Don't Blame the Devil (12 page)

“M
y goodness, Thurgood, you could've at least taken her out to dinner or brought some flowers.”

Sister Marty shook her head. She'd never have imagined she'd come to Delilah's defense. “I'm about to revoke your Christian playa card.”

Marty had jumped on his case almost as soon as he'd come inside her house. He'd had her sympathy until he mentioned why Delilah had almost physically tossed him out onto the street.

“But it was your idea, honey. You told me to buy her a car if I had to.”

“Look, Deacon, you've got about three weeks before I pull the plug on us. I told you when we started dating that I live in a drama-free zone. Jesus don't like this mess, Pillar.”

“Marty, you don't even like Delilah.”

“Yes, that's true.”

“I guess I'll just let her cool down before I try again.”

Suddenly Marty started laughing. “Pillar, I believe I got the answer.”

“Lay it on me. I'm fresh out of ideas.”

“Why not let Jessie buy her the car?”

“Jessie don't like her, either.”

“But he doesn't have to like her to use your money to buy a car.”

“That's true.”

The deacon thought he'd finally found a reason to relax. But somehow he knew better.

 

No sooner had the deacon gotten the words out of his mouth than regrets nibbled at his spirit. “Brother Jessie, I'm trying to help you out. You said it was my fault that Delilah's playing havoc with all your lives.”

Jessie poured a cup of coffee and sat back down at the kitchen table. Before the deacon revealed his latest plot to rid them of Delilah, he'd been leaning against the counter. He'd finally gone to a doctor two weeks before. He was astonished that he'd actually fractured his hand when the sight of Delilah had caused him to slam it against a wall. “I'm not going to buy Delilah a car with anyone's money.”

That wasn't the answer the deacon expected. Had he mis-read Jessie?

“You missed a spot by the edge over there, Deacon.”

“I got it covered.” The deacon moved a sponge across the molding around the kitchen sink. He was cleaning up after he'd finally stained several wood items in the kitchen. It was something he'd promised to do before Delilah disrupted things. “I guess you're right, Jessie. I'm just trying to rectify a mistake.”

“Speaking of mistakes, Deacon,” Jessie said as he took another sip, “I want to ask you something.”

Deacon Pillar laid the sponge down and closed the lid on the can of stain. “What can I do for you?”

“I pray I'm doing the right thing, but I don't want you to get Delilah a car yet. I want you to get close enough to her to find out something for me.”

“Define ‘close enough' and ‘something.'” The deacon walked over to the table to sit down.

“Since Delilah's shown up and continues to do so, I can't figure out her true intentions. I'm just not getting this ‘I wanna be your mama' reason. I'm thinking rather that she's really sick and needs a kidney or something. You know, something straight out of
Grey's Anatomy.
I sure hope she's not looking to use one of mine.”

Deacon Pillar's butt missed the chair. He fell on his butt harder than he had when he tried to avoid the flying mayonnaise jar Delilah threw. And then he landed on the same hip bone.

“Are you alright, Deacon?” Jessie tried to use his one good hand to help the old man off the floor.

“I'm fine. I guess I should've been doing just as much looking as I was listening.”

“I didn't mean to throw that at you like that.”

“Didn't mean to throw what, Daddy?” Tamara had just walked into the kitchen when she saw her father helping the deacon up.

“I don't know if you'll agree with this, but I'm asking the deacon to help me learn more about Delilah. Why is she really coming back into my life?”

“Too bad we can't sometimes pick our parents,” Tamara said as she sat in one of the other chairs. “I'm surely blessed in that regard. Well, if that's what you feel you need to do, then I would do it.”

“I'm glad you understand. I feel better about it already. No matter how it turns out, I'm keeping my insides.”

“What do you mean, no matter how it turns out?” the deacon asked as he rose to touch up another spot he'd missed.

