The Choir Director (30 page)

He tried to protest, but I cut him off.

“Once upon a time, I might have gone down the aisle with you, Maxwell, but you wouldn’t even acknowledge we were dating. You didn’t want anyone to know you spent every night with the church whore, remember?”

A look of guilt crossed Maxwell’s face, and he lowered his head. “It wasn’t like that,” he offered weakly.

“Oh, no? Then how was it? All you had to do was let folks know we were dating, and that rain cloud over my head would have disappeared. You knew I wasn’t sleeping with anyone but you, but you still let people think I was some whore sleeping with every swinging dick in the church. And why? Because you had your own reputation to look out for. Well, I’ve got news for you, Maxwell. Love is putting the ones you claim to love first! That’s what T. K. does for me.”

“Okay, I was selfish. I admit it. But you knew how I felt about you.”

“Did I? Maxwell, you left me without a word. I didn’t know you were gone until I read it in the church bulletin.”

“That’s because I wasn’t supposed to be gone that long.”

“You ever heard of an invention called the telephone? What about pen and paper? That usually works pretty good too. You didn’t write, you didn’t call, but you kept in touch with both James and T. K., didn’t you? You couldn’t keep in touch with the woman you supposedly loved. What is wrong with that picture?”

“Don’t you understand what I was trying to do? I went away to make money so I could be with you. So you could have all the things those other women had. I knew that’s what you really wanted. I could see it in the way you looked at them with their fine jewelry and fancy clothes.”

“Oh, bull! I wasn’t jealous of those women because of their clothes and material things. I was jealous because they could all walk into church with their heads held high, holding their man’s hand. All I wanted was a man of my own. You didn’t even think to take me with you.”

“Oh yeah, those tight shirts and short skirts would have really gone over well in Iraq.”

“See, that’s what I mean. You’re so concerned with what everyone else has to say that you didn’t give a damn about me.”

He slowed down long enough to get his anger in check. “Monique, I never stopped loving you,” he said, sounding like he was desperate for me to believe him.

“I’m not a mind reader, you know. You never told me you loved me. Not once.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

I had to let out a laugh. Was he deaf
and
crazy? Did he not hear a word I’d said? “Maxwell, have you forgotten I’m married?”

“How could I forget? I think about it every fucking day,” he cursed. “It should have been me.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that what we had is over.” My voice was firm, and final.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Maxwell leaned closer.

“I’m married,” I said, taking a step back. “And I love my husband.”

“You don’t love him. You’re just settling. One night with me and all your dreams will come true. I promise.”

“My dreams have already come true. I have all I need in Bishop T. K. Wilson.”

“You have got to be kidding me. T. K. couldn’t hold my condom in the bedroom.”

I wanted to smack him for being so disrespectful. Instead, I hit him where I knew it would hurt most. “He doesn’t have to hold a condom. He’s my husband—
we don’t use them
. In spite of what you think about T. K. and my marriage to him, he is my husband and I love him. I’d never leave him for any man—including you, Maxwell Frye.”

“You don’t mean that.”

I could not believe the state of denial this man was in.

“Yes, I do. He didn’t care what people thought. He fell in love with me and married me despite what people had to say. T. K. loves me unconditionally. That’s real love, baby!” I said it as if I were throwing down the ace of spades in a card game.

Maxwell thought about what I said for a moment. I went to pick up my purse and leave, but he placed a hand on my arm to
stop me. “Let me prove to you that we should be together,” he said in a low, seductive voice. “T. K.’s out of town. Spend the night with me. Just one night. He will never have to know.”

I shook my head at his audacity. “It doesn’t matter if he would never know.
I
would know. How many times do I have to tell you? That’s my husband and I love him. What don’t you understand about that? Besides, he’s your friend. How could you do this to him?”

“He stopped being my friend the day he betrayed me by marrying you. I’m just playing him close in order to be near you.”

Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my shoulders and tried to kiss me.

“Stop it!” I pulled away from his touch.

“You used to love it when I kissed you.”

