Don't Blame the Devil (9 page)

T
he foreign buzzing sound of an alarm clock filtered through whatever dream state Delilah was in and caused her to bolt straight up in the bed. Her head wobbled side to side while her blond wig rocked somewhere between her shoulders and her ears. Both her white locks and the wig tresses were damp; no doubt a result of either sleeping in an un-air-conditioned room where the humidity was in abundance, or night sweats from her menopause.

“It's about time you woke up. Come on, there's no time to waste.”

Deacon Pillar stood by one of the three windows in his apartment. He was already dressed and about to open the venetian blinds just before Delilah finally awoke.

“Thurgood Pillar,” Delilah snapped, “what in the world are you doing up so early?” She was about to say something more, but she realized she was lying in the bed and not the recliner. Naturally, Delilah thought she'd won the battle of the beds.

“I see you are a gentleman after all.” She peeked under the sheets and saw she was still wearing the old nightshirt the deacon gave her. “I knew you'd let me sleep in the bed instead of the recliner.”

“You know I'm a true gentleman,” the deacon replied slowly. “I certainly let you sleep in the bed. And I'd probably still be asleep in it, too, if I didn't have to avoid your little hands groping all over me last night, trying to find the key to open your happy door.”

And that's when Delilah flipped. She jumped straight up and bolted from the bed. Delilah hadn't moved that fast from a bed since she was in her thirties. For sure, the brick in the hand of her last man's wife had been her inspiration.

With the nightshirt barely covering what she affectionately referred to as her moneymaking pocketbook, she rushed toward the window where the deacon stood, now bent over in laughter.

“You old degenerate!” Delilah balled up her small fists and threw one hand back like she was about to throw out the first pitch.

“Sweet degenerate is what you called me last night.”

Words wouldn't come to her, so before Delilah left the room she threw the nearest thing she could find. It was a mayonnaise jar, one the deacon kept his loose change in.

Jumping
was the word of the day, because old Deacon Pillar jumped faster than he had in quite some time. That jar hit the wall and loose change sank into the deep carpet. Whether he tripped over a quarter or his ottoman didn't matter; hitting the floor on his bony behind wasn't an option. He reached out to grab on to something. Unfortunately, the closest thing was his small desk with one of its legs propped up by an old, thick telephone book. The book gave way and then he and it hit the floor with a loud thump.

And that's when his doorbell rang.

It was all the deacon could do to stop a flood of un-Christian-like words from flying off his lips. He'd barely gotten to his feet to answer the door when it flew open. Of course, Jessie stood dumbfounded in the doorway.

The deacon tried to explain for a second time why Delilah was in his apartment. But Jessie was too angry to listen so he bolted out of the deacon's apartment with the deacon in pursuit, and rushed down the steps. Jessie slammed the hall door, barely missing the deacon's foot, and walked quickly into his living room. He paced back and forth. “Have you lost your mind, Deacon Pillar?” He wanted to take his bandaged hand and slap some sense into the old man. “Of all the places in Brooklyn, why would you bring that woman back here?”

“I already told you why, Jessie. My truck broke down on me. My pants looked like I'd crapped on myself. I couldn't find a vacant hotel room to toss her in, so I had to bring her back here. I can't drive your automatic, you know that. Which reminds me, I need for you to take us to get this insurance. She can get her car back and drive on about her business.”

“There's something you're leaving out,” Jessie said slowly, as he eyed the deacon up and down. “You could call a cab to take you to get insurance.” Jessie sat down on the sofa. He pointed to the love seat and indicated the deacon should sit there. “I'm concerned that you're becoming a little too involved with a woman who you claimed you haven't seen in almost forty years.”

“Stop being so suspicious, Jessie.” Deacon Pillar didn't know if he sounded convincing or not, but he was giving it his best. “Brother Jessie,” the deacon implored, “forget that she's your deadbeat, absentee mother. Think about what Jesus would do.”

Jessie leaned forward and looked the deacon right in the eyes. “Do you see a crown of thorns on my head?”

 

The voices filtered up the stairs to the deacon's apartment and through the bedroom door she'd left slightly ajar.

