I Say a Little Prayer (6 page)

CHAPTER TEN

I
knocked gently on the slightly ajar door.

“Come in.”

I turned the knob and walked into the small office. Pastor Kenneth closed his Bible as he stood up to greet me.

“Brother Chauncey, what a blessing it is to see you tonight. How did you enjoy prayer services?” he asked.

“It was good. It was my first since I joined the church,” I said.

“I know,” Pastor Kenneth said with a slight smile. Of course he knew it was my first time. Pastor Kenneth and his wife knew everything about everyone in Abundant Joy. I heard that the midweek sessions were becoming more and more popular, and I counted about a hundred people in attendance. Not like the packed houses at Ms. Gladys’s church, but still a nice crowd for Abundant Joy. I was surprised when I walked in fifteen minutes late and saw so many familiar faces from Sunday services. Tonight, I enjoyed the service even though I attended for the sole purpose of getting a few minutes with Pastor. I hoped that it wouldn’t be like Sundays, when countless church members would vie for his attention.

“Thank you for giving me some of your time,” I said as I sat down in a black leather chair right next to his maple desk covered with papers, Bibles, and a book with a picture of Bishop T. D. Jakes on the cover.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” The pastor leaned back in his chair and stared, giving me his full attention.

“I really just wanted to thank you. I mean, your sermon a couple of Sundays ago spoke to me directly. I went home and wrote down some of the things you said and even created a card from your message,” I said. I hoped he wouldn’t bring up anything about the sermon I’d walked out on.

“Well, thank you, Brother Chauncey. I sure would like to see it. I heard you have a popular card company,” Pastor Kenneth said. I smiled to myself. Now was maybe not the time to tell the pastor about some of my cards. He might be a little shocked by some of the covers. But I certainly could come up with something tame to show him.

“I will make sure you get a copy of the card when it comes out,” I said.

“Great.” He slammed his hand on a stack of papers.

“But there is something I’d like to discuss with you.”

I took a few minutes and told the pastor about my previous career as a singer and how his sermon had given me the courage to give it another try. I was surprised when he told me he knew of my former group and had even bought a copy of one of our albums for Sister Vivian while they were dating.

“I didn’t know I had a bona fide celebrity in my congregation. You guys were as big as Boyz II Men,” he said.

“I’m not a celebrity,” I said as I tried to keep from blushing.

“So why did you guys break up?”

I paused before I answered. I didn’t want to use up a sin lying to my minister. Finally, I said, “It’s a long and complicated story. Maybe one day we can speak about it.”

“I understand. So what can I do to help?” Pastor Kenneth asked.

“I just wanted to thank you, and of course ask you to keep me in your prayers that I’m making the right decision,” I said.

“I can certainly do that. Why don’t we get on our knees right now and say a little prayer.” He stood and walked around the desk, took my hand, and fell to his knees.

I was a little shocked but I followed suit and found myself kneeling in front of the desk like it was an altar. I closed my eyes, and a few seconds later I heard Pastor Kenneth’s powerful voice, sounding just as he did in the pulpit.

“Father, we come to You tonight on bended knee, thanking You for the many blessings You’ve given us. We thank You for waking us up this morning. We thank You for getting us to Your house safely, and we ask that You watch over us as we return home. Father, we come to You tonight asking for Your direction as Brother Chauncey takes on this new direction in his life. We ask that this wonderful gift You have given him be used for Your will and that You will show him that nothing is impossible as long as he puts You first. We ask that You remove all the obstacles that will get in the way of his dreams and that he will give You the praise, the honor, and the glory. We thank You in advance, dear Lord, for answering our prayers. Amen.”

“Amen,” I said as I opened my eyes and stood up. I was face-to-face with the pastor. He patted me on my shoulders and told me everything would be just fine.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Hey, I just came up with a great idea,” Pastor Kenneth said.

“What?”

“Why don’t you start your comeback debut at one of our Sunday services?”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I said, shaking my head. I hadn’t told the pastor that I wasn’t going to sing Christian music, just secular. I had sung in the church choir when I was younger, but I stopped when I joined the group. The elders at my home church had been disappointed by my decision to sing secular music, but a few forgave me when I dropped my first tithing check in the offering plate.

“Oh, sure you can. You can sing a solo right before I get up to give the message,” he said.

