Heaven Forbid (14 page)

Passion read the hastily scrawled note for the umpteenth time and wiped away tears. If only she could wake up and find that the past twenty-four hours were just a dream. But that was the problem—she was awake. And the craziness of her life was all too real. She forced herself from the bed she’d crawled back into as soon as she’d gotten Onyx off to school and canceled all of her ministry-related engagements. It was the fourteenth of February, and while she’d always enjoyed listening to Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of “My Funny Valentine,” Passion found herself getting ready to experience a very funky Valentine’s Day instead.

The drama started yesterday morning with what she thought an innocent question regarding an early morning call on Stan’s cell phone.

“Who was that?” she’d asked in a sleepy voice, about the caller who’d awakened them at six-thirty in the morning.

“Bryce,” Stan said curtly, not unlike many of his answers in the months since the panty toss. They’d silently declared a truce but obviously hadn’t cleared the air.

“Kind of early for business calls, don’t you think?”

“What’s it to you?” Stan threw back the covers and bounded out of bed. “Back in here for two nights and you’re already nagging.”

Passion sat up. “What’s with the attitude? I just asked a question. How would you react if one of my friends called at this hour?”

“I don’t know, Passion,” Stan sneered. “Do you even have friends?”

Where did that come from?
Passion took a deep breath. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. She’d planned an intimate dinner, for just the two of them, at a Malibu hideaway. On a recent
Conversations with Carla
, a guest had talked about being responsible for one’s own actions and how the only person one could change was oneself. Passion had taken those comments to heart, decided to put her ego aside, and do whatever it took to get her marriage back on track. She’d planned to take the blame for why the marriage wasn’t working, apologize for the panty throw, agree to counseling to deal with her sexual appetite, and maybe later, if she could arrange it secretly, ask one of Stan’s peers to talk with him about his…issues.

She followed him into the bathroom. “I’m sorry, Stan—”

“I’m getting ready to take a shower. Do you mind?”

Passion took a step toward him and forced a smile. “No, in fact, I’ll join you if you’d like.”

Stan simply stared, waiting for his wife to leave the room so that he could take off the T-shirt and large boxer shorts that served as pajamas. Instead, Passion threw off her cotton nightgown and leaned into her husband. “Just a shower,” she whispered. “Nothing more. Let me take care of you, honey. The coffee timer’s set, and there’s a freshly made coffee cake to go along with it.”

Stan grabbed Passion’s arms and pushed her away with such force that she stumbled into the clothes hamper. “Stan! What is wrong with you?”

Stan appeared stunned that he’d pushed her, but his resolve did not waiver. “I have a lot on my mind, Passion. Please, just get out.”

Stan had left the house shortly after that, barely after seven a.m. and without stopping for his usual cup of joe. Passion had arrived at the church about an hour later and had been in either meetings or counseling sessions the whole day. When she arrived back home in time to greet Onyx, around three o’clock, she found the note on the kitchen’s gray-and-black-streaked granite island:

Passion: Emergency meeting out of town. Will be back on Friday. Can be reached by cell. Stan. PS: Sorry for earlier.

“Sorry for earlier…That’s it?” Passion asked the empty room. “And is this earlier for just today or for the last six months?” Passion reached for the note and tore it into shreds, while calling Stan every name but a child of God. After she’d shredded the note, she picked up the pile and threw it like confetti all over the room. Before she knew what was happening, she was throwing anything that wasn’t tied down or too heavy—dish towels, pot holders, a roll of paper towels. She picked up a glass and was about to hurl it toward the cabinet when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that hung above the sink. Passion’s arm stopped in midair as she took in the vision staring back at her: the wide red eyes, wild hair, and wrinkled gown. She took a closer look and determined that the twenty pounds she’d put back on since remarrying did not become her. She stepped up to the mirror.
Where is Passion? Where is the bold, confident, in-control woman who came into this marriage?

Passion frowned, determined to find out. “I can’t keep doing this. I’ve got to do something about it.” Passion left the room and headed downstairs to retrieve the information she needed.

“Thanks for coming,” Bryce said as soon as Stan had walked through the doorway. “Don’t I get a hug?” he continued once Stan was inside.

