Don't Blame the Devil (16 page)

I
t was a short time later when Delilah, now in the deacon's kitchen, heard the deacon finally return to his apartment.

“Delilah,” he called out as he entered, “I'm back, and Jessie's with Tamara.”

It really didn't matter. By that time she'd cried until her insides felt like a slinky toy—all turned in and out. To take her mind off the current mess, she'd also washed the few dishes in the sink. Angry, with indifference she'd already begun to mop the small kitchen floor without bothering to sweep it first.

“Delilah.” Against all reason the deacon's voice almost choked with sympathy for her. She alone was catching the hell, but he'd been in the playing field, too.

But he didn't know what to do. How could he make up to Delilah for Tamara's caustic words and coldness?

He surveyed her handiwork. “You've been through a lot in the last few days. We both have, but you need to rest and you certainly didn't have to do any housework. I could've done it like I've been doing it….”

“Look, Thurgood,” Delilah replied as she went over and looked out from what was becoming her favorite spot—the front window. “It's getting late in the evening and too late for me to make amends to you or Jessie, and especially Tamara.” She spun around and pointed toward the floor. “And I didn't spill nothing. So allow me to mop the damn floor in peace.”

Once again, Delilah's nasty attitude shut off the deacon's sympathy valve.

“That's fine with me! You've spilled enough for one day.”

He was about to say something more but didn't. Instead the deacon went over and stuck his head out the door as if he was listening for something. “I don't hear anything coming from either Jessie or Tamara. She told me before he came home that she wasn't going to say anything to Jessie before we did. But she's still pretty pissed off. When I left she was resting, and Jessie was giving her some pizza to eat. Her foot is okay and it'll be better in no time—”

“Can you just take me home?” Delilah felt twice her age. She was more confused now than before. When she got a chance to pray again, she'd ask Jehovah why He was putting her through more than she felt was necessary.

“I don't want to take you home, Dee Dee.”

“Thurgood, I don't have the time or the strength. I just want to lie down and sleep until the real sleep catches up with me.”

Deacon Pillar, the human Ping-Pong ball, pulled his wife to his side. “Stay here tonight, Dee Dee. I'm tired, too, and I'm putting an end to all of this real soon.”

“You mean you're really not going to take me home?”

“No, I'm not taking you home.”

“It's not all that late, Thurgood. It can't be no more than about nine o'clock.” She pointed to his answering machine. “Oh, by the way, that she-demon in a church hat's been calling for you. You sure you don't need to get rid of me tonight so you don't have to explain our non–afternoon delight?”

“Heavenly Father”—the deacon ignored Delilah, preferring to explain his case to God instead—“Lord, I'm so tired of these women trying to run my life—” Deacon Pillar cut his prayer short. “I'm really tired, so you just stay here. Or you can go downstairs and see if your loving son and granddaughter wanna take your cute little tush back to Garden City. Which is it?”

Delilah showed she'd accepted defeat by sitting down on the sofa and crossing her legs. “Whatever, Thurgood.”

“Then let's order in something to eat. We'll watch a movie on television, or I've got some real good DVDs, too.”

After placing an order with his favorite Pizza Hut restaurant, the deacon turned on the television.

“Well now, what do you know about this? It's one of my favorite movies playing.” The deacon turned up the sound and without asking Delilah if it was what she'd like to see, he lay back on the sofa.

“
Harlem Nights
is one of my all-time favorite movies, Dee Dee.”

“It's mine, too.” Delilah's eyes grew wide. She laughed at the irony of his movie choice and the scene displayed on the television.

“Oh boy,” the deacon laughed, “watch how Della Reese knocks Eddie Murphy into next week.”

“I don't hafta watch her,” Delilah quipped. “I taught her how to do it.”

The deacon was about to say something when he noticed that Delilah wasn't laughing at the absurdity of her claim. And some of the numbness returned in his lower lip.

“I never could understand why they didn't at least give me a little credit, since they based that Sunshine character on me, too.” Delilah slouched back farther on the sofa. “Come to think of it, Redd Foxx left this planet owing me dinner….”

