A Love So Deep (14 page)

Martha hoisted her body into the front seat, looked over at Elroy, and patted his hand. They had many good years together, and they loved each other every day of their married lives. Martha had groomed her daughter well, because her life with Graham resembled, if not exactly mirrored, the one her parents had lived before her.

“Honey, what do you think about all that Sister Ross was saying tonight?”

“Baby, first off, I was scared you were going to whoop her ass.”

“Elroy!” Martha tried to contain her grin but was barely able to hold on to it. “I’m eighty-two years old. Now, what would I look like trying to fight that heifer?”

“I know I wouldn’t have been able to hold you back if you got started.” Elroy broke out in a grin and Martha followed with a loud outburst of the most hilarious cackle Elroy ever heard. “I’d say, Lord forgive them for they know not what they do.” Martha looked at Elroy, Elroy looked back at Martha, and they screamed with laughter.

“Forgive us for we know not…? I guess you trying to get the reverend’s sermon in since Sister Mary just took over—just disrespected Reverend Fields.”

“Now, baby. You had your Academy Award moment, also. Sister Mary was scared, baby. She was sho ‘nuf scared of you.”

“Elroy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“We need to talk with Graham. I don’t care how much I hated Sister Mary Ross for slinging mud at my family in the church house tonight, it tore at my heart. Yes, my heart was hurting. I can’t see Graham with nobody but our Amanda. I realize she’s gone to be with the Lord, but she ain’t been in that ground long enough for Graham to go looking at another woman.”

Martha threw her hands up in the air. “It hurts to know Graham has already gotten over Amanda. When Mary Ross was up there running off at the mouth, I just got mad. I don’t know if I was mad at Graham or at Sister Ross. But I got her told like Amanda should have so many years ago. ‘Manda would have been proud of her old mother.”

Elroy was silent for a moment, listening attentively to his wife’s ranting and raving, her hurt and pain. “Graham has done nothing wrong, Martha. He’s a man…”

“Hold it. I don’t know what being a man has to do with anything. Respect is respect.”

“Hold on now, Martha. Let me try and explain it without you fretting so. Like I said, Graham’s a man, a lonely man.” Martha’s cheeks started to expand—trying to hold off her displeasure with Elroy’s reasoning. Elroy ignored her. “When the opportunity presented itself, Graham was vulnerable and fell like a rat with a pound of cheese sitting in front of it. How much you wanna bet Charlie Ford is at the center of this? Mark my words. Don’t you remember the state Graham was in before coming to church last Sunday? He didn’t look like a man who was after some other woman’s skirt tail, and if he was, he had all of us fooled.”

“Yeah, Graham and Amanda’s love was so deep.” Martha sighed, letting go of her steam. “I believe he still loves her, Elroy.”

“I’m sure he does, too, honey.”

“I love you, Elroy. You’ve been in my life a long time. There will be no other.”

“Girl, I don’t want no one but you. Let’s go home now. I got one Viagra pill left, and I feel like getting my groove on.”

“Hush now, Elroy. Don’t make me do nothing I don’t want to do.”

“Girl, I want you to do everything you can remember to do, and meet me with your black drawls on.”

“Baby, you so nasty.”

“You my baby.”

“I’d say we’re doing pretty good for some eighty-year-old kids. ‘Kickin’ it,’ they say.”

“Give me some sugar, man. I love you to death, Deacon Carter.” Martha placed a great big kiss squarely on Elroy’s lips.

“I love you, too, Sister Carter,” Elroy purred, gasping for air but ready for another generous portion of Martha’s sweet lips.

“Well, hurry up and drive me home so we both can get our groove on.”

I
t
didn’t take long before the backlash and remnants of the storm that breezed through last evening’s Bible study reached Graham’s doorstep. And depending upon whose version you heard, Sister Ross was either trying to incite a mutiny, or she didn’t have anything on the deacon that really amounted to anything and grossly disrespected the reverend up in his house—the Lord’s house. However, there was no mistaking the one element each version consistently reported. Sister Ross’ interest in this was solely personal, because she had a crush on the deacon.

Graham chuckled as different people called either to express their disgust or trying to be the first to say they had no part in the diabolical events of the evening. The latter claimed that although Deacon Harris had stood against him, the remainder of the Deacon Board stood in solidarity with him. Graham let them talk, one by one, though the truth of the matter was he could care less what any of them thought, and that included the good reverend. Hypocrites.

