Church Girl Gone Wild (7 page)

“The lazy and the wicked will not inherit nor inhabit any parts of the Kingdom of God,” Deacon's voice boomed over me.

I snapped one eye open, sadly realizing that I was not dreaming. It was Wednesday morning. Leslie was screaming her head off of her shoulders in the bathroom with Momma Rose. She was having a full-blown temper tantrum over her hair. You could talk yourself blue in the face trying to convince her she had good hair. Something had given her the impression “good hair” should be bone straight. I'm sure that something was probably Sue. But no amount of brushing or combing would ever straighten out that naturally wavy mane she had going on, but that didn't stop her from being pissed about it.

The sky was still painted in the royal purple hues of night outside my bedroom window so it was somewhere around five; my alarm was set for five-thirty.
Here this fool goes, on ten all extra early.
I sat up with a sigh. That last good thirty minutes of sleep would have me hurting and evil later on. As my eyes adjusted I could see his hand wrapped tight around the end of The Ruler. It was splintered from the trunk of a petrified tree forged from the fires of hell and, if you let Deacon tell it, sacred. No, in reality it just felt that way when you got hit. Ironically, even somewhat idiotically, it was a yardstick he affectionately called The Ruler. It wasn't meant for measuring a damn thing except the number of strikes needed to rein in your unruly senses.

I sent up a couple of silent prayers, hoping he was just holding it for dramatic effect.
Figure the odds of that.
The only thing I had to protect me was my camisole and boy shorts. My eyes drifted down to my pitiful blanket in a heap beside my father's spit-polished cognac-tinted Stacy Adams. They were so clean I could almost see my
Fraggle Rock
–looking reflection with my hair going in all directions because I didn't have that good grade stuff like Leslie and no matter how well I tied my scarves I always woke up without them.

He stared down at me with a steely expression that was void of all the love and admiration he rained onto his church friends; he actually looked sad.

“Do you ever forget to eat?” he asked.

Confused I looked around like the answer was hanging out of my closet or about to jump out my top dresser drawer. Momma Rose must have been using the brain this morning. That's why he was asking such a dumb rhetorical question after the day I'd had. Oh yes, I'd convinced myself a long time ago that they shared one brain or they at least acted that way. The catch was that only one of them could use it at any given time and the result was something like asking me at o'dark thirty if I ever forget to eat. The Ruler started tapping a steady rhythmic countdown against the hardwood floor heating up the cold silence that floated between us. I cursed silently for not knowing the answer or purpose of his riddle and shook my head no.

Ennnnh. The buzzer sounded. That definitely wasn't the right answer.

He let loose with all of the bluster and fierceness of a thunderclap yelling down into my face. “Then how come . . .”

In one fluid motion he leaned back, slicing the ruler through the air, it landed with a painful, searing crack against my bare upper thigh. I jumped, wincing at the blood rushing to the red welt forming on my skin. The Ruler and I went way back; we been good friends since I was eight. No matter how many times I tried, I was never prepared and could never figure out
how
to prepare for that first strike. That was always the one that got the worst reaction that in some sadistic way would make him unleash the strike team. Every other word got its very own searing, painful exclamation point in the form of The Ruler. He started hacking away taking his anger and frustration out on my skin with the ruler, no different than someone hacking through the jungle to clear a path. He must have found out about Que. I'd already cried myself to sleep over that jack-ass and now this. If Deacon knew about him then it meant that Mrs. Porter was probably Mrs. Quinn's sorority sister. She was the only one who knew who I was.

“You act like we don't eat and live off of this family's reputation. If I can't lead and control my own family why would they think I have any right to lead them? You will not plant that seed of doubt into my sheep—”

“Chill out, Deac.” Dontay barreled into the room in nothing more than some green plaid boxers. He slammed into Deacon pushing him back against the far wall. Dontay pinned him against the wall grabbing hold of him until he dropped his precious ruler.

“You wanna hit somebody, you hit me. We don't do that woman-beating shit, Deac. Not as long as I'm around,” he growled through clenched teeth, the ropey muscles in his upper back and shoulder flexed in response.

He dropped his hands away from Deacon taking a step back almost daring Deacon to pick up the ruler or say something. Winded, breathing loudly through his mouth Deac sniffed, too tired and emotional to fight or say anymore. He stared Dontay down before turning to leave my room barely casting so much as a glance in my direction. The house was so quiet his nose breathing was the only sound ringing over the uncomfortable silence. Leslie was miraculously mute as a mime. Momma Rose might as well have been a mime since she never spoke up for me. They'd probably sat right there in the living room hearing everything, pretending it was nothing.