“I don’t know if I have enough time. I mean, it has been years since I sang in public,” I said. This was not what I had in mind for my first showcase, but it did make sense.

“You can do it. I’m certain.”

“I’ll need some time to prepare a proper song,” I said.

“I guess that’s fair. How’s the first Sunday in September?” Pastor Kenneth asked as he thumbed through his planner.

“I’ll try not to disappoint you, Pastor. Thanks for the opportunity.”

“Thank you for letting me know how my sermon ministered directly to you. It’s what every man and woman spreading the word of God hopes for. Sometimes we don’t know if we’re reaching anyone,” Pastor Kenneth said.

“Thank you, and have a good evening, Pastor,” I said as I extended my hand toward him. He didn’t accept it, but instead reached for me and pulled me close to him in a powerful and comforting embrace. Right then, I believed that pursuing my singing was the right thing to do.

On a cool and breezy October evening in 1984, I became a member of a new singing group, Reunion.

The name of the group was actually decided by a toss of a quarter after Barron and Darron Pope wanted to call the group 4
P.M
. When D and I looked at them like they’d lost their minds, they explained they weren’t talking about the time but Four Pretty Mutherfuckas.

D smartly pointed out that album covers could be a problem with a name like that, and I agreed with him. So I voted for the name Reunion. After we finally decided on the name, I wondered if the Pope Brothers were gonna always vote the opposite of D and myself. If that were the case, we would spend our entire career flipping quarters in the air.

After practice, D and I went to see Eddie Murphy in
Beverly Hills Cop
and ended the evening on my parents’ back porch talking about the group and girls.

“We sounded good, didn’t we?” D asked, referring to our earlier rehearsal as he poured a bag of salty Spanish peanuts into his RC Cola.

“Yeah, we did. Our voices really blend together. Do you think we have a chance to get a record deal like those boys out of Boston?”

“Out of Boston? Who are you talking about?” D asked.

“New Edition. I was reading about them in
Right On
magazine. It said they were coming out with another album real soon and were going to be on
Soul Train.”

“We gonna be on
Soul Train.
No, man
, American Bandstand.
I can see our name in lights now,” D said as he took his fingers and wrote out
Reunion
with an imaginary pen.

“Man, it would be cool to get out of Mississippi,” I said.

“Yeah, maybe I could move my mama and sisters back to Atlanta,” D said.

“Do you miss it?”

D took a long swig of his soft drink. “I don’t miss the place we was living in, because it was a dump, but I do miss seeing so many black people doing so well—and not holding their heads down when they’re around white people. It made me believe that one day I could be driving a Benz or something like it and living in a mansion, and having white folks working for me.”

“I always thought I might end up living in Chicago or New York.”

“Naw, you can’t do that,” D protested. “You have to come to Atlanta, where I’ll be.”

The thought made me smile inside, but then he said something about us getting married to a couple of girls and living on the same block. I knew what he was saying was what I should be thinking, but something about that situation didn’t sound right to me. Still, I didn’t say anything for a while.

“Do you think you’ll marry Taylor?” I asked after D finished his soda.

“Man, Taylor is just local. When we become famous, we gonna meet all kinds of women. Maybe even somebody like Vanessa Williams,” D said.

“You think so? D, she’s fine. I still can’t believe they let her win Miss America,” I said. “She was the most beautiful, but they usually never let our girls win.”

“You know why they did that, don’t you?”

“No, why?” I asked, wondering what words of wisdom D had for me this time.

“’Cause they thought she was mixed. I bet their asses was shocked when they found out both her parents were black. She’s just a redbone like me,” D said as he moved his hand against my dark face. At first I was a little upset with him for doing that, but I knew he didn’t mean anything by it. Despite the color of my skin, I still had my share of female admirers. I told myself it didn’t matter if I wasn’t light-skinned. But I knew although it didn’t matter to me, it would matter to others. I figured if Reunion made it big, D would become the star, because he was lighter than the three of us and had dreamy hazel-brown eyes.

“So I think it’s time,” D said as he stood up and looked toward the sky.

“I thought you were going to spend the night,” I said quickly. “Mama already made up the sleeper sofa.”

“I’m staying, but I wasn’t talking about that.”

“Time for what, then?”

“For you to sleep with Rochelle.”

