I Say a Little Prayer Read online

  “Not even when you were young?”

  Skylar didn’t answer; instead, he took a long gulp and finished his first glass of wine, then took a quick swig of his second glass. There was a look of sadness in his eyes, and melancholy seeped into our booth and took over.

  After a few minutes of silence, I gently touched his hand. “I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

  More silence passed and Skylar finished his second glass of wine, then motioned toward the waiter and ordered a third. After one sip on glass number three, Skylar began to cautiously reveal his story of lost love.

  “I was in love once, but it didn’t work out,” he said softly and slowly.

  “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Tank. Tank Malloy, and he was the best wrestler in Cleveland, and maybe the entire state of Ohio. His skin was as dark as chocolate and as smooth as a Dove bar. He was bowlegged, and had hair on his face before he was sixteen.”

  “Did he go to your high school?”

  “No, he lived on the other side of town and went to Central West, which was our archrival. I met him when I was visiting some of my cousins and he rode past their house on a ten-speed bike with no shirt on. I was just mesmerized.”

  “What happened when you met him?”

  “You mean the first or second time?” Skylar asked.

  “What do you mean first or second?”

  “I didn’t really meet him the first time. I asked my cousin who he was, and she told me his name and that he was already having sex with some girl from the neighborhood who was going to Ohio State University. Since everybody in my family knew I was gay, it was no big deal for me to tell my cousin that I wanted to meet him. I’m glad I never really had any issues about what I wanted. The biggest choice I had to make when I was growing up was how tight I was going to wear my short-shorts. I knew what I wanted, and that was Tank Malloy. I was going to do whatever it took to get him.”

  “So did your cousin introduce you to him?”

  “Not really. She told me he was all boy. She also said he rode his bike every evening and played baseball or something at the Little League field. So for about three days in a row, I went down to the field and watched him from the fence. He was always the last one to leave, and I would just stare at him like he was the only boy on the planet.”

  “Come on, Skylar, tell me how you met him,” I said impatiently.

  “I realized my tight jeans and Izod shirts were the wrong outfits. I went back home, and for about a week, I plotted out my plan. When I went back to visit my cousin, I waited until it was dark and I strutted down to the ball field in the tightest little poom-poom shorts, some white tennis shoes with matching socks, and a little white midriff blouse. You know, my skin was as flawless as it is now, and I had an apple-bum ass that had all the girls in my high school wanting to scratch my eyes out. I used one of my mother’s nice silk scarves and her Dutch-boy wig, stole some makeup out of Kmart, and I was ready to claim my man.”

  I looked at Skylar with a puzzled look, wondering if I was hearing him right.

  “You dressed in drag?”

  “I don’t know if you could call it drag. I was a naturally pretty boy and I just did a little enhancing. I guess you could say it was my first real makeover.” Skylar smiled.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Why did Skylar’s confession make me nervous?

  “Oh, baby, ain’t no shame in my game. It turned out to be the best move I ever made.”

  “What happened? Did he know you were a guy?”

  Skylar motioned to the waiter to bring the check, then looked over at me.

  “I can’t finish my story now, honey, I’ve got a hot date tonight. Drag-free, of course. I’ll have to continue this story at a later date. But let me warn you, it’s a trilogy.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said as I reached for my wallet and pulled out a credit card.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I took one last spoonful of raisin bran and picked up the ringing phone on the kitchen counter. Before I said hello, I put the Saturday edition of the Morning Show on mute. I usually didn’t answer the kitchen phone, because it didn’t have caller ID.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were singing at a revival?” It was my sister Belinda.

  “I thought I told you, but if I didn’t, how did you find out?” I asked.

  “Mama told me. And like her, I didn’t think I would ever hear my brother’s beautiful voice again. I’m thinking about coming with Mama and Daddy to the revival.”

  I thought for a moment before saying, “Well, I’m not certain I’m going to do the revival.”

  “What? That’s all Mama has been talking about. She and Daddy are so excited. Why aren’t you singing?”

  “It’s a very long story.”

  “I got time. Let me just shut the door to the kitchen,” Belinda said.

  As I waited, I wondered how much I should tell Belinda.

  “Okay, I’m back. Now, tell me what’s going on. I was going to check to see if I could take some time off and come down with Mama and Daddy and maybe stay a few days after they leave so we can visit.”

  “What about your husband and kids?”

  “They won’t even know I’m gone,” Belinda said mournfully. “To tell you the truth, one morning I might just get in my car and keep driving, right out of my neighborhood, past the school, and out of this city to some place where nobody knows me.”

  “Are you all right?” I asked. I did not like the sound of my sister’s voice.

  “I’m okay.” She sighed. “It’s just one of those days when I’m feeling sorry for myself. Wondering if life is just passing me by.”

  “How long have you been feeling like this?” I was concerned about my sister, but at the same time, I was relieved to take the focus off of me.

  “It comes and it goes,” Belinda said. “I don’t think I’m depressed or anything. Just disappointed by some of the opportunities I’ve let pass me by. That’s why I was so excited when Mama told me you were singing again. I always thought it was a big mistake when you didn’t go after a solo career when you left the group. Does your long story have something to do with that?”

