I Say a Little Prayer (15 page)

“I know him,” I said bitterly.

“Oh, it’s like that,” Basil said.

“That was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

I gave Basil the brief
TV Guide
version of my relationship with Damien and was relieved when he changed the subject.

“So you never told me you were a singer.”

“When I met you, I was trying to forget that I was. But lately I realize it’s a God-given talent and I’m trying to get back in the game,” I said.

“How’s it going?”

“Slow motion, but I won’t give up.”

“That’s wassup.”

“So what have you been doing with your life?”

“Well, there have been a lot of changes in my life.”

“Like what?”

“Chauncey, I know you and me don’t see each other that often, but you cool peoples. I knew that when I first met you. It’s also the reason I didn’t kick it that much with you, because I liked you so much. You know, back in the day, I think I fucked dudes hard because I was trying to get the desire out of my system. I didn’t like any of the dudes or the chicks that I got down with, so when I had sex I tried to knock the bottom out. I know better now. For me it’s about making love to someone you love,” Basil said.

My knees weakened. Was he talking about me? Was he going to put it to me? Were my prayers going to be answered? What had I done in my life to be so lucky? I started to move toward him, ready to give him a kiss, when I remembered he didn’t really like to kiss. Still, I was hopeful that had changed as well, and decided to wait a few minutes and see if he would make a move.

“So have you ever been in love with a woman?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. I told him about Giselle, whom I had met in a bank when I was trying to get a loan for my company. I told him how not only did she make sure I got the loan but she directed me to seminars in Atlanta and Athens on how to conduct a small business, and she also convinced me to start attending church again. I told Basil how she was so kind and made me feel comfortable around her. And how I came close to slipping just once while I was dating her until I ran into old boy at the gym. I explained that I thought she was some angel on earth who offered me a magic potion to get over my desires. Ever since Damien had left me, I had prayed for God to take away my carnal desires for men. I thought Giselle was the answer.

“So what happened to her?”

“She wanted to get married. I wanted to marry her, but before I allowed her to accept my proposal, I was honest with her about my relationship with Damien and that I continued to have affairs with men after him.”

“I bet old girl couldn’t deal with that, huh.”

“She was devastated. I kept telling her that I was changed and I hadn’t cheated on her, but that wasn’t really the truth. You know how we men view one-night stands.”

“And that’s how it should be. Women be tripping. They all say they want the truth, but when you give it to them straight up, they either don’t hear you or they run for cover. Never tell a female everywhere you been and everybody you done. Feel me?” Basil had a serious look on his face, like he was giving me information I needed to survive.

“I hear you, Basil.” Now was the time to jump him. He was feeling thoughtful and vulnerable.

As I moved toward him, I started to loosen the drawstring on my sweatpants so that by the time I reached him they would be around my ankles.

“So do you think you’ll ever hear from dude?” Basil asked. He wanted to talk more, so I tightened the drawstring again. I looked at the clock on my desk and saw that it was 11:45. I would give it fifteen more minutes before I made my move.

“I’ve called him, but he hasn’t returned my calls,” I said.

“But you could blow old boy out the water if you came forward and told your story. The Democrats would show you much love,” Basil said.

“You think I should do that?” I asked, wondering if Basil’s position on outing people had changed.

“Naw, dude. I know you not that type of nigga. That’s why I could hang with you and talk with you. I’m just saying old boy should be careful when he’s running for office. No offense, but you probably ain’t the only heart he’s broke. Today niggas going all Catholic and shit. Confessing everything in books and magazines. Every time you turn on the television, there is some brother telling his business on how he’s kicking it with the hardheads. I still keep my shit on the low, even if I’m dealing with someone I trust completely,” Basil said.

“So you’re seeing someone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you happy?”

“Very. Never felt like this,” Basil said.

I didn’t know if I believed him or not. I saw myself walking toward him with my sweats dragging around my ankles. I was going to press my body against his and take his large hands and have them cup my ass and then rub my chest. I would touch his beautiful full ass and lay my head on his massive chest as I grabbed his piece. I knew this man and how to make him beg.

But then I looked at him and he looked like he was in another place. A smile lingered on his face and I knew I wanted what he had: somebody who loved me the way I loved him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“H
ere
it is,” Celia said as she handed me a leather folder. A huge smile covered her face and she twisted her body like a giddy schoolgirl.

“I didn’t think I was ever going to get this. So this is going to make me rich,” I said. I pulled out the contract, read the first line, and then flipped to page seven, where I glanced at the signed names of two Wal-Mart executives. All that was missing was my signature.

“When you sign it, I’ll fax a copy to Christy at Wal-Mart and make sure it goes out this evening via Federal Express,” Celia said, still grinning.

“Cool. I’ll look it over and get it back to you.”

“Fabulous.” As she headed toward the door, she twirled around as if a handsome young man was spinning her in an elegant ballroom.

“You sure seem happy,” I said.

“Why shouldn’t I be? This is a perfect day. I know it’s clickish, but has the sky ever been bluer?”

“You mean cliché?”

“Whatever.”

“I hadn’t noticed. What did you do last night?”

“I took your advice.”

