Love Like Hallelujah (6 page)

Only after he was satisfied that Hope had reached multiple climaxes did he prepare for the next step in their love dance. He rolled over, preparing to position Hope on top of him. But before that happened, Hope had rolled over to begin her own kissing assault. Cy was pleased. He knew they were matched sexually, had the same tastes.
Yes,
he thought as Hope grabbed his manhood and lavished her praises. He sighed deeply as she rolled her tongue around the tip of his dick before taking him into her mouth, worshipping at Cy’s penile paradise. Cy closed his eyes and smiled.
Yes,
he thought as Hope showed her love.
We are a perfect match.

Their mating dance continued into the early morning hours. Cy took his time as he entered her, aware of his size and Hope’s years without sex. Not until she was totally ready did he join them in divine union, complete oneness. Hope was not able to hold back the tears then, crying in ecstasy, holding Cy tightly. Cy was an exquisite lover, his long, thick manhood at times fast, forceful, and plunging, and then slow and steady. Their lovemaking took on a variety of rhythms, in a variety of positions. As streaks of dawn announced the coming day, Cy turned on his side, pulled Hope into his arms and held her firmly, possessively. Hope nestled back against the hard chest of her man, rested her arm on top of his. Mr. and Mrs. Cy Anthony Taylor had chosen to wait until marriage to experience this oneness. It had been worth the wait.

Millicent looked at Alison a long moment after they’d been seated at an ocean-view table. “It is really good to see you again,” she said finally. “I’m glad you’re here. Didn’t realize how alone I’d been.”

Unlike the many other times she’d suggested it, Millicent said yes when Alison invited herself to La Jolla. Funny thing was that in hindsight, Alison had needed it as much as Millicent, and shared this with her friend: “Like I said earlier, this is blessing me as much as it’s blessing you.”

Alison had moved from Los Angeles back to Clarkstown, New York, to take care of her mother. The transition was difficult. Her mother’s condition wasn’t good when Alison had arrived, and even with prayers, faith, and blessed oil, the Alzheimer’s was getting worse.

Alison looked out over the ocean. “Be thankful for your mother every single day,” she said, almost to herself. “Call her every day, love her every day, because when things change…”

Millicent reached over and took her friend’s hand in silent sympathy. These past few months had shown her all too well the value and power of a mother’s love.

“How is your mother?” Millicent asked.

Alison gave her an update. “I can’t keep worrying about Mama,” she said after answering Millicent’s question. “Her health is in God’s hands now.” The waiter brought tea, and Alison used that time to change the subject, as well as the mood. She was glad that Millicent seemed to have picked up the pieces of her life but concerned that she might have still carried a torch for Cy. Alison knew from experience that the best way to get over one man was with another. She intended to help her friend jump-start her love life, to truly move on. “Enough about me,” she said. “What is going on with you? How’s the job? It must be nice, surrounded by a group of successful bachelors.”

Millicent deftly sidestepped talking about men and focused on the job itself. “I love what I’m doing. In fact, just this week I agreed to go full-time.”

“That’s excellent,” Alison exclaimed. “You had said you were thinking about it. They must have agreed on the salary you wanted.”

“And then some, plus the benefits are great—three week’s vacation the first year. I don’t know if I’ll stay past the one-year contract though. Just trying to live in the moment, one day at a time.”

“Is there any other way? One day is about all I can handle; tomorrow will take care of itself.”

Alison continued to listen as Millicent went on about her job. That’s all she talked about. As Alison suspected, Millicent wasn’t seeing anyone. If she had been, either an e-mail, a phone call, or something in the conversation so far would have at least alluded to it.

The forbidden topic, Cy Taylor, was on both their minds. Millicent wanted to ask about him and Alison wanted to acknowledge him as the proverbial elephant in the room. She decided to plunge in.

“Have you heard from—?”

“So what’s new at—?” They both spoke at once and laughed.

“No, you first,” Alison offered.

“Well,” Millicent began again. “I was just wondering if you’d heard from anybody: Sister Vivian, the S.O.S. Summit women, or anyone from Kingdom Citizens. I miss the women’s fellowships, and especially the conferences.”

Arriving at Cy by way of Kingdom Citizens was fine by Alison. “I haven’t talked to Sister Vivian,” she replied, “but I have talked to a couple of Kingdom members. Ladies First is planning another Sanctity of Sisterhood Summit.”