  “Not really,” I said quickly, then added, “Well, maybe just a little.”

  “What?”

  “Before I talk about that, I want to make sure you’re all right. I haven’t ever heard you sound so depressed.”

  “All I need is to see my brother and hear that marvelous voice of his. That will cure whatever’s bothering me, and I know Mama will just die if you make them cancel the trip.”

  “So they’re really excited, huh?” I already knew the answer to my question, but I’d done my best not to think about what my parents might say if I decided not to perform.

  “It’s like they were going to the White House for dinner and President Clinton was still the commander in chief.” Belinda laughed.

  “Have you registered to vote?” I asked, trying not to talk about me and the upcoming singing engagement.

  “Are you kidding? I was raised by your parents, too. Even though I don’t think it’ll matter. This state is redder than the blood flowing through my body.” My thoughts went back to my childhood when my parents took Belinda and me with them when they voted and told us how important it was.

  “Well, you never know,” I said as I looked at my watch. I lied and told Belinda that I had a meeting and that I would call her later on.

  “You promise? I wanna hear about that long story.”

  “I promise, and please don’t say anything to Mama and Daddy about me not singing. I’m praying on it, and I hope to get an answer soon,” I said.

  “I’m sure you’ll get the right answer. Have a great day.”

  “You too, big sis,” I said as I hung up the phone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The word got out. That old game of tell-a-phone or tell-a-sissy still held true. On
the first Sunday in October, Abundant Joy was packed like a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. I couldn’t believe it when I walked out into the choir stand and saw people standing against the wall and in the aisles. I looked out the window and saw what looked like hundreds of people milling around the parking lot because the doors to the church were locked. When I came in earlier like the rest of the choir, the number of cars in the lot looked normal for Sunday. I was certain if the fire chief knew about the crowd, services would have been halted.

  When I stood at the microphone to sing my solo, Vincent smiled and winked at me. I smiled back nervously as I spotted Skylar grinning and waving a white handkerchief. He was sitting next to Celia and Lontray, who were dressed like they might stop at the club on their way home from church.

  The choir stood up at Vincent’s direction, and I sang Edwin Hawkins’s standard “Oh Happy Day” like it was the last song I was ever going to sing. The choir rocked with the chorus and several members got happy and passed out. The ushers rushed from the back of the church to fan them. It was like I was back home in Mississippi, where the pastor didn’t mind if the Holy Ghost came in and took over service.

  When I finished my solo, I was so happy that I found myself trembling, with my hands raised in the air, and I couldn’t have brought them down if I wanted to. I found my way back to my seat and collapsed as another soloist took the microphone and kept the church and Holy Ghost going.

  With his face beaming, Pastor Kenneth took to the pulpit. I could tell from the look on his face that he was surprised by the crowd.

  “It looks like the Good Lord has spread the word about our little church. Can I get everybody to say ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow?’”

  “Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” the church repeated.

  “Amen, amen,” Pastor Kenneth said as he closed his Bible.

  He paused for a moment as he surveyed the crowd. I wondered if he could tell that the majority of the visitors were gay men and women.

  “I had prepared my sermon on Tuesday,” he said. “But as I look out on the crowd and the way the Holy Spirit has anointed these wonderful singers, I feel like the Lord wants me to deliver a different message.”

  Vincent and I exchanged nervous glances, and I was praying that Pastor Kenneth wouldn’t use this Sunday to preach his first “If you’re gay you’re going to hell” sermon.

  “You know, in less than a month we will elect a new president of the United States, or reelect the current one. Now, I’ve heard that several churches in the area, our churches, are instructing their memberships on how to vote. When I hear this talk, I’m reminded of something on a poster I have in my office. It reads ‘What Would Jesus Do?’” Pastor Kenneth said as he moved his right hand in the air as if he was pointing out the words on a blackboard to the congregation.

  Oh, please don’t go there, Pastor, I thought to myself. Don’t have these kids turn on you.

  “I tell you what Jesus would do, or at least what I think He would do. He would tell us that so many of our ancestors fought and died for our right to vote that we shouldn’t take that right too lightly. He would also tell us that we shouldn’t let the leaders of our churches take away that right. Telling us who to vote for essentially takes away our very precious right to vote. Can I get an Amen?” Pastor Kenneth shouted.

  I don’t know what got into me, but I found myself leaping from my church seat, pumping my fist in the air, and saying, “Amen. Tell ’em, Pastor.” And I was not alone. The entire church broke into such a thunderous applause that I felt the church might crumble from the sound alone.

  “Jesus would tell us that our votes were not for sale. That they couldn’t be used to fill the offering plates so that the ministers could drive cars that cost more than many of the houses we live in.”

  One of the older members of the church, Sister Bertha, stood up with a fan in her left hand and shouted, “Preach, Pastor. You ain’t tellin’ nothin’ but the truth.”

  Again the church joined in and erupted with “Amen” and “Preach, Pastor.”

  About ten minutes later, Pastor Kenneth ended his sermon by telling the crowd that while it was important to listen to the leadership of the church, he and the rest of them were mere mortals.

