Sinful Too (28 page)

A fog of reflection settled in after Dior realized she was in another deep pit of immorality, telling herself that she was purely going after what she wanted and how this was going to be different from all the seedy relationships she’d been involved in before. She winced when remembrance of the pain she’d caused other women came back like a swift backhand slap. The sting of getting in too deep paled in comparison to the thought of losing a good friend over her bad case of man-stealing blues.

Dior’s watch read nine thirty when she pulled her car into the parking lot behind Tangie’s apartment building east of downtown. She remained nestled in the driver’s seat until the nerve she’d searched for on the drive over actually found her. Still somewhat cloaked with the veil of apprehension, Dior knocked against Tangie’s door, wondering what her best and only friend felt about the lies she’d concealed and the married minister who kept her bed warm. Heavy-laden with reservations, Dior turned to leave just as she had arrived, with her tail tucked and head bowed. She cringed when someone approached the door from the inside of Tangie’s apartment.

“Dior? What are you doing here?” Tangie asked quietly through a narrow gap in the doorway. She clutched at the silk leopard-print robe when it fell open, then she looked over her shoulder before returning her attention to her latest visitor’s pitiful expression. “Uhhhh, you should have called first. But, since you didn’t, I guess you should come on in.”

Dior raised her head as if to thank Tangie for the invitation without actually having to say the words. She slinked inside, neglecting to notice that a number of candles burned throughout the living room. “I’m sorry for popping up like this, Tangie,” she offered finally. “I would have called but I didn’t want to risk you telling me no or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yeah, like you didn’t want me in your space no more. I hurt you today. I know that.” Suddenly, Dior peered around the room as if she’d just entered it. “What’s with all these candles? You got something nice coming by?”

“Uh-uh, I got something real nice on pause.”

“Ooh, my bad. I didn’t even think to . . . I should just go.” Dior took two steps toward the door. Tangie stopped her.

“Girl, stop trippin’. Cop a squat.” She motioned toward the tan leather love seat then tossed another glance at her closed bedroom door. “You look like a trainwreck about to happen and as much as I like other people’s drama, I can’t just sit and watch it go down. Yes, I was disappointed when I learned that the Richard you’d been putting in work with was Pastor Allamay. Yes, it hurt that you’d been so secretive about it too. Shoot, I’d even called myself getting mad about it but then I realized that you couldn’t tell me after I went on about married preachers being off-limits. I put you in a bad spot, making it nearly impossible to clue me in. Question is, what are you going to do about it now that the cat’s out of the bag?”

Dior chewed on her bottom lip while remaining silent as if she’d been reminded of her rights to do so. Eventually, her lips parted slowly. Before she had the chance to address Tangie’s worries, a half-naked stranger exited the bedroom wearing a bath towel snugly wrapped around his narrow waist. Dior was amply embarrassed but not nearly enough to turn away from the gorgeous hunk of bronze muscle whose patience had apparently worn about as thin as that bath towel. With both eyes affixed, she fought hard to keep her mouth closed. Dior was pleasantly surprised but even more so by the soured expression Tangie cast on the awkward situation.

“I know mama said she’d be right back, but it’s gonna take a bit longer than I thought,” Tangie said casually, as if that grown man was a child instead of six feet and two hundred pounds of dynamite. Dior’s eyes scaled his broad shoulders and toned thighs, then she gawked at Tangie. “Be a good boy, Derrick, and stay in the bedroom until mama is finished with grown-folks business.” When he pouted, she insisted on his obedience. “Go on now. I won’t be long. If I’m not there in five minutes, you can start without me.” As if their exchange wasn’t peculiar enough, Tangie dismissed him when he neglected to excuse himself. “Derrick, don’t make me have to tell you twice.”

Dior’s mouth fell open when the man retuned to the bedroom as instructed. “Tangie, you got to tell me where to get one of those. He’s fine and he minds too. Give me some dap on that.”

“Yep, every woman should have one.”

“What’s up with the role-play? The way you talked to him was crazy.”

“A crazy little thing called love,” she gushed. “Yeah, I met Derrick on the Internet. I cruised the Net for something different and there he was, advertising for a mother figure to help him sort out some abandonment issues. There I was looking for a man with a strong back, fully loaded and no strings attached.” She chuckled lightly as if she’d merely stumbled over a good pair of shoes on sale. “Why are you looking at me like that? Huh, what the problem is?”

