When Sunday Comes Again (18 page)

Read When Sunday Comes Again Online

Authors: Terry E. Hill

Tags: #Fiction, #African American, #General, #Urban

BOOK: When Sunday Comes Again
9.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
After the third and final ring Samantha pressed the
TALK
button. “Hello,” she said curtly.
No one responded.
“Hello,” she said again.
She could now hear someone breathing on the line. “Who is this?” she said cautiously.
The breathing continued. Not heavy like the precursor to an obscene call, but natural breaths.
“Jasmine, is that you? Where are you?” she said, growing irritated.
After a moment's silence she heard, “Is this Samantha Cleaveland?”
“Who is this? How did you get this number?” Samantha asked, furious at the idea of having to change her private number again.
“I'll ask the questions,” came the breathy response. “Is this Samantha Cleaveland?”
Samantha removed the phone from her ear and pressed the
DISCONNECT
button. The phone rang again before she could return it to her purse.
NO CALLER ID,
glowed from the screen again. Samantha dropped the phone in her purse. After the third ring there was a pause, and then it started again.
The Escalade pulled into the artificially lit circular drive of the restaurant. Yellow lights positioned on the ground shone up on palm trees and dense shrubs encircled by the driveway. Women in sleek summer dresses and glittering jewelry stood near the edge of the driveway with their black-suited escorts, waiting for red-vested valets to retrieve Bentleys, Maseratis, and Ferraris.
The phone rang again as Dino slowly rolled toward the drop-off point. Samantha snatched the phone from her purse and asked, “Who is this?”
“Hang up on me again and you'll regret it,” came the breathy reply. “Now answer my question. Is this Samantha Cleaveland?”
“Yes, it is,” she said calmly. “What do you want?”
Samantha heard a tap on the window. She didn't unlock the door. Dino knew not to disturb her if she did not respond to his tap. Instead, he stood at the ready by her door, in front of the main walkway to the restaurant entrance. Other patrons looked discreetly from the corners of their eyes to see who would emerge from the car guarded by the hulking man. Was it a rapper perhaps, or maybe a movie star?
“I know about Danny,” the voice said, waiting for a reaction.
“Who is Danny?” she asked impatiently.
“I think you mean, who was sleeping with Danny? And we both know what the answer is. Pastor Cleaveland.”
“Look, whoever you are, I don't have time for this bullshit. Either get to the point or I'm hanging up and calling the police,” she said.
“Such a filthy mouth for a pastor,” the caller said sarcastically. “Did you suck your husband's holy dick with that mouth? I know Danny did with his.”
“I'm hanging up. Don't call me again, or I will call the police.”
“If you hang up this phone,” the voice said urgently, “I'll be forced to turn over evidence to the press that shows before your loving husband died, he was in love with a very handsome young man.”
Samantha leaned forward in the seat. “What evidence?” she said. “You're crazy. My husband wasn't gay.”
“To start, I've got a stack of e-mails full of language so graphic, it would make even you blush. There's some in there that even prove you knew about it.”
“You're lying.”
“Don't call me a liar again, bitch, or this time next week you and your dead husband will be on the cover of every tabloid in the country,” the voice said angrily.
“How dare you threaten me? I just buried my husband. What kind of monster are you?”
“You can save the grieving widow routine for your Sunday morning sermon. I know you were glad to get rid of him. His dick almost cost you millions. I wouldn't be surprised if you had something to do with his death yourself.”
Samantha froze after hearing the last words. With lightning speed and cold logic, she weighed the cost of either revelation surfacing in public and decided she could not risk even the rumors being discussed.
“What do you want from me?”
“Now, that's what I like, a woman who knows when she's been screwed.”
“There's no need to be vulgar,” Samantha said coolly.
“You're not in a position to preach to me. In this relationship I'm the preacher. You do what I say. Got it?”
Samantha was silent. During the conversation the well-heeled patrons in front of the restaurant came and went, many without benefit of seeing who occupied the black Escalade. Dino stood firmly at the rear door, unfazed by the irritated valets, who were forced to maneuver around the car in the narrow drive.
“I want one million dollars, cash. You have seventy-two hours to make it happen. That gives you until Saturday night to come up with the money.”
“A million dollars, you're out of your mind,” she said.
“Maybe I am. Then I guess I should hang up and let Gideon Truman decide if I'm crazy.”
“No, wait,” Samantha said quickly. “Don't hang up. I don't have that kind of money.”
“Bullshit,” the caller said loudly. “You collect three times that much every Sunday morning. Why don't you take up a special offering this Sunday? Tell them it's for your favorite charity.”
“There is no way I can come up with that much cash on such short notice.”
“Every time you lie to me, the price goes up five hundred thousand. It's now one-point-five million.”
“You can't prove any of this. My husband was not gay,” Samantha said emphatically.
“Two million,” the voice said calmly.
Samantha paused to regain her composure. “What will you give me in return?” she finally asked.
“My word that you will never hear from me again,” the voice said sincerely.
Samantha scoffed. “The word of a blackmailer . . .”
“I prefer to think of myself as a keeper of secrets.”
“I'll need more time,” Samantha said hesitantly.
“You don't have more time. I will call you in two days with instructions. If you contact the police, I will immediately send copies of every e-mail in my possession to all the major news outlets in the country. I know this all sounds like such a cliché, but trust me, Samantha, this is real life,” the voice said with a slight chuckle and disconnected the line.
Samantha sat momentarily dazed. She could see Dino through the darkly tinted window. The cell phone was still warm in her hand.
Two million dollars,
