Come Sunday Morning (19 page)

Willie opened the door before Samantha pressed the bell. His face looked calmer than she had expected. His gray slacks formed a puddle at his shoes, and the ever-present beads of sweat were on his forehead.

He immediately offered her a drink when she entered the house. “I had to have one after I talked to you. My nerves are shot.”

“You know I don't drink.” She considered what she was about to do and changed her mind. “On second thought, I will join you. This has me nervous too.”

Willie left the room to prepare Samantha's drink. When he returned, she was sitting on the couch and had removed her shoes. Her jacket was lying neatly on the back of a chair.

Willie stopped in the doorway and admired her beauty. He handed her the drink and sat nervously beside her, causing the cushions to slant toward him. Samantha could smell his sweat-drenched body as his large stomach flopped over the gold belt buckle.

“Willie,” she said before he could move closer, “have you thought any more about what I asked you to do?”

“It's all I've been able to think about. I'm glad you came. It'll help me make up my mind.” A sly smile appeared on his face. “I always think clearer when a beautiful woman is nearby.” He moved closer. “What are you going to do to help your daddy make the right decision?” he asked seductively.

Samantha took a sip of the drink and set it on the table. She untied the flowered scarf around her neck and let the ends drop seductively over her breasts. No sign of the revulsion she felt was apparent on her face.

“You know the only way I can do this is if I know you're willing to kill Virgil. Otherwise, the whole thing is off, and you and I will never be together.”

Willie reached his arm around her.

She could see his erection stretching the thin fabric of his pants. Samantha quickly stood up. “I need to hear you say it, Willie. Before we do anything, you need to say you'll do it.”

Willie struggled off the couch and walked toward her with his arms outstretched. “Baby, you know I can never say no to you. Come on. Don't tease me like this. Let Daddy have some of that.”

Samantha allowed him to nuzzle her neck and nibble her earlobes. “Don't fuck with me, Willie. Let me hear you say it.”

Willie moved his tongue up and down her neck while he whispered, “I'll do it for you, baby. I'll kill Virgil Jackson for you, and any other man you want me to. Just let me have some of that….”

“What else, Willie? Tell me what else you're going to do.”

He couldn't remember the second thing she wanted. “I don't know. Tell me,” he purred while fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.

The growing mound in his pants pressed against her leg. His stomach felt like dough on her hip.

“The trustees, Willie. What are you going to do with the trustees?”

“Oh, that,” he moaned. “Don't worry about them. You'll be the pastor of New Testament by this time next week.”

Samantha took a deep breath and pulled Willie's lips to hers. She kissed him as passionately as she had ever kissed Hezekiah. She could taste the remnants of alcohol and cigarettes on his tongue. With Willie's final words of consent, she frantically unbuttoned his shirt and undid his pants. She wanted it to be over as soon as possible. She didn't want him to tear her clothes in his frenzied state, so she willingly undressed in the middle of his living room. Samantha stood naked as he groped her breasts.

As they lay on the couch, Willie's black nylon socks were the only items left on his body. Samantha flinched under the weight of his stomach. She had often wondered how men with such huge guts managed to reach a woman's vagina. She soon discovered it was at the agonizing expense of whoever was unfortunate enough to be under them. His belly flopped and slammed her stomach as he panted. Drops of sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest and neck as he pounded, oblivious to her discomfort.

For the first moments she tried to feign pleasure but quickly realized that he didn't even notice her efforts in his aroused state. The abuse went on for what seemed an eternity, until he collapsed full weight on top of her, panting to catch his breath.

“Phew! Baby, that was amazing. The pastor doesn't know how good he had it.”

 

Samantha sat alone in the Polo Lounge in the Beverly Hills Hotel, one of her favorite restaurant. Waiters in black vests and pants appeared at her table in rapid intervals, filling her glass with water and offering her coffee and bread, while she waited for her lunch companion to arrive. A hazy yellow light that slightly altered the color of everything it touched consumed the room. The lunch crowd of men and women, dressed in the finest clothes available on either coast, quickly began pouring in.

She could still feel Willie Mitchell's gut pressing into her as she occasionally she waved across the lavish room at people she recognized but preferred to keep at a distance. She checked her watch when she heard, “Samantha, darling. Sorry I'm late. How are you?”

Samantha reached for the gloved hand of her best friend, Victoria Johnson. Victoria was the wife of Rev. Sylvester Johnson, the pastor of First Bethany Church of Los Angeles. She wore a pale peach pantsuit, which accented the beautiful curves of her body. A diamond-encrusted broach shaped like a butterfly twinkled on her lapel. Her hands were covered in sleek buttery cream colored leather gloves. Victoria was the only other pastor's wife with whom Samantha never competed. The women were equals in every way, and both were more ambitious than their successful husbands.

Victoria sat down and removed her gloves. “Are you okay, Sam? You look like you've been crying.”

Before Samantha could speak, a waiter appeared at the table. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Johnson. May I get you something from the bar?”

“I'll have a vodka martini, thank you.” The waiter left the table and Victoria continued, “Now tell me, honey, what has that bastard done this time?”

