A Preacher's Passion (19 page)

Lavon was trying to move on, as Carla had requested, yet again. “I have to deny myself,” she’d told him, “and put God and my family first.” It was proving to be the hardest move he’d ever made.

Against his better judgment, and at another of Carla’s suggestions, he’d reconnected with Passion. Unlike the hard road away from Carla, the road to Passion had been relatively easy. A couple of e-mails and a phone call saying he was an available man melted the iciness he first encountered. He should have been grateful. Passion was a good woman. She just wasn’t Carla.

He wasn’t surprised to see her number on the caller ID when his phone rang.

“Hey, Lavon, check this out. I’ve got two tickets to the sold out concert to see Lauryn Hill!”

“Lauryn Hill? I didn’t even know she was still performing.”

“Only rarely. It’s a benefit to raise money and awareness about the civil war in Darfur. Speech from Arrested Development, Ziggy Marley and some other groups are performing too. It’s at a small venue so the tickets sold quickly. It should be pretty cool.”

“You surprise me, Passion. I never took you for the conscious type.”

Hopefully you’ll get a chance to learn that there are many sides to me, Lavon.
“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes,” he responded, her enthusiasm making him smile in spite of himself.

“Perfect,” Passion said. “I’ll pick you up.” She felt if things went her way, she’d drop him back off in the morning.

“Let’s meet at the concert,” Lavon suggested, not wanting Passion to know where he lived. Finally giving her his home number was enough. He didn’t want her to get carried away. He knew Passion had high hopes for their future. But he intended this journey to be a conservative one: no intimate house visits and no sex until he was totally over the first lady.

Several hours later, Lavon and Passion were among the throng of satisfied music lovers leaving the concert hall.

“That was one of the best concerts I’ve ever attended,” Passion gushed. “But the footage they showed of what is going on in Africa…that’s just wrong.”

“I always say no matter how jacked up America is, it’s still the best country in the world,” Lavon responded.

“And the richest, which is why we should be taking the troops out of Iraq and sending them to Darfur, where some mess is really going down. Stop fighting that senseless war.”

Lavon was surprised at Passion’s passion. “That film really got to you, huh?”

“I’m sorry. I just hate to see such injustice in the world.”

Lavon and Passion continued their discussion as they walked toward the parking lot, even as other thoughts crowded into Lavon’s consciousness. “Where are you parked, Car—uh, Passion.”
Shoot,
he thought, immediately realizing his error.

Passion ignored what Lavon almost said. “I’m on the lower level. What about you?”

“I’m up top. But I’ll walk you to your car.”

“It’s still early. Why don’t we go grab a bite somewhere.”

“Another time, maybe? It’s been a long week. I’m wiped.”

“Okay,” Passion said, not trying to hide her disappointment. “Another time.”

Lavon walked Passion to her car, gave her a quick peck on the cheek before heading to his.

Passion sat idling on Ventura Boulevard, warring with what to do. She wasn’t ready for the evening to end, and had sat for five minutes, cell phone in hand, wanting to call Lavon and change his mind. Common sense won out.
I don’t want to come off desperate.
She put on her blinker to ease back into traffic and checked her side mirror just as Lavon’s car went by. Without thinking twice, she pulled out two cars behind him, hot on his trail. Maybe it was time for a house call after all.

After a couple lights, Passion’s foot eased off the gas pedal.
What am I doing?
Was it a good idea to surprise Lavon at home? No, she reasoned, that might be relationship suicide.
I’ll just see where he lives and keep going; and then wait until I get invited over.

Several turns and ten minutes later, Lavon turned off Ventura Boulevard and onto a side street. Passion slowed so Lavon wouldn’t see her car and eased to the corner just as Lavon parked his car a few houses down. She turned off her headlights and put her car in park, ready to drive home as soon as she saw exactly where he lived.

Lavon sat in his car, not looking forward to going into his empty house. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it. He had to hear Carla’s voice before going to bed.

“Hey, baby,” he said when Carla answered on the first ring. “I had to call you. I want to see you so badly.”

“Then turn around,” Carla responded. “I’m right here.”

