Pink & Patent Leather (7 page)

“
Whatever it is,” Malik continued, breaking me out of my thoughts, “we know it’s just a phase that you’re going through.”

I raised an eyebrow. He was taking this act a little too far.

He said, “When you went off to school, and started writing me, I wanted to support and guide you as your pastor. That’s why I sent you the study guides and the other materials, and that’s why I introduced you to Xavier. I wasn’t being a matchmaker, I just wanted to steer you in the direction of someone who was your own age.”

Our eyes were locked together when I heard, “
Malik!”

Her squeaky voice broke our trance and he stood, then returned to where he
’d been sitting. That surprised me. He was behaving as if she was the one in charge.

When he sat down, she gave me this big ole grin. Like she had just won a prize or somethi
ng. Really? Did she not realize that she could never compete with me. Did she not know that she had no chance of winning?

She said, “
Pastor told me about the discussion that you had with Xavier after the services today.”

Shut up!
I screamed inside my head. I was really trying hard to be the young woman that my parents raised me to be. But on the other side of being pissed, I was really surprised. Had Xavier really told Malik what I’d said? How much had he told him and how did Malik feel now? I didn’t want to hear his words from the script that he’d prepared for his wife. I wanted to hear the words that were in his heart.

But Sister Stroman kept talking, not giving Malik a chance to say a word. She said, “
And from what Pastor overheard,” she paused and looked at him. When he nodded, she continued, “It seems like you may have another agenda.”

You don
’t get to talk to me about this!
I said inside. On the outside, I stayed quiet.

Sister Stroman continued, “
Sister Pink, you’re a young Christian woman who has so much going for her.”

At least she recognized that.

As if they were a tag team, Malik picked it up from there, “I’m flattered, Sister Pink. It’s not often that an old man like me gets noticed anymore.”

The pastor and his wife chuckled, but I didn
’t find anything funny.

Malik said, “
But we came over here today to make sure that you know that I can’t condone nor reciprocate any feelings you may have for me. As a pastor, a husband, and a man of God, I walk my talk. What I preach and what I teach is how I live my life. I will always be true to my Lord and Savior, as well as myself.”

Oh, please!
If he were being true, then he would be with me. He would follow God and not be distracted by this mistake of a marriage.

Malik said, “
We just believe that once you get settled back in your life here in D.C., God will bring a wonderful young man to you.”

Yeah, right!
If he believed a word he was saying, then why were his eyes continuing to wander and settle on my exposed cleavage?

“
Like my wife said, you’re a wonderful Christian woman who has the love of Christ in her heart...”

Blah, blah, blah. I was so tired of listening to this corny crap. Then, he said, “
And who knows what can happen with you and Minister Xavier? He might be the one.”

I wanted to yawn out loud. Why wouldn
’t Malik just be honest? If he wanted to talk about right, he was the right man. Everything about him was right for me: the right pedigree, the right career, the right money. Even his height and complexion were right. He was the man who was in my dreams when I was a little girl. The man that I’d always imagined that I’d marry one day.

“
Is there anything that you want to say, Sister Pink?” he asked me.

I let my glance lock on his for a moment, then, I looked at his wife. “
No,” I said. “I think the two of you have said enough.”

That victorious smirk was back on her face as Malik and his wife stood. I wanted to tell her to look down between her husband
’s legs. I wanted to ask her which one of us was the reason why he had to keep straightening out his pants?

Past
or Malik walked back over to me and took my hand, urging me to stand. Once I stood, Sister Stroman clasped her hand into my free one and I had to fight what my mind was telling me to do—to snatch my hand away from hers.

Malik said, “
Your parents have done a wonderful job of raising you into the perfect princess, Sister Pink. So, wait for your prince; wait on the Lord.” I did my best not to roll my eyes. “There is a scripture, that I’m sure you know, Sister Pink. Where two or three are gathered in my name, I will be in the midst. So, since were joined here today, the three of us, let us pray.”

Okay, now I had to work really hard not to laugh. So, I quickly lowered my head and closed my eyes as if I was going along with this facade. It was ridiculous, but unti
l I could figure out my next steps, I had to go with this flow.

“
Father God we come to you with praise and thanksgiving...”

I was surprised when Malik let his wife lead the prayer. I kept my head bowed and eyes shut for as long as I could...about ten seconds or so and then, I opened my eyes.

Both of their eyes were squeezed tightly, as if they weren’t even going to let a sliver of light in. Looking down to where Malik held my hand, I squeezed his fingers, and just like that, he opened his eyes. I gave him a coy smile, and then watched him take a couple of quick breaths.

“
We thank you for all of this, Father God....”

As his wife
continued to pray, Malik stared at me and in his eyes, I could see everything. I could see that he wanted to know, that he wanted to try, that he wanted me.

“
All this we ask in your precious Son’s, Jesus’ name...Amen!”

By the time Sister Stroman said, “
Amen,” she had no idea that she had just put the final seal on Malik and my fate.

“
Sister Pink,” she began in a tone that was strong and confident, “I know that The Lord is going to help you through. He is going to give you a bright future. And this little thing with my husband will be a thing of the past.”

She said that like she believed it. As if she really believed that she was safe from me. I had no idea why her little prayer hadn
’t revealed the truth to her. With the way Malik had just looked at me, I knew that he was still trying to fight it, but he would give up soon. He was going to be mine, all mine.

