I Say a Little Prayer (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I
walked into my office a little past nine to the aroma of Ms. Gladys’s cinnamon rolls. Her back was facing me, and it looked like she was placing more icing on the calorie-laden delicacies. When she turned around, I realized I’d made the right decision the night before. I’d met with the producers of CNN and agreed to tell my story as long as my face wasn’t shown and my voice was distorted. The producer was so excited, I thought she was going to kiss me. She said they would start their promos immediately, and we agreed to do the interview later in the evening.

“Good morning, Chauncey,” she said with a smile. Ms. Gladys was wearing a cotton-candy-pink sweater with a blue
W
button on one side and a red
Purdue for Governor
button on the other.

“Good morning, Ms. Gladys. Did you make cinnamon rolls?”

“Can’t you smell them?”

“I sure can. May I have one with some coffee?”

“Sure. Celia has already had one and a little smidgen of a second one. You running a little late this morning?”

“Yeah, I had a meeting downtown. So Celia is in her office?”

“Yes, she told me to tell her when you got in. Said she had to talk to you about something. I can tell you whatever it is, it’s weighing heavy on her mind. That young girl got stress marks all over her forehead,” Ms. Gladys said.

“Tell her I can see her whenever she’s ready.”

“Will do.”

I walked into my office and looked out of the huge picture window onto the city. Would my life change after this evening, and would the truth about our relationship finally hurt Damien like it had hurt me?

A part of me wanted to call him and tell him what I was going to do, but I figured Grayson would intercept the call and he’d be taken out like a boxer’s sucker punch. I wondered if this would hurt my planned music career, but told myself I didn’t want fans who would be offended by my truth.

Ms. Gladys came in with coffee and a cinnamon roll. This time when I saw the buttons she was wearing, I couldn’t resist asking her a question.

“Ms. Gladys, I would have taken you as a Democrat. Are you sure your minister wants you to vote Republican?”

“That’s what God wants.”

“How can you be sure?” I asked.

“Because of what the Democrats stand for. You know they take us black folks for granted—welfare, support of abortion, and gay marriage. All those things are against God’s will,” she said.

“How do you know that?”

“Because it says so in the Bible.”

“Ms. Gladys, with all due respect, in Ephesians 6 it says, ‘Slaves be obedient to your masters.’ Do you believe that?”

“All I believe is that George W. is a God-fearing man who my God wants to be president, and so I’m going to vote for him and do my part. I guess you think that other guy is better. We elect him and we’ll have another Sodom and Gomorrah.”

I decided this conversation was going nowhere. Ms. Gladys wouldn’t believe me even if I showed her in Ezekiel 16 that God never mentions homosexuality in his list of Sodom’s sins. When people like Ms. Gladys and her church made up their minds, there was no easy way to make them change their opinions. All I could do was stuff the cinnamon roll down my throat and hope it prevented me from speaking until Ms. Gladys was out of my office.

A few moments later, Celia came in with a sour look on her face.

“You look like I feel,” I said as I glanced up from a notepad where I’d absently scribbled
Sodom.

“What’s the matter with you?” Celia asked as she took a seat.

“Just kinda bummed out at Ms. Gladys for being a Bush supporter.”

“Yeah, I was surprised, too, but there are a lot of black church folks voting for him,” Celia said.

“Are you voting tomorrow?”

“I guess.”

“Celia, you’ve got to vote.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What’s bothering you? Marvin hasn’t been bothering you, has he?”

“Not lately.”

“Gladys said you needed to speak with me about something.”

Celia cleared her throat and looked around my office and then said, “I’ve been offered a job, and I’m thinking about taking it.”

“A job. Where?” I asked. I didn’t know if this was a ploy to get more money or if Celia was serious. I’d never known her to be that type of person. I didn’t know how I could run my company without Celia.

“Wal-Mart has offered me a marketing manager’s position. I would be working with their card and calendar section. I would be responsible for over ten states,” Celia said.