Lavon’s head jerked around. There on the street behind him was Carla in her black Mercedes sedan. Lavon hopped out of the car, walked quickly to Carla’s door, opened it, pulled her out and twirled her in his arms. He put her down and kissed her under the streetlight. They embraced for a long moment.

“Baby, my sweet honey pot, what are you doing here? Is this a dream? I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

“I know I shouldn’t have come but I had a meeting over this way and when I saw your exit, I just had to come by, see how you’re doing. I don’t trust myself to stay more than five minutes, which is probably five minutes too long.”

“I’ll be good,” Lavon said. And he meant it. He wouldn’t try and seduce her; just seeing her was enough. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, girl. Let’s have dinner, in a public place, just to catch up. More than anything, I miss our friendship, Carla. I miss you!”

“I miss you too, Lavon. Maybe one cup of coffee wouldn’t be so bad, in a public place. Just let me use your restroom first.”

They held hands and smiled like teenagers as they walked into Lavon’s house.

Passion’s hand shook as she viewed the last of the pictures she’d taken with her cell phone camera. The images were far away and dark, but she believed if blown up, there would be no mistaking hotshot producer Lavon Chapman and Logos Word Pastor Carla Lee laughing, kissing, and embracing.

Passion made a U-turn and headed toward the 405 freeway. What she saw had made her numb. She didn’t know what to do. Lavon had said he was a free man. Why couldn’t Carla stay her married ass away from him!
But maybe he called her
. Maybe he initiated the meeting. Passion didn’t know where to direct her anger, but she had enough “pissed off” for the both of them.

Her thoughts were jumbled, going a mile a minute. Should she confront Carla again? Confront Lavon? Should she turn back around and confront them now, together, at Lavon’s house? Should she take the pictures to Dr. Lee and expose his adulterous wife?

Passion didn’t know what to do and so decided, at least for the night, to do nothing. Instead, she pulled into a Louisiana Fried Chicken and ordered a three piece, a two piece, three sides and two slices of 7 Up cake. She called her parents and told them she was on her way to get Onyx. Lavon might be busy, but her daughter always had time for her. For tonight, she’d let the unconditional love of a child sustain her.

“It’s nice, huh, baby?” Kelvin said, as he and Princess strolled down the avenue in Westwood. The Christmas lights twinkled against the pavement made damp by the earlier rain.

“It’s okay,” Princess replied. “But nothing like the Plaza.”

“The Plaza?”

“Yeah, it’s this place back home where they outline every single building in lights, for blocks and blocks. Our family used to go there sometimes for the lighting ceremony on Thanksgiving night. We’d park our car and find the perfect spot to watch the sky light up. Then we’d go for ice cream, and watch Mama and Daddy look all googoo eyed at each other. That’s if it was one of their good years.”

“And if it was one of their bad ones?”

“Then Daddy would be replaced by Mama Max, who was even more fun because she’d always buy us big tins of popcorn to take home: cheese, caramel, and cinnamon. That was mainly when we were little though. We didn’t go this year…” Princess’s voice trailed off.

“You know you miss your moms. You should call her.”

“But I’m not because whenever I do, she tries to get all up in my business.” Princess sulked. “Gets on my nerves.”

Kelvin remained silent as they got in the car, buckled up, and started for home.

“Have you told her about the invite yet?”

“Not exactly. I told her I was spending the holidays with Joni’s family.”

Princess was beyond excited at Kelvin’s mother’s invitation to join their family in Germany for the Christmas holidays, all expenses paid. Of course she’d said yes. While her choice to stay with Kelvin despite her parents’ objections had brought her closer to him, their relationship was still a rocky road to navigate. Princess kept hearing rumors about other women, and Brandy and Sandy, known on campus as the twin tramps, always smirked at her when they walked by. When Princess asked Kelvin about it, he’d delivered his standard “you my girl, why you trippin’?” line.

Unfortunately, she also had a growing dependency on drugs and alcohol, and a lifestyle vastly different from the one she’d left in Kansas. Recently, after a night of ecstasy and vodka, she and Joni agreed to swap boyfriends. That was after Brandon and Kelvin had convinced them to kiss and fondle each other. Whenever a niggling voice entered her conscience and reminded her of the girl she once was, she popped another pill, lit another blunt, or poured another glass. Then she’d look at Kelvin and remember what a lucky girl she was. She had the BMOC: big man on campus. What more could she ask for?