“I’m guessing there isn’t one, at least not on your end.” Dior shook her head then stood with her purse in hand. “I just need to know that you and me are still cool?”

“Cool as a fan if you’d hurry and bounce up out of here,” she answered sheepishly. “Derrick ought to be good and worked up by now.”

“Whew, I bet he is. Why’ont I let you get back to that.”

“Goodbye would sound even better from the hallway.”

Dior laughed as Tangie rushed her off then hastily slammed the door. She caught the elevator going down, wearing a subtle smile and the assurance that Tangie had already moved on from her disappointment after learning of Dior’s relationship with Dr. Pastor Richard Allamay, PhD. Dior drove home, pondering whether Nadeen could manage to get over hers.

Twenty-six

Elbow Grease

A
t one in the morning, five full-length tour buses cruised down the interstate toward Louisiana. Richard played cards with some of the older men on the last bus, trying his hand at bid whist and spades. Phillip enjoyed the gospel music CD someone played on a portable boom box. Every so often, he took time to stand over Richard’s shoulder to heckle his skills as a gamesman. “Maybe you’d have better luck with the fellows up front rattling some bones,” Phillip chided. Richard took another look at his cards.

“I started out up front with the domino players and I didn’t have much luck up there either,” he joked, to a load of laughter from the other players. “I’m starting to hope one of the other buses has a Go Fishing tournament I can get in.” Richard’s partner snickered at his next move.

“With plays like that, don’t count on it, Brother Pastor. You might want to see if somebody brought a box of pickup sticks.” Richard bowed his head and laughed, just like one of the guys. Phillip took notice and smiled heartily. He’d missed that side of his best friend, easygoing and easier to fit into any situation without much jostling to speak of. Somewhere down the line, the business of spreading the Word got in the way of enjoying his calling. If there was an avenue for Richard to recapture his youthful attitude about life and make the best of the present, Phillip wanted desperately for him to find it. The past was a point in time to look back on and learn from. Tomorrow would provide for itself. Richard’s marriage and the success of M.E.G.A. resided within his ability to seize the moment and make it what he needed it to be. Richard was presently concerned with the cards he’d drawn and getting kicked off another game table. It seemed, for a time at least, Richard was not only living in the now but it agreed with him.

Sunshine peeked over the horizon as the New Orleans skyline came into view. The holy caravan eased along I-10 until morning drive-time traffic introduced it to gridlock. Many of the members stretched and yawned before lining up for the restrooms at the rear of the rented travel coaches. Nadeen, on the first bus with Mahalia and Roxanne, stared out of the window at the refurbished Superdome. She heard others whispering a similar sentiment to what she felt.
“That’s where all of those poor people had to go when no one came.”
A strange calm entered her heart as the entire contingency stopped talking altogether, as if a spell had come over them. Memories of bloated bodies floating down the city streets, corpses of loved ones rotting on sidewalks, and scores of babies crying in a sea of television cameras came to mind.

Mahalia left her seat two rows back to sit with her mother. She wasn’t surprised to find Roxanne nestled in Nadeen’s arms. “It still hurts like it happened yesterday, doesn’t it, Mama?” asked Mahalia, in a subdued tone.

“Yes, baby, yes it does. Yes it does.” As they inched closer to the downtown off-ramp Nadeen tried to turn her eyes away from the football stadium, once the toast of the town. Like a ghostly graveyard, it sat there beckoning to be gawked at and prayed over. No one could have imagined the tragedies to unfold after the levees broke and before order was restored. The magnificence of the Crescent City was tarnished, leaving millions the world over to question how the U.S. government allowed it to happen, then responded in a passive manner that rivaled its initial indifference.

Roxanne craned her neck to look over the seat. Shades of sadness were evident everywhere her wide eyes roamed. “Mommy, what’s happening to everybody?” she mumbled quietly. “It’s like a funeral or something.”

“Yes, Roxy, that’s it. It’s exactly like a funeral,” Nadeen answered. “A terrible flood killed a lot of people who lived here. Our friends are very sad because it didn’t have to be. They’re crying because it was.” Roxanne pressed her nose against the window as if she expected to see dead people.

