Love Like Hallelujah (2 page)

“Look, you know yo ass can’t wait to get some dickage. God created the bone, ain’t nothin’ wrong with saying you want to handle the meat for a minute, damn!”

“Frieda, you have no sense.” Hope laughed as she entered her cousin’s newly decorated apartment near Baldwin Hills, an area of Los Angeles that at one time boasted the city’s most affluent Black residents. A month after Hope had relocated from Kansas City, she’d suggested to Frieda that she do the same. One visit was all it had taken. One trip to Magic Johnson’s theater followed by a stroll through the mall next door and Frieda had agreed that LA was her kind of place. “Umm…thirty-two flavors, just like Baskin-Robbins,” she had commented after seeing the plentiful, multicultural, multiethnic mix of testosterone who shopped there.

Hope couldn’t have been happier. There had not been a moment’s hesitation when Cy had asked her to move in with him shortly after he proposed, but after a couple of weeks she realized that a big city with millions of people could get lonely, especially with Cy’s business and church commitments. When Frieda had called from Kansas City and told her she’d given notice at her job, and to the latest nucka she was seeing, Hope had started things rolling on her end. She’d liquidated one of her “rainy day” CDs so that Frieda could get a place and have rent for a couple months until she got situated. She’d helped Frieda pay for the U-Haul to move her furniture from Kansas City, and they’d had a ball going around to estate sales and swap meets to replace the things Frieda left behind.

It had been a great move for both of them. Frieda had quickly landed a secretarial job and within a month knew her way around LA enough to outrun the fool she’d turned on and then tuned out at a club three weeks after she’d arrived. It was no surprise to Hope that Frieda brought the drama with her. It was her middle name and, Hope guessed, just the way she liked it.

“So, is it good, girl? Fine as his ass is, he better be able to f—”

“We didn’t do it yet,” Hope interrupted. “How many times do I have to tell you that we’re waiting until the wedding night?”

“Girl…tell that lie to somebody who’ll believe you. Ain’t no way you got
that
lying in bed with you at night and you ain’t hittin’ it. Ain’t…no…way.”

“Whatever, Frieda. Where do you want me to put these?” Hope had never seen any of Frieda’s places look this good and didn’t want to junk it up with their latest purchases.

“Put ’em anywhere, and stop trying to change the subject. You think I tell you all my business and ain’t gonna get into yours? Think again, sistah!”

Hope sighed and shook her head as she placed the bags on Frieda’s bar counter. Was last night’s good time written all over her face? “Okay, we have fooled around, a little bit.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, baby. Be real with a sistah. I know’d yo ass wasn’t gonna be able to leave
that
alone.” Frieda whooped as she plopped down on the couch. “C’mon in here, girl, and spill it…spill it!”

Knowing her cousin wouldn’t let the subject rest, Hope plopped down beside her. “Well, we haven’t had actual intercourse but we’ve, you know, checked each other out.”

“Is he big, girl? You know sometimes those pretty boys carry pistols instead of shotguns.” Frieda was all ears.

Hope paused. “He’s perfect. Not too big, not too little. He’s just right.” She hid a smile, embarrassed yet happy to be sharing her joy with someone else. “And it feels good, nice and thick. It’s been so long since I’d seen one, that at first I didn’t know whether to touch it, suck it, or frame it!”

“Don’t make me hollah!” Frieda said, delighted. “So, did you take care of boyfriend? I know he tasted good, huh?”

“Frieda!”

“Girl, please!”

“I don’t know how he tastes, and I’ll thank you not to be wondering either!”

Frieda rolled her eyes. “Girl, I’ve got enough dick to suck, fuck, and fill a semitruck. I don’t need yo’ shit.”

It was Hope’s turn to laugh. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to wait. I figured that since we’re engaged—and speaking for me, even married already in my heart—I was ready to do it. But Cy said we’d waited this long, a couple more months wasn’t going to kill us.”

“And you said speak for yourself, right?”

“I’m glad he said it actually, because he’s right. It will make our wedding night extra special. I know it’s going to be so good. Just from the way he kisses me and holds me; he knows all the right spots to touch. He drives me crazy!”

“Well, all I can say is you’re a better woman than I am. I would have licked that piece of caramel on the first night, within the first couple hours, feel me?”

Hope’s phone rang. She eyed the ID and opened her cell. “Hey, baby, we were just talking about you.”

“Were you saying how much you love me, and how you can’t wait to become my wife?”

“That’s
exactly
what I was saying, babe, that I can’t wait.” Hope winked at Frieda. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Just got home and got your note. I was at the mall when you called.”

“Out shopping, huh? Anything for me?”

“Not today, baby. I’m sorry, should have thought about you.”

Hope feigned disappointment. “Cy Taylor, nothing called out my name? Nothing had Hope Jones Taylor written all over it?”