Alison and Millicent recapped some of their favorite points of last year’s conference, which Vivian had called a summit to signify the place godly women should occupy in the scheme of life, the very top.

“Do you remember the slogan we all learned at the end?” Alison asked.

“Of course,” Millicent replied confidently. Alison remembered it, too. They recited it together:

Reaching across the table to high five, they laughed at how their voices had unconsciously raised as the words flowed. Fortunately, there weren’t many in the restaurant; the ones who were just turned and smiled politely.

“Wow, I can’t wait—” Millicent began, and then caught herself. She wouldn’t be going to the next S.O.S. Summit, or the one after that. The door on that part of her life was closed and locked.

“Hey, maybe you could start a side chapter, a smaller one, here in San Diego,” Alison suggested, having correctly guessed the reason for Millicent’s hesitation.

Millicent thought a moment. It sounded tempting but, no, she knew she couldn’t do it. Seeing Alison was great, but she wasn’t sure about reconnecting with Sister Vivian or anyone else from her former church life. Plus, the chances were too great that if a smaller conference was planned for San Diego, people from Los Angeles would hear about it and come down. The day would come when she’d have to confront her past, but she hoped that day was months, years in the future. “I’m not ready for that,” she answered simply.

“Are you ready to talk about Cy?” Alison asked, in a smooth segue. She sat back and crossed her arms.

“It feels like I’ve never stopped talking about him,” Millicent responded.

Alison didn’t get it. “With whom?” she asked. Alison had gotten shot down so much that she’d finally stopped mentioning his name.

“My therapist. Things got a little tough for me after I got here. My doctor in Portland recommended a therapist here. I’ve been going twice a week for the past month.”

Alison was taken aback; she thought Millicent’s therapy sessions were over.
Lord, what is it going to take to get that man out of her system?

“They’re married, right?” Millicent asked, more a statement than a question.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Millicent had discussed Cy and Hope’s impending marriage with her therapist, but somehow talking about it with her friend, someone who’d been there when she claimed Cy as her own husband, made it hurt more. But a masochistic side of her wanted to hear the details, wanted to know it all. “I guess the wedding was fabulous,” she said sarcastically.

The wedding, and especially the onboard reception afterward, had been all the few chosen ones who got to go had talked about. But Alison wasn’t going to be the one to provide a play-by-play. Instead she gave a brief, two-minute synopsis, trying to make it seem as boring as possible. She rolled her eyes as she wrapped it up, “You ask me, twenty-something people on a boat in the middle of nowhere isn’t my idea of a wedding.”

Millicent nodded. She’d get married in the middle of a muddy river if the man at her side was Cy. Besides, what Alison described sounded much too plain, especially for Cy. She was sure some details were being left out, but didn’t push. Maybe it was best not to know.

The waiter brought their food and the women ate in silence. Millicent mostly picked at hers. Discussing Cy’s marriage had put her in a dark mood. True, she’d known about it, had thought she was dealing with it. Obviously not, as tears began to silently cascade down her face.

Alison’s heart ached at her friend’s pain. “I’m sorry, Mill. I shouldn’t have brought him up. Let’s go.” Alison met the waiter and paid the bill while Millicent left to give the valet her ticket. By the time Alison got outside, Millicent was in the car.

“I’m sorry,” Alison said again.

Millicent was silent, gripping the wheel and driving a bit too fast for Alison’s taste. Alison began praying under her breath.

After ten minutes of silence, Alison spoke. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but have you thought about getting back out there, dating again?”

Millicent’s response was an unladylike snort.

Alison was undaunted. “There are plenty of good men out here, Millicent. I know God’s got one for you.”

“Don’t talk to me about what God’s got,” Millicent said angrily. “Because the God who told me that Cy was my husband got it wrong!”

Alison didn’t respond, didn’t want to “go there,” especially as long as Millicent was behind the wheel doing eighty miles an hour. But she wasn’t going to give up. A friend sometimes had to tell it like it was, even if the other person didn’t want to hear it. Millicent could blame God for what happened to her all she wanted. But Millicent was the one who’d created the madness. The only one to blame was herself.

