I Say a Little Prayer Read online

  Later that evening, I stood on my patio and listened to the soft sound of rain as it dropped down on Atlanta. The rain always made me reflective and today was no different. I was thinking about how Damien and I used to enjoy not only watching and listening to the rain but walking in it as well. I wondered how Damien wound up marrying a woman like Grayson. Didn’t he realize how manipulative and conniving she was? I thought of something I’d felt when Damien exited my life: maybe true love was too much to ever expect as a black gay man.

  The raindrops started to fall more heavily and I decided to go back into the house. When I stepped inside I heard the phone ring. I walked over and looked at the caller identification and saw private caller displayed. I started not to pick it up but thought it might be Damien calling to apologize for his wife’s actions.

  “Hello.”

  “Chauncey.”

  For a moment I was startled but surprised by the sound of his voice.

  “Basil, what’s going on? I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon,” I said.

  “I discovered some information that you might find interesting,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “Your preacher and his wife. I thought she looked familiar and so I called a couple of my boyz from college. Grayson was a student, or at least she was enrolled at Miami when I went to school,” Basil said.

  “So did you know her?”

  “Naw, not really, but a bunch of my boyz—you know, my teammates—knew her in how shall we say, the biblical sense. She was a real football groupie and used to have a reputation for being able to roll a perfect joint. That’s why I said she was ‘enrolled’ in school. One of my boyz told me she stayed on her back most of the time and higher than the friendly skies,” Basil said.

  “That’s interesting,” I said, suddenly hoping “The Queen” would make another visit to my office and I could drop some of my newfound knowledge on her.

  “So if you want old boy back then maybe you should share that information with him,” Basil suggested.

  I started laughing and said, “That’s what you thought, Basil? That I want Damien back? No way.”

  “Well, you didn’t see the look in your eyes that I saw when you were talking about him. I know niggas like him—and me, for that matter. We never really change.”

  “If we’re talking about looks, what about the one I saw in your eyes when you were talking about being in love? Which, by the way, you didn’t say if it was a man or a female.”

  There was silence over the phone.

  “Basil, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, you got me on that one. Is it important whether or not it’s a male or female?”

  “Not really, but I do want to know. I miss our sessions, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was bothered by you not tryin’ to hit this when we saw each other,” I said.

  “I feel you and I kinda got that. It’s hard trying to change your ways when you an old dog like me. But it’s a dude. Somebody I’ve known for a long time. He almost died about three years ago, and it woke me up and made me realize how much I loved him.”

  “I’m happy for you and it gives me a little hope,” I said.

  “Now don’t be going picking out china for us. I ain’t about that gay marriage thing. And this is the hardest thing I’ve done because Raymond, that’s his name, told me when we hooked up it had to just be him or nothing at all. I get tempted sometimes, and I want to kick it with another woman or a dude, but I don’t want to fuck this up,” Basil said.

  “I’m happy for you, Basil. Thanks for sharing that.”

  “Thanks, man, and I’m hopeful that you’ll find love soon as well.”

  “Thank you,” I said as tears welled up in my eyes. Maybe hopeful wasn’t a bad thing to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “You know, these women are getting out of control. I can’t believe Damien’s wife came looking for you,” Skylar said.

  “Yeah, it’s been a few days, and I’m still not over the shock,” I said, wishing that I’d never brought up the topic.

  I was over at Skylar’s house grilling some steaks. My hope was to hear some more of his Tank story and not talk about Grayson and Damien Upchurch.

  “I need to send you to Skylar’s School of How to Deal with Crazy Bitches—the crash course,” Skylar said, pointing at me. “So you won’t have to put up with that stuff. One time my man’s baby mama came to my house, and I guarantee you it’s the last visit she paid.”

  Knowing there was a story there, and that it would change the subject, I asked him what had happened. Skylar made martinis for the both of us and sat at the bar while I seasoned the steaks.

  “I was seeing this guy—Thurston, I think was his name. Anyway, he used to always come to my house late at night and then leave early in the morning. He came at least twice a week. He was a cop, and I actually met him when he was giving me a ticket. You think blondes are the only ones who can flirt their way out of a ticket?” Skylar laughed as he took a sip of his drink.

  “Anyhow, he told me he had a baby’s mama, but that didn’t bother me. It wasn’t like I was trying to fall in love.” Skylar paused, then added, “Although he was fine. Lean, but muscular, and he was packing over ten inches thick. Why is it that skinny boys have the biggest dicks?”

  “That’s just a myth,” I said as I covered the steaks with aluminum foil and suddenly wished I had cooked at my house. It was an unusually warm evening for early October, and I bet I could have gotten away with cooking outside.

  “Yeah, he was tight,” Skylar said in between sips of his martini. “Sometimes he would wear his uniform and bring his gun so I could play with it.”

  I shook my head. “You’re one sick puppy.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. This was when I first moved to the ATL and I was just staying in a regular working-girl-type apartment over in midtown where all the kids lived. It was right off Peachtree, near the MARTA and where that Margaret house is.”

  “Margaret house? What are you talking about?”

