Reverend Feelgood

by Lutishia Lovely

  But here you are back at home, and nothing’s normal. Simone sighed as she poured the hot water over her tea bag and added lemon and raw sugar. As she mounted the stairs, her heart was heavy.

  And there was only one person who could lighten it.

  She walked past her door and continued to the end of the hall, and Mark’s master suite. She raised her hand, but just before she knocked on the door, she changed her mind. She’d already invited Mark to spend more time with her tonight, and he’d turned her down. Simone didn’t think she could handle another rejection. So she decided to just drink her tea and go to bed.

  Mark stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, fully prepared to masturbate. Not tonight, son, a voice whispered into his mind’s ear. Your wife needs you. Mark showered, lotioned his body, put on a robe, and sat in the sitting area of the immense master suite, thinking. Could he have really heard what he thought he heard?

  Simone drank the tea but she didn’t taste it. Her mind was in turmoil, her body hummed with unreleased passion. Thinking a hot shower would help, she hurriedly shed her clothes and stepped under the nozzle, letting the pounding of the hot water knead her tense muscles. But there were tense muscles the water couldn’t reach, and only one person she wanted to knead them. She finished washing, dried off, lotioned herself, and crawled between the cool sheets.

  The tears came of their own volition. Simone had lived a fairly charmed life by most standards, and aside from Nate, had gotten just about everything she wanted. Now she wanted someone more than she’d wanted anyone in her life, including Nate, and she couldn’t have him. He was her husband, and she couldn’t have him! Please God. You know I love Mark and you know I’m now in love with him. Please touch his heart, God, and let him know that my love is true. I know he’s been hurt, God, that he’s afraid to love and lose again. Please let him know that I’m for real, God. My love is for real! Simone tried to stifle the cry of anguish that tore from her throat. She buried her head in the pillow to suppress the sound of her sobbing.

  Mark placed his ear against Simone’s door. His heart clenched, both that she was crying, and that she was crying for him! He turned the knob quickly and walked inside. “Simone.”

  Simone’s eyes flew open. She sat straight up in bed, too shocked to remember that she was naked. “Mark. What is it? I was just…”

  “I know.”

  “I just prayed that…”

  “I know. And before you called Him, He answered. And while you were yet speaking, He heard.” Mark knew Simone had no idea of the picture she painted, with the night lights from the garden streaming through the bedroom window. She looked like a goddess, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, breasts jutting out in greeting. “I love you, Simone.”

  “I am in love with you, Mark Simmons.”

  Mark let the robe fall as he walked toward the bed. Simone’s eyes quickly moved from his face to his manhood. It was glorious in its erection, bobbing before him like a sword ready to duel. Simone watched and waited, barely daring to breathe, lest she inhale too deeply, wake up and realize the moment was only a dream.

  “The dream” climbed into her bed and on top of her. Simone relished the weight of Mark’s bulk pressed fully against her. She couldn’t get enough of him, as her hands moved from his hair to his shoulders to his taut buttocks. She opened her mouth and Mark’s tongue plunged in, even as his long, strong fingers found her paradise and did likewise.

  Mark kissed Simone over and again. He felt he could kiss her forever. But there were other areas of her body screaming for his oral attention, and he did not want to disappoint. He reluctantly left her succulent mouth and bent his head down to her weighty breasts, taking as much of one as he could into his mouth. He suckled and squeezed and nipped and massaged. Again, he could stay there forever. But there was more.

  Honey, Mark decided, was what Simone tasted like as he journeyed past her navel and down to her thighs. Simone’s breathing quickened, her body squirmed, telling Mark what it wanted, and where it wanted it. Realizing she’d waited too long for him to tease, he spread her legs and sunk his tongue into her heat. Simone shuddered uncontrollably, and grabbed the pillow that had stifled her sobs to now stifle her loud moans.

  After his wife’s second orgasm, Mark felt he could focus on his own needs. He rolled over and silently directed Simone to please him. She called upon everything she’d ever heard, seen, or learned to satisfy Mark as he had satisfied her. She worshipped his manhood as if it were a shrine, lavishing love on it as if it were an onyx scepter. She took in as much of him as she could, and thrilled as he moaned and thrashed. Tears came to her eyes as she loved her man, her husband, her beloved. And still, it wasn’t over.

  Mark shifted until he was at the edge of the bed, and then stood. He held out his hand, signaling Simone to come with him. Wordlessly she climbed out of bed, and together they walked down the hall, into the master suite. Mark picked up Simone and placed her in the center of the bed. He climbed on behind her, spread her legs wide and with one hard, deep thrust, joined them together as one. Over and over, with each powerful stab, he pledged his love and undying devotion. She climaxed once, twice, yet Mark continued, intensifying the heat with his increased rhythm, steering them both toward a mutually enjoyable masterpiece. When it happened, when they climaxed together, Simone swore she saw stars, she knew the earth shook, and was convinced an angelic choir broke out in song. Belatedly she realized the sustained note she heard—a perfect high C—was her own voice. It was for Mark, her song of love, and the only audible sound made during the entire time of this—Mark and Simone Simmons’s first marital dance of love.