Delilah hadn't bothered to return to the scene of her hysteria, where she'd let go on the deacon with the mayonnaise jar filled with change. She would've, but she heard Jessie's angry voice. Her son started arguing with the deacon as soon as he'd stepped through the door. As much as she wanted to see Jessie, she was smart enough to stay out of his way.

About fifteen minutes later, when the deacon hadn't returned and she could still hear their angry voices, she got dressed and waited for his return.

At first she couldn't figure out why the voices no longer filtered through the door yet she could still hear them. She looked around the living room where the voices seemed the strongest. She didn't see any pipes or even a radiator where the sound could travel through. But as soon as she sat down by the window she heard them clear as day. Her eyes followed the sound and it was coming through the floor heating vent.

And, of course, Delilah wasn't happy with what she heard. “I shouldn't have bothered….” She stopped complaining. It didn't make sense to complain to herself when she could grab God's ear.

“Great Jehovah,” she whispered, “perhaps this wasn't such a great idea. Maybe I wasn't supposed to have a family. You know my mama and her own mama didn't want children. It seems like I probably didn't either….” She stopped and allowed her voice to become even lower and a little more reverent. “Now, Father Jehovah, since I do have a child and I did ask for Your help in finding him—if it's not meant to be, and You only did it because You took a liking to me, please stop this madness. Please just let me go on about my business and grow old with a little dignity. Just give me a sign or something. Amen.”

It wasn't exactly a sign. It was more of a loud tapping on the half-open door. “Grab your purse or whatever and let's get this over with. I don't need conversation, I just need you to move on with your life and out of mine. So I'm helping with that.”

Delilah looked up from her prayer just in time to see the deacon standing behind Jessie. He'd placed a finger across his lips, a signal for her to shut her mouth and move it while Jessie was in a good mood.

And Delilah pretended she didn't know what the deacon was trying to say or that Jessie had forbade any conversation between the two of them. “Thank you, Jessie. I truly appreciate your generosity.”

“Since you're gonna speak anyway, it's not generosity. I'm not paying for it.”

Jessie quickly turned around. “Deacon Pillar, I'll be waiting downstairs.”

The deacon waited until Jessie left before he felt it was safe enough to speak. “At least this is a start,” Deacon Pillar said nervously. “He didn't say he was going to run you over or anything like that.”

“Whatever.” Delilah frowned.
There's got to be a way to turn this around. I need an ally and it certainly can't be Thurgood.

“Let's go, Delilah. Jessie ain't gonna wait all day. He's got to take Tamara somewhere, too.”

Delilah suddenly got a burst of energy. Tamara was her key. It wouldn't be easy, but she'd find a way to get to her granddaughter. It wasn't that she didn't want Tamara; Jessie and Tamara were a family package deal that Delilah wanted. She'd just never thought about winning Tamara over first.

In no time Delilah's smile vanished. No sooner had she stepped onto the front porch and looked toward the street than her blood began to boil.

The deacon came out behind her and had just locked the front door before turning around. He almost had a heart attack. Seated inside the car with Jessie were Tamara and Sister Marty. The three of them were laughing up a storm.

W
hen Delilah and the deacon entered the car, everyone greeted him with a loud hello. Delilah got deafening silence.

It was a tight squeeze inside the car as the five tried to get comfortable. Jessie had asked Tamara to sit up front with him. He purposely put Deacon Pillar in the backseat between Delilah and Marty.
I wanna see the old playa play his way outta this one.

“Hello, honey.” Deacon Pillar's dark skin looked ghostly. “You look gorgeous, as usual. I didn't know you were coming along…not that I didn't want you to.”

“Well, when you called me from Jessie's earlier, you sounded a little strange….”

“Oh yes. I did call you from Jessie's because that's where I was. I was with Jessie.”

Sister Marty sank farther into the car seat and looked straight ahead. From the corner of her eye she saw a smirk on Delilah's face. But she would bide her time. “Don't worry, darling,” she told the deacon. “Love means never having to explain. Besides, I was off today and going to choir rehearsal anyway.”

Before Marty could get the last word out of her mouth, Jessie and Tamara smiled. Each thought Deacon Pillar was dumber than a bag of rocks if he believed all that Sister Marty had said.