  “Who is the bitch that wrote Gone with the Wind? Never read the book, but loved, loved, loved the movie,” Skylar said.

  “Her name was Margaret Mitchell.” I placed some sliced mushrooms in a skillet of sizzling olive oil.

  “The point I’m trying to make is that it was easy to just walk up and knock on my door. So one day I hear a knock and I open the door without looking out, and there’s this two-tone-hair, bad-dye-job, big-earring, gum-chewing sister standing in front of me with her eyes going in different directions, looking like that female character Jamie Foxx used to play on In Living Color.”

  “Ugly Wanda?”

  “Yeah, her. Maybe not that ugly. So I thought she must be selling human hair from China, the way she was looking. I asked her how I could help her. She looked at me like dog shit, then had the nerve to ask me who I was. I told her my name, and I asked who she was, while she stood there trying to look over my shoulder and see inside my starter palace. The bitch might have been trying to rob me, so while I was looking at her, I was trying to remember where I put my gun.”

  “You had a gun?”

  “Child, I keep a gun. Ain’t nobody gonna try and punk me because of the way I look and act. I will beat a bitch or a nigga down and then shoot their ass,” Skylar said.

  “So what did she say?”

  “Told me her name was Tamieka or LaSheika. You know the names. I asked her again how I could help her, and she said she wanted to know why Thurston had been seen leaving my apartment several times.”

  My face stretched with surprise. “Did you tell her?”

  “I asked her who she was, and she told me she was Thurston’s baby’s mama. Then she got up in my face and asked me again what he was doing at my house. I didn’t like her stance, so I told her he was coming to my place because I suck dick better than she did. Then I asked her if she had any more questions.”

  “You are a fool,” I said, shaking my he
ad, “What did she say?”

  “Her eyes bucked out like she was shocked. She asked me if I was a cake boy. I asked her what was that, and she said a low-life faggot. I told her she should ask her alleged boyfriend,” Skylar said, laughing.

  I scooped up the mushrooms, whose aroma was overwhelming the area near the stove, and poured them into a bowl. My back was to Skylar, and when I turned around and saw him fixing himself another drink, I finally took the first sip of mine.

  “I bet she was mad at you,” I said.

  Skylar waved his hand in the air. “The bitch told me she should smack the shit out of me, and I told her to bring it but if she put her grimy hands on my face she better kill me, ’cause I didn’t mind slashing a bitch like her.”

  “You wouldn’t have hit a woman, Skylar, would you?” I asked, wondering why I was surprised. I didn’t put one thing past my best friend when something came between him and a man.

  “Why the fuck not? If any bitch comes for me, I’m going to treat them like a dude. I tell you, if Damien’s wife had come in my space trying to get in my business, she would have been with me about ten seconds before she would be in the corner licking her wounds.”

  “What did the girl do?” I asked, bringing the story back. I still didn’t want to talk about Damien or his wife.

  “She could tell by the look in my eyes that I wasn’t playing, and the bitch scurried from my door. I never heard from her again.”

  “What happened to Thurston?”

  “I guess the bitch learned how to suck dick, ’cause I didn’t hear from him, either.” Skylar laughed as he took a sip from martini number two.

  One too many cocktails caused Skylar to crawl up on his sofa and fall asleep right after dinner, so I didn’t get my Tank story. I came home, took a bath, watched Will & Grace and my favorite Atlanta newscaster, Monica Kaufman, and prepared for bed.

  Just as I was getting ready to turn off the light, the phone rang. Private scrolled across the display, and since several people I loved, like Skylar, had private numbers, I picked it up. After I said “Hello,” I knew I’d made a mistake.

  “What kind of stunt are you pulling?” the familiar female voice demanded.

  “What?”

  “This is Mrs. Upchurch, and I want to know why you didn’t tell me you were singing at Damien’s sermon. You’re up to something, and I won’t stand for it. Is that why you’ve been trying to get in touch with my husband? Did I not make it clear that he’s not on your team anymore? My husband is on God’s team,” she said, her voice tight. I started to say, “Like you were on the University of Miami’s team,” but I thought I would save that little piece of information for later.

  “Then there shouldn’t be any problems. Good night,” I said. I hung up the phone before she could utter another threat.

  I turned out the light and clicked off the television. Just as I was starting my nightly prayer, the phone rang again. But this time I turned the ringer off by pressing the Do Not Disturb button on my phone. When I got into bed, I sighed and enjoyed a smile of satisfaction. I knew I would sleep well. Just as I knew that Grayson Upchurch wouldn’t—women with secrets like hers probably don’t sleep much at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It was around 10 A.M. and I was worried. Celia hadn’t come into the office, nor had she called, and this was not like her.

  I picked up the phone and dialed her cell number. After a couple of rings, Celia answered. I was relieved and upset at the same time.

  “Celia, where are you?”

  “I’m at home. Didn’t you get my message?”

  “What message?”

  “I called your house early this morning and left you a message telling you I wasn’t feeling well,” Celia said.

  I remembered my phone call from Grayson last night and turning off my ringer.

  “What’s the matter?” I softened my voice.

