Drama Is Her Middle Name (8 page)

9

Faith Baptist Church in Harlem was the fastest-growing church
uptown. Its size rivaled the Harlem powerhouses, Riverside
Church and Abyssinian Baptist Church. Pastor Edwin Lakes
Sr. had started Faith Baptist more than thirty years ago with
just a hundred parishioners and a dream. His sudden death left
the completion of that dream on the shoulders of his son, Edwin Jr.

Edwin was anything but ready when he took over nearly
seven years ago. But he had to get ready. He didn't have a
choice. It was understood that he was the heir apparent and
that was that. Edwin Jr. attended seminary at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey—following in the footsteps of his
father, Edwin Sr., the great Reverend Dr. Samuel Proctor, and
so many other prominent and powerful preachers throughout
the country. He went through the motions of everything he
was supposed to do, everything that was expected of him.

He went to seminary because, as the only son of Edwin
Lakes, that was his legacy. But when he graduated, Edwin
wasn't sure if he wanted to go into the ministry. He wasn't
sure if he had the right stuff to lead a church. Hell, he wasn't
sure about a lot of things.

He told his parents that he needed some time to “find himself ” and decided to move to Miami, Florida, where he could
enjoy the weather and be free from his father's awesome
shadow and the pressure of being his son. He had never been
to Miami but from all he'd read and seen on television, it was
a place where he could have some fun for once. For his entire
life, Edwin felt that he'd had to live up to an impossible standard. Most PKs—preacher's kids—buckle under the pressure.

Reverend Jerome Batton, a good friend of the Lakes family who had a rather large ministry in East Orange, New Jersey, had three children. His youngest, a daughter, had a baby
out of wedlock at sixteen. His only son, Jerome Jr., ended up
in jail for assault with a deadly weapon when he shot his girlfriend when she attempted to leave him. Reverend Batton's
oldest daughter dropped out of college and ended up married
with two children, but none of his children followed in his
footsteps—they rarely even made it to church.

Edwin was the model. He always did the right thing. He
never gave himself a chance to make a mistake. As a teenager, Edwin stayed away from the kinds of things and people
that would normally land normal teens in hot water. While
other sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds were experimenting
with weed and sex and clubbing, Edwin was studying and
leading a youth ministry. He went right from high school
into college and then into seminary—all with honors and
distinction—as expected.

Once he stepped off the airplane in Miami, smelled the air
and saw the palm trees, his world began to blossom. Miami in
the mid-1990s was turning around—it had moved from the
old-folks' retirement and Cuban refugee spot to the place for
beautiful people, famous people, and rich people. This was
before fashion designer Gianni Versace was shot to death in
front of his home right on Ocean Drive. At that time it
wasn't unusual to see Madonna at a club or strolling along
Ocean Drive. Things were always happening. From Thursday
to Sunday, Miami's South Beach turned into one big party. It
was New York City, Times Square—only cleaner and more
fun with the ocean and a clear sky as the backdrop. Edwin
thought he had landed in heaven. He felt at home, strolling
along the beach at night alone, listening to the waves and
letting the moon light his path.

Edwin had found his center. Being in Miami around the
beautiful people, beautiful beaches, and carefree lifestyle, he
felt like he was sprouting wings. He felt like he was smelling
the air for the first time. He felt like he could see colors he had
never seen before. He was alive for the first time in his life.

Edwin got a small apartment on Collins Avenue, just
around the corner from the beach and across the street from
Hotel Leon. He had withdrawn enough money from his account to live on. He had been very good with his money, and
his parents actually gave their blessing. They knew that Edwin needed this time away before he had to take on the Lakes
family tradition—settle down, get married, have a couple of
kids, and start his own ministry.

Edwin fell in love with Miami. And Edwin fell in love
in
Miami (or what he thought was love). They met at the Bed,
a club/restaurant that was luxuriously made up with beds instead of tables and chairs. It was a trendy place with trendy
people. Edwin didn't have many friends in general. And he
had no friends at all in Miami. But he was determined to go
to interesting places where he would meet interesting people.
And on one particular night, “interesting” was an understatement.

