A Preacher's Passion (24 page)

“Is she here?” Vivian asked Tamika as she came into the office.

“She’s waiting in the dining room.”

“Great, thank you.”

When Vivian had found out an afternoon appointment would be difficult for Mira, she’d changed the time to evening, and then decided to make it a dinner meeting. As crowded as her schedule was, it had worked out perfectly. She was starving.

“Oh, I forgot, Lady Vee. There’s one phone message you might want to return before your meeting.” Tamika handed Vivian the pink slip and Vivian went into her office to make the call.

Robin’s eyes narrowed to slits as she sat in the dining room—sat and remembered. It was just over two years ago, in this very room, that she’d been shamed, humiliated, dragged out like a dog headed for the kennel. She was so angry her neck began to twitch as she relived the incident: how she’d finagled a private meeting with Derrick much as she had this one with Vivian, came on to him during dinner, and when Vivian walked in on them, tried to make it seem the other way around—that he’d come on to her. She’d been hoping to make Vivian jealous, cause a rift in their marriage. Things had not gone as planned.
But that’s all right, muthafuckas…it’s almost over now.

Robin opened her palm and eyed the small, clear vial. It was VX, a tasteless, odorless liquid that could cause death within minutes. She’d heard about it one night while watching a terrorism report on cable TV. Her homeless friend’s cousin had helped her obtain it over the Internet. It had cost her a whole month’s pay, plus Miss Petunia’s gold bracelet and necklace, which she’d stolen and sold at Gold’s Pawn Shop. But it was worth it. Vivian Montgomery—the woman who took her man fifteen years ago, dragged him to California, and made Robin come to Los Angeles, steal to survive, and then serve eighteen long, hard months when her crime caught up with her—was about to get hers.

“Hey, Mira,” Vivian said cheerfully as she entered the dining room. She leaned down and hugged her. “Don’t you look nice.”

“Thank you,” Mira said softly. “I was waiting on you to get here; but I’m dying for some tea.” Mira wanted to put her plan into action without delay.

“That sounds good. Marjorie!”

Marjorie, a long-time kitchen worker and the same one who’d served Robin when she’d tried to seduce Derrick, came out of the kitchen.

“We’d like some tea,” Vivian said. “What kind would you like?” she asked Mira.

“Whatever kind you’re having is fine.”

“I think I’m in the mood for peppermint. How does that sound?”

Peppermint was strong, it would cover up any semblance of something amiss. “That sounds perfect,” Mira said.

Within minutes, Marjorie brought out a tray with a silver teapot, two dainty teacups, a sugar dish, and some homemade rolls. “I know you like sweetener,” she said to Vivian. “There’s also some regular sugar, and some of that raw stuff that only a crazy person would eat,” she said to Mira. “I’ll be right back with the butter and jam.”

Mira took a packet of sweetener from the sugar dish and stirred it into the hot brew, all the while wondering how she would get the liquid into Vivian’s cup.

“Excuse me a moment, Mira. I need to confirm something with Marjorie.”

Vivian left the table. Mira breathed a sigh of relief. Remembering the cameras placed throughout the building, she covertly opened the vial, pulled Vivian’s cup toward her and hurriedly emptied the contents. She’d just pushed the cup back into place when Vivian stuck her head out the kitchen.

“Come here, Mira,” she said, laughing. “I want you to see what Marjorie fixed just for you!”

Trying to hide her chagrin at Vivian delaying the inevitable, Mira plastered a smile on her face. But her insides churned with gleeful anticipation.
Just c’mon and die, muthafucka.

As Mira walked into the kitchen, another worker walked out, carrying a tray of butter, jam, and two salad plates. She reached the table, moved the teacups so she could place the items down, and then placed the teacups back in their spots.

“Doesn’t that roast look divine?” Vivian said as she and Mira came back to the table. “Marjorie’s such an angel. I didn’t even think she was listening when I mentioned you liked roast. And just wait until you taste her double-dipped chocolate cake! You’ll feel like you’ve got heaven right here!”

They sat down at the table. Vivian picked up a packet of sweetener and emptied it into her teacup. She stirred it briefly before taking a hearty sip. “This is so good,” she said, before quickly taking another. “Just what I needed.”

Mira picked up her cup and took a tentative sip. Then realizing the faster she drank hers, the faster Vivian might, she blew on her concoction and as it began to cool, drank quickly.

“This is good,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“There’s plenty where that came from.” Vivian reached for the teapot and poured more tea into Mira’s cup.

