Heaven Forbid (2 page)

Stan eased up the privacy partition in the limo that had picked him up. The meeting he’d just had with Obadiah was at once invigorating and exhaustive. He loved spending time with this elder in the faith, loved sharing the Word with and learning from someone of Doctor Obadiah Brook’s caliber. Often, Stan didn’t feel on the same page with men his age, like KCCC’s pastor, Derrick Montgomery, or Mount Zion’s King Brook. True, they all preached from the same Bible and basically shared the same religious tenets, but whenever the talk turned personal, especially regarding the opposite sex, Stan shut down. How could these two virile men, who made love to their wives on the regular, understand what he was going through?

Stan smiled, remembering Obadiah’s comment about the only other Black Baptist minister in Palestine, Pastor Reginald Jenkins. The man was eighty if he was a day, which would have made him about forty when he took over First Baptist.
That would have made Doctor O around thirty during that time.
Stan remembered the snort and the frown that had flitted across Obadiah’s face before he covered it with his usually stern countenance. At one time, Obadiah had been a young man. It was the first time Stanley had given this fact any consideration. Maybe King Brook was more like his father than Stan realized.

Why am I thinking about that man’s past? Whatever happened forty years ago with him and Old Man Jenkins is none of my business.
Maybe not, but what happened to Stan almost forty years ago was haunting him more and more these days. He’d successfully shut out what started on that rainy day in April, and the chain of events that followed, for a very long time, decades, in fact.
Why are these memories coming back now?
But Stan knew why—it was because he’d come face-to-face with his past three months ago, when souls weren’t all that had gotten revived in Detroit.

Luke Wilkes, the pastor of Spread the Word Cathedral, Detroit’s newest megachurch referred to simply as the Cathedral, could barely contain his excitement. He’d been trying for months to get one of the city’s most prominent and richest politicians, Bryce Covington, to join the church’s board. And now it looked like that just might happen. During a casual conversation a month before, Luke had mentioned Stan Lee and the upcoming revival. Turns out Bryce Covington had heard of Stan Lee, was impressed with his ministry, and wanted to meet him. Luke was also talking to Stan about being a board member at-large. It would be wonderful to have either of these men’s counsel, particularly regarding the business and outreach aspects of the ministry, but if he could get both, Luke knew it would be quite the Cathedral coup. He was hoping this meeting would solidify these desires.

Luke’s assistant tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Pastor? Mr. Covington is on the line for you.” Luke excused himself from the elite gathering of people in his office to take the call confirming the city councilman’s attendance at the luncheon.

“Bryce, it’s Luke. Hope this call doesn’t mean you’re not coming.”

“To the contrary, Luke, I’m on my way. I just called to see if Stan had made it there yet. I’ll have only about ninety minutes before having to leave to catch a plane to D.C. Wanted to make sure my timing was right.”

“Your timing is perfect. Wish you could stay for the service.”

“I’ll be back to praise the Lord. In the meantime, make sure my office gets DVDs of these services.”

“Will do, brothah.”

“Appreciate that.”

“No problem, just come on through. We’re waiting.”

Twenty minutes later is when the world that Stan had carefully constructed over the past twenty-five years came crashing down on him. As soon as he saw Bryce’s face. As soon as he saw the man with whom he’d had his one and only homosexual encounter, the one and only time he’d truly been sexually satisfied.

“This is the surprise I told you about,” Luke had announced during introductions, proud that he could have a part in bringing together two such important men. “Stan, Bryce is a staunch supporter of the Cathedral and what we’re trying to do in the community. Bryce, Stan is one of the finest men of God—or of men period for that matter—that I know.”

After the luncheon, and the formal announcement that both Stan Lee and Bryce Covington would be joining the Cathedral’s overseer board, the two men found a moment to speak privately.

“Did you know I was coming?” was the first thing Stan said to this former friend and college roommate from two decades ago. Not “Hi,” “How are you doing?” “Kiss my ass” or “Hey, what’s up?” He wanted to know if he was the reason Bryce had shown up at church.