  There was a brief silence over the line.

  “Celia, did you hear me? What’s wrong?”

  “Female problems.”

  Okay, I thought. She has stepped over the friendship-sharing line once again.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked, praying that she wouldn’t ask me to pick up some type of feminine products.

  “No, I’ll be all right. Is there anything you need for me to do from home? I have my laptop with me.”

  “No, just take care of yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, but if you need to reach me, I’ll be here.”

  “Cool.”

  I pushed down the button without placing the receiver back and dialed my home number. When I heard my voice, I pressed the star key and then my secret code. The automated voice announced I had six messages.

  The first message was from the previous night, another threat from Grayson: “I wonder what a God-fearing company like Wal-Mart would do if they found out they were doing business with a sodomite?” I quickly erased the message, wondering why this “good” Christian woman was worried about my sex life and, more important, how the fuck she knew about Wal-Mart.

  The next call, time-stamped a couple of minutes later, was a hang-up that I assumed was Grayson.

  There was a message from Jonathan asking for a couple of dollars so he could come and hear me sing. There was no mention of his family.

  Next was a call from Vincent asking me if I would consider singing a solo at the Day of Absence service, and one from Pastor Kenneth inquiring about the contract. Finally, I heard Celia’s message. She sounded like she was crying. What was that about? She must have been sicker than she was telling me, I thought.

  I hung up the phone and tried to return to the prose that I was working on for some new cards. But I couldn’t get two thoughts out of my mind. I wondered just how long Grayson Upchurch was going to harass me before I could no longer remain a southern gentleman. Obviously, Damien hadn’t told her everything about me, because I could be tougher on women than Skylar when I needed to be.

  But Celia was another thing. It wasn’t the fact that she had called in sick that had me worried; nor was it her tears that didn’t sound like just female problems. I shook my head, pushing my concerns about the Upchurches and Celia aside as I turned back to my computer, determined to finish at least one card before the day was over. Maybe I could come up with a card just for Celia conveying how much her friendship meant to me.

  The day ended with my completing two inspirational cards and a few lines on the personalized one for Celia. I tried to reach Skylar and invite him to dinner, but I got his answering machine. Just as I was getting ready to leave, Ms. Gladys stuck her head in the door and told me a Vincent Young was on the line for me.

  “Thank you, Ms. Gladys. Did you talk to Celia today?”

  “Just briefly. She told me she wasn’t feeling well, but I don’t know if I believe that.”

  “What do you think it is?” I asked.

  “If I was a betting woman, which I’m not because gambling is unchristian-like, I’d say man problems.”

  “You think so?”

  “Let’s see how she acts tomorrow. You better take your call. I’ll lock up,” Ms. Gladys said.

  “You have a nice evening.”

  “You too, baby.”

  When Ms. Gladys closed the door, I picked up the phone and sat back down.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Vincent. I was going to call you when I got home.”

  “That’s cool. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to give you a little update on the Day of Absence. We have participants from over ten churches now. Only problem now is space. The hotel ballroom might not be big enough to hold everybody,” Vincent said.

  “Have you thought of alternative spots?”

  “Someone suggested we try one of the colleges at the AU center.”

  “I hope you’re not thinking about Morehouse,” I said.

  “Are you crazy? They would laugh us out of Atlanta,” Vincent said.

  “What about doing an outside
service at Centennial Park?” I suggested.

  “Never know what the weather is going to be like even if we had tents. I’m going to check with the Fox and Civic Center, but they may be out of our budget. Have you decided if you’re going to be able to sing?”

  “I talked to Pastor Kenneth and he called about the contract, so I know a decision is near.”

  “I really hope you decide against singing there, Chauncey, not because I want you to sing at our service, but this Upchurch man and his wife really scare me. Did you see them on CNN last night?”

  “They were on CNN?”

  “Yes.”

  “What for?”

  “They have been arranging protests against some high schools in the Denver area that have Gay-Straight Alliance groups. They were talking about the need to save children from the gay agenda. It was just so sad to see supposedly educated black people sounding like such stupid haters. If I closed my eyes and just listened, I would have thought I was listening to some Klansmen. We need to show them that Atlanta ain’t that type of city.”

  “Are you serious?” I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe Damien and his wife were going after young people.

  “I wish it wasn’t so,” Vincent said.

  “What would you do if I talked to Pastor Kenneth and was able to get him to reconsider having the Upchurches speak at Abundant Joy?” I asked. I really didn’t want to see Abundant Joy separated over this issue.

  “I don’t think it could hurt. You know how I feel about Pastor Kenneth and Sister Vivian, but I think they like publicity and making money—they can rake in some serious cash from this concert. You know how he’s always talking about building a new church home.”

  “So you think it’s about money?” I didn’t say it, but I doubted Vincent’s words. Pastor Kenneth had never seemed to be one of those money-hungry pastors. But then I thought about how happy he’d been the Sunday when all the gay people stuffed the offering plate.

  “When it comes to a lot of these black preachers, it’s always about money, and with President Bush and his faith-based initiatives, well, that’s all Bush needed to get these ministers to sing his tune.”