  “Put your faith in God, because He will never let you down. Don’t let man block your blessings. Can I get a witness?”

  The church responded with a standing ovation, and Vincent eyed me and began playing “Oh Happy Day” again. I took that as my cue and returned to the microphone and began to sing once again.

  After church, I was feeling so good I invited Skylar, Celia, and Lontray to join me at the over-the-top brunch at the Ritz-Carlton Buckhead. At fifty-five dollars a head, it was something I allowed myself to splurge on maybe twice a year to celebrate a birthday or a big month of sales.

  Before I left church, I stopped in Pastor Kenneth’s office to tell him how much I enjoyed the service. He was ecstatic. Not because the sermon had been so well received but because he said the Sunday offering was three times what it normally was.

  “I wish we could have those worshipers here every Sunday,” he said. I smiled to myself and whispered, “Me, too.”

  While Celia and Lontray filled their plates at the seafood station with boiled shrimp, crab legs, and oysters, I got a Mexican-style omelet. Despite the array of different food stations, like one that featured fruits and cheese, a roast beef carving one, and one with pasta, Skylar arrived back at the table with California rolls, shrimp dumplings, and caviar.

  The four of us ordered mimosas after Skylar explained to Lontray what they were, and we began to enjoy the delicious food. After a few bites, Celia looked over at me and said, “There sure were a lot of good-looking men at your church. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “Tell you what?” I asked.

  “About all the fine men who go to church. If I had known that, I would have gone to church instead of using Sundays to get my nails and toes done,” Celia said.

  “I know that’s right,” Lontray said as she gave Celia a high five. “But did you notice how a lot of the women looked like men?”

  Skylar and I gave each other the eye, while Celia said she hadn’t noticed because she was too busy looking at all the men.

  “Maybe I got the wrong game plan, trying to find someone at the club to replace Marvin. Lontray, I’m going to get me some more of them shrimp with some of that white sauce. You want me to get you some?”

  “Naw, girl, I’ve had enough seafood. You would think in a place this fancy a girl could get a fried chicken leg or some gravy,” Lontray said.

  “Why don’t you try some of the caviar?” Skylar suggested.

  “What’s that?” Lontray asked.

  “Caviar? Oh, girl, it’s just divine. You must try it.”

  “But what is it?”

  “Well, if you must know, they’re fish eggs,” Skylar said.

  “Those little black thangs are fish eggs? You mean from real fishes?”

  “Of course real fish, and honey, you know I don’t do fish as a practice.” Skylar laughed.

  “You selling that program to the wrong girl, Skylar. I ain’t even trying to eat no fish eggs. What else they got over there?”

  “They have bacon and sausage over at the breakfast station. You can also get a fresh waffle made,” I said.

  “Now you talking,” Lontray said as she got up and followed Celia.

  A few seconds after the two left, Skylar shook his head and said, “Poor chile. You can take the bump fish out of the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out of the bump fish.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Lontray. She’s bump fish if I ever saw one. What you want to bet she got a switchblade in her purse?” Skylar asked. “Bump fish” is what Skylar called females who were not only ghetto but reveled in being that way.

  “She’s harmless, and besides, Lontray is one of Celia’s best friends,” I said.

>   “And poor Celia. I mean, when will these so-called educated women learn that them men up in church don’t want them? Chile, I ain’t seen so many sissies since I was in Atlanta Airport on Labor Day weekend. I saw a few people up in there who needed to be throwing themselves on the altar,” Skylar said, and laughed.

  “I guess it is kinda sad that women can’t tell when a man is gay or bi. I don’t guess that’s ever gonna change,” I said.

  “You right about that. Women will never learn the power of a little lips, hips, and fingertips,” Skylar said. “But that’s fine with me, because that certainly leaves them at a disadvantage. Makes it easier for me to come in and steal their husbands.”

  Skylar got up and headed toward the island of food, and I sat in silence. I wondered again why women as smart as Celia couldn’t or weren’t able to distinguish between a gay and a straight man. As someone who considered myself her friend, almost a big brother, would it be fair to tell Celia that the majority of men at the service were gay? Had I been deceptive when I asked her to come to church because we were having a special service to show how important gay people were to the black church?

  Celia sat down at the table with a plate full of freshly cut meat and pasta.

  “This is so good, Chauncey, thank you! I’m trying lamb for the first time,” she said, beaming.

  “Glad to do it. Thanks so much for coming to church with me,” I said.

  “Oh no, thank you. I don’t know why, but I was moved by something. I mean, it’s been a while since I went to church, but when I walked into your church this morning I felt a certain peace. It was like God knew I was coming and He was waiting there to greet me,” Celia said.

  I didn’t say anything for a few moments as I savored Celia’s words and fought back my tears. Finally, I said, “He was there waiting for you. And I’m pretty certain He’ll be there if you ever go back.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Even with all the chaos in my life, I slept soundly and woke up earlier than usual with Damien on my mind. No, it wasn’t one of those rock-hard sex fantasies, but how much I really wanted to have a conversation with him. It didn’t matter if I spoke to him on the phone or face-to-face, although I believed that if I saw him, I’d be able to read his body language.