As he sat at the bar, he struck up a conversation that led
to the couple sharing a bed for dinner, then later a bed for
other things. It was love at first sight. Electricity ran through
Edwin's body with such a force that it scared him. He started
to get warm around his ears. But he kept his composure, and
he was expert at that. It was one of the first lessons he learned
as a boy. As the son of a preacher, he could never be out of
control.

Edwin was being groomed for the ministry before even he
knew it. But he still listened to his father's advice. “You must
control your emotions, Edwin,” his father would say. “You
must always maintain control. People are depending on you
to be their pillar, their rock.”

For most of his life, Edwin maintained control. That's why
he never really had a relationship that lasted. All of the
women he dated complained that he was too cold and detached. His last girlfriend, Rebecca, who thought she would
be Mrs. Pastor Lakes Jr., finally got fed up waiting for him to
say “I love you.” She had given him everything, but Edwin
couldn't bring himself to open up. It was frustrating for her.
And it was frustrating for him.

He'd made a promise to himself that he would never let
another one go. Rebecca was special. She deserved more. Edwin knew that he had to have “it” in him before he could
give “it” to someone else—whatever the “it” was. But he was
determined to find out. Edwin was in Miami to get something
to take back to the next one—the one who would eventually
be Mrs. Pastor Lake Jr. She would get it all.

For the first time in his life, Edwin was living—really living. He was filling up his emotional tank.

He was dating, going to clubs and museums. He even went
to a Miami Heat basketball game—this was before Shaq and
Dwyane Wade and the all of the winning—but it was still exciting. He sampled all that Miami had to offer. He got to
show off the physique that he spent some time crafting but
never ever showed in public. The women in church could
only imagine what was going on underneath those sharp,
well-fitted suits, but the folks in Miami got to see the finely
cut triceps, the chiseled back, and the hint of his six-pack as
he took morning runs along the beach, followed by sit-ups
and pull-ups at the workout bars on the beach. He would
meet up with his newfound love for a smoothie at the Israeli-run health joint off Collins Avenue.

Edwin was living his dreams—a wild, crazy, frenetic love
affair, which lasted for what seemed like the longest eight
months in history. It was eight months of exploration. He had
no idea how much light strokes of a tongue along his spine
and the base of his behind would drive him crazy. No one had
ever done that before. It was eight months of examination. It
was eight months of being totally, unabashedly free.

One phone call at two in the afternoon as he was preparing to go Jet Skiing brought it all to an end.

“Ed-win . . .” He could tell it was his mother on the other
end and she was crying.

“Edwin . . . you have to come home. Daddy had a massive
heart attack. He died, Edwin. He died in the church office. . . .”

Edwin was numb. The senior Edwin Lakes wasn't just his
father, he was Edwin's hero. His father was his teacher, his
role model.

He held the phone close to his chest, trying to maintain
his composure. Edwin, who always was prepared with the
right thing to say, was at a loss for words. All he could muster
was “I'll be right there, Mama. I'm coming right home.”

Edwin started to pack up everything he had collected since
he'd been in Miami. He'd purposely come with very little—a
duffel bag with underwear, toiletries, two shirts, and a couple
of pairs of shorts. He had planned on shopping in one of the
best places in the world to shop—Miami. He was leaving
with some fine linen slacks, a couple of dress shirts, jackets,
and memories. Nice memories.

Edwin was taking the clothes and leaving the memories
behind. He recalled the scripture about Lot and his wife. He
would not be turned into a pillar of salt. He would have to be
a pillar for the church and all that his father dreamed. Edwin
would never turn back. He was moving forward. It was Edwin's time. Time to fill his father's size thirteens. Time to fulfill his destiny.

He had to leave Miami. Leave behind the beach, the fun.
He had to leave everything—including the love he'd found,
and that was tough. But he couldn't take it with him. The
farewell would have been too painful, and he was already going through enough pain dealing with his father's death. Edwin didn't even want to think about saying good-bye.
Good-byes only left open possibilities, and there were no possibilities where he was going. Edwin made a clean break, the
break that was necessary for him to start his new life. No
good-byes. No looking back.

Most of the congregation at Faith Baptist Church knew
Edwin. They knew that he was away for further study—that
was the story his parents told anyone who asked. While his
parents didn't agree with his Miami frivolity, they knew he
would be back. Edwin always knew he would be back, too—
just not so soon.

10

ON THE AIR

“So, Heather, I hear you and your adorable hubby, Lorenzo,
are still very frisky, how do you keep the magic alive?”