“What?” I almost fell out of the chair, but I did my best to stay calm.

“Yeah, I think you need to convince her you can’t finish your tenth-grade year a virgin. Especially since you’re going to be a big singing star.”

“You think she’s gonna buy that?”

“She’ll do it.”

“You sound certain. Are you going to sleep with Taylor?”

“Already done that,” he said with a sly smile.

“When?” I asked. I was both excited and disappointed, although I didn’t quite understand why. I was thinking about the Taylor that I knew. The one with the long skirt and white stockings who had walked down the aisle at church and professed her love and dedication for Christ. I remembered how she had cried the day she was baptized. I had even heard her mother bragging to my mama about how she was certain her precious daughter was saving herself for marriage like the Good Book prescribed.

“Two nights ago,” D said, finally answering my question.

“Where?”

“In her bedroom.”

“Where were her parents?”

“’Sleep.”

“Man, you’re wild. You snuck in?”

“She let me in. Two times.” He smiled.

“How did it feel?”

“I can’t tell you everything. You need to find out some things for yourself.”

“Was that your first time?”

“Chauncey, come on, now. This is Sweet D you talking to. You know a nigga as fine as me had to beat the girls off in Atlanta. Man, I can tell you a story about me and a twenty-two-year-old girl.”

“For real?” I asked. Sweet D was really my hero now.

“For sho’.”

“So you think I’m ready?”

He nodded. “Better get some practice with these country girls here in Greenwood before you meet some city girls who know plenty of tricks.”

“What if I don’t know what to do?” I asked, so unsure. Although I’d thought a lot about sex, I wasn’t sure I was ready. I certainly didn’t want to be embarrassed.

“Think of it like a bike. You remember the first time you rode a bike, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“It’s just like that. Just get on and ride,” D said with a satisfied smile.

Sweet D was just being my friend and trying to reassure me. But although I was excited, I was just as hesitant, a little scared even. One thing for sure—I didn’t want to let Sweet D down. Now all I had to do was convince Rochelle.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

G
riffin
struck me as a man who could appreciate a down-home southern meal, so I prepared smothered chicken, collard greens, mac and cheese, and Mexican corn bread. I admitted to myself that I was a little nervous about the evening, so I sipped on a little white wine while I cooked.

It had been almost two years since I’d had a date-date. Even though I still found women attractive, it wasn’t easy to get through a first date without questions about the whole down-low thing. Since I didn’t like to lie, recently I’d passed on women who came on to me. I missed the days when women wouldn’t even think that a man who looked like me might be hooking up with another dude.

Most of my encounters now consisted of hookups like Jayshawn, which wasn’t a date at all but was usually a couple of drinks, a video game, and then straight to the mattress Olympics. Men who messed around with other men on the down low were not interested in romance. I had convinced myself I felt the same way because I didn’t want to be disappointed. And I really didn’t believe I deserved it, because in my heyday I’d messed over so many guys who wanted to get serious with me. From the conversations I’d had with Griffin over the past couple of days, I could tell that he not only wanted romance, he expected it.

Once the meal was ready, I went to my bedroom suite, showered, clipped my fingernails and toenails, and got dressed. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine.

The concierge called a little after seven and told me Griffin was downstairs. As I waited for him to come up, I savored the sweet, buttery taste of chardonnay as it slid down my throat. Maybe I should go rinse my mouth just in case there’d be some kissing going on. I raced to the bathroom near the kitchen and poured the green liquid into the bottle top and then did a quick swoosh-and-spit. I was ready for my date.

When the bell rang, I opened the door and there was Griffin with a huge smile, holding a bottle of wine.

“How you doing, son?” he asked as he walked in. He stepped toward me, and I couldn’t help but stare at his tight-fitting, off-white denim jeans that he wore with a cobalt-blue knit polo shirt, tucked slightly in his pants.

“I’m doing fine. Did you have any trouble finding parking?” I asked.

“Naw, I don’t have a car, so I took MARTA and then a taxi,” he said.

“You should have told me. I could have at least picked you up from the station.”

“No problem. Don’t want to seem like I can’t get around on my own. Nice place,” Griffin said as he looked around my kitchen-dining area. The space was glowing with candlelight, and the scent of just-delivered fresh azaleas filled my home.

“Thanks.”