“Just more of the usual. He's having another affair. He came right out and admitted it.”

“I'm so sorry. You must be devastated. Did he tell you who she is?”

Samantha picked up her napkin and caught a tear running down her cheek. Even though she shared her most intimate secrets with Victoria, she could not bring herself to confess that Hezekiah was sleeping with a man. “No, he said I didn't know her. I don't really care who it is this time.”

“What do you mean you don't care? You're not going to leave him, are you?”

“No, I'm not going to leave him, but there's more. She's been calling the house at all hours and hanging up the phone. This morning I saw a car with a woman in it sitting outside the house. When he left, she followed him down the hill.” Samantha dabbed her eye with the napkin and continued. “Yesterday I got a call…a call saying if he did not leave me, she would kill us both.”

“Oh my God, Sammy. You must be frightened out of your mind.” Victoria took a long swallow from the drink the waiter had delivered. “The bitch sounds crazy. Have you called the police?”

“No, I can't. I don't want to get the police involved.”

“You have to. She's a psycho. I don't mean to scare you, but this is serious. What does Hezekiah have to say about it?”

“He says she's harmless. He's going to break it off with her today. Victoria, I'm so frightened.” Samantha prayed Victoria's brain was not too clouded from the vodka to recall their conversation later. She had to have someone vouch for her innocence in court if the need ever arose.

Victoria drank down the remainder of her second drink and ordered another from a passing waiter. “Who cares what he thinks.”

“It's not his fault, he—”

Victoria grabbed her hand across the table. “Samantha Monique Cleaveland, don't you dare defend that bastard. He doesn't deserve it. You have stood in his shadow all these years, put up with his ego, made him look better than he really is, and this is how he repays you. I swear, all men should be lined up against a wall, have their dicks cut off and shoved down their throats.”

Samantha forced a laugh through her tears. “Victoria, you should do something about that mouth of yours.”

“You know I'm right, girl. Sylvester has cheated on me so many times, I get suspicious when he's around too much. If he didn't have so goddamned much money, and that fucking prenup, I'd have left his ass years ago.”

Samantha laughed freely. “Girl, you ought to quit.”

“You're different, Sam. You could take his church and his money. Everyone knows you're a much better preacher than he is. I bet if he wasn't around, those tightass Holy Rollers would still follow you around like you had gold on your ass.”

Samantha suppressed a hearty laugh and hoped no one could hear their conversation. “Don't say that, Victoria. I still love him. I just hope this woman doesn't hurt him.”

“I hope she does, and if she doesn't, I know some guys that'll break both his and that bitch's legs for fifty dollars and a carton of Newports. You give me the word, and I'll show him just how much you love him.”

“I think Hezekiah will learn his lesson this time. He'll never do this to me again.”

After lunch the two women embraced on the busy street in front of the restaurant. Samantha had ended the lunch abruptly after Victoria's fourth vodka martini. She feared Victoria would get too drunk to remember they had even met that day.

“Sammy, you call me if you need anything, honey. And don't let that bitch frighten you.”

They laughed and embraced one last time as the valet brought Samantha's car and held open the door.

“I just might take you up on that broken-leg offer,” Samantha said as she climbed into the driver's seat. “I'll call you next week and let you know how things turn out.”

As she drove away, she heard Victoria yelling to the parking attendant, “Where's my car? I've been standing on this curb so long, people are going to think I'm a hooker.”

H
ezekiah and Danny dodged rollerbladers and couples jogging on the bike path at Santa Monica Beach. They had met earlier for breakfast at a sidewalk café, and decided to take a walk afterward. It was a beautiful morning, and the beach was already filled with tourists wearing Venice Beach T-shirts and Bermuda shorts. Children were jumping waves and sun worshippers were lying prone on colorful towels. Waves slammed against the weathered remains of the pier, which reached into the horizon.

“Heads up!” yelled a man behind them, wearing black biking shorts and a helmet. Danny and Hezekiah separated to opposite sides of the path and returned to the center when the biker had passed. Danny's shoulder brushed the arm of Hezekiah's gray jogging suit in the closest display of affection they dared in such a public place.

“I promise I'll never let a man in tight biking shorts come between us again.” They both laughed as Hezekiah led the way off the paved path toward the ocean.

“I made arrangements for us to fly to Paris next weekend,” Hezekiah said as he stumbled over tracks left behind by a lifeguard truck.

“I hadn't thought about that since you mentioned it. I assumed you had forgotten.”

“I remember everything we've ever said to each other. Just like I've memorized every inch of your beautiful body. I know you didn't believe me. Now you can see I'm serious about this and about us.”

Danny tried to switch the topic. “How did your session go with the therapist?”

“Exactly the way I expected it to. He said I should leave you and let him ‘help me' save my marriage and church.”

“Maybe he's right.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. It doesn't matter, though. I'm not leaving you. Sorry, but you're stuck with me. And stop trying to change the subject. My plane will be at LAX on next Friday afternoon, and a driver will be waiting for us in Paris.”

Hezekiah looked at his watch. It was 11:00
A.M
. “We'd better head back. I've got some work to do on my sermon for Sunday.”