Heather Jones was a former child star who was one of the
few child actors able to break out and succeed after puberty.
There was Jodie Foster and Raven-Symoné and, of course, Ron
Howard. But Heather Jones was on track to be bigger than all
of them. She had a Grammy-winning CD and was starring in
a new movie opposite The Rock. Her husband, Lorenzo Co-hen, a star wide receiver for the San Francisco 49ers, had been
named one of the sexiest athletes alive. Together, Heather
and Lorenzo were also one of the hottest couples in the world.

Ritz had gotten some information from Chas, however,
that would turn that picture perfect marriage into something
out of
Kill Bill
. Ritz was itching to ask the questions, but she
had to slow-walk it. Restraint was one of her strong suits. She
was the consummate interview tease. Ritz knew she had to
thread her needle carefully, butter Heather up, and help her
let down her guard.

Ritz was known for plying her in-studio guests with food
and liquor during the show. She would have the best champagne on ice with some lovely Tiffany glasses, courtesy of
Mariah Carey. Mariah was the only artist who was smart
enough to turn the tables on Ritz.

“Oooh! No fair!” Ritz said when she saw the gifts. “Don't
think this is going to make me go easy on you!”

But it did. She and Mariah ended up talking and laughing
and eating for two hours like old girlfriends. There was no
mud-slinging, no juicy gossip, just girl talk. It was so anti-Ritz. And she vowed after that never to drink again on air.

So while her guests sipped on the strong stuff, Ritz had her
glass filled with sparkling cider or diet ginger ale, poured before they came in.

Heather was starting on her second glass of champagne.
Ritz had asked her about her new CD and movie during the
first half hour, and now she was ready to move in for the kill.
She was ready to talk about the things Ritz Harper was known
for—the stuff her audience waited for every day.

“Let's talk about you and your man,” Ritz started. “I hear
lots of things about you two.”

Heather blushed easily and squirmed a little in her seat.

“Well, what have you heard?” Heather said. “Wait. Don't
answer that! Let's just say we're still very much in love.”

“I heard that!” Ritz said. “You two are so much in love that
you survived quite a strain on your relationship. I'm not sure
if many couples could endure what you two have gone through
and still be so tight and together.”

Heather looked puzzled. She squirmed more and flashed a
nervous smile as Ritz continued.

“Heather, girl. You must be a real special woman. Your
man. Wow. I just don't know if I were in his shoes . . .”

Heather's milky complexion began to turn a shade of crimson that Ritz wasn't sure she had seen before. Was it anger or
sheer embarrassment? It was certainly acknowledgment and
recognition. Heather knew where Ritz was going even if the
audience didn't know. Yet.

Heather sat frozen in her seat. She didn't speak.

“Woman to woman, Heather, how were you able to get
through coming into a relationship with herpes?” Ritz said. “I
know your husband didn't give it to you. But he accepted you
anyway, married you, and you two are still happy. He clearly
could have had any woman—any woman without herpes.
But he chose you.

“There are thousands of women out there living with the
shame of having a disease like herpes, and they don't know
how to cope. Some don't know if they will ever have a relationship again. Next to HIV, herpes is about the worst thing
you can think about having. There is no cure.”

There was a long silence. And Ritz noticed Heather's bottom lip begin to quiver a little. Ritz gave a look to Aaron, who
immediately put on what Ritz called her “sob story” music—
music she played very low under her unsuspecting guests to let
the audience know that the guest was crying or about to cry.

“I—I didn't come on to talk about this,” she said. The music grew a little louder. Ritz looked into Heather's watering
eyes as compassionately as she could. She reached across the
desk and grabbed Heather's hand and said, “I know and I'm
sorry. I just thought your story could help some of the women
listening to us today. But I understand if you don't want to
talk.” It was classic Ritz—the ability to be a real bitch and
nasty, and at the exact same time be a soft, compassionate
woman. It confused people. While a person was in the hot
seat they knew they were being roasted, but it was almost like
Ritz somehow hypnotized them. Once she locked them in
her gaze, they were done. They would spill anything or give
a reaction (like rage) that would keep the drama going. And
don't let there be a little liquor in them.

Heather swallowed hard. “I contracted herpes in college
from my college sweetheart. He was a star basketball player.
He's in the NBA today.”