You have no idea
, he mused. “Next time, okay?”

“Okay. Any plans for dinner?”

“Just you.”

“Good, I’ll stop and get some salmon steaks when Frieda brings me home.”

“What do we need the steaks for? I said ‘just you.’”

“Ooh…you’re such a bad boy. That’s why I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Hope’s pussy tingled as she closed the phone and leaned back on the couch.

“Can you believe it?” she said to Frieda. “Can you believe I’m actually marrying that man? It still feels like a dream. All the years I prayed and believed that my prince would come, and all the nights I cried and argued with God because he didn’t. Then it was like, snap, and just like that, my life changed. I can’t even begin to describe how this feels. It’s more than amazing, really. It’s beyond words.”

Frieda got up and walked into the kitchen. “You want a wine cooler?” Hope declined but said yes to a cola. “And I’ve got some chips and dip. You hungry?”

“Yeah, bring it all in. I want to go over the wedding, get your final opinions. And don’t try to get all crazy on me. I’ve decided to keep it simple. Oh, and I’ve finally settled on the colors—different shades of blue. What do you think? Frieda!”

Frieda came around the corner loaded down with chips, dip, leftover chicken wings, cookies, soda, and a wine cooler. Hope jumped up. “Dang, you took me literally, huh? What’s all this?”

They placed the food on the coffee table and loaded up plates. “Anytime we talk about men and matrimony,” Frieda answered around a mouthful of chips, “it’s a party.”

They spent the afternoon fine-tuning Hope’s plans for the ceremony. She’d dreamed of this for so many years one would think the details would have been easy. Now that the time was actually here though, she’d changed her mind more than once, wanting everything to be perfect. She had switched color schemes three times, but felt her idea of using various shades of blue was going to look beautiful against the scenic ocean backdrop. Cy’s custom Carlo Scotti tux was a deep navy made from extrafine merino faille wool. Hope’s dress was a white halter-necked, dropped waist satin wonder accented with light blue Swarovski crystals to match Cy’s light blue silk shirt. Frieda was the maid of honor, her dress a mix of turquoise, aqua, and light blue. The best man, Simeon, Cy’s equally fine cousin, would wear a light blue suit. Hope had snagged the Musical Messengers to provide the music, a blend of jazz, R & B classics, and contemporary gospel for both the ceremony and sit-down dinner afterward, as the boat cruised around the marina. She and Cy had decided to recite traditional vows and keep the ceremony simple: a duet of “their song,” Eric Benet’s “Spend My Life With You,” a recitation of The Lord’s Prayer, and a poem Hope wrote, titled simply, “The One.” Knowing how close their pastors were and how much church meant to them, it was easy to decide that both pastors, Derrick Montgomery and King Brook, would officiate.

“Do you think his wife will come?” Frieda asked.

“I don’t know,” Hope answered. Frieda was talking about Tai Brook, first lady of Mount Zion Progressive Baptist Church, Hope’s former church in Kansas City. Hope had told Frieda about how Tai once suspected Hope of wanting her husband, King. Being a single female in a church with a fine pastor wasn’t always easy. Some had thought Hope’s exuberant praise was for the King of Mount Zion instead of the King of Kings. King was very attractive, but Hope could never have imagined stepping out with Queen Bee’s man. And then go to church and dance with the ministry’s dance troupe, the Angels of Hope? Twirl around to the melody of “My God Is an Awesome God”?

“It is your wedding, after all,” Frieda continued, sipping on her cooler. “You’d think she’d come just to make sure the deed got done.”

“I like Queen Bee and I know she and Sistah Vivian are best friends. I included a personal note with the invitation, saying how much I wanted her there. She seemed to warm up to me toward the end, so I hope she’ll come.”

“Vivian’s your new pastor’s wife, right?”

“Uh-huh, the one you met on your one and only visit.”

“Now, don’t give up on me, cousin. There’s some fine brothahs in that building; I’ll be back.”

“And you didn’t even see Darius. He was out of town the Sunday you visited.”

“Darius…who’s that?”

“Kingdom’s newest most eligible bachelor since Cy got engaged. He’s our minister of music. He’s got a new CD coming out and it’s supposed to be fire. Cy says some major record labels are trying to sign him.”

“Oh, he ain’t signed yet? Tell a brothah to hollah when he gets that advance check!”

“Frieda, you should marry for love, not money.”

“Don’t worry. If he’s got money, I’ll love him.”

Hope just shook her head. “Maybe God has other plans for you. There are some fine associate ministers at Kingdom. You might end up a pastor’s wife.”

“Ah, hell no. Ain’t that much holy water in the world!”

Hope laughed. “Remember, they’re men first and foremost. Look at Cy; he’s a minister.”