I winced; the entire right side of my body felt like one big blazing red welt.

Dontay stared at me with big sad eyes. “Are you good? Let me go get you some ice or some—”

That was the same way Que looked and just about the same thing Que'd asked when he helped me that first day. He should have been here saving me but he was probably spooning his wife or giving her a damn candy bar.

It came out of nowhere. Shoulder-racking sobs like my world was ending. I curled into a tight ball turning away from Dontay. Of course I wasn't good, and I didn't like anyone to see me cry especially someone I didn't know. The bedsprings creaked against the extra weight. Dontay wrapped his arms around me pulling me back against the heat of his chest. He felt perfect, like we were meant to fit together. Sadly I wanted Que's arms around me; he was the one who'd managed to melt and scoop out a piece of my raspberry sorbet heart. My mind went on repeat telling me the same thing over and over like a spoiled five-year-old. Dontay wasn't Que and Que wasn't available.

“You okay, Eva?” Leslie whispered from around the bedroom door.

At the sound of her voice Dontay scooted to a safe distance and I pulled myself together with a few deep breaths.

“I'm good, Leslie-boo. You know that mess don't bother me,” I told her.

She poked her little heart-shaped face around the door. Two Pocahontas braids dangled from the both sides of her head, they flopped against the middle of her back. Her little nose wrinkled up at me. She stepped closer eying all the red marks all over my skin like typos in a term paper. They felt even worse under her scrutiny. Embarrassment at being beaten into a teary ball in my underclothes had me feeling too mortified to look Dontay or my little sister in the eye.

“Okay, well.” She hesitated. “Deacon sent me to tell you that he wants French toast for breakfast.”

I quirked my eyebrow at that. “Does Deacon want it or do you want it, Leslie?”

“We want it.” She shrugged. “He kind of suggested it and I agree.” She'd started to take herself off when she turned back eyeing Dontay curiously. “And now I see why he said you're doing redemption service at church tonight. There's a boy in your room; that's against the rules. Serve and obey, Eva.” With that she left.

Dontay cleared his throat while watching me with an awkward expression out the corner of his eye.

“Excuse my Stepford baby sister. The brainwashing has already started. After Ava . . .” I stopped myself. I wasn't ready to tell him about our family dinner that changed our lives just yet. “Sometimes she acts like her head is stuck up Deacon's ass. It's my job to get all that religious bullshit off of her. You know reverse the brainwashing.”

His voice rumbled like bottled thunder. “What the fuck is Deac's problem?”

I told Dontay about Deacon's infamous rags to bitch-assness story. How he was so poor he'd catch frogs so they'd have dinner. How one day his grandma made him walk his four-year-old brother to a neighbor's house to ask if they wanted a little boy. Come to find out the neighbors weren't so great. Deacon had to watch his baby brother grow up being abused by a couple of crazies. All the not having and taking away may have changed him into a Godly man, but it made him a sad, tyrannical hypocrite at home.

“Why are you still staying up in here if it's this bad?” Dontay asked softly.

I shrugged. I'd asked myself that same question plenty of times. Que had my savings account beyond nice and I was a good legal eighteen. But that feeling of losing everything in one blow made me want more than just a nice amount of money.

“Probably because if I leave no one will be here to take care of my little sister.”

“Guess that means I'll have to stick around to take care of you then huh?”

His words brought a small smile to my face. They weren't what I'd expected or the answer I wanted but they helped.

 

Later that night I was getting ready for church when Que decided to start calling my phone back to back. It already sucked for me to stand and attend to Sister Bealiah. Redemption service was Deacon's second-favorite punishment next to The Ruler. You got assigned to a church member and you were pretty much their servant for the night.

Once I'd gotten Brother Beasley who wanted his feet rubbed the entire service. Not one person batted an eye. They couldn't see the stiff finger of applause he was giving me in his pants or the cum stain when I finished.

Sister Bealiah was sitting in a hospital-sign blue skirt suit with some poor animal's fur lining the collar and sleeves. That old chest of hers puffed up as she looked back and forth between me and my phone buzzing in the pocket of my skirt. Her lips folded down into a dissatisfied frown making the creases on either side of her mouth deepen into sad faces on top of her sad face. It made her big chubby cheeks stand out even more. It looked like she had asses on both sides of her face.

“I graduated from Norfolk State top of my class with honors. In my day women earned their degrees with their head. I guess your generation interpreted that a little differently.” Her eyebrow went up until it almost touched her hairline. “Then again you are your mother's child.”