“He is?” Ritz was practically salivating. This was better
than she ever expected.

“Don't even bother asking, Ritz,” Heather said. “I am not
outing anyone. I'll talk about my business but no one else's.
Really, this isn't any of
your
business. But perhaps I can help
someone out there because I had no place to turn when it
happened to me. And only by the grace of God did I meet
someone like Lorenzo. I never thought I would have another
relationship after my college boyfriend. I even thought because he gave me herpes that I was stuck with him so I put up
with a lot that I shouldn't have.”

“So you had herpes when you were on the last hit show?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Ritz said. “How did you have the confidence to wear
that skimpy bathing suit? Weren't you afraid of an outbreak?”

“They do have medication to control the symptoms, and
thank God I don't have outbreaks frequently. I have a very
good gynecologist who has helped me through this ordeal
tremendously.”

“So what about kids?” Ritz said. “I hear herpes is dangerous for a baby. And how do you even, um, how do I put this,
um, get to the point where you can have unprotected sex to
produce a baby?”

“There are ways,” Heather said. “And that's all I'll say about
that. I would advise anyone who has herpes to check out the
details with their doctor. Everyone is different and the disease
affects different people differently. I have been very blessed.”

“Yes, you have,” said Ritz, turning the
People
magazine
faceup to expose the couple on the cover, to rub it in even
more. “Well, thank you so much for being so sweet and open.
It was refreshing. You are now officially a part of the family
here. We love you!”

Heather didn't say anything. She sat in her seat as Ritz went
to a commercial break.

“It's five-fifty on the
Ritz Harper Excursion
. When we come
back we'll take your calls. Stay tuned! You miss a minute, you
miss a lot!”

When the “On Air” sign went dark, Heather got within
inches of Ritz's face. “Did that feel good?” she hissed. “I hope
you got everything you wanted.” With that, Heather collected her bag and walked gracefully out of the room. Ritz
looked at Aaron and shrugged.

“She was nice, huh?” Ritz said to Aaron, who broke out
into laughter.

“You are a real trip, Ritz!”

“An excursion, love. An
excursion
!”

The phones were going crazy throughout the interview.
Chas, who had been helping Jamie man the phones, jumped
up from the studio and ran after Heather. Playing good cop,
Chas caught her at the elevator and walked her out of the
building, where her car was waiting. With his charm he convinced Heather that what happened with Ritz would not ruin
her career.

“Heather, you have to know that there are so many women,
maybe millions, who are suffering and thinking they are all
alone,” Chas said. “Now you are their role model and they
know that there is hope because of you. Thank you for having the courage to be so honest.”

Chas made Heather feel a little better. But deep down inside she knew that herpes would be a tough thing to overcome. She was on her way to being a big-time Hollywood
leading lady. Herpes would make that a hard role to hold. It
would be hard for an audience to see her in a love scene with
a star like Will Smith and not think, “Ewww! Will, watch
out! She has herpes!”

It was Chas who had booked Heather for the show. He
knew her manager. It was Chas who slipped the herpes news
to Ritz. He knew Heather's ex, the basketball player, who was
a secret member of the Spy Room. And when he drank too
much, he talked too much. Chas was someone everyone felt
comfortable talking to. He was a very good listener.

These were the kinds of stories Ritz depended on Chas to
deliver. After her Delilah Summers moment, there wasn't
much else left in her repertoire. She needed help to take her
thing to the next level.

“Chas, I know I have what it takes to be the very best this
business has ever seen,” said Ritz during one of their brainstorming Fridays over sushi while sitting at her kitchen island.

“Diva, you more than have what it takes,” Chas reassured.
“You just need a few more accessories. I promise I will take
you to the top. I will take
us
to the top.”

“I see what's out there, Chas. No one can touch me. But I
also know I can never relax. I have to keep raising the bar, so
none of those bitches out there can even get a leg on my shit.
I want to raise this thing so high that they give up trying to
catch me. Delilah was just a casualty—a necessary casualty.
But we can take this even higher.”

“No doubt. We will!”

Ritz needed Chas. She just didn't know how much. Chas
was responsible for keeping Ritz at number one. For every
single interview after Delilah that made the news or gossip
pages, Chas, as promised, delivered the goods.