Pastor Derrick Montgomery entered the pulpit amid the joyous sounds of the Kingdom Citizens’ Chorale, led by Stellar Award–winning minister of music, Darius Crenshaw. Darius had done the church proud a year earlier, when he’d performed “God, My Jehovah,” the hit single from his debut CD, at the televised BET awards. Now the follow-up CD,
Timeless Love
, was ready for release, and rumor had it the title song had secular record execs chomping at the bit.

Derrick thought of that BET evening as he watched Darius simultaneously direct the choir and play piano, a perfected series of head nods, one-handed cues, and an occasional one-word verbal directive. Derrick hadn’t missed Darius’s increasing popularity, or how the choir had added a host of sopranos and altos to its ranks. Darius seemed to take it all in stride. He’d stayed pretty low-key in the dating department since his wife had divorced him a couple years back. Guess divorce took a while to get over, no matter what the situation. In Darius’s case, he’d come home one day to find his wife in bed with another man. But looking at him now, the picture of poise and confidence, none would imagine his past pain.

Darius’s mind wandered as his hands glided across the piano keys. He tried to focus on the instrumental but was in auto-mode, the past night’s events drifting in and out of his consciousness. He’d never experienced love as he had with this newfound romance, had never basked in the feeling of sheer bliss. As he closed his eyes to take in the music, a pair of luscious brown ones with long, curly eyelashes gazed back at him from his mental screen. A flashback of lips, full and sensual, floated to the forefront of his mind. He remembered the heady kisses and smiled. He opened his eyes and saw Stacy smiling back at him.
Not you
, he thought. Not any of them in the choir, or in the church. He’d found something special where he’d least expected it, and felt as if he was walking on a cloud.

Stacy’s soprano got a little brighter with Darius’s smile. Figuring she needed a change of pace and a chance to hear Pastor Montgomery’s sermons again, she’d resigned from the youth ministry and joined the choir. Singing had always been a favorite pastime, and she was glad to be surrounded by the harmonious sounds of the chorale. One could think she was most glad to be around Darius on a more consistent basis, and she wouldn’t have denied it. She’d sat back for months waiting for him to make a move, given many hints that she was interested. Not overtly, of course; she was trying to be a lady. But she knew he knew because Tanya, his sister and her best friend, had told him. She’d berated her at the time, but afterward, was glad the truth was out.

Excited at first, she’d gotten frustrated when nothing beyond polite hellos and brief conversations followed Tanya’s letting the cat out of the bag. The closest Stacy had come to hanging out with him was when he’d dropped by his sister’s unexpectedly while she was there. He’d been cordial as Tanya, on Stacy’s behalf, had coaxed him into staying for dinner.

Stacy hadn’t gotten much out of him that evening. His monosyllable answers had quickly dashed her hopes of finding out more concerning the breakup of his marriage, but he loosened up when she turned the conversation to a safer topic, their mutually beloved Lakers. He was impressed that she knew other players’ names besides Kobe’s, could quote stats, and followed the progress of other teams as well. She’d flirted a little, threw in some innuendos. Feeling more comfortable, he’d flirted back. She’d given him her phone number, unsolicited, suggesting that they take in a game together sometime. He’d hugged her upon leaving and said he’d call. He hadn’t. She’d thought about getting tickets and inviting him to the Staples Center. But since all she could afford were the nosebleed seats, that idea died a quick death. Still, she was determined to up her game off the court.

Vivian watched Stacy watch Darius.
It never ends,
she thought. The chase was always on, and more and more, it was the females leading the charge. Times had changed, and Vivian couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same thing had she been single. Of course, it had been so long since that was the case, she could hardly imagine it. She looked at Derrick and was glad God had blessed her when He did. These days, the field of romance seemed a much trickier one to navigate. As if feeling her thoughts, Derrick turned and gave her a look that only she could interpret. He raised his brows slightly, licked his lips slowly, surreptitiously. She knew he was remembering last night, and the thought made her warm. She diverted her eyes to break the contact. It was as if he were mentally touching her, warming her more.

