The Black Chapel (3 page)

I shake my head, but then I say. “Yes, make me some breakfast. And lots of coffee.”

She nods and we separate to do our own things. After my super fast shower, I pull on the only dress I have, a black snug one (hardly fitting for a pre-Christmas church performance, I know), and brush my hair. There will be no time to pretty it up, but who cares. And the make-up, I can just put it on in the car. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. I’m going to support my friend at church.

Anne has put on a pot of coffee and made scrambled eggs and toast. I grab a huge cup, fill it to the brim with coffee, cream and sugar and shovel the food down fast. Then we head out to Anne’s car, a white Toyota Corolla. As we drive off, I look at my parents’ sizeable beige and blue Victorian house. In reality, it’s way too spacious for me to live in alone, but I just don’t have the heart to sell it. My dad built it with his own hands. The house is looking a little worn down, I notice, and I haven’t even had time to put any Christmas lights up. I’m such a slacker.

But I’m so grateful I have something to live in, even though most of the time I have to forego heating the house properly or getting luxury items like butter for my bread, just so I can keep up with the high payments. I should play the lottery, I tell myself. Winning it would solve all my problems. Feeling suddenly depressed thinking about all my debt, the tears press behind my eyes. I redirect myself quickly, by applying my make-up.

About twenty minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of the Portland Episcopal Church. I don’t really know what Episcopal means, but I’m not really there for the religion anyway. I grumble to myself, thinking that this will be a very boring Sunday morning, but at least I can say that I supported my best friend when she needed me. She’s been there for me through my roughest time, and I’m eternally grateful to have had her love and support after my mom’s sudden death.

Anne parks the car in the small gravel parking lot and we head inside the towering amber brick church. The interior walls are all amber, too, and there are two rows of dark wooden pews on either side of the wide walkway. There are about a dozen and a half people here so far, and they smile as we walk toward them at the front.

“Sit over here, Scarlett,” Anne says, gesturing to the front pew. “I’ll join you after I’m done singing.” She looks lovely in her innocent blue floral dress and her conservative white pumps. Not at all the same girl I was working with last night.

I take a seat on the hard, cold pew, very aware that I don’t fit in here. If any of the people present knew what kind of work I did, I’d die of shame. And I’m scared to death of what I might hear here today. I don’t need a lecture from a pastor or priest or whatever kind of spiritual leader they have here, because I already feel really guilty about my evening job.

A gentleman walks up to me and I look up at him. To my astonishment, I see that it’s Michael Manning from last night. I almost gasp, but I swallow it down and smile instead.
Did Anne set this up?
I’m furious with her. I look over at her, but she’s busy practicing her song with the choir.

“Is this seat taken?” Mr. Manning asks.

His blue eyes are dark, and I find it difficult to not get lost in them. I desperately hope he doesn’t recognize me from last night, but I doubt he would since I always wear a mask on stage. Plus I wear tons of make-up, so it would be nearly impossible to really make out my true features.

“Kind of,” I manage to say with a half-smile.

He looks amused and his perfectly arched lips lift upward. “How do you mean?” His voice is so deep and sexy.

“Well, my friend over there—” I point to Anne, “—is singing in the choir and she’ll be sitting up on the stage until she’s done, and then she’ll join me after,” I say. My throat is dry and I notice that my hands are sweating.

“Oh,” Michael says. He sits down a couple of feet away from me on the pew. “Well, do you mind if I sit here?” He smiles playfully.

I chuckle. “No, of course not.” Oh my God, he is so sexy. Wait, am I allowed to think that in a church? I feel guilty right away and then I blush.

Michael reaches out his arm and says, “I’m Michael Manning. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I take his hand and we shake. I feel a surge as if from electricity when his bare skin touches my skin. “And I’m Scarlett.” I smile. I have to remind myself not to stare.

Michael retracts his arm and sits back like he owns the church, which he quite possibly might. “Scarlett. Nice name. Do you have a last name?” He cocks his head to the side.

“Hansen,” I say. Wow, he is just so handsome. He’s wearing a navy pin-striped suit with a white shirt and a red tie. His eyes are determined, yet kind, and his dimples are to die for. “Do you come here often?”