“It’s the only reason I’m here.” Bryce’s dark brown, almost black, pupils bore into Stan’s equally chocolate ones. Stan fought hard to maintain his composure as he stared at the man nicknamed PB—Pretty Boy—by those in the close-knit circle to which these men once belonged. Bryce had only gotten better-looking with age. His curly black hair was shorn almost to his head, but his eyelashes were just as long and thick as ever. A thin mustache framed his succulent lips, the bottom one larger than the top, just as Stan remembered. The faintest crow’s feet appeared around Bryce’s eyes, and the slightest wisps of gray brushed his temples. Stan’s heart skipped a beat, in spite of itself.

Stan turned away from the love he saw in Bryce’s eyes and found his voice. “I’m a long way from whatever you’re thinking,” he said, looking past Bryce to the group of men laughing on the other side of the large conference room. “What happened back then was a mistake, one I’ve not repeated. I’m married—”

“For the second time,” Bryce interrupted. “To Passion Lee, who used to be Passion Perkins. Before that, you were married to the talk show host Carla Chapman. You had two children with her and adopted her oldest child, a daughter.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “How in the world—”

“Don’t panic, Stanley. It’s not too hard these days. Besides, I’ve never forgotten you, have followed you off and on for years. Remember Eddie?”

“Eddie West?”
Of course,
Stan thought belatedly. Eddie, a successful attorney in Washington, D.C., and head deacon at a megachurch there, was the only man from those days with whom Stan had kept contact. He’d had no idea that Eddie and Bryce were also in touch. Stan never brought him up, and Eddie had never mentioned him either. So he had no way of knowing. Until now. “What do you want, Bryce?”

“You,” was Bryce’s immediate response. “I’ve never stopped loving you all these years. Never stopped hoping—”

“I’m a happily married man,” Stan said, even as Passion’s frowning face swam into his consciousness. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “A happily married,
heterosexual
man.” Stan threw a head nod at one of the preachers across the room who’d waved his good-bye. Determined to regain his composure, Stan forced himself to look Bryce dead in the eye. “Believe it or not, it’s good to see you, Bryce. I hope we can work together to benefit the kingdom and the citizens of this city. But that’s all we’ll do together, understand? If you exhibit one hint of impropriety with me, or ever bring up our past again, I’ll resign the seat I just accepted.”

“Damn,” Bryce whispered, his voice like silk, his demeanor unruffled. “Your forcefulness, that brute strength, is what always turned me on so much. You haven’t changed a bit.” He laughed loudly and held out his hand. Stan had no choice but to shake it because others had turned to see what was funny, as Bryce had intended. Stan pasted a smile on his face, even as he felt the jolt of electricity when the two touched palms. This long-ago lover then walked away, and after shaking a few more hands and thanking the host, Bryce left the room.

He left the room, but not Stan’s thoughts. Seeing Bryce again opened a door Stan had thought locked and bolted, with the key thrown away—a door that was created forty years ago, when Stan was eight years old. Since this surprise meeting with Bryce, Stan had begun doing things he hadn’t done since college, and he hadn’t been able to make love to Passion since he’d shaken Bryce’s hand. He thought he’d been delivered from this desire. Now Stan knew he had only been fooling himself….

“Doctor Lee? Doctor Lee?” The limo driver tapped on the partition, and after not getting a response had lowered the glass just enough to speak to his client. “We’re here at the condo, sir. Unless there’s somewhere else you’d like me to take you.”

Stan looked up at the well-lit complex with its stone architecture and neatly trimmed bushes. He’d been totally unaware of the passing scenery during the twenty minutes it had taken to get from the restaurant where he’d met Obadiah to the condominium that housed guest pastors. He nodded at the driver, and once the door opened, stepped out and took a deep breath of the cool evening air. Stan thought of his wife waiting inside the apartment and shook his head, as if doing so would rid him of the memory of Bryce and their shared history. If only it were that easy.

