Sex in the Sanctuary (20 page)

“You know what they say. If something looks too good to be true, it probably is.” Hope and her cousin, Frieda, were browsing in the suburban shopping center of Oak Park Mall, doing more talking and window-shopping than actual purchasing. The air-conditioned stores provided welcome relief from the August heat, reason enough to linger.

“Girl, I don’t understand your butt at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for, praying for? Haven’t you been harping to me for two years about wanting God to send you the right man? About believing in miracles and God being able to do anything? Now you’re telling me you’ve met somebody who to hear you tell it is all that and a bag of flaming hot chips, which my friend Rashiid obviously wasn’t, I might add, and you
still
trippin’. You pitiful.” A miniskirt with matching halter top caught Frieda’s eye. “Ooh, girl, look at that outfit! It’s calling my name.” Frieda was already rounding the corner to enter the shop.

“Go on, Frieda, I’ll wait for you out here.” Hope walked
over to the bench nestled between two large, lush-looking plants. She placed her bags beside her and eased her aching feet out of the low-heeled, leather sandals. Her lesson? Never wear almost-new shoes when going to the mall.

Hope looked out on the people scurrying to and fro in the large building. Frieda was right. She was trippin’. But who wouldn’t? As she thought back to the conference and her weekend with Cy, she felt like Cinderella, who got invited to the ball and whose coach turned into a pumpkin after midnight. Even now, almost a month later, it still seemed like a dream.

Remembering her edict from that afternoon, Hope entered the sanctuary with open eyes and a closed heart. She wouldn’t let Cy Taylor’s good looks cloud her common sense. She purposely avoided eye contact with him and reminded herself constantly that he was off limits, a reminder that seemed justified as she noticed the tall, attractive woman who was at his side after the conference. Hope tried to remain impassive as Cy took the pulpit and began his lecture on Financing Our Future and strove to keep her attention on the seminar topic. She dismissed the times when she thought she’d caught him looking at her, dropping her eyes down to doodle on the mostly blank notepad. She tried not to notice the piercing eyes, strong, squared shoulders, tapered waist and muscled legs, and tried not to think about the man’s tapered fingers or the soft, leather shoes that encased his large feet.
You know what they say about men with big
…The words in her mind began forming, causing her to physically shake her head, chasing the thought away before she could hear its conclusion.

Later that day, she learned he was engaged to the woman she’d spotted at the seminar, the one who had followed his every move and seemed to hang onto his every word.
Yeah,
she looks more his type.
She was tall and slender with symmetrically perfect features and long, straight hair. It had to be a weave. Surely God couldn’t have graced her with a perfect body
and
long hair! Surely in His mercy, He’d leave some imperfection requiring man’s feeble if inadequate intervention. It may not be hers, but Hope had to admit, the weave was tight!

As were her clothes, as she remembered the obviously designer suit. Her nails were perfectly shaped and colored in a classic, French-tip design; her shoes looked as if they were brand new and cost not a penny under five hundred dollars. She appeared poised and confident, like a model out of
Vogue
magazine or a music video. They always got the good ones!

Hope fought the feeling of jealousy that rose up unexpectedly at the thought that this woman would be so blessed as to have a man like Cy. It was just as well; he would never go for a woman like her. That was why after the seminar, she’d headed directly to the rehearsal hall, changed clothes and started stretching for dance practice. She focused all her thoughts and energy on the musical and their routine, forcefully blocking out any thought or image of Cy Taylor. She thoroughly enjoyed Pastor Montgomery’s message that night and was thankful for the Holy Spirit, because in His presence, Hope’s thoughts turned totally away from what’s his name.

For once, Hope was thankful for the hectic pace the next day. With so many details still needing attention, she had been unable to attend either the morning or afternoon session. She refused to acknowledge that she secretly wanted the opportunity to see Cy again, if for no more reason than to be able to stare at someone that gorgeous in person. God knew that was probably as close as she’d ever come to someone like him. Hadn’t it been rumored that he was a millionaire? It was all the more unlikely that she’d be of any interest to him. As it was, she was praying that Southwestern Bell would
let her phone stay on until her next payday. No, it was unlikely that someone who lived from portfolio to portfolio would want someone living from paycheck to paycheck.