“Yeah, and he’s marrying yo ass. I can’t be hooking up with somebody who wants me in church every Sunday. Give me a hit every now and then, maybe a song at Christmas and an Easter egg, and I’m good to go. Feel me?”

“No, I don’t feel you, but it’s all to the good. God is with you no matter where you are.”

“Ooh, don’t tell me that. ’Cause there’s some places I’d rather He not tag along. Let a sistah roll solo, okay?”

Hope looked at Frieda, her countenance serious. “No, Frieda. God is with you
all
the time.”

“Shut up, girl. Next time I’m fuckin’ I’ll be lookin’ up at the ceiling expecting to see a big ass pair of eyes staring down at me.” Frieda drained her wine cooler bottle and jumped up to get another.

Hope almost spit out the soda she was swallowing. “You are a bona fide fool,” she said, laughing so hard her sides hurt.

Frieda returned from the kitchen. “No, I’m a bonin’ fool,” she said. “There’s a difference.” She sat on the couch, leafing through pictures of the yacht Cy was leasing for the wedding. “And speaking of fools, I wonder what happened to that girl who went gangsta on your boy, showing up at the church with demands and what not.”

Hope’s humor dimmed. “Millicent?”

“Yeah, her. I know what she did was whack, but that was some bold shit.”

“I don’t know where she is, nor do I care,” Hope said with finality. She didn’t want to discuss Millicent. Hope didn’t want that woman, or even her name, anywhere near her wedding plans.

The hustle and bustle of LAX, Los Angeles’s busiest airport, greeted Millicent as she stepped through the Jetway. Hard to believe she was back in Los Angeles. When she left four months ago, whether she’d return at all was anyone’s guess. Even now, she felt vulnerable, not sure if she was ready to step back into the real world. But she couldn’t hide out at her mother’s forever. Her therapist had encouraged her to accept the marketing contract she’d been offered, felt that working would help her life return to normal. Problem was, Millicent wasn’t sure she’d recognize normal when it arrived.

Millicent made her way to baggage claim, keeping her hat pulled low and sunglasses firmly in place. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized. That was the main reason she’d decided to return to California but not live in Los Angeles—she did not want to see or be seen by anyone she knew. Before coming back from her mother’s home in Portland, Oregon, Millicent decided to sell her condo and had enlisted her real estate agent to find another one in La Jolla, about a hundred miles from the City of Angels, near San Diego. Based on her therapist’s diagnosis, she’d gotten disability through her insurance company and was thankful she’d played it safe with her investments. The time off from work hadn’t hit her too hard financially. Plus, at her therapist’s suggestion, to occupy her mind productively, she’d freelanced for a couple of clients in Portland.

Her contract with Innovative Designs, a computer technology firm, began at the end of January, two weeks away. For now, Millicent was anxious to get her luggage and go to the condo that she no longer called home. That would be where the test of her healing really started, when she walked into the place that held so many memories, so many dreams, the dreams that had led to…
No. Not those thoughts, not right now
. She dealt with thoughts of Cy every day, had even dreamed of him. But she didn’t want to think about him right now.

Standing near the carousel, Millicent looked around and saw a man holding a sign that read “Sims.” It was the town car she’d hired. She waved him over, just as the first of her many suitcases came into view. It wasn’t long before the driver saw what he was dealing with and went to find a porter. Fifteen minutes and several suitcases later, they headed out of the airport and into the LA night.

Millicent smiled slightly as familiar sights and streets passed by. It hadn’t been that long, but things looked different somehow, a stark contrast to the clean, calm city of Portland, that’s for sure. One thing hadn’t changed—traffic. Settling back for a long ride, she pulled out her Blackberry and checked e-mails. There weren’t many new ones, as she’d expected. One from Jenny, her real estate agent, confirming their noon appointment the next day; one from Alison, her good friend and one of the few who knew about “the incident” with whom she’d remained in contact; a couple from inspirational sites; and her monthly music selection from BMG. She replied to both Jenny and Alison, read the inspirational messages, and declined the BMG selection before pushing delete.

When she looked up, the car was crossing Wilshire, a main boulevard through the heart of Los Angeles. Her heart tightened a bit. This was the street she regularly took to her old church, Kingdom Citizens’ Christian Center, or KCCC, as it was sometimes referred. Thinking of the church made her think of Cy. Tall, handsome, Cy Taylor, the man she’d believed with all her heart was her husband.
Husband! No, stop it. Don’t play the tape again.

Millicent used the techniques her therapist had taught her and switched her thoughts to something different, positive.
That’s it, refocus.
She thought about the glowing recommendation she’d received from the company in Portland, the one that helped seal the deal at Innovative Designs: “Ms. Sims’s talents and skills are superb; your gain will be our loss.” She remembered the feel of her mother’s arms around her, the unending encouragement that life would get better: “No matter how long the road, dear, eventually there is a turn in it.” She thought about the profit she’d made from the sale of her condo.
Six figures in my savings! Maybe Cy will—No, Cy won’t.
There were plenty investors in San Diego County. She took a deep breath, counted to three, let it out.
Yes, breathe, focus on the breath, positive thoughts.
She thought about her mom, the one person on earth who could make her feel better, no matter what. Just then, her phone rang.