“You’ve got your passport, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why are you sounding all scared and stuff?”

“’Cause, I’ve never been out of the country before.”
And I’ve never spent Christmas without Mama, Daddy, Michael, Timothy, Tabitha, Grandma, Grandpa…

“You’re gonna love Germany,” Kelvin said. “
Es ist ein schönes land
.” His comment on the country’s beauty was lost on his girlfriend. “Princess, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“What, it’s raining in the car, on your face?”

This comment elicited a smile.

“What’s wrong with my baby?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been feeling yucky lately. Maybe my period’s coming.”

“Well, in that case,” Kelvin said, leaning over and kissing her after he’d parked in front of their condo, “we’d better get inside and get busy! Brandon probably copped some of the good stuff for us.”

“I don’t feel like getting high,” Princess said as they walked up the steps.

Kelvin embraced her from behind, with a hand on her crotch. “Well, do you feel like me going low?”

“Stop it, silly boy.”

“Yeah, and you love every inch of me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Princess responded. But she couldn’t disagree.

“Her name is Robin Cook. Last known address: Fremont Avenue in Tampa, Florida. Last residential address, that is. She got out of prison here six months ago after serving a year and a half for identity theft and credit card fraud. Before that, there was a restraining order placed against her by”—the administrator looked down at his notepad—“Kingdom Citizens’ Christian Center and a Mrs. Vivian Montgomery, the wife of some big-time preacher. That’s how her prints came up.

“There was nothing found regarding family, friends, either in Florida or here. Outside of the criminal information, it’s almost like Ms. Cook didn’t exist.”

“After that accident, it’s amazing she exists now,” the doctor answered. “She’s had reconstructive surgery due to the extensive cuts and burns on her face and several operations to repair damage to internal organs. But in another month or so we can get her over to the psych unit, find out her mental status. She insists on being called Mira, and rarely talks. She denies it, but I’m almost certain she should be taking some type of medication.”

“Do you think she has some type of amnesia as a result of the accident, and that’s why she didn’t know her name?” Beth asked.

“There could be any number of explanations. That’s why the sooner we get her fixed up and over to the psych ward, the sooner she can get better and go home. Maybe get a new, healthy outlook to go with her new face, huh?”

“I sure hope so,” Beth said. “She doesn’t talk much, but there’s a lot of pain in her eyes. I hope there’s some family somewhere who can help her recover. The plastic surgeon did great work but with the neck burns, the scarring…it’s still going to be a big adjustment for her.”

A short time later, Beth walked into Robin’s room. Because of the relationship Beth had developed with the patient, she’d asked the doctor if she could be the one to speak to Robin, and though unorthodox, he’d agreed.

“Mira,” she said, walking over and sitting gently on the bed. She took Robin’s hand. “I’ve got good news for you.”

Robin stared hard at Beth but said nothing.

“We found out who you are…your real identity. Your name is Robin Cook.” The nurse said the name slowly, enunciating carefully, as if she were talking to a child, someone hard of hearing, or for whom English was not her first language.

Robin was none of these things.
I know my name, muthafucka…. I just didn’t want y’all’s asses knowing.
She masked hertrue feelings. “Robin?” she whispered innocently.

A huge grin spread across Beth’s face. “Yes! Robin Cook. You remember?”

Robin frowned. “I like Mira.”

Beth was relieved Robin knew who she was. Maybe her head trauma wasn’t as extensive as she’d feared. “You just keep on healing like you are, sweet pea, and I’ll call you anything you want.”

“Mira,” Robin whispered again.

“Okay, Mira.” Beth got up from the bed and reached for the chart. “Let’s take your vitals. It’s almost time for dinner.”

While her mind voiced its discontent, Robin played it cool on the outside. The nurse had treated her well, taken special care of her. Robin had decided early on that Beth was all right, for a woman, and that a friend might come in handy at this point since she had none. She had no plans to reconnect with anyone who knew her from before. No, she planned to leave Robin Cook behind in the hospital and reenter LA in general and Kingdom Citizens’ Christian Center in particular…as Mira…Mira Monroe.