“Yes, but not every Sunday. Mostly I come around the Holidays. And usually I come with my mother, but she is not feeling well. You?” Michael says.

I clear my throat, trying to focus on anything else but his kissable lips. “Sometimes,” I fib. Why the hell am I fibbing? I’m going to go to hell for sure for lying in church. “I’m here with my friend today,”

His eyebrows rise. “Yes, you told me.” He sounds like he’s flirting with me.

I smile. “I don’t always have the patience to sit for hours listening to a preacher.”
But for you, I’d come every week,
I hear my subconscious say. I’m shocked.
Really?

Michael laughs and leans in closer. “That’s why I don’t usually come every Sunday either.”

I grin again, and I feel my cheeks cramp up. I must be smiling too much. “So I hope your mother is okay?”

Michael’s face drops ever so slightly, even though he keeps smiling. “She’s actually suffering from terminal cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear.” I didn’t actually expect he’d be so open and now I feel really sorry for him. I follow his lead. “My father is also suffering from cancer,” I say, trying not to get emotional, which is still very hard.

“I’m sorry to hear. It’s an ugly disease.” His eyes gaze off into the distance.

“Yes,” I say, and our conversation has moved into a depressing genre. I shouldn’t have asked him about his mother.

“So what do you do for a living?” he asks.

Nice transition Mr. Manning. “I—” What do I tell him? I can’t tell him the truth, especially not here in the church. The members would bind me and gag me and throw me out in a heartbeat.

He waits patiently.

“I’m in the business of paying off my mountains of student loans, and my parents’ mortgage, and my maxed out credit cards,” I say and grimace. That was way too much information, I tell myself. So not sexy.

“You finished college?” Michael asks.

I’m relieved he asked
that
question, and not about my debts. “Yes. I majored in Humanities. I hear it’s a useless degree these days. It’s been impossible to find a respectable job anywhere since I graduated.” I laugh at my all too pitiful reality.

“Well, I beg to differ,”” Michael says. “I love the arts and humanities. In fact, I’m a huge supporter of the Portland Museum and I own a small collection of paintings myself.”

I’m amazed.
He’s an art collector? Hello Mr. Perfect.
“That’s great,” I say.

Many more people have entered the church now and the choir starts singing
Silent Night.
The organ notes fill the chapel, and I sit back and enjoy it. More and more people sit down in our pew and Michael inches closer and closer to me. Soon we’re so close that his leg touches mine, and I feel a charge between us again. He doesn’t seem to notice at all.

After the choir is done singing, Anne comes down the stairs and stands in front of me. Michael doesn’t miss a beat and stands up and offers her his seat. I don’t like that he’s leaving. He disappears to the back and Anne sits down next to me.

“Great job singing, Anne.” I smile at her, but the gnawing question in the back of my mind has to be asked. “Did you know Michael was going to be here today?” I whisper to Anne, highly suspicious that she’s set this up, but not nearly as annoyed as I was just a minute ago.

“No, I swear to God, I didn’t know,” she whispers.

I believe her and sit back and try to enjoy the whole hour of the reverend Joy Summerlin preaching damnation to my soul. I truly wish I had made better choices in life. My life hasn’t turned out to be even a tenth of what I had hoped. I feel the guilt creeping back in; I’ve just screwed up my life. Just when I think I can’t take any more preaching, the service ends.

Anne and I get up and make our way to the exit with the slow-moving church-goers. Michael is there speaking with some other people, and I pass him. I don’t think he sees me, and I feel disappointed because I kind of, okay,
really
wanted to continue our conversation. Oh well, such is my life.

We get outside and it has started snowing. I wrap my all too thin jacket closer to my body and shiver. Almost to the car, I hear “Scarlett!” And I see Michael jogging toward me. My heart starts pounding and I pause as I smile and wait for him to catch up.

“Sorry,” Michael says as he approaches. “I, uh—” he almost sounds nervous. “I wanted to see if you might come with me to a Ballet Gala tomorrow night. My mother usually goes with me, but she, well, she’s bedridden at the moment, as you know.”