“Is this about money? Because if it is, we can talk about a raise. I mean, I was going to give you a bonus for the Wal-Mart deal.”

“No, it’s not about money. They have offered me a ten percent increase, but I know you’re fair and would match it. This is more about me needing a change,” Celia said.

“A change?”

“Yes. Chauncey, you see, the job would require me to move to Bentonville, Arkansas. I need to get out of Atlanta.”

“Bentonville, Arkansas? Celia, please, how long do you think you’re going to last in Arkansas?” I asked.

“Well, Tulsa, Kansas City, and Dallas are all within driving distance,” she said.

“Celia, don’t let Marvin run you out of the city. You’re stronger than that,” I said.

Celia was silent for a moment, and then she looked at me with doe eyes and said, “No, I’m not. If I stay here, I know I’ll end up back in his arms. And one day when he slaps me, he might not stop,” she said mournfully.

I moved from behind my desk and went over to Celia and put my arms around her like a big brother. At first I heard her sniffles, which soon turned into out-and-out boohooing.

I wanted to think of something I could tell her that would make her feel better, but I couldn’t, so I said what my mother used to tell me and my siblings when we cried buckets of tears: “Let it out, baby. God can’t fill the Mississippi River every day.”

As the day came to an end, Celia walked into my office with her face freshly made up and a trace of a smile.

“How you doing, Celia?” I asked.

“Much better. Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“Being there,” Celia said.

“And you know I’ll always be here for you. Even if you’re in Bentonville, Arkansas,” I said.

“Maybe that won’t happen. I talked to Ms. Gladys and I think I’m going to stick it out here. I mean, if I still have a job,” Celia said.

“You’ll have a job as long as I’m around,” I said.

“Good. I think I can handle this situation and I’m not letting Marvin or any man run me out of the city I love,” Celia said forcefully.

“I know you can do it.”

“That’s right, I’m a strong black woman like my mama and Ms. Gladys. I’m not running, and I might even go back to that church of yours and find me a husband.”

I started to laugh and tell her maybe she should try the nightclub Twist, but instead I hugged her and whispered, “I’m so very proud to know you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

I
needed to show courage.

I needed to tell the truth.

I looked at Ms. Masterson and said, “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Wonderful, Mr. Greer! You’ve made the right decision. Let me tell Mr. King and the director. I will be back to get you in five minutes.”

I looked at my watch. It was 8:30
P.M
. in Atlanta, 5:30 in Denver on the eve of Election Day, with the presidential race still in doubt. I wondered if the Colorado Senate race would be in doubt after I sat down with Larry King.

I pulled out my cell phone and started to call my sister to tell her to turn her television to CNN, but then I remembered she didn’t have cable because she thought it was bad for her children. I didn’t think of calling my parents, because I didn’t know how they would react. Anyway, I was certain that someone in Mississippi would see me and call and tell them.

I walked over to the table of food and picked up a bottle of water. The green room was now empty. As I opened the bottle, my cell phone rang. I looked at the display and saw a 303 number flash on the screen.

“Hello.”

“Chauncey. Where are you?”

“Damien. What are you doing calling me?”

“Where are you?” he repeated.

“In Atlanta. Where are you?”

“I’m getting ready to make a speech.”

“So what can I do for you, Damien?”

“Chauncey, please tell me what I just heard isn’t true.”

“That depends on what you heard.”

“That you’re going on
Larry King
to talk about our relationship.”

“What relationship? According to you, we never had a relationship,” I snapped.

“So it’s not true.”

“Oh, I’m going on
Larry King
in a few minutes. I’m already here at the studio.
But don’t you worry—
I’m telling my truth. Not the one you’ve convinced yourself of.”

“Chauncey, please don’t do this. Remember when I told you someone was out to get me?”

“Yeah.”

“I found out who it is, and they’re using you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s my wife, Grayson, and her brother. They’ve set you up to expose me. Please don’t do the show,” he implored.