The frown that grew upon her face caused him to wonder how often her mind wandered into fantasyland. It seemed to leave at will, and a lot more often these days. Just in case it was true, he also decided to remove
Harlem Nights
from his list of favorite movies.

But that was Delilah. Sometimes, with just one look, she could mind-cripple the old deacon into walking on a tight-rope over a pool of gasoline holding a lit match. And she'd convince him it was safe to do so.

T
he next morning the telephone rang, waking up the deacon and Delilah. They'd dozed off the night before on the couch, and were still there when the sound woke them.

“Can you come downstairs, Deacon?”

“Are you alright, Tamara?”

“Yes, Daddy went to have that cast removed today, and I want to talk to you before he gets back home.”

“Okay, baby girl. I'll be right there. Just let me wake Delilah and let her know where I am.”

“Never mind, just bring her, too.”

 

The door to Tamara's living room was already open, so the deacon and Delilah filed through with the deacon leading.

Tamara was on the phone. She motioned for them to take a seat as she hung up.

“That was Sister Marty,” Tamara said, almost too happy about it. “She's got to work overtime, but she's going to come over after. She also said don't forget you promised to escort her to the Family and Friends Day celebration next week.”

“Baby girl,” Deacon Pillar scolded, “was it necessary to relay that particular message at this particular moment?”

Delilah was about to say something, but Tamara's words stopped her cold.

“No, I guess it really wasn't. But I don't know how to feel, how to think. It's too much for me right now.” Tamara stopped and looked straight at Delilah. “And to be honest, Sister Marty didn't say that. I'm sorry for the lie. That was the cable company.”

“I'm sorry, too, Tamara,” Delilah said softly. “All I've done since I've come back is to bring more worry for you and Jessie. I never meant to do that.”

“I didn't think you did it on purpose,” Tamara conceded, “but mama's only been gone a few months.” She stopped and looked at the wedding picture of her parents. “Now suddenly I've got a grandmother who came barging into our lives, where she wasn't wanted, and loaded with all kinds of drama.” Tamara stopped and pointed a finger toward the deacon. “And a grandfather who's been in my life for the last four years, pretending he's somebody else.” Tamara shook her head. “How am I supposed to keep from telling Daddy his mama's married to his real daddy, who's been living upstairs all these years?”

While Tamara laid open her feelings, it was all Delilah could do not to run over and just hold her. But she couldn't worry about her own sudden maternal feelings, if indeed that's what they were. At that moment, it was all about Tamara. And she doubted if Tamara wanted her touch.

“I'm truly sorry, Tamara.” Delilah was stuck on repeating
sorry.
She couldn't trust herself to say anything beyond that.

“Save it. Please let me finish.” Tamara spoke in a way that dismissed any more apologies that Delilah might be about to make. “So now, just when I think I can get a break from all this insanity, I find out somebody signed me up to cook about seventy-eleven dishes to bring to the Family and Friends Day. Even with Daddy's cast removed, he still won't be able to cook. He may not be able to even play his guitar when we sing.”

“I'm sorry….” Delilah was still stuck on that word.

“You just oughta be sorry. Now I got to do something desperate.”

“Baby girl, don't let desperation drive you to do anything. You see what happened when your grandmother was desperate.”

“I married your skinny wannabe-a-thug arse! That's what happened.”

Tamara limped from the couch as best she could. She swung a finger at the both of them. “Look, Bonita and G-Clyde. Hush up!”

Tamara leaned forward and raised her voice. She continued to speak as though she were the adult in charge. She pointed to an opening in the living room ceiling. “You think I can't hear you two through the living room vent?
Harlem Nights,
my foot.”

Both the deacon and Delilah looked sheepish as they glanced upwards toward the vent.

Tamara turned toward Delilah and pointed. “For someone who's so short and skinny, you sure have a loud mouth and an even bigger imagination. You taught Della Reese how to knock someone out? Please. If you're good at knocking folks out, then why didn't you knock out Croc Duggan before he turned you out?”

The deacon recalled the name Croc, but couldn't remember why. And what was Tamara so mad about?
Harlem Nights
was only a movie. “You getting too excited, baby girl. Remember your hurt foot.”

“My what…? Give me a break, Grandpa.”