Nettie and Mama Max beamed from the back of the church. If this first night of revival was any indication, the month-long promotional campaign announcing this impromptu round of meetings was a success.

“The church hasn’t been this full since Nate left,” Nettie gushed.

“Those flyers the girls passed out did the trick,” Mama Max said, her thoughts slightly distracted as she eyed every person who walked through the door. “I knew putting Stanley’s face on the paper would draw these women to the pews like bees to honey.”

“Now you just go on, Mama Max. I’m sure these women have gathered to hear a good sermon and praise the Lord. No doubt it’s remembering his preaching skills from Nate’s anniversary celebration that has them flocking like flies to poop.”

“Uh-huh, and if you believe that, I’ve got some oceanfront land in Mississippi to sell you.” Nettie joined Mama Max in laughter. “That’s a handsome man if there ever was one,” Mama Max continued. “It’s such a shame that…”

Nettie quickly looked over at Mama Max. “Shame that what?”

“Nothing.” Mama Max shared almost everything with Nettie, but she would never dream of breaking a confidence. What Passion Lee had told her would go no further than the distance the words had traveled from Passion’s lips to Maxine’s ears.

Conversation dwindled as the two women watched the mostly female audience vie for the few remaining seats in the eight-hundred-seat sanctuary. In addition to the flyers, the Gospel Truth Church had bought air time on a couple of AM radio stations and cable channels in Dallas and had posted the news about Stan Lee’s guest minister appearance in the surrounding area’s local papers. Stan’s office had sent out an e-mail to all of their ministry partners in Texas, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Mississippi. Everyone intimately involved in the Gospel Truth ministry knew the importance of a full sanctuary every night of this five-night revival. Tithes and offerings had fled along with the saints running from Obadiah’s fire-and-brimstone teaching. Attendance had dropped almost fifty percent in three short months. A successful revival would ensure that the Gospel Truth bank account was saved right along with the saints’ 4souls. Failure was not an option, because not only was the mortgage late, but the insurance, utilities, and employee paychecks were also past due.

Thirty minutes later, a poised and confident Stan Lee took the pulpit, along with Obadiah and several associate and visiting members. Stan sat in the large middle chair. Its high back of intricately carved oak and its plush, deep blue velvet cushion held to the wood with solid-gold fasteners was a throne fit for the main speaker of God’s Word. He perused the crowd briefly before closing his eyes and resting his chin against strong, steepled fingers. As the choir neared the end of their song, Stan rose slowly from his seat, crossed the podium, and took the microphone, joining in effortlessly with his melodious baritone and singing the words to the song he requested, a song he hoped would prepare the palates of those attending the night’s service. “Lord, I want to be a Christian,” he sang, “in my heart.”

Passion Lee sat in the front row, between Nettie Thicke Johnson and Mama Max. She watched her husband as he orchestrated the setting, looking fine, fit, and fabulous in a tailored chocolate-brown suit that accentuated both his shoulders and his honeyed skin color. His face was clean-shaven, save for a neatly trimmed goatee that he’d grown at Passion’s suggestion. Six feet of manly muscle, his look was the epitome of a lover who could more than please, a man who could take you in his arms, place you up against the wall, and…Passion shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts. Stan hadn’t placed anything anywhere in way too long. Here she sat looking the part of happy first lady in her matching Lane Bryant chocolate-brown suit, wearing the diamond earrings and necklace Stan had given her for Christmas, wishing for a present that cost nothing—physical love from her man.

“First giving honor to God, who is the head of my life,” Stan began as the choir sat, “and to the esteemed man of God who leads this flock, the Reverend Doctor Obadiah Brook.” Doctor O nodded somberly. Stan continued in his acknowledgments of the ministers on the roster before turning his gaze toward Passion. His face lit up with a smile, and his eyes took on a bedroom quality. “Lastly, I’d like to acknowledge my wife, Passion Lee. Stand up, beloved.”

