Don't Tell A Soul (4 page)

“I haven't accepted it yet, because I need a proposal for a second book. The offer is contingent on me having more than one book idea.”

“That's easy, girl! Why don't you write about a single mom with a bootleg baby daddy who finally finds her Prince Charming? That sounds like something I'd read!”

Pam laughs out loud. “That sounds like a Tyler Perry movie! But maybe I will write a romance! I'd have to do some research, though, because Troy hasn't romanced me in forever.”

“Who knows, maybe if you start writing a romance, you'll feel more romantic. Just don't have no more babies.”

“I rebuke that in the name of Jesus!” Pam shouts. “Girl, let me talk to you later!”

“Okay, bye.”

There is absolutely something going on with Pam. This book deal has been the most important dream she's had since we became friends. For her not to be screaming it from the rooftop tells me that something ain't right. And usually when there's something wrong with Pam, it can be traced to one person. Troy. I've talked Pam out of walking out on him more than once. But if he's hurting my girl
again,
he's gonna have to deal with me, too, and I do not play.

YVONNE

 

 

 

 

A
fter getting married at nineteen and staying married for twenty years, I never thought I'd enjoy being alone. I never thought I'd get used to sleeping alone, to not making dinner for someone, to not having to ask permission for the simplest things.

But I have become quite accustomed to this single life. Solitude does not have to equal loneliness, and I am just fine not having a man in my life. I hear women talking all the time about their
needs,
but I am not having a problem at all being saved and single.

“Just one?” The hostess at the restaurant has a bit of pity in her tone, as if a beautiful black woman can't dine alone on a Saturday night without being desperate.

Obviously, she doesn't know me very well. I've got a taste for P.F. Chang's, and there's no way the lack of a man is going to keep me from those delicious lettuce wraps.

“Just one!”

“Would you like to sit at the bar?”

“No, honey. A booth would be nice.”

No, she did not try to seat me at the bar, like that's where single women like to eat their dinner. This poor child has got me confused. If I wasn't saved and sanctified, I'd give her a piece of my mind, but I'm about to get my relax on and read my novel.

I follow the girl over to the big leather booth. She probably had hoped to seat a party of five here, but I got here first! Here's to me, good food, and the single life.

I ease into the booth and relax. Since no one is here with me, I kick off my shoes under the table. I never would've done that eight years ago. Luke would've embarrassed me and called me country. Well . . . so what if I'm country? I'm doing me.

I open my novel,
An Inconvenient Friend,
by Rhonda McKnight. Talk about drama! Enjoying fiction is another new thing about me. Who knew a story could be so much fun and teach me a lesson, too? To think I'd spent all my time reading Bible concordances and devotionals.

As I read, I think about Pam. My best friend is going through something. I have never seen her act so ugly toward anyone. And poor Carmisha! It is true that she needs to get a job, but the child is the product of three generations of mothers on welfare. It's going to take some time, prayer, and effort to break that cycle. Pam knows that. Pam has prayed for that girl,
with
that girl.

“Good evening, ma'am. Will someone be joining you, or would you like to order now?”

I beam a smile at the waitress. “I would love to order now. I will have the lettuce wraps and a water with lime.”

“Coming right up. My name is Sharday, if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thank you, honey.”

It annoys me, just a little, that Sharday called me ma'am. Something about the term just makes me feel old. And I know that I'm not. Forty-seven is far from used up. I keep reading that fifty is the new thirty! I'm inclined to agree. I sure would like to relive my thirties. I'd do a lot of things differently.

The first thing I'd change is staying married to Luke. I
knew
he was cheating on me, even before he seduced Taylor. I'm sure she wasn't the first young lady at our church to fall under his spell. I should've left him the first time he went away for the weekend and came back with laundry that smelled like perfume. But back then I thought it was godly to suffer in silence.

I hear my phone buzzing away in my purse, so I pull it out. I've received a new text message.

I can't stop the smile from blossoming on my face. Kingston is persistent! He's been asking me out on dates for the past two years, ever since I joined the choir. I've politely declined, not just because he's the choir director, but because he's just too fine. His caramel-colored skin, hazel green eyes, and deep, wavy hair take my breath away. He thinks that I'm playing hard to get, and so does everyone else. But I'm afraid I wouldn't be so hard to get if I started seeing him. My Lord, what if I'm
easy
? Folk gone be calling me a choir groupie.

