her mother’s beauty, which always seemed to be enhanced when she was with Richard. Yolanda had never known how Gloria’s whole face could warm up from the inside out when her love walked into the room. Yolanda saw it for the first time the night Gloria introduced her and Regina to Richard, which was also the night he asked the girls for their mother’s hand in marriage.

  “Don’t be askin’ them—ask me!” Gloria had interrupted what would have otherwise been a tear-jerking moment.

  Regina and Yolanda joked, “Please take her hand!”

  Then Gloria had kissed him, right there in front of her daughters. Regina and Yolanda thought they would fall out of their chairs. They’d never seen their mother hold a man’s hand, let alone kiss, before that night.

  Gloria was careful not to have men around her young, impressionable daughters and the niece she’d raised as her own. “Too much going on nowadays,” Gloria had said once, many years ago, when Regina had asked her mother if she could meet the person she was going to the movies with. “I am a single mother with young daughters. I can’t bring every Tom, Dick, and Harry around you.”

  “But Aunt Joyce Ann let me meet her boyfriend,” Regina said with a mouthful of bread.

  Gloria had abruptly ceased slicing the potatoes and asked Regina, her back still turned, “When?”

  “Last time I spent the night over there with Dianne,” Regina informed her. She was way too grown for her age. “His name is Michael. He has a dog.”

  “Did Michael spend the night over there, too?” Gloria held her voice steady, drawing out the entire story.

  “Yes, ma’am. I think so.” Regina smiled, hoping this would be the beginning of a new era when she would actually be able to meet the few male friends she suspected her mother had. Then she added, “The dog slept in the room with me and Dianne.” Regina figured, if Gloria knew that Aunt Joyce Ann had introduced her man, maybe Gloria would follow suit. She could not have been more wrong.

  Regina hadn’t quite finished swallowing that bread before Gloria headed out the front door and down the street to Joyce Anne’s place, the rental house.

  Now, it takes Gloria May and Joyce Ann Rucker to really demonstrate how to go tit for tat. They could go at it. That night the police got called out, and all the neighborhood was outside trying to see what was going on. People came out in rollers, house shoes, pajamas, and tattered robes. The neighborhood talked about it for days. Kept it going so until the pastor at church preached a sermon on brotherly love.

  Aunt Toe said they had always fought like cats and dogs because Gloria was always trying to tell Joyce Ann what to do and Joyce Ann was always doing things to provoke Gloria. Whatever the problem was, they settled it that night, because Regina never went back to Joyce Ann’s place again unless Gloria was with her. Up until the time Shannon died, Dianne came over to Regina’s house all the time, but it would never again go the other way.

  “Listen. Don’t so much as borrow a cup of sugar from your Aunt Joyce Ann without me, you hear?” Gloria had threatened them.

  “Why not?” Regina asked. She braced herself, unsure what had possessed her to question her mother.

  “Your Aunt Joyce Ann isn’t well right now. The devil’s got hold of her mind. Just pray for her.”

  “And can we pray for Dianne, and baby Shannon in heaven, too?” Regina had asked.

  “Yes, we can.” Then Gloria took Regina’s hands and led her to that old familiar couch. There, they prayed for Joyce Ann, Dianne, and Shannon. Gloria’s prayers turned to sobs, and Regina got the feeling that whatever was going on at Aunt Joyce Ann’s house had to be serious.

  And it was.

  Things had gone downhill from there. It seemed Gloria was even more careful than before with the girls. They weren’t even allowed to date until they were eighteen, and by then they were off to college, buried in books and higher education. Gloria herself was too busy worrying over the girls’ well-being to bother with a love life of her own. This thing with Richard had just caught her off guard. That was the best Yolanda could figure.

  And, actually, there was nothing left to guard. The girls
had moved out; the house was empty. Finally, she could think about what she wanted rather than concern herself with what it might cost the girls. Gloria could live her life now.

  Richard’s oldest son made a toast, followed by Regina. She spoke for both daughters in wishing the best for their mother and Richard. They all gave three cheers and drank ginger ale to happiness.