“I brought this for you.” He handed me the bottle of white wine. Not only was he thoughtful, but he knew what I liked to drink.

“That’s very considerate, Griffin. Thank you,” I said.

“Call me G.”

“Okay, G. Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Not now, but maybe with dinner—which, by the way, smells wonderful.”

“Thanks. What can I get you to drink?”

“Got orange juice?”

“Sure, have a seat.” I nodded toward the chocolate-brown suede sectional sofa.

Inside the kitchen, I did a little dance step because of the excitement I was feeling. Finally, I’d met someone who knew how to treat a man.

I poured a large glass of orange juice for Griffin and another glass of wine for me. I popped in my favorite CD,
Introducing Gordon Chambers
, and headed back to the living area.

“Here you go,” I said as I handed G the glass of juice.

“Do you have a coaster?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said as I sat next to him. He moved closer to me, and he smelled like the alluring scent of sexual promise. A film of perspiration began to form under my beige-and-brown plaid, cotton button-down shirt as he stared at me like I was the only person in the world. I looked away, because I didn’t want to stare back into his dark eyes.

Griffin drained his glass of orange juice, put the glass on the table, and asked what was for dinner.

“I hope you like smothered chicken,” I said.

“Dude, I love smothered chicken. It’s been almost a year since I had some. Who catered this for you tonight?”

“I didn’t use a caterer. I cooked myself,” I said proudly.

“Damn! Good-looking, and you can cook, too. Where have you been all my life?”

I stood up and brushed away the wrinkles in my black linen slacks. “Can I get you some more orange juice?”

“No, I’m fine. Sit back down. Tell me what’s up in your world.” Griffin patted the empty cushion where I’d been sitting. I sat and tried to concentrate on Gordon’s words as the soulful strains drifted from the speakers.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked.

“We can start with why a handsome, successful brother like yourself doesn’t have somebody sharing all this with him.”

“I haven’t really been looking,” I said as I leaned back and settled into the sofa. “I got a question for you.”

“Let me have it.”

“How did you know that I would be open to something like this?”

“Let’s just say I am always optimistic when I meet a good-looking man,” Griffin replied.

“But you were on a job interview.”

“When I saw you, I didn’t give a damn if I got the job. Besides, the name of your company and the calendars doesn’t really scream straight man. I mean, if you had a bunch of titties on your cards and calendars, then I might have done a little research,” G said.

“I have a line of women’s cards,” I said defensively.

“Yeah, but come on. Cute Boy Card Company?”

“I think it’s kinda catchy.”

“And kinda gay.” G laughed.

“So I guess you’re out,” I said.

“Depends on the situation I’m in. I don’t consider myself bi or DL, but if I need to be straight to get a job from one of these evil, high-power bitches or a homophobic man, then I’ve had enough acting classes to get what I want.”

“Are you hungry?”

“For you? Or haven’t I made that clear?” G said as he inched closer to me.

“I meant for food,” I said, trying to move away. I wanted to take this further, but we were less than a half hour into our date and I didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Sure, most guys, including myself, had a little dick slut in them. But this was my home, not a bathhouse.

I got up from the sofa and started for the kitchen. After I had walked a few steps, I looked back. Griffin was still sitting on the sofa with a sexy grin on his face.

“Are you going to join me?”

“I was just sitting here enjoying the view.” He smiled.

After dinner, Griffin and I had a glass of wine on the terrace. The wind was blowing a cool yet soothing breeze, and he had that
I hope I get some
look in his eyes.

“Now, tell me again why you don’t have a lover, partner, or boyfriend?” he asked as he leaned back against the rail and fondled the top of his large brass belt buckle seductively.

“Too busy running a business. Don’t know if I really still believe in love,” I said.

“Have you ever been in love?” G asked.

“Once.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Can’t love someone if you don’t even know where he lives,” I responded.

“So you just want to be selfish and have all of this to yourself?” Griffin waved his large arms in a circle as though he was encompassing my entire condo.

“You think I’m being selfish?”

“I’m just kidding. Maybe you’ve been waiting for the right one to come along.” He moved closer to me. He eased his shirt out of his pants like he was getting ready to undress.

“People can see up here,” I said nervously.

“Then let’s give them a show.” He pulled me closer and then kissed me. His lips were soft and tasted like wine. When he started to move his tongue down my throat, I pulled away.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Just like that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Griffin, I think you’re a nice guy, but I must tell you something about myself.”