As she reached for the sugar packets, Mira watched Vivian furtively.
I wonder how long it’s going to take to…
Mira dropped the packet in her tea and reached for her throat.

“Mira?” Vivian asked, concerned.

Mira said nothing, simply clawed at her throat as if trying to open up another airway.

Vivian jumped out of her chair and ran around the table. “Mira? What is it?”

Mira tried to speak but could not find breath anywhere. She began wheezing, foam came from her mouth, and her eyes rolled around in her head.

“Marjorie! Call nine-one-one!” Vivian cried. She poured water from a glass onto a napkin and wiped Mira’s face. “Mira, hang in there, help is on the way.” She loosened the scarf tied around Mira’s neck and unbuttoned the first few buttons of her blouse. “Breathe, Mira,” she said, before beginning a fervent prayer.

Shortly afterward, paramedics burst through the door. They ran over to Mira and worked frantically to save her. Vivian looked on, horrified.

“What happened here, ma’am?” one of the paramedics asked.

“I don’t know. One minute we were sipping tea and the next she grabbed her throat, unable to breathe.”

Time seemed to stand still as Vivian, Marjorie, Greg, the kitchen help, and a few other staff members watched the emergency crew work on Mira. After several minutes, they placed her on a stretcher.

Vivian rushed forward to the head paramedic. “Is she going to make it?”

The paramedic shook his head. “No, ma’am. She’s dead.”

Two days later, Derrick and Vivian were sitting in his offices at KCCC, discussing the tragedy of Mira’s death. His phone buzzed.

“It’s a Detective Smiley,” his assistant said. “Something about the woman who died.”

“I’ll take it, Lionel. Maybe they’ve got something,” he said to Vivian. Having found no information that would help them notify her next of kin, the church had enlisted the help of law enforcement.

“Yes, Detective,” Derrick said, putting the call on speaker.

“Pastor, we were able to find a match for the fingerprints of the deceased, Mira Monroe, you said?”

“Right, Mira Monroe.”

“Actually, Pastor, her real name wasn’t Mira Monroe. Her real name was Robin…Robin Cook.”

Vivian gasped and Derrick’s eyes widened. “No, there must be some mistake. This is Vivian Montgomery, Detective,” Vivian said. “Derrick’s wife. See, we know Robin Cook. This woman looked nothing like her.”

“According to the files we found on her, Robin Cook was in a serious car accident over six months ago. In addition to the internal injuries, her face sustained multiple fractures that required plastic surgery. We’ll still do a DNA, but we’re pretty sure the body at the morgue is Robin Cook. Oh, and one last thing. Looks like she overdosed on a lethal amount of VX. That’s a nerve gas agent developed for warfare by the British in the fifties. How she got her hands on that is anyone’s guess.”

The situation was becoming more bizarre by the moment. “But how could an accident like that happen?” Vivian asked, genuinely perplexed. “She was fine when she came to the church, and we’d only had a cup of tea when she became ill.”

“This was no accident,” the detective answered. “This chemical weapon works quickly. It would have had to be consumed minutes before it took effect. My guess is she poured the poison into the tea before drinking it. So either she was trying to commit suicide…or murder. You owe a thank you to the man upstairs. It’s a miracle she died and not you.”

Derrick and Vivian sat in silence, too stunned for conversation. Suicide? Murder? Mira Monroe was Robin Cook? It was too much.

Vivian thought back to her conversations with Mira, the discomfort she felt around her, and the day Robin’s name flashed in her mind when she’d asked God for revelation. She shared all this with Derrick, who was still too stunned to reply.

After a long moment, Vivian bowed her head. “Thank you God for sparing my life….”

Derrick joined her in prayer and afterward, took her hand in his. “I can’t believe I almost lost you,” he said, the reality of what had almost happened finally sinking in. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Vivian.”

Vivian came around the desk and cuddled into her husband’s lap. “All I can say, Pastor Derrick Montgomery, is I hope you don’t have to find out for a long, long time.”

“I know one thing,” Derrick continued after he and Vivian shared a passionate kiss. “Lord knows I’m tired of all this drama in churches. Between Stacy and Darius’s rushed marriage, his feud with Shabach, and now this, an attempted murder right here on the premises? Really, baby, can things get any worse?”

Vivian sighed, snuggling deeper into her husband’s arms. “I don’t think so, baby. But only time will tell.”

Lavon Chapman closed his office door. He’d been deep in the throes of production since six that morning and needed five minutes to take a break and think about nothing. He leaned back in his swivel chair and closed his eyes. Another pair of eyes immediately came to his conscience: satiny brown, wide, and enchanting, shining with playfulness…Carla.