His mother-in-law and father-in-law were another matter. He loved them as much as he loved Amanda. Amanda encompassed everything they were, and Graham couldn’t remember a time the Carters weren’t there for them—whether it was babysitting when he and Amanda wanted to just get away for a while, helping them out financially, or just sharing their love. Graham had not intended to hurt them, even though he knew he had done nothing wrong. His timing might be a little off, but he had conferred with Amanda about all of the decisions he made regarding Rita Long. If Amanda wasn’t upset, why should the rest of them be? He’d handle it; a visit was imminent, but he’d handle it.

Graham got up from the sofa and moved from room to room, briefly stopping to admire some object that reminded him of Amanda. When he picked up her picture from the fireplace mantel, Graham recalled how he found Rita admiring it while she thought no one was looking.

Images of life with Amanda came floating back to Graham—images he thought he’d conquered so he could go on with life. He would never stop loving her. She had been his soul mate for forty years. Amanda left a void that hurt Graham deeply, a void he thought he would never fill—until last week.

Graham set Amanda’s picture back on the mantel and headed for the kitchen. He needed to talk to Deborah and Liz. He needed to tell them how much he loved them and how much he loved their mother. He would never do anything to disgrace Amanda’s good name or that of their children. He was falling in love with Rita Long, and there seemed to be very little he could do about it.

The heels of Sister Mary Ross’ worn feet moved back and forth in her dark living room as she contemplated the events of the evening. Never before had she been so humiliated, and to her utter dismay, the allegiance she had forged with the majority of the church members was now past tense as they dismissed her like day-old bread.

Mary looked around her, although in the dark, and with what little light filtered in from the hallway. She led a drab existence—an interior decorator’s dream challenge if one could turn puke-green walls and worn brown-tweed Herculon furniture into something of beauty.

A picture of Jesus hung on the living room wall, and an old floor-model television hi-fi combination sat on the floor directly underneath. Carpet the color of split-pea soup ran throughout the house, resting against faded walls in the living room and kitchen. Mary’s bedroom was painted pink and the guest bedroom canary yellow, picking up the puke-green in the bathroom. The furniture was so old, it had an old folks’ smell that no amount of Febreezing would cover. The tiny, two-bedroom house was the only safe haven she could call her own.

There was a time when Mary had a few men’s rapt attention. They would have asked for her hand in marriage. However, she abandoned all suitors in lust for a married man who was unmoved by her existence.

What had she done
, Mary wondered? What had she intended to prove by denouncing the man she secretly loved? She wanted to be the one who came to his rescue when all others had forsaken him, but she had perpetrated the chaos. Her plan had been to be the understanding one, and Deacon Graham Peters would thank her again and again for her kindness and support.

Then Mary would fall into Graham’s arms, and he’d take her to a secret hide-a-way where they’d embrace, allowing each other’s healing touch to be absorbed into the bosom of their souls. Then Graham would slowly undress Mary, drenching himself in her beauty—overcome with her sensual lust, wowed by her tender lips and the perfect breasts that she kept hidden under her ultra-conservative clothing. Then Mary would undress Graham, first his shirt and then his slacks—after untangling her fingers from the fancy belt he wore around his waist.

Moisture between Mary’s legs threatened to expose her burning desire for him. But visions of his chocolate-colored frame still well-defined after sixty-one years of wear, and the imagined erectness of Graham’s manhood extended an exuberant invitation, and caused Mary to come before she had ever been touched.

Brrng.
The telephone nearly caused Mary to fall where she stood—where lustful thoughts of passion had consumed her. She became acutely aware of a stickiness between her legs when she took a few steps to retrieve the phone from the floor, where it had laid since the night before when Mary’s fingers had caressed every digit at least thirty times on at least thirty different occasions.

Mary picked up the receiver but couldn’t talk for feeling dirty—almost sinful for allowing her fantasy to make a mockery out of her. She had the remnants of a wonderful dream—thirty years of pent-up release, but no man to make it real. She raised the phone to her ear and held it as the caller kept shouting, “Hello!” at the other end of the line.

Mary heard Loretha’s voice as Loretha tore into Mary for making a complete idiot of herself at Bible study. But Loretha’s voice wasn’t what Mary wanted to hear, and without saying a word, she politely laid the receiver on the hook, yanking the phone cord from its receptacle with a swift snap of her wrist. Mary had had enough for one evening, and she silently prayed that Graham would come to her and make love to her—if only for one night, if only for one night.

A
surprise
phone call from Rita sent Graham reeling. She was arriving in Oakland that very afternoon to handle some personal business and would be in town for a couple of days. It had been nearly three weeks since they had last seen each other.