Derrick slowly shifted his gaze away from his wife. He still had it, could still melt Vivian with “the look.” He smiled, remembering the first time it had happened. More than fifteen years ago at the Kewana Valley District’s Baptist convention. He’d sensed fire underneath her conservative, understated ensemble, and he’d been right. He’d discreetly questioned his good friend, King Wesley Brook, as the offering was lifted. Vivian and Tai were best friends even back then, so King knew about her. He told Derrick her name was Vivian, that she was majoring in broadcast journalism, and was selective about who she dated. More than one of King’s buddies had attempted a “get to know.” But Vivian wasn’t having it, had been all about business, until Derrick. The four had gone to dinner, Derrick had gotten her number, and just over a year later, she became Mrs. Montgomery.

Vivian was thinking about the same thing, about the start of their marriage. Those early years had been crazy. Vivian became an exemplary first lady, albeit kicking and screaming all the way. Her goal had been a broadcasting career. Right out of college, she landed a job as the weekend anchor on a cable station. She worked her way up to noonday anchor, Monday through Friday, at an ABC affiliate station, and then got hired as the prime-time, evening anchor in Birmingham, Alabama, an almost two-hour drive from Atlanta.

The commute worked okay for a while. Derrick was busy as an associate minister and realtor. Vivian stayed in Birmingham during the week, but was front-row center at the Sunday services. Dedicated to her job and often working ten-and twelve-hour days, however, she couldn’t be as active in the church as Derrick would have liked.

But she was active at home. Their love sustained them. Vivian thoroughly enjoyed making their house Derrick’s castle, and he loved watching her do it. They’d shop together on the weekends he was available, finding just the right piece of furniture, picture, or antique. Then they’d do dinner, catch a movie, and go home and make wild, passionate love. Vivian was totally uninhibited, which played to Derrick’s adventurous side. Plus, she kept it exciting. She bought sexy lingerie and thought of imaginative places to reveal them to him. They made love in locations most people wouldn’t dream of, and then swore each other to secrecy afterward. If the community only knew what their studious anchorwoman and the young, charismatic preacher were up to! From the beginning, Derrick had eyes only for Vivian. Sure, there were many fine honeys in Atlanta, but how could he think of straying with such sweetness at home?

He got offered his first church, a traditional Baptist congregation of about a hundred people, in the small town of Lithonia, Georgia. That’s when the tension started. Lithonia was about twenty miles east of Atlanta, even farther from where Vivian worked. Derrick wanted her to quit her job so she could assume the role of pastor’s wife and all that position entailed. Vivian dearly loved Derrick and wanted to support him, but his suggestion was about as appealing to her as rotting cabbage. She held out for six months, ran herself ragged trying to juggle a full-time job with a full-time ministry. A conversation with one of the longtime members of the Pilgrims’ Rest membership, Mrs. Faye Moseley, would set Vivian on a different course for the rest of her life.

It was early on a Saturday morning. Vivian had still been in bed, the covers pulled over her head, trying to catch up on the sleep she’d missed all week. Derrick had left earlier, on his way to the church to handle any number of issues continually cropping up in the small but growing spiritual family. The consistent ringing of the phone pulled her from a deep sleep. She looked at the clock, frowned, and decided not to answer. It went silent for a moment and then began ringing again. Whoever it was wasn’t going to give up. Pre-caller ID, she’d had no choice but to answer, thinking it might be an emergency. Her frown returned when the cheery voice of Sister Moseley crackled through the line.

“How do, Miss Vivian. This here’s Sister Moseley.”

“Uh, good morning, Sister Moseley,” Vivian croaked.

“I’m sorry, child, did I wake you?”

Thinking this was her opportunity to cut the conversation short, Vivian readily answered. “Yes, ma’am, I was in the middle of a
very
deep sleep.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re up now. Can you come to the church? I want us to go have a little breakfast, more like brunch by the time you get here.”

Did she not hear what I just said?
Vivian held her impatience. “Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly, baby. I just need to talk to ya, is all. Round ’bout ten-thirty be all right?”

I guess it’ll have to be,
is what she thought. “Yes, ma’am,” is what she said.

Vivian rolled into the tiny parking lot at a quarter past ten and was surprised to see Sister Moseley waiting on the sidewalk. Her face lit up as Vivian pulled to a stop, and before she could turn off the engine, Sister Moseley was opening the door to get into the car.