Lavon opened his eyes and leaned forward. No matter what he did, it hadn’t worked in helping him forget her. After two successful production deals for MLM, including televising the Kingdom Keys series, the network’s board offered and he had accepted the executive director position for the network’s block of inspirational programming. The promotion not only increased his income but it thankfully also increased his workload. He regularly put in seventy to eighty hours a week, and even that wasn’t enough to keep his mind off the woman he loved. But he’d do whatever it took to make her happy…including leave her alone. That’s what she’d said she wanted, what she needed to try and save her marriage.

He reached over and grabbed the production sheets from the last meeting. So far the inspirational schedule included church services, music videos, live concerts, and a couple religious-themed talk shows. It was all typical religious fare, Lavon thought, something that could be seen any day of the week on TBN or Sundays on BET. Lavon wanted to add something different to the mix, to expand the types of programming aimed at the Christian community. He turned to his computer and opened what he called his “Fire File.” They were still being shaped, so he wasn’t ready to share them yet. But his show concepts were hot, especially the sitcom idea centered around a young, good-looking pastor and his beauty-shop owning wife. Once his plan of pushing the programming envelope was fully implemented, he was certain MLM Network ratings would shoot to the top.

Working on his dream schedule successfully shifted his mind from Carla to commercial success, his other passion. He turned up the jazz music playing in the background and settled in for another three, four hours of work even though it was already five o’clock.

“My God, Lavon,” Tori, his coworker and good friend, said as she entered without knocking.

“Uh, didn’t you see the door closed?” Lavon joked. Tori was a top producer, creative and fearless. He liked her.

“You’re going to want to lock it and never come out after you see what I have to show you. The proverbial excrement is getting ready to hit the wind blower.” She tossed a magazine down on his desk.

Lavon picked it up, ready to see something about a popular gospel artist, actor embracing Christianity, or famous athlete touting Jesus. He was half right. On the cover of the magazine was a picture of athlete Deion Sanders and family with the caption:
STILL PRIME TIME
.

The picture in the bottom right corner, however, took his breath away. It was a clear picture of him and Carla—kissing. The caption:
A FIRST LADY’S AFFAIR
.

“It comes out Saturday,” Tori said flatly. She also told him it was being delivered directly to all the mega-churches who, in exchange for their sizable ad purchases, were given free copies for their congregations.

Lavon ripped open the magazine and quickly found the article. His heart beat wildly with each photo image: Carla, Stanley, and family; Carla leading an SOS workshop; Carla preaching in the Logos Word pulpit; Lavon standing with MLM execs and then…Lavon twirling Carla around under a streetlight, holding her hand, and kissing her. What had been their love affair, to them so precious and rare in its authenticity, was shown here in a shameful, secretive, horrible way.

“Aw man,” he whispered, as he quickly read the article. With every word, his heart sank deeper. The plain facts were ugly: he’d been hired by Stanley Lee to produce a religious program and in the process had had an affair with the minister’s wife, who was also a minister. He could hear the Christian community now: Stone her! Crucify him! Cast them into the fire!
But I love her!
his heart cried. And he knew that she loved him—loved, not lusted. Now it looked like this love would be their undoing. Both of their lives would be ruined, not to mention her family. He reached for his phone, even as he read the last line.

“Give me a minute,” he said to Tori in a firm tone. “I need to call Carla. Then we’ll talk.”

Carla hesitated for only a moment when she saw Lavon’s number on her cell phone. It was no surprise that he was calling her; she’d thought about him all week.

“Hello, Lavon.”

“Carla. Sit down, baby, I’ve got news.”

Carla’s heartbeat immediately picked up. “I’m already sitting down. What’s going on?”

Lavon proceeded to tell her about the article and pictures in the forthcoming issue of
LA Gospel.

“Oh my God,” Carla whispered when Lavon was finished.

“They can’t put that out there, can’t do that to Stanley, my family. Our marriage is finally getting back on track.”

“I’m going over to their offices as soon as I get off the phone with you. Maybe I can pull in a favor, or negotiate some type of television time for them in exchange for pulling the issue.”

“Whatever you can do,” said Carla, who was now standing and pacing the room. “Oh God, this is going to kill Stanley, and the ministry…this is why I stopped, Lavon. So this wouldn’t happen. This is why I walked away from you! Jesus!”

“Baby, Carla, I wish…” It was no use saying what he wished: that it had never happened. More truthful was that he wished they’d not gotten caught. And deeper still that he wanted to be with Carla, forever, no matter the cost. God worked in mysterious ways. Maybe this was one of them. “I’ll call you later.”