“I don’t feel right being here.”

Bryce came to stand directly in front of Stan and fixed him with a compassionate stare. “But you came anyway. I’m glad to see you.” Bryce stepped closer, his stare penetrating and unblinking into his friend’s eyes.

Finally, Stan could resist it no longer. He fell into the arms he’d dreamed about since January. They hugged a long moment, and then Stan, feeling something growing that shouldn’t, abruptly broke away. “I can’t do that. You know that I
cannot
do that.” He walked to the other end of the room, putting space between them. While regaining his composure, he took a look around. “Nice place. Good taste. But, then, that was always you.”

“It took me a while to get used to the smaller space, but it’s growing on me.”

Stan laughed. The smaller space Bryce referred to was almost three thousand square feet.

“Hey, c’mon! The home I left was twice this size. The girls still live there.”

“Your wife and—”

“
Ex
-wife. And my heart, Jasmine. Thank God we’re still close. I’d heard horror stories about what divorce could do to a child. It’s one of the reasons I waited until my daughter was grown before leaving. But then again, you know a little something about it.” Bryce turned toward the kitchen. “Drink?”

“Water’s fine.” Stanley walked over to the fireplace, which covered almost the entire back wall. The ledge was filled with photographs, mostly of a beautiful young woman he correctly assumed was Jasmine. “She’s beautiful, your daughter. Looks like you.”

“Thanks. She’s definitely Daddy’s little girl. Has her mother’s temperament, though—focused, determined.” Bryce returned to the room with a glass of lemon water for Stan and a tumbler of brandy for himself. “To life,” he said somberly. The two men eyed each other a long moment, clinked glasses, and drank.

Bryce sat on a long, tailored sofa while Stan chose one of two gray-upholstered wingback chairs. “How is he?” Stan asked into the silence.

“He’s hanging in there, waiting for you if you want to know the truth. Otherwise, I think he’s ready to go, man, ready to check out.”

Stan put down his drink and rose. He looked out over the well-tended, landscaped backyard. He imagined flowers in spring, the water gurgling from the lion head over the stone pool. But now things were barren, the way Stan felt, paying homage to the season of winter. “I can’t believe that Eddie has AIDS. He was married, with a lovely wife and those four beautiful children….”

“We were all married, Stanley. Doesn’t stop the truth.”

“Speak for yourself…”

“Eddie was on the down low for the entirety of his marriage, ironically with a man he met at his and Donna’s wedding reception. He’s told me time and again that if he’d met Phil before marrying Donna, that marriage never would have happened. The thought made him sad, but then he’d think of his children and remember why everything had been worth it.”

“Donna never suspected?”

“Did you?”

“Eddie ‘Hound Dog’ West?” Stan responded, referring to Eddie’s college nickname. “Not even once.”

“Neither did Donna, at least not that Eddie knew of. Donna always had her own life, raising the kids and then striving for her PhD. She’s a force to be reckoned with in her own right, lecturing and teaching in underdeveloped nations all over the world. She spends considerable time in Africa and also the Caribbean. But aside from the physical aspect, she and Eddie have always been good friends. That’s one reason he never thought about divorcing her. He loves Donna. But then last year, when he got diagnosed with full-blown AIDS…”

“I didn’t think that happened anymore. People get tested, and when HIV is discovered, there are procedures, medicine. People live full, long lives now. Look at Magic Johnson.”

Bryce snorted. “Magic Johnson…Everybody throws him up as the poster boy for AIDS. Man, everybody’s story isn’t like Magic Johnson’s. Everybody doesn’t have millions of dollars for the best treatment, doctors, physical and emotional therapy, diet. I’m not hatin’ on the brother, but I’m just saying, all people living with HIV aren’t living a stress-free, worry-free life. People with HIV get sicker, suffer horribly, react negatively to medications and treatment, go through hell. And then the disease advances to full-blown AIDS. Like Eddie. Because of how fast the disease has progressed, the doctors believe he was infected for years and just didn’t know.”

“I don’t get it. How…”

“Phil cheated.”

“Lord have mercy.”

