The Eleventh Commandment (26 page)

T
he setting was the Gibson Amphitheatre located in Universal City and the place was standing room only. It was the final evening of the Sanctity of Sisterhood's autumn conference titled The Woman I Am and, as requested, the attendees had dressed in white. The tableau created was majestic, almost heavenly in its appearance, over six-thousand women singing and dancing before the Lord.

The guest moderator for the conference, a former first lady in Los Angeles and current talk show host, walked across the stage and grabbed the microphone. Her double-breasted white suit with big bold buttons and an oversized collar made quite the statement as she stood before the women and lifted her hands to the sky. “Praise Him, sisters,” Carla Chapman extolled as she walked back and forth. “He made you the woman that you are, and you are made in the image of the great I AM.” Her declaration caused another uproar in the crowd, one that D & C, Darius Crenshaw and Company, quickly punctuated with riffs on the keyboards, strings, and drums. Realizing that this was a time of worship, not words, Carla gave an almost imperceptible nod to Darius, who broke out in a song taken from Psalm 8.

Reactions varied throughout the arena. Some cried, some laughed, some simply raised their hands in adoration. Others sat in their seats and rocked. This was a personal moment between attendee and God, a time to reflect on what He had done, and why they should be thankful. Darius's baritone flitted among the praise, the instruments in one accord with the anointing. When the song ended, Carla waited until most had taken their seat and then again attempted to move forward in the service.

“Yes, His name is excellent,” she began, her voice naturally authoritative. “And since we are created in His image, so are we! As we discovered in this conference's sessions, it doesn't matter who you are or where you've been, what you've done or who has judged you. Your membership in the kingdom has deemed you excellent and whole before the almighty God. Oh, yes, sisters. Some of you don't believe it. But I stand here as a witness that He can take your feet out of the miry clay and set it upon a solid rock. What do I mean, you're asking? What is miry clay? That's just a fancy King James saying for dirt, y'all. Doing the dirty. Watching the dirty.” Various reactions from laughter to applause to shaking heads accompanied her statement. Still, others had looks that showed the listener seemed less than appreciative of what was being said. “I appreciate the applause, but not all of y'all are happy. Oh, I see the frowns and raised brows. And I know why. It's because y'all think I'm talking about you.” She paused, looking over the crowded space. “Well, news flash, baby. I'm talking about me! I was the sinner, a wretch undone. Hey! A promiscuous teenager who became an unwed mother, an adulterer when I thought I was way past that kind of sin. Yes, I may be pointing one finger out, but there are three that are pointing back at me, and—hallelujah!—I'm so thankful to know that I am not what I've done. I am all that I AM!”

This statement brought out a praise party that lasted several minutes.

When the audience calmed down once more, she continued. “We have a special treat for you as we bring this conference to a close, and we want you to tell all of your sisters who couldn't make it about the next major conference that will take place next August. Mark your calendars because you won't want to miss it. We're going to leave land behind, and our husbands”—Carla paused amid the snickers—“and set sail on one of the seven seas. That's right, saints. Our next conference will happen aboard a cruise ship and will feature some of the most powerful women of God in the country along with some of our finest praise and worshippers, including who we've been blessed to have in our midst this weekend—Darius Crenshaw and Company!” Darius smiled and bowed to the crowd to acknowledge their applause. When it subsided, Carla continued. “Once again I'd like to thank this year's cohost, Mrs. Vivian Montgomery, who pulled herself away from that fine husband long enough to talk to us about who we are in God.” Vivian smiled and waved. “I'd also like to thank Tai Brook who, while she couldn't be with us in person, contributed in spirit and in monies by funding yesterday's luncheon. Y'all, show Mrs. Tai Brook some love so that she'll see it on the DVD! Oh, and we can't forget her daughter, Princess Petersen. How about that workshop: Jesus Is My Boo; Let Him Be Your Boo Too. And Mamma Max!” Again, a nice round of applause was offered up by the attendees.

After thanking the other ladies who'd assisted with the conference, Carla motioned to the side of the stage. Out walked Hope and seven other women, also all dressed in white. “To close out this miniconference, I'm pleased to once again introduce Hope Taylor, back by popular demand, y'all, doing an encore of the praise dance to “In the Land of I Am.” Let's put our hands together for Hope Taylor and the Women Who Worship!”

