Come Sunday Morning (7 page)

 

Samantha paced the floor of her study after Sandra had left the house. Her silk robe trailed behind as she retraced her steps in front of the desk.

I could survive an affair with a woman, but a man?
she thought.
If I didn't have a good reason to kill him before, I sure as hell have the perfect one now.

Her course was clearer now than it ever was before. She could survive the affair with that bitch from the restaurant they frequented, or the scheduling secretary she had immediately fired. But a man? She would never stand by and have the power of her feminine allure called into question. He handed her the verdict and read his own sentence. Death by shooting on the stage he had built for himself.

Samantha removed a pack of cigarettes from her desk. She nervously inhaled the smoke and retrieved her cell phone.

Rev. Willie Mitchell answered. “Yeah? This is Willie.”

“Willie, it's Samantha. Are you alone? Can you talk?”

Reverend Mitchell, like so many other men, worshipped Samantha Cleaveland. He had schemed to be a part of her inner circle from the first day he saw her standing next to Hezekiah at a fund-raiser for a state senator. Over the years he watched her become more confident and saw her naive good looks evolve into seductive and intoxicating beauty.

He willingly gave everything Samantha had requested of him: one million for the new cathedral, substantial contributions to the politicians of her choice, or playing the “heavy” with any misguided bureaucrat or church trustee who dared to challenge her wishes.

Years earlier, he had bravely confessed his true feelings for her. She was repulsed by his proposition but kept her sentiments private. Instead, she used his adoration as a leash to keep him securely within her reach. The unspoken agreement was that if he acted upon her every wish, then maybe someday she would return his affection.

Willie quickly sat up on the edge of his couch and turned down the volume of the television with a remote control. Striped boxer shorts bunched between his legs and a tight white T-shirt stretched around his belly. “Yes, I can talk. What's up?”

“Have you found someone to do it yet?”

“What's the rush? The guy I've got in mind won't get out of jail for at least three more months.”

“I don't have three months. It has to be done this Sunday.”

“This Sunday? Are you fucking crazy? How the hell am I going to find anyone to do it in less than a week?”

“If you can't handle it, then I'll find someone else who can.”

Willie rubbed his eyes and released a heavy sigh. “Wait a minute. I didn't say I couldn't do it. You just caught me off guard. Where do you want it done? Inside the house? A drive-by?”

“No. I want it done at church. Hezekiah always said he wanted to die in the pulpit. I want him killed this Sunday morning while he's giving the sermon. That's the least I can do for him.”

“Where the fuck am I going to find someone stupid enough to kill him in front of the whole damn church and broadcast live all over the fucking country?”

“I know of someone who I think will be perfect for the job.”

“Who?” Willie asked suspiciously.

“Virgil Jackson. He used to play drums for the youth choir. Now he's a crackhead living on the streets. He just got out of jail and I'm sure he's desperate. He bummed twenty dollars from Hezekiah this past Sunday.”

“Yeah, I know him but that's kind of close to home, don't you think?” Willie asked. “I don't know, Samantha. This seems unnecessarily risky. What if he gets caught?”

“That's why he's perfect. Hezekiah fired him a year ago, when he was caught trying to break into the church. That's what he was in jail for. People will think he was just settling a score.”

“What if—”

“No more ‘what-ifs.' Just talk to him and make sure he says yes and offer him enough money to leave Los Angeles permanently. I'll make sure the church balcony is empty. He can sneak up there at about eleven thirty. If he stays low behind the seats, no one will see him, and he'll be out of the range of the cameras up there.”

Unable to deny the woman he had loved for years, Willie responded, “I still say this is fucking crazy, but I'll talk to him.”

“Get back to me as soon as you've spoken to him,” Samantha concluded.

Samantha disconnected without saying good-bye. She took one final drag from a cigarette and dropped the almost extinguished butt into a tepid cup of tea.

Willie adjusted his body on the sofa to relieve the pinching from the tight boxers. He reached for his bottle of Mylanta sitting on a cluttered coffee table. Samantha's sudden need to speed up the murder of Hezekiah concerned him.