Even if I was interested in getting to know Kingston better, I think it would be strange to be married to another man. I can't even think about learning another man's intimate habits or subjecting myself to someone new. And letting another man see me naked when Luke is the only man I've ever known? The thought of it makes me shudder.

I close out of the text without responding. While I am flattered by Kingston's pursuit, I am not ready for another relationship.

Sharday walks by and leaves my water on the table. The lime gives it a kick and keeps me from ordering some sugary beverage that I shouldn't have. That's the other thing that's changed about me. The new Yvonne is fit! I've never had a weight problem, but my body looks better now than it has ever looked.

I turn my attention back to my book and try to wait patiently for my lettuce wraps. My stomach growls as the wonderful aromas in the restaurant tease my nostrils.

“Hello, Yvonne.”

The familiar voice rips open a wound in my heart that I thought was healed. Slowly, I drag my eyes away from the page and look into the face of my ex-husband. Without thinking, I slide my feet back into my shoes and sit up straight.

“Luke.”

He chuckles. “That's all? Just Luke? After twenty years of loving each other, I'd think we could be a little more cordial than that.”

I spent twenty years loving him. He did
not
spend those years loving me. Not the way I needed to be loved. I really can't believe he went there.

And Luke's got the nerve to look incredible. He is aging well. The salt-and-pepper hair is now more salt than pepper, but his nearly white goatee against his dark skin is very attractive. Unless he's wearing some kind of girdle for men, he's taken care of his physique, too—not even a sign of a beer belly. The only thing that's different is the eye patch over his left eye. I wonder if it's real or a fashion statement.

“It's been a long time, Yvonne,” he continues. “It's good to see you looking well.”

It has been a long time. Nowhere near long enough. I could've gone the rest of my life without ever seeing him again.

“Same to you, Luke. I didn't know you were back in town.”

“I am. I moved back to be closer to my son.”

My Lord. This almost makes me burst into laughter. Taylor's husband, Spencer, has raised Joshua, and he's the only father that boy knows.

“That's good news, Luke. May I ask what happened to your eye?”

Luke sighs. “This is a consequence. Got into a fight when I was locked up.”

Now, this almost makes me feel good, even though I know it shouldn't. God wouldn't be pleased with that evil thought. But since Luke decided to use me for a punching bag, I can't make myself feel sympathetic. Looks like he finally stepped to someone his own size and got his eyeball handed to him.

“I am sorry to hear that,” I lie.

“Since you don't seem all that happy to see me, I'm going to let you enjoy your meal . . . and your book. Have a wonderful evening.”

“You do the same, Luke.”

I don't know why Luke thinks I'd be happy to see him. He spent a year in jail after nearly killing me with a beating. I'm supposed to be ecstatic when he walks in the room? I don't think so. It took every bit of Holy Spirit to keep me from grabbing my Mace and spraying him as a precaution.

My eyes follow Luke as he walks away. I try to look back at my book, but curiosity has always gotten the best of me.

Luke stops at his table and kisses a woman on the cheek. A beautiful black woman with hair flowing down to the middle of her back. A young woman. I can't tell for sure from where I'm sitting, but she looks about half his age.

He says something to her, and she throws her head back and giggles. I don't remember giggling when I was with Luke. As a matter of fact, he would've told me that I was loud and I was embarrassing him if I had.

The woman is gorgeous and vibrant and free.

So why is she with Luke?

I force my eyes away from them and back to my book, but the words are now a blur. I am surprised when a tear splashes down onto the pages. I thought I was done crying.

Luke is living life. He looks . . . joyful. But I'm sitting here, alone, and crying over something that should be left behind. It is not fair that he should be happy with another woman. He does not deserve another relationship after what he did to me! He should suffer alone in retribution for his sins.

I am fine with not seeking my own revenge as long as he reaps what he's sown. Isn't that what the Bible says? I know what he's sown. The reaping shouldn't be a beautiful woman.

Why isn't God punishing him?

EVA

 

 

 

 

E
va slid into the pew and folded her hands in her lap. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself, so she looked at the floor and tapped her foot, waiting for the service to start. She'd wanted to sit in the last row, but the usher wouldn't let her. She told Eva that the last rows were reserved for latecomers. She'd remember that if she ever decided to come back.

Eva wasn't sure why she'd come to church. She did feel a little obligated after they gave her the food that she so desperately needed, but that wasn't the reason she'd gotten up and put on another nice outfit. Eva bit her lip, trying to figure out her own motives.

