I Say a Little Prayer (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I
t
was around 10
A.M
. and I was worried. Celia hadn’t come into the office, nor had she called, and this was not like her.

I picked up the phone and dialed her cell number. After a couple of rings, Celia answered. I was relieved and upset at the same time.

“Celia, where are you?”

“I’m at home. Didn’t you get my message?”

“What message?”

“I called your house early this morning and left you a message telling you I wasn’t feeling well,” Celia said.

I remembered my phone call from Grayson last night and turning off my ringer.

“What’s the matter?” I softened my voice.

There was a brief silence over the line.

“Celia, did you hear me? What’s wrong?”

“Female problems.”

Okay
, I thought.
She has stepped over the friendship-sharing line once again
.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked, praying that she wouldn’t ask me to pick up some type of feminine products.

“No, I’ll be all right. Is there anything you need for me to do from home? I have my laptop with me.”

“No, just take care of yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, but if you need to reach me, I’ll be here.”

“Cool.”

I pushed down the button without placing the receiver back and dialed my home number. When I heard my voice, I pressed the star key and then my secret code. The automated voice announced I had six messages.

The first message was from the previous night, another threat from Grayson: “I wonder what a God-fearing company like Wal-Mart would do if they found out they were doing business with a sodomite?” I quickly erased the message, wondering why this “good” Christian woman was worried about my sex life and, more important, how the fuck she knew about Wal-Mart.

The next call, time-stamped a couple of minutes later, was a hang-up that I assumed was Grayson.

There was a message from Jonathan asking for a couple of dollars so he could come and hear me sing. There was no mention of his family.

Next was a call from Vincent asking me if I would consider singing a solo at the Day of Absence service, and one from Pastor Kenneth inquiring about the contract. Finally, I heard Celia’s message. She sounded like she was crying. What was that about? She must have been sicker than she was telling me, I thought.

I hung up the phone and tried to return to the prose that I was working on for some new cards. But I couldn’t get two thoughts out of my mind. I wondered just how long Grayson Upchurch was going to harass me before I could no longer remain a southern gentleman. Obviously, Damien hadn’t told her everything about me, because I could be tougher on women than Skylar when I needed to be.

But Celia was another thing. It wasn’t the fact that she had called in sick that had me worried; nor was it her tears that didn’t sound like just female problems. I shook my head, pushing my concerns about the Upchurches and Celia aside as I turned back to my computer, determined to finish at least one card before the day was over. Maybe I could come up with a card just for Celia conveying how much her friendship meant to me.

The day ended with my completing two inspirational cards and a few lines on the personalized one for Celia. I tried to reach Skylar and invite him to dinner, but I got his answering machine. Just as I was getting ready to leave, Ms. Gladys stuck her head in the door and told me a Vincent Young was on the line for me.

“Thank you, Ms. Gladys. Did you talk to Celia today?”

“Just briefly. She told me she wasn’t feeling well, but I don’t know if I believe that.”

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“If I was a betting woman, which I’m not because gambling is unchristian-like, I’d say man problems.”

“You think so?”

“Let’s see how she acts tomorrow. You better take your call. I’ll lock up,” Ms. Gladys said.

“You have a nice evening.”

“You too, baby.”

When Ms. Gladys closed the door, I picked up the phone and sat back down.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Vincent. I was going to call you when I got home.”

“That’s cool. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to give you a little update on the Day of Absence. We have participants from over ten churches now. Only problem now is space. The hotel ballroom might not be big enough to hold everybody,” Vincent said.

“Have you thought of alternative spots?”

“Someone suggested we try one of the colleges at the AU center.”

“I hope you’re not thinking about Morehouse,” I said.

“Are you crazy? They would laugh us out of Atlanta,” Vincent said.

“What about doing an outside service at Centennial Park?” I suggested.

“Never know what the weather is going to be like even if we had tents. I’m going to check with the Fox and Civic Center, but they may be out of our budget. Have you decided if you’re going to be able to sing?”

“I talked to Pastor Kenneth and he called about the contract, so I know a decision is near.”

“I really hope you decide against singing there, Chauncey, not because I want you to sing at our service, but this Upchurch man and his wife really scare me. Did you see them on CNN last night?”