Why the rush now?
he thought.
We've planned this for almost a year, but now she wants it done within a week.
He worried that her haste would cause mistakes. His stomach growled as he tensed his body to force the release of a trapped air bubble. She had never been that terse with him before. In the past she had convinced him to do her bidding by dangling the hope of sex in front of him. This time, however, was different.

His thoughts continued to whirl.
If she could do this to her own husband, what would she do if I disappoint her?
Would she ever allow him to touch her, or was it just another game? He feared she would shun him and his life would change dramatically if he disappointed her. The source of much of his power in the city came largely from his relationship with her. She made him worth talking to. Her association with him prompted others to look past his portly and crass exterior and tolerate his company.

His mind turned to Hezekiah. The man who embodied everything Willie ever wanted in life: looks, wealth, fame and, most important, Samantha. Only Willie truly knew the depth of his hatred for Hezekiah Cleaveland.

His stomach continued to rumble after he drank the last of the medicine. He pictured Samantha running to him for comfort and protection after Hezekiah was gone. He would be her hero and those who laughed behind his back would then clamor for his attention.

T
he first time Danny had ever been in the church, and also the first time the two men had ever been alone together, had been one year earlier. Hezekiah had asked him to come by after he talked with the homeless woman near the church. Danny was nervous about speaking for the second time in one day with the pastor of New Testament Cathedral.

Danny sat with his backpack at his feet in Hezekiah's outer office. A dark-haired young woman opened envelopes at a desk near Hezekiah's door. Danny thought her face was exceptionally attractive for a church employee. After reading the content of a letter, she looked in Danny's direction and smiled.

“I'm sure he'll only be a few more minutes,” she said as her hands reached for the next envelope. “He's running behind schedule today.”

As he thumbed through a religious periodical, the door opened and three expensively dressed people walked out, with Hezekiah close behind. The first was a woman wearing a blue suit. She smiled from ear to ear as Hezekiah shook her hand. The two men accompanying her waited their turn to shake the pastor's hand.

“Thank you for your generous contributions,” Hezekiah said to the three. “I'm going to have my staff contact you to work out the details. It's good to know the corporate community is also concerned about spreading the gospel.”

“It's our pleasure. I only wish we could do more,” came the eager reply from the youngest man.

Hezekiah saw Danny as the three spouted their support. His mind became blank for the second time that day. Each lapse had been prompted by the sight of the attractive young man. The three executives assessed that their fifteen minutes of face time had expired and politely exited the room.

“It's Danny St. John, right?” Hezekiah asked without moving forward. “Thank you for stopping by. Please come in.”

“Pastor Cleaveland,” the receptionist reminded him, “your next appointment is on his way. You're running a little behind schedule.”

“This will only take a few minutes,” Hezekiah replied without removing his eyes from Danny.

Hezekiah sat with Danny in chairs in front of his desk. “So, did you have a chance to speak with that woman? What's her name? Is she mentally ill?” Hezekiah asked as Danny placed his backpack on the floor.

“I'm sorry, sir, but I can't say too much about her without breaching her confidentiality. As I said to you earlier, she refuses to accept any assistance. She said she makes enough money panhandling to survive without our help.”

“For God's sake, she's homeless. That's no way to live. Can't you at least talk her into going into a shelter?”

“I've tried. She thinks they're too dangerous. Her belongings were stolen a few years ago at a shelter. Now she refuses to go back. Women are exceptionally vulnerable in shelters, especially women with mental disorders. They often feel safer out in public, where there are other people around, and they can keep all their belongings with them.”

Hezekiah found himself lost once again in the melodic tone of Danny's voice. His full lips were forming words, but Hezekiah could hear only music.

Why does this kid have such an effect on me? Hezekiah thought. God, he's beautiful.

“Danny, what exactly is it that you do on the outreach team? It must be very difficult to see human misery on a daily basis.”

The intercom sounded before Danny could answer. “Pastor Cleaveland your four o'clock is here. He said he has a plane to catch in forty-five minutes and will only take a few minutes of your time.”

“Excuse me, Danny,” Hezekiah said as he picked up the telephone. “Why did he schedule a four o'clock appointment with me if he had a four forty-five flight? Tell him I'll be right out.”