Hope walked up to where Carla stood waiting as the other seven dancers spread across the stage. The sound of a Ricky Byars original masterpiece filled the room. The crowd was on their feet as the words delivered above African-inspired music filled the women's hearts and heads, reminding them of all that God is and because of being made in His image, of all that they were as well.

The conference ended and the conference speakers and cohosts prepared to go their separate ways. Vivian and Hope walked the short distance to their cars. “That was wonderful, Vivian. Thanks for asking me to participate. I'd never thought about it, but I loved speaking to and encouraging the women. It felt good.”

“They loved you, too,” Vivian replied. “Your topic, ‘I Am Hope,' was perfect! Your story gives them faith to believe that their dreams can come true, too. It was also good that you included the challenges that have come with marriage, especially to someone as desirable as your husband. It's good for women to see that we may live in big houses but we don't live on big pedestals. We have problems, challenges and issues the same as them. Your story showed them that. The DVD from your session is selling very well.”

“I'm thankful for that.”

“We're thankful for you. And I'm delighted that everything has worked out with your and Cy's situation. It takes a big woman to do what you've done; to not only embrace a former lover of your husband, but to help her get better.”

“It's not me, Lady Viv,” Hope said sincerely. “It's the God in me. He is the reason why I am who I am.”

“Y
our Aunt Gladean is a mess!” Darius and Bo had just returned to their Manhattan luxury hotel suite after a day of love, laughter, liquor, and good home cooking. Instead of the traditional fare, this island-born clan of Trinidadians had brought out chicken pelau, curried shrimp, zucchini corn bake, macaroni pie, callaloo, fish stew, plantains, peas and rice, and coconut bread pudding. At Darius's request, Bo's Aunt Gladean had also made what she called a yam pie. “I think I'm forever spoiled by her sweet-potato pie. I hadn't had any that tasted that good since my grandmother died.”

“Yeah, old girl can throw down, that's no joke!” Bo placed his pouch on the dining room table and proceeded to the bar, where he pulled out a bottle of Courvoisier. “You want some?”

“Just one finger; lots of ice.”

Bo nodded and yawned. “Lord have mercy, I love my family, but they wear me out!”

“I love them too. Growing up, I never experienced the type of environment that you took for granted. Grandma was superstrict and our house was literally a house of prayer—no music other than gospel allowed and even that was played low. No loud talking; I never remember her laughing out loud, you know, one of those good belly laughs like your Aunt Phyllis let loose all day.” Darius smiled; the memory alone felt that good. “I swear her laugh could be a prescription for depression.”

“And if that didn't work, her punch sure could!” Phyllis's punch was famous throughout their Queens neighborhood. A mixture of Hawaiian Punch, orange juice, lemons, and a blend of liquors known by her alone.

They walked from the dining room into the bedroom. Darius began undressing before they reached the room. “Man, I'm tired. That was the most fun I've had in a long time,” he said around a yawn. And DJ's been in heaven these past two days. He was knocked out, wasn't he?”

“Gonna be hard getting that boy to leave their house tomorrow. My sister's place has been like heaven for that only child.”

At this comment, Darius plopped down on the bed and perched himself up on his right elbow. “What are we going to do about that, baby? It's time for us to have another child, before DJ gets too big. Man, if Stacy had said yes, that would have been perfect !”

“Yeah.” Bo joined Darius on the bed, bringing their drinks with him. “It would have been nice if DJ's brother or sister could have had the same mother. But this visit back home has me thinking.” Bo paused and sipped his drink. “We've got a little Darius. I think we need a little Bo.”

Darius sat up, laughing as he did so. “Oh, Lawd, no. One of you on the planet is enough, man.” When Bo didn't join in on the joke, Darius sobered. “I'm sorry, baby. I thought you were playing. Do you really want a child of your own?”

“I know. I never thought I'd want that either. But DJ changed my life. I like that little boy like my own, and watching him laugh and play with all of his cousins got me thinking of how nice it would be to have my own seed, in the home, living with us. Maybe two.”

“Whoa, now wait a minute, baby. Don't forget our crazy schedule.”

“Hell, if Celine and Beyoncé and J. LO and all them heifahs can drop babies and keep it moving, we can too.”

“Ha!” They were silent, sipping their liquor. “Do you have a mother in mind?”

Having finished undressing, Bo climbed onto the bed and positioned himself so that he faced Darius. He lazily ran a finger up and down Darius's chocolate toned arm. “I've thought about it and I think that one of those surrogate agencies is the best way to go. You know, look through a catalog of women and their pedigrees like we're shopping for designer clothes, and pick the one that will give us our dream baby.”