Even so, her heart fluttered that evening when she entered the sanctuary and looked up to find his gaze unmistakably fastened on her. She recovered quickly, dropping her eyes and easing up the aisle to take a seat near the back of the church. The man God had for her would be more than another pretty face. Checking her watch, she looked toward the doors. Rashiid had left a message earlier that day saying he might make it to the musical after all.

And in fact, he did. She was glad for the distraction, and after ministering with the Angels of Hope, the last group to come on before Righteous, she was thankful that she had a man to sit by and enjoy the rest of the evening. On top of that, Millicent, who a member had been oh so glad to inform her was the name of Cy’s fiancée, had come to the musical looking as though she’d literally just stepped off a haute couture fashion runway. She wore a sleek, black designer dress, with tiny silver threads throughout. The dress was almost ankle length, with a deep, yet modest slit up the back. The bodice also dipped in the back, again stopping before it became ungodly but leaving enough skin to cause a weaker man to lust. Her hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, with tiny tendrils swirling down the sides and in the back. She wore diamond earrings with a matching necklace. Her shoes were silver, with a pointed toe and ankle straps which were, quite frankly, the baddest silver shoes Hope had ever seen. She sat directly behind Queen Bee and Sistah Montgomery, and Hope noticed that Sistah Montgomery spoke to her from time to time. Of course they’d be well acquainted since Cy was one of the associate pastors of the church. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, this Millicent woman looked the part of first lady. There was no way around it, and
Hope acknowledged these facts reluctantly. The woman was gorgeous.

Hope hadn’t seen Millicent or Rashiid before the midnight musical began. Prior to the commencement of services, she had been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, making sure all the various groups were ready to minister. Sistah Stronghart had gotten on her last nerve, issuing orders like an army sergeant, obviously thinking Hope could be in two or three places at the same time. But right before the Angels danced, she had gathered the troupe together for prayer and meditation, and once they’d entered into their own private worship, all the tension and anger and frustration of the day bowed before the presence of God. It was in this spirit she and the young ladies had entered the sanctuary. The first number they ministered to was an upbeat, reggae-tinged, contemporary song entitled “J-E-S-U-S.” Over the sounds of a bass-driven hip-hop beat, the 3-4 reggae timing and the rap-infused delivery of the lyrics by the African group Limit X, the Angels whirled and twirled, bringing the young and young at heart to their feet. Standing was the perfect posture for the audience to be in for their next and final selection, a slow, worshipful jazz version of the Baptist Hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” performed by the Musical Messengers, gospel’s latest number one darlings.

It was as if Jesus Himself entered the room as she danced. Hope could feel His presence envelop her. Indeed, it was as if her feet hardly touched the floor, as if her body became an instrument of the Most High, moving of its own volition
while staying in perfect timing and harmony with the other dancers. Tears streamed down her face as the Father seemed to take her in His massive arms, kiss her cheek and whisper words of eternal love and devotion. She knew in those moments that she should never feel lonely and was never alone, that He was always near and would always be with her. She smiled at Him then, and looked into a light so radiant it seemed to fill the entire auditorium. The music seemed to pulsate from within her, and suddenly it was as if she and He were the only ones in the room. No one moved or spoke for several moments after the music ended. For each had entered into their own personal worship with the Savior, their own spiritual serenade led by the Almighty.

Hope’s usual excitement in hanging out after service in the pastors’ reception area was dampened by the knowledge that Cy Taylor would probably be there with the lovely Millicent on his arm. Nevertheless, she put on a bright smile, grabbed Rashiid’s arm and as always was humbled, giving God all the glory for what they’d witnessed. She’d introduced Pastor King to Rashiid and was shocked when not only did Queen Bee speak to her, but actually complimented her on the AOH ministry.
Wow, wonders never cease,
she remembered thinking before she felt someone’s eyes on her.