“Did baby girl just sass me?”

“Shut up, Thurgood.” Delilah turned back to Tamara before the deacon could react. “Well, sweetie, let me try and explain things.” Delilah ignored the deacon's inability to come up with a lie or alibi. She was stalling because nothing was coming to her, either.

“Just stop it, the both of you. You two old gangsters,” Tamara said. “I don't know what to do with either of you.”

And that's when the deacon got diarrhea of the mouth and threw Delilah so far under the bus that all that was left was white hair, gray eyes, light skin, and tread marks.

“Baby girl, you know I've said it often, and even testified in church about it. I gave up my thuggish ways years ago. But ever since your loudmouthed grandmother returned, she's turned me into a different man.”

“Not a different man,” Delilah interrupted, “just into
a man
.”

Tamara sat down again. She was about ready to give up trying to deal with them logically as she listened to accusations thrown back and forth between her grandparents.

“Okay, that's enough!” Tamara said finally. “I think I want a DNA test done before I believe that I'm carrying any genes from you two. Damn!”

“Hold up, young lady. Didn't I tell you before that you can't cuss? You got too much class for such language.” The deacon rose from his seat to put emphasis on what he'd said. Pointing to Delilah, he continued. “Now, Dee Dee only pretends to have a lot of class. That's why she has the potty mouth.”

And then Delilah and the deacon went for round two. They were scrapping like two old champions, and several times they each laid a verbal TKO. One acted like they knew more than the other when it came to God's Word.

“Stop acting like this, Dee Dee. Baby girl knows Christians don't fight like cats and dogs.”

“Well, stop acting like God didn't have a mafia in the Bible,” Delilah barked.

Delilah turned to her granddaughter and smiled. “Tamara, sweetheart, I know you've gone to church probably a lot more and for longer than me.”

“I know I sure have,” Deacon Pillar muttered.

“I don't care if I've only passed by a church or only seen a picture of it,” Delilah snapped. “I still know about God. So you two can't tell me that you don't know that God gave permission to some of his folks to kill or maim other folks.”

Delilah's supposed words of wisdom hung in the air like a mushroom cloud. “Y'all need to read up a bit more from your Bible. Try reading the Old Testament. There was a lot of retribution going on. I don't know how y'all call yourselves a deacon and a church girl and don't know about God's mafia. God had a hit list, too. In fact, if I recall, Moses was one of God's biggest enforcers, just like that mafioso Tony Soprano on television.”

Delilah grabbed a nearby broom and threw it to the floor. “You know Moses took a broomstick and turned it into a snake, and then he sure turned that Pharaoh into a punk. He did all that after God gave him the go-ahead. And you think David would've killed Goliath if God hadn't wanted it to happen?”

Both the deacon's and Tamara's jaws dropped.

Tamara leaned over and whispered to Deacon Pillar, “She's not kidding, is she?”

“She's as serious as Obama was about becoming president.”

They could've kept fighting, but Tamara again stopped them cold when she took a Bible off the table and said, “I've been reading my Bible. I'm trying to figure out why God has allowed so much to happen.”

Out of respect for God's Word, Delilah and the deacon silently called a truce.

Tamara took further advantage of the welcome quiet and continued. “Daddy used to read this scripture to me whenever he and mama couldn't understand why certain things happened the way they did. They put a purple ribbon right here on the page. It's Jeremiah, the twenty-ninth chapter and the eleventh verse—”

“Well now, that's a good thing. Isn't it, Thurgood?” Delilah interrupted with a nervous chuckle. As much as she'd like to pretend she knew more than she really did about the Bible, she wasn't familiar with that particular verse and didn't know how to take the conversation further. She tossed the ball to the deacon to carry on. “Ain't there something you'd like to add, Deacon?”

“I'm glad you're reading your Bible,” the deacon replied as his eyes narrowed. “A lot of time God has to knock us around like little heathen kids until we pay attention. All the while God is saying, I'll never steer you wrong. Look over here. Here's your blessing, but you're gonna have to jump through some hoops because you was hardheaded and disobedient.”

“Are you sure that's what it says, Thurgood?”