“They were on CNN?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“They have been arranging protests against some high schools in the Denver area that have Gay-Straight Alliance groups. They were talking about the need to save children from the gay agenda. It was just so sad to see supposedly educated black people sounding like such stupid haters. If I closed my eyes and just listened, I would have thought I was listening to some Klansmen. We need to show them that Atlanta ain’t that type of city.”

“Are you serious?” I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe Damien and his wife were going after young people.

“I wish it wasn’t so,” Vincent said.

“What would you do if I talked to Pastor Kenneth and was able to get him to reconsider having the Upchurches speak at Abundant Joy?” I asked. I really didn’t want to see Abundant Joy separated over this issue.

“I don’t think it could hurt. You know how I feel about Pastor Kenneth and Sister Vivian, but I think they like publicity and making money—they can rake in some serious cash from this concert. You know how he’s always talking about building a new church home.”

“So you think it’s about money?” I didn’t say it, but I doubted Vincent’s words. Pastor Kenneth had never seemed to be one of those money-hungry pastors. But then I thought about how happy he’d been the Sunday when all the gay people stuffed the offering plate.

“When it comes to a lot of these black preachers, it’s always about money, and with President Bush and his faith-based initiatives, well, that’s all Bush needed to get these ministers to sing his tune.”

“Can you give me forty-eight hours to give you an answer?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. I’ll give you a call.”

There was a small silence, and I wondered if we had been disconnected; then I heard Vincent’s voice once more. “Pray on it, Chauncey. God will send you the right answer,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

After my chat with Vincent, I knew tomorrow had to be decision day and I didn’t have one. So I did the one final thing that I knew would help. I turned off all the things in my house that made sounds. I turned off the television and stereo and unplugged the clocks. I went into the kitchen and the bathroom to make sure there was no water dripping. Then I turned off all the lights.

Finally, I stripped down to my birthday suit (I know that sounds crazy, but I felt purer when I prayed in the nude) and got on my knees on the right side of my bed. I began to pray.

“
Father, Lord God, I come to You in need of an answer. Father, first of all, I want to thank You for waking me up this morning and watching over me today. I thank You for all the blessings You’ve given me. My family, my friends, my business, and the gift of song. Father, You know I’ve had a lot on my mind the last couple of weeks, and I need some type of sign as to what You want me to do. I know I will always fall short in Your sight, but You know my heart and that I try. I want to sing the praises of Your love for me and all Your children. Father, do You want me to sing at the revival when You know I’m in conflict about the message Bishop Damien will bring and what it will do to my spirit? What it will do to my soul? Should I sing at the Day of Absence services, where people who believe and love You will be holding up Your name in praise?”

I paused, took a deep breath, and continued my prayer.
“Father, I know I don’t always do what I know You would want me to do, but I’m trying. I ask You for strength when I make the decision and to not look back. Wherever I end up on Sunday, God, I ask that You be with me, holding me. Father, please be with all the people who are involved and remind us that nothing that we do is important unless we put You first.

“Forgive me for my sins and thank You for Your blessings and thank You for loving me despite my faults. Amen.”

I stayed on my knees for a while longer, resting in the silence. I knew God was there; I knew he heard me. Finally, I climbed into bed, letting the softness of my sheets caress my naked body. I closed my eyes and waited for God and sleep to take over.

CHAPTER THIRTY

M
orning
dawned with a spitting rain, but at least I had my answer. It had come to me in a small voice. I got out of bed and called Pastor Kenneth’s secretary and made an appointment to see him that evening.

While I was dressing, I thought about the decision I’d made. It was still on my mind as I drove to the office. But when I opened my office door and heard Ms. Gladys singing, “
Jesus on the main line. Tell him what you want. Oh,”
I smiled even more.

“Good morning, Ms. Gladys. Is Celia in her office?”

“Not yet, but there is somebody in your office,” she said with a shrug.

“Who?” I quizzed.

“That girl,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What girl?”

“Celia’s friend.”

“Lontray?”

She slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose and stared at me over the top of them. Then she removed her glasses before she said, “Yeah,
her
,” losing her diction.

