Authors: Lutishia Lovely
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Literary, #United States, #African American, #Christian, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Literary Fiction
Heaven Right Here (7 page)
14
Show and Tell
The warm and fuzzy feelings from Hope’s meeting with Vivian continued into the evening. Cy knew something had shifted as soon as he walked in the door. Soft jazz played, candles flickered, and the tantalizing smells of good home cooking wafted through three thousand square feet of silk walls, marble floors, and upscale everything.
“My baby’s home,” Hope sang from the kitchen.
Cy began walking in the direction of her voice. The sight of Hope rounding the corner stopped him dead in his tracks. His abrupt halt caused Hope to stop too.
She wore a white, dolman-sleeved, shear midriff with white silk boy shorts that showed off her 36-26-38 curves to perfection and contrasted sharply with her smooth, dark brown skin. The outfit left little to the imagination, revealing part of her butt cheeks and dark nipples that hardened under Cy’s intense stare. Her shoulder-length jet-black hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, further highlighting her deep cocoa, slanted eyes, prominent cheekbones, and full lips set in a heart-shaped face. She wore three-inch silver sandals that laced up to midthigh. That this woman could believe it possible for him ever to lose interest, or to find somebody new, Cy thought was beyond ludicrous. For him there was only one woman, and he was looking at her.
He stared at her a beat longer, then licked his lips. “Come here, my beautiful ebony queen.”
Hope’s heartbeat quickened as she closed the distance between them. Cy loved it when she dressed provocatively. His reaction was just as she’d hoped. “Thank you.”
They kissed passionately, leisurely as Cy’s hands sculpted the body on which his eyes had feasted. He placed his hands on her bottom and lifted her off the floor, molding her to his muscled frame, letting her feel the evidence of his desire. He broke the kiss, lowered her back down, and took her hand. His pupils darkened as he gazed at Hope through nearly closed eyelids. He licked his lips again. Hope became wet.
“Come . . . sit with me,” he whispered. He took her hand and started for the sofa.
Hope knew that sitting was the last thing on Cy’s mind. It was definitely the last thing on hers. But the plans she’d formed this afternoon could not be hurried. She hadn’t been the best company lately and had come up with several creative ways to apologize.
“I need to check on dinner,” she said even as Cy tweaked her nipple through the gauzy fabric. This simple touch rocked her core, and a shiver tore through her. “I . . . I . . . Do you want me to . . . Ooh, Cy, I can’t think when you do that.”
Cy had slipped his hand under the top and now gently outlined her nipple with his thumb. He looked at her as if she were the meal. “That’s fine,” he said, his voice low and sexy. He continued to touch her with expert strokes.
Hope closed her eyes as Cy’s large hands slid over her body. He cupped her cheeks, massaging bare flesh. They kissed again, his tongue now joining the dance of his fingers. Hope hugged Cy’s hard body, outlining his shoulders, squeezing his tight, round butt.
Finally she managed a coherent thought and reluctantly pulled away. “I’ve got to check on dinner before it burns. Everything’s ready for you to take a shower.”
Cy shook his head. “No, I’ll wait and take one with you.”
A short time later, they sat shoulder to shoulder, dining on fricassee of lobster over homemade goat-cheese ravioli. The food was delicious, but neither noticed. All of their senses were focused on each other. Cy battled the desire to clear the dishes and ravage his wife on the dining room table. Hope wrestled with thoughts that needed to be shared with her husband before they left the room. They hadn’t talked Saturday night, and yesterday had been filled with church stuff. By the time she’d finished the hour-long conversation with her much improved father in Tulsa, it had been too late to get into it. But the Millicent matter had to be dealt with. Hope had to make peace before they made love.
Cy slid a gentle finger along Hope’s cheek. “You’re quiet.”
“I know. It’s because I want to clear the air between us.” Hope turned and faced Cy more directly. “I want to talk about Millicent.”
Cy nodded. He rose and placed his hand on Hope’s chair. “Let’s go sit on the balcony.”
The sound of the waves lapping against the shore matched the cool breeze that greeted them as Cy opened the sliding door. “Let me get a cover for you,” he said before ducking back inside.
Wrapped in one of Pat’s homemade quilts and the security of Cy’s love, Hope began. “I want to apologize for the other night. How I acted when you mentioned Millicent.”
Cy’s reply was swift. “Of course I forgive you.” He knew there was more and waited for Hope to continue.
“I’m jealous of her,” she said softly.
Cy wrapped his arms around Hope, kissed the top of her head. “Why, baby?”
Hope told Cy about seeing Millicent on Carla’s show and how it had affected her. “I know it’s crazy,” she concluded. “I know you love me, and I trust God that we’ll have a family. Honestly I’m surprised at myself for how the news affected me. I’ve never been much of a hater—I normally wish other sisters well. But my reaction made me admit how obsessed I’ve been with getting pregnant. And I know that stress can’t be good for my chances at conception. Vivian was over today, talked to me, prayed with me. That helped a lot.” She went on to tell Cy about the plans they’d discussed for Hope to mentor Melody and possibly revive her praise dance troupe at Kingdom Citizens.