Beloved? Please. Bewildered maybe. Befuddled, yeah that’ll work. I wonder what these women looking at you with lust in their eyes would think if they knew you hadn’t screwed me in months. And you have the nerve to call me beloved? Like you mean it? I don’t think so.
No one looking would have guessed that these were the thoughts flitting through Passion’s mind as she dutifully stood, turned with a smile, and acknowledged the crowd before blowing a kiss at her husband.
Liar! Hypocrite!
She could barely keep the smile pasted on her face as Stan delved into the meat of his sermon: How To Be A Real Christian? Just Do It.

How about being a husband and just doing “it” to me?
Passion had a hard time not squirming through the sermon, as Stan admonished both single and married alike to take their minds off self and focus on God. She all but rolled her eyes when he suggested that married couples take a break from “physical pleasures” and seek God’s face. She thought she’d lose her dinner when he suggested that for the next thirty days, members of Gospel Truth focus on purifying their minds, hearts, and bodies. He promised those listening that if they were obedient to the words of God being delivered through His servant, then those willing to sacrifice could have a more abundant life.

“The wages of sin is death,” Stan admonished before softening his rebukes with a killer smile, “but the gift of God is eternal life. Sin is separation from God. When the devil gets in between you and what you know is right to do. But you are to put on your whole armor,” he espoused, prowling the pulpit like a panther searching for food, “so that you can withstand the evils of this day.” Passion watched as Stan left the pulpit, entered the aisles of the sanctuary, and began directly asking the congregants if they were willing to be true Christians.

“Yes,” one woman whispered, her eyes fixed on Stan’s luscious lips. “I will, I mean, I am.”

“What about you, sistah?” he asked another. “Are you ready to let your light shine for Jesus, to say no to the flesh and yes to God?”

The woman swallowed visibly before responding. “I’ll try,” she said in a soft voice.

“Woman of God, you’ve got to do more than try. You must have a made-up mind to live for God.” Stan knelt down until he was eye level with the woman, whose eyes were tearing up. “Will you do that? Will you do it for God, and for me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but he made sure the sincerity of his plea was captured in the microphone. “Because God has been too good to you, my beloved. He’s been too kind. He deserves the best that you can offer. Am I right?”

The woman nodded.

“Then…will you give it to Him?”

“Yes,” she said, whispering back, and then again with firm resolve. “Yes! Thank you, Jesus! Yes!” The woman continued to boohoo so loudly, she was finally escorted from the main sanctuary.

Stan continued in this way for more than ninety minutes, mixing stern mandates with humor and hiding criticism behind witticism. He interchanged twenty-dollar words with ones costing fifty cents, catering to both the learned and unlearned. When he’d worked up a sweat, he paused and dramatically took off his suit jacket, showing off a body that didn’t miss a meal or a workout. His sermon was punctuated by encouraging comments from the ministers in the pulpit, most on their feet as Stan built toward his finale.

“Teach the Word!” one exclaimed.

“Preach, Preacher!” Obadiah intoned, taking a couple steps toward Stan and swiping at him with a large, white handkerchief.

When Stan suggested women stop lying on their backs and start fighting on the Lord’s battlefield, two of the younger associate pastors jumped up and high-fived. The pianist and organist added their musical punctuations as Stan whipped the congregation into a spiritual frenzy. When he concluded his sermon, Stan received a word from the Lord to take up a special, purifying offering. He admonished listeners to not “tip” God, to leave their ones in their wallets and pull out Jackson, Grant, or Benjamin Franklin. The aisles clogged with guilt-ridden givers. Doctor O watched carefully as the baskets over-flowed with green. There was no doubt he’d enjoyed Stan’s sermon, but he was enjoying this impromptu giving frenzy even more. Doctor O smiled, his heart happy for two reasons—the size of tonight’s offering, and the unexpected sighting of the person who was even now smiling back at him from the back row.