“I mean if I give it my best shot and I find out she just wanted to use me and she hasn't changed at all over the years, well, then I'm blessed with a loving family anyhow.” Jessie smiled at Tamara. “And if Delilah can't be a stand-up grandma, we've got you, Deacon Pillar, to keep on spoiling this brat like a grandpa. And if you ever hang up your playa card and make Sister Marty an honest woman, we can make it an official and legal family.”

“I don't need nothing official,” Tamara said with a wink. “Ain't no natural grandfather gonna spoil me more than Deacon Pillar. So I'm sticking with the deacon I love to love.”

If Jessie and Tamara never wanted to see a grown man weep, then they should've kept their feelings quiet. One moment the deacon was staining a counter molding and the next he was hugged by them and sobbing.

 

Since the kitchen weep-fest, for a day or so, Marty kept dropping little reminders of the impending deadline. At least she'd amended it a little and said she'd be happy if the divorce was at least in the works by that time. Of course, the deacon had not reached out to Delilah at all.

And during that time, whenever he looked at Jessie he'd run to God and sought help. In his spirit he knew that he should've told Jessie the truth. But he was a coward and God didn't need any cowards in His army.

 

After the deacon had stayed away for a couple of days, by that Friday Delilah wasn't surprised when she heard from him. He was so predictable. It seemed the worse she treated him, the better he behaved. Delilah didn't bother to don her signature wig and she wore no makeup, but the lavender and white floral housedress and matching sandals had the young look she favored. She also tossed aside her idea of making life nice for him.

She'd spent those couple of Pillar-free days in Garden City praying and going over some recipes she felt Tamara would like. She'd overheard Tamara mention that Cindy and Marty got together sometimes and made special dishes for the church's various events. She'd also learned that New Hope was having a Family and Friends Day celebration soon.

I think it would be great if Tamara and I cooked something in Cindy's honor for that day.

Delilah hadn't considered that Tamara still hadn't shown any signs of welcoming her into the family or even wanting to be in the same room. That wasn't going to stop Delilah.

So by the time the deacon showed up that Friday at noon, looking like something the cat pushed out and flung at the dog, her mood had changed dramatically. “What in the world happened? Did I mess you up this bad?” He either couldn't or wouldn't answer, but she took pity on him and decided being nasty could wait for some other time. No matter what, she still didn't have transportation and he did. She wanted to stick to her plan.

“What are you doing?” Deacon Pillar asked her, although he didn't resist as she led him quickly into the living room. And because he definitely looked like he needed it, she went into the kitchen and fixed a plate of lasagna, along with garlic bread and a glass of cold lemonade. When she returned, she placed it on the coffee table where he could get to it.

“Thank you, Dee Dee.” Deacon Pillar watched Delilah fuss over him instead of at him. He liked this Delilah better.

While he ate she began to sing. Suddenly she got up and danced over to her record player.

“Dee Dee, that was delicious.” The deacon felt much better with his stomach full. He wiped his mouth and licked his lips. He leaned forward off the sofa and then smiled, showing his approval at what she was about to do. “Woman, you still have a working record player in this day and age? I didn't know you could still find a spindle for those things.”

“Not only do I have spindles,” Delilah replied, “I have a quarter taped to the arm to keep the weight steady on the record.”

Just like Delilah and the deacon and many their age, their favorite music served many purposes. That afternoon the music was the balm he needed. “Have mercy! Dee Dee, please take me back. Take me back to the sixties—and even further back if you can. What you got from back then?”

For the next hour, instead of getting back to the sad business at hand, which was why the deacon drove there, he listened to Delilah play her records and deejay the soundtrack to their past history.

And then the deacon rose off the sofa and even surprised himself. He did the last thing he'd ever think of doing with Delilah. He hadn't even done it with Marty. He reached out and he pulled Delilah's small body into his long arms. He put an ole-skool hump in his back and they began to dance.

“Thurgood,” Delilah whispered. She hadn't seen this coming when she thought about playing some of her old 45s. She was quickly losing control over the situation as they swayed, clinging like they'd done when young and in love. It was an old blue-lights-in-the basement, grind-'em-up moment. And Delilah wasn't having it. Not yet.