Several ladies within hearing distance all nodded simultaneously. My fingers twitched from the temptation of laying them all across the round ass cheeks on her face. Instead I excused myself to the bathroom. I slammed the cover down taking a seat in the last stall.
How does Sister Bealiah know? How else would she know? Either Dean Porter told her or she's cool with Que's wife.

My cell buzzed with what had to be the twenty-second call from Que. I forced myself to ignore it.

“Is that why I can't get a hold of you?” Que's head appeared under the stall.

I jumped up with a gasp. My phone fell, and the floor dismantled it. Pieces went flying in different directions.

I glared at Que. “What are you doing in here? Do you know how much trouble you could get me into?” I slammed the door open.

He was blocking my only way out of the stall and he knew it. I could feel the bathroom shrinking around me until it felt like a broom closet. Deacon would kill me, he would definitely kill me. Que moved towards me backing me up until I was pressed in a corner of the stall with the wall against my back. Reaching behind him, he locked the door with a click. He was all yummified with his beard trimmed and a fresh edge-up. There were even creases in his khakis and not a single wrinkle in his black knit polo shirt. But then again, for all I knew his wife could have picked all that out for him.

“I've been trying to apologize but you ain't making it easy, Eva. Daddy misses his girl. He needs her.”

I put my hand against his chest to stop him from getting any closer or saying anymore. “No, Que, this isn't—”

“Eva?” Sister Bealiah's voice echoed through the bathroom.

My eyes went wide and round.

Que whispered, “Kiss me and I'll cooperate.”

“Eva, girl, don't make me come get you. I don't take well to lazy cherrun.”

“Hurry up before she gets closer.” Que pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth.

Adrenaline had my head spinning and I could feel the armpits of my blouse getting damp. My hand clenched into a fist against his chest. I let him pull me in. My knees felt wobbly from the shock of pleasure that shot through me when his tongue tangled with mine. He shoved his hand up my skirt pushing my panties to the side. All my senses shot to ten. I was sweating, wet, angry, and I still wanted him. I couldn't even hold back the moan that slipped its way out of my mouth.

“Dern cell phone all over the place; are you sick, girl?”

Sister Bealiah's voice sounded like she was two stalls down. Alarm whistles went off in my head. Que pulled away from me. He never took his eyes off of me. He licked my juices off his finger all while slamming the stall door open. All five stalls shook from the dull thump on the other side.

Sister Bealiah crumpled to the floor.

We rode home in complete silence. Deacon wasn't convinced that I hadn't tried to kill the woman. Que was able to slip out without being seen while I went to get help. I called Storie as soon as I got in the house and could get my cell phone pieced back together.

“Why do I feel like you've been avoiding me?” Storie asked.

“Well hello to you too. I'm surprised you noticed since you only come out from under your Bear blanket for food and water.”

Storie faked gasped into the phone. “Boo, girl. I'm shocked that you'd think that. One, I had to break my own bed to teach him how to break my damn back. So B, That means I've got to get it while he's still motivated. And third, what's this rumor about some man candy stayin' up in your house?”

“That's what I was calling to tell . . . Wait, break your bed? How'd you break your bed?” I couldn't keep the disbelief out of my voice.

“Yes; let me school you right quick. Loosen the lug nuts on the bed frame. Start gettin' in and when the bed collapses into shrapnel you blame Bae. Bae feels guilty and buys you a new bed frame. Now every chance you get, remind Bae about that time he broke the bed frame. Ta-da, Bae will work extra, extra hard trying to break the new one.”

I laughed so loud I had to set the phone down.

Leslie interrupted my conversation. “Deacon said you should be praying and meditating for Sister Bealiah.” She paused giving me a wary stare. “He was holding The Ruler.”

I twisted my mouth up at her. Dontay was still out somewhere with his friends so it was best if I didn't press my luck.

“Girl, I'll call you later. I've got to go help Leslie with her homework.”

I lied to Storie about most of the things that went on in our house. If a person wasn't part of our household they didn't need to know what went on within it.

“Ugh. Whatever with you and all that blasé blah. Come to my party. I miss my bestie and need to see her face to make sure I'm not talking to an imposter,” Storie whined.

She sounded pitiful enough that I actually agreed. Plus I really did want to talk about Que and all his craziness.

 

 

I dragged myself up white cobblestone steps of a porch big enough to park my car on. Leaning against one of the support columns I closed my eyes and sighed. It was too hot for all this mess.
Storie's party better be all that she'd said it would be.
I needed something to keep my mind off Que's hundred and whatever phone calls and texts. I was deleting them at first but then he'd just call and call, so now they sat in my voicemail box keeping it too full to receive any more messages. His class had become a no-fly zone; not only did I not bother with going to take the final but I dared him to fail me.