“What do you think about that?” she asked.
“I think it’s excellent; you’re an exquisite dancer. That’s when I lost my heart to you, when you danced before the Lord that night at King’s conference.” Cy closed his eyes and remembered. “There were eight of you in these white, flowing dresses. Your arms lifted in praise as you twirled around. But I can’t tell you a thing about what the other ladies looked like—the only one I watched was you.”
“And I was so mad when you called the next morning,” Hope said. “I thought Millicent was your fiancée, and you were trying to get some out-of-town nooky right under her nose!”
They laughed and reminisced about their first unofficial date, when Cy had folded his tall frame into Hope’s small MG, and they had toured the sites of Kansas City. Hope admitted that even after their wonderful time together, she’d doubted anything serious would come of their meeting. She admitted how perfectly suited she’d thought Millicent was for Cy: tall, lean, light-skinned, longhaired, the kind of flawless beauty Hope usually saw on the arm of successful Black men.
“I didn’t dare believe someone like me could have someone like you,” Hope said softly as she watched the moon’s dancing reflection on the dark waters.
Cy placed a finger under Hope’s chin, raised her face until her eyes met his. Hope could have drowned in the amount of love she saw there.
“I want to tell you something, and I don’t want you to ever forget it. God sent me you. There’s no one else for me. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. You’d haunted me in my dreams, woman. The minute, the very second, Hope, that I saw you . . . I knew.”
“What do you mean, you dreamed of me?”
“Exactly that. It was a rather, um, explicit dream. I was making love to an exotic Nubian angel on the white sands of a tropical island. The dream was so real I woke up with a hard-on, my arms aching to hold you. Instead it was a pillow I clutched. When you walked into the church, with that gold shimmering suit that fit like a glove, the dream came back to me. And I knew I was looking at my future wife.”
Tears shimmered in Hope’s eyes as she looked at him. “For real, Cy?”
He brushed his lips across hers. “Cross my heart.”
They kissed tenderly and spent a few moments in companionable silence. “Tell me more about the dream,” Hope said finally, burrowing herself closer into Cy’s embrace.
“Let’s go inside,” he suggested as he lifted her into his arms. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”
15
Still in Love
Stacy looked at her watch as she chatted with Hope on the phone.
Where is Darius with my child?
“I’m sorry, Hope. What did you say?”
Where is Darius with my child?
“I’m sorry, Hope. What did you say?”
“I said you were right.”
“About what?”
“About how I should talk to Cy about Millicent. My jealousy at her being a mother and everything.”
“Did you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And?”
Hope resisted the urge to purr like a kitten. Her cat was still tingling from the lavish attention Cy had given it the previous night.
“Well, let’s just say Millicent is no longer an issue, and Cy and I are all the way back on track.”
“Oh, so he must have hit it really good last night, huh?”
Good doesn’t begin to describe it.
“We, um, enjoyed ourselves.”
“We, um, enjoyed ourselves.”
“Ooh, you make me sick. Over there getting it good and regular while the only penis I’m seeing these days is two inches long. I’m about to climb the walls.”
“What about Tony? I saw y’all flirting at Pastor’s on Sunday.”
“Naw, girl. I think Darius messed that up.”
“Darius messed it up? How so?”
“Okay, more like I did. Acting a fool when he showed up. I think Tony figured out I was flirting with him just to make Darius jealous. He hasn’t called.”
“Were you?”
“Not at first. Tony is fine; who wouldn’t love to spend some time with that brothah? But after Darius and his ‘wife’ showed up, I did start overdoing it. Tony changed after that, started talking to Cy.”
Hope paused. This was old ground she and Stacy were covering, and she didn’t know if her two cents would be of any value. She plunged in anyway. “I’m doing so much better today because I listened to you, Stacy. Maybe it’s time you take some of the advice that’s been offered where Darius is concerned. Bo and Darius are together, professionally and personally. They love each other. Like it or not, that’s how it is. It’s also obvious that Darius loves his son, and so does Bo. And that little boy is crazy about his father. It seems the only one truly miserable in this situation is you.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” Stacy’s voice became agitated. “Hand my son to him on a silver platter? Let Darius grow up thinking it’s okay to be a faggot?”
“That’s wrong, Stacy.”
“Oh, please, don’t even start. This isn’t some show where I’m trying to be politically correct; this is my life, my son’s life!”
“Do you really think little Darius will become gay by simply hanging around his father? Do you truly believe that, Stacy?”
Silence.
“Well, do you?” Hope repeated. When Stacy didn’t answer, Hope continued. “Let’s talk about what’s really going on here—the real reason why you’re keeping Darius from his son. It’s because even though you won’t admit it, and after all that’s happened, you’re still in love with Darius Crenshaw. Isn’t that what all this is really about?”
The doorbell rang. Stacy didn’t have to look out the window to know who it was. “I gotta go,” she said to Hope. “This asshole should have had my son here an hour ago!”