“I’m listening.”

I paused a moment. Should I share what I was about to with someone who really was a stranger?

“I’m waiting.” Griffin kicked off his shoes and undid his buckle.

“Why don’t we go inside?”

“Lead the way,” Griffin said as he picked up his shoes and moved closer to me. As I walked into the condo, his body pressed against my back and his arms rested around my waist. Once inside, I moved swiftly toward the sofa and sat down.

“Is this where we gonna make it pop off?” Griffin asked as he stood over me.

“Sit down.”

Griffin sat and looked at me with a sadness I’d seen on the faces of jilted lovers before.

“Don’t you think I’m attractive?” he asked.

“Come on, Griffin. You know I think you’re attractive. You know you’re a good-looking man. I just wanna ask you why you don’t have a lover.”

“I just haven’t met the right person. I was hopeful when I moved down here. I thought that I’d find me a good ole southern boy and settle down. But these guys in Atlanta have more games than an arcade.”

“So what makes you think I don’t have game?”

“You just seem more settled, more mature.”

“That might be true, but I’m going to share with you something that I rarely tell anyone. You’re a very nice guy, and I want to get to know you to see what happens.”

“I’d like that, too. Are you going to tell me you’re HIV-positive? Because if that’s it, I’m cool. I’m negative myself, but we can use protection.”

“That’s mighty open of you, but that’s not it,” I said. As far as I knew, that was the truth. I had stopped taking the test twice a year and now only went every two years. I practiced safe sex. I knew oral sex might still be a risk, but I just saw no point to having oral sex with latex involved. I mean, come on, let’s not take all the fun out of the art.

“Then what is it?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. I guess you could say I have commitment issues. And when a guy is easy—I mean, if I get lucky the first or second date—then, for some reason I can’t explain, I lose interest. I don’t care how good-looking or great in bed he is, I just lose it. Whatever
it
is,” I said.

“So you’re saying you like a challenge. I’m cool with that, but believe me when I say you won’t lose interest in me once you get some of this.” Griffin leaned back into the sofa, and his body language said,
Take a look at me.
And from what I had seen in Griffin’s book and the little peek I got in the office, there was definitely something to see. Something that might make me break my “once, twice, three times, I am through” way of life.

“It’s not a challenge thing. At least, I don’t think so,” I said.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never been in love or in a long-term relationship?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said defensively.

“So you are capable of love?”

“We all want love in our life,” I said.

“Sure we do, but to me love also means a satisfying intimate life as well.”

“Agreed.”

“But you’re telling me if we kickit tonight that would end any chances we might have.”

I thought for a moment and then looked at Griffin. “Most likely.”

Griffin stood up and looked down at me. He unzipped his pants and let them slowly slide down his muscular thighs like he was a male stripper. He was wearing a canary-yellow thong that looked marvelous against his chocolate-brown skin. As he pulled off his shirt with one hand, he rubbed his semi-erect penis with the other.

When he was standing in front of me wearing only the thong and a sexy smile, he said, “This is a chance I’m willing to take. Where is your bedroom?”

I bounced from the sofa and took his hand. “Come this way.”

With Sweet D’s advice and direction, I became a man. It was one of the last sun-drenched days of autumn and both Rochelle’s and my parents were at the PTA meeting planning the annual homecoming talent show. This was the perfect time to do something we knew we shouldn’t be doing, because the planning meeting was usually the longest one of the year, with parents trying to make sure their children had a spot in the popular show.

The evening before, D had given me a few pointers on how girls liked for you to feel on them before you actually stuck it in. He told me to whisper in her ear and tell her how pretty she was. He gave me explicit instructions. He told me to slowly open her blouse, button by button, and then unhook her bra. He told me to suck on her breasts like I was sucking on a pickle with a peppermint stick stuck in the middle of it. He said to palm her booty like it was a basketball.

I remembered all of D’s instructions as I leaned into Rochelle. She closed her eyes and moaned as I sucked on her lemon-sized breasts. I took off my jeans, but D told me to keep my underwear on just in case her mother got home early. Less than an hour later, I went to the basketball court to let D know that I was now a man just like him.

“So, did she bleed?” D asked as he continued to shoot baskets.