“Mom! I was just going to call you!”

“Millie, dear, you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking of you, that’s all, and wanted you to know that I made it back.” Millicent paused. “I’m on my way to the condo.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

“A little nervous, but I’ll be okay.”

“Oh, Millie dear, I wish you’d let me come with you. I don’t know that going there is something you should be doing all by yourself.”

“Mom, I’m a big girl.”

“I know, but with all the upsets you’ve been through lately…” Mrs. Sims didn’t finish. They both knew all too well what Millicent had been through.

“I love you for caring about me. But I feel like I need to do this alone. Take back control of my life, you know?” Again they were silent, thinking of how Millicent’s life had temporarily spun out of control. “But I will never be able to thank you enough, Mom. You were my rock when I stood on very shaky ground.”

Mrs. Sims laughed. “That’s what mothers are sometimes. You’ll see, when it comes to your children, you’ll do anything.”

Millicent changed the subject. To think about children, she’d have to think about a husband, and that was the last thing she wanted on her mind. “My agent left a message; she has a couple condos in La Jolla for me to check out.”

“Oh, that’s great, Millie. I think your moving out of LA was the best idea.”

“I do, too. La Jolla is a beautiful area, and the people at the computer company seem really nice. Lots of work coming up in these next few weeks and that’s just what I need to stay busy.”

“That’s right. And you need God, too, dear. Don’t forget to start looking for a church home.”

Millicent wasn’t going down that road either. She was sure she’d find one eventually, but she was not in any big hurry to join another church. “We’re almost at the condo, Mom. I’ll call you later. I love you.”

“Love you, too, dear.”

The driver turned the corner and there it was—the condo Millicent had proudly called home for almost five years. She’d leased it out on a month-to-month basis during her time in Portland, but now with it sold, she needed to move what furniture remained to storage and say good-bye to a chapter of her life that was forever closed. The driver was already out, placing her suitcases on the sidewalk. With a sigh of resignation mixed with determination, Millicent got out of the car and walked into the lobby.

“Nice place,” the driver commented cheerfully, putting suitcases near the elevator.

“Yes,” Millicent responded simply.

“Wish I could afford to live in a neighborhood like this. I can’t imagine coming here every night.”

Millicent smiled, busying herself by helping bring in the suitcases. Her heart beat rapidly, but she tried to ignore the building anxiety, tried to calm it with conscious breathing:
in, hold three counts, out
.

The driver came in with the last two cases and joined Millicent at the elevator. “You must have been gone a while,” he said, pointing to the luggage.

“Yes.” Millicent tried not to be annoyed. The man was just being friendly. Still, she pushed the already lit elevator button again and then reached for her wallet. “Thank you,” she said, handing the driver the fare plus a generous tip.

His eyes widened when he saw three Benjamins. Looking at Millicent with dreamy eyes, the driver responded in what was his attempt at sexy. “No, baby doll, thank
you!
”

Is he trying to flirt?
He had no idea how not the one she was. She was
so
not the one. One of the last men to do that had ended up being stalked by a crazed woman in a wedding gown! For the first time, Millicent almost smiled at the thought.

The elevator doors opened, and she and the driver began placing the bags inside. “You need help up with these?” he asked, obviously wanting to prolong their encounter.

“No, thank you, I’ve got it from here.” She was saved from further questioning by the elevator door closing in his face.

Millicent slowly moved the bags from the elevator to her front door. She paused, took a deep breath, and placed the key in the lock. As she opened the door and walked inside, she closed her eyes on the tears that threatened, then opened them again. A bit of a sting, but easier than she’d thought it would be. The impersonality of the place helped. Jenny had removed all of the more personal touches, photographs and other identifying belongings, and placed them in storage before renting the condo out. And now the place belonged to someone else. One more step in starting over.

One by one, Millicent brought her suitcases inside. Once they were in, she closed the door and again looked around. She walked into the kitchen, the dining room. She walked to the bathroom and stopped. This had been one of her favorite places, a bit harder to face now. So many dreams she’d created while soaking in the Jacuzzi tub, dreams that had floated away, disappeared down the drain, like the bathwater. Before the tears could gather, she walked briskly back into her bedroom, picked up the briefcase containing her laptop, and walked to the desk.
Stay focused, Millicent. Guard your thoughts
. Millicent sat and redirected her energy to preparing the condo for its new owner, looking at the potential homes Jenny had selected for her, and drafting a marketing outline for her new boss. The time for dreams was gone. With steely resolve, Millicent focused on her reality.