  30

  Gettin’ with That

  “Here you go, girl. Congratulations.” Destiny shifted Benjamin into her other arm and gave Melody the gift-wrapped box.

  “You got me a graduation present? Thank you, Destiny!” Melody hurriedly ripped off the paper and removed the box top. Inside was the Prada handbag she’d gone on and on about at the Mall of Louisiana a few months before. Melody screamed, jumped up, and hugged Destiny. Her abrupt actions scared Benjamin, who started to cry. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “He’s all right.” Even so, Destiny turned Benjamin away from Melody and began cooing and walking him back and forth. Destiny had noticed that for some reason, Benjamin wasn’t too fond of her best friend.

  “I can’t believe you brought me this, girl! I’m still trying to figure out how you’re living so large.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. Look at you, with your own house, a Mercedes, a nanny for your baby. You’re going to college full-time, and you don’t work. Why are you holding out with the info? What’s his name?”

  Destiny knew she’d never tell Melody or anybody else about Nate, and how he showered her like a tsunami with money and gifts. Guilt money, Destiny had told him once. To make up for the fact that during the past year, he’d rarely come to visit.

  “I told you, Melody. I received scholarships. Plus, Kiki helps me.”

  “Dang, your grandma must have hella paper.”

  “It’s not that big a deal, Melody.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So tell me, girl,” Destiny began as she put her seven-month-old brown-skinned beauty into his playpen. “What are your plans? No, don’t tell me. Now that you’re free at last from the prison otherwise known as Angel House, you’ve probably already got a one-way ticket back to LA.”

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking about moving to Dallas.”

  “Dallas? What’s in Dallas?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking about finding out. I don’t have the paper to live like I want in LA and I sure as hell ain’t moving back in with my parents. You remember Roxanne?”

  “The girl with the braces who says ‘praise the Lord’ after every sentence?”

  Melody laughed. “Uh-huh, that’s her. Well, her sister was here a couple weeks ago and I met her. She lives
in Dallas, has a two-bedroom condo, and is looking for a roommate.”

  “And you’d want to room with one of Roxanne’s relatives?”

  “Don’t get it twisted. Susie is nothing like Roxanne. Girlfriend took me to get some Asti Spumante and next she was asking if I knew where she could cop some weed.”

  “No way!”

  “If I’m lying, I’m dying!”

  “But have you been to Dallas, Melody? I think it would be pretty boring for somebody like you.”

  “Maybe, but I could hang for a minute. Plus, it would give me the opportunity to go to Palestine and check out that fine Thicke preacher. And don’t think I ain’t still mad at you for not driving us to his anniversary. We could have met Yadah!”

  “You could have gone. I had finals.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have a car. And if Bobby don’t buy me one like I asked, I’m gonna pack up the pussy.”

  “Bobby? What happened to Josh?”

  “You didn’t know? Josh is getting married. Some girl back in New Mexico, where he’s from.”

  “Wow, that was quick.”

  “Not really. I guess they’ve been off and on for years and I was just a diversion. He didn’t have enough money for me anyway. I’ve got bigger fish to try and fry—Thicke fish.”

  Melody’s fixation with Nate was the main thing about her that bugged Destiny. She’d tried to dissuade her, telling her about the long line of women trying to hook up with her pastor. But Melody wasn’t fazed. She believed she had what it took to move to the front of the line.

  “Whatever, Melody. I’m trying to save you from a little heartache, but if you want to become a Nate Thicke groupie, you just go right ahead.”

  “Please, you know you’re one too.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Because of the way you try and act like you don’t have an attitude when I talk about him. But you do.”

  Destiny hid her shock. She thought she covered up her love for Nate brilliantly, but obviously she had so much of it that some was seeping through the cracks in her mask.

  “Yeah, I’m a groupie,” she said nonchalantly. “That’s why I’m here, in Louisiana, getting my degree and taking care of another man’s baby. Because I’m so in love with Nate Thicke.”

  “Well, maybe not. But don’t try and act like you wouldn’t let him hit it if he wanted to.”

  “And risk giving Benjamin a sibling? I’ve got plans, Melody. Men are the last thing on my mind right now.”

  “Well, I tell you one thing, that chocolate chip is on my mind, and if I ever get the chance, I’m gonna get me some of that.”

  Destiny didn’t respond, and soon after Melody changed the subject. But what she said stayed on Destiny’s mind, even after she’d dropped Melody off at school and returned home. So many women. With Nate, she knew it had always been like that. But did it have to be? I’m uncommon, I’m unusual, I am not the status quo. No, she resolved, what Nate had done in the past did not have to dictate what they did in the future. Destiny decided she didn’t want to be just another woman. She wanted to be the only one. If Nate wanted to marry her, there’d be no more covering. The other women, including her mother and grandmother, would have to get out of his bed—and stay out.