“You don’t get it. Get away from me. It’s over!” I pushed Maxwell out of my way and headed toward the exit.

“I’m not going to let you go, Monique.”

“You don’t have a choice, because I will be telling my husband about this little stunt you pulled.”

“You can tell him whatever you want, but you’ll be telling him from his jail cell.”

“Whatever, Maxwell.” I slid open the bamboo door and almost ran into a stocky white man who was standing there.

Maxwell came up beside me. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. “Monique Wilson, meet Detective Sergeant Hart. He’s the man who’s going to lock your husband up for twenty years for stealing the church’s money—that is, if you don’t bring your ass back in here.”

I stared at the white man, who pulled back his suit jacket, revealing a gold police badge hooked to his belt. I glanced at Maxwell, who was smiling like he’d won the lottery.

He’s lying, Monique. Don’t fall for it, girl. Just tell this fake cop to step aside and go home.

“My husband would never steal money from the church,” I said confidently. “That church is his life.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so either, but his five accounts in the Cayman Islands say different. By the way, don’t y’all own a condo down there in the Caymans?”

I wondered how the hell he knew about the condo. This was getting scary.

“Did you ever think about how T. K. has all this money and property and all of a sudden the church is broke? The church only pays him about two hundred grand a year. How much was that new house y’all just bought?”

“He writes books, does lecture series. The church isn’t his only source of income,” I replied in T. K.’s defense.

“Do you know how much they’re paying for book deals these days? You spend that in a weekend at the mall.” I got a lump in my throat. “Has he ever shown you your finances?”

I turned away from him, afraid to admit that I had never even bothered to check our account balances. I’d always been more than happy to let T. K. handle all of that.

“Let her take a look at the folder, Detective Sergeant.”

The cop handed me a folder. I opened it, flipping through the pages of bank statements, wire transfers, and copies of canceled checks. When I got to the last page, I closed my eyes and whispered, “No, T. K. Dear God, no.”

“You’re in love with a crook, Monique. I guess I wasn’t the only one willing to do whatever it took to keep you happy.”

When I opened my eyes, I saw the cop had slid the door closed and Maxwell’s hands were on my shoulders, massaging me. I didn’t fight him this time because I was too numb trying to digest what I had read.

“So, do you still love this man?”

“You don’t just stop loving someone, Maxwell.” Tears were welling up in my eyes.

“Believe me, I understand. I feel the same way about you. I guess the only question now is, are you going to be a ride-or-die chick for your man? ’Cause if you really love him, you might want to hear what I have to say. Right now I’m the only thing standing between Bishop T. K. Wilson and a jail cell.”

“Aaron, baby, please call me back. Please, baby.” I clicked my phone shut angrily.

It had been two weeks since Aaron and I last spoke, and I had to admit to myself that we were actually broken up. I was absolutely miserable. I could barely eat or sleep because I was so worried about our relationship, or what was left of it anyway. I’d been calling his cell phone, home phone, and the phone in the choir rehearsal room nonstop trying to get him to talk to me, but he wouldn’t answer. I even blocked my number a few times so that he wouldn’t know it was me calling, but when I finally got through, he hung up as soon as he recognized my voice. I was getting sick of him dodging me, and if I didn’t speak to him soon, I would have to do something real fucking drastic.

On the real, I was starting to feel like Glenn Close in
Fatal Attraction.
The first time I saw that movie, I just viewed her as some crazy, desperate bitch, but now I could feel her. There’s nothing like wanting someone so bad and not being able to have them. It was not something I’d ever experienced—except, of course, with James Black. Back then I’d promised myself it would never happen again, and I meant it.

Trying my best to push Aaron to the back of my mind, I got off the Long Island Expressway at exit 39 and then headed east to deal with Maxwell Frye, the other man who was constantly on my mind these days. He had asked—well, more like in-sisted—that I come see him, because as he put it, we had unfinished business.