Hezekiah returned his focus to Danny. “I'm sorry I have to cut this short, Danny.” The two men stood up and walked toward the door. Hezekiah put his hand on the doorknob. He hesitated for a moment and then said, “I've got a proposal for you. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd like to go with you one afternoon on your rounds.” The words escaped effortlessly from his mouth. “I'd like to see firsthand how people live on the streets.”

Danny raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. “I think you will be surprised if you've never seen it before. I'd be glad to take you around to a few shelters.”

“I've been to shelters before,” Hezekiah said. “No, I want to see where people live on the streets, under the freeways, in the parks. I'll put on some jeans, tennis shoes, and a baseball cap. No one will recognize me.”

“Sir, I think people would recognize you even if you went in drag.”

Hezekiah laughed out loud. “In drag? I won't go that far. I don't think my congregation would like that.”

“Well, they'd love it in West Hollywood,” Danny said, laughing along with Hezekiah.

“Maybe, but I think I'll stick with jeans. Do we have a date, then?” Hezekiah asked as his laughter subsided.

Danny picked up his backpack and shook Hezekiah's hand.

“Anytime you'd like, Pastor Cleaveland,” he said as the two walked to the door.

“Good, then. I'll have my secretary set it up. And, Danny?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please call me Hezekiah.”

 

It happened exactly one week after the first day they met. Hezekiah and Danny stood on a corner in skid row talking to a homeless man.

“Hey, ain't you Pastor Hezekiah Cleaveland?” the man said, tucking a half-empty beer can in his coat pocket. “What are you doing out here on skid row?”

“I came out with Danny so I could talk to homeless people like you and ask what more my church can do to help.”

The scraggly old man in dirty short pants struggled to his feet. “The first thing you can do is build more motherfucking—excuse my French, Reverend—more affordable housing. They're always full, so me and my buddies have to sleep out here in the streets like dogs.”

“When was the last time you stayed in a shelter?” Danny asked, goading the man to tell Hezekiah more.

“It's been months now. I gave up a long time ago. Every time I tried, some young son of a bitch would tell me they're all full. After a while you just get tired of trying.”

“You know it's illegal to sleep on the streets, don't you?” Hezekiah said, restraining his irritation with the wobbling vagrant.

“Hell yeah, I know. The fucking cops won't let me forget it, but where the hell else am I supposed to go?”

Hezekiah looked to Danny. “Can't you get him into a program somewhere?”

“I can certainly try, but he's right. The shelters are usually full.”

Hezekiah quickly grew impatient with the dirty man and his slurred speech.

“Danny, I should be getting back now,” he said, dismissing the vagabond's observations. “Sir, it was nice meeting you. Good luck and keep trying to get into a shelter. I'm sure something will eventually open up for you.”

As Danny and Hezekiah walked away and said, “That's my bus coming. I'm going to have to leave you now. I hope this has helped.”

Hezekiah looked up and spoke quickly. “My car is around the corner. Let me give you a ride home.”

Danny hesitated. “I'll be fine. I drove here too.”

“Please, Danny, it's the least I can do. You've been very kind to me.”

The ride to Danny's home was filled with animated conversation and laughter. Hezekiah sat cramped but inexplicably comfortable in the passenger seat of Danny's florescent orange 1973 Volkswagen Beetle as they hurled through the city streets. Danny skillfully shifted the grinding gears and the engine sputtered as Hezekiah's head jerked from side-to-side, back-and-forth with every shift of the transmission. After reaching Danny's apartment, they continued to talk for another fifteen minutes while the car engine was still running.

Danny finally said, “If we talk out here any longer I'm going to run out of gas. I'd better let you go.”

Hezekiah looked at this watch. “I have two hours before my next appointment. Would you mind if I hung out with you for a while longer? I can have my driver pick me up here in an hour or so.”

The floors of Danny's small apartment were covered with old rugs, dull from the afternoon sun. A burgundy couch from the local furniture outlet sat beneath arched windows looking onto the street. A computer sat on a large wooden desk which was covered with papers and open books. No art hung on the beige stucco walls.

A snow-white cat with one blue eye and one green greeted Danny as he and Hezekiah entered.

“This is Parker,” Danny said as he stooped down to rub Parker's back.

“Why did you name him Parker?” Hezekiah asked.