  31

  Good Graces

  Jennifer was heartbroken. It had been three months since the anniversary, and Nate still hadn’t made love to her. He’d taken his keys back in June. This was September. How long was he going to stay mad? She’d said she was sorry! When it came to her acting as his manager, things hadn’t changed. His schedule was busier than ever, and she still traveled with him. But now, at any given time, so did almost a dozen other people. He was almost always surrounded by a large entourage. And not only was her hotel room no longer right down the hall, as it often had been in the past, now she was usually in a different hotel altogether. She’d been downgraded, gone from first class to the business section. It wasn’t coach, but she still didn’t like it.

  A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. For a second, Jennifer hoped it would be Nate. Maybe he’s finally over his anger, and is here to make me feel good. But a quick glance through the peephole killed that fantasy. Jennifer sighed, opened the door, and took the hamburger and fries she’d ordered from room service. “Maybe I should have gone with Kirk,” she said out loud. But at the time, hanging out with him and the assistant from the New York Times hadn’t sounded like her idea of fun. It’s not that she didn’t love traipsing through the streets of the Big Apple. It’s just that she’d rather have done so with Nate.

  Jennifer set the tray on the table and grabbed the remote. She munched on her fries and idly flipped through the channels. On one station, a well-dressed Black man was being interviewed. Jennifer turned up the volume, put down the remote, and took a bite of her burger.

  “They’re pimps,” the Black man said. “Masquerading behind the Word of God.”

  “But you’re a preacher too,” the interviewer said. “How can you say such things about your peers?”

  “Those megamoochers are no peers of mine. My peers are the handful of men and women in this country who still preach the unadulterated word of God!”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes and reached for the remote. But the man’s next sentence stopped her from turning the channel.

  “There’s one out there now, calling himself a motivational speaker. Lying to people about what they can have, getting their hopes up by saying they can have anything they want. As if God were Santa Claus and you just have to make your list and check it twice. But there’s a catch,” the man continued. “You have to buy his book first, see. You have to follow his magic formula. Well, does his formula come with a guarantee? If falling for his scheme and giving him your money doesn’t get you what you want, can you get your money back?”

  “Who is this fool?” Jennifer asked out loud. She knew the man was talking about Nate. Anyone familiar with his ministry or book would likely come to the same conclusion. As if the television heard her, the guest’s name appeared at the bottom of the screen: “Reverend Ed Smith, Pastor, First Baptist Church.”

  “These are pretty powerful words coming from someone of your stature, Reverend Smith. But as always, you’ve been an engaging guest, leaving us with plenty to think about. Until next time I’m…”

  Jennifer turned the channel and finished her meal. Then she sent a text message to Nate about what she’d seen. Maybe by cleaning up any messes made by this Smith guy spouting nonsense, I can get back into Nate’s good graces, Jennifer thought.

  Nate was quiet as he perused the portfolio in front of him. In it were broadcasting entities with which he was familiar, and names he recognized. Dana Owens was top-notch, no doubt about that. She was easy on the eyes too, which always helped.

  “You’ve been busy in the years since graduating at the top of your class. You built all of this business up from your base in Dallas?”

  “No, Reverend Thicke—”

  “You can call me Nate.”

  “Thank you, Nate. I honed my chops and garnered a large share of my clients while working in Atlanta. I was part of a megaministry there, as you know, and that is where I got a foothold into the religious community. You see, I want my firm to cover every area of our society, secular and spiritual. Although as a Christian myself, I am always pleased when I can use my talents to advance a member of God’s kingdom.”

  “It’s obvious your talents are sizable,” Nate replied, once again browsing through a folder that along with her résumé and letters of recommendation from prominent clients, also included newspaper clippings and magazine articles she’d been able to secure for those she represented.

  “What I’m really excited about,” Dana said, as she continued to watch Nate page through her collection of accomplishments, “are the inroads I’m making internationally. The Internet has made this a small world indeed, and ours is now a global marketplace. I’ve developed solid connections in London, Paris, Germany, and
specifically for my religious clientele, I’m working on several networks in Africa. Has your book been translated?”

  “They’re releasing versions in Spanish, French, and German next year,” Nate replied.

  “My contacts would allow you easy access to those markets, speaking engagements where you could get in front of the international audience. They can be pivotal to book sales. Not that you need my help with that. You were on the Times top ten for what…six months?”

  “Seven, not that anyone’s counting. I’m definitely interesting in expanding internationally, but I have to tell you, yo hablo español y francés muy poquito.”

  Dana laughed. “You don’t have to be able to speak other languages. The audience that comes to hear you will be able to understand English just fine.”

  Nate and Dana continued conversing, about both public relations and each other. Nate liked Dana. She was no-nonsense, and at forty-five, a seasoned professional with a plethora of contacts and associates in almost every promotional arena imaginable. She’d come highly recommended, and after their two-hour meeting, Nate knew he’d found what he was looking for. He held out his hand.

  “Dana Owens, congratulations. As of this moment, you are my new manager.”

  32

  Plain Pat

  Patricia was tired. After months of burning the candle at both ends—working for the church during the day and the post office at night, with five hours of sleep in between if she was lucky—Patricia was feeling the strain. She eyed the clock angrily as she turned off the alarm, as if the situation was its fault.