“What if the flood comes back while we stay here, Mommy? Will people cry for us then?” Nadeen hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t out of the question because the Army Corps of Engineers had yet to sufficiently fortify the levees since the last hurricane dumped Lake Pontchartrain into the city basin. After giving it further thought, Nadeen hugged her youngest daughter extra tight.

“I hope they will, Roxy. That’d be nice if they did.” Mahalia placed her hand in Nadeen’s, then laid her head on her mother’s shoulder.

“I wish Daddy was here right now, I mean, on this bus with us,” she whined sorrowfully.

Nadeen fought off a swelling sigh pushing its way past her chest. “That’s funny. I was just thinking the same.” She had also spent several hours wishing Richard could become the man she fell in love with again. He stumbled, as some men do. Picking hisself up and walking the straight and narrow afterward, that’s what she needed to witness in order to close this chapter and await the next. Nadeen wasn’t good at lying to herself. Richard’s personally sponsored caravan to New Orleans wasn’t anything other than a prideful attempt at atoning for his affair by throwing money and goodwill at it. Nadeen almost laughed at herself for trying to erase Dior in the same manner, minus the goodwill of course. She couldn’t have cared less if Dior choked on a chicken bone and died on the spot. Nadeen couldn’t say much more for the way she felt about Richard after Dior made her confession at the clothing store. It was one thing to imagine her husband’s head buried in someone else’s lap. It was another entirely to be told how much he liked it.

Half an hour later, the caravan parked on the edge of the Ninth Ward, where remnants of flooding were the most profound. Richard stuck his head in each of the buses to make a short speech. He reminded church members to be strong for the people whose lives they planned on infusing with a dose of normalcy. “Church, we’ve come a long way to rebuild, not only houses but spirits. Keep in mind,” he added, “they’ve seen a number of groups come before us, many of them too saddened by what they’ve seen to do what was required. So, fix your faces and toughen up. A lot of folks are counting on that, including me.”

After the buses unloaded the passengers, they pulled away to deliver luggage to their hotel in the French Quarter. Richard paid for that too. He was happy to offer his faithful members’ muscle in an area beat down by circumstance and incompetence. Carlton Tatum sent a hundred gallons of paint, twenty boxes of nails, several slabs of lumber, and a dozen wheelbarrows at Richard’s behest. What lacked now was the sweat equity necessary to repair the damaged houses. Homeowners deserved to bask in a renewed hope; having a home with a face-lift was as good a way as any to get that ball rolling. Nearly three hundred and fifty men, women, and children gathered in the intersection, which was once submerged beneath filthy floodwater and desperate inhabitants trying to withstand the rising tide of death. During breakfast, the local minister welcomed the horde in attendance, prayed for a hard day’s work, and then thanked them for making the pilgrimage.

Soon after, the workers were separated into four groups. Richard headed a men’s only contingency that was responsible for stripping rotted wood from external surfaces and then hauling it to large metal Dumpsters provided by the city. Phillip was in charge of the carpentry team, which cut, sawed, and replaced the planks torn off by the first group. The painting brigade came in behind them, applying fresh coats to the wooden homes. Nadeen and Rose worked feverishly, organizing the women and children to make lunch boxes and coolers stocked with Gatorade and water. Like a well-oiled machine, they moved from house to house, stripping, hammering, and painting. By the end of the day, everyone met in the same intersection where they’d begun. Neighbors came from miles around to witness a faction of determined visitors make a grand display of helping others to heal.

One television news reporter on the scene pulled Richard aside on the heels of prayers and well-wishes from those they assisted. “I have with me Pastor Richard Allamay from the Methodist Episcopal Greater Apostolic Church in Dallas, Texas,” he said, beaming with a pleasant smile. “As you know, the city of New Orleans has experienced difficulties getting over the storm. There is a new mantra we’ve come to live by:
We are down but certainly not out.
Today there are blessings all around us. Over twenty homes have received much needed attention. If you didn’t know better, you’d be hard-pressed to believe this neighborhood was one of the hardest hit. Tell me, Pastor, what possessed you to bring all of this love and labor to our city?”