Graham acted like a schoolboy with a crush on his fourth-grade teacher. He needed to spruce up the house, get a haircut and shave. The cleaners held his nice khaki pants and a multi-colored Angora sweater Amanda had given him a few birthdays back. He wanted to look his best for Ms. Rita Long, the new queen of his heart.

Then he remembered Amanda’s parents were coming by to talk. This was the first opportunity they had to chat with their son-in-law since the ill-fated Bible study a couple of weeks ago that half the community was still talking about. Graham would stop by their house while he was out running errands. That way, he wouldn’t run the risk that they’d run into Rita.

Halloween was near. Colorful artwork comprised of ghosts, goblins, witches and pumpkins screamed through bedroom windows that neighboring children made while at school. Every other house on Chester Street it seemed was decorated in some form or fashion with relics of the pending kids’ holiday. Graham would get candy for the trick-or-treaters while he was out and about.

Graham hurried from the house and jumped in his car, anxious to clear up his calendar so that all of his free time could be spent with Rita. He headed first to the cleaners, then he’d get a haircut. If time permitted, he would stop by the Carters or cancel until another time.

“Must be a happy man.” The attendant chuckled, plucking Graham’s ticket from his hand and checking the number so that he could retrieve his cleaning.

“Oh, it’s a good day,” Graham replied as he continued to whistle. “When life is good, you can’t help but look up toward the heavens and give God a thumbs-up or a shout-out. I prefer to whistle.”

“That’ll be eleven dollars and may God continue to bless you.”

Graham gave the attendant $15. “Keep the change. I’m already blessed; have a good day.”

The attendant walked to the door after Graham. Graham still whistled. The attendant shook his head. The words,
into each life some rain must fall,
came to him. He had just received some terrible news the day before. His wife might not be able to carry their baby full term. He was upset with God and blamed Him for what might be. And then this man comes into his cleaners whistling because life was good. The attendant shook his head. “Humph. God sure is good. God is good.”

The barbershop was full when Graham reached it. It was 11:30 in the morning, and the noonday crowd was gathering. The shop was located in the heart of downtown Oakland in a small storefront. Manny, the owner, had been cutting hair for the last thirty years in the same location with almost the same loyal following. Some came to Manny’s to get their hair cut; others came to get the daily gossip.

Graham peered through the glass and saw Roscoe hugging up a corner. It was plain to see that a good story had just been told from the contorted facial expressions on the men as they grabbed their middles and slapped their feet on the floor. The composition of men ranged from young to over sixty. Manny’s was the place to hang out.

A picture of Martin Luther King, Jr. hung proudly on one of the narrow blue walls with a picture of Malcolm X a step down to the left. On the opposite wall rested a poster of Huey Newton flanked by two other members of the Black Panther Party—a relic from the ‘60s and ‘70s movement. Underneath the picture was a worn-out cardboard sign that read: “Haircuts $10.00, Style Cuts $15.00, Edge-Up and Mustache Trim $10.00.” Behind the row of barber chairs filled with colorful human characters, a large, oblong mirror hung with pictures of kids now grown, if not dead, pasted around its perimeter. Three barber licenses, issued by the State of California, hung neglectfully either on the mirror or on the wall to its right and left, making it legal for all three barbers to cut some mean hair-styles this crowd craved.

The loud roar was even more audible as Graham stepped into the filled-to-capacity room, but it suddenly became quiet as Graham’s presence was made known. He felt like he was the major character in their story, and they had just been busted. But after a brief exchange of howdy-do’s, the place became lively again—this one telling a story and another one telling his story with a series of high-fives adding to the excitement.

“I want a nice fade,” Graham said, as he eased into Manny’s chair.

“Ain’t seen you in awhile. How are you doing?” Manny said, draping Graham’s shoulder with a towel.

“I feel pretty good. Don’t cut off too much on top.”

“Ohhhh. What’s that all about? You usually want it cut close.”

“Nothing.”

“Must have something to do with all the rumors swirling around. Ain’t mad at ya.” They sat in silence as Manny whizzed away.

Manny dusted off the back of Graham’s neck and pulled the towel from around his shoulders. Graham felt like a million dollars, and he only hoped Rita would approve of all that he had done to make himself presentable for her. The door chimed, and everyone looked up as Charlie Ford came through the door.

Charlie’s eyes found Graham’s. Graham nodded, paid for his haircut, and prepared to leave. Graham knew Charlie was still a little miffed since their last meeting, and he didn’t want to get into any discussion about it, especially with other ears around. Graham looked at his watch and back at Charlie who was moving his lips to say something.