  The night had gone well, complete with countless introductions, hugs and kisses, and even gifts from those who said they wouldn’t be able to make the ceremony the next day.

  Things would be a little different for Yolanda now that everyone was getting paired up. She was happy for them, but her Inner Child was a little green. Her mother and Regina, her two best friends, had new priorities in their lives. Regina was a new mother whose busy life left little room for shopping and late-night movies. And now her mother would be busy with her life as a newlywed.

  Romantic love had always been an enigma for Yolanda, a catch-22. She was raised by a strong, single black woman of God. The Jordan household was a woman’s world—just Gloria and the girls. The thought of having a man in the house was foreign to Yolanda. They never had the toilet seat problem or the remote control problem or the issue with gas. They were ladies. Their house was clean, stuff was orderly, and things didn’t get messed up.

  Yolanda didn’t really have anything against men. She liked date every now and then, a night out, a dance. She could enjoy a man’s company without depending on it. She had had a few boyfriends in high school. The problem she had zero tolerance for the foolishness she saw going on then: he-said-she-said, if-you-love-me-you-will, read-my- She came very close to losing her virginity one night homecoming. That next Monday the rumor was out that “done it” with Byron. It’s funny how people will believe a lie before they’ll believe the truth. She thought things would in college, but they weren’t. Same games, different faces.

  It didn’t help that she was also a neat-freak and something of a perfectionist. She liked her socks folded a certain way, her clothes in her closet, arranged in a certain order, and all the labels in her pantry facing forward—at all times. Yolanda didn’t make any excuses for herself, though. She liked things done right. Generally “right” meant “Yo-yo’s way.” But when you’re single, that’s okay. It was her house, her domain. It was all about order, minimal confusion. The coolness of reason.

  Maybe that’s why Yolanda became a pharmacist. In her field of work, perfection was absolutely essential. Imprecision or incompleteness could mean the difference between life and death for someone.

  But still, she couldn’t deny that she thought of love more often now. Maybe it was the mood, the atmosphere, that made her pull out life’s measuring stick and evaluate herself. Yolanda watched, almost embarrassed at the secret smile that lingered between her mother and Richard for most of the evening. Truth was, she wanted to look in someone’s eyes and smile like that someday. The stirring in her heart scared her, made her uneasy in her own skin.

  Regina watched her mother—how, for once, she sat up on the pedestal and received all that was due her as the woman of the hour. She wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how much her happiness meant, how much she’d always loved her. But Richard beat her to it. No one knew what he said, but it was all in the way that Gloria almost blushed when he put his nose to her ear and whispered. He would give her everything she needed now.

  Regina fanned her eyes as she watched them do their courting—almost too private for this very public gathering, she thought. But no one else seemed to think twice, so she decided just to eat. When the servers produced desserts, Regina tore into her chocolate cake and then had Orlando’s piece as well. It would be her last night of bingeing, she swore to herself. Before setting her eyes on the food, she had thought that she could make it through this rehearsal dinner without blowing it.

  Too late now. She might as well see this binge on through, because starting tomorrow, she was fasting.

  Dianne was busy stuffing her face as well. She kept her eyes on the entrance, her feet ready to scramble if Joyce Ann should come walking through that door. Dianne was occupied by that fear, and she searched the room for an outlet. She was pleasantly distracted when she heard a loud cheer from the Reed side of the room.

  “Hey, DeAngelo, you made it!” one of the Reeds yelled out.

  Dianne looked up and almost choked on her food. Good Lord, who is that man?

  He was light brown, dressed in black, and had beaucoups of muscles rippling under a formfitting shirt. Pants just loose enough, just tight enough, to indicate that the fineness didn’t stop at his snugly cinched belt. Mmm, mmm, mmm. He couldn’t be unattractive if he tried.

  “I couldn’t miss my favorite uncle’s wedding,” DeAngelo said, searching the room for Richard. His eyes stopped at Dianne for an instant and then continued their hunt.

  “You ain’t none of my nephew,” Richard called out. The room roared with laughter as the man made his way to Richard. They hugged long enough for Dianne to deduce that they had a long history together, though they were many years apart in age.