Delilah pushed away just in time. A loud hissing sound came from the record player as the spindle arm returned to its cradle. The song was finished and the deacon had come close to the same conclusion. Delilah wrung her hands as she watched him.

“You still got it, gal!” He breathed harder than he had in years as he quickly placed a hand inside one pants pocket. He adjusted what needed adjusting.

Delilah suddenly felt something she'd not felt in quite some time. She felt embarrassed. She pushed a stray strand of white hair from her face and smoothed the front of her dress. She'd have said more, but she, too, needed to regain control. The one dance had taken her to a place with the deacon she hadn't considered; not consciously anyway. He hadn't lost his touch, and probably could give some of her past, younger lovers a run for it.

Delilah sat down. She let her head fall back against her love seat, opposite the sofa, and spoke aloud what she was thinking.

“You know, Thurgood,” Delilah said as she slowly closed her eyes and allowed her feet to tap the carpet as another record dropped on the record player. The tapping turned rhythmic as she continued to speak. “I know you came here to talk about Jessie, but I need to tell you something while it's on my mind.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“I can't say it enough. I owe a lot of people, especially you and Jessie, an apology. I chased stardom like it was a runaway slave I'd always owned. Only I was its slave. There was nothing out of bounds that I wouldn't do to get a gig or a print job. A lot of times it was with the sleaziest modeling agency or in the raunchiest dive. Lord knows I lowered myself just to get ahead. I don't want that for Tamara. I just hope she has more smarts than I did.”

Deacon Pillar leaned forward and with compassion tried to say something encouraging. “Don't you worry about Tamara, and I still say you were better than those who did make it.”

“Those who made it?” Delilah's voice rose slightly, and suddenly with the air of a college professor she added, “That's an odd thing to say because back then they only let Negroes through the gates of stardom one or two at a time, and sometimes only a decade at a time. I must've been number three in line each time.”

Delilah stopped. “You know I haven't even asked what you've been up to all these years. I see you still love to drive a truck and you've joined the church. What else did I miss?”

Her question caught him off guard, as had most of what'd happened since he'd arrived. Deacon Pillar regaled Delilah with the best parts of how he'd fared since leaving prison.

“You mean to tell me that you got involved with the church almost as soon as you got freed? And you hooked back up with old Earl Athens and he brought you to the Lord. If that don't beat all, I don't know what does. Sorry he's gone now, but I remember his scandalous self. He was your running buddy for quite a while and used to smoke like a chimney.”

They let the taste of the good time they'd just shared linger on the lips of time just a little longer. Neither one wanted to bring up what needed saying.

Delilah refilled the deacon's glass. “Thurgood, do you hate me?”

“Not quite as much as I did a few weeks ago.” He didn't know why he chose that moment to be quite so blunt.

Delilah laughed. “That's a good place to start. I'm starting to stomach you a little better, too.”

“Are you still going to blackmail me?”

“Of course, Thurgood. You should know that. But I have another question for you.”

“What?”

“How in the world did you ever get hooked up with that woman, Madelyn?”

“It's Marty. Why do I have to keep reminding you?”

“Whatever.”

“Well, if you weren't so mule headed I might've told you sooner. I know you're going to be just as surprised as I was.”

“I don't want a speech, just an answer.”

“Stop being so bossy, will you? Do you remember Tight Ben Madison, that cheap, whale-looking something that owned Tightfisted Records up in New Rochelle back in the day?”

Surprise crept across Delilah's face. “Of course, I remember that no-good son of a monkey! He used to go around ripping off folks after they'd sing their hearts out for him. What's he got to do with anything?” Suddenly she understood. “Don't tell me he was hooked up with that Marty woman? I thought she was so much into the church.”

“She is and they were. Yep, he's the very same one,” the deacon answered, and laughed. “But he got his comeuppance, because cousin Karma came back to visit his sorry arse and almost dragged him back, kicking and screaming, to the afterlife's family reunion.”