“I'm pretty sure. I'll look it up later. Right now I need Tamara to explain why bringing food to the church is gonna be such a problem.”

“I didn't say it was a problem. I said I needed a break from all this insanity and that Daddy wouldn't be able to cook, either.”

“So what are you asking?” Delilah wasn't used to having that much patience to spare. Her newly found granddaughter was beginning to press grandma's nerves. And then she immediately cheered up, remembering the recipes she'd set aside for Tamara. “Just tell us what to do.” Delilah could've pulled out an apron on demand.

“I still don't see what the problem is,” Deacon Pillar chimed in. “Let your grandma cook in your place. It's not like she can't.”

Tamara laughed and winked. “I was just thinking the same thing. I guess we are related. I'll call Sister Marty right now. I'm sure she won't turn me down.”

“Hold up, Tamara,” Deacon Pillar said quickly. “Are you sure about that?” He let his head lean and nod in Delilah's direction to give Tamara a hint.

“You're right again. That's a lot of food for just one person to cook. I haven't seen her do a lot of things right, but Grandma Delilah can throw down for sure. I'm a witness to that.” She looked at Delilah as though to dare her to back out.

All Delilah could do was smile. But she was sure the deacon had read her mind.
You've got such a big mouth, Thurgood.

“Then it's settled. Delilah and Marty gonna get together and throw down in the kitchen.”

“You about got that right,” Delilah barked. “It's gonna get hot.”

And then, as if Tamara weren't in the same room, Delilah and Deacon Pillar went at it again. Delilah signified that he was a pig's butt and she was gonna barbecue it. The deacon told her she needed to sue her skinny legs for nonsupport. On and on they went and when they were going to stop, nobody knew.

“Enough! I can't take it.” Tamara slammed the Bible closed with a thud before she rose and limped toward the telephone.

Deacon Pillar sprang into action. “What are you doing, baby girl?”

“Whatever you need, I can get it for you,” Delilah said softly as she came and stood in front of the deacon.

“Thank you both,” Tamara replied. “I'm just calling the police.”

“Why?” the deacon asked as he hunched his shoulders when Delilah looked his way.

Tamara picked up the phone and held it to her ear with her fingers on the touch pad. “It's because I'm about to kill the two of you.”

“You see, Thurgood,” Delilah said with pride, “I told you she's just like me. Retribution is in her blood.”

“Don't brag. It's an ugly habit.” The deacon gently took the telephone from Tamara's hands.

She was already sorry she'd acted the way she had, so she allowed the deacon to take the phone away. Tamara limped back to the sofa and sulked, angry that she'd acted like a grown-up one moment and a spoiled brat the next. Her mother would not have approved. She could just imagine her mother fussing,
C'mon, Tamara. You now have one more person to fuss over you. Ain't God good?

Yet she still couldn't reconcile having both Delilah and Sister Marty in their lives. She had a ton of love for Sister Marty. Even though she felt betrayed by the deacon, their love was rooted. The love she needed to have for Delilah was like looking for hens' teeth. It was hard, plus Delilah had been one of Croc Duggan's artists and probably made more on her back than she did on the stage. There was no doubt Delilah had been with the crème-de-la-crème of the music industry, but Tamara wasn't about to mattress bump to make it.

Tamara looked out the front window. She watched as Deacon Pillar and Delilah headed toward his truck.

“I almost feel sorry for you, Deacon-Grandpa Pillar.”

 

Jessie stopped by Sister Marty's on his way home from the doctor.

“Mama Marty,” Jessie called out as he entered her front door. She'd left it open to let in a breeze on that humid evening.

“Come on in, Jessie,” she called out. “I'm in the kitchen.” By the time he made it to the kitchen she'd already poured cold soda into a cup he'd won when they'd gone to Disney World in Orlando for his thirteenth birthday.

As she placed his favorite cup in his good hand, she looked hard at the injured one. “Drink up.” She watched him wince slightly as she gently checked out the faded area where the brace had been. “I see your hand looks like it's healing like it should.”

Jessie set down the cup and tried to turn the injured hand. He had some trouble. “I'm praying for a miracle.”

“Still concerned about playing your guitar next Sunday?”