“Damien, you’re not making sense. Your wife’s already planning for you to move into the White House. Why would she want to set you up? I thought you guys were so in
love.
”

“I’m still in shock, but one of my campaign workers confessed to being a part of the plan. Listen to me. Please don’t do the show. Walk out of that studio and I promise to call you later and explain. I will make this up.”

“You sound like a crazy man. I’ve got a show to do,” I said.

Just as I was getting ready to hang up, Damien said, “Chauncey, if I ever meant anything to you, please don’t do this to me.”

“Good-bye, Damien.”

I hung up my cell phone and turned the power off. I looked out of the green room door for Lauren Masterson. There was no one in the hallway. What was going on? Just as I turned to go back into the room, I noticed three people coming through an off-white metal door. Even though I was about a hundred feet from them, I recognized them immediately. Grayson and Griffin were talking to Lauren Masterson and didn’t even notice me. I slipped back into the room. I pulled out my cell phone, powered it on, and dialed the number Damien had called me from moments earlier. After the first ring, it went immediately into voice mail.

“Damien, call me right back,” I said.

As I clicked my phone off, Lauren walked back into the room with a mic pack.

“Are you ready?”

“Lauren, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean? We’re ready to do the show. Are you nervous? That’s okay and it’s normal.”

“What are Grayson Upchurch and her brother doing here?”

Lauren’s face went from pale to crimson. She nervously messed with her earphones, looked down at her clipboard and then up at me.

“What are you talking about?”

“I just saw you with Grayson and her brother. What’s going on?”

“Oh, you must be mistaken. Those were some guests for another show,” she said nervously. What was going on, and why was this lady telling me a bald-faced lie? She then pushed the mic pack into my hand and instructed me to put it in my wallet pocket.

“They will attach the mic once we’re on set.”

“I don’t need this,” I said.

“What?”

“I’m not doing the show,” I said.

“Not this again. I thought you had made up your mind,” she said.

“I’ve made up my mind. Get your story somewhere else,” I said. I walked out of the green room and down the hallway.

Lauren followed me, yelling, “You can’t do this to me.”

I walked swiftly past the door where I’d seen Grayson and Griffin walk in. I was tempted to look in and tell them their plan had failed, but instead I continued down the hall until I was standing in front of a bank of elevators. I pushed the down button and pulled out my cell phone again to try and reach Damien.

Just as the elevator arrived and I was getting ready to step on, I turned and saw Grayson and Griffin running toward me, with Lauren a few paces behind. They didn’t look happy.

“Come back here, you faggot,” Grayson screamed.

“My, my, such language for a minister’s wife,” I said.

“Grayson, stop it,” Griffin said. “There are cameras and recording devices all over this place.”

“I’m not letting him get away with this,” Grayson said. “Come back here and go and tell the world my husband is a booty packer. Force him to resign so I can take his place on the ticket.”

“If you do this, there could be a lot of money in it,” Griffin said in a hushed tone.

“I told you I’m not interested in dirty money,” I said.

Griffin moved close to me, pulled my arm, and whispered, “Then we’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

I jerked my arm back, pushed him, and shouted, “Mutherfucker, your punk ass don’t scare me.”

I pushed the down button again. I looked over at Grayson, who was crying and cussing at Lauren at the same time.

“Make him do it, you silly bitch. Make him stay and do the interview.”

When the elevator opened, I looked back at the three stooges and shook my head in disgust.

About an hour later, I nursed a naked glass of brandy in the dimness of my living room. I had intended to put on some music and light some candles, but the silence was comforting, like a thick cloud of air covering me and everything around me.

I thought about how close I’d come to finally hurting Damien like he’d hurt me. Then I realized something profound. My life was broken. Had been broken so long ago. And I thought of all the dreams I’d prevented from entering my head because of a failed youthful relationship that never really had a chance.