“I was kidding earlier,” Darius whispered, leaning over and placing a kiss on Bo's waiting mouth. “I'd love to have a baby Bo.”

The lover's innocent touches and light kisses soon turned more amorous. Bodies touched and hands roamed, until Bo squeezed Darius's butt cheek and came in contact with the proof of prior anger. He began a journey along Darius's body, kissing every square inch of exposed flesh—arm, chest, stomach, hip, thigh. When he reached Darius's firm, round backside, he outlined the scar with his tongue, massaging the sensitive area just above his husband's buttocks as he did so.

“Ooh, baby, you know I'm ticklish there,” Darius said, after Bo had licked a particularly sensitive spot of Darius's lower anatomy. He returned to the scar, first licking and looking at it, really looking at it, for the first time.

“You know what, Dee? I think you need to get this scar tatted, memorialized. I don't mean to be funny, but, baby, this kinda looks like a bow. I think you should add an arrow and let me forever be immortalized on your ass.”

“Ha! You are such a nut!”

“No, I'm serious. Hold on, let me get my phone.” Soon, Darius was looking at the scar that remained from Bo's channeling Norman Bates in
Psycho,
when scissors instead of a knife punctured his soft flesh.

“You know what—it really does look like a bow. That's crazy. I've wanted to get a tattoo. I think this might be the time ... and the place.”

“Well, you know I'm down with that,” Bo said, making a show of rubbing the name “Darius” that was written in calligraphy across his lower back.

Darius outlined the name emblazoned across Bo's caramel toned body, skin that was baby smooth and blemish free, first with his finger. Then with his tongue. The lovers traveled familiar territory across each other's bodies, their mutual desire clearly evident by raised flagpoles pledging allegiance to each other.

“You know I love you, nut. I thank God for giving me you.” Darius positioned himself over his heartbeat, taunting, teasing, kissing his neck.

“Yes, and I love what the Lord made that's tickling my backside,” Bo replied sarcastically. “Now let's get this private party poppin'!”

C
y and Hope cuddled in the backseat of the town car that squired them around the snow-covered streets of Washington, DC. When the Taylors had suggested they wanted to spend some time alone with their grandchildren, they'd quickly taken them up on the offer. Cy had arranged a town car so that after taking in some of the historical landmarks, they'd meet Simeon and his date for some drinks at a jazz club and maybe even find a dance club where, as Cy put it, they could “bust some moves.”

The car crossed 14
^th
Street heading for Pennsylvania Avenue and within minutes they were passing 1600, the most famous address in the country. “It looks so imposing, almost majestic,” Hope said, as they took in the gargantuan Christmas tree in front of the stately, Hoban architecture that had been built more than two hundred years ago. The subdued lighting gave the building an intimate feel, yet power fairly oozed between the wrought-iron fence.

“Think our president and first lady are home?” Cy joked. “Think they'd mind if we came for a visit?”

“Naw,” Hope replied, nestling closer into Cy's warmth. “They're probably spending the holidays on some exotic island, or back in Hawaii.” They continued riding, passing the Washington monument, the Congressional office building and other famous landmarks. “Let's let them enjoy the holiday. I'm sure our dear president will call you when he comes to California.” Hope's comment was only partly in jest. Cy had met President Obama last year, at a pricey fund-raiser. Not one for celebrity photo ops, the picture of the two smiling men was proudly displayed on Cy's office wall.

“Ah, here's somebody calling with even more clout than the prez.” He tapped his phone's screen. “What's up, cousin?”

“Wondering where y'all are at?” Cy could tell that Simeon was already at the club; his voice was raised above the din.

“We're on our way.” Cy reached over and kissed Hope as he listened to Simeon. She kissed back, passionately. After listening to Simeon, he answered. “That sounds like a plan because, uh, there's something I need to do first too.” He finished up the call and then spoke to the driver. “Let's head uptown.”

The driver nodded.

Hope looked at Cy. “I thought the club was on U Street, where we were last night.” Cy smiled, looking like a brother with a secret that he wasn't ready to share. “Cy Anthony Taylor,” Hope said, in as stern a voice as she could muster with Cy's thumb playing a light symphony on the sensitive side of her arm. “What are you up to?”

“I'm not up yet,” he whispered, nibbling her ear in the process. “But that will all change in about ten minutes.”