He stormed out of his office to find Tori lounging on the wall by his door. “Not now,” he said, putting a hand up. “I’m on my way to
LA Gospel
to try and stop this madness.”

Lavon broke driving rules and speed limits to reach the offices of
LA Gospel
in less than thirty minutes. “Where is she?” he said as soon as he walked in the door.

“Mr. Chapman?” the receptionist answered in surprise.

“Where’s Ana,” he asked again. Ana Cummings-Black was the editor in chief of
LA Gospel.

“One moment,” the receptionist said as she picked up the phone. A moment later, she told Lavon, “Have a seat. She’ll be with you shortly.”

Lavon hadn’t been able to sit still since Tori entered his office. He’d barely done so even while driving. Instead, he stood with his foot tapping a furious pace until Ana’s secretary came around the corner. “Ms. Cummings-Black will see you now.”

Ana Cummings-Black was a product of Chicago’s south side: strong, savvy, and a woman who could smell game a mile away. Added to this Teflon exterior was a degree with honors from Morgan State University and a membership in good standing with the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority. In short, Ana Cummings-Black was no joke.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said as a greeting, coming from behind her desk to shake Lavon’s hand.

He was not in the mood for cordialities. “Why?” he asked simply.

“It’s news,” she answered, equally as simply.

“So a religious publication is following the way of the world now? Just because something is news it gets published, no matter who it hurts?”

“If there’d been no affair, there would have been no story.”

It was a point Lavon couldn’t argue. “You’ve got to pull this issue, Ana.”

“Can’t, distribution has already started.”

“Well, you’ve got to stop it! This isn’t, wasn’t some cheap affair. I love Carla. And she loves me. The situation is complicated, with facts you don’t know…that aren’t in your so-called tell-all article. But none of that matters.” Lavon calmed his tone, tried to adopt one of reason. “This situation has been over since the first of the year. Carla and Stanley were having problems for years but are in counseling now. They’re trying to make it work. This article coming out will ruin everything.”

“Please, Lavon, sit down.” Ana pointed to a chair as she walked behind her desk and took a seat. “This wasn’t an easy decision, Lavon. We sat on this story for three months, even though the facts were verified and pictures don’t lie. This was a journalistic call, pure and simple. It’s news, current news, relevant news, that speaks to vital issues in the Christian community.

“Look at this from my point of view. You have a high profile, popular mega-church, with a charismatic copastor and dedicated female congregants lifting her up as an example of godly living. Add to that her affiliation with the Sanctity of Sisterhood Summits, one of the most popular conferences for women since the Woman Thou Art Loosed conferences.
And
you’ve got a hotshot producer of the Christian community affiliated with the first network ever to give BET some serious competition. Finally, you’ve got a credible witness—”

“You must mean Passion Perkins,” Lavon spat out the name as if it were poison.

“We don’t disclose our sources.”

Lavon snorted.

“And undeniable, celluloid proof that these two people are at the very least participating in some inappropriate conduct and at the very most, are smack dab in the midst of adultery. This publication lives and dies on these types of stories.

“As a businessman yourself, I’m sure you understand me when I tell you…this isn’t personal. It isn’t. It’s business. And in the end I think the story will work to your benefit.”

“Benefit? How in the hell do you think a story like this will benefit me?”

“You know the saying, Lavon, that there’s no such thing as bad publicity. It may eventually help your network’s ratings.”

“You think I’m here because of ratings? You think this is about television? This is my life you’re messing with, Ana. This is a woman’s home, her family. I think you, as a strong Black woman, would be the last one to tear another Black woman down.”

Ana didn’t like Lavon’s attempt at guilt-tripping her. “Don’t try to pull the sistah sympathy card with me, Lavon. This isn’t about tearing a Black woman down. It’s about reporting news that’s appropriate for our publication, even when it’s unpleasant.”

“Everybody’s got dirty laundry, Ana Cummings-Black, even you. And you’re getting on the bad side of the wrong person.”

“Baby, I grew up on the south side of Chicago. I’m all too familiar with the wrong side!” Ana softened her voice. “You’re not going to believe this, but my professional decision does not reflect my personal opinion. I like Pastor Lee, have some of her CDs, and wish her the best. But the story was going to get told, eventually. If we didn’t tell it, someone else would. I’m sorry.”

Lavon stood and stared down Ana long and hard. “Yes,” he said before turning to walk out. “You sure are.”