I checked out my surroundings as I followed the directions of
my GPS through Old Westbury, Long Island. It seemed like each house I passed was bigger than the last until they were all mansions. My eyes almost bugged out of my head and my stomach fluttered as I drove through the winding streets with football field–length driveways. There was no doubt about it: Every house I saw had to run at least five million dollars. I didn’t even know they allowed black folks to work in these communities, let alone live in them. Hell, I barely knew these neighborhoods existed so close to the city.

I pulled up to the guardhouse in front of Maxwell’s gated community and had to wait for the guard to call Maxwell before I was allowed in. On the way over, I had seen so many beautiful, impressive houses, but nothing prepared me for the stately home where Maxwell lived. I gasped in awe as I pulled up into his long circular driveway. His house was a humongous two-story Tudor. I knew Maxwell was doing okay for himself, but I had no idea he was living like this. If I had, a whole lot of things would have been different back in the day, that was for sure.

If you thought I was shocked at the sight of Maxwell’s home, you should have seen my face when I turned into his driveway and saw who was walking out the front door. Talk about doing a double take! It was none other than First Lady Monique Wilson.

The sight was so unexpected that I actually rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. Now, I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but what choice did I have? If this were late afternoon, or even six or seven o’clock in the evening, I’d just shrug it off because it could have been church business. However, it was eight o’clock in the morning, and her hair was all over her head. To top that off, I knew for a fact that the bishop was up in Boston at a gospel competition with Aaron and the choir.

Even if I wanted to believe there was a legitimate church reason for her to be at Maxwell’s house this time of the morning, what happened next dispelled all doubt as to what Monique was doing there. Maxwell came out behind her wearing his robe like he was Hugh Hefner. He leaned in, and—if I can get ghetto for a moment—tongued her ass down.

I wasn’t driving that fast, but the shock caused me to slam on
my brakes, screeching to a halt right in front of the house and bringing their full attention to me. Monique made eye contact with me, then looked away, holding her head down. Now, that’s what I call busted. Not only was I embarrassed for her, but I felt shame for her too. This was probably the end of our friendship as we knew it. Things would never be the same.

I waited in my car until after Monique pulled off in her Mercedes. Maxwell looked over at me with a smug grin. That’s when I knew he’d wanted me to see the two of them kissing. For him, my arrival was nothing short of perfect timing. That son of a bitch wanted a witness. What a bastard. The last thing I needed on top of all my own drama was to be caught up in the drama that was sure to pop off between the bishop and Monique.

Maxwell met me near his front door. “What you just saw is between you, me, her, and the wood. Got that?”

I shrugged, but I couldn’t hold my opinion, even if he did have me by the you-know-what. “You two are going to hell! Ain’t no doubt about it! Ain’t no asking for forgiveness for this. Don’t you have any shame? Bishop Wilson is one of your best friends, and here you are screwing his wife!” I sneered at him. “You ain’t shit, Maxwell.”

Maxwell laughed. “Well, you know what they say: All’s fair in love and war. Bishop Wilson’s just losing the war.”

I followed him into a foyer so large I could fit my whole house inside.

“Have a seat.” It sounded more like a command than an invitation, and I had no choice but to obey because of the tight spot Maxwell had me in. I parked myself on a sofa made of leather so soft I could have made it my bed.

“Let me ask you something, Maxwell. Why do you hate Bishop Wilson? I thought he was your friend, but you act like he’s the enemy.”

“He’s been the enemy for the past three years. He just doesn’t know it.”

“Really?” Maybe it was time for me to shut up, because I was confused.

“I genuinely loved the man like a brother,” Maxwell started,
“until I came back from Iraq to find out he was married to the woman I loved.”

Okay, now this was getting crazy.

“Confused, right? Well, most people didn’t know that before I left for Iraq, Monique and I were seeing each other.”

“You and the first lady?”

Damn, Monique never told me about that. Guess we all have our secrets.

“She wasn’t the first lady then. Back then she was just Mo-nique.”

I was surprised by the look of sincerity on his face as he explained, “She was the reason I went to Iraq in the first place—so I could afford a woman like her. And then I come back to visit, and she’s married to my best friend.” He looked around his opulent home. “Now I have all of this, and I can’t even share it with her.”