“What advice?”

“To have a nice dinner on you—and that’s what I did. I went to Morton’s and threw down on a perfectly cooked rib-eye steak, baked potato, and creamed spinach. I even forgot about my diet and ordered this chocolate-cake-and-ice-cream thing they have. It was off the chain,” Celia said.

“That’s great. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“It was a wonderful evening.” She almost sang the words.

“Who’d you go with?” I asked as I placed the contract down on my desk. I thought about my evening with Basil and how it hadn’t turned out like I’d planned, and I hoped she’d had better luck.

“Marvin,” Celia said quickly.

I raised my eyebrows and gave her a
did I hear you right?
glance. Celia returned a sly yet unsure grin.

“I thought you had a restraining order against him,” I said, my voice harsher than I planned.

“I did, but he apologized,” Celia said quickly. “Then he sent me these beautiful red roses. Four dozen. Can you believe that? I had never seen that many roses at one time. Four dozen.”

“So you feel safe with him now?” I asked, trying to keep the judgment out of my voice. How could a woman as smart as Celia be so dumb when it came to men?

“Marvin is harmless, and I think he’s finally realized how much he loves me.” Celia leaned against my door with her arms behind her back in full swoon effect. She giggled like a preteen girl who has just received her first
Will you go with me?
note.

“If you say so.” I’d had enough of this conversation. I opened my desk drawer, looking for my calculator. I wanted to see what the Wal-Mart deal was going to do for my monthly budget.

“May I take the afternoon off?”

“What?”

“Marvin wants to take me to Piedmont Park for a picnic, and I don’t have much going on,” Celia explained.

“What about Federal Express? Who’s going to call them? We need to get this back to Wal-Mart ASAP.”

“If you get it signed before noon, then I can drop it off. Otherwise, there’s a drop box in the lobby of the building,” Celia said.

“I don’t know if I can read the entire thing before lunch, and I need to have my lawyer look over it,” I said. I knew I was acting helpless, but it wasn’t just Federal Express I was worried about. I was concerned about Celia and how her new love life was going to affect her work. Already she was taking off early. I guess I took everything she did for granted.

“Okay. If you need me, I’ll just tell him we can do it another time,” Celia said sadly.

I felt guilty. “Go ahead. Take the afternoon off. I’ll manage somehow. Maybe I’ll get my lawyer’s assistant or Ms. Gladys to send it out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go ahead,” I said. When I saw her unsure expression, I added, “Have a great time.”

“Thank you, Chauncey. Thank you so much.”

Celia opened the door and I called her name. She turned around with a smile so big, it looked like she was wearing those candy lips I used to wear and eat when I was a kid.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” I said.

“I promise.”

Back in my office, I began to scan the contract but then stopped. I went into my wallet and pulled out the card Pastor Kenneth had given me. For a long moment, I stared at the name and phone number in the corner, then picked up the phone. After I dialed, the telephone rang a couple of times before a female voice answered.

“
Starting Over
. Lucy Simpson.”

“Lucy?”

“Yes, this is Lucy.”

“My name is Chauncey Greer. My minister, Kenneth Davis, gave me your number and suggested I give you a call.”

“Oh, yes. The singer. You have a wonderful voice. I’m so glad I was there when you sang. You had that little church rocking.”

I smiled and eased my shoulders into a relaxed position. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how stiff I’d been.

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.”

“It’s the truth. Thanks for calling me. I think we might be able to help each other out.”

“I hope so.”

“Have you seen the show
Starting Over
?”

I didn’t recognize the name of the show on her card, nor did it sound familiar when she said it. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

Starting Over
was a daytime reality show where real women, with the assistance of life coaches, tried to restart their lives in front of the camera. Lucy further explained that up to six women from different backgrounds lived in a house together and the life coaches worked to help them achieve their new goals. It sounded like an interesting show, but I didn’t know where I could fit in unless they were getting ready to go coed.

“So how do you see us working together?” I asked.

“We have a young lady entering the house next season, and her goal is to resume her recording career. She had a hit CD a couple of years back, and I was thinking that maybe you could write some songs for her, and perhaps the two of you could even do a duet. You would get a lot of publicity on the show, and we have some connections with the record company that will be producing her CD.”

“Can she sing?” I was already thinking of a song I’d written that would be perfect for a female voice.

“Yes, she’s pretty good. She’s been on Broadway, and her album went double platinum.”

“Double platinum. That’s pretty impressive,” I said, wondering why someone like that would be on a reality show. “What’s her name? Maybe I’ve heard of her.”

“Yancey Braxton. We call her the declining diva.” Lucy laughed.

“Why?”

“Well, she’s sort of a prima donna. No one has told her that she’s no longer a star.”

“Oh, I see. Where’s the show taped?”

“In Los Angeles this season. Last year we were in Chicago. We’re still scouting locations around Atlanta for next season.”

I paused for a moment. It was not what I expected, but it could be fun, and help me start my recording career. I didn’t know how popular the show was, but if a couple hundred thousand watched it, that could help me when my CD came out. “What do I need to do?”

“Since I’m executive producer, all you have to say is you want to do it, and we’ll get started.”