“I was on my way to the market one day and I saw him walking down Park Street. It was a hot day and the pavement was burning his paws. I came back home and couldn't get the poor little guy out of my mind. He was so cute and he looked so helpless. So I got a bottle of water and a bowl and went to look for him. He was still there and he's been my best buddy ever since.”

“From what I've seen today, that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“You've obviously dedicated your entire life to taking care of strays,” Hezekiah said gently. “I feel like we have that in common.”

“I would hardly call the members of your church ‘strays.' From what I've heard, your church is full of celebrities, professional athletes, doctors, and lawyers.”

“Some of them are, but not all. It doesn't matter how much money or education they have. That's not what I meant. People come to church because they are searching for something that money can't buy. Some are looking for peace, others for something larger than themselves to believe in. But the one thing they all have in common is they're looking for someone who cares about them, just like Parker and the homeless people you work with.”

“The difference between you and me is that I don't charge these people for my services and I'm not paid nearly as much as I assume you are.”

Hezekiah laughed. “Regardless of what you've heard, Danny, I don't charge either. People give to the church because the Bible instructs them to do so. I would still do exactly what I do even if no one ever gave me a dime.” His tone turned somber as he continued. “For some reason it's very important to me that you understand that I do what I do because I believe deeply in the message and the good it does for so many lonely and lost people. It's not about money, Danny. In that way I think we are very much alike. Does that make sense to you?”

“I didn't mean to offend you but I'm glad to hear you say that. I'll be honest with you. The Hezekiah Cleaveland I saw today is nothing like what I expected.”

Hezekiah laughed again. “I'm almost afraid to ask, but what were you expecting?”

“I thought you'd be the person I've seen on television. All smiles and spewing a string of quotable quotes from the Bible. But, instead, I saw a very kind and vulnerable man. I think you're searching for something yourself.”

“And what do you think that is?”

“I don't know yet. But I can see it in your eyes. I saw it the first day I met you on the street. There was something very sad about you that day. I kind of felt the same way about you as I did when I saw Parker for first time wandering the streets alone.”

Hezekiah did not respond. He, instead, walked to the sofa and stared out the arched windows at the traffic passing below.

Danny changed the subject. “What do you think of my place? It's not much, but it's home,” Danny said as he turned on the lights and laid his mail and keys on the cluttered but clean desk.

“It's very nice, Danny. It feels so comfortable and warm. It feels like a very loving and special person lives here.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“That would be nice, if it's not too much trouble,” Hezekiah replied.

Hezekiah felt strangely at ease in the little apartment, even though he had not been in a home that sparse in years. He sat down on the couch and thumbed through a magazine that lay on an old wooden coffee table.

“How do you take your coffee?” came a voice from the kitchen.

“Black is fine.”

In a few moments Danny returned with two large mugs and set them on the coffee table. He flopped down on the sofa at a respectable distance from the pastor.

“Do you live here alone?” Hezekiah asked.

“Yes. I had a roommate but he moved in with his boyfriend about a year ago.” Danny chose this route of subtle disclosure rather than directly declaring that he was gay.

They talked and laughed for thirty minutes when Hezekiah said, “I hope I'm not keeping you from anything. I know you must be tired after such a long day.”

“Not at all. I'm enjoying your company.”

As they spoke, Hezekiah looked at his watch. “I should leave. I really enjoyed this afternoon. It was the most relaxed I've felt in years.”

While saying the words, he squeezed Danny's hand tightly and looked intently into his eyes. They stood and studied each other's faces for silent moments. The exchange between their clasped hands and locked eyes spoke more than any words they could have spoke. For each, the extended gaze served as confirmation of their shared feelings. Then in a moment of mutual consent, they simultaneously pressed their bodies together and kissed long, deep, and hard. Hezekiah's soft, full lips enveloped Danny's mouth. The kiss was slow and passionate. Thoughts were shared with each breath they exchanged. Hezekiah took off his baseball cap and tossed it onto a nearby console without looking. His erection stretched the leg of his jeans as he probed the rear of Danny's faded army fatigues with one hand and pressed his face closer with the other.

They made love for the first time that afternoon. Hezekiah and Danny both knew that it would not be the last time they would be in each other's arms. Over the next year they had “coffee” together often.