Cy and Millicent walked over to the Brooks as Hope and Rashiid stood talking to them. Cy was so close Hope could smell his cologne, a subtle, mesmerizing fragrance of sandalwood and spices, musky and poignant even in its toned-down state. She was reserved yet gracious as King introduced them. Cy’s large, warm palm engulfed Hope’s hand and squeezed it gently. Millicent’s handshake was cold, limp. She moved closer to Cy and placed a possessive hand on his arm as she summarily dismissed Hope and engaged in conversation with Sister Vivian, as the Montgomerys had come over to join them.

Soon Millicent, Queen Bee and Sister Vivian were in deep conversation, and Hope turned toward Rashiid, preparing to
leave. In that moment, a hand touched her arm, stilling her movements and causing an uncontrolled shiver to shoot up her arm and continue throughout her body. She turned to Cy, who gently and almost imperceptibly stepped away from Millicent and the first ladies, placing his back to them and facing Hope directly. Associate Minister Tyson chose that very same moment to come up to Rashiid, complimenting him on his suit and welcoming him to Mt. Zion. Even though they were in the middle of a crowd, it was as if Hope and Cy had created their own oasis. For a brief moment, the din of noise and mingling masses ceased to exist, and they were alone. It must have been just a few moments, but it felt like forever.

“I enjoyed your dancing. You’re incredible.” Cy’s eyes pulled Hope into their immense depths.

“Praise God,” she said softly. Hope’s determination to not be moved by Cy was not working.

Cy smiled at her nervousness, knowing that she would be surprised to know that it mirrored his own. “Oh, yes, glory to God for creating someone as lovely as you.”

Hope doubted if her wobbly legs could hold her upright, and she squeezed her hands into fists to try and calm her trembling. A thousand words rushed through her mind, but not one of them would come out. Instead, she stood there staring at the man of her dreams like a bump on a stump.
Say something, fool!
“You’re too kind,” she finally whispered, her eyes lowering as she spoke.

Cy looked around surreptitiously before continuing. Millicent was still engaged in conversation with the first ladies. There must be a God! “I’m staying at the Chateau le Roux,” he intoned quietly. “Please call me in the morning. I need to speak with you and, uh, that’s not going to be possible tonight.”

Hope was flattered for a moment before anger kicked in. The dog! How dare he! His fiancée not five feet from him and here he was trying to hit on her. Well, she was not the
one, and she was going to let him know it! She rose up to her full height of five-foot-four and narrowed her eyes for effect as she hissed, “Are you sure your
fiancée
won’t mind?” she asked with indignation. Before he could answer, Rashiid rejoined her, and she grabbed his arm and swirled away, leaving Cy standing speechless behind her.

Hope had thought that was the end of it. She was almost glad for the incident because the knowledge that he was a player helped to cool her heated ardor and place more mental distance between them. She’d almost been tempted to go out to breakfast with Rashiid, but her body had other, more pressing ideas. Like sleep. So once again, she’d gone home alone and for once was thankful for the hectic week she’d had. The lack of rest and constant running had allowed her to fall asleep immediately, keeping unwanted thoughts and dreams and unfulfilled promises out of her mind.

No one could have been more shocked when her phone rang the following morning at seven
A.M.
Hope rolled over to talk to her mama, because only her mama would call her that early on a Saturday morning.

“Hey, Mama,” she uttered in a croaked whisper.

There was a moment’s pause before a deep voice intoned, “This isn’t your mama.”

Hope shot straight up in bed, suddenly wide awake. “Who is this?”

“Cy Taylor.” Another brief pause. “Good morning.”

“Good, uh, good morning.” Was she dreaming? She took the phone away from her ear, looked at it and placed it against her ear again. “How did you get my number?”

“I can be fairly resourceful when the circumstances require it. And your statement last night required that I speak with you further, not to mention that I had wanted to speak with you anyway.”

“What statement was that?” As if Hope didn’t know.

“Why don’t you join me for breakfast and we can discuss it?”