The Choir Director 2 (11 page)

The angry sound of a car horn woke me out of a restless sleep. I was drenched in sweat, my head was hurting, and my heart was pounding, all caused by yet another nightmare. It took me a second to shake the frightening images from my mind and realize that I was safe in Monique's old house. I got up and looked around, realizing that Monique was no longer with me. She'd come back to the house to check on me the day before, and ended up staying through the night because I was too scared to be alone. She must have left when I finally fell asleep.

Through the bedroom window I could see the darkening sky. The clock on the nightstand informed me that it was seven o'clock at night. I'd fallen asleep sometime around noon, which meant I'd slept the entire day away, and now I would probably be up all night. Not that I cared. Sleep wasn't my friend anyway, not with the continued nightmares.

I had believed that confronting one of my rapists, who I now knew as Vinnie Taylor, would bring me some peace of mind. Instead, I felt more vulnerable than ever. For years, my rapists had been the boogeymen in the next room, kept out by a heavy wall of therapy and service to other rape victims. Now I knew his name, and I could still feel his weight against me as I had when he pinned me to his living room floor. Vinnie and his accomplices were in my thoughts every waking moment, and no amount of positive thinking, praying, or wishing could make them go away.

Another horn blast outside made me jump. I looked out the window to the street and saw a dark-colored sedan near the curb with its lights on. There was a man wearing a baseball cap in the driver's seat, but it was too dark for me to make out his face. I could have sworn I saw a similar car outside yesterday too. Backing away from the window, I sat down on the couch, knowing that if I didn't, my trembling legs wouldn't be able to hold me up and I'd be on the floor.

Take a deep breath
, I told myself.
He's probably just picking up someone from a house across the street.

I sat like that for several minutes, trying to control my breathing and convince myself that it wasn't one of my rapists parked outside Monique's house, waiting for me to come out. I was too terrified to go near the window to see if the car was still there.

Logically I knew there was almost no chance that my rapists knew where I was. After all, Vinnie Taylor hadn't even remembered me, and he definitely hadn't followed me after what I'd done to him. But I was still paralyzed with fear.

My cell phone rang, and I forced myself to get up off the couch to check the caller ID. It was Monique.

“Just wanted to check on you, honey. Are you feeling any better after you got some sleep?” she asked when I answered.

“No,” I said, bursting into tears. “I'm so freaked out by the whole thing. My dreams are even more intense and scary than they were before.”

“Tia,” she said, speaking in a calm, even voice, “just remember they're only dreams. You are safe in my house.”

“I can't stop thinking about them. I'm scared that they're coming to get me.”

“Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry you're going through this. Do you want me to come get you?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “It doesn't matter where I am. I'll still be scared and I'll still have nightmares. You stay home with the bishop.”

She tried for a few minutes to convince me to come to her house, but I wasn't ready to face the bishop yet. I also wasn't a hundred percent sure that Aaron wouldn't be there. She wasn't saying it, but I knew that Monique and the bishop both hoped that Aaron and I would work things out at some point. What if the bishop called Aaron and told him I was coming to their house? I definitely wasn't ready to face him in the state I was in.

When she finally realized there was no way she was changing my mind, Monique sighed and said, “Okay, but I'm coming to see you first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe it's time we find you a therapist.”

I had no faith that therapy would do any good. All those years of therapy I'd been through, thinking it healed me and made me stronger, had proven to be useless as soon as I spotted Vinnie Taylor working at the bar. One look at his face and I was a basket case all over again. Why bother to go back to therapy?

I didn't want to argue the point with Monique, though, so I just said, “Okay, Monique. I appreciate everything you've done for me.” In the morning I would tell her my true feelings about therapy, but for now, I just wanted to get off the phone.

We ended the call shortly after, and I sat on the bed, wondering how I was ever going to move forward. I'd been in limbo for so long now that I could barely remember what my life was like before I saw Vinnie Taylor. Longing for some glimpse of normalcy, I went to the suitcase that Monique had brought over to the house. Facebook had always been a good way for me to relax and catch up with friends, and I hoped that reading other people's silly status updates might take my mind off the state of my own messed-up life.

Monique had gotten the suitcase from my apartment, where it had been packed and ready for me to grab before Aaron and I headed for our honeymoon after the wedding. That felt like a lifetime ago. Now I had to dig through the bathing suits and cute little dresses I'd purchased for that vacation in order to get my computer. I held back the tears that threatened to escape from my eyes. Grabbing the laptop, I quickly shut the suitcase to get the vacation clothes out of my sight.

I logged on to Facebook and was overwhelmed by the number of messages that had been posted to my wall. After leaving Aaron at the altar, I assumed everyone would hate me—especially the members of First Jamaica Ministries. No matter how much Monique told me they cared about me, I couldn't believe her. Now I sat stunned as I read the messages of concern and love. Instead of hating me, people were praying for me.