I beam at him, not quite understanding the words coming out of his mouth. “Tomorrow?”
Me? Date? With sexy billionaire?

“I’m sorry it’s such short notice, and I completely understand if you can’t make it, but I’d really like it if you could come.” His dimples are so sexy and distracting.

Monday nights are laundry night at my house, so, “Yes, I’d love to come,” I say.

“Excellent!’ He hands me a business card and a gold pen. “Will you write your name and cell phone number on the back so I can call you?”

I write my information down and hand it back to him with the pen.

He reads it. “Excellent. Is this your cell phone?”

“Yes,” I say.”

“Do you text?”

“Yes, of course,” I say.

Michael slips the card into his suit pocket. “May I pick you up around six o’clock then?”

“Sounds great,” I say.

“I’ll take you to dinner first, if that’s all right with you?”

“Sure. Oh, what should I wear?” I ask, not having been to a ballet since I was like five years old when my mom took me to see
The Nutcracker
.

“Formal attire for the gala,” Michael says.

“Ok,” I say.
Crap! I don’t have any other dresses than this one.

“All right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Michael smiles at me again and then walks back to the group he was having a conversation with.

I sigh.

Anne glides up next to me. “You have a date with billionaire Manning?”

I smile cautiously.

“Do you think he recognizes you from the Black Chapel?” Anne asks.

“No,” I say, but I can’t help but wonder.

Since my wardrobe is completely lacking of any formal dresses, Anne and I go shopping at the mall the next day. It takes me a while, but finally I locate a really nice emerald dress, with a long, deep v-neckline and a bejeweled empire waist. The A-line skirt reaches to just above my knees and the fabric is silky. I think it looks great on the hanger, and hope it will look great on me, too.

Trying it on, I let Anne have the final say. “What do you think? Too formal? Does it make me look fat?” I turn around, looking at myself from all angles in the mirror.

“No, not at all,” Anne says. “It fits perfectly. And it’s sexy, too. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Then I receive a text message from Michael.

Hi, this is Michael Manning from church yesterday. Please text me your address so I can pick you up. Is 6 o’clock still okay? Michael

My heart starts racing from one measly text message.
Geez
…I roll my eyes at myself. Why am I doing this? I thought I didn’t want to have anything to do with any man, and here I go again. I also promised myself that I’d never date a guy who I met while working at The Black Chapel, didn’t I? But then again, we didn’t technically
meet
at The Black Chapel, and he doesn’t even know I work there. And it’s so hard to say no, because the beginning of a romance is just so heavenly.
I’ll take it slow
, I promise myself.

Hi Michael, Here’s my address: 555 Huntington Lane, Portland Oregon. And yes, 6 o’clock still works great. Looking forward to it.

Scarlett.

Back at home, getting ready, I almost think I’m too excited. Being too excited is not a good thing, I remind myself. I need to take it slow. I mean, he could be a creep, or a total jerk, and usually those types don’t reveal their true colors right away. But Michael doesn’t seem like a creep or a jerk, and seems very down to earth for a billionaire.

Michael rings the doorbell exactly at 6:00 p.m. I grab my purse and jacket and open the door. He’s so handsome and my insides come undone the second I see him. I give him a brief hug.
Slow. Slow. Slow,
I remind myself
.

He takes my arm, like a perfect gentleman, and leads me to the white limousine waiting outside my house. I’m overwhelmed. This might be moving too quickly. But then I reel in my judgmental thoughts.
Maybe this is the way he always travels?

Michael opens the door to the limo. “You look gorgeous,” he says.

He probably says that to all his dates, I think, but I respond with a polite thank you. “And you look amazing, too.” I melt immediately, and my knees feel weak all of a sudden. Just breathe, I remind myself. Even that has become challenging at the moment.

He’s wearing a black tux, white shirt and he smells so freaking divine. I don’t feel overdressed at all, and I’m glad I invested in this ridiculously expensive, for me at least, 150 dollar dress.

Inside the black leather-interior limo, he offers me a flute of champagne. I accept it and drink it down.
Pace yourself
, I tell myself. But I can’t, I’m so nervous and I need to relax—fast.