They engaged in small talk during the short ride to the Waffle House, a place Vivian later discovered was Sister Moseley’s favorite restaurant for breakfast fare. As Vivian had anticipated, they got down to the heart of the matter once the orders had been taken and the coffee had arrived. Sister Moseley asked her how she liked the church, discussed being a pastor’s wife, and took real interest in Vivian’s descriptions of life as an anchorwoman. After she’d eloquently stated her very sound reasons for continuing to work in the highly competitive market in which she was blessed to have landed a job so quickly, even with her husband’s promotion to his own church, Sister Moseley took her turn.

“Now this might sound like I’m getting in your business, but at my age, it’s what I do—get in folks’ business. You say you love your husband, right?”

Vivian got a bit perturbed. “Of course,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“Uh-huh. And you want the marriage to last a long time, have babies, the whole thing?”

“Sister Moseley, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but my husband and I—”

“That Cook girl, the one that’s so faithful, comes every time the church doors open. She’s a pretty little thang, ain’t she? Acts like she’s got a few screws loose sometimes but pretty girl. What’s her name, Robin? Yeah, I think that’s her name.”

This got Vivian’s attention. “What about her?”

“Oh, nothing, just real dedicated to the ministry is all. Almost becoming your husband’s right hand; she’s got good…administrative skills, I hear.”

The toasty pecan waffle with butter melting sat untouched in front of Vivian. Meanwhile, Sister Moseley was eating like there was no tomorrow.

Vivian crossed her arms. “Is something going on between this Robin and my husband, Sister Moseley?” She went straight to the point; no need to pussyfoot around.

“Nothing that I know of,” Sister Moseley said calmly, wiping her mouth with a napkin and sipping freshly poured coffee. “But I’ve occupied many a church pew, more than twenty-five years of ’em at Pilgrims’ Rest. I’ve see’d some thangs over the years, know how these women flock around the pastor. It’s easier to do when the wife ain’t around much.”

Vivian was silent. Sister Moseley continued. “You’re a bright girl. I can tell you’re good at what you do. But sometimes in life, we have to decide what’s really important to us. What’s gon’ matter in the long haul.”

Vivian sat attentive, waiting.

“Now, that Derrick, he a fine man. I see great things happening for him. Y’all in this here small town right now, but ain’t always gon’ be this way. That preacher is going places. Mark my words. What you have to do is decide whether you want to be by his side when he gets to wherever place that is.”

Sister Moseley gathered the last of her fried egg, waffle, and sausage onto her fork and downed the huge bite. She looked over at Vivian’s still-untouched and now cold waffle. “Shame to waste that good food; ain’t you gon’ eat, girl?”

Vivian said she wasn’t hungry. Sister Moseley promptly called the waitress over, asked for a doggy bag, paid the bill, and announced she was ready to get back to the church, that she was trying to get things prepared for the Lord’s Supper the following day.

When Vivian arrived back at the church, she didn’t drop Sister Moseley off. She parked and went inside. Laughter rang out from her husband’s office, which was at the front of the cramped, four-room building. She opened the door without knocking and found Robin leaning over her husband, pointing at something on the computer screen.

Derrick had greeted her warmly. Robin’s hello was as chilly as winter in Anchorage. Their laughter sounded comfortable and intimate, but Vivian neither felt nor saw any hanky-panky going on—not yet.

Vivian put in her two-week notice the following Monday. She asked Sister Moseley to help her, and over the next several months, learned the ropes of what it meant to be a first lady. She was young and, to her credit, wisely called on the older members of the church for their sage counsel. The church grew, and soon there was both a youth and adult choir, a thriving Sunday School, women’s fellowship, and a well-attended BTU, Bible Training Union, which took place Sunday night. Wednesday night Bible study was a lively, interactive affair, where discussion and dissension was encouraged. Derrick’s reputation grew quickly and before long, they were fellowshipping across a tristate area, with a few cross-country invitations. By the time Derrick accepted the offer to pastor Good Lord Baptist, five years later, which Derrick renamed Kingdom Citizens’ Christian Center, both the Montgomery ministry and marriage were well-oiled machines. A handful of dedicated members went with the Montgomerys to California. Sister Moseley, who over the years became Mother Moseley, was among them. Unable to conceive for the first seven years of their marriage, another source of tension at times, Vivian carried Derrick Jr. in her womb as they celebrated their first pastor’s anniversary in Los Angeles.