“Hey buddy, you in a hurry?”

“I’m on my way to my in-laws’ house; they’re expecting me any minute,” Graham lied.

“Well, how about meeting me at The Water Hole later on? I hear it’s gonna be off the hook.”

“Give me a rain check on that Charlie. I’ve got some other plans for tonight.”

“I hear Rita’s in town.”

Graham flinched as Charlie tossed the words,
Rita’s in town
, out to him. How in the hell did he know? He just found out himself early this morning. “Yeah, I know,” Graham threw back, trying not to let Charlie see how much he’d irritated him. “We’re getting together later.”

Charlie lifted his left eyebrow digesting Graham’s last statement. “Seems you’re not the only one she’s meeting,” Charlie smirked as if having the last laugh.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. After all, this is a free country, Charlie. Rita is free to see anyone she likes. She’s probably seeing a lot of folks today. I’m well aware she has some business to take care of—not that it’s any of your business.”

Charlie fished a toothpick out of his shirt pocket. “Well, I’ll let you sizzle on that little appetizer for a while. After all, I owe you. If you should change your mind, you can find me at The Hole.”

“Well, I really must go. I’ll chat with you later, old friend,” Graham said with a tone of animosity. Graham looked around the now-quiet room—from one person to the next—wondering if they too held some hidden knowledge they weren’t sharing.
The hell with them all
, Graham thought. He pushed past Charlie and walked out into overcast skies.

Water cascaded over her shapely body, massaging the taunt muscles in and around her shoulders. Rita lathered her shoulder-length mane, stimulating her scalp with long sculptured nails as they raked the crown of her head. She let out a small moan of satisfaction as the water continued to wash over her. Eyes closed, Rita allowed herself to immerse in the floral water garden that promised to soothe her achy limbs and prepare her for the day that lay ahead.

Thoughts of Graham swirled through her head. Rita had fallen in love—smitten by the bug she held at bay for more years than she had realized. Visions of her and Graham together had consumed most of her waking hours and just as many countless, sleepless nights. She now longed for the feel of him, his scent that made him so irresistible, and tonight Rita would let him know just how irresistible.

Another matter of great concern had brought Rita to the Bay Area. Old events and lives in her past frequently reared their ugly heads, often disrupting the peaceful life Rita had built. Each time she tried to shake it, the old haunted her in the new, but she resolved this would be the last time she’d let the old venture into her life again.

Rita stepped from the shower, gently toweling her body with the oversized, white, fluffy towel with the big “H” raised on the bottom. She liked staying at the Hilton because of its proximity to the Oakland Airport. Sitting at the vanity, Rita gazed into the mirror that was more than kind. It did not betray all she had been through in life; she was still an attractive woman.

Rita picked up the blow-dryer just as the telephone began to ring. It rang twice more before Rita attempted to move, but then it was silent again, and Rita commenced to dry her hair. She had not informed Graham of the time of her arrival or where she would be staying, so the call could not be from anyone she was dying to speak to. Only Clyde knew the real reason for her sudden trip to Oakland.

Quickly picking up her pace, Rita pulled a tan, cashmere, midi-length skirt from the closet, followed by a long, multi-toned, loosely fitting, coat-like cardigan in shades of brown and cream. A long, ash-brown, cowl-neck knit tunic lay on the bed and was the perfect complement to the other two pieces. Rita found her knee-high, tan-suede, pointed boots and sat them next to the bed. She’d put them on last—no need to tire her feet so soon.

A slight breeze filtered in the room and caused Rita to shiver. She rose to retrieve her robe from the bathroom.

Brrng, brrng, brrng.

Even though the phone startled Rita, she didn’t want to be bothered. She had no desire to engage anyone in conversation before she was ready to do so. She let it ring.

Rita thought about calling Graham, if only to let him know she’d arrived safely. However, she thought better of it. She’d only end up having to answer a lot of unnecessary questions like
What time did you get in? Why didn’t you call me sooner? Can I pick you up?.
No need to put herself in that position when all of that could be avoided. She’d take care of business and then she’d see Graham. First things first.

Rita quickly put on her clothes and looked at her watch again. It was 12:45—time to be on her way.

The garage was nearly empty when Rita went to get in her rental. She slid into the black BMW 318i with cream leather interior and sun-roof top, along with all the other amenities that made this car fit for a queen. Rita moved out onto Hegenberger Road and drove toward the old Nimitz Freeway, now called I-880, and headed toward downtown Oakland. There was a fair amount of traffic going northbound, but she had more than ample time to make her 1:30 appointment.