Nine minutes and forty-five seconds later, they pulled up to the Mandarin Oriental in Washington, DC. This luxury chain had quickly become one of Cy's favorites, and he was more than happy to introduce it to his baby.

“Cy!” Hope looked out the window upon the opulent hotel entrance and the doorman already opening her door. “You told me they were sold out,” she whispered, smiling at the doorman and waiting for Cy to come to her side.

“It is,” Cy said, nodding at the doorman and placing a light hand at Hope's back. “But I've got connections. The president, remember?”

“Whatever, man,” Hope said, a squiggle forming at the core of her heat as Cy's hand made an almost imperceptible circular motion at the small of her back. She was duly impressed when they bypassed the check-in counter and headed straight to the elevators. “I see someone's been busy,” she said, as a bellman appeared from nowhere and accompanied them to their suite. “As you know, Thanksgiving night signals our start of the Christmas season. The present I wanted to give you tonight was best done out of the sight of my parents and our kids.”

Just as they were getting settled into the Oriental Suite, Hope's phone rang. She reached for it and immediately, her playful mood vanished.

Cy noticed immediately. “Who is it?”

Hope showed him the screen: Trisha Underwood.

“Just ignore it, baby,” Cy said. They'd already had the conversation with Trisha about not being able to continue the friendship, seeing that she was improving, and wishing her well. Especially now, since it appeared that she wouldn't be leaving this earth, not in the near future anyway, Cy had done so without feeling guilty. He sincerely felt that given the circumstances, he'd done everything that he could. “Whatever she wants can be said in a message. We can check it later on.”

Hope had different plans, as evidenced by her answering the call. “Hello, Trisha.” She pressed the speaker button.

“Hello, Hope! It's still Thanksgiving there so ...I hope you, Cy, and the children have had a happy one.”

“We did,” Hope replied. “And you?”

“It was great. My parents came over to Australia to spend time with me. That meant the world.”

“I'm sure it did.”

“Hope, hold on a minute.” There was a pause where the garbled sound of a man was heard in the background.

Is that Trisha's father?
Cy thought, telling himself to relax as a feeling of guilt surfaced, something that he'd sworn he'd gotten over. Why would he be suspicious of Trisha calling and wishing them a happy Thanksgiving? Especially since she'd called Hope? Obviously, she wasn't trying to be underhanded. “Hey, Trisha,” he said, to let her know they were on speakerphone.

“Cy! Please give a hug to your parents for me. I've thought of them often over the years; they were always so kind.”

“I will.”

Cy and Hope became silent then, waiting to hear the reason for Trisha's call. She quickly obliged them. “You're probably wondering why I'm calling.”

“Yes,” was Hope and Cy's simultaneous reply.

Trisha's laughter was genuine and heartfelt. “Well, since you guys indirectly played a huge part in what just happened, I wanted you to be the first to know.” During the next few seconds of silence, Cy's brain raced with possibilities and Hope held her breath. “I'm getting married!”

What!?
Cy and Hope looked at each other, stunned. Hope recovered first. “Congratulations, Trisha.”

Cy leaned toward Hope's phone. “Wow, Tricky, that was fast. Who is it? I mean, where did you meet him? How?”

“Maybe I can best clarify.” A deeply accented voice wafted over the phone.

Again Hope and Cy shared a simultaneous moment.
The doctor?

“Kendrick?” Cy's joy was genuine. “I mean, Dr. Adzikiwe.”

“No,” the man said. “My name is Allen Adzikiwe. I'm Kendrick's brother.”

“Allen,” Cy repeated, still shocked at this quick and unexpected turn of events. “Nice to meet you.”

Kendrick, who was with the recently engaged couple, joined the conversation. “They met when I invited Trisha to a family dinner. One look at each other and it was love at first sight!” After talking a bit longer, Kendrick and Allen extended the Taylors an invitation to the Adzikiwe-Underwood wedding, planned for Valentine's Day in Sydney, Australia, where Trisha now lived. Surprisingly, the Taylors found themselves saying yes. They'd been around for the beginning of this unbelievable turn of events—the search for a cure that turned into a love affair. It seemed only right that they'd be there for the ending.

Once Hope ended the call, Cy immediately took her hand and pulled her toward the closed bedroom door. “I think we should take full advantage of all of this love that's in the air.” He opened the door and smiled at Hope's gasp. The already beautifully appointed room was awash in lit candles, and there were several presents on the bed.