I walked toward my office wondering what Lontray was doing in my office and why Celia wasn’t in yet. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for another round of Lontray’s flirting.

When I walked into my office, Lontray was standing by the wall against the large window, studying my framed diplomas.

“So you got two degrees, huh? I knew you were a smart man,” she said.

“What’s good, Lontray?”

“I’m good.” She smiled. “When are you going to invite me to church again?”

“Where’s Celia?” I asked, ignoring the question about church.

“She’s at home. Have you seen her lately?”

“Not for a couple of days. Is this why you’re at my office so early this morning?”

“First of all, Celia don’t know I’m here, but I figured you’re a little more than just her boss. Even though she be frontin’, I think she is feelin’ you.”

Where is this coming from?
I wondered. My relationship with Celia had always been professional, and although I never felt the need to discuss my sexuality, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Celia knew at the very least that I was bisexual.

“My relationship with Celia is strictly professional,” I said.

“So you saying I might have a chance if I go out and get me a couple of degrees? I hear you can get them online now. Is that true?”

“I think so, but what’s going on with Celia?”

“What did she tell you?”

“She said something about female problems.”

“Hmmph. Whatever. Female problems my ass,” Lontray said as she rolled her eyes and took a seat in one of the chairs facing my desk.

“Then what’s wrong with her, Lontray? And speed it up, because I’ve got a busy day,” I said.

“You ain’t trying to get rid of me, are you? I think you be frontin’, too, and you really trying to git with this,” she said, motioning toward her upper body.

“Lontray!” I yelled. I didn’t have time to play her games today.

“Don’t be hollering at me. I just think you should know that Celia’s female problems are really Marvin problems.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Marvin be playing Ike Turner on her head,” she said, moving her hands as if she were playing a drum.

“He’s beating her?” This was my worst fear for any woman.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but yes,” Lontray said.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Hell, ever since she met the nigga. That’s why she left his ass in the first place, but then he started sweet-talking her. Then the nigga went off when he thought he had her back. I told her she was going to be a lifetime member in the battered women’s shelter if she didn’t leave that nigga alone.”

I moved toward the door, hoping Lontray would get the hint that I wanted her to leave.

“Thanks, Lontray. I’ll see what I can do.”

“If it was me, I would just call the po-po on the nigga. I know you a big dude yourself with all them muscles, but Marvin…that nigga bowed up, so I’d think twice before getting in the ring with him,” Lontray said.

She got up and started walking toward the door. Lontray opened it and then looked back at me and said, “You want my digits in case you need some backup?” Then she winked at me, but I didn’t respond. She gave me a final smile before she sashayed past Ms. Gladys’s desk and out of the office.

I waited until I was alone with Ms. Gladys before I shared what Lontray had told me. But Ms. Gladys didn’t seem a bit surprised.

“I told you it was man problems. You didn’t notice how Celia was wearing more makeup than she usually do a couple of weeks ago?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head and wondering what makeup had to do with this.

“That’s men folks for you. When I first started working here, I used to notice how Celia didn’t wear no makeup. She’s a real pretty girl, but all of us women, even the beauties, need a little help. A little lipstick and eye shadow ain’t never hurt nobody. I was beginning to wonder if she was one of them funny women, but I know Celia ain’t like that. You can tell that girl like her some men from the way she wear her skirts, and she told me she once paid twenty-five dollars for a pair of panties,” Ms. Gladys said. “What kind of craziness is that?”

“If it’s true and Marvin is hitting her, what do you think I should do?”

Ms. Gladys looked at me for a long moment, pulled her large black leather purse from under her desk, and said, “You don’t need to do nothing. This is Mama’s work. I’ll take care of Miss Celia.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That will be between Celia and me, but I will need the rest of the morning off. You can manage on your own for a couple hours, can’t you?”

“Yes, I think I can. I have a meeting with my pastor tonight, so I’ll be fine.”

“Well, you tell that preacher man to pray for our girl Celia. It’s hard getting a bad man out of your system so a good one can come in.”

I started to tell Ms. Gladys, “I hear ya talking,” but I only said, “Okay.”