One thing she knew was that she didn't need another handout, because that night she was supposed to start a new job. At a strip club.

Eva told herself that it was a step out of the porn industry. She wouldn't be having sex with anyone, and she'd shown her body to strangers for years. At least they couldn't touch her. And she'd have rent money. As twisted as it might sound, she thought the call from the Gentlemen's Den was a blessing.

Eva glanced from right to left at the families and churchgoers. She felt that they could see right through her St. John's Bay suit and six-dollar panty hose. She smoothed her hair over her eye and straightened her glasses on her nose. Eva was in disguise with her schoolgirl look. It was a necessity. She never knew when she'd run into a fan or, worse, a porn addict.

Luckily, she looked a lot different in her films than she did in real life. When Eva went onto the set of an adult movie, she wore wigs and a ridiculous amount of makeup. She was so undercover that it would be hard for her own mother to recognize her. Like every other star in the industry, she didn't use her own name. X-Stacy was her porn handle—like the drug, and what the viewer was supposed to feel when they watched.

Eva's leg shook nervously as the other attendees filled up the pews around her. Soon she was lost in a sea of worshippers and their children. She breathed a sigh of relief when the service started and no one had tried to start a conversation with her. A few people had said “Good morning,” but none had gone the extra step to engage her.

On the pew in front of Eva was a very shapely woman wearing a skintight dress that showed every curve. Eva caught herself fixated on the woman and quickly took her eyes away. Eva wasn't gay—she loved men, in fact—but she'd done so many films with women, that either sex could cause her to feel lustful.

Eva swallowed hard and shook her head. Why were these thoughts invading her mind during a worship service? Wasn't this supposed to be God's house? So why was the devil tormenting her here with his demonic presence?

That was what her grandmother had always called Eva's precocious sexuality—demonic. A trick of the enemy and a curse. Eva always agreed with her, because it did have roots in evil. It was just that the evil had a name—Uncle Parnell.

He'd started touching Eva before she even knew the names of her body parts. He upgraded to full-fledged intercourse by the time she was fourteen. His abuse didn't stop until she ran away from home at the age of sixteen. A few months later she did her first adult film. If nothing else, she had experience in mentally taking herself to another place during sex. It made her a rising star in the industry.

Eva closed her eyes and listened to the music coming from the choir stand. They were singing a song about saints coming to worship. Yvonne was leading the song, and her voice sounded so pure and angelic that it brought tears to Eva's eyes. But it wasn't just the good music that touched Eva's spirit. The words echoed through her mind and landed in her conscience. Eva felt like she was the very opposite of a saint. It made her remember her grandmother's pastor, Reverend Wells, who always used to differentiate between the “saints and the ain'ts.” Reverend Wells would say, “The ain'ts ain't trying to live right, ain't asking God for forgiveness, and they ain't going to heaven.”

Yes, Eva would put herself in the “ain'ts” category. If there was a heaven, she probably wouldn't get anywhere close to it. So much wrong had been done to her, and she'd done so much wrong, that heaven would probably repel her at the gate. Even still, the music was soothing and encouraging. The lyrics promised that if the saints worshipped, the King of Glory would come in.

Well, she remembered praying that her uncle would never touch her again. She'd asked God to strike him down. She didn't know if that was worship, but no one ever showed up. No one stopped him.

Tears streamed down Eva's face. Everyone around her seemed to be caught up in some form of worship. Hands were extended; shouts of praise were going forth. Something in the music seemed to fortify their faith. Eva searched her heart for faith but couldn't find any.

After the music came the sermon. The message was about trusting God. The preacher said something about not worrying about your situation, but trusting God to see you through.

Eva thought about her situation. She was down to her last five dollars, and she had tried to do the right thing. She had applied for jobs, but since she didn't even have a high school diploma, she thought she'd get only a few calls back. She hadn't gotten any. Well, she'd gotten one, and it was from the strip club, not any of the jobs that didn't require her to be naked.

Eva sighed heavily and wiped the tears away. She finally knew why she was in church. She was there looking for a miracle. She wanted to have a job that she wasn't ashamed of, but her physical needs were getting the best of her. Food, clothing, and shelter were essential, and five dollars wasn't covering any of that.

The preacher said to have faith. Was faith required for a miracle? Eva wasn't sure if she had any—at least not in anyone other than herself.