“Cy! What's all this?”

“Only one way to find out.”

She opened the first box and pulled out a lovely negligee. It was a powdery pink number with satin straps, a satin hem, and a gauzy, see-through material in between. She smiled, remembering the first time he'd bought her negligees, the ones she'd worn on her honeymoon. “Great taste as always, baby,” she said, kissing him softly on the mouth. “Can't wait to put this on.”

“Can't wait to see you in it.”

She reached for the second box, a smaller one containing a perfume bottle—shaped somewhat like a curvy woman, but with a flat bottom allowing the container to comfortably sit on a vanity. She tilted the label to read it in the subdued lighting. Tears came to her eyes as she read the single title: Hope. “You didn't,” she whispered, already unscrewing the cap to smell the essence inside the crystal decanter. It smelled divine: ylang ylang, vanilla, what smelled like a spice that Hope couldn't quite define, and a hint of cinnamon. She immediately tilted the bottle, but Cy grabbed it before the liquid spilled. “Here,” he murmured, his eyes darkening as he stared at Hope's chocolate skin. “Allow me.” He tilted the bottle and dabbed amounts of the custom-made cologne on Hope's wrists and temples. “I've got a few more places in mind,” Cy whispered. “Later.”

Hope sat on the bed and pulled the third box to her. She opened it, and smiled as she saw a smaller box. “What did you get me?” she asked. Cy shrugged. She opened another box, and another, three more times until she got to a box that was smaller than the others...and colored blue.
Tiffany!
“Cy, it's not even Christmas yet!”

“Doesn't matter. Since I get to enjoy my present every day.” He shrugged, “Maybe I got carried away, but you know I'm one of those rare brothers who loves to shop.”

“That you do,” she murmured as she slowly lifted the lid. “Oh, my goodness, Cy,” she exclaimed, pulling the modern-day mother's ring from the black velvet case. “It's stunning.” In lieu of the gems the setting astrologically called for, Cy used colored diamonds to tell the story of the family that he loved. “Everything is so gorgeous, so perfect,” Hope whispered, suddenly hot and ready for the only man she'd ever loved like this. “Thank you, baby. Thank you so much.”

“You're welcome, baby. Now, can I see you in your presents?”

“Absolutely!”

Within minutes, Hope was dressed in her signature cologne, the mother's ring, the silky negligee...and nothing else. The only thing Cy wore was his wedding band. They climbed onto the massive king-sized sleigh bed and after kissing her thoroughly, in a manner that almost took her breath away, he eased himself down to the bottom of the bed and sucked a freshly showered toe into his mouth. Hope moaned, having not known until she was married how sexy sucking this particular appendage could be. A soft moan was all it took for Cy to continue his journey upward, spending long, languid moments around and in her heat, his tongue parting and pushing, his teeth nibbling her nub, his mouth covering her paradise, giving her pleasure until she began to shake from the intensity of the oncoming orgasm, and her love of the man who'd once again showed her what an exceptional husband looked like.

Before she could catch her breath, Cy had raised himself over her, nudged apart her legs with his own, and entered her. Hope gasped at the incredibly delicious girth of him, a sound that was caught in Cy's mouth as he kissed her. Soon, his tongue mimicked his pelvic thrusts, before twirling with Hope's as they settled into a rhythm perfected over the past six years. With each thrust, memories of the confusion, insecurity, and friction that Trisha's reappearance had caused was replaced by the love, commitment, and honor expressed in their marriage vows. Cy's rhythm increased and before long, Hope felt the familiar buildup in her core, felt herself begin to shake with anticipation at her inevitable release. Cy soon joined her, a long hiss escaping from his lips as he released inside her. For the next several seconds, heavy breathing and rapid heartbeats were the only sounds.

Cy kissed Hope's nose before rolling off her. “That was delicious.”

“Simply scrumptious,” Hope agreed, nestling into his side. “Oh, no! What about Simeon? Aren't they waiting for us at the club?”

“Don't worry.” Cy wrapped his arms around Hope. “I told him that we'd take a rain check and do breakfast instead.”

“When did you tell him that?”

“Texted him when you were in the restroom.”

“Hmm, I see that you're full of surprises.”

“I knew that one round wouldn't be enough for us.” Hope laughed. He smiled and pulled her even closer. “I love you, Mrs. Taylor.”

“I love you, Mr. Taylor.”

They spent the rest of the night showing each other just how much.