Along with the public posts on my wall, I'd received many private messages. Several of them were from women I'd helped through my rape-crisis call center at the church. They wanted to help me now in my time of need. My eyes blurred with tears and my heart swelled with gratitude. This was the kind of healing I needed. Just as I was feeling the most vulnerable and unworthy, these messages lifted me up, evidence of the many people who cared for and loved me. And then I came to the message from the one person who mattered the most.

Aaron had sent me a message not long after I sent him the horrible text message meant to push him away for good. His private message read:
Tia, I need you to know that I will respect your wishes, but I will never stop loving you
.

I stared at Aaron's words for a long time, knowing that he meant them. A strong urge to reply overcame me.
I could reach out to him and we could start over
, I thought, but then just as quickly dismissed that fantasy. The Tia that he loved, the sweet and trusting woman he knew, was gone. She died the minute I spotted my rapist in the bar.

Just like that, my thoughts were back on Vinnie Taylor, and an overwhelming rage overtook me. Aaron's message reminded me of just how much had been stolen from me, and I could not rest until every one of those motherfuckers paid for what they'd taken. I would handle it differently than I had with Vinnie, not getting close enough to put myself in danger again, but I would find a way to get to each one of them. They couldn't give me back my past, but maybe I could erase them from my thoughts and move forward. I would keep fighting to take back control, and I wouldn't give up until someone put me in a pine box.

I typed Vinnie Taylor's name into the Facebook search and found the same page I'd seen on the computer in his apartment. Seeing his face again made me sick to my stomach, but I ignored the nausea and began to scroll through his friends list, thinking there was a chance the three roommates had stayed in touch. Maybe they even held yearly get-togethers where they laughed and joked about all the women they'd raped.

“Son of a bitch!” I shouted when I came to a friend listing for a man named Clifford White. Sure, he was older, but I would never forget that face. Not only did I have a name now, but once I clicked on his page I knew what college he had attended, along with employment information and a whole lot of personal details. I couldn't believe the line of work he had gone into. The irony was not lost on me. Nor did it surprise me that he'd liked Aaron's page.

“Man, ain't no food in the world better than Poor Freddie's,” Pippie said, finishing the last bite of macaroni and cheese. We'd picked up some takeout from his favorite soul food restaurant on Linden Boulevard and sat in his car while he devoured his meal. I, on the other hand, couldn't stomach it. Ever since the bishop had told me about Tia's reason for leaving me at the altar, I hadn't had much of an appetite. Returning to work had helped distract me, at least during the time I was with the choir, but Tia was always in the back of my mind.

“You okay, man?” Pippie asked, looking down at my uneaten meal.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” I said listlessly. I really didn't feel like talking about it, because all the talking in the world wasn't going to change anything. “You want my food?”

Pippie didn't hesitate to grab a piece of corn bread from my takeout container. “You still thinking about what Ross and the bishop told you this morning?” he asked.

He was referring to a conversation we'd all had earlier about Jackson Young. Apparently, after I left the meeting with Jackson the other day, he and Ross had gone at it pretty hard. Ross told me that Jackson wanted me as a solo artist—R&B, no less—and that he would do whatever it took to pull me away from the church choir. Ross and Bishop Wilson came to me all worked up, acting like there was a real danger of me signing on with Jackson. I didn't tell them, but I was actually pretty offended that they doubted my loyalty.

“Nah,” I told Pippie. “I'm not thinking about Jackson Young. That guy's out of his mind if he thinks I would ever leave First Jamaica Ministries.”

“I know that's right,” Pippie agreed. “Speaking of First Jamaica, let's get back there. My lunch break is over.”

We pulled away from the curb and headed toward the church. As we arrived in the parking lot, we both spotted Jackson Young at the same time. He was leaning against his Mercedes, texting away on his smartphone.

“What the hell is he doing here?” I muttered. After what Ross told me this morning, I expected Jackson to try to make contact with me, but not to be this bold, coming to the church he wanted to steal me away from.

“Wasting his time,” Pippie said as he parked and got out of the car.

I got out too. Unfortunately, Jackson spotted me right away and headed over. Pippie was a few steps ahead of me, and he just kept right on walking, practically bumping into Jackson as he passed him by. I shook my head. I'd have to get on Pippie later for not having my back.

“Aaron,” Jackson said, holding out his hand to me as he blocked my path.

I stopped, looked down at his hand, but didn't shake it. He got the hint and dropped his arm to his side. His face still held a fake smile, though.

“You got a minute?” he said. “I spoke to your manager and he told me you were turning down my offer. Mind if I ask why?”

I checked my watch, purposely not answering his question. “I have to get ready for choir rehearsal.”

“Mind if I come listen?” he asked. “Maybe I could talk to the choir afterward. You know, fill them in on the details of my offer—see if
they
can change your mind.”