“
Have a good evening.” Malik’s words were like honey, so smooth, so sweet and I wondered if she noticed the change in his tone.

There was nothing for me
to say as Sister Stroman led the way to the door. Malik followed closely behind her, and I followed closely behind him. She was so eager to leave that she didn’t even wait for Malik to open the door. She just marched right out while Malik’s steps were more hesitant. He slowed down as if he wanted to stay.

When he was just about to step over the threshold, I leaned against the door and whispered, “
Goodnight, Malik.”

He turned around, faced me, and this time, he did smile. This time, his eyes were bright, w
ithout questions. This time, he looked like he understood it all.

“
Goodnight, Sister Pink,” he said. And then, his eyes did one last slow stroll up and down my body.

I stuck out my chest so that he could have a better view and his stare sent all kinds of c
hills through me.

When he finally turned around, I slowly closed the door, then walked over to the sofa. I sat on the end where Malik had sat and imagined him here with me, without his wife. But he had shown up with her and what that showed me was that Mal
ik was a faithful man. He had probably never even cheated on his wife, which made me love him all the more.

But what he had to realize was that what was going to happen between me and him would not be cheating. This would be consummating the inevitable. Th
inking about the way he looked at me when he left, made me smile.  It was just a matter of time now. All I had to do was help Malik to move forward.

It was time for Plan B.

I woke up Monday morning
completely ready. Since last night, I’d been planning, plotting and praying and I was ready to take this to the next level.

After I finished my morning prayer, I turned on my CD player and pressed the keys to get to my favorite song.

“Love is patient caring, love is kind. Love is best when it’s genuine....”

As Hezekiah sang about the favor of God, I walked into my closet trying to determine what I would wear to the office. I hated that I even had to go in, but I had some pending proposals on my desk that
couldn’t wait and since I was a Bible believing woman and the Bible teaches to “give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s,” I had to focus on work and put my plan on hold for a few hours.

I pulled out my navy blue Christian Dior pencil skirt and blazer and decide
d to pair it up with a very classy multi-colored Dolce & Gabana halter. The weather app on my phone showed that today was going to be one of those almost 90 degree days and I wanted to stay cool. So this top was perfect.

I splashed a little Burberry Brit
before I slipped into my multicolored, red bottom stilettos. I clicked off the CD player, then grabbed my Louis Vuitton briefcase. Of course, the colors of LV threw off my entire outfit, but I didn’t care. My briefcase was a graduation gift from my brother, Joseph, and it was my favorite bag to carry to work.

From the time I stepped out of my apartment, got into the elevator, then slipped behind the wheel of my car, my mind was on Malik. Of course it was? What else was there to think about? That
’s all I’d done from the moment he and his wife had left my apartment yesterday afternoon. I thought about Malik and what our future would be like. I had it all planned out—how we would shop for a ring, how we would plan the gala that was going to be our wedding. Where we’d honeymoon, and then how we would begin looking for our own house when we got back from our fourteen wonderful days in Dubai, which is where I’d always dreamed of going for my honeymoon. Or maybe we would buy our home first, so that our place would be ready for us to move in when we returned from Dubai.

By the time I parked my car in the underground garage of my office building, I felt like I had every important moment of Malik
’s and my future planned out. As I took the elevator up to my office, my thoughts shifted a little. While I loved my position here at the magazine, I wondered what it would be like to just simply be a housewife. As ambitious as I was, being a wife and mother was what I really wanted. I wanted to stay at home so that my complete focus would be on Malik, and later on him and our children.

I guess I wanted to be like my mother, who never had to worry about how well she was doing on her job, or if the boss
’s daughter would return from New Zealand and replace her simply because she was the boss’s daughter.

Not that I had those kinds of worries. Even though I
’d just started, I knew I was doing well here at the magazine. And even if I weren’t, I didn’t have to worry. I was blessed to be from three generations of money—my great grandfather, who was born at the turn of the twentieth century, was one of the first African Americans to be appointed as an Appellate Court Judge in the 1940’s. His son, my grandfather, followed in his footsteps, as did my father. But while they did make very good money as attorneys, the bulk of their fortune came from real estate.  Back in the 1940’s, my great grandfather began buying up real estate in Washington, DC. My grandfather continued the tradition, though he expanded into Maryland. And then there was my father who had taken the investment game to a whole ‘nother level. My dad bought commercial real estate in the DMV that he flipped quickly for a profit. Now, the Jansens had a growing fortune that would provide for many generations to come.

I wasn
’t interested in living on my father’s money, though. My parents would always be there if I needed them. But that wasn’t necessary since Malik was more than capable of taking care of me.

Stepping off the elevator, I immediately walked into the hustle and bustle of th
e Power Play offices. There was a mass of cubicles, occupied by the secretaries, and a few of the copy editors that were on this floor. The chatter, the energy sent me straight into work-mode. I was ready to get to it as I strutted to my office.

Passing a
ll the cubicles, I once again marveled at just how lucky, no, how blessed I was. I was a junior editor, so of course, I should have only had a cubicle. But because I had worked with Power Play in their Atlanta offices for the three summers that I was in school, I’d been given an office, to the chagrin of the three other junior editors who had been hired with me in May—as if I cared about them.