“Count me in,” I said, smiling at myself for being such a hypocrite. I’d told myself I would never do one of those reality shows like
Survivor, American Idol
, or
The Apprentice
. I had thought if I was ever in love again it might be nice to be on
The Amazing Race.
And if I was being totally honest, I would jump at the chance to be on
American Idol
, but I was much too old.

“Cool. Let me get your contact information and I’ll set up a meeting with you and Yancey B.”

I gave her what she needed and she promised to give me a call in a couple of days. I thanked her, and when I hung up, I smiled. I remembered Yancey B’s hit single
Any Way the Wind Blows.
Celia was right. Today was a perfect day.

A couple of hours later, I placed the contract on my desk and rubbed my eyes. I’d reviewed each page twice. As I reached for the contract again, there was a knock on my door.

“Come in.”

Ms. Gladys stuck her head inside my door and whispered, “That lady is out here to see you. She dresses nice, but I get a bad vibe from this heifer.”

“What?” I frowned.

“Should I call security?”

“I need to figure out who this woman is.”

“She got that goon with her. Should I get my Mace out of my purse?”

“No, I can handle this, Ms. Gladys.” I turned the contract facedown, got up from my desk, and walked out to the foyer. I noticed the back of a woman talking to a handsome, but mean-looking, bald-headed light-skinned brother.

“May I help you?” I asked.

The woman turned around, and sister’s face was beat. I mean, her makeup and hair were flawless on her toasted-croissant-brown skin. The petite woman stood no more than five feet and one or two inches, but her posture—shoulders back, head held high—gave her the stature of one much taller. I gave her a quick once-over. Her hair was perfectly coiffed into a French roll, an appropriate style for the navy blue knit suit she wore. The knee-length skirt and matching jacket fit as if it had been tailored to her slender body. From the gleam of her black pumps to the glitter of the diamond bracelet that graced her small wrist, this woman oozed money and confidence.

“Are you Chauncey Greer?” she asked, but before I could answer she said, “But of course you are.”

I squinted slightly as I stared at her face. She looked familiar. Then, suddenly, I remembered. It was the woman from the Web site. The woman sitting next to Damien in the picture. The woman who was identified as Damien’s wife.

“I’m Chauncey,” I said.

“I need to speak with you,” she said. It was a command, not a request.

I crossed my arms in front of me. “Do you mind telling me what this is about?”

“Not out here. Do you have a private office in here?” she asked as she looked around with disdain. The man standing next to her gave me a steely stare.

“Who are you?” I asked, not letting on that I knew who she was.

“I’m Grayson Upchurch, and it doesn’t matter who he is,” she said, motioning to the man behind her. “Let’s just call him protection. Now, can we go into your office?”

“Not until you tell me what this is about,” I said.

She half-grinned. “Oh, don’t be so coy. You people always try to be so clever,” she said.

You people
. I couldn’t remember ever being referred to as “you people” by a member of my own race.

“Look, Ms. Upchurch, unless you can give me a reason why I should talk to you, then I’m going to ask you to leave,” I said forcefully. She looked sideways toward the big dummy. He opened the black leather jacket he was wearing and looked down. I could see the shiny silver head of what I was convinced was a gun. I didn’t want to panic, but I didn’t want to set myself up for harm, either. I could see the front page of the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
with the headline “Preacher’s Wife Shoots and Kills Husband’s Ex-Boyfriend.”

“I’ll speak with you, Ms. Upchurch, but your friend will have to stay out here,” I said. I was going to get that bitch in my office, lock the door, and call security.

“That’s a very wise decision,” she said as she walked through my door and I followed. Once I got inside, I locked the door and said, “Tell me, just what was that little stunt with the bodyguard and the gun?”

“Why in the hell are you calling my husband?” she asked, ignoring my words.

I paused for a moment. “Are you talking about Damien?”

“So you do know who I am.” She gave me a piercing stare, as if she thought I would back away. “I knew you were playing that clever queen thing. You gay boys can be so bitchy.” Without an invitation, she sat in one of the black-and-white chairs that was facing my desk. If the gun didn’t stun me, then certainly Grayson referring to me as a queen and gay boy did.

“I recognized you from the Web site and I called because I needed to talk to Damien,” I said.

“About what?”

“That’s between the two of us.”

She raised her eyebrows. “There is no
us
when it comes to Bishop Upchurch. I’m the only
us
in his life,” she said firmly as she crossed one of her very shapely legs over the other.

“Did Damien get my message?” I asked, finally taking my seat.

“Do you think I’m a fool? I know who you are and I know all about your little sordid events with my husband.”

Sordid events
, I thought. Obviously, Damien hadn’t told her everything about our relationship.

“I guess you didn’t hear me. Did Damien—or should I say the bishop—get my message?” I asked in a tone that let her know I wasn’t backing down.

“And I guess you didn’t hear me,” she responded, letting me know she was willing to go toe-to-toe. “I screen all of the bishop’s calls. I knew it was only a matter of time before you would pop up.”

“I didn’t pop anywhere. I just thought Damien should know our paths might cross again when he shows up in Atlanta,” I said.