This dude must be crazy
, I thought. “You mean the offer where you cut the church and the choir out of everything?” I said with disgust. “Don't waste your breath. I'm sure Ross already made it very clear that I'm not interested in anything you're offering.”

Jackson looked puzzled. “Cut the church and the choir out? I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Ross told me about your little list of demands. You need to understand something about me, though. Gospel music has brought me through some very dark times, and this church is my family. I will not leave them to sing R&B—ever. I don't care how big of a contract you offer me.”

He let out an arrogant laugh. “Well, first of all, big doesn't even begin to describe what I'm talking about. I don't think you can even imagine the amount of money we're dealing with here. And as far as leaving the choir, I don't know why you would ever think I wanted you to do that. Gospel music is where it's at, and you and your choir have something special. I'm going to make you the next Kirk Franklin and the Family.”

“What about what you said at our meeting? You asked me if I'd ever thought about being a pop star.”

He waved his hand as if to dismiss his previous comments. “Oh, I was just testing the waters, you know what I mean? When you left, Ross explained to me how devoted you were to the church, and I knew that solo R&B stuff was a dead end. Besides, gospel is huge these days. I don't want you to leave your choir. I want to make you all stars.”

“But Ross said—”

Jackson put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Aaron, I don't know what your manager is telling you, but it's false. I am offering you and your choir a chance to put out a recording with Sony.”

I was totally confused. Everything he was saying was the complete opposite of what Ross had told me that morning. Ross hadn't even mentioned anything about a recording deal. He had been focused only on telling me what a snake Jackson was and how he wanted to take me away from First Jamaica Ministries.

“But Ross—” I started again, but Jackson cut me off.

“Don't you see what this is about?” he said.

“I have no clue,” I said, relieved to see Pippie coming back outside with Bishop Wilson following behind him. Now I knew why Pippie had left me before. He went inside to get backup.

As Pippie and Bishop approached us, Jackson explained, “Your manager is lying to you. He told you I wanted you to leave the church choir behind, which is the furthest thing from the truth.”

Bishop Wilson looked at Jackson with pure contempt on his face.

Pippie interjected. “Yo, Aaron, you know Ross has had your back since way back. Ain't no reason for him to be lying to you now.”

I nodded in agreement. “Ross is my boy. What reason would he have to lie to me?” I said to Jackson.

Jackson gave me a patronizing smile, like I was a child, too stupid to see the truth. “Mr. Parker is just that—a
boy
. He doesn't want you to move up to the big leagues because he knows he doesn't have the experience to compete. He's afraid that if you sign with Sony, you'll leave him behind.”

I shook my head. “You're wrong. Ross is a good manager. Our choir is doing bigger and better things all the time.”

“Really?” Jackson said. “When was the last time he got you anything but a small-time gig? Does he have the connections to get you onto BET Gospel?”

Bishop Wilson raised his eyebrows at the mention of the national network. I hated to admit it, but the thought of that kind of exposure excited me too. I also knew that Jackson was correct: Ross really didn't have the power to get us on that network. He had become my manager because he was my best friend, not because of any special skill in the profession. Was it really possible that Ross was that insecure? Would he hold me back for his own selfish reasons?

“Bishop?” I looked to him, hoping he would have some words of wisdom, because I sure as hell didn't know what to do.

The bishop turned to Jackson looking like he wanted to punch him in the mouth. If we hadn't been in front of the church, he just might have. “Mr. Young, I think it's no secret that I have mistrusted you since the moment you set foot in my church. I would like nothing better than to never see you or hear your name again, but somehow you keep popping up, this time with wild claims that completely contradict what Aaron's manager has told us. Can you give me one good reason why we should believe a word that's coming out of your mouth?”

Jackson pulled out his cell phone. “Would you like me to call my lawyers right now? They can explain the contract to you.”

“Yo!” Pippie interrupted, sounding pretty pissed off at this point. “If y'all are going to start talking contract negotiations, don't you think you should get Ross down here?”

Jackson shot Pippie a murderous look, but I was glad Pippie was putting the brakes on this whole scene. My head was spinning at this point, full with visions of me and my choir on national television, but also unable to figure out the truth. Add this to the thoughts of Tia that were always in the back of my mind, and I was in no shape to be making any kind of decisions.

“You're right, Pippie,” Bishop Wilson said. “We can't continue this conversation until Mr. Young here provides us with a contract that our lawyers can look over, and of course, until Ross is available to talk this over.”

I could see Jackson struggling to maintain his composure. As arrogant as he was, I'm sure he had come to the church expecting to walk away with a new client. This was a man who wasn't used to hearing “no.”

“I can assure you,” he said, “that once you understand your manager doesn't have your best interests at heart, you'll be signing on the dotted line. I'll be in touch.” He headed back to his BMW and drove off, leaving us all in the parking lot wondering who was telling the truth.