“So, Jessie”—Sister Marty's frown quickly gave way to a smile—“Tamara tells me that she's expecting a huge blessing in the near future.”

“We've claimed it, for sure.” Jessie's face broke out into a smile, too. “My daughter is going to be a star. I just know it.”

“I always knew she would be.” The deacon couldn't control himself as he reached over and squeezed Sister Marty's hand.

That action and none of the conversation included Delilah, but it didn't mean she wasn't parsing through it to see what she could glean. She pretended to focus on whatever was happening outside the car.

“That's right,” Tamara chimed in. “In a month or so I'm auditioning and they're talking about coming to the church to check me out. In fact, the A&R rep mentioned that they may visit my home. Now, that doesn't always happen, does it, Daddy?”

“No, it doesn't. But when God is in control,” Jessie replied, “ordinary has to take a backseat. You know I'm on pins and needles—and Cindy would've been beside herself.” Sadness crept into his voice and cloaked the joy. Would he ever get over his wife's passing?

With no prompting at all, Tamara broke out singing. She didn't want to see her father sad when she was about to cry, too. By the time she'd gotten to the chorus, Jessie, Sister Marty, and Deacon Pillar had all joined in. They took quartet singing up to another level.

They were about to go into another song when suddenly Jessie looked through his rearview mirror. He thought he saw a look of defeat on Delilah's face. It made him a little sad, and sad was not what he wanted to feel when she was involved.

“Daddy, what kind of note was that?”

“It was flat, Jessie. I don't recall ever hearing you sing flat.” The deacon looked at Marty and hunched his shoulders to indicate he didn't know what was suddenly wrong.

“Don't worry about my flat note, Tamara,” Jessie teased. “You just make sure you don't sing one.”

The spell was broken. The rest of the ride, no one said a word or sang a note.

 

No one was happier than Jessie when he pulled up in front of New Hope Assembly. Peeking at Delilah each time he needed to use his rearview mirror was unsettling. No matter how long he'd prayed in the last few days, he still wanted to remain distant, if not angry, with her. “Okay, we're here. Tamara, you make sure that you call me when the choir rehearsal is over.”

“I will, but I still don't think you should keep driving with just one hand.” Tamara leaned over and kissed her father's cheek. “I love you.”

All that love in the car and none of it for Delilah.

At that moment Deacon Pillar couldn't have looked at Delilah or Sister Marty with a straight face if he'd wanted to. One by one, his plans to get his divorce and keep Delilah away from New Hope for as long as he could were unraveling. It looked as though if she didn't kill him, then Marty would. Now she knew that Tamara could sing well enough to have an audition at her own home. He tried to control his nervousness and agitation by tapping his foot and using one hand to rub a kneecap. Delilah was getting everything she'd wanted, so why should she help him?

“I'll talk to you later, Thurgood.”

The sound of Sister Marty's voice broke his train of thought. “Okay, Marty.” Because he'd sat in the middle he couldn't get out and open the door for her. Before he could say anything or move, Jessie did the honors.

“We'll chat later, Mama.” Jessie leaned over and gave Sister Marty a big hug. “I love ya.”

Jessie couldn't have hurt Delilah any more than if he'd dropped a boulder upon her head. Why was he calling the deacon's girlfriend Mama? She turned once more and glared at the deacon before she looked back out the window.

Delilah turned just in time to see Tamara and Sister Marty wave back at the car. A wave she was certain was not meant for her. They then walked arm in arm and resumed laughing.

If Delilah looked confused, she wasn't. Moment by moment things became clearer.
This is why Thurgood didn't want me to come around New Hope. He knew all the time that Jessie came here. And he never said a word about Tamara's singing. I didn't even read about that in Cindy's obituary. He should've told me.
Delilah turned and looked at the deacon. It took every ounce of strength she had to make the next move. She smiled.

The deacon mistook it for a look of concern. “If you're worried about paying me back for this insurance and the car notes, Dee Dee, you don't have to do that.”

“Oh, but I want to pay you back, Thurgood.” Delilah turned away and looked out the window once more.
Once I get my car back then it's the big payback.