“Lick” by Joi and Sleepy Brown thumped through the wall in front of me. That song made me only imagine the kinds of nasty and wrong that was going on behind that door. The two-story house was the last one on the cul-de-sac surrounded by trees the size of skyscrapers. The hard plastic of my bright gold Mardi Gras mask was making my face hot but I wasn't about to remove it. That and the long fire-burst red wig I picked out would hopefully keep me from being recognized.

Changing in the car was harder than I thought it would be so I took a minute to do a last-minute check on the drape of the black sheet I'd fashioned into an above-the-knee toga. I'd left the house in jeans and an oversize sweater to keep everyone from being suspicious.

“Who the hell is that lookin' like a chocolate Greek Goddess? Eva, is that you?”

My friend Laurence could go under witness protection and you'd still know it was her. I'd been so lost in my head I didn't even hear her walk up with her boo. She was unmistakable in her loose-fitted black toga with a short gold wreath on her low-cut fade. Why she even bothered with her little solid black mask was beyond me. Laurence could bench more than half the dudes I knew and she ran eight miles a day. Laurence was cut with these magazine-worthy abs that she showed off as often as possible. She made straight girls self-conscious about being able to pinch a little extra. How she managed to drape her toga so low you could see the cut of her abs dipping into her hips on the side was beyond me.

I tried to hide my nervousness behind a shaky smile. “Yeah, it's me; how in the world could you tell?” I asked.

“First off everybody's already here and second we saw some of your little peep show before you got out of your crooked-as-hell Jesus freak mobile over there. I told you them custom plates get you recognized. You are ‘Blssd2B' caught out there, woman,” Laurence joked.

I popped my tongue at her. “Whatever. Ring the doorbell; this wig is making me hot. And um FYI, you know sports bras and Air Max ain't proper toga attire right?”

Her girlfriend Charmaine jumped in the convo. She was posted up close enough to be Laurence's Siamese twin.

“Girl, I tried telling her that; you know she don't listen worth a damn. But she still look good so fuck it.”

She had a weird half smile on the part of her pinched face that I could see from under her mask. Charmaine had always been a little too clingy for my liking but if Laurence wanted a warden who was I to argue about it.

Laurence sucked her teeth looking back and forth between the two of us. She was about to say something smart but the door was flung open. Apple coconut–scented fog wafted into the hallway. Storie made me go to five different party stores just to find the stuff to make the smoke machine fog smell pretty. At least it worked; it'd have been tragic if the place smelled like a haunted weed house all night.

“Everybody been in here for a minute and I already know that's you, Laurence; you can't masquerade worth shit. I should make you take them shoes off before you come in my uncle's spot. I'll leave you be, this time. Hi, Charmaine. And, is that Eva?” Storie let out an exaggerated gasp. “Wait, Doctor, does this mean what I think it means? I'm no longer contagious with the bubonic plague or whatever it was that had my best friend avoiding me?”

She definitely knew how to make a person feel guilty for just needing a little space.

I smiled big and bright. “And here I am making it up to you even though I said I'd never come to one of your freak parties. I just had a lot of stuff going on in my head. I'm sorry.”

“Oh well, let momma see if you actually
came
or if you're just here.”

Storie sashayed out onto the porch with a plume of smoke from inside billowing behind her like a ghost. Before I knew what she was up to, her hand was up under my toga. I jumped back in shock smacking her arm.

“Really, girl, what the hell? I thought I'd at least make it inside before I started getting felt up.”

“Oooh, Eva, and you shaved. Good girl,” Storie replied with a content nod and a wink.

Charmaine and Laurence gave each other the look, and I rolled my eyes at them all. It was a costume no-panties party and they weren't about to joke me for the rest of my life for wearing some.

“Just because I didn't wear my panties doesn't mean I have to do something, damn.”

Storie held up her hand. “Eva, I'm the last person you have to justify yourself to. I don't judge remember?”

“Nope, me neither,” Laurence added.

I waved them both off motioning for Storie to lead me inside. She paused long enough to hold out her hand showing us folded slips of paper.

“Take one and don't look. Everyone inside pulled out of a bowl before you got here and the last one is mine. It's about to go down. I want me a random Bearless fizuck.”

We'd all concluded that Storie's momma was a little eccentric; that's why she actually named her after the stories, or the soaps. She couldn't pick one character so she just went all out. What she ended up with was an all-out daughter. It was a tradition Storie started back in high school. At the start of summer, my bestie would throw her no-panties party when her even more eccentric uncle went out of town.