They walked back to the restaurant with a comfortable silence shared between them. Seagulls hunted for sand crabs while the waves erased the footprints they left behind.

Danny interrupted the silence. “Can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I'm afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of what I think Samantha will do if you ever leave her.”

“What do you think she'll do? Kill me?” Hezekiah said with a smile.

“I'm serious, Hezekiah. I think she's capable of doing something that…I know you love her, but I can't shake this feeling I have about her.”

“I do still have feelings for her, but not in the same way I feel about you. Yes, she has a mean streak, but she's also very pragmatic and a survivor. She'll adjust just like millions of other women do when they divorce. It's going to be difficult, but I'm sure she'll be fine.”

“Just be careful, Hezekiah. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

 

The Harbor Freeway was bumper to bumper as Samantha drove her car toward the church. Chamber music hummed from her CD. Dark sunglasses protected her eyes from the afternoon sun. As she exited onto Hezekiah Cleaveland Avenue, she saw Willie Mitchell leaning against his car in the church parking lot. Samantha pulled in next to him and got out. He looked at her silky legs as they extended from the car, and he immediately remembered why he subjected himself to the whims of the woman.

“Where's Catherine?” Samantha asked.

“She must be at lunch.” He leaned in to kiss her.

Samantha pushed him away and said, “Not here, you idiot.”

Samantha reached into her purse and handed Willie the gun wrapped in one of Hezekiah's handkerchiefs. She already had carefully wiped her fingerprints from it. “Put it in your pocket and give me back the handkerchief. Before you give it to Virgil, make sure you wipe your prints off, and don't let him have it until Sunday morning.”

“I'm not stupid. Where'd you get this?”

“It belonged to my mother. I don't know where she got it but I found it under her mattress when I was clearing out her house after she died. What's important is it's not registered and can't be traced back to either of us.”

Willie placed the bundle into the breast pocket of his coat and removed the cloth.

“Where is Virgil?” Samantha asked in a half whisper.

“I think he's at the mission downtown. He goes there every day,” he answered nervously.

“Just make sure he doesn't back out at the last minute.”

“He won't.” Willie looked around the parking lot and then whispered, “When am I going to get some more of that good loving?”

Samantha's eyes glazed over with disgust. “Just take care of this, and you'll get more than you can handle.”

Samantha turned and walked quickly toward the church entrance. Willie rubbed his gut as he watched her legs and muttered, “Damn, that woman is fine.” He then bounced into his car and drove away.

Samantha entered the church. Although no one was in sight, she could hear footsteps in the distance. As she neared the glass office, her heart began to race. It was bright from fluorescent lights, and the telephone was ringing. She fumbled trying to put her key in the door as she heard the footsteps growing nearer.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cleaveland.”

The voice startled her, and she dropped the keys. When she turned around, she saw Rauly Jenkins, the facility manager.

“Rauly, you scared me,” she said. “I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. I was up in the baptismal pit. I don't think they've cleaned it since I left for vacation two weeks ago.”

As Rauly spoke, Samantha became concerned that he had witnessed the exchange between her and Willie Mitchell. “Have you seen Reverend Mitchell? I thought I saw him on the street when I drove up.”

“No, ma'am, I haven't seen him all day.”

“I guess it's time to get my eyes checked. Rauly, please make sure the lectern is polished before this Sunday. And the stained-glass window behind the pulpit needs to be cleaned. It looked murky last Sunday morning.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Also, Pastor Cleaveland doesn't like the looks of one of the support beams under the balcony. He's concerned it could collapse if there is too much weight on it. He wants you to post
CLOSED
signs at the balcony entrances and set up the television monitors in Fellowship Hall for this Sunday's service,” Samantha said, hoping Rauly and Hezekiah would not cross paths before the end of the day.

“That's funny. He didn't mention it earlier, when I saw him. I'll get my men on that right away. It'll be done before I leave for the weekend.”

“Thank you.”

Rauly returned the way he came, and Samantha entered the office. She picked up a pad from the desk and was beginning to write a note when she saw Catherine approaching.

“Hello, Catherine. I was just writing you a note. I hope you're not too upset with me about the other day. There was just so much on my mind, and I got carried away. I was completely out of line, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Catherine stared at her cautiously and said, “That's all right, Mrs. Cleaveland. I understand. Pastor Cleaveland explained it to me.”

A flush of blood rushed into Samantha's head. She wondered what horrible thing Hezekiah had said to the girl. “I hope he didn't say anything too terrible about me. Whatever it was, I'm sure I deserved it.”

Catherine did not respond.

“Well, anyway, if there is anything I can do to make it up to you,” Samantha continued, “please let me know.” Samantha had already decided that after Hezekiah was dead, the first thing she would do was fire Catherine Birdsong, again.

“Please, I just want to forget about it.”

As Samantha approached the door, she turned and said, “I almost forgot. Could you order lilies, white lilies, and birds-of-paradise for the pulpit this Sunday? They're Hezekiah's favorites.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Catherine responded coldly. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, that's all. I'll see you on Sunday morning.”