“With a young, strapping twentysomething he met at a conference. According to Phil, they only met a few times. But as we hear over and over, one time is enough.”

Stan resisted the urge to ask Bryce about the strapping thirtysomething who’d joined them for dinner when Bryce was in LA. Instead, he stayed focused on the conversation about their mutual friend. “I can’t believe Eddie wasn’t protecting himself.”

“Me neither. But he and Phil have been together for almost twenty-five years. Eddie was committed and thought Phil was too.”

“Donna must be devastated. And she’s negative, correct?”

“So far, but it hasn’t been quite a year. I think she will get tested for a while, until she’s convinced that the disease didn’t spread to her.”

Stan plopped back down in the chair. He hadn’t seen Donna in years but had been there when she and Eddie got married. In fact, he’d been one of the groomsmen. That was also the last time he’d seen Bryce, until last year. He stared out the window and remembered. Stan, Bryce, and Eddie had been like the three musketeers, not only hanging out and partying together but also sharing hopes and dreams. Stan knew that Eddie always suspected something between Stan and Bryce, but Stan never confirmed it. By the time of Eddie’s wedding a few years after college, Stan had left the lifestyle behind, had embraced God and ministry, and was on his way to being one of the country’s preeminent preachers.

“I wonder why Eddie didn’t call me?” Stan asked, almost to himself.

Bryce reared back on the couch and fixed Stan with another penetrating stare. “You know why. He’s a practicing Christian, just like you. He’s heard the fire-and-brimstone sermons on homosexuality and other acts you deem immoral.”

“Not me, Bryce, God.”

“Oh, really? Whose God? Because I love God, too, man, and He loves me back. He hasn’t once told me to stop being what I am. In fact, He is the one who gave me courage to stop insulting His creation by lying about who I am!”

Stan got up from his chair. “Look, Bryce, I’m not going to argue with you about this. The Bible—”

“Oh, would that be the King James Bible? You do know the good old king was a faggot, don’t you? The man who commissioned the very book that you and others so self-righteously use to denounce people like him was gay, homosexual, a lover of other men, just like you and me.”

“I am not a homosexual! You know why I was that way in college, because I was raped!”

“Oh, so that’s it. Everybody who’s gay has been molested. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Not for all of us, Bryce. My story is a lot like Donnie McClurkin’s. You know about him, right, the singer?”

“I’ve heard his story, but I’m not sure I buy it. Wait.” Bryce held up his hands when Stan tried to interrupt. “I’m not saying he wasn’t molested, and feels that turned him gay. But every man who’s raped by another man doesn’t fall into a homosexual lifestyle, and everyone who is gay has not been molested. Besides,” Bryce continued, in a soft voice, “we’re not talking about Donnie. We’re talking about you. I was born to love you, Stanley.”

The air fairly crackled as the two men eyed each other. Once again, Stan broke the stare. “I was delivered from that lifestyle many years ago,” he answered. “Since then, I’ve loved only women.”

Bryce clapped twice, smiled, and clapped twice more. “Very good, Stan, convincingly delivered. But you and I know that there is only one person who you will ever truly love, with your heart, soul, mind—and that’s me.”

Bryce’s words hit a nerve, but Stan was determined to make Bryce understand that he was not the same man he was twenty-five years ago. “Bryce, you were the only man I was ever with…in that way. It was a long time ago, and I’ve been changed.”

Bryce looked into Stan’s eyes, saw a gaze that begged his understanding. He didn’t believe Stan for one minute, wasn’t sure Stan believed it either. Bryce knew he would never give up on him and Stan being together. But he’d pushed enough…for now. “Well, I guess Eddie has changed, too, because there was once a time that brothah would have crossed the street to avoid a preacher. And now he’s called for you.”

Stan took a deep breath, glad the subject had changed. “I hate that it took this illness, but I’m glad that Eddie has seen the light and wants to get right with God, confess his sins, before it’s too late, before he takes the final journey into eternity and meets Jesus.”

“I hope that one day we all see the light and embrace our truth. And I also hope that when you get to the hospital, you’ll bring prayer and compassion and leave that judgmental, sanctimonious bullshit you’re spouting right here.”