Stacy walked through the living room of the three-bedroom split-level Darius had purchased for her, flung open the door, and crossed her arms. “You’re late.”
Darius stood there, determined to be calm, with little Darius in one arm, and several shopping bags and a diaper bag in the other. “We were shopping; time got away from me.”
Stacy reached for her son. “He’s wet.”
“Um, I don’t think so. I just changed him.” Darius took a deep, quiet breath.
Don’t let her get under that gorgeous skin of yours, baby. That’s what she wants.
Darius remembered Bo’s parting words before Darius had dropped him off at the Starbucks down the street on their way over, an action done to avoid yet another ugly scene. He followed Stacy inside the house.
Don’t let her get under that gorgeous skin of yours, baby. That’s what she wants.
Darius remembered Bo’s parting words before Darius had dropped him off at the Starbucks down the street on their way over, an action done to avoid yet another ugly scene. He followed Stacy inside the house.
“They had a sale at Baby Gap,” he continued pleasantly. “And then we stopped at another shop where they were rocking baby Sean Jean. Little D is set for the ladies now!”
Stacy had checked Darius’s diaper, and indeed he was dry. She talked to her son and ignored his father.
Maybe this is best,
Darius thought. He’d take the silent treatment over screaming any day. “Well, I guess I’ll see you Sunday then. Will you be at the eleven o’clock or early morning service?”
Darius thought. He’d take the silent treatment over screaming any day. “Well, I guess I’ll see you Sunday then. Will you be at the eleven o’clock or early morning service?”
“What difference does it make? Won’t you be at both of them?”
“Stacy, why does this have to be hard? Why do we have to continue to bicker and fight, have all this drama? We were friends once, remember?”
“Oh, I’ve got a ton of memories, Darius. How you played me for a fool to further your career and your heterosexual persona, how you married me knowing that for you it was just a front, how you chose your lover over me. And you expect me to invite you in like we’re friends? Ask you to sit and share a glass of wine?”
“Merlot, if you have it,” Darius said, attempting humor.
Stacy glared.
“I’m not asking us to be best friends, Stacy. I just want us to be civil. Darius picks up on all this—”
“How do you know what my son picks up on?” Stacy screamed.
Little Darius started to cry and reached for his father.
“That’s how I know,” Darius said in a quiet voice. “Come here, little man.” He stepped toward the couch.
“I can handle Darius,” Stacy said, moving the child out of reach. “Just get out of my house.”
She cooed and rocked Darius Jr. and then walked into the kitchen and got him a bottle. When she walked back into the living room, Darius’s back was to her as he eyed a grouping of family pictures hanging on the wall. Most were of his son.
Stacy tried to maintain her anger and view him dispassionately. But somewhere between the perfectly shaped head; strong, broad shoulders; narrow waist; and butt she’d used to squeeze in the throes of passion, her ire faded. By the time she’d admired the strong, thick legs that stood firmly apart and the brand-new Nikes that covered Darius’s size-twelve feet, she’d admitted to herself what she’d refused to acknowledge to Hope. She still loved this man.
“I’m coming to early morning service,” she said, placing little Darius on the floor. He immediately half waddled, half crawled over to his father.
Darius picked him up, kissed and hugged him, and put him back down. “Okay, then, I’ll make sure Bridgette is there to take care of him while I’m working.”
Stacy nodded.
Bridgette was the Belizean nanny Darius had hired to help care for Darius Jr. Stacy had demanded the right to interview her and had begrudgingly given her approval and eventually her admiration to the woman who treated Darius Jr. as if he were her own child.
There was an awkward moment as Darius fought the urge to bring up the custody hearings. Better to continue letting his attorney handle it, as Bo had suggested. He knelt down and kissed his son again. Rising, he looked at Stacy. He noticed the vulnerability in her eyes, the flicker of desire before she tucked it away. He wanted to comfort her somehow, hug her, kiss her, make the hurt go away. He knew he couldn’t. It would send the wrong message. But she looked so lonely standing there. And so cute in her pink ribbed tank top and low-rider jeans that exposed the outward navel he’d used to flick with his tongue. They continued to stand there.
“Look, Stacy—” Darius began.
“Do you want—” Stacy said at the same time.
Inside Darius’s pocket, his BlackBerry vibrated.
Bo.
Bo.
Darius glanced at his watch. “I have to go,” he said quickly, covering the distance to the front door in three long strides. “I’ll see you Sunday, okay? Take care, Stacy.”
Stacy watched Darius stroll to his shiny black Navigator and step inside. She saw him punch his Bluetooth device before the car was fully backed down her driveway. Stacy would have bet money on who’d been calling. But it did her no good to think about the constant barrier between her and her man.
“No,” Stacy said aloud, forcing a change in her thoughts. She said it so loudly Darius Jr. looked up from his toys. “Not you, baby,” she said with a smile. She stood a while longer, watching her son pound his toy piano.
He’s so much like his father. But his father is not here,
she thought.
And I need to stop hoping that one day he’ll come back.
He’s so much like his father. But his father is not here,
she thought.
And I need to stop hoping that one day he’ll come back.
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