she thought.
I'll kill the son of a bitch before I give him two million dollars.
Samantha released the lock, and on cue Dino opened the door. Her slender calf emerged from the rear of the vehicle. The curiosity of the onlookers waiting for their cars to be brought around was fully satisfied as the beautiful woman emerged from the rear of the vehicle. The heels of her Dolce & Gabbana brown suede pumps gently clicked on the cobblestone path as she walked under a long green awning toward the glass double door entrance. The brown silk dress she wore flowed like water around her thighs as she made her way through the bedazzled onlookers.
Even for those few in the crowd who didn't know exactly who she was, her carriage, her stunning beauty, the exquisite liquid dress, and the sparkling diamonds that encircled her wrist immediately elevated her in their eyes to the status of celebrity. Samantha hated making eye contact with empty faces in a crowd, and tonight was no exception. She ignored the awestruck gasps and such whispers as “That's Samantha Cleaveland,” from envy-stricken women and such replies as “My God, she's stunning,” from their ogling male companions.
She was greeted by the tuxedo-wearing owner of the restaurant, who eagerly swung the doors open to welcome her. “Good evening, Pastor Cleaveland. We're so pleased you decided to dine with us this evening. I am so sorry for your loss. He was a very good man.”
Samantha extended her down-turned hand, which the well-dressed man lifted and kissed gently. “Your dinner companion is waiting for you at our best table in the house. Please follow me,” he said with his most impressive French accent.
Samantha, however, was not impressed. The words
two million dollars
continued to ring in her four-carat-diamond-studded ears. As she made her way through the restaurant behind the owner, other diners craned to see her entrance. Samantha raised the bar in the restaurant, which catered to the city's wealthiest and most beautiful citizens. Conversations paused as she walked by. The nibbling of escargot, foie gras, and Almas caviar stopped mid-chew when her presence was felt seconds before she was seen. Everyone felt someone important had entered the building. If she had been the wind, the room's temperature would have dropped twenty degrees, tables would have been toppled, and freshly coiffed hair would have been left in ruins.
Victoria stood as Samantha approached. She wore a tight-fitting cream pantsuit. Her signature diamond broach shaped like a butterfly twinkled on her lapel. One hand was still gloved in sleek buttery-cream-colored leather.
The owner stepped to one side and, with a sweep of his hand, presented to Samantha a perfectly appointed table filled with crystal, silver, and white linens. A single candle flicked in the center. He waited patiently behind a chair he positioned for Samantha as the two women exchanged air kisses.
“
Bon appétit
, ladies,” said the owner, who was honored to be dismissed by Samantha.
Before the women could settle into their comfortable chairs, a tall man with a chiseled face and wavy black locks tucked behind his ears approached. “Good evening, ladies. I am Rancor, your sommelier.”
“I don't care who you are, handsome,” Victoria snapped. ”I've been sitting at this damn table for the last ten minutes with nothing to drink. Bring us a bottle of nineteen-sixty-six Dom Pérignon.”
“I thought you were trying to cut back,” Samantha said.
“I am, dear. I'm only having one bottle tonight,” Victoria replied, removing the last glove. “Don't start lecturing me again, girl. I'm a grown-ass woman.”
“I know you are. I wasn't lecturing, just asking.”
The sommelier vanished, unnoticed by the women. Word slowly spread through the gold-lit dining room as to who the two beautiful women were.
“Who is the woman dining with Pastor Samantha Cleaveland?” a man in a party of six at a nearby table asked his waiter.
The waiter bent down. “That is Victoria Johnson,” he whispered. “Her husband is the pastor of another mega church.”
“I must find out who Samantha's designer is,” a stylishly dressed French woman at another table said to her tanned and toned husband. “That dress is fabulous.”
“Oh shit, I'm sorry, honey. I forgot about Hezekiah,” Victoria said loudly, causing even more heads to turn. “I haven't seen you since the funeral. So you finally went ahead and did it?” she said, laughing.
Samantha leaned in and looked at her hard. “Keep your voice down. What do you mean, did it?”
“Killed that prick. I didn't think you had it in you, girl. I told you to break his legs, not kill him.” Victoria laughed out loud again. “Where is that gay-ass waiter with my champagne?” she said, craning her neck, which caused the diamond butterfly on her lapel to flicker in the candlelight. “At least you know he won't be fucking around on you anymore.”
Samantha's hand trembled slightly. “That isn't very funny, Victoria. You know I didn't kill him,” she said angrily.
“Calm down, girl. I was only joking,” Victoria said, reaching across the table to touch Samantha's trembling hand. “Sammy, what is wrong with you? You're shaking. Are you all right?”
At that moment the sommelier arrived, placing a pedestaled ice bucket next to the table. Victoria reached for the crystal flute before he could fill it completely.
“That's enough, thank you,” she said curtly. “What do you think I am? A drunk?”
“No, ma'am. I'm sorry. Your waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy your meal.”
Victoria took a long sip and continued. “Now, what is going on with you? I know this isn't about Hezekiah. Shit, I wish some crackhead would kill Richard. Hell, I'd pay him myself.”
Samantha was silent and took a sip of champagne.
“Come on, girl. I don't like seeing you like this. Did I upset you with my big mouth?” Victoria said softly. “You know better than to take me too seriously.”
“No, no, it's not that. I just got a frightening telephone call on the way here.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know,” Samantha said.
“What was it about?”

Other books

If I Should Die by Hilary Norman
Private Passions by Jami Alden
The Island of Doves by Kelly O'Connor McNees
The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer
Infinite Sky by Cj Flood