How would my life have been if I’d taken the time to mourn the end of my relationship with Damien for a couple of months and then gotten back on the horse called love? Where would I be in that life? Would I be looking into the glowing eyes of love instead of stale darkness?

I noticed there was only a sip of brandy left in my glass, and when I got up to refill the glass, the phone rang. Without even looking at the caller identification, I knew who was calling me.

“Hello.”

“Chauncey, thank you,” Damien said. There was a surprising gentleness in his voice.

“For what? I didn’t do anything for you,” I said.

“Well, I guess it’s not so much what you did as much as what you
didn’t
do. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I realized you weren’t going to be on
Larry King Live,”
Damien said.

“So you never told me why your wife was trying to call you out,” I said.

“It’s pretty hard to believe.”

“I have an active imagination. Give me a try.”

“Grayson was trying to get back at me,” Damien said soberly.

“For what?”

“Over an alleged affair.”

“With who?”

“One of my campaign consultants.”

“Male or female?”

“Does it matter?”

“Answer the question, Damien,” I demanded.

“A young man name Charles who worked as a consultant for me. He’s the one who put me in contact with your minister for the revival.”

“So was it true?”

“What?”

“Damn it, Damien, stop playing games!”

“No, it wasn’t true.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the truth?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Damien started to talk again. “The truth is God is not finished with me yet and I allowed my homosexual demons to take over one night.”

“It’s not about some fucking demons, Damien. It’s about the fact that you’re still attracted to men.”

“Let me finish.”

“Damien, do you understand that when you use terms like ‘homosexual demons’ it’s hurtful and mean-spirited to people trying to live their lives the best they know how?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Which time?” I snapped.

“I had a one-night stand with the person you know as Griffin, and when I didn’t want to do it again he tried to blackmail me. He arranged for Charles to come into my life. Charles and I had a relationship that wasn’t sexual, but Griffin convinced Grayson that we were having an affair. He used some of the information about me that he knew from our one-time fling.”

“What did he tell her? About the diamond-shaped birthmark on your dick?”

“Something like that.”

“So if you are so much in love, you couldn’t tell your wife the truth? Don’t you worship a God that’s forgiving?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“I’m sure it is, but I’m getting ready for bed. I have to vote tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks again, even though you don’t know how much you helped me. If there is there anything I can do, let me know.”

Suddenly, I knew what I wanted.

“There is something you can do for me, Damien.”

“What?”

“You can tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“Tell me the truth right now about us. Did our relationship mean anything to you other than sex?”

“It was more than just sex. I mean, the sex was great, but I really, really loved you.”

For a moment, his words rendered me speechless. How I’d longed to hear Damien say something like that again.

“Chauncey, are you still there?”

“I’m still here. There is something else I want you to do for me.”

“What?”

“I want you to stop all your hate speech against gay people. Pick on somebody else from your bully pulpit.”

“My supporters would never let me do that,” he said.

“Then I will have to do what I have to do,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if I hear you speaking out against your own kind again, then I will release the tape to the press.”

“What tape?”

“The tape you and I just made. You’re getting ready to enter the Senate, so you should be a little smarter. You never know when somebody might be taping your conversation. Remember that the first time a lobbyist offers you money in a brown paper bag. Remember, Damien, I will be watching and listening. It’s totally up to you.”

“Chauncey, you didn’t,” Damien yelled.

“I’m still taping,” I said.

“Can we talk about this?”

“You have a good night,” I said.

“When will I hear from you again?” Damien asked.

“When you least expect it,” I said as I hung up the phone with a smile as wide as the Mississippi Delta.

I decided against another drink, so I turned off the lights and headed toward my bedroom. A peaceful tenderness had come over me, and I was thinking about what I was going to say to God when I got on my knees to pray.

There was so much I wanted to ask for when the rest of my life started the next morning. But first I had to ask for forgiveness. For being gay? Naw, not that. For lying to a future U.S. senator about a taping that never happened.