  Richard tapped his fork against his glass, calling the crowd to attention again. “Hey, everybody, listen up. For those of you who don’t know him or don’t remember him, this here is DeAngelo. He’s Mattie’s grandson. Mattie, raise your hand. Y’all say hi to him.”

  “Hello, DeAngelo,” the room spoke.

  “Have you already made the toast?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Bobby made it. But we’ve got time for another one.”

  The guests lifted their glasses once more. “To the man I’ve always known as Uncle Richard, the closest thing to a father I ever had. May God bless you and your lovely wife for years to come.”

  “Cheers!”

  The last table made room for him, and the party went on, but Dianne’s thoughts never left DeAngelo’s table. He didn’t have the kind of look that most women find attractive: the tall, dark, and handsome look. No, there was something more to him. The way he walked into the room and filled it with himself. The way he moved through the crowd. It wasn’t just in his face or in his hair or in his clothes. It was in him. He was sexy from head to toe, and Dianne already knew she wanted a piece of that.

  She followed him with her eyes when he excused himself to go to the restroom. After a minute or two she followed suit. Dianne caught him just before he left the restroom area, out of everyone’s view.

  “Hi.” She smiled.

  “Hello,” he said in a friendly, passing kind of way.

  “I’m Dianne.” She put her hand out.

  He stopped and shook her hand. “I’m DeAngelo. It’s nice to meet you, Dianne.”

  “Do you live around here?” she asked as if she didn’t already know.

  “Oh, no. I’m living in Galveston now.”

  “Really? I’m in Darson!” She exaggerated her surprise. “About halfway between Dentonville and Galveston. Small world, huh?”

  “Sure is,” he said.

  “So are you just in town for the wedding?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be leaving Sunday morning.”

  “Where are you staying tonight?”

  “I’m a little north of town, in Farley.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Dianne said, dangling the proposition.

  He waited for a moment, looked as if he was thinking.

  Dianne licked her lips and smiled, hoping that she hadn’t set herself up for disaster. DeAngelo had acknowledged God in his toast. But if there was one thing Dianne knew about the opposite sex, it was that no matter how holy a man was, he was a man before he was a man of God. Every last one of them had the primal urge to reproduce.

  “It doesn’t have to be too bad.” DeAngelo snapped up the bait.

  At eleven that night, Dianne told James she was going to spend the night with Yo-yo and left him with her MasterCard so that he wouldn’t ask any questions. The cab dropped her off at DeAngelo’s hotel, and he met her in the lobby as he said he would. They had
a few wine coolers and laughed about Dentonville—how small it was, the fact that the post office actually closed at twelve for lunch.

  DeAngelo seemed like a nice enough person, certainly a better catch than James. Dianne thought for a moment that she might actually like to know DeAngelo. But she’d already blown her chances for a decent relationship, seeing as she was in his hotel room on the same evening she had met him.

  When they got down to business, to Dianne’s surprise, DeAngelo was gentle and he actually wanted to make sure that she was pleased as well. But what she got out of it was much more than physical pleasure. It was a perverse, distorted kind of gratitude. For Dianne it wasn’t about power or enjoyment or love. It was that look in his eyes, that smile on his face when it was all over. She lived for the moment when a man said, with or without words, “You are good for something.”

  When DeAngelo’s eyes rolled back into his head, the rim around the hole in her heart pulled in tight, as though a drawstring had been cinched. Even if it was only for a second, and even if it was only half closed, it felt better than the gaping absence she suffered ceaselessly.

  Long after DeAngelo fell asleep, Dianne lay there looking around. The hotel room was generic, standard: a bed, a desk, a nightstand, a chair.

  She’d seen it all before, way too many times. This moment, after it was all over, was when she felt lonelier than ever. Every time, it crept up on her and drove her physically closer to the warm body that lay next to her in bed. Didn’t matter who it was, so long as he was breathing.

  Dianne was emotionally exhausted. So much had happened that day. Her feelings had traveled the whole gamut, and she wondered how much longer she would go on that way. How much longer before she could just have a normal, relaxing day—whatever that was? The only time she felt sane was when she while working. She just wanted to be able to lie down, close her eyes, and see nothing.