It was mostly for single people but couples with no boundaries and cheaters and everything in between would be there. Storie personally made the invitation list herself. She just had to approve of everyone's guest. Everybody showed up in whatever theme she came up with and the rest was never talked about. Last year it was bathrobes, and the year before that hospital gowns, this year she wanted black togas which in black folk language was basically a black sheet. Nobody wore panties or drawers and from the things I'd heard, just about anything went.

“Well, y'all are the last of my guests, so, let's get this shit going,” Storie called out, clapping her hands together and leading the way.

Laurence unceremoniously pushed me forward and I stumbled into the dark sour and fog-clouded main entrance. It was the first time I'd ever seen her uncle's place and since I'd never met the man eccentric definitely fit. Storie locked the door and I could see an army of at least thirty people in togas mingling throughout the first floor. Storie led us through a wide-open seating area. Bright gold and purple throw rugs and walls lined with oversized cushions. The walls were painted deep purple and every now and again the candles would flicker showing off tiny gold flecks in the paint. It was her uncle's private hookah lounge.

We stepped into the living room and my jaw hit the floor. I was transported to a penthouse loft on the highest floor in New York. Every wall was wallpapered from floor to ceiling with a mural overlooking the city at sunset. The real country appeal of his VA view was blotted away, hidden behind thick silvery velvet drapes. I could see a glass-encased fireplace glowing with a soft blue and green flame toward back of the living room.

Storie positioned herself in front of a flat-screen television that looked like it was just floating in midair and I don't mean on a stand or mounted to the wall. It must have been on invisible wires or something. The guys she'd gathered for her party came in every shape and size of appealing and I visually crotch raped them to my heart's content. Ever since Que's pocket-size short self pulled out his thick and long panty dropper I couldn't keep my eyes from dropping. Some of their togas didn't leave a lot to figure out unless they were growers.

Storie made a hand motion and the music automatically lowered itself. A guy no taller than me brought her a box setting it down on the
Star Trek
–looking coffee table with its pretty blue crystal in the middle.

Storie addressed the room: “All right, we are about to play a new game. I call it Indulgence. Take out your slips of paper. Unfold that shit.”

I did as she directed, reading what looked like some kind of perverted fortune cookie.

A
ND
I'
MGONNAKISSYOU,SUCKYOU,TASTEYOU,RIDEYOU,FEEL YOU DEEP INSIDE ME OOH

“You have a piece of a song,” Storie stated. “Someone else has another part. Walk around and sing until you find your match.”

Everyone jumped into action singing parts of songs I'd never known existed. I'd just finished shaking my head at this one girl singing to me about put it in her mouth when I bumped into Laurence.

I poked her in the side showing her my lyrics. “Girl, what song is this?” Without the music the words meant nothing if it wasn't one of the songs I'd heard on Que's playlist.

“That's Janet, ‘Would You Mind.' Damn you got a good one. I got Adina Howard.”

After a quick rundown on how my song was supposed to go, I didn't feel so out of place anymore. I was about to tell Storie her game was janky when someone made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

“‘I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you. Love you, hold you, make love to you,'” he sang from behind me.

What am I supposed to do again? Sing back?
I couldn't make a sound. Without turning around I held up my slip of paper so he could see we had the same song. Before I had a chance to recover from that sensual serenade handcuffs were slapped around my left wrist and his right. I stared at Storie in shocked horror as she went around the room with that box, handcuffing everyone to their song partner.

“Now, for the indulgence part of the night.” She giggled and continued, “There are three ways to get out of your cuffs. You can drink twenty shots of jungle juice.” She pointed toward the black granite counter tops in the kitchen. Two huge Gatorade coolers like the ones the football team used during games were waiting. Little paper Dixie cups were filled on the table beside them. Everyone started whispering back and forth trying to figure out what the hell jungle juice even was and which partner would drink the shots.

Storie clapped her hands together, jerking the taller girl's arm she'd managed to get cuffed to. “The second way to get free is to make out with your cuff buddy or help your cuff buddy make out with someone else. Otherwise you're stuck and yes, you will be using the bathroom together and you can't leave until you get un-cuffed so . . .”

We all rushed the jungle juice at the same time. I silently toasted my cuff buddy in his movie-like full Batman mask and we did shot number one. Storie must have mixed straight Everclear with watered down mango-peach juice. It burned all the way down and made options two and three seem less formidable compared to a second and third shot let alone twenty. Bottled water was purposefully removed from the stainless steel fridge and replaced with beers, Mike's Hard Lemonade, and liquor. The ice trays, filled with strawberries in rum, Jell-O shots, and fruit soaked in liquor, were strategically placed throughout the kitchen beside liquor-infused cans of whipped cream.